#but yeah sorry for the prattle- again thank you for reading ^^

[todayisafridaynight]

I was the one who's struggling to going through y6 but the realization I had when I realized you're my fav MineDai author a while back made my brain blue screen heuwje

Honestly thank you for the good food in both mediums ‼️‼️

OHH YOU'VE ALSO READ MY MINEDAI FICS??? mortifying BUT i'm so glad you enjoy my stuff hi ^^ !!

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“So what’s your deal?” Festus Creed asks out of the blue. 

Your mouth opens in shock, a nervous laugh slipping out. “My deal?”

A mocking sneer twists his features. “Yeah, Coriolanus kept trying to get you to eat with us but you were being weird about it. If you hate us, just say so.”

While some snigger at the table, Coriolanus stares daggers at him. The mirth instantly vanishes from Festus’ face.

Clemensia bumps her elbow into his rib, chiding him, “Festus, come on,”

“I don’t…hate anyone,” you defend, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Clemensia flashes you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, you don’t. Coriolanus said you’re very sweet.”

Livia rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever. Can we get back to discussing the Yuletide Ball?”

Surprise flutters through you. The name bears vague familiarity. It can be found in the archives detailing the history of the Capitol University. But it’d since long become a frivolity amidst concerns such as quelling the uprisings in the Districts. What’s a students’ dance in the face of war and famine?

“The Yuletide Ball? I thought this was an abolished tradition…I mean since the war.”

Excitement illuminates Livia’s face.

“We’re bringing back the tradition this year, thanks to Coriolanus here. He convinced the new dean.”

Coriolanus lowers his head in apparent humbleness.

“I just made a few good points and he couldn’t refuse me,” he shares. He turns to you, blue eyes sparkling.  “I’m pretty persuasive when I need to be.” A chill dances through you at his low, suggestive tone. 

To your relief, his attention switches to the rest of the table.

“It’s important to not let District scum ruin our way of life. Traditions must return.”

Livia smirks. “Spoken like a student body president.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand but a hint of smugness lingers in his tone as he says, “Please, elections are only in a month.”

“And it’s obvious you’ll win,” Clemensia states.

He gives a light shrug.

“We shall see.”

Clemensia pivots to you.

“Ivy, Liv and I are on the Ball committee,” she preens, her face brightening. “You could join us if you want.”

You lick your lips. “I don’t know if I’d find the time with midterms coming up soon…”

Coriolanus’ fingertips graze your arm as he offers, “You should do it, angel. It’d be a good way to expand your social circle.”

“You mean her nonexistent circle,” Festus gibes.

The blond’s jaw clenches.

“Talk to her like that again and see what happens, Creed.”

Festus cowers, nervousness flickering on his face. He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says to you.

“It’s fine.”

Coriolanus’ fingers latch around your wrist as his steely gaze cuts into Festus.

“No, it’s not fine,” he articulates. 

Undisturbed by the altercation between the boys, Clemensia prattles on about the ball.

“We meet up every Saturday morning. We’re working on winter-themed decorations right now. It’ll be so fun. It takes forever to do though.” She looks at you with emphasis. “An extra set of hands would be really welcome.”

“Clemensia…”

“Call me Clemmie,” she interrupts. “All my friends do.”

Friends? You study her hand clasped around yours. The concept is a little foreign to you. You also ponder why someone like Clemensia, with her perfect silky mane and smooth, blemish-free face would want to befriend you. She is the girl everyone gravitates towards. Charismatic, smart and nice to boot. And you might as well be a fly on a wall, ignored on the best days.

You are so stunned that it takes a shamefully long time for the words to fall back on your tongue.

“Clemmie, I’m usually busy on Saturday.”

“Oh.” She deflates, her hold on your hand loosening. “I get it. Sorry I asked.”

The excitement on her face plummets. Immediately, you feel terrible. You’ve never missed a single Saturday of studying, using that time to break down your more complicated courses of the week. But Clemmie looks crestfallen.

Perhaps, this one time, you can adjust your plans a little. One Saturday won’t make a difference in the entire year.

“But…I can try to free up some time,” you offer.

She perks up with your response.

“Great. We’ll be expecting you then.”

Lunch then proceeds, the table resuming the lively debate they were having before you showed up. Festus maintains facts about his family’s role in the reconstruction after the war while Clemensia rolls her eyes. They go back and forth and you observe them, slightly fascinated by the exchange. It’s such a rare occurrence for you to be around others that you soak every bit of their interaction. You get the inkling this happens a lot between them, them ruffling each other’s feathers. Ivy and Livia get wrapped in their own secret conversation you don’t catch a single word of. Meanwhile, Coriolanus watches all of them, taking a bite of the food on his plate every once in a while. The way he eats is slow, nonchalant, almost like he couldn’t care less what’s on his plate. Even if he doesn’t interject at any point, he looks right at home at this table. Unlike you. You recline into silence, letting every minute fly by as you wait for lunch to be over. When it finally is, relief surges inside you. 

You mumble a quick goodbye and gather your things. Clemensia beams and waves at you while the others barely acknowledge your departure. 

You head for the hallways, trying not to allow your mind to linger on the strange, uncomfortable lunch. Still, your mind swirls. You curse yourself for every blunder and awkward moment. You told him you don’t belong, that you’re an outsider, and always will be. It’s painfully obvious. From the way you dress, talk, carry yourself, you have nothing in common with girls like Clemensia or Livia. There’s a vast chasm between you and them. He should have listened. It astounds you that you even let yourself get roped into joining Clemensia’s committee thing. Though perhaps that won’t be too much of a hassle. You’ll show up to keep your word, then sink back into your rigid study routine.

Coriolanus’ deep voice, a sound you’re now oddly familiar with, erupts behind you.

“Let me carry those for you,” he says, swiping the books in your arms before you can protest. He falls in pace with you, a gentle expression decorating his  handsome face.

You frown, the uncanny emptiness of your arms swelling your discomfort.

“You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” he interrupts, chuckling lightly when you try to reach for your books and he dodges you with ease. Your shoulders sag. Your strides hasten, an urgency limning your steps now. 

Coriolanus meets no issue with your escalating cadence. He easily keeps up with you, a subtle hint of mirth lurking in his cobalt gaze. 

“It wasn’t too much, was it?” he inquires. “I know they can be a lot but they’re all good people. I promise.”

A myriad of words weigh heavy on your tongue but you diplomatically swallow each, settling for a safe, innocuous remark.

“Clemmie was nice.”

The corners of the blond’s lips quirk skyward. 

“I told you she was.”

The statement hovers between the two of you for a while. Clemensia seems nice indeed. The rest of his friend group…perhaps a little less so. Possibly a bit more cutthroat and self-absorbed. Though you surmise it is a requirement to be a member of Panem’s elite.

No other word is traded between you and him as you make your way to the lecture hall. 

“This is me,” you announce.

You turn to Coriolanus, hands stretching towards your books. He makes no move to give them back. Your forehead creases.

He gives you a sluggish once-over before offering, “What if I drove you back home after your classes?”

You nibble your bottom lip, dismayed by his proposition. You’ve caught glimpses of his fancy new car, as you’re sure most have at the University. As heir apparent to the Plinth fortune, he gets to spend money as he likes. 

“I usually walk. It’s okay.” 

He gets a little closer. “Come on, angel. Just let me do something nice for you.”

You shrink until your back hits the wall, stunned when Coriolanus follows each of your steps.

“My last lecture is…Professor Bellweather tends to ramble,” you mumble, his proximity unnerving you. “I don’t…I don’t know when he’ll be done.”

He licks his lips.

“I’ll just wait for you, angel.”

He utters the words like it’s obvious. You gawk at him. It takes you a few minutes to retrieve your speech.

You scratch your arm, your frown accentuating.

“You really don’t have to. Like I said, walking home is fine.”

The gaze trained on your form sharpens.

“And I’m offering to take you home so you don’t have to exert yourself.” He bends over you, invading the already insufficient space between the two of you. “Has a friend never done something like that for you?”

“N-No,” you admit. 

His tone’s heavy with suggestion as he rasps, “So let me be your first then, angel.”

Your heart stumbles inside your chest. 

“I’m gonna be late for class,” you blurt out, attempting to brush past him. 

Coriolanus’ hand darts out, swiftly cinching around your wrist to stop you from leaving.

“I still don’t have an answer,” Coriolanus says.

You glance from his hand, tight around your wrist, to his determined gaze. Your throat goes dry.

“Okay, you can d-drive me back home.”

He releases your wrist and returns your books, a smile ghosting over his lips.

“Wonderful. I’ll come get you later, angel.”

Clutching your books against your chest, you watch him glide away.

As promised, Coriolanus is waiting for you when you exit from your last class. You don’t even think to hide your shock as you find the blond leaning against the wall. A smirk unfans on his lips, your reaction seeming to amuse him.

He doesn’t say much to you as you walk side by side and head to his car. When you’re outside, he surprises you by opening the passenger door for you before you can even lift a hand. 

“T-Thanks,” you stammer. You plop down on the plush seat. The leather smells new and expensive.

Your nerves thrum as he takes the driver’s seat and starts the car. You’ve never been alone in a car with a boy before. Uneasy, you let your eyes roam outside the window. The Capitol’s high buildings blur past you rapidly. 

You’re lost in your thoughts when you notice the prickling sensation over your flesh, The burning, unwavering weight of Coriolanus Snow’s scrutiny. 

Your head whirls.

Bashful words quake through your lips.

“Do I have something on my face?” Your hands reach to touch it, just in case.

He chuckles.

“No,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s a nice face that’s all.”

The casual compliment sends a wave of heat through your body. 

“Can you drive?” he asks, curiosity lighting his features.

You shake your head. Getting your license has never been a priority. Besides, it’s only a thirty minute walk to get to the University. You don’t mind it, often using that time to sneak in some reading.

“No.”

“I could drive you if you like,” he offers, his gaze holding yours. “Anywhere you want to go.”

Your cheeks warm. “I’m okay.”

Coriolanus nods, his focus shifting back to the road.

“You always say that…” He hums low in his throat. “I’m just not sure I believe it, angel.”

You’re so nervous the entire drive that you don’t even notice when he arrives at your house. You stare at him, mouth agape. You haven’t given him a single instruction on how to get there.

“You know where I live?”

As he opens the door for you, Coriolanus simply replies, “You told me earlier.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t remember telling him but his tone harbors no doubt. You rummage through your brain, seeking the moment. Nothing comes up and you grow confused. 

You blink up at him.

“I-I did?”

“Yes, you did, angel.” He snorts as if your line of questioning is beyond ludicrous. “How else would I know?” He slams the door of the car as you rise. “Besides…Dr. Gaul is my mentor. Of course, I know where she lives.”

You nod. That makes sense and it didn’t even occur to you.

“I…”

He cocks his head. “What?”

You fidget beneath his stare, discomfort flaring in the pit of your stomach. 

“Nothing. Thanks for driving me home.”

He flashes you a wide smile.

“My pleasure. See you soon, angel.”

He starts the car and drives away. You don’t feel quite at ease until his car’s gone from view, heading towards the Corso.

Walter zooms across the room as soon as you enter the large apartment. Your eyes wander about. As usual, the place is empty besides you and Walter. Mother rarely spends any time here nowadays, her work occupying all of her time. 

Walter rubs his furry head against your ankle, twirling around you as he meows. He then stands on his hind legs and starts gently raking his claws across your leg. A way for him to demand that you pet him. A small smile tugging your lips, you pick him up. The orange ball of fur purrs, curling against your chest as you carry him in your arms. You make your way to the kitchen and pour a mix of leftover meat and fish in his bowl. 

You set him down on the floor. His tail wiggles as he hops to his food.

You crouch next to him.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened today, Walter,” you say while giving gentle pets to his back. “I was invited to their table.” The orange cat pauses his eating to stare up at you blankly. “Yes. Theirs,” you repeat as if he could understand you. He gives a long meow before focusing on his bowl again. You sigh. “I know. I thought the same thing.”

Once Walter’s emptied his bowl, you pick him up again and make your way to the living room. 

You collapse on the couch.

“And then…Coriolanus Snow drove me home. Yes, the Coriolanus Snow. I didn’t even think he knew I existed.”

For a while, you remain on the couch, stroking Walter’s fur as he sits on your lap. His tail whips the air, his eyes closing as you pet him. His soft rumble of content reverberates against your belly, amplifying when your fingers drag behind his pointed white ears. You lean back, a blanket of peace settling over you. 

Walter’s not just a strange-looking cat, he’s also a rescue…from your mother’s experiments. A kitten mutt with mismatched eyes, one blue and one yellow, his mushed, wrinkled face gives him a passing resemblance to a rodent. Pets like him are a rarity in today’s world as most creatures such as him were eaten during the First Rebellion. 

Your mother finds him appalling. In her eyes, he is a failed experiment. Like you. Perhaps it’s why you have such kinship with the creature. You still recall her unsettling glance in your direction the day she asked the entire class of nine-year-olds at the Academy if they had pets they were sick of. She then proceeded to burn the flesh off a lab rat to demonstrate her pulsed energy laser.

This moment is burned into your mind forever, your mother’s clinical tone chilling your blood.

You stole Walter from the Citadel and took him home that same day.

You were careful to hide him, though you suspect your mother figured out what you did. She likely added it to her long list of disappointments when it comes to you.

Sometimes, you envy Walter. The simplicity his days hinge upon. His obliviousness to the woes of the world. His uncanny ability to sleep through the chaos of it, ignore the disarray. Walter’s world consists of food, play and cuddles. 

What a blissful existence. You bet Walter never had a vexing thought in his short life.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone.

You carefully remove Walter from your lap. He meows in protest and jumps off the couch. You pick up the phone, chest clenching as a familiar face fills the flickering screen.

“Mother,” you greet. “How are you?”

She ignores your question, curtly stating, “You’re falling behind in Molecular Cell Biology.”

You know that tone all too well, the warning laced within it so achingly familiar.

Your fingers twist around the phone cord, your voice becoming small.

“I’ll get my grades up, I promise.”

Silence hovers between you and your mother for a while. Faint hope sparks within you. Perking up, you decide to tell her about your day.

“Oh, mother, today-”

“I must go,” she interrupts. “It’s time for my milk and cookies.”

Your spirits plummet. You nudge a hollow smile onto your face.

“Right. I didn’t realize,” you say, checking the clock hanging on the wall. “I’m sorry.”

She heaves out a deep sigh, her lone blue eye narrowing.

“Focus on your studies. And try not to be even more of an embarrassment to me than you already are.”

“Y-Yes, mother,” you reply, your heart shriveling inside your chest.

As she hangs up, you feel silly and horrible. Silly for trying to strike up a normal conversation with your mother. And horrible for letting her down once more.

“You came!” Clemensia exclaims as she rushes to you. You try not to tense as she gives you a tight hug. Ivy and Livia linger in the background, their eyes lifting from the crafts’ table. 

You wave at them and are surprised when Ivy wiggles her fingers at you. Livia is more withdrawn, nodding to acknowledge your presence but quickly returning to her task.

You step out of Clemensia’s embrace and flash a quick smile.

“Well I promised you that I would,” you reply nonchalantly. You take a look around the room. Various decorations and posters are propped against the walls, while snowflakes cut-outs and what looks like moon dust are scattered on the table. It seems the girls have been busy.

You turn to Clemensia. “What’s the theme again?” 

Ivy surprises you by answering cheerfully, “Well, it’ll be like a Winter daydream and we were thinking of making it a masquerade.”

Excitement sways in Clemensia’s bright eyes. “What do you think?”

“Sounds nice.” Your trite answer draws every gaze in the room to you. Awkwardly bouncing on your feet, you correct yourself, beaming at Clemensia. “I meant amazing.”

“I think so too,” she chimes.

She shows you the empty chair next to hers. The both of you sit down and she starts rambling about the theme and all the ideas she has to decorate the ballroom. You grow dizzy with all the information, trying to follow along her instructions at the same time. 

“We’ll need to find you a date,” Clemensia says. 

You shake the can of blue paint before spraying over the tree cut-out.

“It’s okay. I probably won’t be going anyway,” you respond absently. 

The pencil in Livia’s hand snaps. Your head rises. The blonde’s gaping at you. You then realize…the same look of disbelief is etched on all the girls’ features. A frown mars your brow. Did you say something wrong? You didn’t realize this was such an important event. 

A nervous laugh peals off Clemensia’s red-painted lips.

“No, but you have to,” she says, “It’s the first Yuletide Ball in over a decade. Everyone will be there.”

You shrug. “It’s four months away, Clemmie.”

Her onyx gaze shimmers.

“Well, a lot can happen in four months,” she sings, a mysterious smile spreading onto her lips.

[nevadancitizen]

do you think you could write something where könig and/or ghost (separate) were nearby or watched reader try to participate in a conversation but constantly got ignored or talked over to the point where they just kinda go silent and walk away? they end up comforting the reader and just trying to be a shoulder to cry on while they talk about their frustrations because this is something that always happens to them <\3

it doesn’t have to be too long and you don’t have to worry about getting to this request too quickly!! thank u for reading anyways :3

-> THE SOCIAL WEAK LINK

synopsis: rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost's asses. rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

word count: 2.2k (~1.1k each)

characters: ghost, könig, awkward! reader (lol)

notes: (rings dinner bell) hey friend.. this req has been sitting since september.. im so sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)

-> GHOST:

Debriefings were always boring. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and just wanted a cold shower and a warm bed. But what else encompasses the military so eloquently except unnecessary misery?

And to add to the misery, some rookies had tagged along to the mission. “On-the-job training,” Price had prattled off as he read the mission statement. He had given you and the rest of the 141 an exaggerated look that screamed If these rookies compromise the mission I’m going to tear the Lieutenant Colonel a new one.

The rookies (with callsigns Quest and Cable) were nice enough. They weren’t given the opportunity to burn off their energy on the mission like the 141 – they’d stayed behind as backup while the 141 went in to deal with the bad guys. As a consequence, now they’re in the debriefing room, chattering away like parrots.

Ghost could fall asleep in the chair he was in, if Cable and Quest were a little quieter. He looks at the next spinny chair over, where you’re sitting. You’ve got your knees tucked to your chin and are silently tracing the patterns in the wood table with a fingernail. Every now and again, you glance at the rookies, but ultimately turn your eyes away.

You were always just a bit too awkward to fit in with the rest of the military. Either too quiet or too loud; you rambled too often and your voice cracked when you did. You slipped through the cracks, into the quiet background with Laswell and Shepherd. You’re one of the powerful hands that move the pieces on the chessboard, but not a well-recognized one. Well-recognized within the 141, yes, but not on a wider scale. 

Ghost can tell how you’re feeling by the obvious emotion on your face. It’s yearning – an emotion Ghost knows well.

His eyes sweep the rest of the table. Gaz is fucking around on his phone, probably making a new Pinterest board, while Soap leans over his shoulder and watches him. Price is in another room, talking to someone important. Ghost couldn’t really bring himself to care about who. 

The entire room is bogged down with an unmistakable tiredness that goes right over Quest and Cable’s heads. Really, the only sound in the room is their voices and, intermittently, yours as you try to inject yourself into their conversation. Each attempt is met with pursed lips that barely count as smiles and something along the lines of “Yeah. Anyway…”

Eventually, Price pops in, leaning his head on the doorframe. The brim of his hat crinkles and his nose wrinkles up in disdain. He sighs. “Everyone out. Lieutenant Colonel wants this meeting room for herself. We’ll debrief later.”

Quest and Cable pop up like excited teenagers and head for the door, continuing to talk. “I’m soooo goddamn hungry. Hopefully the mess hall has something good…”

“Hey!” You practically jump from your chair, your eyes on the rookies. “Um, I heard that they just restocked the vending machines? Do you wanna maybe chick – I mean, check – them out with me? They’re just down the hall.”

They both tense, and Quest looks over their shoulder. They smile awkwardly and exchange a look with Cable. “Uh… maybe another time?”

You visibly deflate and rock back on your heels. “Yeah, totally. See you later.”

They both nod tersely and exit. You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. You sit back in the spinny chair and it wheels backwards from the force.

Gaz shuts his phone off and groans while Soap sucks air through his teeth. 

“Not your best effort,” Gaz says. 

“I know,” you say. 

“Maybe you’re not just compatible with rookies?” Soap tries.

You roll your head back against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I know.” 

You sink further into the chair, then stand. “Whatever. Let’s clear out. Price will have our heads if we don’t.”

Ghost tails you out the door. You don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there (even if his footsteps are extraordinarily light for a man of his stature). 

“Pompous pricks, ay?” Ghost says. 

You stick your hands in your pockets, hiking your shoulders up by your ears. “Wish they were a little more personable. Wish I was a little more personable.”

“Why, you’re plenty personable.” Ghost laughs gruffly at his own joke as he nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Asking to go ‘chick out’ the vending machines is a personable interaction?” You relax your arms and knock your elbow against Ghost’s. 

“I thought it was funny,” Ghost says. “Even if it was just a slip-up.”

You sigh, but keep up with Ghost as he walks. “If it was funny, then why didn’t they laugh?”

Ghost thinks for a second. “Maybe they just don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You don’t have a sense of humor,” you jab.

Ghost scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Then make me laugh,” you say. “Make me laugh right now.”

Ghost breathes in and exhales slowly through the fabric of his mask. “Well… do you know why the Cold War was called the Cold War?”

“The supernations fought using proxy wars,” you say. “America and the USSR never really went head-to-head.”

Ghost sighs pointedly. “Yes,” he says, “but also because of the icy-BMs.”

“The what?”

“The Cold War?” Ghost repeats. “Icy?”

“ICBM stands for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.” You stop midstep, looking at Ghost with a disbelieving smile. “Ghost, don’t tell me you don’t know what ICBM stands for?”

“No, it –” Ghost sighs. “Icy sounds like IC? Icy-BMs?”

You burst out laughing, waving Ghost away like he was some form of stupid. “Ghost, seriously? You don’t – oh my God!”

“I’m not a fucking knob, I know what…” 

Ghost can’t bring himself to correct you as he watches you laugh like that. It’s a bit too loud and there’s a snort in there somewhere, but it rings true and warms Ghost’s heart. He doesn’t mind being seen as dumb for a minute if you’re able to warm his heart with a sound as nice as that. 

-> KöNIG: 

König nearly always hates going undercover. 

More often than not, the higher-ups stick him in some ill-tailored enemy armor and send him in with nothing but a less-than-encouraging slap on the ass. They know he’ll make it out alive.

On this mission, he feels a little more comfortable. It’s more than obvious you’re not. 

You and König are camped out on the edge of a ballroom, sitting together at a small table. You’re dressed in a fancy outfit that just screams decadence, and it fits your role well – the adult child of some rich, cigar-chomping tech baron. König is playing the role of your bodyguard, dressed down from his usual military garb in a plain black suit (with kevlar padding) and a balaclava.

You cross one leg over the other at the knee and look down at your flute of champagne as you swirl it. The bubbles rise to the surface and pop as the pale liquid settles. 

“I hate this,” you say under your breath, just loud enough for König to hear. 

He nods along, but straightens up when a small group of people approach the table. There’s an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a girl, maybe fifteen. 

“Hi, sweetheart!” An older woman croons at you. “You’re Bohumil Silvester’s youngest, right?”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter and put the champagne flute on the table. “Yes, I am. And, um – and who might you be?”

“I’m Laila Matthews.” Laila checks over her shoulder at the people accompanying her. “This is my daughter, Adine, and this is my husband, Keaton.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile politely, but König can scope out of the corner of his eye that you’re gripping a bit of the fabric of your too-fancy outfit like you’re meaning to rip it off. You spout your fake name to Laila with a cheeky “But you know that already, right, ma’am?”

