#but you must understand that i’ve been staring at this poster for full minutes

[sevenines]

OBSESSED with this new su signing poster. pearl holding greg just because. slightly older steven with attempts at growing out facial hair. the little pebble in the corner. garnet criss-crossed on greg’s van. lapis’ pants riding down so low you can see her hip. bismuth with that muscle definition. connie’s preppy outfit. peridot’s blank glasses.

[rafescoke]

Maybank ; Rafe Cameron (Part 2)

Part #2

Read part #1 here

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Sometimes both sides are in the wrong.

Warnings: More angst, mentions of substance, gaslighting!

A/N: you know the drill. . . send requests!

(Y/N) isn’t one to feel jealous easily.

When she dated a certain boy from her school a few years ago, she wasn’t even phased when she had found him kissing another girl at a party.

She simply didn’t care.

But the aching feeling in her when she saw her current boyfriend sniffing a line on the back of a random girl with the perfect house and the perfect clothes and the-

“(Y/N), do you want to come down to the beach with us?”

(Y/N) finally looks up from her novel in which she wasn’t even reading in the first place. Her mind was somewhere else, and her thoughts weren’t put in the context of the book.

“No. I’m not feeling well.”

JJ sighs, fixing his cap backwards and placing himself beside her. He looks over her lap, reading the first few lines of the book his sister’s reading and sighs. 

“I never read, so I do not understand how this whole novel thing works. But I’m pretty sure reading about getting over a breakup won’t do you any good.”

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, snapping her book with a shut. The last thing she ever wants is for JJ to lecture her. She had enough bawling her eyes the past 2 weeks. 

“What time are you supposed to go again? Go.”

She’s grateful, of course, for JJ. He was there for her the whole 2 weeks when she didn’t feel like eating or taking a shower or anything that involved getting out of the bed.

But she feels better now, her hair perfectly up in a hairdo and the red color of her cheeks returning.

She’s not sad anymore.

The feeling evolves into anger.

Of course, (Y/N).

You’re nothing but a pogue.

If there’s one thing Obx is famous for, that will be the annual bonfire. It’s an excuse for every teenager on the island to let loose and to free themselves after a year of studying.

For (Y/N), it’s just another party for Rafe to ignore her.

But she’s not coming down to the beach with him a few distance away, hell, she doesn’t even know if he’s coming.

“What the fuck! You told me you’re not coming,” JJ laughs, giving his sister a side hug. “You look good. You don’t look pale anymore.”

“I’m gonna be sick if you keep saying nice things to me,” (Y/N) rolls her eyes, though her insides are beaming. JJ has always been her number one supporter, and she loves her brother with all her heart.

“Just don’t go to the other side of the beach, okay? All your friends are here.”

And we’re back to him protecting her.

She gets it, really, but she doesn’t feel like a night full of JJ and his friends becoming some sort of bodyguards to her.

The last thing she ever wants is for Rafe to think she’s still weak.

“J, I know.”

He holds both of his hands up, “I’m just saying. I’m by the fire if you ever need me, okay?”

It’s funny how the boy who cried to her over his scraped knee is the same boy who’s trying his best to protect her. Growing up in a dysfunctional family, all (Y/N) and JJ has is each other. 

(Y/N) walks to the music booth, getting so tired over the same artist being played over and over again. She doesn’t feel like listening to Drake all while trying to forget a certain brunette boy from the back of her head.

“Hey, can I get something different? Play the Euphoria soundtrack if you must. Anything other than the songs you’re playing.”

The DJ looks up to her and gives out the widest grin. (Y/N) tries to look away from the charming smile, but her eyes are glued to a pair of blue ones.

“Not a fan of Drake?”

“Nah.”

“Why? Trying to move on from an ex?”

She gulps, “No. Just have a good taste in music.”

The guy licks his teeth, “Touche. The name’s Nate.”

(Y/N) gives him a small grin, “Hm. Can we change the song now?”

Nate raises a brow because god; no one has ever disregard him. 

There’s something about the girl.

“Is Party In The USA good enough for you, princess?”

Her breath hitches. The last time someone has ever called her princess was probably a few weeks ago. 

This is not helping her to get over him.

“Whatever. You’re the DJ, right?” she answers, turning on her heels. “Oh wait, Nate?”

He smiles at her again, and (Y/N) has the urge to slap the smug look off his face.

“Don’t call me princess. You’re not my boyfriend.”

For the past 40 minutes, no Drake song has been playing. The crowd begins filling the empty space in the middle to dance with each other, and (Y/N) has to look away from the couple getting close and leaving kisses down each other’s necks.

She makes her way down to the drinks counter to get herself a beer because she really doesn’t feel like watching another friend of hers kissing their partners while sober. She decides that if she has to stay for another hour of people making out with each other, it’s better if she’s intoxicated.

“Hey.”

(Y/N) turns her back, expecting to see a drunk friend of hers, but the sight of the same DJ from before greets her.

She rolls her eyes, “I’m not asking you to change the music.”

“I know, I guess I started off wrong just now. Let me reintroduce myself. You deserve to know the real me.”

(Y/N) laughs, because this whole thing sounds like something out of a corny Netflix movie. He’s cute, sure, but she’s just not interested.

He removes the beanie he’s been wearing all night, revealing a blonde buzz cut underneath. (Y/N) tries not to stare.

Okay. Screw cute. He’s handsome. 

“Hi, I’m Nate. I’m from New York, and I just moved here.”

She smiles, finally, because he fits the exact image she has of every male teenager in New York. Blonde buzz cut, an unbuttoned blue shirt with a peak of his toned body underneath, and a pair of red shorts. 

A new kook.

“Nate, your kind and I don’t match. You’re a kook.”

He scrunches his face, “They’ve been telling me that shit since the first week I’ve been here-” he steps closer, and (Y/N) can smell his expensive cologne. It’s not the same one she favors on Rafe, but it’s close. “-don’t tell me you believe that stuff.”

Oh.

She grins, “I’m not rich, Nate.”

“So?”

Oh.

“The name’s (Y/N),” she smiles, extending her hand. Nate beams, because finally, after a whole night of watching her from his booth, she finally expresses the most beautiful smile there is. 

“(Y/N), I feel like we’re going to get closer soon.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I’m not a Drake’s fan either.”

. . .

(Y/N)’s hesitant. 

She doesn’t believe him in one bit, not even when he flashes her the most charming smile ever. 

But he’s not afraid to show her off. She went on a date with him a few nights ago, and she distanced herself from him upon the entrance of the restaurant.

“What the fuck are you doing? C’mere.”

(Y/N) looked up to him, “You don’t have to stay near with me.”

Nate turned to her with a confused expression. “Why? I’m buying you dinner, remember?”

He held her hands in his, and she let him.