Laila is utterly delighted with your carefully constructed persona. She throws her head back and laughs, one hand on her chest and the other finding Keaton’s shoulder. “Oh, Lord. Aren’t you just your father’s child?”

You nod and, once again, smile politely while exchanging side-eye glances with König. He’s just as confused as you are. 

As soon as Laila recovers, she’s talking again. She gestures vaguely in König’s direction. “And who is this? Security, for this casual meeting?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” you say. “You can never be too careful these days, with all the laws about concealed carry and everything.”

“Well, I’m 57, and I’ve only had security for a few occasions,” Laila says. 

“You’re 57?” You bark, a little too loud. You can feel a few heads turn your way and Laila’s stare turns withering. König’s shoulders shake as he coughs into his fist.

“I mean, um, you’re 57?” You try again, quieter. “Because you don’t look it. Like, at all. Ma’am.”

Laila’s tone is flat when she speaks. “Right.”

“I meant, um, you look younger? Uh, anyway.” You smile nervously, then pick up your champagne flute and take a sip. “I love your family’s outfits! And the, uh, the way they match.”

Keaton leans in and grabs a hold of Laila’s shoulder. He gets up on his toes to whisper something in Laila’s ear. It’s hard to hear over the ambient noise of the ballroom. Laila nods and Keaton continues to whisper.

“Um, Laila? Mrs. Matthews?” You try to get her attention, to no avail. She keeps nodding to Keaton’s words like you’re not even there.

You stand and turn to Adine. “Adine, right? Tell your mother it was nice speaking to her.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Adine nods absently, her eyes somewhere else on the ballroom floor. 

You toss the rest of the champagne in the flute down like it’s a shot and stand from the table. You make eye contact with König and nod towards the French doors that lead towards the balcony. 

People don’t notice as you and König step out. The sky is clear, yet the night is still young enough to be starless. 

“Christ, I hate rich people,” you mutter under your breath. 

König moves and leans his back against the wrought iron of the railing. His eyes sweep across the small area, then he nods. “Yes. That interaction was less than pleasant.”

You lean against the railing next to him. “Why was she even talking to me? And what did she mean, ‘Aren’t you just your father’s child?’ Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am… not sure,” König says. “Maybe it’s part of rich people code?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You huff out a laugh, then sigh. “I really wasn’t the best pick for this mission.”

“What do you mean?” König asks. “You are perfectly capable of fighting.”

“No, the, like…” you sigh again. “The talking part? I’m not fit for that. Never been a good conversationalist, never will be.”

“You are conversing with me right now, no?” König gestures between you and him. “This is a conversation. You are doing fine.”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “You saw me. I shouted her age out in front of everyone.”

König hums. “To be fair, it was a bit of a shock.”

You glance up at him and laugh, a pretty smile gracing your features. “Shut up.”

“But it was!” König insists. The fabric of his balaclava puffs out as he laughs. “I had to cough to cover up my laugh. I nearly had to excuse myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” You shove his shoulder half-heartedly as you turn and look out over the railing, at the courtyard. König follows your gaze.

The courtyard is illuminated by ambient lamps. Paths are laid with bricks, with neatly trimmed grass in between each one. Exotic plants from every corner of the globe line the pathways, some of their flowers closed for the night. A fountain is in the middle, with water spouting out of the trumpet of a cherub statue. A few people surround the fountain, talking quietly with drinks in their hands in the low light. 

You lean close to König and point at one of the people – a man in a navy suit. “That’s the target. Mister T. Kilgore.”

“So he is,” König says. He pats under his armpit, checking his sidearm. “We need to get moving. I do not like the way Laila’s husband was talking to her. Suspicious.”

You nod and send König a small smile. “We’re still going with the plan, right? I’m going in and playing drunk?”

“Of course.” König mirrors your smile even though you can’t see it. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to practice your conversation skills.”

You scoff, but you’re still smiling. “Yeah, if I’m planning on interacting with everybody as a drunk idiot for the rest of my life.”

“I’m serious!” König insists. “More likely than not, you’ll never see these people again.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re right.” You knock your elbow against König’s. “Let’s give them a show.”

[fridaynightmassacre]

literally just want a emo boy x coquette!reader 😔

emo boy doesn't know it but he's quite popular with the girls bc of his pretty face and his long messy hair, and the piercings on his face and his tats on his body makes the girls fold but they never actually interacted with him and the reader is like very quiet, not popular bc she just transferred, just in her little pink world until emo boy is like seated next to her??? anyways they talk blah blah blah become friends and then they both eventually start to like each other. ANYWAYS reader invites emo boy over to her house to HANG OUT and/or play some games or something and then emo boy out of nowhere starts flirting with reader, making suggestive jokes or whatever. you can finish the rest, I am absolutely sorry if this was confusing or what not, it sounds so much better in my head 😭

ANON. YOUR BEAUTIFUL BRAIN.

length: roughly 2.4k words

“Yeah, he’s like..” Emily, your closest (and currently only) friend had said to you before cutting herself off to glance across each side of the essentially empty hallway, shooting you a glance she smiled deviously. Leaning in slightly and pushing up the bridge of her short oval glasses, Emily continued to speak, albeit in a much more hushed tone.

 “He’s like this totally emo guy, the whole package y’know? That spiky shaggy hair and dark clothes, and his face is all pierced. Like, both sides of his nose and everything.” 

Emily paused, placing a finger on her chin in a moment of thought, once it seemed she had recalled what she was looking for, she resumed. “I've heard he’s even got tattoos! Like, I mean I've only heard that, since I personally have only seen him like all covered up, but Miyah- you know Miyah? She’s in our lit class. But yeah, Miyah said she saw him last week in a tank top and he’s like completely tatted. Oh! And he’s super tall!-” you raised your hand and mumbled when she paused “Emily?” she tilted her head to the side in response. 

“I just..asked who he was, since we’ve been seated together. Thank you for telling me! But i’m not sure I needed much more than ‘emo’ to assure Emily (and to reassure yourself) that her prattle wasn’t a big deal, you forced out a laugh, wincing when it came out a smidge louder than intended. You had only been here a week or so, and hoped you wouldn't start the next one with no friends at all. Emily slapped her hand over her mouth, face red with embarrassment. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry-” in her silence you attempted to reach a hand out and place it on her shoulder, a small piece of comfort, however, she had decided to launch herself at you and squeeze as tightly as she could. While you spluttered and wheezed a breath Emily squealed and buried her face into your shoulder. 

“I’m so embarrassed! You must think i'm totally guy crazy, right? I SWEAR I'm not! He’s just- you’ll see!” In response, you tapped her back to signal a need for breath, coincidentally at the same time as the warning bell for class rang. Emily released you and stepped back, ever the dramatic, she sighed wistfully and clutched her chest. “Just as I was preparing to gush about him again, here comes your cue to leave!” a sigh from her. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped-” Emily punctuated the pause with a fake sniffle, obviously meant to elicit laughter. You giggled sweetly, to which she seemed pleased. “I guess i’ll see you tomorrow, and text you after class?” you offered, tilting your head off to the direction you were headed, Emily nodded, and with a pair of exchanged goodbyes you split paths.

Of course, as it always has been regardless of the time you leave, you’re extremely early to class. There isn’t a seat filled besides your teachers, who sat with his back to you reading off of his phone and copying the contents onto a notebook labelled “teach”. You slid into your assigned seat, as gently and as quietly as possible in hopes that if you’re quiet enough, you’ll be forgotten when class commences. You’ve never even been particularly shy, just quiet, but the way the other girls in your class had whispered when the groups were announced, and how Emily had spoken of this guy made your chest squeeze. Popular guys tended to be assholes, and while you had never spoken to anyone really emo before, you assumed that popularity affected them the same. 

You decided that if perhaps if you focused on looking your best, some of your anxiety would decrease. And so, you produced your cherry printed compact mirror along with your tinted lip balm, applying it sparsely to achieve the perfect plump, freshly kissed looking lips. To make them more juicy, you dabbed on one of the clear glosses in your bag, you spritzed a nice vanilla scented perfume back over the spots you had that morning and smoothed out your pretty, flowy, knee length off white (although in some lighting, it leant to more of a pale yellow) cotton babydoll vintage nightdress you had worn along with a cherry patterned cardigan, and white tights. You tapped your flats against the floor, dressing extra femininely was always something that brang you confidence, and by god you needed it now.

To fill out more of the time before the other students rushed in, you slowly organised your notebooks by colour, it seemed you had gotten so engrossed in whether if organising by the rainbow was the way, or if organising from light to dark was prettier that you hadn’t even noticed when the room filled, or when the seat beside you scraped backwards against the floor, and a body filled it. Yes, you didn’t notice much of anything at all, until a pencil tapped the closest of the two books you had been swapping back and forth. Your head snapped to the side, chewing your lip in embarrassment over being caught, as you raked your eyes up the torso who was beside you. 

“Ah- Alex, right?” you managed to force out, more from intimidation than infatuation. Emily had in fact been completely right in her description, he was quite tall. If you had to give an estimate (although you had never been good at guessing heights, god bless you) you would have guessed around 6 foot 3 or 6 foot 4. His hair brushed against his left eye and travelled down to his collarbones, which had been covered with a rather tight fitting t-shirt, displaying some band name you had no chance of deciphering. He wore a simple silver necklace, paired with a studded bracelet on one hand, and a black rubber wristband on the other. What Emily had not informed you of was the fact Alex had a surprisingly shy smile.

“Yeah, i know who you are- oh god. That sounds creepy huh?”Alex offered you a smile, flipping his head to the side to push his bangs out from his eye. You giggled. “Yeah, a little bit.” You swallowed thickly, he seemed nice, and you wanted to make a good impression now that you knew he wasn’t a total jerk right off the bat. “I’m sorry for not noticing you- and well, everyone- come in! I was just kind of…” you gestured to your arrangement of notebooks to which Alex nodded at gravely. “Ah yes, the deeply intriguing task of arranging books by colour.” he smirked, and a giggle bubbled its way up from your throat, and out of your mouth. 

The rest of the class speed by quickly, with the two of you chatting, joking, laughing and ultimately powering through your shared assignment so quickly that it had been completed before the teacher could even announce you were to work on it outside of school. As the rest of the class packed up their books and stationary, you sheepishly smiled and turned to alex. “Do you want to come over?I mean, we’ve already finished the assignment, but you’re really fun to talk to. We could play games or something?” Alex returned your smile, his long and thin fingers playing with the rip over the knee on his jeans.

 “Yeah, sounds fun. Do you take the bus?” 

“I do, yeah!”

“Sounds cool then, I'll get an uber home or something after.” You smiled and nodded vigorously, quickly packing yourself up and waiting for your new companion to do the same. After a moment of Alex essentially just sliding his things from the table into his open bag below, the two of you pushed through the crowd of students, Alex’s head bobbing above most of them. Once you had successfully escaped the maze that was your school (and the either jealous or incredulous looks from your female classmates), it was simply a matter of getting on the bus, exchanging glances and small smiles as you waited for your stop that had of course, been conveniently located at the front of your small house.

“I’m not gonna have to meet your parents, am i?” Alex joked, sliding out of his seat. 

“Of course not, I live alone!” You smiled brightly, oblivious to Alex’s jaw dropping.

“In this economy?”

“Oh, the house was my aunts, she’s also paying the bills until I finish school and find a job.” Although still amazed, and perhaps slightly jealous, Alex understood this more. He made a sound of acknowledgement and rolled back his shoulders, swinging his arms by his side as you produced your house keys from your cardigan pocket and unlocked the front door. 

“Sweet place.” Alex whistled, eyes tracing every corner of your entryway and living room. “So, where are we hanging out?” you slipped your shoes off (prompting Alex to hurriedly do the same). And pointed to one of the doors off to the side. “My room, I don't use much else of the house, except for when my parents or aunt visit, so pretty much everything of mine is in my room.” Alex nodded, idly reaching up a hand to his face to fiddle with his snake bites as you finally undid the last buckle on your shoe. Gesturing his arm out in a “go on” motion, you smiled and led the short way across the room to your door, leading him inside to your quite frankly, adorable room.

“I like it, very….vintage.” Alex mused, before flopping backwards onto your bed, the force making your pillows bounce. You laughed, grabbing a few game disks out from your collection and two controllers on your way to sit next to him. “What do you wanna play? I’ve got multiplayer and single player…” you trailed off as you flipped through the multiple options, ranging from girly games to retro horror. “Oh, sweet! I didn’t know anyone else here was even aware that Zombie Driver existed!” chimed Alex, grabbing the disc case out of your hands. “Oh, yeah! It’s my dads one, but we played it a lot when I was a kid, so i brang it with me! Is that the one you wanna play?” you giggled when Alex took the disc out of your hand, his expression and excitement reminding you of a kid on christmas morning. “Yeah!- ah, sorry for snatching, i know its rude” This made you giggle again, rolling your eyes as you turned the console on and trading the controller for the disc. You jumped off your bed and slid across the floor, swooping down to open the case and slide the disc into the open slot just in time. 

Alex whooped when you joined him back on the bed, occasionally glancing over at you with when he beat something particularly hard and pouting cartoonishly when he died and had to hand the controller over to you. The two of you eventually settled on almost a rhythm of glances and smiles, pouts and groans. It was calm, and almost domestic. Something out of a tooth rottingly sweet fluffy fanfiction. The thought was enough to make you chuckle into your fist, causing Alex to look over at you to see what was so funny, and die horrifically in the game. ‘Wh- that was totally on purpose! You distracted me!” He laughed, you laughed harder in turn, shaking your head frantically. “That’s so not fair! You can’t use the fact you’ve got a cute laugh to get your turn faster!” 

You felt your face heat up, and Alex knew he had you. “I mean it, you can’t use being pretty to cheat either.” He smirked, leaning in ever so slightly. You tried to speak, but you could only smile shyly and turn your head to the side, tucking your hair behind your ear and glancing at him. “Oh, back to miss mysterious from school huh? Or did i get you all shy from just saying you’re pretty?” to this you snorted, “don’t tease me! I didn’t mean to make you lose! You could’ve simply asked me what was so funny.” You lifted your head in false indignation, and Alex scoffed. “I think i’ll tease you as much as i liked, you didn’t mind it the first time.” And with the way he looked at you them, all of a sudden it seemed the game had been forgotten. As well as everything else in the world, it was just you and Alex in the small bedroom. When you didn’t respond, Alex placed the controller to the side of him and craned his neck down to meet your gaze. 

“Well?” Alex tilted his head, brown eyes staring deep into your own,when you broke eye contact your eyes immediately darted down to where his shirt had ridden up slightly you could see the deep V going down into his jeans. The sight caused you to gulp, mouth dry when you looked back into his eyes. “My god, you’ve known me one day and you’re already staring at my dick?” your face tightened and felt so hot you knew for sure that it must be so incredibly red. And your fears were confirmed when Alex leant back and cackled to the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry!” you squeaked, grabbing a pillow to smother yourself with. “I d-didn’t know you were ACTUALLY looking!” Alex managed to push out between hysteric fits of laughter, you groaned and threw the pillow at him. Unfortunately, the tousled hair it caused and the bright red and slightly sweaty face he had from laughing caused you to have even more perverted thoughts. As though he could read your mind, Alex waggled his eyebrows at you. “Oh my gODDD” you threw another pillow at him. He caught it this time, placing it down next to where you were and laying on it. “My bad, I'll stop. It’s just you look cute when your face is all red, and when you throw shit at me.” you leant over to the bedside table, grabbing a paperweight. You raised an eyebrow quizzically and when Alex shook his head vigorously with “no!”s tumbling out of his mouth, you cackled yourself and placed the small weight back behind you. Alex huffed, flipped his bangs again, and looked up at you for once. The two of you exchanged smiles as the sun began to set behind the clouds and you realised how late it was. 

“So, wanna stay the night?”

apologies if tbis sucks I wrote it all in one sitting no beta read no edit its 1am help me

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

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

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

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

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 142.11: Insult (Part 11)

(You can start with Part 1 if you like)

Harry left the shop promptly at 5:30 to go upstairs.

Normally he'd stay well past closing time. He usually helped the closers with their duties and got everything prepped for the next morning, chatting and listening to the wild stories that his baristas told.

But not tonight. Tonight he went straight upstairs and tidied the whole flat; cleaning and freshening up every room until it looked cozy and inviting. Then he made dinner and a layered pumpkin custard dessert that he thought Draco might enjoy.

He was just lighting the candles on the table when he heard the chimes above the door downstairs. Harry hurried downstairs to find Draco looking around at the darkened coffee shop. "Hey," he said with a little smile that he couldn't quite keep to himself.

"Hey yourself," Draco replied with a weary little smile of his own.

"Long day?" Harry asked as he flicked his wrist and locked the door before nodding toward the stairs.

Draco followed him, "You've got no idea."

"Tell me about it," Harry said.

"Oh," Draco said waving a hand, "You don't want to listen to me prattle on about all of that."

"Draco you could read me Hogwarts: A History and I'd want to listen to it."

The other man huffed that soft, pleased chuckle of his as Harry opened the door to the flat.

"Can I take your jacket?" he asked.

"Oh," said Draco, surprise coloring his voice, "Yes. Thank you."

Harry took his jacket and put it in the closet.

"Your flat is charming," he said, and Harry turned to watch Draco inspecting the bookshelf that was half filled with knickknacks and photos.

(Read more below the cut)

Something warmed in his chest to see Draco here, comfortable enough with Harry that he felt like he was allowed to look around. "Thanks," Harry said as he headed toward the kitchen.

"Your flat has the added perk of smelling like coffee and baked goods," Draco added as he followed him to the kitchen.

He laughed, "I've gone practically nose-blind to it."

"I feel a little sad for you," he said, with a little laugh.

"I'm sure you've gone nose-blind to all of your good smells, too," Harry replied as he held out a chair for Draco to sit down in. "All that sandalwood and vanilla that I can always smell when I'm close to you. It's intoxicating."

A delicate flush spread across Draco's cheeks, "Don't be silly."

Instead of arguing, Harry said, "I picked up a Chardonnay to go with the salmon. Is that okay?"

Draco nodded, "Perfect."

He poured them both a glass and then brought their plates over from the counter. They weren't anything to write home about, but the salmon on the wild rice looked pretty and the asparagus added a nice pop of color.

"Do you always cook like this for yourself?" Draco asked, glancing up at Harry.

He shrugged, "I might not always make it look that pretty, but I was planning on eating this tonight before I invited you." He took a sip of wine to hide the pleased smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.

"I feel like I'm at a serious disadvantage not having grown up in the muggle world."

He snorted, "Yeah. I had a really bang up childhood."

Draco stared at him calculatingly for a moment.

"You're giving me that look," Harry said with a sigh as he cut into his asparagus.

"What look?"

"The look my therapist gives me when she's about to tell me that my reaction to something is from childhood trauma."

Draco laughed, "Sorry, that's not really funny, but-"

"No, it's fine. One of those things you either laugh or cry about," he replied, waving him off.

"Were they really that bad, then?" Draco asked, "your family?"

He took a sip of wine to give himself a moment to compose an answer before he spoke, "There is nothing that you could give me to make me call them my family."

"Sorry," Draco said, frowning and seeming a bit wrong-footed. "You don't have to-"

"No, I want to, actually," Harry said, clearing his throat. "I've-" he broke off and rubbed the back of his neck, "After our dinner date I went to see my therapist again," he confessed.

"Harry, you really don't have to tell-"

"Draco," he said calmly and firmly, "I want to."

"I forgive you," Draco blurted. "Merlin, is that what you need to hear? You don't have to tell me, I didn't mean to make you feel-"

He covered Draco's hand with his, suddenly feeling calmer knowing that Draco was nervous, too. "I know I don't have to but I want to."

"You're sure?" he asked, searching Harry's face.

He nodded.

"Alright."

"I went back to my therapist, haven't stopped seeing her, actually," he added. "When I was dating people who didn't know anything about my past, it was easy to keep them at a distance," he said, "But it also made the relationships pretty shallow. And that was one of the things she'd told me before; if I wanted a real relationship I had to be willing to let that person know me."

Draco nodded, "I'd like to know you."

The corner of his mouth tipped up, "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath, "The truth, in short, is that my relatives were abusive arseholes. They hated me and they treated me horribly and I sort of realized it because I saw how differently they treated my cousin but I didn't really understand how bad it was."

Draco frowned, "Any wizarding family would have taken you in."

"Yes," Harry agreed around a bite of salmon. "But I needed the blood magic to protect me, according to Dumbledore. The Dursleys taught me that I was completely unlovable, unwanted, and a freak.” He traced the stem of his wine glass, “I can tell you more about it someday, if you want, but that's the summation of the first lesson I was ever taught and what I have spent my life trying to unlearn."

"That's horrible," Draco said firmly, "No child should be treated like that."

Harry gave him a little smile, "It's why I like your job so much," he told him. "I would have given anything for someone to care about what was best for me."

Draco looked like he didn't quite know what to say to that.

He cleared his throat and then continued, "And then after that it sort of felt like a lot people loved me because of who I was or what I could give them. It felt like no one actually loved me because I was just," he shrugged, "Harry."

"That must have been difficult," Draco replied, giving Harry's hand a squeeze.

"I didn't really realize the extent of the damage those thoughts and feelings had on me," he said. "Not until we had dinner." He took a breath, "Remember how you talked about your default settings when we went out to dinner?"

Draco nodded.

"Well, my default when I am stressed or afraid is to fall back into 'I'm unlovable unless I can give you something.' Which is really unhelpful when it comes to relationships."

"Thank you for sharing with me," Draco said, "I can understand why you reacted the way you did at the restaurant."

"I'm not trying to make excuses," Harry clarified. "I wanted you to know that I'm working on recognizing the patterns of behavior my trauma created." He set his fork down and looked Draco in the eye, "I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry that I didn't trust you. The truth is that it wasn't about you as much as it was about me."

"I forgive you," he replied.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, "I will try to do better, if you'll let me."

The other man nodded. "You're not the only one who's messed up, you know," Draco said as he went back to eating.

Harry snorted and picked up his fork, "You seem pretty well adjusted."

"Would you like to know the truth?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation.

Draco stared at him for a long moment before he replied, "You terrify me."

Harry frowned.

"Honestly, the reason that your words cut me so deeply was because I am constantly afraid that I will only amount to all of the worst things that anyone has ever thought of me." He chuckled without humor, "You seemed too good to be true as it was."

"I feel the same," he confessed.

Draco laughed, "Well, now that we have all of that sorted."

"Tell me about your day," Harry insisted, steering the conversation back to safer, simpler waters for the time being.

With a little smile, Draco did.

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

The evening went easier after that and before he knew it, the clock was striking eleven.

"Merlin," Draco said, shifting his arm to look at his watch, "Is that the time? I should go."

Harry nodded, "I do have to be up early," he said with a regretful sigh. "Let me walk you out," he offered even he'd much rather just stay up talking all night.

Once they got to the closet, Harry grabbed his jacket for him, then when he turned he saw that Draco was standing incredibly close to him. His silver eyes were soft molten pools of desire that Harry wanted to let himself drown in. "I really enjoyed myself" Draco said, "Thank you for having me."

"Thanks for coming," Harry breathed.

Draco's tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip and Harry's eyes were drawn to the movement.

"Can I kiss you?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Draco murmured and it was all the permission Harry needed to lean forward and capture Draco's lips with his own.

Electricity sizzled through his body and he found himself pressing Draco back against the wall behind him, groaning and deepening the kiss.

Draco's hands slid into Harry's hair, twining through his curls as he pulled him in closer and kissed him back just as desperately.

When a soft whimper escaped Draco's throat Harry felt like he could hardly stand it. He chased the sound, nipping at Draco's lower lip before trailing his tongue over it as he caged Draco back against the wall with his body. He was fairly confident that he could spend the rest of his life kissing Draco Malfoy and it wouldn't be enough.

"Harry," Draco moaned when Harry drew back far enough to press kisses along his jaw.

"Stay," Harry begged. "If it's not moving too fast," he added. "If you want to."

"Harry," he groaned. "Stop talking and take me to bed."

He dropped Draco's jacket on the floor in favor of picking Draco up instead as he dove back in to kissing him while carrying him back to the bedroom.

And if they didn't get to sleep for another hour, neither of them really minded.

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

Part 10 | Part 12

We'll have one more part tomorrow <3

Sorry for the delay with posting this one. It's been a week. All my love, C

[shroudcore]

Speak now, or forever hold your peace. (Finale)

Summary: The ghosts may have left, but the wedding they officiated is not something to be easily forgotten. Will unsaid feelings remain hidden? Idia thinks so, after seeing you with your admirers. 

Idia x GN!reader. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

After that 3-star difficulty sidequest, it was finally time for the ghosts to leave. They were filing out through a shimmering silver portal to the Land of the Dead, which you joked about jumping into “for the meme”. Idia was quick to discourage it. The joke would’ve been funny at any other time than right now. 

Each ghost made sure to give the newlyweds their congratulations. Each congratulation made Idia want to take off into the night, never to be seen again. It was beyond embarrassing. Unbearable. Way past his limit of social interaction capability. Things were getting way too much to handle for his now-empty Energy bar. 

While Idia longed for the comfort and isolation of his dorm room, you were the one who thanked the well-wishers and said the goodbyes—from a safe distance, of course. 

“When we return, I want you to meet our baby!” Eliza announced before she stepped into the portal. You and Idia shared a look. As if reading each other’s minds, you checked your schoolmates’ faces for their reactions—which did not disappoint. Different ways of saying “Don’t come back!” filled the hall, in varying degrees of anger and vulgarity. Before she disappeared for good, Eliza huffed and stuck her nose up in the air—an expression that tonight’s failed suitors knew all too well. 

At her departure, the portal shrunk into a mere speck until it completely disappeared. Then came the loudest cheers of the night serving as Victory fanfare. It was all over! But before he went, Idia hoped to say goodbye and take a look at you in your suit one last time. Or maybe even ask you to hang out tomorrow, depending on his current Courage level. 

While he silently rehearsed his thank-yous and good-byes, he wondered if you knew that you were still holding his hand. He decided not to mention it. 

Unfortunately, his brief moment of (weak) celebration was cut short when he noticed that the now-mobile Groom Rejects were approaching. They might as well have red bars floating over their heads to warn him of danger. He froze, contemplating whether to: 

> Bear it and stay with you just until he was prepared to say goodbye (+10 relationship points -20 comfort LV)

> Just run off on his own without saying anything, ignoring your calls. (-10 relationship points +10 comfort LV)

For now, he decided to stick with Option 1. Just a little bit longer. 

“That was amazing!” Deuce exclaimed, rushing over to give you a high-five. You laughed and  met other high-fives, low-fives, fist bumps, and head pats that came your way with that lovely smile of yours. 

Suddenly, Ace rips you away from him. Suddenly, you weren’t holding hands anymore. The loud first-year put his arm around you and Idia couldn’t help but notice how easy and natural it looked. Meanwhile, there he was: someone who needed to rehearse his goodbyes. 

Clearly, there was a huge level difference here and Idia was the one disadvantaged. 

“Our hero!” Ace yelled, inspiring more cheers. The distance between you and Idia grew as your wave of admirers and friends swept you farther and farther away. He was an outsider once again, stuck watching the fun from the sidelines. Their eyes sparkled. Their mouths smiled. Their loud voices laughed and praised you and laughed with you again. 

They loved you. And Idia was no different. 

Everyone’s Friend and the Weird Shut-in. Was there hope?

“Brother, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Ortho’s voice cut through his stream of thoughts. Immediately, he feels the weight on his shoulders lighten. 

He watched as his brother, his beacon of hope, made his way around your fan club until he eventually reached his spot. Ortho wouldn’t care if he looked like a loser, standing there awkwardly at the side all alone. Finally, he was saved. 

My savior! “Ortho! Thank you, thank you…” 

“No injuries… tense muscles… an increase in cortisol production,” Ortho muttered, frowning. “Are you okay?” 

“No…” 

Ortho nods. “We’ll return to the dorm, then. But before that, we should thank the Prefect.”

“Oh… right.” Idia looked over to you, still surrounded by your “fans” like the SSR character you were. You listened to Azul, who prattled on and on about something that was oh-so-interesting that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. And Vil judged your suit’s design, reaching out to fix something near your neck. You cracked up at something Floyd said. You posed and smiled beside Cater as he took a selfie with you. 

His mind raced as it continuously spotted the students on his list and everything they did. What was so interesting about Azul? What was so funny about Floyd? Did you like Vil’s hardworking, confident attitude? Did you think Cater had a way with words? 

He looked away. 

“Ortho, I’m going back to my room,” he said with a heavy heart, admitting Defeat. He was underleveled, had zero energy, and zero SP (social points). He’ll see you… some other time. After his cry-sesh, maybe. 

“Huh? Don’t you want to talk to the Prefect first?” 

“I’ll just… DM them later,” he lied. In truth, all he wanted was to drown himself in a video game while he gorged on candy and tried not to think about you. Ortho’s eyes narrowed, but followed him as he sneakily left the hall anyway. 

You’d understand, right?

Once he and Ortho were out, he looked back at the hall doors, hating himself for being too shy and cowardly to make a move. He imagined charging back into the room, wedging himself in between your friends, grabbing your arm, and pulling you away. Then he’ll kabedon you and—

Who was he kidding? He can’t do that, and you probably wouldn’t like that. 

“It was terrible, brother. Nobody wanted to help!” Ortho said, and Idia thinks he didn’t need to be reminded that nobody liked him. 

“When the Prefect and I reached Diasomnia, we expected them to reject us too…” he mused. “But Malleus Draconia agreed to help us! Can you believe it?”

“Wait… Malleus-shi?” 

Ortho nodded enthusiastically. “Yes… because the Prefect talked to him… and then he cast a charm on them to help us ward off those ghosts! It was really nice of him.”

“I see…” Idia knew that you and Malleus were friends. But to actually help you and him? Maybe your relationship with the Diasomnia dorm leader ran deeper than he thought. Why else would he go through that trouble? 

“The Prefect volunteered without needing to be asked, you know,” said Ortho, who he now noticed was observing him carefully. Idia tried to ignore the way his brother’s eyes lingered on him as they walked (floated in Ortho’s case). 

“...I’m so glad their plan worked!”

Wait, what?

“Volunteered? Their plan?” All this time, he thought you’d been forced to do this by the Headmaster! You did always rant about Crowley promising you different sorts of rewards if you did jobs here and there. But… you got yourself into this mess… all for him? 

Idia looked at the hand you held just moments ago and dared not hope again. Maybe you would have done this for anyone else in his place. Maybe you treated everyone the same, and it just so happened that he was the one kidnapped by a ghost bride. 

Still, he felt bad for not doing as Ortho said earlier. It was too late to turn back, however, as Idia and Ortho finally reached the Hall of Mirrors. 

“Finally… I’m so tired,” said Idia, meaning it in all ways. But as he put one leg forward to enter the door to Ignihyde, he heard someone’s voice, along with the scuffle of shoes against the floor coming closer and closer to where he and Ortho stood. 

“Idia, wait up!”

Oh no. It’s you. Enter now! Enter now!

But no matter what his head told him to do, he remained rooted to his spot. He stood still despite his pounding heart, that elevator-like feeling in his stomach, and the blaring alarms in his head. 

Object of affection at 5m…

Ortho was probably seeing his vitals going haywire and giving him that look again. He turned to look at his brother… only to not find him there. 

Help… oh no…

2m… 

“Hey,” you gasped out, catching your breath. “When I turned around, you were gone…”

Yeah, same. Just like Ortho… 

No one said a word for a while. The silence was only filled by your heavy breathing as it slowly evened. Inwardly facepalming at himself, he decided to take the chance to tell you everything he should’ve said before he left. 

But before he could open his mouth and apologize for leaving, (gods know he had too many things to apologize for after tonight), he was taken into a warm embrace. 

OHMYGODSOHMYGODSOHMYGODSOKAYLET’SCALMDOWN

“I thought I was too late.” you mumbled into his suit. 

At that moment, without anyone else around, nothing else mattered but the safety of your arms. And damn, how good it felt to be embraced. Did anyone else get these hugs from you? Idia didn’t think so. He hesitantly lifted his arms up and hugged back. 

Looking up at the domed castle ceiling, he wondered what he did to deserve something this good. 

It’s okay. I can have this. He allows himself to melt into your arms, head drooping down to rest against your neck. 

“G-good thing you weren’t,” he finally whispered back, freezing as he heard you sob against his chest. Oh no, oh no, what do you do when your love interest is crying? Quick, quick, pull up the archive of romantic scenes from your memory. 

“Hey, hey, I-I’m okay, you see?” he said, patting your back awkwardly. You let go after releasing another sob to wipe your eyes with your sleeve. 

“Sorry I got your suit wet,” you said softly, turning your face away. “I’m really, really sorry about what happened there too.”

“About what?”

“The whole wedding thing...” You took a quick look at him but immediately dropped your gaze to the ground. 

Idia blushed. “I-It’s okay! D-don’t worry about it… I-” 

Come on, say more! Ugh… I hate myself. 

You pulled at our vest and slipped something out of it—an envelope. “I… wanted to tell you everything through a letter.”

Tell me what?

“But… Eliza came and took you before I could give it to you.” You avoided his eyes as your fingers tightened around the white envelope. Idia’s breath hitched, expecting you to crumple it. But to his relief, your fingers relaxed. Then, as if it took all your courage, you handed it to him with a slightly shaky hand. 

“It's old-fashioned, I know but yeah... just read it!” 

In the hall’s silence, he could hear your breaths quicken once again. 

“Th-That’s all I came here for. Goodbye!” 

Before he knew it, you were running off. Your arm waved frantically from a distance as every step carried you farther, farther away. He lifted his arm to wave back but you never saw it. You were gone and all he had left was the letter. 

His curiosity made him impatient. With fast and purposeful steps, he sprinted on the way to his room. What did he feel? Excitement? Dread? An unpleasant mix of both? His room, feeling farther than usual, was the only safe place he could experience whatever it was.

After a lot of walking and almost slipping over someone’s spilled soda (he cursed the shoes those ghosts made him wear. His very own would never fail him like that), he found himself in front of the doors, which slid open, revealing Ortho already inside. 

“You left me there!” Idia huffed. 

“Couples need alone time, brother,” replied his brother, innocently blinking.

“Wh-wha… we’re not a couple!” 

“Hmm? I could’ve sworn the signs were all there...”

A blushing Idia threw off the silly coat those ghosts made him wear and threw it over his desk chair. He sat on the bed, fingers racing to open the envelope. Ortho watched with great interest as two sheets of paper covered in your handwriting slipped out.  

Unfolding the first page, Idia took a deep breath and began reading:

Hey Player 1!

Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight last night. Maybe you can show me your new manga tomorrow? I know how excited you are about it.  I’m writing this while Grim’s asleep. He’ll never let me hear the end of it otherwise. 

I figured that this would be the best way to communicate my thoughts and feelings. This way, you won’t feel pressured to respond immediately. You can open and read it whenever you’re ready, in the safety of your room. I know it’s old-fashioned. But to me, a handwritten letter feels more personal—like I’m giving you a piece of myself. So here’s that piece of myself. Please, handle it with care. 

Beware. I’m about to get sentimental and mushy and cheesy and everything you cringe at! I hope you read on, anyway. 

First of all, I want you to know how much I admire you. Right from before we were friends, I was impressed by your intelligence and knowledge with technology. I’ve seen nothing like it back home. I always wondered why you hide yourself and those talents away. My curiosity drove me to want to get to know you. I’m glad I did. 

You were closed off. To you, I was just another normie. Do you remember? Your dismissal annoyed me, so I challenged you to a 1v1 match. I thought I was good, but you crushed me. I guess that’s where it started: our friendship… and something else. Soon, I found more and more reasons to admire you. Honestly, I find more with each passing day. 

I should have known, right from when songs started to make me think of you, that I was falling. I started to see you as, well, more than a friend. Your quick mind, your expressive hair, your soothing voice, your precious grin… your voice when you talk about things you love, your love of cats, and your candy, and your cold hands… Okay, I think you get the point.  But if you have time, I could go on forever. 

There’s something different in your eyes when you truly care. You say you’re bad at being sentimental and feel-y, but that’s okay! We express love differently. I see your love pour out in the way you perfect every detail on Ortho’s modifications, anyway. I’m sure he knows how much you love him. 

I want you to know how special you are to me. You’re so amazing, Idia. I wish you knew that. I want you to know that. 

I know it’s hopeless. You’re the young master to a noble house. I’m just… me. A homeless, magicless foreigner with nothing to my name. Nothing to offer but my feelings (and my superb gaming skills of course). I’m not asking nor expecting to be your special someone. But hey, I can be a top-tier teammate. A worthwhile BG opponent. A movie buddy. And most importantly—a friend. 

Our time together has always been a highlight of my difficult stay in NRC. The times we hung out in your room were my refuge from the outside world’s demands. Somewhere I was untouchable and safe from harm. Safe from demeaning remarks. Even if you never get back to this letter and decide you never want to see me again, I will always treasure the matches we played, the movies we watched, the candy we shared, and the memes we laughed over.

That’s all of it, really. Please don’t sleep too late. Watch your sugar intake. Listen to Ortho. Take care of yourself. 

Oh, and enjoy your new manga. 

Your best raid teammate, 

Player 2

Wide amber yellow eyes glistened as they repeatedly flitted over the words. A shaky thumb caressed the smudged ink from where a fallen teardrop marked the paper. Burning different shades at once, fire-hair slowly released itself from the tie it was forced into. Now free, it swathed Idia’s back in warmth like it should.

“Th-This can’t be real!” he sputters as he waved your letter around like he was fanning a bonfire. In a way, he was. 

However, Idia knew his hair wasn’t the only thing that kept him warm. He stared at the letter and it stared back. But no matter how many times he blinked, the words remained the same. You felt the same. 

“What have I done to unlock this route?” Idia clutched the letter to his chest, but noticed he was wrinkling it. “Nooo!” He quickly smoothed it over again. 

“They… they like-like me!” Saying it out loud made it more real. It was a fact! It was true all this time! Thinking of everything you did tonight: rescuing him like a true hero, running after him because you couldn’t keep your feelings secret for much longer… he couldn’t stop himself from swooning. 

“Like-like… did you mean love?”

“L-love?” Idia exclaimed. He suddenly felt dizzy, so he fell back onto his bed and talked to the ceiling. “It’s too early for that word!” 

But he knew the effect which that word had on him didn’t go unnoticed by Ortho. Well, at least he knew now that Idia wasn’t suffering from an illness. Can love be considered an illness? Idia recalls a documentary that said it was. Back then, he ate that up. Love made people do crazy things, after all. 

But ‘illness’ wasn’t an apt word to describe this dizzying happiness surging through him, was it? It was way too wonderful for a word like that.

“I’m so glad the Prefect finally confessed!” Ortho bounced happily, reflecting his brother’s joy. “I knew they would do it soon!” 

Mouth hanging open, Idia looked at his brother. “Wait… you knew?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Ortho giggled. “Vitals can’t keep secrets!” 

***

Contrary to plan, Idia didn’t touch his video games, nor gorge on candy, nor cry himself to sleep. Instead, he replayed the night’s events in his head over and over like a song he couldn’t get enough of. It had been two hours and thirty-five minutes since he read your letter. Two hours and thirty-five minutes since his world was turned upside down. In his reflection on the dark screen of his off tablet, he almost looked different. He saw someone who was admired. Wanted. Loved. 

Was that what you saw whenever you looked at him?

Ortho told him what the next move was: asking you out. He was scared. You might have changed his view of himself a bit, but that didn’t mean he was suddenly ready to go the distance and conquer the world, or whatever those overenthusiastic extroverts say. The night was still too much, and maybe he still needed those three weeks of being a complete hermit. 

Okay. Maybe with your help, I'll get there little by little. 

Perhaps you could watch a movie in his room... Would you be okay with that? You always hung out with him in there. But what if you wanted to do something outside? Eh, maybe it all didn’t matter, as long as you were together. 

When he put on his headphones, he knew which song to choose right away. There was one forgotten song in his music library that he couldn’t bring himself to delete. A love song. It wasn’t a bad one, because Idia would never keep a bad song in his music library. It’s just that the lyrics  were too happy—its singer so blissfully in love that it amplified the loneliness that had always been there.

Now playing: “Immortal Flowers” — SERPINA

This time, it’ll be different. Tonight, he puts it on repeat. He listens to it with a head for once clear of uncertainties. Instead, he thinks of fluffy otome scenarios. 

That date idea would have to wait. For now, he’ll imagine and dream of you, with your warm smile and open arms—skin basking in the glow of blue fire light. 

THE END. 

~

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

There you have it! Thank you for reading. I had fun writing this 4-part series. Would love to hear some feedback! 

Btw, the title of the song Idia listens to at the end comes from “Conversations with Persephone” by Nikita Gill. “What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.” 

[alkhale]

change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3 

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life. 

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate. 

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well. 

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive. 

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen? 

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you. 

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and… 

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with. 

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

 You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk? 

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route… it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you. 

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell. 

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!

[mxvladdy]

I can't stress enough 'wows' in tve way you write along with the fact that it's you first few posts (i think? Pls correct me) can you do luci mammon and satan with a reader who takes naps bc of overthinking? They just tug their sleeves and shot them a tired look, while looking down shying away. Also, have a nice day and take the time to be yourself!

Aw thanks fam! I am fairly new to posting my works, I tried twice before this with two different writing blogs but I deleted them both bc I felt discouraged. I’m older now and I feel a lot better about my writing, so third time the charm and all that lol! I’m so glad you like my writing! I know I need some work on grammar and expanding my vocabulary.  

This was a super cute prompt ;.; I hope I did it justice!

Lucifer

He is a mix of jealous and pissed. He wishes he could fall asleep so easily when he gets inundated with too many things at once. But also- just don’t do that? Where were your manners?

He starts noticing your little peculiarity in class. Specifically that you tend to nod off in advance alchemy and rune scripting. You were being so studious, jotting down notes, ask great questions. Next thing he knows you're out like a light.

He is shocked for a moment before he will wake you up. Your wide doe-eyed frown does nothing to him. JK his hearts clench at your wounded look.

He makes the other brothers report to him about your behavior and odd sleep habit. Were you ill? Was this just something humans did? Devils, was Belphie rubbing off on you?

They all say the same thing. One moment you are working hard or talking to them about a topic you are passionate about, and the next you are yawning hard enough to pop your jaw and shyly asking to lay down.

Well-he can’t have that.

If you are going to fall asleep around anyone it’s going to be him.

He sets up remedial lessons with you after dinner to make up for the work slept through. You sit by him at his long ornate desk while he tutors you on what you missed.

You weren't having any problems,  you even finished a few pages. He is proud and then-

“I can almost hear those gears slowing my dear.” Lucifer interrupts himself mid-explanation of Zosimos of Panopolis and Maria the Prophetess's theories of alchemy in human medicine.

You jerk awake and turn to him blinking owlishly. "Yeah, I just need to lay down." You admit.

Lucifer eyes you critically. This was sudden, were you ill? You had been fine moments ago, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. He cups your face, turning it from side to side. "So suddenly? We haven't even discussed the properties of mercury yet." You hum letting your eyes droop. He was always so warm.

"Hour nap break? Please?" His stern gaze softens at how your nose scrunches up cutely as you yawn.

“Very well.” He relents letting you slick over to his couch. You flop over face first with a grunt of satisfaction. You toss and turn for a while, moving his pillows around unsatisfied.

“Luci-” You call in defeat. He ignores you at first. If you wanted to nap fine, he would get some work done in the meantime. “Luci~” You say again. You could see his brow twitching. “Lu-”

“My dear,” He shoots you a withering look. “You are treading a thin line. If you have the energy to call for me you have the energy to study.” You say nothing at his brisk tone, instead of opening your arms to him to join you. “You tempt me.” He purrs hiding his smile behind his paperwork.

“Learned from the best.” Lucifer shakes his head laughing at your smug reply. He glances over you to his grandfather clock. Hmmm-perhaps he could spare a few minutes. He rises elegantly discarding his tie and waistcoat to his abandoned chair. Running a hand through his hair he snorts at your little whistle.

“Move.” He commands. You shake your head patting your belly. “I will crush you.” He laughs but lays over you regardless.

“Good-you’re warm.” You say muffled in his shirt. Wrapping your arms around his middle you drift off. Lucifer holds you close, running a still gloved hand up and down your side. Perhaps he should bring out some more complex topics next time. If this was the outcome-

Mammon

He noticed you get drowsy before in class. Your cute little head jerks as you nod off, hands rubbing at your face as you fight to stay awake before giving in to the need to sleep. It was adorable- not that he was watching you because of that! He was just doing his job of looking out for you

Ye-that was all.

Honestly, he thought you were just like him. He never cared for the books being forced on him in class. Boring useless crap in his opinion. He much rather sleep through a lecture on stats too.

Now books on photography? That's where it's at. He has a legitimate passion for it.

He likes being behind the camera just as much as he likes being in front of it. Though he doesn't snap photos often.

He doesn't need more beratement from his brothers than he already gets. Sides, he just feels like they would look down at this like everything else he does.

He'll share his hobby with you though. You at least seem interested in it. He'll show you his collection of vintage to high-tech cameras and talk your ear off about the makes, models, and features.

You nod along and ask questions from time to time, smiling along with Mammon while he prattles on about color theory next to you on the floor.

He was just getting to Auguste Lumiére when he feels a gentle bump on his shoulder.

"O-oi!" Mammon starts, shaking his shoulder to rouse you. You look up at him, blinking the sleep from your eyes. "Was...was I that boring?" He deflates a little, all previous excitement gone in a flash. You had seemed so interested...

"What? Oh, no. No Mammon I'm sorry. It's really all fascinating," You grab for his sleeve so he couldn't run away. "It was just a lot of information all at once. I just got a bit overwhelmed."

"So you fall asleep?" He raises a brow not believing you for a second. Who falls asleep when something is interesting? He'll admit he's fallen asleep while listening to Levi talk about a new anime or Asmo with a make-up release.  But that's because it had been boring. "Is that like a human thing?"

You shrug snuggling closer. "I don't know- but it's a me thing. Give me five? I'd love to hear you talk more about your collection, promise."

Mammon glows scarlet at your words. "Of course you do!" He puffs out his chest excitedly. “I got great taste.” You nod into his shirt before drifting off again. He tilts his head slightly to look at you chuckling internally when your breathing and heartbeat slow down. Damn, out in seconds. Well, better get comfortable.

Uncrossing his long legs he picks up the camera he had been showing you. The old Polaroid lens reflects his face back at him. He remembered the day Land had debuted this marvel of engineering. He just had had to get his hands on one. It was useless now, he had much better quality cameras than this old thing, but he remembered you reminiscing about your human friends and their portable camera. Would you take some pictures with him too? He would take one now, but the sound of the flash would definitely wake you up.