Nate pokes her side and suppresses a giggle when she yelps from the sudden touch. He fails, however, when she falls from his bed onto the floor. 

“You’re too ticklish,” he says and helps her up to her feet. Her eyes wander to the band posters on his wall again, being so amazed and surprised by this boy’s taste in music and movies.

“I don’t even listen to half of the bands you listen to,” she says finally, pulling herself down to the empty space beside him. “Do you know who’s Ariana Grande?”

Nate rolls his eyes, “Ha-ha. No. I don’t. Is she the one who sang Despacito or something?”

(Y/N) laughs and her heart suddenly soars. She feels at ease, and there’s lightness in the air, even when they’re in public.

(Y/N) stands up, taking the full room into view again, and walks to the shelf full of pictures of Nate and his family. There’s a picture of him in a soccer jersey, a picture of him playing the drums and then an electric guitar, and-

“Oh my god, is this your girlfriend?” (Y/N) exclaims, picking up a photo frame with a beautiful brunette girl smiling back at her. “She’s so pretty.”

“(Y/N), put it back,” Nate rolls his eyes, standing up from the comfort of his bed and walking towards her. (Y/N) laughs, liking the way his eyebrows scrunch in distress and hides the photo frame behind her.

“(Y/N). . . I’m not playing.”

“No one is playing, Nate,” she laughs, taking a few steps back as he motions forward. “I can’t believe you have a sweetheart back in NYC, Nate.”

“(Y/N), put it back.”

(Y/N) pulls a confused expression, “Put what back?” she brings the frame forward, and expressed a fake sigh. “Oh, this? I was just checking this out-” Nate charges for her and she squeals, running towards the end of his room and watching as he runs in her direction. She panics, looking around for a place to hide, and as her eyes meet his bed, Nate has the same idea in his head.

He pushes her over his bed so she topples over, the frame still in her hands. She yelps, leaving the frame alone and using both of her hands to push his chest away. 

Nate hovers over her, being so close he can smell her sweet scent now, and she looks so good under his yellow lights and in his bed and that goddamn smirk on her face-

“Is she your girlfriend, Nate?”

“None of your concern, princess,” he answers. Her eyes snap down to the cross dangling from his neck, and he can’t do this anymore; not when she looks so pretty under his gaze.

(Y/N) can feel the sudden change in the air now, and the chasing game they’ve been playing suddenly doesn’t look like a chasing game.

He’s like a predator waiting to attack. 

(Y/N)’s eyes look up to him again. “Is she your girlfriend?”

And he connects his lips with her. She gasps from the sudden touch, but after a few seconds, he can feel her kissing him back. 

And for once, she feels okay again. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him close to her and letting his warmth engulfing her.

She feels at peace.

“Rafe,” she whispers, letting the blonde boy trails down to her neck.

Nate pulls away, his lips sore and red after their brief makeout session.

Chest heaving, he steps away. “Rafe?”

(Y/N) sits up, groaning and fixing her hair. “God, I’m so stupid. I don’t mean that, Nate, I’m sorry. Please, don’t go.”

Nate pulls a disgusted face, and it’s the same look Rafe had put in the party a few weeks ago to her and she can feel herself losing again. 

“I’m going out. You can stay here if you want.”

“Nate-”

The door closes behind him, and (Y/N) groans. 

Way to go, (Y/N).

. . .

She hates how bad she feels for Nate.

He has been nothing but a total sweetheart to her, and there she was; moaning another guy’s name and letting him walked out of his own home.

So that’s the core reason as to why she’s standing outside of his house at 10 p.m. on a Friday, letting the heavy rain soaks her whole outfit because of course she would forget to bring an umbrella.

She knocks again, with her fists this time, because she’s certain he hadn’t heard her. For a moment, she’s afraid his father or mother would open the door but after remembering how they’re going to be away for a business trip, she sighs in relief. 

The door opens midway of her banging on the door, revealing a shirtless Nate with nothing but green sweatpants complimenting his legs.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” he groans, tugging her arms in and closing the door after her. (Y/N) attacks him in a tight hug, slightly shivering from the cold rain outside, and after a few seconds, Nate hugs her back.

“You’re okay?”

“Can we talk in your room?”

“Uh, I don’t-”

(Y/N) doesn’t let him give any excuse and she pulls him into the living room, but before she can reach the space, he pulls her to a halt.

“Hey, we can’t go there, I’m kinda, um, doing something. What’s wrong?”

She sighs, “Nate, I’m so sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it when I called you someone else’s name and that’s the stupidest thing I ever did but please don’t go, okay? You’re all I have.”

Nate laughs, “God, you’re really worried about that? I get it, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is, really. But tell me one thing, though-” he pulls her arms, and pins her against the wall. (Y/N) smiles, staring into his blue orbs. “Is this Rafe more handsome than me?”

“Hey man, we really can’t wait-” a voice starts from the direction of the living room, and before (Y/N) can move away, the voice rings again. “Ah. Of course.”

Oh my god.

She misses him too much. His hair is messier than ever, his eyes bloodshot and his nose red. (Y/N) wonders how many lines he did, but judging from the distant look in his eyes, she’s guessing a lot.

“Rafe,” she whispers, getting closer to the boy she missed and letting his smell engulf her. 

“Rafe?” Nate quirks a brow because this isn’t making any sense. Why would she called his friend the name-

Of course.

Rafael is Rafe.

So this is the guy.

His childhood friend is ‘the Rafe’ of the girl he’s starting to fall for.

After so many hours of trying to find the Rafe she accidentally called him, he hadn’t thought of his own childhood friend to be the guy all along.

Growing up, he have been told to call him Rafael up until the day he moved to New York. 

He can’t believe it.

“Rafe,” she calls again, this time following Rafe out to the living room. “Rafe, listen to me.”

“You moved on too fast.”

“I haven’t moved on, Rafe, fuck, I swear I haven’t,” she expresses. “Please. Listen to me.”

“You were mad at me for doing a line from some bitch’s back and you’re, you’re o-out here, under my own fucking friend’s arms and- did y’all fucked?”

“What?” she gasps, “God, Rafe, no. No. I will never fuck anyone other than you.”

“Yeah?” Rafe raises a brow and lets out a shrill laugh. “God, I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

“You can, Rafe,” she steps forward, trying to reach his face with her cold fingers. The anger she felt before suddenly dissipates into the thin air because god, she did not realize how much she has been missing this boy more than anything in the world.

Her everything.

Rafe flinches away, “Stop. Do you know how miserable I am the past few weeks without you?”

“Don’t turn this on me now, Rafe.” “And you’re out here with fucking Nate Hamilton. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Rafe, it’s not like that,” Nate suddenly steps in, and (Y/N) gives him a warning look not to say anything more. He ignores her, “Are we not going to talk about how you disregard her just because of her status on this fucking island?”