He fiddles with it for a few more minutes, opening and closing the film canister and checking for any parts that needed fixing as he waits. You stir at his side a few minutes later with a little mew of satisfaction. Mammon hears your joints creak and pop as you stretch. "Morning." He says sarcastically, earning himself a light punch to his shoulder. "Ready to continue?"

You nod eagerly, perky and aware. At least for the moment.

Satan

He didn't really notice at first the pattern of your behavior.

You would come over for book club. Which was really just him reading his current novel and you picking something at random to gain a little random knowledge.

You would find a comfortable position on his bed, curl up nice and small and read. Then after a bit yawn and start to snooze.

He first thought it was the atmosphere of his room. It was quiet, warm, and the sound of flickering candles and the rustle of paper sometimes caused him to doze too.

But when it starts happening outside of class he notices.

Hmmm….this is new.

He looks it up in his human anatomy books and finds nothing.

He's not particularly worried about you per se. You always bounce back quickly after a quick snooze.

Then you start dozing when he is talking… >:(

Like his brother/dad he is a little miffed at first but then your behavior reminds him a cat and he loves you 10x harder now

Satan stops in his pacing of the back gardens. His book of poetry hanging limply in his hand. He had been reciting some of the most fascinating lines of work from Lord Byron's later works and wanted a human's perspective. He had thought you were interested. You never complained before when he asked you out here. Perhaps you were just being polite all those times before. Anything to soothe wrath. He snaps his book shut sharply, take some perverse satisfaction in the way you start out of your light sleep at the noise.

"Why'd you stop?" You ask wiping at your face.

"No point talking to someone that doesn't wish to listen." He snaps tersely.

"Oh-Satan, no I was listening. It...it just got to be so much so fast." You flush. “You had some great points going, I just needed a minute.” He watches your eyes grow heavy again, and it dawns on him.

"Do you just sleep when overwhelmed?" He asks incredulously. In all his years with humans, this was new. You shrug making grabby hands for him to move closer. He scoffs but moves into your space. You grab at the hem of his shirt and pull him down to sit next to you. He goes willingly getting comfortable by your side. You eye his lap longingly, hands clutching around his coat sleeve. “Fine-” He rolls his eyes. “Come here you odd thing.” You smile in triumph and crawl into his lap. Once settled you nuzzle into his warm chest.

“Wake me up in ten? I want to hear more about your conversations with Byron.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” He kisses the top of your forehead, opening his book to read again with one hand. You hum at his soft kiss, returning it sleepily with one of your own before passing out again. Ten minutes go by in an instant and Satan looks down at your peaceful face. He smiles to himself, perhaps he’ll let you sleep for a little while longer. You’d need it for his next point.  

[oh-for-merlins-sake]

WAR | gw

a/n: hi all! this is my first stab at a george weasley x reader fanfic and i hope you like it! i had oodles and oodles of fun writing it and i can’t wait to write more. feedback is always appreciated (if anyone’s happened to find this)! i would be profoundly honored to dedicate this piece to @ickle-ronniekins who i’ve been secretly reading for months now, and who’s inspired me to start writing again! cheers! x

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: mild swearing, mild teenage angst.

┈┈┈┈

“If Wood snaps at me one more time about that stupid bloody bludger I missed, I may just whack him off his broom with one,” George grumbled, scooping a spoonful of porridge into his bowl.

“You’d think we were playing for the World Cup the way he’s been acting,” Fred complained.

Gryffindor was fresh off a losing Quidditch match with Slytherin, which did not sit well with their captain, Oliver Wood. Granted, it was Wood’s final year as Captain, but that didn’t necessarily mean that the House Cup was a life-or-death matter as he’d been treating it. Much to his team’s dismay, this meant that he was particularly critical of every minute mistake and trivial trip-up.

As the twins grumbled and griped about Wood and his overbearing spirits, Marcus Flint, Slytherin captain, strode into the Great Hall, boasting about their recent victory.

“As if Wood needed something else to set him off,” Fred said with a dramatic eye roll.

Flint continued arrogantly prattling on near the entrance, making sure that every student who made their way in that morning could hear all about the knockout game they’d had.

“Wish there was a way to shut him up,” Fred continued.

As Wood defiantly stood from the table to storm over to Flint and share a piece of his mind, inspiration struck George.

“Oh Freddie boy, there surely is a way!” He grinned mischievously before whipping around and aiming a quiet Langlock jinx at Flint.

Just as the spell shot from the tip of his wand, Flint rushed over to the Slytherin table at the beck and call of his girlfriend, causing the jinx to fire at an unsuspecting, innocent victim: you.

George felt his insides twist and turn at the sight of you grasping for your mates in a pure state of panic.

“George!” Fred scolded.

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, you prat!”

“Well, fix it!”

“I don’t know how!”

You clawed at your mouth in a desperate attempt to translate your current predicament to your mates now that your tongue was currently locked against the roof of your mouth. As your mates whirled around you in confusion, you spotted the flustered twins as they bickered relentlessly and poorly obscured their gestures towards you. You violently pointed in their direction in an accusatory fashion, which your mates understood without hesitation.

If looks could kill, they would’ve been murdered on the spot.

“You barbaric prats!” Your best mate shrieked before escorting you to the hospital wing.

Fred and George grimaced at one another and gulped down their fears of what was to come.

┈┈┈┈

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning, have you?” George anxiously asked Fred as they crept into the Great Hall.

“I haven’t,” he confirmed, claiming a spot at their table. “If she comes after us, I will kick your arse into next week, understood?”

George repeatedly scanned the room for you as he fidgeted with the toast on his plate. He was much too fretful to consume even a single bite of breakfast.

When he’d finally decided that you might not be coming to breakfast that morning (perhaps you were still in the hospital wing?), he gave up and dug in. It wasn’t until Fred dropped his utensils with a loud clang that George snapped his head up to find you barreling into the Great Hall with a look of fury and determination.

“Shit!” Fred and George immediately scrambled for their book bags, cursing at one another to hurry up already!

“You pathetic little morons!” You picked up the pace and brandished your wand. “Opuggno!”

You sent gargantuan heaps of porridge hurdling out of their bowls and in their direction. As they each made a frantic attempt to dodge the porridge, they accidentally collided with one another, setting them in perfect place for your attack.

“I’m going to bloody murder you, George,” Fred grumbled as porridge began seeping into every crevice of his body.

George wiped the goop out his eyes to find you hovering over them, wand still at bay.

“I dare you to jinx me again — see what happens,” you threatened.

George stammered for a response but couldn’t seem to find the proper words.

“That’s what I thought,” you stated triumphantly.

You swiftly turned on your heel, strutting towards your friends who were jovially applauding your attack.

“You chose the wrong one to jinx, mate,” Fred spat, climbing to his feet.

“It was an accident!” George exclaimed in exasperation.

“Which is what your death will look like once I’m done with you!”

┈┈┈┈

“Y/N, do you really want to spend your time this year vigilantly fending them off? I think they’ve been punished enough, don’t you?” Your best mate, Caroline, complained as the train pulled into Hogsmeade.

Truth be told, she was probably right.

The remainder of your fifth year was spent casting foul looks at the twins whenever they approached you, and — okay, maybe you sent another jinx or two their way since the porridge fiasco, but you were quite frightened when they jinxed you! You weren’t familiar with the Langlock jinx; you almost thought someone was suffocating you! Not to mention the awful feeling of Madam Pomfrey un-sticking your tongue, or the dreadful side effect of altered taste that lasted a month after.

One thing that retained its sweet taste, however, was revenge.

But perhaps Caroline was right. After all, they’d certainly been walking on eggshells around you since then. It was highly unlikely they’d cause you any more trouble.

You sighed, hauling your trunk off the train. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of you claimed a carriage up to the school grounds, happy to breathe in the fresh, crisp air after the exhaustingly long train ride in.

“You don’t think I was too hard on them, do you?” You asked.

“Well,” Caroline said as the carriage rolled along the path, “Perhaps a tad.”

“All right, I’ll bloody apologize,” you decided.

“Good! You’ll feel much better once you do!”

Shortly upon arrival, you noticed Fred and George hopping out of the carriage that sat a few ahead of yours, and you figured now might be the best time to end this war before they fled too far away.

“Weasley!” You called, cautiously approaching them.

They simultaneously whipped their heads to face you, eyes widening at your presence.

“Relax, I’m not gonna hex you,” you chuckled.

“To what do we owe the pleasure then?” Fred asked, sternly crossing his arms.

“I wanted to apologize,” you mumbled, glancing up at each of them sheepishly.

“Well, well, well, would you look at that, Georgie! She’s come to apologize,” he teased.

“Oh, just shut up and listen,” you laughed. “I’m really sorry for all of those... gratuitous spells...”

“Oh, you mean like the time you glued my shoes to the floor?” George recalled.

“Or the time you jinxed my quill to bite me during Charms?” Fred reminded.

“Yes, exactly that... I’m sorry,” you said. “Truce?”

They glanced at one another and playfully pondered your request.

“I dunno, Freddie, should we give her another chance?” George asked, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

Fred tapped his chin with his index finger and contorted his face in feigned contemplation.

“Hurry up, won’t you — before I change my mind!”

“All right, all right — truce,” Fred decided, shaking your hand.

“Truce,” George echoed, doing the same.

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders as you all laughed at your previous antics and wandered up the hill with Caroline (who was also quite relieved at the reconciliation).

“For the record,” Fred said, “I never jinxed you. That was all sweet Georgie here!” He ruffled George’s hair with his knuckles.

“Thanks, you prat,” George hissed, shoving Fred off of him.

You laughed and poked George in the ribs. “It’s okay! We’re starting over, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Starting over.”

┈┈┈┈

As the months trickled by, you found yourself spending an increasing amount of time with Fred and George. Whether they were intruding on your late-night study sessions in the library, (“Would you put that bloody book down already!”) or you were all in a fit of laughter by the Black Lake, you genuinely enjoyed their company and couldn’t believe it took you this long to do so.

Despite your growing friendship with Fred, something just clicked with you and George. He often snuck food out of the kitchen for you during those late-night study sessions; and he’d make sure you made it to Herbology before scurrying off to Transfiguration (often resulting in a late arrival); he’d also crumple up silly doodles of Snape during Potions and chuck them onto your desk.

One thing he hadn’t manage to do was ask you to the Yule Ball.

“Mate, you’ve got to ask her soon, or someone else will,” Fred urged.

It was blatantly obvious to Fred that his brother was head over heels for you — no question about it. He also felt quite confident that you felt the same; in fact, he’d likely bet a few galleons on it. Why George couldn’t muster the courage to simply ask you to the ball was beyond him.

So, there the two sat, bickering in the courtyard while you were busy finalizing your Charms essay in the library.

“I’m working on it, all right?” George retorted. “I just haven’t figured out how.”

“Oh, I see,” Fred began with a tinge of sarcasm, “Because saying, ‘Hey, Y/N, would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me’ is simply unsatisfactory.”

George rolled his eyes, fiddling with the strap of his book bag. “I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing,” he murmured. “Don’t want to make things painfully awkward, y’know?”

“You mean in case she says no?”

George nodded as they made their way back into the castle.

“You’re bloody mad if you think she’d turn you down,” Fred said.

As they approached the library to scoop you up for Charms, they noticed you were already headed there with someone else.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Fred groaned as you turned the corner.

“Is that —”

“Pretty Boy Diggory...”

George was already sprinting to catch up, beckoning Fred to do the same.

“What did I tell you, Georgie,” Fred grumbled to himself.

By the time they could slow down and casually approach you, you were standing just outside of the classroom, giggling away with Cedric.

“I’ll see you later?” Cedric asked, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Can’t wait,” you said softly.

He placed a kiss to your cheek before you bashfully ducked into the classroom.

George suddenly felt his stomach sinking to his feet. He thought he might churn if he looked at Cedric any longer. And was he imagining it or were his limbs actually going numb? Maybe he should crawl behind a statue, curl up into a ball, and stay there for the remainder of his education. Yes, that sounded quite appealing in this moment.

Cedric gleefully greeted the twins as he passed them on his way to class, “Morning!”

“Morning,” Fred mumbled, refusing to take his eyes off of George.

Fred nearly dragged George into class, who now sat at his desk, colorless, emotionless, and utterly defeated.

You swiveled around in your chair to face them, waving excitedly.

If you were being honest, you had desperately hoped that George would’ve asked you to the Yule Ball by now, given that there were only a few days left. Once you’d realized that he wasn’t going to ask you (what a foolish thought that was anyways), you figured you might as well scout out other options. When Caroline had causally mentioned that Cedric couldn’t keep his eyes off of you in Herbology, you considered him a perfectly pleasant substitution.

But he wasn’t George.

You were fairly confused when the twins failed to eagerly return your greeting, but you didn’t have much time to ponder that before Professor Flitwick began his lesson.

You slowly turned back around, quite befuddled at their behavior.

Had you done something wrong?

┈┈┈┈

“Quit your worrying — you look beautiful!” Caroline gushed as the two of you skipped down the stairs.

“Thanks,” you said, squeezing her around the shoulder, “So do you!”

You gently lifted the hem of your deep indigo dress as you carefully descended the last of the steps. You straightened the sheer, sparkly layer of tulle that gracefully sat atop your dress and scanned the room for George.

You knew you ought to be looking for Cedric, but George had been acting rather odd since that day in Charms — almost like he’d been avoiding you.

Fred still sat with you by the Black Lake after class, swapping sweets with you, and even tackled his Transfiguration homework with you one night in the library. But encounters with George seemed few and far between since then.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it may have been the result of something you’d been dreading: he’d found his date to the Yule Ball, and they’d been inseparable since.

Cedric called your name, snapping you back to reality.

“You look stunning,” he said, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it.

You blushed and returned the compliment, coyly glancing around the room for any sign of Fred or George. You spotted Fred with Angelina making their way into the Great Hall and — there! You caught another head of fiery red hair ambling along beside of him.

Thankfully, Cedric had been momentarily distracted by a few of his mates to notice you standing on your tippy toes in a failed attempt to catch sight of whom George was with.

“Shall we?” Cedric asked, extending his arm for the taking.

You absent-mindedly intertwined your arm with his as he escorted you into the Great Hall. It was only during your opening dance with Cedric that you laid eyes on George’s date: Katie Bell.

You subconsciously frowned as you noticed George was far too preoccupied with the floor in front of him to notice you in your pretty gown, hair flowing behind you, twirling around — all in an effort to impress him. What was worse was the fact that Katie was practically sitting on him with how close she was... barf.

Before you knew it, minutes had turned into hours, and you were considerably exhausted by Cedric toting you around, introducing you to this person and that one. Keeping up a cheerful attitude while George danced around the room with someone else was particularly draining. But a Triwizard champion had no business mingling with a mope! So you kept up appearances.

But if Cedric spun you in one more circle, you thought you might just lose your dinner.

Unbeknownst to you, George would’ve agreed with your internal thoughts. He too was exhausted; exhausted by Katie’s constant, mindless chatter and her forced laughs at any and every comment he made. And as if watching you fawn over Cedric for the past few hours wasn’t bad enough, it didn’t boost his spirits to listen to Fred snapping at him every chance he got, practically begging George to intervene.

When you noticed Angelina and Katie heading for the girl’s room, you excused yourself from Cedric and his mates.

George was going to talk to you, damn it.

As you swiftly approached their table, Fred kicked George underneath and blurted, “She’s coming this way!”

“Fred, George! Fancy seeing you here!” You exclaimed in an overly cheerful tone.

You plopped down into the chair beside of George and took a swig of your Butterbeer. He furrowed his brows and crossed his arms.

“You look nice,” Fred complimented in an attempt to encourage George to say something similar.

“Thank you, Freddie, so do you,” you stated plainly.

An awkward silence ensued as George fiddled with his glass, avoiding eye contact.

You cleared your throat and tapped his shoulder. “How’s your night going, George?”

He seemed startled by your touch. He straightened up, pondering how to converse with you when he was so positively peeved by you prancing around with Cedric.

“Oh, it’s going fine,” he’d decided on. “Katie’s really wonderful — have you two met? I’m sure you’ve seen her around; very pretty, a little taller than you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but she’s also a wicked Quidditch player! I know you said you’d like to hone your Quidditch skills sometime — sure she’d be chuffed to teach someone with zero experience. Also fairly sure she’s top of your Herbology class, so I guess you two must have met by now!”

“What are you playing at?” You snapped.

Fred’s eyes widened as he grabbed his glass and announced, “Going to get a refill!”

“What d’you mean?” George asked innocently.

“Yes, I’ve met Katie Bell, and yes, I know she’s wonderful. I’m sure that’s why you asked her,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“How’s your night going with Pretty Boy Diggory? Seems like a drag to me,” George sneered.

“It’s actually been quite lovely,” you lied. “Really knows how to treat a lady, I must say! You know, when he asked me, he gave me a sunflower, which is my favorite! He’s also very charming, and witty, too.”

“Well, I’m glad someone finally asked you,” he spat.

“Excuse me?”

“I was starting to worry you might never find someone!”

“Says the bloke who couldn’t score a date until the day before!”

Tears were welling up in your eyes and you begged them not to spill over. Just as you were about to deliver your next jab, Cedric made his way back to you.

“George,” he greeted with a polite nod before turning to you. “Thought we might sneak away to the gardens, love. What do you think?”

“I would love to!” You exclaimed defiantly. You tossed back your Butterbeer and slammed your empty glass on the table before placing a hard kiss to Cedric’s lips.

“Have a nice night, Georgie!”

If George had been thinking a little more clearly, if he hadn’t just had a tough row with you, he may have thought better than to do what he did next.

“Furnunculus!” He hissed, wand clearly aimed at Cedric.

You gasped as boils began erupting onto Cedric’s face, rapidly spreading down to his neck. You turned to see George storming out of the Great Hall, tucking his wand into his robes. You quickly dragged Cedric out into the corridor.

“Madam Pomfrey will be able to fix you right up, dear. I’m so sorry about this!”

It was quite difficult for Cedric to do anything other than moan in agony as you escorted him to the hospital wing.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey assured you that Cedric would be well in no time, you made your way back down to the Great Hall, only to find that the festivities were wrapping up. You spotted George sulking up the stairs with Fred and practically leapt up the steps towards him.

Once you were close enough, you spun him around to face you.

His eyes widened as you whipped out your wand and said tearfully, “This is the last time you ruin my day with a stupid jinx.”

Before George could say anything, you ambushed him with a gnarly Bat-Bogey hex. Tears streamed down your face as he flailed around.

Fred sighed at you. “Can’t you two just grow up already?”

You pushed past him and sprinted down the stairs. You felt like the oxygen in your body was slowly leaking out of you; you desperately needed fresh air. As you burst into the courtyard, you collapsed onto a bench with no one to cry with but yourself.

Your ears were ringing violently, and you felt dizzy and helpless as you tried to catch your breath. This is not how you’d envisioned your night.

You wanted nothing more than to fall into George’s arms and to confess to him how you’d felt — how you’d felt for the past few months now. You wanted to tell him how the only thing you could think of the entire night was how you’d give a thousand galleons to be the one twirling around with him instead of Katie. How dreadfully boring you found Cedric compared to him. How sorry you were that you didn’t wait for him.

You were heartbroken and alone.

You weren’t sure if the two of you would ever recover.

┈┈┈┈

“He’s staring again,” Caroline mumbled.

“Well, staring won’t get him very far, will it?” You said, twiddling with your quill as you flipped through your Herbology notes.

Christmas break was over, and it was time to get ready for your N.E.W.T.s, so whenever you had a free moment to brush up on your studies, you took advantage of it.

Caroline had pointed out several times during this train ride how often George would glance your way and seemingly battle with himself about coming over to talk to you.

After the Yule Ball, the two of you made it a point to avoid each other. While at surface value it seemed that you two were avoiding each other out of spite, truthfully, you were both avoiding each other out of sheer embarrassment. You both knew you’d overreacted, and you both knew you should’ve just come to terms with your feelings for one another right then and there. But no, just as Fred had implied, you’d both acted rather childishly.

The remainder of that year saw Fred and Caroline constantly devising ways to get you and George to talk to one another, but each attempt was met with failure.

That summer felt awfully empty without George, even if Fred had mentioned him in a letter every now and then.

When neither of you initiated conversation during the first half of your final year, you became increasingly anxious at how long you’d have to cope with the consequences of your immature behavior.

“What do you expect him to do, Y/N?” Caroline asked.

“I dunno,” you earnestly replied, “I guess I just want him to be honest with me. I’m tired of this ridiculous back and forth and tip-toeing around what could be.”

“Well, were you ever honest with him?”

You loved Caroline, but sometimes you despised her brutal honesty.

“No,” you sheepishly admitted.

“Well, all right then.”

Just as you resumed your light reading, you noticed your quill transforming in your hand. You gazed at it in confusion and watched in awe as it slowly became a beautiful, bright sunflower.

Caroline chuckled lightly as the heat rushed to your face. You glanced up at George, who peered at you apologetically from his seat and bashfully waved at you.

You couldn’t resist breaking out into a ridiculous grin as you warmly waved back.

George let out a small laugh as you turned back to Caroline.

“That seemed pretty honest to me,” she triumphantly stated.

“Oh, hush, you,” you giggled.

Once classes resumed, your time was fairly consumed by your studies. You rarely saw George outside of Charms, and that wasn’t exactly a prime spot for conversation, given that this year you were practically sprinting from the greenhouse to get to Charms on time. You often tried to catch him in the Great Hall or in the corridor, but your schedules outside of Charms seemed so misaligned.

But, boy, did you long to talk to him.

Every once in a blue moon, you’d find another sunflower mysteriously appearing on your desk, or on top of your book in the library, or quite literally replacing your breakfast plate. You began viewing these occurrences as George’s way of communicating with you when your schedules seemed hell-bent on keeping you apart.

When you finally enlisted in Dumbledore’s Army, the universe sang in celebration.

It wasn’t until your first meeting that you realized you might actually stand a chance of sitting down and having a conversation with him. Maybe not during the meeting, but certainly on the way out!

After an exhilarating lesson, you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins. You’d successfully conjured a Patronus and expertly countered some spells that Caroline sent barreling your way. There was only one thing that could make this even better.

“George!” You called to him as he began shuffling out of the room.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to you with his jaw slightly slacked. He playfully pointed to himself, turning around then back again. “Are you talking to me?”

You laughed lightly, which he returned. You cautiously approached him, struggling to make eye contact.

“Listen, George — ”

“Y/N, I — ”

You both laughed again.

“Go ‘head,” you said.

The last few stragglers made their way out of the Room of Requirement until it was just the two of you. Even Fred and Caroline had long gone.

“Y/N... I’m really sorry about... well, about everything...” There was a hint of sadness in his voice that you’d never heard before.

“George — ”

“No, really. I’m sorry I acted like such an arse last year. It’s just, when I saw you with Cedric — ”

It felt weird hearing his name now.

“I felt sick. I had always known that you were different — that you were special. But I never fully acknowledged that until I saw him kissing you in the hallway. I wanted to evaporate into thin air and pretend I’d never existed. I couldn’t bring myself to even come within a few meters of you because it just felt like a wicked punch to the gut.”

You frowned in sympathy. If only he’d known how you’d felt.

“And then at the Yule Ball,” he continued, “Blimey, did you look bloody beautiful. I’d never seen anything so angelic in my life. And to see that tainted by him gushing over you and parading you around nearly killed me. I would’ve given anything for you to be dancing with me instead.”

“George — ” You tried to speak again.

“Please, let me finish,” he begged. “I acted like a right prat that night. I was angry that he’d beaten me to the punch. I was angry that you’d ended up with him and not me. I let my anger overwhelm my senses and thought that maybe if I made you feel just as angry as I’d felt, that maybe you’d realize I’d been there all along. But instead, it was a pathetic idea, and instead I made you feel small. And Merlin, Y/N, I don’t ever want to see you look at me that way again — not in my whole life.”

He gripped your shoulders, and you were worried he might be able to hear your heart pounding in your chest, begging to burst from inside of you and profess its love once and for all.

“All I care about is what makes you happy. And if that was him, then I should’ve let it be. I’m sorry about what happened, I’m sorry I can’t bring him back, but Y/N... I would give up everything I own — which I know doesn’t seem like much — just to make you happy. If I have to conjure up a thousand sunflowers every day for the rest of my life just to see you smile, then you’ll never go a day without one.”

Your head was reeling and you could have sworn the room was spinning profusely around you. You clutched his hands on your shoulders for balance and felt a single tear roll down your flushed face.

“George, I’m so, so sorry,” you blurted out as you began to cry.

His body collided with yours as he embraced you with the force of a million supernovae bursting through the universe.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated, burying your face into his chest.

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay,” he whispered.

You pulled away. “No, George, I need you to know — I would’ve given everything to be your date that night. Day in and day out, I daydreamed about what it would be like to be your date to the Yule Ball. I desperately wanted to go with you... but as it got closer and closer, I gave up. I went with the first person who asked me, and I am so sorry. I should’ve waited for you!”

George gently held the sides of your face, wiping your tears away.

“And those things I said about him,” you continued, “I only said them because I was hurt that Katie Bell got to dance with you and hold you and laugh with you, and I wanted nothing more than do those things myself. I didn’t feel anything for him, George! I only wanted you. And I’m sorry that I hexed you after that, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner — ”

Before you could utter another word, George crashed his lips onto yours, and you nearly melted in his arms. As your lips moved in synchrony, fireworks exploded in your heart and a symphony of bliss echoed inside your head. This was the feeling you’d been yearning for; this was the little piece of your soul that had been missing; this was you and George Weasley and nobody else; this was pure, unadulterated, head-over-heels love.

You both laughed as you peppered kisses across each other’s lips.

“Is this our formal peace treaty, Weasley?” You teased.

He pressed another kiss to your lips before biting his lip in thought. “Bound by one condition, I suppose.”

“And may I ask what that condition might be?” You giggled.

“Be my girlfriend, yeah?” He murmured against your lips.

“Oh, all right!”

George draped his arms around your waist, scooping you up as he continued indulging in the sweet taste of your kisses.

It seems as though two of you did recover.

The war was over.

[punchdrunkdoc]

Given To Fly

Chapter 4: The Girl In His Bedroom

Previous instalments:

Chapter 1: The Girl At The Bar & Chapter 2: The Girl In The Lab here

Chapter 3: The Girl On The Fire Escape here

TASM! Peter Parker x Original female character

Summary: After the events of Spiderman: No Way Home, Peter 3 is determined to make some changes to his life. It starts with a new job, and a chance meeting with a beautiful stranger in a bar.

Notes: The lonely, somewhat tortured TASM!/Andrew Garfield version of Peter Parker in Spiderman: No Way Home broke my heart a bit. This is my attempt to give him his happy ending.

I can’t say too much, as there’s a mystery at the heart of this tale that I don’t want to spoil.

But I can say this will be a multi-part story with a slow burn, enemies-to-lovers romance with an OC character (the x reader format doesn't work for this particular story - sorry!)

Also available on AO3

Operation Charm Offensive was a bust.

For several days in a row he’d tried to engage Jane in conversation, all to no avail.

On Monday morning, he timed it so that he bumped into her as she entered the building. “Hi, how was your weekend?” he asked, following her to the security station.  

She looked at him briefly….then just kept walking.

On Tuesday, he found her alone in her lab. Noticing the Mandalorian-themed calendar tacked to the wall above her computer he tried to use it to find some common ground. “Hey, Baby Yoda! Love that guy. What do you think is going to happen next season?”

She lifted her head away from her microscope, looked at him…then just kept working.

He tried harder. “I, uh, wouldn’t have pegged you for a Star Wars fan. But then, you are a scientist. And we’re a nerdy bunch, kinda by default,” he prattled on, glancing around for inspiration. That’s when he noticed the Baby Yoda stuffed toy on the unoccupied desk next to hers. And the Din Djarin figurine on the windowsill. Shit, maybe it wasn’t even her calendar!

Knowing from her gifts to Kevin that she was a fan of fantasy novels, he tried using that on Wednesday.

“Hey, Jane,” he started, catching her in the corridor. “I’m in a bit of a reading slump - got any recommendations? I love anything space opera-y, high fantasy, you name it.”

She huffed out an exasperated breath, shook her head and pushed passed him.

So yeah, it was not going well.

Until Thursday.

And that was more out of luck than any charming intervention on his part.

He was sitting in the break room with a few of the data geeks, leaning so far back in one of the chairs that the two front legs were off the ground. Frowning at the day’s crossword in his NYT app, he absentmindedly called out for help on 68-across. “Hey, Steve, what’s a ‘muscle targeted by military presses’? Starts with D.”

“Deltoid,” a voice replied.

But it wasn’t Steve.

Peter’s head shot up from his phone and he met the eyes of Jane. She was standing by the countertop, waiting for her food to finish zapping in the microwave.

He quickly glanced back to his phone, checking that it fit. Which, of course, it did.

“Thanks,” he called out, looking up at her again.

“Thursday’s are always a killer.” She shrugged, grabbed her food and walked out of the room.

Peter stared at the doorway, long after she’d exited.

Huh. So that’s what it took.

He needed to engage her intellect, not her interests.

He could work with that.

———

“Spelunker’s aid.”

“I’m not going to give you the answer, Peter.”

“Ok. How about just the spelling of Ghandi’s first name. I know it, but just help me spell it.”

“No, that’s cheating.”

Peter grinned at her prim tone. They were on the roof of the GenTech building, sprawled out in the office chairs someone had dragged up a few weeks when the hot weather kicked in.

It was now their spot.

Their battleground.

Where they met daily to complete the crossword, racing against each other to finish.  

It had taken about a week of ‘engaging her intellect’ through crossword clues before she felt comfortable in his presence. But the real breakthrough came when he engaged her competitive spirit.

Which was fierce.

All it took was casually mentioning that he’d managed to get the previous day’s puzzle solved in under 12 minutes.

“What? No. How is that possible?” She spluttered.

He laughed. “Because I’m a genius. Why, how long did it take you?”

She flicked through the app and sighed at the stats page. “15 minutes, 34 seconds.”

He laughed again.

She scowled at him. “I have a disadvantage being British - half the clues are specific to America. And I bet you googled half the answers.”

His hands went to his chest in fake outrage. “How dare you malign my honour!”

She gave him the faintest smile at that. Not wanting to squander the opportunity, Peter offered a suggestion. “If you don’t believe me, here’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow lunchtime, we’ll duel it out.”

“Duel it out?” She repeated, looking sceptical.

“Yeah. You and me. Phones on the table, crossword apps open. Whoever solves it first is declared the champion.”

“Okay, you’re on.”

She won the first round. And the second. But he stopped her making it three in a row. And on it went, until the duels lost some of their competitive edge and became merely an excuse to spend time together.

Which they did.

Every lunchtime.

It was always the best 30 minutes of his day.

“What’d you get up to last night,” Peter asked, filling in the solution for 5-down.

“Not much. You?” She replied absentmindedly, her focus on her phone screen.

Peter had noticed that when she was in the throes of crossword puzzle concentration, she let her guard down…and actually talked to him.

“Not much.”

“Hmmm.”

So, yeah, it wasn’t always scintillating, deep conversation, but she'd started to open up to him.

They were becoming friends.

But he still hesitated before asking his next question, worried it was too soon for such a big step. But Aunt May had insisted...

“Um, its the fourth of July tomorrow,” Peter began.

“Yeah, that usually comes after the third of July.”

“Ha ha,” he said sarcastically. Then swallowed, trying to keep his tone light. “If you don’t have any plans, um, do you want to celebrate it with Parkers? Hot dogs and apple pie!” He finished, trying to sell the idea.

She glanced up at him, looking perplexed. He waited, but no reply was forthcoming.  

“So, um do you have plans?” He tried again.

“No plans,” she said slowly. “You know I don’t know anyone in the city.”

“But you know me,” he smiled. “And its like, a federal law here that you can’t spend Independence Day alone.”

“I don’t know….”

“Are you feeling disloyal to your homeland because I called it Independence Day?” He teased. “I’m sure The Queen would understand.”

She smiled at that. “She’s pretty much over losing a 300 year old war.”

“Then you have no excuse.”

“I’m not sure I’m up for crashing a big family event,” she said, looking uncomfortable at the thought.

“A family of two isn’t really enough to qualify as an ‘event’.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, um, its just me and my Aunt now. My uncle was killed about 10 years ago.” Peter still couldn’t get used to that timespan. He still sometimes entered his childhood home fully to hear his Uncle voice calling from the backyard.

“And, um, your parents?” She asked hesitantly.

“They’ve been dead for even longer than that. Plane crash.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Peter.”

“It is what it is,” he replied, subconsciously mimicking the deflective shrug she’d given him all those weeks ago on her fire escape.

“My, um, parents are both gone too. When I was 14. It’s just me and my sister left.”

He gave her a small smile of understanding, knowing from experience that there really was nothing you could say in the face of that revelation.

“So will you come?” He asked again softly. “Please?”

She looked out across the Manhattan skyline, biting her lip, one of her feet tapping on the ground.

She took a deep breath and looked back at him. “Yes, I’ll come.”

———

Peter twirled the tongs in his hand, his eyes on the meat cooking on the grill, but his mind on Jane.

She was late.

Not super late. Not ‘standing him up’ late.

Just…late.

“I’m sure she’ll be here, Peter,” May said, carrying a bowl of potato salad outside.

“I knew it was too soon to invite her over,” Peter replied, checking his watch again.

“Nonsense. She just needed a little push out of her comfort zone.”

“But that ‘little push’ could backfire. She’s…skittish.”

“You make her sound like a cornered racoon,” May said, shifting the bowls of chips and dip already dotted over the picnic table to make way for the salad.

“Speaking of which…if she does turn up, and she’s rude or mean, just remember that she’s not really like tha-“

“Peter, if you like her this much, I’m sure I will too.”

Peter jerked at that, his head flying around to his Aunt. “I don’t like her like that. It’s not like that at all. You know I’m just trying to figure out this mystery surrounding her, and-”

“Peter,” May interrupted, laughing. “There’s no mystery. She’s just a shy girl you’ve taken an interest in. You’ve concocted this whole conspiracy around her to justify wanting to get to know her better. It’s alright if you want to get to know her better. It’s been a long time since Gwen,” she finished softly.

Peter turned back to the grill, contemplating May’s words. He'd already come to the realisation that he had to move on from Gwen. That she wouldn't want him to be alone and miserable forever. In fact, he had already opened himself up to that possibility with Jen, even though that had been a bust.

So what was the deal with Jane?

Had he overinflated this whole mystery thing? Did he just want to get to know her, but couldn't admit it to himself in case it went wrong with her too?

Was he attracted to Jane?

He enjoyed her company, for sure. She was intelligent, secretly kind, and she didn’t show it often but she was funny. He even thought her competitiveness was endearing. And her obvious loneliness broke his heart a bit.

But was it more than that?

His mind flashed to Jen, of their night together, and the heat between them. He didn’t feel those same sparks in Jane’s presence.

“Are you gonna get that?” May asked, drawing Peter’s attention to the ringing doorbell.

She was here.

Peter flew into the house and rushed to the front door. He flung open the door and then…just stood there, gaping at the woman on the doorstep.

She was wearing a simple, light blue sundress, held up by two thin straps. Her loose, shiny brown hair fell past her pale, freckled shoulders. Her legs were bare and her feet were clad in tan-coloured sandals.

Her toenails were painted pink.

Jane adjusted the glasses on her face. She licked her lips, which were stained with a pink gloss. “Um, sorry for being late.”

Peter shook his head, still stunned at the picture in front of him.

She was wearing heels. And her legs and arms were bare. It was more of her skin than he’d ever seen before. She was normally clad head-to-toe in black, favouring bulky sweaters, shapeless dresses and baggy jeans.

All that material had been hiding slender legs, a surprisingly small, nipped-in waist, and gently rounded breasts. The hint of cleavage peaking out of the sweetheart neckline was making his brain foggy.

Sparks.

Sparks everywhere.

“You must be the Jane I’ve heard so much about,” May said, shouldering a frozen Peter out of the way to usher Jane inside.

May chatted to her as she led her outside the house, taking her gift with thanks. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

“I didn’t know what the Fourth of July etiquette was, so I just went with beer.”

“There is no etiquette here,” May said with a laugh. “We’re just gonna have some BBQ, so beer is perfect.”

At that moment, the clouds in the sky travelled across the sun, blocking some of the late afternoon heat. May noticed Jane shiver slightly. “Oh dear, we should have warned you we’d be dining outside. Peter,” May called out. “Why don’t you take Jane up to your old room and get her a sweater or something to wear?”

Peter recognised the gleam in his Aunt’s eyes, seeing her innocent request for what it was - a ploy to give Peter and Jane some privacy.

———

He rummaged through his closet, trying to find something suitable for Jane, his newly-found (or at least, newly-realised) attraction to her making his hands shake. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she wandered around his bedroom, reading the inscriptions on his science fair trophies and studying the photos tacked up over his desk.

The majority were candid shots of Gwen, with a few showing the two of them together.

“She’s really pretty,” Jane remarked, pointing to a shot of them together at graduation.  

“Um, yeah,” Peter replied, turning around with a balled up hoodie in his hands. “That’s Gwen. She was my girlfriend in high school…and a bit after.”

“Are you still friends?”

“Um, no. She, um, died in an accident when we were 18.”

Not long ago, that admission would have brought tears to Peter’s eyes.  The reaction never seemed to subside, no matter how much time passed. He could get through days, sometimes even weeks, without thinking of Gwen…but the moment he had to say the words out loud - that she was gone - the emotions would bubble up out of nowhere.

But something had shifted in him after catching Peter 1's MJ. It was a redemption of sorts, saving her from that fall. It broke loose some of the guilt he carried with him over Gwen's death.

Now, memories of her were bittersweet instead of painful. Her smile was the first thing that came to mind when he thought of her, not the sight of her broken body.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, Peter.” Jane's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“It’s okay. You weren’t to know.” He shrugged, smoothing out the wrinkles in the hoodie.  

She was sitting on his bed now, looking at him with such sad eyes. “You’ve lost so many people, haven’t you?” She asked, almost to herself.

He shrugged again. “Sounds like you have too.”

“Yeah.” She let out a humourless laugh. “Don’t you ever want to scream at the world, how unfair it all is.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, coming to sit beside her. “Yeah, it sometimes does feel unfair, how some people lose so much and others seem to sail through life. But I’ve come to realise over the years that you never really know what other people are going through. What may seem like an easy, charmed existence might not always be the case. So I'm trying to cut people some slack.”

“You’re much more forgiving than I’ll ever be.” She stared down at the clenched hands in her lap.

“I wasn't always. I went through a long period of feeling bitter and full of rage. But I'm getting there. So, we’ll balance each other out,” he said, bumping his shoulder against hers, trying to lighten the mood. “You can rage at the universe and I’ll just accept what it has in store for me.”

“You think the universe has a plan?” She asked, looking at him again. This close to her he could see the tiny freckles dusting her nose. And the smudge on her glasses from where she constantly adjusted them.

“I think the universe is a lot bigger and weirder than we know, so I wouldn’t be surprised at this point.”

“Well if the universe’s grand design is to put people like you through hell, then the universe can go fuck itself,” she said, with surprising fervour.

“People like me?”

She got off the bed and started pacing the small floor space, her arms wrapped around herself. She came to a stop in front of the photo collage.

“You’re a good man, Peter Parker,” she whispered to the array of pictures. “That’s why I can’t do this.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, coming to stand behind her.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” She shouldered passed him and out the door, almost running down the stairs.

“Hey, wait! Jane!” He ran after her.

She reached the front door, wrenching it open. Over her shoulder, she called, “Tell your Aunt I’m sorry. Goodbye, Peter.”

The door slammed shut just as he reached it.  

He flung it open and chased her into the front yard. Catching her arm, he spun her around. “What do you mean, ‘Goodbye’? What the hell happened up there?”

“Let me go, Peter." She squirmed in his hold, tears coming to her eyes.

“No, not until you tell me what’s going on.” He grasped her shoulders tighter, the tingles at the contact going almost unnoticed in his frantic state.

“I can’t. Just let me go.”

“No,” he yelled.

“Yes,” she yelled back, wrestling free of his hold and taking a few steps back.

The two of them breathed heavily as they stared at each other.

Peter broke the tension, turning in a circle, tugging his hair in frustration. When he spun back to her, anger took over. “What the fuck is your deal, Jane? I don’t understand you at all.”

“I know you don’t,” she whispered. “Which is why I need to go.”

She turned and walked away. Again, Peter went to chase after her, but May’s voice called him back. “Let her go, sweetheart.”

“But-“

“Let her go for now. Neither of you seem to be in a fit state to talk like rational adults. So come back inside, have something to eat, then you can see her at work on Monday.”

Peter sighed, knowing in his head that she was right.

But his heart cried out at the utter wrongness of watching Jane walk away from him.

CHAPTER 5

[miracle-sham]

Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 5: Fairytales} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| The folk tales always speak of those destined for greatness. Heroes alongside their faithful dragons, fighting the ever turning tides against evil. But they're just that, folk tales. After all, what are the chances a border-town apprentice seamstress like Marinette, would ever be offered a different vocation by the recruitment guild. |

| Word Count: 3,428. |

| Warnings/Tags: Kingdom/Fantasy/No Miraculous/Dragon Riders Au, Minor Lila & Adrien salt, Canon Typical lies and manipulation from Lila, Explicit Language/Swearing, and Some Fluff. |

———

| A/N: First things first, the word 'Dragoon' will be used multiple times in this piece and it is spelled that way on purpose (see end notes for further explanation). Secondly, yep! It's a dragon riding/academy au. This is the first piece of the series, which I'm really excited for because I've spent ages worldbuilding for! And for anyone worried about salt mention, it is addressed in this piece but the tag is there because of canon-typical Lila manipulation and lies, plus no Miraculous means no reason for Adrien with his sheltered upbringing to realise she's lying. |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's been a few days of tense stagecoach travel. And to be fair to Marinette, even she hadn't expected to be declared in the middle of the town square as showing aptitude for a position within the Justice League's armée volante—specifically the dragoon squadrons—thanks to the recruitment guild no less.

Unfortunately, Adrien and Lila had also shown an aptitude. Which, seeing as they all come from the same border-town of Paris, meant they were all trapped inside the same cramped coach space for the excruciating four days journey to reach Gotham Town; the place where they are being sent to attend the dragoon academy, which is technically outside the bounds of the town proper. Seeing as the Gotham Dragoon Academy and Somerset Dragon Range are on the opposite shores of the Gotham river to the town itself.

There's only another half-day until they reach the Mooney bridge and then the Somerset

Dragon Ranges. And luckily, Adrien and Lila have taken to sitting on the same bench, the one facing forwards. Leaving the opposite bench all for Marinette.

Not that having a whole bench to myself for this time will help with whether I can continue to survive as a captive audience for Lila. Marinette thinks to herself, rather disgruntled about this whole situation she's unwillingly ended up in. She was perfectly happily remaining an apprentice seamstress, sewing commissions for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and the rest of her famous or otherwise clientele, not that fate seemed to care though. Of course, a part of her stipulation she fought the recruiters for, is that along with her studies she can continue her commissions for current and prior clientele alone. Which is to say, better than being completely unable to continue her main hobby and form of stress relief.

The recruiters had also said that baking and cooking would be no problem to practice, as apparently there'll be free reign to "student kitchens" alongside cooking classes so any use of either skill will be "undoubtedly encouraged". Dangerous words, Marinette muses to herself once more, because if I get claimed by a dragon the first thing I'm doing is baking all the dragon dietary-safe treats I can!

“Marinette! What do you think?” Lila asks, voice as cloying as ever.

Marinette startles and half-heartedly smiles awkwardly across at her, “ah, I'm really sorry Lila! I got distracted wondering what kind all of our dragons might end up being and how they might look!” Not, I'm going to love mine regardless of appearance unlike you.

Smiling faux-sweetly, Lila shakes her head. “Don't worry Marinette, I was only saying how we're just like those local fairytales of your town! Three close-knit friends who become powerful and famous dragoon guardians and save the world from the evil destruction of Hawkmoth and his army of shadow dragons! Out of the three of us, I would be our leader, obviously. Since I'm the only one here descended from a dragoon guardian! My grandmother even gave me a token that once belonged to my dragoon guardian ancestor!”

“Wow, you've said it before but I still can't believe how incredible you are Lila! It's going to be amazing training besides you at the academy!” Adrien gushes, gazing at Lila with adoration.

Lila preens at his words. “Thank you, Adrien! But Marinette, since you mentioned what our dragons will be, did you know my ancestor's dragon was said to be the most beautiful of all the dragons in the Justice League squadrons! My ancestor's dragon had orange scales that glimmered red and yellow like flames, and pearlescent white scales along the underbelly. Oh, and the horns were pearlescent white too! Obviously, the dragon I'll get is sure to be a descendant of that dragon and just as beautiful.”

“Wow, no wonder your ancestor's dragon was the most beautiful, they sound absolutely gorgeous! What kind of dragon do you think I'll get, Lila?” Adrien asks, eyes shining with awe and curiosity.

She puts on a show of holding her chin and humming. “Hmm, probably a golden dragon, with shiny scales as bright as the sun!”

“I hope you're right!” Adrien chuckles, “the fairy tales really would be coming true if we both get the dragons you think we will! One with scales of fire, another with scales of gold!”

“It really would.” Marinette echoes weakly, not really believing in her own words.

Lila laughs, “awww don't sound so worried Marinette, your dragon will probably be a plain and drab dragon with some sort of shade of brown, or maybe even grey. But at least it won't be attention-grabbing. So you won't need to worry about people staring and judging or dragons-forbid trying to hurt you for having a prettier dragon than any nobles!”

Marinette smiles, though it turns out far more grimace-like than intended, whoops. “Yeah… that'd be awful. Haha, I'd be really lucky to get a dragon like you described for me, Lila.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you understand, Marinette! Then again, all three of us are besties so of course you'd understand!” Lila titters, crossing her fingers, “we're just like this!”

Screaming internally, Marinette nods and keeps smiling. Dragons-almighty, I'm at the end of my thread here. Hopefully, I'll be able to leave Lila's "friendship" behind at the academy without fear of mine and my parent's reputations being ruined by Lila's mother.

Her attention is briefly taken by the rolling view outside the stagecoach, unable to help herself she mumbles to herself, “the landscape here is so pretty.”

“It is pretty I guess, but not as pretty as my home country!” Lila pipes up, jumping on the new conversation—like a shadow dragon on a sheep.

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second and breathes deeply, chanting internally. The academy will be my fresh start.

———

The academy is not in fact Marinette's fresh start.