“God, always with your equality shit,” Rafe groans. “You guys deserve each other. I can’t believe you will ever do this to me, Nate.”

What hurt Rafe more isn’t the fact that she was all pinned under his arms, but it was because Nate knew about their relationship. Rafe had told him everything about her ever since they first started dating, and he hadn’t just lost her tonight.

He lost his childhood friend too.

“I’m leaving,” he says, rubbing his nose and sniffing. Rafe isn’t sure how many lines he has done, but his mind is getting lighter and lighter and the lights are turning blurry. 

He can’t stand being in the same room as them. He will fucking drive if he has to.

(Y/N) bites her lips, trying to stop herself from bursting into tears. So they know each other? Why won’t Rafe ever tell her about him? Is this still her fault? She wasn’t even cheating on him. They’re not together.

Right?

Are they together?

“Hey, you’re okay?”

(Y/N) pulls her hands away, stepping away from the blonde boy and walking towards the exit. She has to leave this house as soon as possible. The once comforting bright color of the wall seems so dull and suffocating now, and she longs for the familiar blue paint of Rafe’s room.

She wants Rafe. 

No one else.

Just him.

“Just me?” Rafe smiled. “Hey, hey, I got a surprise for you.”

“Rafe, I hate surprises,” (Y/N) groaned, throwing her head back against the headrest. “You bought me a dress before!”

“Look-” he smiled, showing her a gold ring in a small velvet box. “It’s a ring.”

“Oh my god, it looks like yours!” (Y/N) exclaimed, clutching his hand with the ring and comparing the color. 

“Of course it’s the same ring. You’re my wife, I’m not going to buy you a different kind.”

“Wife?”

“What? Am I not your husband?”

(Y/N) wishes for nothing but Rafe. 

She presses on his contact again, turning her phone downside and moving the speaker nearer to her lips.

“Rafe, please call me back. I miss you, and we can fix this, okay? I didn’t know about Nate and I was so, so stupid. I can never replace you, Rafe. You’re mine, remember? Please. Call me back. I miss you.”

She sighs, setting her phone down on her lap and watches as the rain patters down her front windscreen heavily.

Love is a hell of a drug.

-

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @pogueslandia @alwaysclassyeagle @rottenstyx @wxn-drlst

[uglypastels]

Hogwarts idea

Can you make a fic about how Tom sneakes out at night to spend the nights in the readers room (common room/bedroom) he’s a gryffindor and she’s a ravenclaw

Maybe they have a deal with the house teacher of one of the houses. Maybe he tries to hide in her bed as so not to wake the others. Maybe they fall asleep in the common room and have a minor panic when they wake up and it’s morning. Maybe they accidentally switch clothes or one of them steal the others clothes so they walk around with the wrong colors.

love love love love this!!! and I'm sorry it took me so long, I've been in a bit of a writing slump, but this is the best request to get me out of it! thank you <3 and hope you like it. (this got a bit out of hand and I might have changed the ending a lil bit but I hope its good heh)

(gender neutral!reader, I think? at least that's what I went for but if I accidentally missed something just let me know and I'll edit, I'm dumb)

_________________

Being in your seventh year at Hogwarts, with exams just around the corner, was taking up almost every waking minute of your days. Adding the fact that you had your Head Student duties, and Tom had his Quidditch house team to take care of, meaning that you barely ever had time for each other. The only solution, in your young and smitten minds, was that some rules needed to be broken- just a little bit.

It took Tom some time to convince you since you were supposed to be setting the right example for the younger students, but eventually, one gloomy Friday morning, he finally got to you.

"C'mon, love, it will be fun," he had his arm draped around you as you tried to enjoy your breakfast, the looks of your fellow housemates never going unnoticed. There had never been a rule against students eating meals at different tables, and yet, seeing the captain of the Gryffindor team spending all his mornings and evenings at the Ravenclaw table was a strange sight. He preferred your table, he had said one day when you asked, it was quieter. That you could not disagree with. The Gryffindors were always rowdy.

"I don't know Tommy, what if we get in trouble?" you bit the inside of your cheek, as you always did when you got nervous. Tom responded by pulling you in tighter and kissing your cheek, then said:

"That's half the fun of it, darling." His words rushed an array of feelings through you. A part of you started to feel flustered, while the other wanted to shove his face in the large bowl of porridge that stood on the table.

"Please," he looked at you with his usual sad puppy-eyed look. "I feel like never get to see you, y/n. So I'll come over tonight, you can let me into the Rave tower, we'll hang out a bit and then I'll leave- like nothing ever happened. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Tommy-" You tried to keep a straight face, but it was hard to say no to a gorgeous face like his. after a few short moments of silence, you finally agreed, "fine. Be there at 10. Do not be late, Holland."

"I wouldn't dare to waste a second away from you." He kissed you, grabbed a slice of toast (from your plate, of course), and got up.

"Wait, where are you going?" You asked, confused, since breakfast wouldn't end for another 20 minutes.

"I'm kind of late for early detention with McGonagall," he chuckled before running off, toast between his teeth. You just rolled your eyes and finished your meal in peace.

You never really thought that your classes were boring, but that day, every minute seemed to go by at a quarter of its speed. It was as if someone had put a time-stopping hex on you if that even was a thing. You couldn't wait to finish your studies in the library (the scheduled hours at the library was necessary since there was still so much to get through before the NEWTs), so you could make your way back to the Great Hall for dinner. Once there, you immediately were on the lookout for the head of dark brown curls. You stood in the doorway, letting people pass you, but no luck; Tom was nowhere to be seen.

Internally, you already started cursing. It would be just your luck that he'd get attention again for the rest of the night. Why did you have to fall for the troublemaker-

"Aaah!" you shrieked as suddenly your feet were lifted from the ground. Arms wrapped around your middle, and you were spinning around. You wanted to scream more, but you heard the familiar laugh, and it immediately put you at ease.

"Put me down," you laughed. Tom complied without pretence. But his hands remained at your sides as you turned to face him. And then, eagerly, his lips met yours in a chaste kiss.

It was, of course, silly to think that you could have this moment just for yourself, in a hall filled with hundreds of students. Only a few seconds into your kiss, you could hear wolf-whistles around you. Someone, who sounded very much like Tom's friend and team co-captain Harrison, called out from afar: "Get it, Holland!" Tom was quick to put up two fingers in his direction, not paying attention to anyone. But the mood was ruined, and you pulled apart.

"Missed you today," he said softly.

"Missed you, too." You replied. His fingers slipped between yours, and like that, hand in hand, you were already making your way to the Ravenclaw table, but, unfortunately, Tom was stopped when someone tugged at the back of his robes.