It is well past evenfall by the time their stagecoach passes through the gates of the imposing academy. It rounds a large fountain in the centre of the courtyard with a statue of a person encircled by a large dragon. However, due to the darkness and the movements of the stagecoach, any attempts at recognising whom the statue was dedicated after are thoroughly hampered. They roll to a stop before the great stone staircase—where a figure with a smaller giant rat-like creature beside them, is waiting at the top—which clearly leads to the grand front doors of the academy.

Even with the darkness obscuring the view, it's obvious that the academy is a repurposed castle. High stone walls with crenellations and littered towers, a main keep with a multitude of buildings surrounding the inner courtyard. And the most eye-catching of all, the shadowy draconic gargoyles that seem to cling and lurk upon every building.

It's impressive to say the least, certainly the most well-fortified building Marinette has ever stepped foot in her life. Impressive enough that it has her practically clawing to pull out a sketching journal and start creating. However, she's not stupid enough to do that within Lila's presence. No, that'd undoubtedly lead to honey-coated lies and being forced to listen to her prattle on about her wondrous skills and connections to the most prestigious fashion guild in the country.

Marinette startles as the stagecoach door is opened by a footman. She doesn't fuss as Lila exits first, followed by Adrien. As she steps outside last, she nods and smiles at the footman. Whispering as audibly as she can without the other two hearing, she adds, “thank you, sir.”

The footman simply glances at her attire and nods back stiffly.

In the time it's taken to all leave the stagecoach, the figure from the stairs has walked over—a woman with long blonde hair dressed in a casual black leather riding coat, and a not-dog following behind loyally. “Good evening, you must be the potential students from the town of Paris?”

Marinette hesitates for a second before nodding along with Adrien and Lila.

Lila takes a step forwards, towards the woman. “Yes, we are! I'm Lila Rossi.”

The woman nods slowly, “and the other two must be Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, correct?”

“That's correct!” Adrien responds with a bright smile.

Marinette nods and makes an affirmative squeak instead.

“Great.” The woman says, clapping her hands. “I'm Dinah Lance and I'll be one of your instructors during your attendance here. And this,” She pauses to point to the weird giant not-rat with its yellow flecked greyish-brown fur, “is Drake, he's my Ichneumon. You'll learn all about Ichneumon and why they're used within the dragoon squadron during your time here, so don't worry if you've never heard or seen of them before.”

Drake makes a high pitched trill and takes a few steps forward, sniffing the air in front of the three of them. Before scampering in a circle around Dinah Lance.

She smiles fondly at Drake before continuing. “Unfortunately it's a little late to give you the tour of the grounds now, so we'll cover that tomorrow. Tonight we'll guide you to the dining hall for a late night's meal since it's been a long journey for you three or so I've heard, and you must be starving. Then we'll discuss the main details of your attendance, and afterwards, we will show you to the temporary rooms you will be staying in, to begin with. Any questions?”

Lila rocks on the heels of her boots before shaking her head, “no, we've got no questions!”

Adrien copies with a shake of his head too.

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, were you waiting out in the cold for us long? Will the tour teach us about the different places within the academy? Will it take long? What do you mean by the main details? Why are we staying in temporary rooms to begin with? When do our lessons start? Do we need to purchase any uniforms or schooling supplies? When will we meet our dragons? Questions bubbling in her mind like a kettle over the fire, but closes her mouth just as quickly, as she catches a glare from Lila out of the corner of her eye. With that, she also briefly and nervously shakes her head. “N–no, no questions here either, Mlle Lance.”

Internally, Marinette hopes that display is enough to tide over Lila's irritation for now.

Mlle Lance glances over the three of them, seeming to stare at Marinette a little longer than the other two. “Well then, since there are no questions, let us head to the dining hall. And don't worry about your belongings, the footman will bring them to your lodgings.”

“Oh, Mlle Lance, I'd–uh… I'd rather not hassle the staff here, I can manage bringing my belongings up on my own.” Marinette admits, wringing her hands slightly.

Mlle Lance shakes her head, “that's very polite of you but I'm afraid, as you'll be having dinner and we'll be discussing details, it'll be a little while before you head to your temporary rooms. So it'll be far easier on both you and the staff here, if you allow them to do their job.”

“Okay…” Marinette relents easily, trying to ignore Lila rolling her eyes at her.

“If there are no more further questions, then follow after me please, the academy can be rather labyrinthine for those unfamiliar with its halls.” Mlle Lance instructs, already turning around and walking back towards the great stone staircase, Drake on her heels.

———

The journey through the hallways and various anterooms of the academy takes far longer than Marinette could have anticipated. On more than one occasion, she ends up falling behind due to getting distracted by the sheer amount of luxury, art, and finery everywhere. Forcing her to frantically scurry after Mlle Lance, Lila, and Adrien—all three who seem completely at home and unperturbed or uninterested by the décor, unlike her.

By the time they reach the large and ornately carved wooden doors leading to the dining hall, Marinette is flushed bright red from the embarrassment of having fallen behind so many times.

The heavy doors creak loudly as they slowly swing open at Mlle Lance's push, revealing a large dining hall—far larger than any Marinette has seen—with seemingly hundreds of wooden tables and benches. Startlingly enough, there's a boy already seated at one of the nearer benches—eating away at a trencher of hunter's stew.

No Ichneumon in sight, Marinette notes, a fellow student perhaps?

“Good evening, Jason, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here at the moment.” Mlle Lance greeted, nodding her head to him.

Jason squints at Mlle Lance and hunches his shoulders defensively. “B said I could grab food from here whenever I wanted.”

Mlle Lance smiles, “and that's perfectly fine. These are new arrivals, so I was just hoping to let them have some dinner without the usual chaos before going over the main details they'll need to know about attending here.” She paused for a moment. “You don't have to stay and listen if you don't want to, since you've heard this spiel many times now. But equally, feel free to stay, I'm sure it'd be nice for you and the new arrivals to get to know each other before meeting the rest of the class tomorrow.”

Jason slowly eyes Lila, Adrien, and Marinette. He places an arm in front of his trencher. “Might as well stay then I guess.”

Mlle Lance nods at him again before guiding the three of them over to the back of the dining hall where the kitchen was connected to. A few cooks were tending to various meals and pots of hunter's stew, as well as prepping trenchers or cleaning wooden bowls, and wood or horn spoons.

Marinette is still half processing everything so receiving a trencher full of hunter's stew from the cooks barely registers in her mind. And next thing she knows, she is seated next to Lila on the end of the bench and table next to Jason, with Mlle Lance sitting opposite her, Lila, and Adrien. The other two have already started tucking into the food, so cautiously Marinette takes a few sips of the stew broth with a horn spoon.

Mlle Lance clasps her hands together and rests them on the table. “Let's start with what you three already know regarding the dragoon squadrons and this academy.”

Pausing in his eating, Adrien grins. “This is the longest standing dragoon academy, and we'll be taught everything from dragon history, to the language of the dragons, to what is known of Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army!”

“And,” Lila pipes up, “we'll pick our dragons that we'll train alongside and eventually become fully-fledged Dragoon Guardians with.”

Jason snorts, “sorry to break it you two but this isn't some fucking fairytale.”

Before Lila or Adrien could respond, Mlle Lance cleared her throat. “Right well firstly, Dragoon Guardians is somewhat of an archaic term I'm afraid. But you're not too far off with what you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason pretends to be suddenly interested in his trencher of stew.

Though, Marinette does catch him briefly glancing up at her with a curious but also disbelieving look in his eyes. She can't help but instinctively curl her shoulders in and make herself as small as possible.

“And Marinette, what do you know about the academy?” Mlle Lance adds.

Marinette hesitates, trembling slightly and licks her lips. “Uh, well I know roughly the same as Lila and Adrien, so nothing that hasn't been said already…”

She catches Jason squinting at her, and she curls up even more.

Mlle Lance nods thoughtfully, “to start with, Adrien, you are correct in that this is the longest standing dragoon academy. You're also correct that we teach our students dragon history—including the history of the dragoons—as well as teaching the language of the dragon. We also do teach regarding Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army. However, that will be taught across multiple different subjects as it isn't quite as simple as it may currently seem to you.”

Adrien beams at having been mostly correct. “My father hoped I would be chosen to attend a dragoon academy so he made sure I was taught a general overview.”

“And that's more than most know to begin with, so well done.” Mlle Lance praises, before continuing. “However, Lila, here students do not pick their dragons. The process of meeting the dragon who will be raised and trained beside you, is not what most people think of when they first hear about dragoon human and dragon pairs meeting.”

Lila's lips twitch downwards in dissatisfaction and narrows her eyes slightly at Mlle Lance.

Before anything else can be said, Mlle Lance furrows her brows, “one moment students, a matter has just arisen that I need to quickly take care of.”

With that, she rises from the bench and strides out of the dining hall, shutting the door behind her as she exits.

As soon as the door shuts, Jason, with a concerned look on his face, gets up as well and walks the few steps over to Marinette's bench. Quietly, he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

Marinette swallows a breath of air thickly, and still visibly trembling, laughs nervously. “W-well I'm a little over-overwhelmed, I suppose… What with every—”

Only to slam her mouth shut as Lila wraps her arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to her side.

“She's fine thank you,” Lila coos, “just not used to all the displays of wealth in the castle, here, isn't that right, Marinette.”

Marinette pales, eyes widening with panic and frantically nods her head. “Y-yep!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at Lila, unable to keep the slight sneer off his face as he turns ever so slightly to stare at her, “and you are?”

Lila perks up at his attention, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with one hand. “Didn't you hear Mlle Lance there, I'm Lila.” She smiles cloyingly at him and flutters her eyelashes. “I'm the daughter of a very important diplomat and one of my ancestors was an incredibly powerful Dragoon Guardian.”

Jason snorts, and rolls his eyes once more. “Right. Whatever.” He turns his attention back to Marinette and gives her a sharp nod. “What shit has the rich brat got hanging over your head?”

It clearly takes all of Lila's self-control to not immediately switch from her faux sweetness to fury. Her smile turns wooden and her gaze sharpens at Jason. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused,” Jason responds smugly.

“W-what do you mean?” Marinette asks, struggling to process the conversation after the slight cannonball that Jason just casually asked her.

He tilts his head at her, not unlike a bird. “She looks, sounds, and acts exactly like the kinda rich bastards that hold shit above kids who aren't rich, and you're clearly fucking petrified of her. So is she blackmailing you or something?”

Marinette mouths yes at him whilst shaking her head.

Jason raises an eyebrow at her for a second before shrugging with one shoulder, “alright.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his table and bench where his trencher of stew is waiting.

Lila gapes at him.

Adrien rises from his seat and stares at Jason, flabbergasted. “Aren't you going to apologise to Lila, now? You were wrong.”

Lifting his chin, Jason gives Adrien an unimpressed look then flips the bird at him. A few seconds pass before he shrugs and makes a non-committal noise of disinterest, then he starts spooning stew into his mouth.

Lila huffs and scowls at Jason. She turns to glare at Marinette, faux concern practically dripping from her words despite the evident fury on her face. “You should avoid him from now on, wouldn't want the teachers to think you're a delinquent and get kicked out before you even get to meet your dragon.”

Marinette nods slowly and keeps her attention very carefully on her food.

Her patience is rewarded as a few dozen seconds later, Lila loses interest in her and starts eating her trencher of stew whilst starting a new conversation with just Adrien.

Taking her chances, Marinette sneaks a glance up at Jason with a small smile on her lips.

To her surprise, he also happens to be looking over at her. He flashes her a cheeky grin, winks, before going back to eating.

Maybe, she muses to herself as her grin turns giddy, I was wrong about the academy not being my fresh start. Because this definitely feels like a fresh start now, it almost feels like I'm in a fairytale.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| The dragon riders are called Dragoons in reference to the mounted cavalry called Dragoons who used guns/firearms known as Dragons hence the name. And so I decided it only makes sense for these dragon riders to also be called Dragoons. Armée volante means flying army and was what the historical dragoons were sometimes known as, because of how mobile they were. |

| Ichneumon, also known as Echinemon in Medieval Zoology are enemies of dragons (and snakes and crocodiles in some accounts) and defeated them by covering themselves in armour made from mud before attacking. They are also one the only creatures (the other being weasels) that are immune to the Cockatrices' petrifying sight. |

| Fun fact: Trenchers are flat round (often stale) bread "plates" used during the medieval era. They are cut in half and sometimes the fluffy bread innards are scooped out (like pumpkins) so that the loaf's crust forms a bowl instead. Usually the bowls are used to hold stews or soups, though they were also used for non-liquid based food (which is why they later evolved into our modern day plates and cheese boards). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[browniefox]

Color Theory

@wrightfamilyweek Day 2 - Investigation/Hijinks

In which an anniversary is coming up, so Trucy makes some plans.

You can also find this on AO3 right here :)

“Have fun at work, Daddy!”

Trucy runs up to Daddy and hugs him around the stomach. He kisses the top of his head.

“Mmhm, I expect your homework to be done and you to be in bed by the time I get home, alright? No exceptions!"

“Of course!”

“And no trips to Germany, alright? I’m sure you can hold off for another few months.” Daddy teases. Trucy sticks his tongue out at him and he ruffles her hair before going out the door. In a few months, she is going to actually get to go with Daddy on one of his trips to see Miles, a reconnection between the two of them since Trucy's own little trip a year ago.

As the door closes, Trucy runs over to the window and waits until she sees Daddy riding down the street on his bike, officially out of the building. Her homework is already done, most of it finished during class time and the rest of it finished up during recess and on her way home from school. Walking while writing had made her numbers come out a little odd, but it didn’t matter, because now she had hours and hours of time to work.

She stops by the fridge, staring up at the calendar. It’s four weeks away from the date circled in red, and two weeks from the date that sits ominously empty. It’s plenty of time, though.

Trucy makes a lap around the office, double-checking that the windows are locked just like Daddy does every time before leaving. Everything seems safe and sound, so she grabs her backpack and leaves, making sure she has the spare key and locking the door behind her. Daddy won’t be home until late, but she’s still going to make care to be home with plenty of time to spare. The meer idea of putting him through the same fear of last year sits in her chest like a promise.

It’s a few bus-stops to get to Gummy and Maggey’s house. They’re both out at the moment, so Trucy finds the spare key in the fake rock and lets herself in. She’s spent a lot of time over here by now, and the couple has spent alot of time over at the office, the big and towering man she’d met at the airport transforming into a familiar and lovable family friend.

She skips over to the closet, pulling out the supplies stuck in there. Streamers and confetti, magic wands and fake flowers, tumbling out from where Gummy had helped her shove them in last time. She looks down at the supplies and begins organizing it into the different acts that they’re associated with. There’s a lot of pieces, a lot to get over to the Wonder Bar eventually. Keeping so much of it over here makes it harder to practice back at home, but that’s kind of the point, even if it’s really annoying.

Gummy and Maggie came home after an hour, setting their things down and chatting about their day while Gummy starts dinner. The smell fills the house, warm and comforting. Trucy likes the Gumshoe house. It’s not too big, but not too small either. Gummy and Maggey used to clean it up before she came over, but they’ve stopped making that special little change for her, and so she gets to see it all lived in, a sock strewn here, a few dishes left out, pillows lying wherever they were last placed. Small things that make the place not a house but a home. She’s never had a home like this one, and oh there are sometimes where she’ll be lying on the couch and imagine what it would be like to stay here.

She knows she could.

Daddy has made it clear that if she ever felt dissatisfied with the cramped office, with him, all she has to do was say something. Gummy and Maggey have mentioned, before, that they’d be willing to take her in if anything ever happened to Daddy. Gummy had laughed about all the sorts of injuries Daddy tended to accrue, recounting a story about Daddy getting amnesia before a case - Trucy knew that one, she’d read it a bit ago.

Trucy doesn’t want to leave the cramped little office.

After dinner, Trucy uses Gummy’s phone. Gummy and Maggey know how to set up her stuff for a performance by now - they’ve already agreed to be her stage crew for the performance. While they’re doing that, Trucy calls up Aunty Maya.

“How’s my favorite magician doing?” Maya answers, and Trucy can hear the smile in her voice.

“Working on her next trick.” Trucy replies. Maya makes a humming sound.

“Well, things are going well on our end over here. Are you sure about the color? You don’t want to go darker?” Maya asked.

“Nope! It’s, well, there’s a reason for the shade.” Trucy says. She can hear Maya hum in understanding over the receiver.

“Well, I’m almost finished with it, although I’ll probably come up soon just to make sure everything is right. Pearly says hi, by the way.”

“Oh! Is she there?! Is she there?! Hi Pearls!” Trucy shouts over the phone and gets a distant and soft ‘hi Trucy!’.

“When I come down I’ll bring Pearly with me, don’t worry. If I didn’t,she might just run the whole way over there anyway!” Maya laughs and Trucy laughs along.

“If everything’s working out, then I’m gonna have to go. I need to make sure the rest of the show is ready to go!” Trucy says.

“Alright, alright, just say you’re afraid I’m going to start prattling on about the new season of Rubber Samurai. But you know there-”

“Love you Aunty Maya bye!” Trucy hits the end call button still chuckling to herself. She hopes that Aunty Maya makes true on her promise to come back down and to bring Pearls before the big day, but if she doesn’t then Trucy guesses she can wait that long, even if it’ll be agonizing.

She stares at the next number for a long long while before finally hitting the call button.

The phone rings once, twice, three times before he picks up.

“Gumshoe, this had better be fucking import-”

“Hi, Miles!” Trucy chirps. There’s silence on the other end.

“... who is this?” Miles grumbles.

“Trucy Wright!”

“Trucy?!” Miles sounds a little more awake now.

“Yup!”

“Ms. Trucy… why are you calling me at… three in the morning?” Miles groans.

“Th… three in the… OH!” Trucy gasps, feeling her face flush in embarrassment. She’d completely forgotten to take into account time differences. “Oh my god, Miles, I’m so sorry, it’s pretty late here and-”

“It’s, it’s fine Ms. Trucy. Just tell me what you were calling about… from Gumshoe’s phone? Is your father alright?” Worry creeps into Miles voice.

“Oh, yes, Daddy’s fine! Daddy’s just at work right now, and I went over to Gummy and Maggey’s! We had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and then we’re gonna play a card game, and then Gummy is gonna drive me back to the office ‘cause it’s all dark now!” Trucy says.

“Ms. Trucy, I don’t mean to sound rude, but again, it is three a.m. here…” Miles sighs.

“Right! Right, um… Mr. Edgeworth, do you think you could help me with a little something.”

“I’m going to need a bit more information than that.”

Trucy rattles off her little plan into the phone. Miles stays silent for the entire explanation, only grunting here and there to assure her that he is still awake and listening on the other end.

“... this is very short notice.” Miles says.

“Oh,” Says Trucy, looking down at her feet, “Well, that’s okay, I’m sure together, the rest of us-”

“I never said I wouldn’t do it, just that next time you’re planning something like This, please, tell me about it a little more ahead of time.”

“Okay! Yeah! Next time! And this time… you can do it?” She double checks.

“Yes, you can count on me, Ms. Trucy.”

“Thank you! Um, I’ll let you get back to sleep, thank you!”

Trucy skips back into the kitchen, where Gummy and Maggey have set up a board game. She still has her show to practice a bit more, and even now thinking about it she’s a little nervous, but she’s found she’s more excited. It’s coming together.

oOo

“Please, Daddy, please, come and see my show tonight? Pleaseeeee?”

Phoenix lets out a long sigh. Trucy is bouncing around in excitement in front of him. She’s already done her stage makeup, and he’d helped her put little weaving braids into her hair. Most of it will be covered up by her hat, but there are usually moments during the performance where the hat comes off, and so she needs to look amazing no matter what’s going on. Phoenix is fine to help her with this, but on today of all days, all he wants to do is sit in his office, read through old case files, and mourn what he has lost.

He was disbarred two years ago. That both feels like too much and not enough time. For the most part, he likes to think that he’s been coping with it well. He’s been working, and raising Trucy, and he’s had some other little things in the works, but on today of all days, it’s so hard to focus and not feel the ache of what was taken from him, of what he’s lost, of those who have come to his door in the past couple years looking for help and having to be turned away.

“Trucy, baby,” Phoenix starts, trying to let her down easy, but Trucy stomps her foot.

“No, Daddy, please, just, just come? To the show? Please?” She begs.

She’s been 'off' all week, too quiet and then too talkative in bursts that serve to confuse Phoenix. Now, there’s something almost akin to fear in her eyes, and it tugs at Phoenix’s heartstrings.

“Alright, sweetie, let me just,” He looks down at himself, still in sweatpants and a hoodie. He’d meant to get dressed today, but even now he’s struggling to find the energy to get into something better, and eventually he just says lamely, “Put some shoes on.”

He gets a pair of beat-up sneakers on and walks outside with Trucy, who is still vibrating with energy. He considers for a moment that perhaps he should buy a new pair of shoes, but then he sees Trucy’s cape, starting to look thread-bare in places and sitting so much shorter on her than it did two years ago. It used to fall to cover her almost completely in a mysterious sort of way, but now you can see her entire hands. Trucy has told him before it’d be fine, her cape had been too long anyway, but maybe he should start to consider how to get her something new and nice. Things for himself could be put off as long as they needed to be.

The ride down to the Wonder Bar is quiet between them, Trucy sitting on his handlebars with careful balance. The first five times they did it, Phoenix had been worried about her falling off or something, but now it was routine if they had anywhere they both had to be and didn’t have the time to puzzle through bus schedules or the budget for a taxi.

Phoenix recognizes some of the people in the Wonder Bar, and Mr. Wunderbar himself comes over and greets.

“Ah, Ms. Wright, so glad to see you! Your assistants are already backstage.” Mr. Wunderbar says. Phoenix’s brow furrows.

“Assistants? You mean the your staff?” Phoenix asks.

“Alright thanks Mr. Wunderbar Daddy find a seat love you bye!” Trucy says in one breath and runs over to the stage.

“This way, Mr. Wright. Trucy asked that we have a table upfront reserved just for you.” Mr. Wunderbar leads the way to one of the tables close to the stage, which does indeed have a a ‘Reserved’ marker on it. Phoenix feels suddenly self conscious in his outfit. He’d been planning to sit in the back, where nobody could see him, and he feels like everybody in the bar, waiting for Trucy to perform, are staring at him.

Mr. Wunderbar took his order and then slipped away. Phoenix drumms his fingers on the table, a cowardice sweeping through him with such force that he almost gets up and walks away. Something odd is going on, and it's making him even more nervous.

“Oh good, Trucy was really worried you wouldn’t show up.”

Phoenix jumps at the familiar voice, and spins around to see Maya and Pearls.

“Wh- hey, what are you two doing here?!” Phoenix jumps up and hugs both of them, “And especially what’s Pearls doing in here?”

“Mr. Wunderbar says that so long as nobody at our table orders drinks, he’ll allow it this once.” Maya says, sitting down, and Pearls sits on the other side of Phoenix, sandwiching him between the Fey’s.

“But why are you two-”

“Now Nick, do you really think we’d let you spend today on your own to mope?” Maya sets her hands on her hips. Phoenix looks away. He doesn’t point out that they didn’t last year, because it’s not their responsibility to look after him. Maya has her own life she’s living. She had texted and called him, though, regularly, throughout the day, at random intervals. She threatened that if he didn’t pick up any of the times, she’d be coming over right way, “I’ll admit, though, clearly we came mostly to see Trucy perform. Right Pearls?”

“Yeah! She’s so amazing, Mr. Nick! And we also had to bring the-” Pearls starts to say, but Maya puts a finger to her lips and shushes Pearls, who’s mouth slams shut.

“... alright, enough of this, what’s going on?” Phoenix asks more plainly.

“So she still hasn’t seen fit to tell you yet?”

And then, slipping into the fourth seat at the table, is Miles. Miles, in California, in the flesh, in the Wonderbar.

“M-Miles! What are you doing here?”

“Your daughter had a simple request, and I obliged.” Miles sniffs, “You look,” Miles regards Phoenix and Phoenix looks away, wishing he’d brought something to cover his head as well, “Alright, all things considered.” He ends.

“No need to sugar coat it, Miles.” Phoenix laughs bitterly.

“I’m not. You seem to forget you’re not the only one who has gone through some trying times.”

Before Phoenix can formulate anything to say to that, the lights in the bar dim. The curtain lifts, but there’s a sheet behind it, so that all once can see of Trucy is her silhouette.

“Now introducing… Trucy Gramraye!” The announcer booms, and there’s some applause, even though nothing’s happened yet, Trucy still not seen.

“There are times that we, in life, come to a crossroads,” Trucy’s voice booms through the speakers over a mystical sounding soundtrack, “ Where we our lives take sudden changes.”

Oh, Phoenix thinks, heart plummeting to the bottom of his stomach, a theory forming in his mind, She wanted me here for her Last Show. Did something happen that made her want to stop being a magician? He’s tried to be supportive, even though he’s had some trouble keeping track of the supplies she needs, and how to help her out, with her teaching him far more than he can possibly teach her about this stuff. He’s offered to get in touch with Max Galactica, but Trucy had made it plain her opinion of that magician.

“Sometimes, you need to say things. And sometimes actions - and appreances - speak louder than words.”

Phoenix almost wants to stand up, to shout at her that no, he doesn’t want her to give up her magic just because she thinks it’s going to make him happy, but he’s frozen in his seat as the sheet of paper hiding his daughter from view is torn through and fog comes rolling out… but she’s not there.

In a puff of smoke, Trucy appears on top of his table. She winks down at him, the spot light finding her.

Her red hat and cape and bag are all gone, replaced by pale blue versions. New, lovingly crafted, and Trucy puts her hands above her head in a pose.

“I am Trucy Gramarye, but your little witch in red is now a magician in blue. Sorry if I startled anybody by coming… out of the blue like that?” Trucy says. She smiles, twirls around, and in another puff of smoke she’s gone. The room goes dark.

The spotlight finds her back on the stage, still in the strange blue uniform.

“Wh-what- when did she-”

“You know, in Kurain, we have to make all our own clothes.” Maya says with a mischievous little smirk.

“You mean you-”

“She wanted to put together something to make sure you weren’t too sad today.” Maya explains, smiling.

Phoenix does his best not to cry so that he doesn’t miss any bit of the show.

When it’s done, Mr. Wunderbar brings over another chair and Trucy sits with them. Phoenix spends the evening surrounded by his friends, by his family, and staring at Trucy’s new outfit. Blue, just like his old suit, he thinks.

“Do you like it?” She asks, surprisingly shyly, right before bed. Phoenix grins, picks her up, and twirls her around.

“You look amazing sweetie. You know, you didn’t have to go through all that just for me.”

“I didn’t do it just for you.” Trucy defends, “I did it because I wanted to! And because I love you!”

“I love you too Truce.”

Tomorrow morning, reality will set in again. He’ll have work, and maybe all the grief he was able to put off today will make a forceful comeback, but tonight he knows he’s loved, and that Trucy wants to be a part of his world, wants to be a part of his broken little family, and maybe that’s all that really matters in the end.

[writingontheclouds]

can't help falling in love (with you)

For full-goosebumps-on-my-arm-giddy-feeling, play Kina Grannis' ‘Can’t help falling in love with you’ (also featured in Crazy Rich Asians) in the background.

You can thank me later.

Read it on AO3 here.

i.

There were many times that Lily Evans thought she loved James Potter. She wanted to say it, to speak it out and let it be known, so the truth was finally out there in the universe for eternity to come.

It did not, however, start like an epiphany.

Although she will admit, when the first time the thought crossed her mind, it terrified her and her heart almost stopped. It was a cold December night, one of many that brutal winter, so it could have easily been hypothermia, she argued in her mind.

Lily was snuggled up in two blankets, sitting by the fire in the common room after hours, struggling to finish her essay that was due tomorrow and trying to not keep snotting all over it. Professor McGonagall had been kind enough to grant her a much-needed extension, as she battled a bad case of flu, but the work still needed to be done. This essay, this particular gruesome monster of an essay, that was making less sense as she prattled on trying to string comprehensible sentences, was finally due tomorrow. She had tried to bite her pride and let Marlene help her, the girl even offered to write it for her as Lily did not seem to be getting better and refused to stay in the Hospital Wing for longer than 10 minutes, but she had not relented. Even under the weather, she had a morality that didn’t let her do that.

Standon’s hypothesis for transfiguration is a law that describes transfiguration for objects that don’t move to objects that can move to help wizards. She stared at the sentence. She did have the morality but lacked the mental capacity to write English, apparently. She closed her eyes, leaned back on the sofa as another sneeze rattled her body and she rubbed her nose for the hundredth time that evening. It felt like she had rubbed sandpaper all over it, it hurt to even touch now.

She was about to crush the parchment in front of her into a ball and throw it in the fire when the door of the common room opened and she heard two hushed voices. She immediately threw the blankets over her head and tried to sink into the sofa and be as still as humanly possible, so the passerby's thought she was somehow a part of the sofa. She did not want anyone seeing her this way, red-nosed, hair resembling a bird’s nest and prominent dark circles under her eyes.

The voices stopped and there was an eerie silence in the common room. Lily, with her eyes, shut as tightly as possible as if it will somehow make her invisible, counted to 30 and slowly peeked out between her blankets.

James Potter and Remus Lupin were standing in front of her with bemused expressions on their faces. Lily did not think that her face could have turned redder, but apparently, it could. And she did.

“Lily?” Remus said, his head tilting sideways. “You alright?”

“Hi,” She managed to croak, after a beat and cleared her throat. Her throat felt sore.

“Merlin’s pants, Lily, are you okay? You looked like your face took a hit by a bludger,” James asked, shock coloring his face, then concern.

“Yeah yeah, I’m okay, just a little poorly,” She said, waving her hand and shaking it off. “Where have you boys been?” She managed to croak and tried to change the subject.

“Just out and about,” Remus answered, and Lily knew that was all the detail she was going to get about their shenanigans. She would probably experience it in person in a couple of days. She bet it involved some kind of an explosion in a very public setting.

“What time is it?” Lily asked, suddenly realizing it should be really late into the night now.

“Half three, I think.”

“Bugger!” She cursed and sat up straight, the blankets rolling over off her head and settling on her shoulder as she set about rearranging her books and ink pots and parchment, as if this might somehow give her the motivation to finish this assignment.

“Do you need help, Evans?” James asked, as he stepped closer and read the topic on her parchment.

“No, no, you boys go ahead with your scheming,” She said, waving them off as she rubbed her eyes to clear them and fought back a yawn. She then sneezed again so violently that Remus jumped. Lily had noticed that he got jumpier the closer it got to a full moon night, which was now just 2 days away.

“Sorry, Remus,” She said as she rubbed her nose again and tried to blow into a tissue.

“Let us help you, Lily. You’re ill, you should be in the Hospital Wing,” Remus said, as he tried to come closer.

“No! No, Remus, stay there, I don’t want you to catch my germs and become ill. You already look dead on your feet.” She said, stopping him right in his tracks. The last thing the boy needed was to be sick on Full Moon.

“You head up, Moony, and get some sleep,” James insisted. “I’m here,” He said with such an assurance that neither Lily nor Remus thought to argue with that.

She sat on the couch and he sat across the table on the floor, crossed legged, opening books, explaining topics, and bookmarking all the important points she needed to cover. There were theories to cover, limitations to write, methods to jot down and conclusions to be drawn. He didn’t offer to write it for her, or dictate her the answers point-blank. In some funny twist of fate, he knew what she needed at that exact moment and Lily was grateful. James also somehow brought a cheese toast and a hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows floating in it that smelled divine, even to her congested nose.

“Where’d you get these?” She asked as he tried to pass her the hot chocolate. She pulled on the sleeves of her chunky sweater as she held the mug, relishing the warmth it brought to her hands.

“I have ways,” James replied, as he bit into his own cheese toastie.

“James Potter, ever cryptic,” she said, and he just chuckled.

At one point in the morning, James had migrated to the couch and was perched beside her, books open in his lap and pointing to the diagrams as he explained another complication of the theory, his hands moving animatedly alongside as he talked on. Lily gazed at him as he continued, the rotten transfiguration theory long tuned out, as she watched the fire reflected in his glasses, his unruly hair pointing in all directions, and his sharp jawline showing a hint of facial hair. He looked beautiful, she thought, almost dream-like.

“Evans, are you writing this down?” Bright hazel eyes snapped at her and broke her out of her reverie and she startled and tried to concentrate again on Standon’s hypothesis. She felt disgusted with herself; when did she become so lovesick? She could have sworn she saw a hint of a smirk on his face, but she didn’t dare look up to confirm.

Lovesick.

Did it mean- no, of course, it didn’t. She didn’t lo-. No, just no. It’s not possible. She shook her head violently, ignoring the weird look James was probably throwing her and finally resumed writing, thinking that it was probably this flu that was messing with her brain.

...

ii.

She came in to find and congratulate Marlene, that’s her cover story, she told herself. Really, she’s her best friend, who’d doubt her?

Marlene had caught a bad bludger to her leg during the match. In fact, almost everyone on the Gryffindor team had. The Ravenclaw beaters, Bill and Luke, had been completely ruthless, both the players attacking and knocking down one Gryffindor player at a time. She had been furious when she saw Marlene's face scrunched up in pain, yelling profanities. Madam Hooch had called a foul, but that had made the two beaters even more relentless.

She had nearly flung herself onto the pitch when the beaters had caught James between them, smirking at him evilly when they sent bludger after bludger at him. He expertly dodged them; James wasn’t Gryffindor’s star chaser for nothing. He literally looked like sex on a stick… well, broom, in this case. But when James saw Bill and Luke flying after Noah who was speeding after the snitch, he had taken the heat himself. The bludger hit on the side of his stomach and then again one directly at his wrist. But James masked his pain as he maneuvered his broom with one hand, desperately trying to block the beaters path, while Noah successfully caught the snitch. The ground seemed to erupt in a flurry of red and gold as the whole of Gryffindor came spilling onto the pitch.

Lily wanted to congratulate him, he was responsible for most of the points Gryffindor made today. But she couldn’t get through the crowd of people surrounding the team. She didn’t even see Marlene in the crowd before the team disappeared back into the changing rooms. She’d already walked halfway back to the castle with Alice and Dorcas when she realized she should have made sure Marlene was okay. But when she couldn’t find her in the women’s changing room, she had contemplated trying the men’s. Not that Marlene would be there, but James might be.

Now that she saw he was barefoot, wearing his quidditch trousers and water dripping down from his hair, she realized she might not have thought this through. He must have just come out of the shower. But that’s not why she’s dumbfounded, unable to draw her eyes away from the sight in front of her.

He was shirtless. Merlin help her, a shirtless James Potter was standing in front of her, wrapping a white bandage around his left wrist. When he finally noticed someone in the doorway, he squinted, trying to see without his glasses. “Lily?"

“Hi James,” She said, nervously as she takes him all in. He promptly put on his glasses which were lying on top of his pile of clothes.

“Hey!” He said all smiles as he continued with the bandage. As if having a blushing female gaze at him shirtless was a regular occurrence. She could see the nasty bruise starting to blossom as he wrapped the bandage expertly, covering half of his palm and his wrist. The sight was somehow so bewitching. When she regained her composure, she realized that he was looking at her expectantly. Merlin’s pants, what did he say?

“Uhmm.. what?” She managed to stammer. Her mouth felt unnaturally dry.

“I asked what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the common room celebrating?”

“Shouldn’t you?” She countered, completely forgetting she came in here for Marlene.

“We took quite a hit today. I just wanted to be alone for a bit.”

“But we won.”

“Yeah, but I need to change my strategy to defend ruthless buggers like Bill and Luke. Thought I’ll think about it while it was still fresh in my mind."

“Oh.” She said, mentally screaming at James to just put on a damn shirt so she can stop looking so confounded.

“That looks like a nasty one,” She added, motioning to another bruise that was starting to blossom on the left side of his abdomen.

“Eh, I’ve had worse.” He said, shrugging it away and sitting down now to put on some socks and shoes.

“I know, last year right?”

“I’m surprised you remember,” He said, looking up at her, eyes lighting up.

“The whole of Gryffindor probably does. You gave us all multiple cardiac arrests.” She said remembering the brutal match with Slytherin last year where a bad blunger caught James smack in the middle of his chest, knocking him off his broom and falling straight to the ground. He suffered from a broken arm, multiple broken ribs, and bruises and cuts covering every inch of visible skin. Even Madam Pomfrey was worried he might not make it, but somehow James had pulled through, waking up 6 days later while complaining about the bricks for pillows they had in the hospital wing that smelled like Sirius’ feet.

He blushed and got up, picking up a towel and running it through his hair. Merlin, he was trying to give her a cardiac arrest again, she was absolutely positive about it. But looking at him at that moment, she thought about warm summer mornings and that she wouldn't mind waking up to him coming fresh out of a shower like this. She blushed at the thought and felt her cheeks growing warmer, as her mind took an unexpected sexual turn.

His bandage had come undone, and he was fiddling with it again. Lily walked towards him, trying to look unperturbed by his shiftlessness. It was really unbecoming of a witch, and she was trying with all her might to ignore it now, while she said, “Here, let me.”

Without waiting for his reply, she took his bandaged hand and started to wrap it properly. She was so close to him that she could feel the heat radiating off of him and smell his shampoo. It smelled of eucalyptus. And mint. It made her swoon. Lily could feel his eyes on her. He was not exactly the king of subtlety, but if he still fancied her, he had kept it to himself lately. Though her hands were trembling with nervous energy, she managed to tie the bandage up securely within minutes.

“There you go,” she said, withdrawing her hands from his, her fingers still tingling from where it had made contact with his skin.

“Uhh.. yeah..” He stammered, looking down at his hand. “Thanks.”

She hums a nod in return.

“Great job today though, captain!” She said, grinning, punching him playfully in the arm, trying to douse the electricity between them.

He returned her grin, blushing again, his bandaged hand automatically reaching out to mess his hair at the back of his head. She realized it’s a nervous gesture, but it came off as so innocent and pure, like a little boy blushing at the thought of his first crush. “Thanks, Lil."

“Now, let’s go back to the castle. You deserve a victory party. Strategize tomorrow.” She said, turning around and walking towards the doorway. She turned back to glance at him, waiting for him to follow.

“Uhh yeah.” He said, picking up his Gryffindor jersey and a jacket, putting it on quickly, and following behind her.

She walked quickly out of the changing rooms and stopped short as she realized it was pouring outside. She really should have brought an umbrella; England’s weather was so unpredictable.

James was unperturbed though, he walked out into the rain, conjuring an umbrella wide enough for two people from his wand, and held out his arm to her.

“C’mon, it’s just rain.” He said, grinning from ear to ear. She grinned back and entangled her arm through his. They walked through the rain together, shoulders rubbing, talking, and giggling.

...

iii.

It was Christmas Eve and she couldn’t sleep. Lily lay awake in her bed staring at the window, tracing the path of the moon in the sky. Across the dormitory, her friends Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, and Jane slept peacefully in their beds, a Christmas stocking hanging from each of their beds. Dorcas was even snoring lightly. Lily scowled at her predicament, feeling jealous of their peace. Then felt terrible about feeling jealous because what kind of a friend was she, really.

This year she wanted to celebrate Christmas, her last Christmas here at Hogwarts with her friends. They’d had a great time; midnight kitchen runs to get hot chocolates now that James and Sirius had shown them the secret entrance to the kitchens, late-night gossip sessions, Witch Weekly’s quizzes that left them in splits, and a few study sessions here and there too but mostly just making the most of the little time they had left at Hogwarts.

She looked at her bedside clock again. It had barely been 20 minutes since she last saw it but it felt like hours. She looked at the new copy of Little Women sitting on her bedside table and got up from her bed. Moving silently, she shrugged on the thickest shrug she could find, put on cozy mismatched socks, and trudged downstairs to the common room, the book hugging to her chest. She scanned the common room, grateful that it was empty but then she spotted someone sitting in the armchair beside the fire, only a mop of messy black hair visible.

“James?” She asked. She could recognize that messy head anywhere. He startled like a deer caught in headlights and looked up at her. She could see the thoughts he was drowning in a second ago ebbing out of his eyes as he came back to the present. “Hey Lil, what are you doing up so late?"

“Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’ll read,” Lily replied, turning the book around in her hand so he could read the title, plopped down on the couch beside the armchair, and tucked her feet up to get cozy.

“Little Women?” He said, cocking his head to the right to read the title on her book clearly.

“Yes, it’s a family tradition. We read it every Christmas.” Lily exclaimed as a matter-of-fact.

Her mother used to read to them from her own copy of Little Women every Christmas. This tradition had continued, without fail, every year. The last 6 years when she went back home for Christmas, her mum, Petunia, and Lily curled up near the fireplace as she read the story to them. Her mom's voice was made for narration. It was one of Lily’s fondest memories of home, she could just picture the 4 girls running about the house. It was also one of the only few times where Petunia and her would get along anymore, they both knew this time was sacred.

“What’s it about?” He asked, walking up to the couch and sitting next to Lily.

“You don’t know Little Women? It’s a classic! Every kid knows about it.” Lily said jumping, mortified that someone didn’t know about the story. Then she realized wizards are not really exposed to Muggle literature. They were really missing out.

“I kind of grew up on Tales of Beedle the Bard, Quidditch Through The Ages kind of thing.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. I forget sometimes.”

“No worries, what’s it about?” He asked again, plucking the book from Lily’s hand, turning it over, and reading the synopsis on the back.

“It’s a story about 4 sisters - Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy and how they grow up after the Civil War in America. It’s about societal expectations, living in poverty, breaking the patriarchy, and all. It’s a classic, in Muggle literature. My mom used to read it to Tuney and me every Christmas by the fire. It’s one of my favorite memories.” She babbled, smiling fondly at the memory.

“Hmm, I’ve never read any Muggle book before. How DO they grow up?” He asks, one eyebrow raised, handing the book back to her.

“Oh no. I don’t give away spoilers. You gotta read it to find out,” Lily said, smirking at him.

“I’m assuming you’ve read this about a thousand times?” James asked, teasing.

“I’ve heard it read a lot of times. Since we were little. I’ve never actually read it myself.”

“Does that count as reading, though? Listening to a book?”

“Of course it does!” Lily exclaimed, offended by the idea.

“I’m only teasing!” James said, surprised by her sudden outburst. “How about I read it to you?” James asked, suddenly.

Lily stopped short. “And why in Merlin would you do that?”

“Dunno. Nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, I suppose.”

Lily chuckled and shook her head, dismissing the idea, knowing he was just teasing her again. She was about to completely ignore his presence now and start reading the book when it suddenly disappeared from her hand.

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.” James enunciated. “I absolutely agree with you, Jo,” James added, before resuming. “It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress."

“James..” Lily whispered, putting a hand on his arm to stop him, suddenly unsure of what she was going to say. She just couldn’t fathom that he would that for her. He stopped reading and looked at her.

“You said it’s tradition, right? Can’t have you breaking it.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you one for traditions.” She said, incredulous, with a small playful smile.

“I’m nothing, if not traditional Evans.” He said shyly and flicked her nose playfully. He cleared his throat and made a big show of returning to his place in the book. “Ah, where were we now?”

“I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and the other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an injured sniff. We’ve got Father and Mother, and each other,” said Beth contentedly from her corner."

She looked at him at that moment, and she swears her heart actually swelled. Throwing all caution and boundaries to the wind, and ignoring that growing endearment that she felt for James at that moment, she picked up his arm, putting it around her, and snuggled in so close to his side so there was absolutely no space left. She put her head on his shoulder and tucking her head all the way into the crook of his neck.

James, without breaking his narration, immediately rested his cheek on her head, with his arm resting by her waist the book in between them now, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. Like it was rehearsed and perfected between them over years.

He read till his throat was sore. Lily doesn’t remember when she fell asleep. It was probably somewhere around when Laurie and Jo went ice-skating, or when they were both somehow more tangled with each other than before. If she was being honest, she had trouble concentrating on what James was saying. His scent was enveloping her, she could feel his heartbeat through the layers of his sweaters. She tried to match her heartbeat to his, to calm herself down, closing her eyes and letting the warmth of James wash all over her.

She wondered when she had started noticing James; when his silhouette became a little more pronounced in her vision and when he started taking up more space in her mind. It was like little bits of knowledge she had added to her mental James bucket. She knew now that he preferred tea over coffee. Apparently, he did not need the caffeine to provide him with energy as he had enough on his own. She also knew he almost never stood still, his legs would be jiggling, or he’d be running his hand through his hair or fiddling with something in his hand. She knew he got little crinkles by his eyes when he smiled and he was absolutely blind without his glasses and he loved to fly on his broom in the rain.

But in her half-asleep haze, she most certainly does remember a sudden silence in the room, an envelope of quiet, then a kiss so gentle on top of her head as if she was made out of glass so delicate that would crack at the smallest touch. In truth, Lily realized suddenly, that she didn’t mind being lovesick. Especially if it was for James Potter.

She remembers hearing James’ voice one last time before sleep beckoned her.

“Merry Christmas, Lily."

...

iv.

She isn’t sure what made her walk all the way to the astronomy tower that particular night. She argued that it was such a beautiful night and she wanted to watch the stars and get some time alone with her thoughts, but it definitely wasn’t because she might find James alone there.

Though when Kyle Sullivan turned up for their nightly rounds instead of James, she was visibly deflated. She had come to relish these walks with him where he would recount stories of his childhood, his mum and dad, and 3 loonies that had become his family (his words, not Lily’s). So when the 6th year Hufflepuff showed up out of his breath, she was confused. James had apparently needed a night off and would owe Kyle one for this, so the Hufflepuff gladly replaced him. Having the Head Boy owe you one was certainly a great incentive.

She refused to believe that she had resorted to sneakily vying information out of Sirius later in the common room, pretending to be angry, when she actually was bummed. Absolutely not. If he was off trying to pull a prank, Lily as a Head Girl was obligated to put a stop to it and give him a week’s worth of detention and eat his ear off about his head duties.

“James likes to sulk at a certain height.” Sirius had chuckled, not taking his eyes off off the game of wizard chess he was playing with Peter. Lily had just hummed nonchalantly and marched back to her dormitory. After the common room had emptied not half an hour later, she had grabbed a shawl and ventured out. She convinced herself that she was on her way to give Potter an earful for staying out of the tower after hours and that he should not abuse his Head Boy position, but all that somehow vanished when she reached the top of the astronomy tower.

He sat with his back towards her, leaning back on his hands behind him and legs dangling off. He didn’t even turn to look who it was. She was not exactly quiet while coming up.

“James?” Lily said quietly, not wanting to break the silence of the night with her voice.

James glanced at his right for a beat, acknowledging her presence, but said nothing. She stood there, a little discouraged by his apathetic reaction and hesitated. There was once a time when he would automatically perk up when she entered the room, his eyes stealing glances at her throughout the day as if he tried to make sure she was real, sometimes. She used to hate that, despised that attention, but now, she found herself missing it. She sure was vain, she thought to herself. It shouldn’t bother her this much.