"Oi, you dickhead-" but he laughed it off when he saw it was Ben, another friend and member of the Gryffindor team.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ben apologised, "but we're supposed to be holding a team meeting, remember?" He pointed over at the Gryffindor table, and, indeed, the rest of the team was huddled together at the edge of the table. Harrison had gotten up when he saw you and Tom looking, returning the gesture of the two fingers held up in the V-shape.

"Shit, I forgot." Tom brushed his fingers through his hair. He looked at you, eyes already full of regret, and you could tell he was ready to apologise, but you stopped him before he even opened his mouth.

"Don't worry, we'll talk later, yeah." You kissed him on the cheek, "remember, 10."

And miraculously, Tom did remember. As the clock in the Ravenclaw common room struck 10, you heard the faint knock at the other side of the entrance. Of course, Tom knew where and how to access the Ravenclaw tower, but the riddles that the eagle doorknocker asked were at times a bit too hard, bless him.

You pushed the door open, and there he stood. His robes were exchanged for sweatpants and a hoodie. A blue one, you noticed, not that that would help him fit in with the crowd in the common room. Tom had been team captain for the past three years, and his team had not failed to win the cup once since he had even joined the team, to begin with. Everyone in school knew him and adored him. Not even the rest of your house managed to be mad at him (though the Ravenclaw team definitely held a bit of a grudge after a few bad losses over the years).

He stepped inside, and you quickly lead him around the common room up the stairs of the dormitories.

You had heard that years ago, the stairs had a spell on them that stopped the male students from even attempting to step up to the other dormitories. Now, however, this "rule" has been dropped, ever since several students expressed their concerns for the double standards between the male and female student body, as well as the discomfort it might set up for the queer students.

Personally, you thought it would be even better if every student could have their own room, since sharing a space with four other people could get a bit crowded at times and you liked your privacy, but it was understandable that in an ancient building like Hogwarts renovations were not always an option.

Luck struck once more when you opened the door to your dormitory, and it was empty. All of your friends were still out, most likely staring at their books, in the hopes of getting struck with a moment of brilliance that could help them pass their exams. You closed the door, and Tom made himself comfortable in your bed.

It felt like the entire day had already been wasted, not to mention dinner, so you hurried down to your bed, pulling down the curtains of the four-poster, just to get that little bit of privacy you longed for at the end long day. But, of course, it was nothing unusual or suspicious since you often closed your curtains when you were too tired to chat with your roommates.

It was dark with the curtains closed, but Tom was quick to pull out his wand and murmured "lumos" the tip immediately illuminated in soft blue light. The glow was just enough for you to see his face, the goofy grin taking over his features.

"What are you laughing at?" you asked, whispering in case someone would walk in.

"Nothing," he shrugged, "just happy to be here with you."

"You're daft," you laughed.

"Yeah, about you," and with that, he kissed you. The light at the end of his want went out as he dropped between you. His lips were soft and sweet, the pudding that had been served with dinner still lingering on him. He must have stolen a few cookies from the table when it had finished, you thought, to eat later. He often did that.

You stayed like that, cuddling, stealing kisses from one another, for hours, probably. You were never quite sure because eventually, you both drifted off into a slumber. You could have probably slept like that, wrapped in his arms, forever, if it wasn't the bright light peeking through your curtains that was hitting you right in the face. And the whispers. You could hear people talking.

"I swear, they're just the cutest." It was your friend talking.

"But do they really need to do it here?" A second voice said, also familiar to you. "I mean, how many rules do you think they're breaking?"

"Oh shut!" you heard pillows being thrown. Or at least assumed that was what was happening around you. You couldn't be bothered to open your eyes, instead deciding to focus on Tom and his calm breathing. Your head was close to his chest, so you felt it rise with each inhale he took, and you could hear his heartbeat.

It was Saturday, meaning no classes. You had studied every day for the past few weeks, definitely deserving a little break for the day. If you remembered correctly, Tom wouldn't have training until the late afternoon and you could always skip breakfast. If you got hungry before tea, you could always sneak into the kitchens. After all, the two of you had already broken so many rules, what would be the harm in one more.

Ignoring the further whispers of your friends, you snuggled closer to Tom, feeling his arm wrapping tighter around you. Both of you shuffled around a bit, trying to find back the comfort from the night, and quickly you fell back to sleep.

The End

[brywrites]

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand.  You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

..

Tags: @calm-and-doctor​ @averyhotchner​

[melodyofmbaku]

There Will Be No Tears (Chapter 1)

⚠️Warning: I won’t be continuing this series, just placing it here for posterity.🙏🏾 Thanks for understanding. 

Prompt: “Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.” Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: So Much ANGST The boy squirmed slightly as you deftly lifted his sleeping form from his crib and nestled him in your arms. You smiled softly as you stared at the carbon copy of your husband swaddled in your arms. You couldn’t deny it, he was handsome. You placed a soft kiss to his cheek, and whispered sweet words of praise in his ears. You noticed a tear sliding down your cheek and quickly lifted your hand to wipe it away, swallowing deeply and repeating the mantra you had created to comfort you during trying times – there will be no tears. You turned and lifted the large baby bag you had packed earlier in the evening, hoisting it over your shoulder. It was full with supplies that would last a few days as you journeyed outside of your husband’s kingdom to a quiet and unsuspecting location, until you had found a place and settled down. You had decided that you and your son would live away from the palace, and have nothing to do with royalty. You’d live a quiet life, the way you used to before you met him. Maybe settle in the River Tribe, somewhere discreet, where you could find peace.  You didn’t want any trouble. You took one last look around your 1 and a half year old son’s room, noticing the large rocking chair T’challa had bought for you the moment you he had discovered you were pregnant. You smiled at the memory – a small smile. The mantra played on repeat in your head. there will be no tears. You hurried out of the room closing the door quietly and began your walk to the west wing of the palace, where you would make your exit. Your eyes took in the architecture of the palace that had been your home for close to 3 years, you would miss it. It was where you had met T’challa. You had loved him, married him, and conceived your beloved son together in the walls of this building. How could you not miss it? Unfortunately, it was also the place that witnessed the breakdown of your marriage, the walls had heard every argument, saw every push, heard every insult, but worst of all it had heard your cries. The cries that had emitted from your lips as you realized that your beloved husband, the king had a lover. A lover who wasn’t you. You remembered the day you found out like it was yesterday, and you probably would for the rest of your life. __ You had woken up in the middle of the night and he wasn’t there. It wasn’t surprising for you to wake up with him gone in the middle of the night, He was king after all. He had a duty to his country and it was a job that did not give him the privilege of getting his 8-10 hours of sleep. Often times he would work through the night. You would always feel him slip back into bed as the sun rose, to kiss your cheeks and pull you close to him once again, returning just in time to spend a few minutes with you as you woke up. If you woke in the middle of the night and missed his presence he could be found in his office, huddled over a stack of papers, with a steaming cup of herbal tea to his side and his glasses on the tip of his nose. Sometimes you would watch him through a crack in the door and go back to bed, your heart content that he was fine. Other times you would give a little knock on the door and let your presence be known.   He’d always welcome you in with a smile and pull you into his lap, leaving you with a kiss on your forehead. If you were really adamant, you’d manage to convince him to come back to bed, and he’d oblige. Every now and then you got comfortable in his lap and let him work as you slept for the duration of the night. This time was different. You had left your bed with a peace offering of herbal tea in hopes of resolving the quarrel that had you both going to bed with your backs facing each other. Instead of seeing T’challa huddled over a stack of papers  you were met with a sight that would change the course of your relationship and Wakanda forever. You saw your husband, with his back facing you as a woman had her hands planted on his desk and her figure arching into his body. “You are my peace.” He said into the woman’s hair, as his arms rested loosely around her waist and his nose was buried in her hair. It was those words that broke you the most. He littered her neck with kisses as she reached back and ran her fingers through his coarse hair. Your husband’s hair. The whole scene made you sick to your stomach and you couldn’t help yourself as the saucer and teacup that held his favourite herbal tea slid out of your hands and crashed onto the polished marble floors of the palace. You were stunned for a second before you turned your back and walked hastily back to your quarters. “Y/N!” he called frantically. He murmured a few words to the woman in his office, took a few hurried strides across the room and closed the mahogany door of his office quietly. He then started his sprint towards you and grabbed your wrist pulling your body to him.   “Y/N…” he said as his voice trailed off. He ran his fingers through the coils that sat atop his head – something he did when he was frustrated. “I’ve been going through a lot, it’s been hard on me you know?” He expected you to say something, but words couldn’t escape your lips. there will be no tears.  You had thought that the increasing number of fights you had been having could be resolved by couples therapy, or communication, anything. You were wrong. This moment made you realize that nothing would solve this broken marriage, it was bigger than you. What you did know is that you wouldn’t have your son growing up in a loveless family, with puppets as parents. Finally, your found your voice. It was wobbly, and you didn’t know how he would take it but you tried anyways. “T’Challa?”  A beat. “ I think we should… I don’t think we should… I can’t –“ you couldn’t finish your thoughts as he interrupted you. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.” He whispered as the grip on your wrist tightened. His head hung low, and he couldn’t look at you and instead chose to focus his sight on the floor. You took note of the pressure on your wrist, nodded and composed yourself. You pulled your wrist from his grip, smoothing the front of your night dress, and made you way back to your chambers. This time, he didn’t return.  But you knew. You couldn’t stay. Your upbringing and dignity wouldn’t allow you to. You wouldn’t be a puppet queen. You couldn’t. It wasn’t in your nature. __ Weeks had passed since that night and you still operated on auto-pilot. You bathed, burped and played with your son as if nothing was wrong. You went to all your scheduled meetings as the queen, you picked out the linens for the dinners that were to be held in that quarter, you had lunches with T’Challa’s mother, you painted your nails, and braided your hair like you usually would. You spoke to your husband as if nothing was wrong. Replying when he asked you questions that he already knew the answer to just to get you to speak to him. “Y/N? Are we attending the Festival of Harvest this year?” he asked while looking at you expectantly looking for anything – something to indicate your anger. You busied yourself with the laundry you were folding and replied in an even tone “Of course, we attend every year don’t we? Why would this year be any different?” This year would be different. By the time the Festival of Harvest rolled around you and Kweku would have left the palace, never to attend another festival again. Prior to the discovery of his infidelity your interactions had been very different. You were bickering back and forth about almost everything. He would spend a few hours a day playing with his son but ignoring his wife. Often times he’d find you and plop Kweku on your lap and say “He needs his diaper changed, you can return him to me when you’re done.” When you questioned why he couldn’t change his diaper, he’d say “It’s the least you could do Y/N, you’re his mother.” In a condescending tone that you’d never thought would leave the mouth of your husband, your Challa.  He would wait for you outside his nursery, and swoop him out of your arms when you exited the room without a word of thanks, and hurry along his way. When you expressed your tiredness while dealing with Kweku, juggling your palace duties, and trying to be a good wife at the same time, he’d simply ask “Y/N, could it be that you’re just not trying hard enough? You must learn to manage it.” T’Challa was never physical with you. Just dismissive, and condescending, and cold. This wasn’t the man you married. Whenever you expressed your concerns about his behavior he’d roll his eyes at you and try to placate you like a child. “If you’d just do what I suggest, you wouldn’t be getting yourself upset over nothing Y/N. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy hormones still swirling about in your system but I’m sure Shuri can help you out if you need it.” With these comments you’d just get more and more heated, which would result in many slammed doors, and a lot of raised voices. You could put up with the arguments, you could fix that, but giving himself to another woman? You couldn’t forgive. You knew you had to be objective with your exit. Though T’Challa had always been sweet to you until recently, he had the capacity to be cruel, he was the Black Panther after all. You wouldn’t put it past him to keep you in the palace as a captive if you made any attempts to leave him, especially with his son. During sex he’d let you know it was he who was dominating your body with skill that made you cry out wantonly every time. “You’re mine Y/N, say it!” he’d growl into your ear, and you would say it, because it was true. __ Your sons whining took you from your thoughts, and you remembered you had to be swift. There was only a small window that would allow you to leave undetected. You had been planning this for weeks. Waiting for the perfect moment. T’challa was gone on an annual hunting trip where many of the  Dora Milaje would accompany him as he wouldn’t be in communication with the palace for 3 days. A lot could happen in 3 days. Today was day one, and you had planned to leave today as it would give you the most amount of time to get as far away from the palace as possible and leave undetected. The palace was still guarded, but loosely, and you knew all the blind spots. Perks of hanging out with Shuri in your down time. You snuck out the side door in the west wing, which led to an unsuspecting dirt road, spotting the cab you had arranged for idling in the shadows. Having already placed your small luggage in the cab before going back to retrieve your son it only took you a moment to settle yourself and a sleeping Kweku in the car.  “What’s your destination?” the cab driver asked you curiously looking at your cloaked figure in the rear-view mirror. You took a deep breath and steadied your voice “Take us North, I’ll tell you where to stop.” The driver nodded his head and began the journey turning on a shitty American station that played pop music and country.   You’d never forget this day. To you, it was monumental because you had managed to pull it off but it was also the day when you turned your back on your duty, your kingdom, your husband and your crown. When that realization struck you, the tears slid down your face disobediently. No matter what, you vowed to never look back

[kieraelieson]

Three Times Patton Got Lost in a Market

Thomas was walking through the old store with his mom, careful to hold her hand while they shopped.