When he didn’t say anything for a long while, she turned to leave, thinking he truly wanted to be alone when he spoke.

“Can you believe it that tomorrow’s the last match I’ll ever play on these grounds?” He said quietly, head nodding towards the quidditch grounds barely visible in the distance.

She didn’t know what to say, so she stayed silent. Instead, she walked over to him and sat down beside him, legs dangling off the edge just like him. She didn't look at him, just kept her eyes trained on the distant grounds.

“I used to dream about playing for my house team. Just like Mum. She was a beater for the Gryffindor team back in her day.” He continued and Lily finally looked at him. He looked like he was deep in thought, but Lily could spy a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Feels like I blinked and the 7 years at Hogwarts have come to an end. We’ll leave this place soon, and..” He looked down at his hands, the thumb of his left hand now rubbing the palm of his right hand. There was a ring there, with a faint P scribbled in an elegant scroll. “…and childhood’s over. We’ll have to be adults now. I’ve always thought I’ll be happy to leave Hogwarts, to make something of myself and make a difference with the war that’s going on, but right now…” He sighed, and finally looked at her. “I just want to be a child again.” It came out as a whisper. Lily thought she saw the barest hint of tears in his eyes but he looked down again.

Lily had rarely seen James this way. She’d seen him smiling coyly, grinning proudly as they set off another dung bomb, amused at Sirius, laughing so hard that he fell from the sofa but she’d never seen James Potter sad. Not once in the last 6 years and she’d lived in close proximity with the boy. And right now, she had absolutely no idea what to say to make him feel better. She tried to ignore the ache she felt in her heart seeing him this way, but it was demanding to be felt.

Suddenly, something took over her. Maybe she related to how he felt and dreamed about summer beach vacations in France as a child with her family again, or maybe it was an eagerness to see him smile again, that she slid her hand into his and entwined their fingers. Her thumb ran slowly on the back of his hand, and he looked at her, and she smiled and said “Me too.” When he smiled back, she could hear the beating of her own heart like someone was banging a drum in the background, the vibrations traveling to her very bones as the truth slowly and steadily seeped inside of her, taking over the veins and settled in every nook and cranny of her body.

It was like suddenly, something in the world shifted. Like something old and rusted yet familiar finally sliding into place. And suddenly, she wasn’t sure why she waited so long. She had spent almost a year battling her own feelings, burying them so deep and hoping it would get crushed under the weight of the other things in her life. When she saw glimpses of that love, of the potential of loving someone so deeply, it scared her. Because to love someone that deeply also means to be that vulnerable. She’d lost enough in her life and she didn’t think that she could survive losing James too.

But at this moment, when she was looking at him in the eyes, all she wanted to do was love him. So that’s what she did.

Lily closed the distance between them, stopping only when their lips were a hair’s breadth away from each other. She could smell mint on him, hear his sudden ragged breathing. They stayed like that for a moment, breaths mingling and noses touching and she waited as if asking for his permission. James put one hand on her cheek and pulled her towards himself, their mouths finally colliding.

And it was glorious. Kissing James Potter felt glorious. It felt so natural to be doing so that she wondered why didn’t she do it before. She could have saved herself a lot of sleepless nights and mental arguing that nearly drove her crazy.

When they finally broke apart, James chuckled, blushing, and said, “I was waiting for you to do that..”

[kim-ruzek]

sometimes you just don't know the answer

Summary: But typical Kim, typical naive, always believing the best in people Kim, thought that even though Adam and her have been out of sync, even though any time any serious conversations comes up it seems like Adam doesn’t listen or pay attention, even though things haven’t been exactly good, Kim thought they both had the same end goal. To be married, happy, in a strong relationship.

Evidently, she was wrong.

Set in S3, fix it bc it circumvents the breakup.

Warnings: Bob Ruzek's A+ parenting, alluding to sexist thoughts, swearing

Word Count: 4k

Read on AO3

Notes: So. A few days ago Lexi ( @adamruz ) answered an ask and said her hc about Adam is that he never actually told Bob about the dinner with her mom and well.... My mind ran with it. And thus this was born.

I hope y'all enjoy (especially you Lexi ♥️)

“Coffee?” Kim looks over at Officer Samuel Innings, her assigned partner for her overtime shift. It’s the first time on the whole shift that Kim is glad, not irritated, at the sight of him—although it’s more to do with the coffee cup he’s holding out for her than him.

“Thanks.” She gives him a smile—he may be one of my most irritating people she’s ever met, but she’s still polite, especially when there’s coffee involved. Innings only needed to go into the shop because he needed the toilet—or, ‘needed to take a whiz’, as he so elegantly put ten minutes earlier—she didn’t expect that he’d pick her up a coffee. From what she had seen from the hours she’s already been on this shift, he’s annoying and she had thought not very considerate.

“It’s two sugars, no cream, right?” Innings double checked.

It’s not, but coffee is coffee so Kim smiles gratefully at him, nodding, before taking a sip, feeling better already knowing that coffee will be soon coursing through her body.

“Do you think we’re gonna get a call?” He only gives Kim a few seconds peace of silence before he speaks again and she has to resist so hard to not roll her eyes. Innings is young, green, and maybe his eagerness could be seen as admirable if it wasn’t so grating. He has no restraint, nattering on and bothering her, and offering his unsolicited complaints about what members of public they’ve dealt with in this shift.

He’s not the kind of partner she’d like on her regular shift, but even more on this graveyard shift, when she’s tired, when she’s already in a mood, when all she wants is just peace and quiet.

He almost makes her wish she had taken Sean up on his offer to join her on this shift. Kim had turned him down, stating she didn’t want to take away his day off just because she’s giving it up—and of course, that was a reason for it, but it wasn’t the only reason.

She just wanted silence, monotony, and she wouldn’t get that with Sean. Her mind is clouded, and he—as well intended as Kim’s sure he is—would only make it worse. But she hadn’t anticipated Innings, and is debating if the devil she knows would’ve been better than the devil she doesn’t.

“You never know.” She says in answer to his question. Her voice is dry, plain, monotone, not having it in her to bring any fake interest or life into it, even if she’s making sure she’s still being polite. Officers talk, and she doesn’t want to be known as a bitch who was in a mood—even if she’s very much feeling that way.

“I hope we do. But nothing like that last call, breaking up drunken sluts is no fun. Like they’re so dramatic, just go home with whatever man you picked up and fuck him and leave us out of it.” Kim screws up her nose at his words, taking another sip of her coffee to hide her disgust at his attitude, making a mental note to tell Trudy about it.

Not that she might necessary be able to do anything about it; Kim’s been outsourced to a beat in another district, Innings not working at hers. Trudy’s wrath would come down like a wall of bricks on any officer in the twenty-first that she gets a whiff of this kind of attitude, but Innings reports to a different desk Sargent.

Although, Trudy Platt is a formidable woman, and Kim knows that she’ll take this up with the other desk Sargent, and god help him if he doesn’t at least hear Platt out.

Even when Kim was new at the twenty-first, she was glad that she had Platt as a desk sergeant, admiring her no nonsense personality. She’s exactly the kind of Sargent cops need, and as Kim listens to Innings prattle on, it makes her wonder whatever possessed her to sign up for this overtime, to willingly seek work—willing seek to interact with officers who aren’t Trudy’s—outside her district.

Of course, Kim does know what possessed her. When seeking this, she had told everyone—well, Platt, Adam and Roman—that she wanted the overtime money, for the expenses in her near future. It’s believable, and it won’t hurt to have the money, of course.

Even though Kim has her doubts whether or not she’ll actually need it—those expenses will only happen if they can actually set a date for their wedding and pick out a place to live. And as more time goes on, the less convinced she becomes that it’ll actually happen.

Which, really, is why she chose to work on her day off.

Everything in her life, her feelings, her relationship, Adam, it’s all very confusing in her head currently and the thought of sitting at home, doing nothing but letting it continue to fester, was an unbearable one.

Kim can’t help but feel guilty, though. It’s also Adam’s day off, and since Intelligence has been thigh deep in a case recently, they haven’t spent much time together and the time they have, all they’ve done is fight—if they’ve even done much talking. It’s usually silent, even when they’re curled up on the couch together, the silence permeates through the air, making it feel like they’re worlds apart.

But she also knows it being Adam’s day off makes this a good decision even more. There’s some serious questions that Kim’s having to ponder upon, and she fears that if they were alone, no work or distractions, they might truly fight. Most of their fights end before they begin—verbally, at least—them exchanging a few heated words before they let their deafening silence say all the things they don’t.

But if they were alone, Kim fears that things might come to blows. And as much as she’s questioning her relationship with Adam, questioning his commitment to them, to her, to their future, she really doesn’t want that to happen. She doesn’t want to call quits on their relationship. And she knows how dangerously close they are to that happening; all it’ll take is one wrong thing to occur.

Like her, accidentally, in anger, yelling her half formed thoughts, her ineloquently put feelings about all what is annoying her.

They need the space, that’s what she tells herself. In a few days, Adam—and Bob Ruzek—will be meeting her mother, and while that won’t fix things, or makes her think they’ll set a date—even if that’s what Roman assumes she thinks—but it’ll be a hurdle they’ve gotten over, which means there’ll be one less hurdle in their way.

One hurdle closer to getting their relationship back in sync, to return to how they were, to being married and happy, even if it feels like they’ll never get there in this moment.

“Burgess? Burgess?” Kim is pulled out her thoughts by Innings, him lightly prodding at her. She’s alert straight away, going to her radio, assuming she had missed a call.

She hasn’t, as Innings quickly explains. He had just been talking to her and she had zoned out. He did, at least, apologize for alarming her.

“Sorry, my mind was somewhere else. What was you saying?” Kim really couldn’t care less what he was saying, but the politeness in her overrides.

“Your ring. I was asking if you’re engaged.” Innings indicates to her ring, and Kim smiles down at it for a couple seconds, reliving the happiness she felt when Adam first gave it to her months ago in her memories.

“Yeah, I am.” There’s a slight giddy feeling in her stomach, like butterflies flapping their wings, at the thought of Adam—her fiancé—and it’s the feeling that is what keeps her wanting to wait out this storm—even if she runs away like this on their days off—because surely, if she still feels like that, even if it’s lessened, if it’s hiding more from her, then the relationship is worth fighting for.

“What does he do?” Innings then asks.

“He’s a cop too. A patrol officer assigned to Intelligence.” Kim answers, while thinking that the pride that still swells in her heart as she talks about him is another reason to keep fighting. And suddenly, the guilt over leaving Adam alone on their day off surges and all she wants to do is go to him, to cuddle up and kiss him all over his face in apology—even if he didn’t know she needs to.

“Wow. Snagged yourself a good man, there.” Innings says and she’s annoyed at the words he used, at his tone, how Kim gets the impression that he’s more impressed with Adam’s achievements than he would be hers, but she repeats his words in her mind, because she has, and she wonders if her forgetting that might be the reason for their problems.

Luckily, they get some calls after that, and Kim doesn’t have to deal with just how much Innings irritates her—although his attitude towards the public really rubs her up wrong.

“Kim? I didn’t know you worked nights.” It’s a few hours later, and they’ve stopped into a twenty-four hour diner to get some coffee and a bite to eat and right as Kim gets served, she runs into Bob Ruzek, her future father in law.

As if her night couldn’t get any worse.

Adam’s father is not one of her favourite people, to say the least. She’s accepted that he’ll have to be a part of her life, of her children’s, and that Adam loves his dad but unexpectedly running into him is not something she’s very happy about.

“Bob, hi,” That politeness overrides again, and she greets her future father in law with a smile. For Adam, she reminds herself. He’s Adam’s dad, and Adam’s going to have to deal with the neuroticism that is her mother soon, so she can deal.

“I don’t usually, I’m putting in some overtime. The wedding won’t pay for itself,” Kim answers him, cracking a light smile, laughing slightly.

They chat for a few minutes, nothing too deep or substantial. Kim always wanted to have a good relationship with her in-laws growing up, but she’s glad that Bob seemingly doesn’t want to spend much time getting to know her like she feels towards him. From the corner of her eye, she sees Innings looking at her, and them, clearly trying to work out how they know each other.

“Right, I should be off.” Kim tells him as her food is handed over to her.

“Yeah. Tell Adam I said hi.” Bob nods and she forces a smile, hoping it doesn’t seem strained.

“Will do. Bye—until this Saturday, of course.” She says, referencing their arranged meal. Bob frowns, looking confused.

“What’s this Saturday?”

“The meal with my mom?” Kim prompts him, but Bob’s face is looking blank. Annoyance bubbles up in her, at him forgetting but then dots connect and she realises that Bob isn’t being the worst father in law right now—that he hasn’t forgotten, he just hasn’t been told.

Adam didn’t tell his dad.

Adam lied to her that he did.

“Never mind,” Kim waves him off, casually, even though her world is crumbling around her. They had discussions about how important this dinner is, how it’ll be unpleasant but they need it, and Adam had looked her in the eye and said his dad was on-board.

And he hadn’t even bothered to ask him, to tell him.

Roman had been saying from the start that Adam is just in this for the fun things, not the commitment, not the gruelling stuff. Her partner means well—even if sometimes it feels like he’s being contrary just for the sake of it—and Kim always listens to him because, well, because he’s her partner, but even when Adam failed that push test Roman recommended, she didn’t put much stock in what Roman had been saying.

She really should’ve.

But typical Kim, typical naive, always believing the best in people Kim, thought that even though Adam and her have been out of sync, even though any time any serious conversations comes up it seems like Adam doesn’t listen or pay attention, even though things haven’t been exactly good, Kim thought they both had the same end goal. To be married, happy, in a strong relationship.

Evidently, she was wrong.

Even though Adam has been letting her talk about this dinner. Even though he knows how nervous she is for him to meet her mom. Even though he knew all this, he still looked her in the eye and he lied to her.

Had told her he talked to his dad. Had told her Bob agreed. Had told her all this, had told her that he understood how important this was to her.

He had held her in their—his, because they still haven’t found a place that is theirs—bed and told her this all while knowing he was lying.

Kim spends the rest of her shift in a daze, trying to wrap her mind around this. Trying to process that everything Roman said was right, that Adam isn’t serious, that he doesn’t want to be married, that he doesn’t want to be on the hook.

That Adam’s just prolonging and putting off the wedding, doing everything he can too, because he doesn’t want to marry her.

Even though he was the one who proposed.

Kim’s mind wasn’t even thinking about marriage, before he proposed. Yes, the thought that she would like to—one day—marry him had propped up, of course it had. Adam is sweet, loving. He made her laugh, smile and comforted her when she had nightmares. And he was vulnerable around her, not afraid to show his softness... Of course thinking about making that man her husband had crossed her mind.

But as a serious thought, as a thought to happen at this time... That wasn’t even near close to being a thought in her head into she saw that ring.

Why would he do that, why would he introduce marriage into the equation, if it wasn’t serious about marrying her, about making her his wife and building a life with her?

It’s the morning when Kim’s shift finishes, and Adam’s still slumbering away in their—his—bed when she comes home. Normally, she’d concentrate on how cute, how peaceful he looks when he sleeps but she feels sick at the sight of him, all these thoughts and questions flooding her mind.

There’s room in the bed for her to climb into, but she can’t—she just can’t. Not when she’s just learnt this. She can’t lay her head next to his with betrayal sits in her heart, burning like a fierce woodland fire.

She grabs some spare blankets and pillows and sets up something on the sofa. She knows that when Adam wakes up, and sees her there, he’ll know something is up, something is wrong but Kim can’t find it in herself to care—not even with the knowledge that she had told Adam that she was sleeping for, hopefully, twelve hours today, so he’d know he wouldn’t get an answer to why she was on the sofa for hours.

When Kim comes too, it’s not the uncomfortable sofa lying under her back, but the nice comfortableness of Adam’s bed. She frowns slightly, as she sits up, confused to as she got here. She wonders, briefly, if she had imagined falling asleep on the couch before her mind wakes up properly and she realises that Adam must’ve carried her in here.

A sweet gesture like that would usually dampen the angry fire burning away in her heart but it doesn’t now; she’s too angry for it to. In fact, Kim thinks, it spurs on the fire, adding kindling to the flames, because how dare he move her? How dare he act as if he cares for her, as he clearly doesn’t, if he can look her in the eye and lie to her.

It’s not long before Kim’s heading out the bedroom, going to the living room. Sounds of Adam’s video games rings out and a darkness grips her heart as she wonders if the gesture wasn’t even that sweet, if it’s just because he needed the sofa to play his stupid games.

The gesture did nothing to melt her heart, but the thought of Adam not being motivated with kindness makes it more stony.

Kim is glad she doesn’t enter the room, guns blazing, as when she does, she sees that Adam is not alone, that Kevin is over, playing with him. She normally loves seeing the two most important men in her life hanging out, the sight always making her heart twist, but just like when she woke up in bed, in does nothing for her now.

“Hey, darlin’,” Adam spots her first, glancing briefly away from the TV to give her a smile. Kevin is then greeting her and she wishes she wasn’t so angry that she could even think about greeting Kevin back.

“You’ve been asleep for ages—I’m sorry about taking up all the bed. I assume that’s why you were on the sofa?” Adam continues talking, his eyes still looking at the TV as he does so, having not realised that something is up.

“Adam, stop the game.” Kim’s voice is devoid of it’s usual warmth.

“I will in a sec. Sorry, darlin’, I’m just so close to beating Kev,” Adam still doesn’t realise.

“The game’s not over yet, Ruzek.” Kevin apparently hasn’t either.

“Adam.” The word is chilled. “Turn it off. We need to talk, now. Kev, please, if you could leave.”

The game is paused then, the two turning to look at her. It’s almost comical how identical their oh fuck expressions are, and if Kim wasn’t so angry, so betrayed, so confused, she might’ve laughed at it.

Kevin moves first, quickly scrambling to get his stuff together, clearly seeing she means business. “Yeah, I should get home before Vinessa and Jordan do and wants dinner. Uh, nice seeing you. Bye.”

Kevin is not someone anyone messes with, even Adam having a moment of being spooked by him and the damage he could do to a person. But he looks like nothing more than a timid schoolboy now, as he hurries on out.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Adam asks as soon as Kevin shuts the door, having turned off the TV. He rises and he goes to come near here, his arms out, looking concerned. But she steps back, not wanting him anywhere near her.

“Why didn’t you tell your dad about the dinner?” She cuts straight to the point. Kim can see the moment, the oh shit moment, that Adam gets what she’s on about, but he plays dumb because apparently he wants to anger her more.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. On my shift, I ran into your dad and I mentioned Saturday—only he had no idea what I was on about. So yeah, Adam, I know you know what I mean.” Really, Kim is surprised how even she manages to keep her voice.

“I..uh.. I...” He flounders and Kim’s anger rises.

“It’s a simple question! You had a reason for not telling him, so tell me it.” when continues to flounder, Kim snaps. “Or don’t. It’s okay. I know why—you don’t want to marry me.”

“I—what?” Adam stares at her.

“I knew this was coming, I guess. But just answer me this—why lie? You do realise I’m going to have to tell my mother this? My mother! And she might not be your mother in law, now, but she’s still my mother and god, I thought you’d care enough about me to at least not create another thing for her to hold over me. And what was your end goal, tell me that? What was you going to do, on Saturday, when you needed to explain why Bob wasn’t coming?” Kim rants at him, letting all her hurt and betrayal out.

“I, uh. I was going to say that he cancelled, for overtime?” Adam looks sheepish, his expression showing he knows he fucked up.

“So, let me recap. Instead of just saying you don’t want to marry me you: lied, ensured you’d break my heart, make me think your dad prioritised overtime over his son and his son’s fiancée and what? Was you going to ditch my mom and I, as well?” Kim had thought her last boyfriend had told her the most outlandish lie ever, that she had left those days behind her.

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t very well thought out. But, baby, I promise you, it wasn’t because I don’t want to marry you. I love you, I want to marry you. With all my heart, darlin’, I swear.” She has to admit, with his earnest he sounds, how genuinely distraught he looks, Kim almost believes him.

“If that’s true, then why? Why would you ever lie about this? What do you have to gain from it?!” She asks, desperation and confusion clawing at her voice. Adam runs a hand through his hair, and it takes a few seconds, with a lot of hesitation, but then he’s speaking, explaining himself.

“Because! Because I was scared. Scared that if you really got to know Bob Ruzek, and saw how rude he no doubt would be to your mom, that you’d realise what kind of man he is? That he’s a screw up and not a particularly good man—or dad, honestly—and that... I was scared that you’d see who he really is, and think I’m the same. That you’d jump ship before you got yourself locked in with the junior Ruzek screw-up.” Adam started off loud, desperate, but ends so quiet, so sad it immediately puts out the flames in her heart, and her heart twists and all what she was feeling fades away, her love coming back tenfold and she questions why she ever doubted him.

“Adam. I already know that. Do you really think I like your father? I’ll deal, because he’s your pops, but I know who he really is.” Adam’s head jerks up at her words, a look Kim has never seen on his face before appearing and she realises that he hasn’t quite understood.

“But Adam, Adam look at me,” Kim moves towards him now, gently resting her hands on either side of his jaw, making him look at her. “And I know who you are. I know you’re not your father, because you are not a screw-up. You are a good man. Today? My partner asked about my fiancé, and I was so filled with pride at even the thought of you because I know exactly who you are.”

Kim knows she’s going to have to spend time questioning why she didn’t think to hear Adam out first, she knows it as she says this and realises the answers to all the questions she’s been having lately doesn’t lie in her head, or in the mouth of others like Roman, or even in Adam’s actions that initially confuses her, when she doesn’t give him a chance to explain; the answers aren’t anywhere but in her own heart.

Because she knows Adam Ruzek, her fiancé. And he is a good man, a man who loves her, who would never hurt her. A man who loves her so much that after just a year wanted to make her his wife.

A man who’s not perfect, who’s flawed and human—just like she, and everyone else is. And that means his behaviour will hurt and be confusing, but that doesn’t negate what she knows is in his heart.

“Kim, darlin’. If that’s true, then why would you think I don’t want to marry you? It’s okay, I know I’m a screw up and that I’ve been on borrowed time to have even a bit of you.” Adam says, quietly, resting his forehead against hers and her heart aches, hurts, as she realises just how much he hurts inside, how little he thinks of himself.

And that’s when she knows she doesn’t care when they get married, or move in properly, or any of that—all she cares about is making sure he knows, for the rest of his life, that he’s a good man, a definitely not a screw-up.

“I thought it because I was being stupid. I got caught up in this whole thing, this rut we’ve been in. I probably put more stock in other’s opinions more than what I know in my heart. But, baby, I know now. I promise. I love you,” Kim gently tilts her head to kiss him, softly, on his lips. She used to think the most love was in the passionate, all consuming kisses.

But loving Adam taught her that it’s these kinds of kisses that show the most love. The soft, gentle but oh so filled with love, affection, adoration kisses. The only kisses done when you truly know someone, when you love them all the way down, deep into your bones, your soul.

And that’s how she loves Adam.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨1

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

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

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

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

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

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You two…?” he ventured.

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

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

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

“Computers,” Clark mused.

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

“Own a couple businesses,” Clark shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, ten grand?” he hissed.

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

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

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

🎨

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you grinned bashfully.

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

“I never saw him before…”

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

“Um, yeah, I should be able to--”

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

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

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

“Babe,” he pushed his arm around you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can’t--”

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

“Really, I’m fine--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Address?” he asked.

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

“I’m sorry about all this--”

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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