“Oh, look! There’s a wind chime! It’s just like the nice neighbor lady!” Patton said.

Thomas stopped to look, and his mom stopped too, looking at something else across the aisle.

“It isn’t exactly the same,” Logan said. “Hers has a hummingbird on top, but this one has a butterfly.”

“And anyway, this one has prettier colors when the light hits it,” Roman added.

“Oooh, the red really is pretty, Roman!” Patton said excitedly. “And the purple, and the yellow!”

“It’s exactly the colors of the most beautiful rainbow reflecting back from a pot of gold,” Roman said dreamily.

“Mom!” Virgil suddenly shrieked, alerting them all to the fact that Thomas’s mom was no longer beside them.

Instantly, there was a pandemonium of overlapping voices, all very confusing, and Virgil at the front screaming.

“Quiet!” Patton yelled, as loud as he could, and then felt a little like crying. He didn’t like yelling, but this was important!

“But we have to find Mom!”

“We should run after her!”

“If we yell someone will hear!”

“Listen to me!” Patton yelled again. “Remember what Mom said? If we get lost in the store we stay put, and if we see an employee then we ask them to call mom for us.”

Virgil bit down hard on his sleeves, and Patton took his silence for agreement.

“That is indeed what Thomas was told,” Logan admitted.

“I still think we should go find her!” Roman protested, though less pointedly than before.

Thomas plopped down on the floor.

“Ok. That settles it, we’re waiting for mom,” Patton said. “Let’s look for more pretty things while she comes to get us. Roman, what else can you see around us that looks like a rainbow?”

Roman grumpily crossed his arms. “There’s a rainbow on the lawn decoration.”

“Very good!” Patton said. “Logan, can you see anything that’s science-accurate?”

“Science-accurate is a very vague phrase, but I suppose you could be intending to direct me to the collection of decorative barometers.”

“Oooh~ yes, the water swan neck thingies~” Roman said.

Logan launched into an explanation of barometers, most of which Patton didn’t understand.

He checked on Virgil, who was scanning the aisle they were in over and over again, and chewing holes in his poor sleeves.

“She’ll be here in just a minute, don’t worry,” Patton said gently.

Virgil nodded slightly, but didn’t stop checking the ends of the aisle and staring down each person that passed.

And then his eyes went wide. Patton turned to look.

“Mom!”

“Thomas, I thought I lost you for a minute there! Stay close, ok?”

Thomas took his mother’s hand and nodded.

Patton let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t lost anymore.

••^*^••

Thomas was a bit worried about high school, and especially the test coming up, and Logan and Virgil were mostly helping him with that. But now he had to go to the store for groceries. And Roman was exhausted after being all excited over the play and was sound asleep.

So Patton was helping shop!

He smiled confidently, prompting Thomas to look at the list again. He needed to get the ingredients for tacos, and some bread, milk, eggs, and ice cream. Yum!

Now what all went into tacos?

There was meat, and sour cream, and little shredded lettuce, and cheese, and taco shells, or was he supposed to get soft tortillas?

Patton considered, wandering into the store towards the food. Maybe both? Yeah. Both. Oh! And there was the bread! That would probably have tortillas near it!

Patton hummed happily, finding the bread that looked the same as what mom had been getting, noting the brand name. Nature’s Own. Huh.

Now tortillas… what kind did they normally get?

He finally just picked the one that had blue on the label.

Virgil popped up, startling him for a moment, especially with his intense frown. “People are staring. We’re taking too long near the bread, and your humming is gonna make people think Thomas is weird.”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Patton said cheerfully, glad he hadn’t dropped the tortillas. “I didn’t get in anyone’s way, and they haven’t said anything yet about thinking Thomas is weird.”

“Yeah…” Virgil glared at the people milling around and shopping. “Well they could. Just… keep it quiet.”

“Will do!” Patton grinned, and Virgil sunk back out.

Next he had to find… well, next he had to find the next thing. Should he keep walking and hope to see them, or should he seek each one out? He’d stumbled upon the bread, surely he would stumble across the rest.

Patton hummed happily and kept walking, skipping along beside the cart as Thomas pushed it. Thomas must really be out of it, poor guy. But Patton could help him cheer up!

Pretty soon, they had almost everything! Except for taco seasoning. And Patton wasn’t sure if they were supposed to get the kind that was in packets, or the actual spices. And he also wasn’t sure whether he should look in the spices area or the Mexican food area. Or where those areas were.

Surely they’d passed those special Mexican drinks a while back. But where?

Patton encouraged Thomas to turn around and go back, but after several aisles he still couldn’t find anything he was looking for. He turned back around, and then again.

“Perhaps… I need to go from one end all the way to the other…”

Virgil popped up again, rather grumpy looking, but not as much as earlier. “That’s gonna take too long. We’re already late, and Mom is gonna need Thomas home son so she can make dinner.”

Patton sighed. “Ok. Logan, help please, I’m lost.”

Logan popped up, looked around, and then pointed. “That aisle.”

“But how do you know?” Patton asked.

“There’s a sign above it.”

Patton looked up. “Oh. Yeah.” He chuckled. “I should’ve thought to look for signs. Thanks, Logan!”

“You’re welcome. However I do suggest we attempt to make our trip home expedient. I’ll need Virgil’s full attention and assistance to prepare adequately for the test.”

“Will do!” Patton said, already spurring Thomas towards the aisle.

••^*^••

“I have created the ultimate maze!” Roman said excitedly. “It is called Infinite IKEA!”

Patton clapped excitedly, and even Logan gave a single clap.

“I really don’t see the point—“

“The point is a race, Emo Nightmare, and the winner gets to pick which old reruns Thomas watches tonight.”

Virgil tried to pretend he was still disinterested, but Patton could tell he was excited. “So what would we have to do to win the race?”

Roman grinned. “I’ve hidden a copy of each of our logos in the store somewhere, except for mine, which Logan hid by sinking in and placing it in a random place, so he doesn’t know the layout of the store yet. You have to find your own logo, and then exit the store!”

Oh, so that was why Logan had a bump on his head. He’d probably tried to rise up too close to a shelf. Ouch.

“Everybody ready! Set! Go!”

They all rushed into the store. Patton looked around excitedly, getting more excited to see that the store was full of items that came from houses where Thomas had lived or visited. He ran to the section of beds and flopped onto the biggest one.

He let out a comfy sigh, looking up at the roof which, rather than being metal supports and too-bright lights, was intricately painted with something that glowed.

It was amazing.

“You did a really great job, Roman,” Patton said, even though Roman was probably running ahead to win the race— oh! This was a race!

He jumped up and started walking, looking around for his heart with glasses.

After the bed section, where he wished he could stay and flip onto each one, he wandered into the lamps and chandeliers section. That was beautiful. He was still dazzled and in awe walking out. It even had that massive one Thomas had seen in the one hotel once.

And then came books, where Logan was!

“Hi, Logan!”

“Ah, greetings Patton.” Logan was looking through the books, just as captivated as Patton had been by the beds.

“Find your logo yet?”

“Not yet. I’m not overly concerned with winning, and Roman has certainly made this an interesting place to browse.”

“Mhmm!” Patton looked around. “Where are the kids books, I want to see if the Winnie the Pooh book is still chewed on or if Roman made it brand new.”

“That way, two shelves down,” Logan said, rather distracted by a book he’d picked off of the shelf.

“Thank you!”

Patton found the children’s section, and then found the book. It was still chewed on the corners. He smiled, and flipped through the thick cardboard pages. Thomas had loved this book.

And then, when he opened the last page, his logo fell out.

“Awww, look!” He picked it up, and found that it was a sticker. He promptly stuck the sticker to his chest and put the book back. Now all he had to do was find his way out!

He wandered into the next section, which was all dark and purples and blues and blacks and everything cozily packed together.

There was even a sign warning him away from certain aisles, because there would be spiders, and Patton was very glad Roman had thought of that.

And then he remembered the sunglasses stand sitting at the beginning of the lights aisle. That was probably for Virgil. Roman had been so thoughtful in building this! Patton hoped Roman would win. He certainly deserved the prize after putting all this together.

There was a whole section of Disney, all the movies, and posters, and any Disney themed toys and figurines, and even cardboard cut outs! It was lovely and chaotic and colorful, and it bridged Virgil’s section with Roman’s very well.

Roman had every single picture Thomas had ever seen, which was so many pictures!! Patton looked in awe until he realized that the paintbrushes weren’t just for show, some of them had been used. There was a little black cat in the corner of one painting, and a little V, and the paintbrush was in a cup of black water.

Patton found a picture of a field of flowers, and picked up the paintbrush, dabbing a bit of pink onto the picture. It turned instead into exactly the kind of flower Patton had been envisioning! He smiled wide and painted another, and another, and another, and each one turned out beautiful!

He ran to another painting and gave a little boy in the background a balloon and a smile. And then he gave the lady sitting in a rocking chair a baby to hold.

He finally had to stop himself. He could stay here forever, but he probably should get to the end of the store so he wouldn’t worry the others.

He got to the end of Roman’s section, only to find a massive blanket fort. He kept himself from exploring, and passed through, coming out at… the beds again?

Ohhhhh, right. It was a race and a maze.

Patton flopped down on the bed Thomas had grown up with, wrapping up in the blanket. He let out a happy sigh.

“Logan! Roman! Virgil! I’m lost! But I’m also gonna stay lost!”

Roman rose up and leaned against the footboard, a pleased smile on his face. “Enjoying the store?”

“I’m loving it!” Patton said happily, sitting up. “You did a really good job!”

Roman glowed. “I guess I’ll have to leave it up for you to wander in then. Once Virgil finds the exit I’ll put it somewhere more obvious so you can get out once you’re done.”

“Oh, did you and Logan already get out? Who won?”

“Logan, but only by a few minutes. He hid my logo in a hard place! How was I supposed to guess he’d put it under the makeup stash?”

Patton chuckled. “Wait, I didn’t see that.”

“It’s in Virgil’s section, in one of the spider aisles. I can un-spider it for you if you want.”

“Well, let Virgil have his fun first, but I’d really like that.” Patton smiled. He could have fun in here for a long time. “You did an amazing job with the paintings too! I loved those!”

Roman puffed up happily. “I did, didn’t I?”

There was a distant, triumphant, “Ha! I made it! Wait, Princey beat me? Aww.”

Patton giggled.

Roman patted his shoulder. “Have fun.”

“I will!” Patton said happily, eyeing the blanket fort which he now had time to explore.

—————

If you enjoyed, please reblog! And consider supporting me as I try to make a living off of writing 😊

[miamlfy]

My Son

A/N: Omg I finally got this out, so sorry for how long it took me. School has been kicking my butt, which I’m sure many of you can understand. It has been draining all of my energy and motivation but I finally finished this. Please be patient with me, I am working very hard on your request (which are still open btw). Anyways, I apologies for any mistakes I didn't catch. 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy X Potter! Reader 

Summary: The Potters (and Draco) prepare for the upcoming school year at Diagon Alley and see the Malfoys there. (Continuation to Homemade Rings) 

Warnings: Lucius, None! Mostly fluff

Word Count: 1,7K 

Masterlist

Enjoy! 

(Not my gif, credit to whoever made it)

September first was coming up fast, which meant the you and your family, along with Draco were to go school shopping. Having Draco live with you was quite fun and he got along very well with your parents, as well as Harry. Draco and Harry have been sharing a room since Draco first came to stay with you and although they could be annoying and bother each other, they weren’t terrible roommates. 

Harry let Draco put up some posters in the bedroom and decorate part of the room to Draco’s liking. You, along with James and Lily, were glad they were getting along and sometimes they acted like best friends, which was great. You just hoped they kept that friendship when you all went back to Hogwarts. 

You woke up early, as well as everyone else to get a head start on shopping, everyone was in a cheerful mood besides you. You stayed up finishing any work given to you over the summer, as you quickly forgot about it when Draco moved in. You also did some of Harry’s work after you lost a bet to him early on in the summer. 

“Good morning sunshine.” Lily said, as you sat down. You let out a groan and filled up your plate with food. 

“Did you sleep?” Draco asked, whispering into you ear. You glared at him for a second and shook your head no. Just then, Harry comes down to the kitchen and sits down at the table, letting a very loud yawn while extending his arms outwards. 

“Good morning everyone.” Harry said, rather cheerfully. Your eyes were fixed on him as he placed food onto his plate. Looking up, he gave you an innocent smile, not budging with your killer glare. 

You ate your breakfast silently, your mind being too tired to process words. Once everyone finished, Harry and Draco were set to clean up and you took that opportunity to lay on the couch while your parents finished getting ready. 

However, what you thought would be a peaceful rest soon escalated to yells coming from the kitchen. 

“Draco you idiot, you don’t put normal dish soap into the dishwasher!” You heard Harry yell out. You sighed and turned on your side, hoping to block out his yells. 

“I’m not an idiot, I’ve never used one of these bloody things before,” You heard the dishwasher slam shut, “You’re the idiot for not telling me!” Draco yelled back. You flipped onto your other side, growing frustrated. 

More bickering had ensured between the two, you sat up and rubbed your eyes angrily, all you wanted was some damn sleep, was that so hard to get? Hearing your parents footsteps enter the living room, you stood up from the comfortable couch and dragged your feet to the fireplace. 

“Draco why are your clothes wet?” James asked, Draco simply pointed to Harry who was sporting dry clothes. James gave Harry a stern look while Lily dried Draco with a spell. 

Harry raised his hands up in protest, “In my defense, Draco asked what to use to dry the dishes and I told him to use his shirt, as a joke,” he said, emphasizing his last words, “I didn’t think he’d take me seriously.” You giggled a bit, Draco was still a bit clueless when it came to do things the ‘muggle way’. 

James merely shook his head and formed a line behind the fireplace, “Alright Y/n darling, you first.” He said. You nodded and entered, speaking the words ‘Diagon Alley’ as you threw floo powder. The others soon joined, one by one. 

Once everyone was together and made sure Harry didn’t mispronounce the words, you started making your way around through the crowded streets. Draco took your hand in his, being as this was your first time out in the wizarding world together, you now can show small gestures of your relationship to the public. 

Lily pulled out the list she made of all things everyone needed, “We should start by getting your textbooks and then from there go t— James!” Lily exclaimed, turning to face your dad, “We are not going to get new quidditch equipment, the kids don’t need new things and when did you add this?” 

“Not for them, for me.” James said, ignoring Lily’s questioned. Lily simply shook her head and lead everyone to Flourish and Blotts. 

You smiled lightly as you entered the shop, the smells of books always made you happy and sent you to a calm space. Most likely something you adapted from your uncle Remus. Still holding onto Draco, the two of you made your way around the shop squeezing your way through the growing crowd and getting all the textbooks you’ll be needing for the school year. 

“What classes are you excited for Draco?” You asked, running your hands on a books spine. 

“Potions no doubt and maybe helping Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing, I think that will really help me become a decent healer.” He answered. 

You smiled at his words, “You’ll make a fantastic healer Draco.” You placed a kiss on his cheek and found your parents and Harry preparing to pay. 

Once James managed to convince Lily, the five of you entered Quality Quidditch Supplies. A group of people were surrounded around this years new broomstick, your dad and Harry, along with Draco, joined those people. You walked around the shop with your mom and looked around, you were in no need of a new broom, you would forever be thankful for your uncle Sirius in gifting you the Firebolt for your thirteen birthday. 

Lily and you quickly left the shop once it started getting more full of people. You quickly spotted the boys and a very happy James who was holding a new Quidditch set, you heard Lily let out a sigh. 

“Did you really need another set, James?” She asked once James reached the two of you. 

“I tried stopping him mum, I really did.” Harry spoke in a non convincing tone, he most likely encouraged James. Draco raised his arms in defense and grabbed ahold of your hand. 

The five of you finished up your shopping and decided to end the day by eating dinner at a restaurant in London. Making your way out of Diagon Alley, you felt Draco freeze beside you and noticed his gaze was fixed on something. Following his eyes, you saw his parents who were standing outside a shop, not yet noticing the Potter family. 

Draco hasn’t spoken/seen his parents since the incident. Lucius and Narcissa knew he was now living with you and although your parents haven’t spoken directly to them to gain full custody of Draco, it was pretty clear that the Malfoy couple weren’t going to object to it. You looked over to your parents who were too engrossed in a shops window, Harry as well. 

Lucius and Narcissa must have noticed their son and were now making their way towards Draco and you. You squeezed Draco’s hand in reassurance, you felt him give a light squeeze back. 

Standing now in front of you, Lucius full stare was on Draco while Narcissa stared at you with cold eyes, feeling a sort of jealousy for taking her son away. 

“Draco.” Lucius spoke with a stern tone, “fancy seeing you here.” 

“Likewise, Father.” Draco replied sternly. 

“Didn’t expect you to fully commit into living with those people,” Lucius said in a disgusted tone, not caring if you were listening he continued to speak, “Thought by now you’d be done with the Potter girl and come back home, where you belong.”

Before Draco or you could respond to Lucius rather rude comment, you felt your parents presence next to yours. Lily wrapped her arm around yours in a protective manner and glared back at Narcissa, already entering momma bear mode. 

James now stood in front of Lucius, you knew your parents heard his disrespectful comment towards your family and James nor Lily were about to let it slide. 

“I’m sure Draco enjoys living with us and spending time with my daughter perfectly well,” James spoke up, “there was no need for your rude words, especially towards my daughter.” 

Lucius eyes shifted from Draco to James, “I simply want my son to return home, his mother and I both miss him dearly.” Both James and Draco scoffed at his words. 

“If you two missed me so much then why didn’t you send a letter or rather yet, treated me better when I did live with you?” Draco questioned. 

“Draco we just want you back home and back with us, you can even continue to see the Potter girl.” Narcissa said desperately. 

Lily scoffed and shook her head, “My daughter has a name you know and it’s Y/n.” Lily said, growing angry. 

Draco ignored his mothers words letting James place a hand on his shoulder and speak once more, “You let Draco decide his choice the minute you raised your hand at him, Lucius. Draco is much of a son to me as Harry is and I will continue to treat him like one until the day I die. You lost that privilege, so don’t ever try to take my son away from me. I’m sure the ministry would love to hear more about this, does Wednesday work for you?” Lucius scowl grew larger by every word James spoke and let out a ‘very well’. 

“That settles it then,” James turned to face Draco, “how does eating a muggle restaurant sound? I’m sure Lily knows a perfect one.”��

“That sounds great.” Draco replied and took your hand in his and began walking away, Harry following the two of you. 

“It was awful seeing you here, Lucius. I’ll set up a meeting for Wednesday.” James wrapped his arm around Lily and walked off following his kids. 

“Did you really mean what you said?” Lily asked him. 

“Of course I did, Draco deserves to feel loved and we will do that until the very end.” Lily smiled at his words and nodded. 

“You know James, you’re kind of hot when you get all mad and a turn into an overprotective dad.” 

James smirked, “Kind of? Don’t you mean very.” 

“Sure James, sure.” James leaned down to kiss Lily, soon gags were heard from ahead of them. 

“Can you guys stop snogging and hurry up?!” You yelled out, “My stomach keeps get growling!” 

Lily sighed and laughed, “Coming!” She yelled back. 

“Oh that’s definitely something you’ll be saying tonight.” James whispered into her ear, “OW!” 

[trvelyans-archive]

something to look forward to

mari wiseman x gray black. 4k words.

Is there a piece of popcorn in your hair?

“Mari, are you listening?”

You snap to attention, finally glancing away from the mirror in the bathroom and rolling your eyes. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening,” you reply, holding your phone between your shoulder and your ear while you tug your boots on. “You must not be, though, because I’ve reminded you more than once that it’s only a ten-minute walk to the train station and that I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“I should just come and get you,” Nick says. It’s past midnight now – you had to stay after your shift ended, cleaning up a puddle of Pepsi on the floor that you found accidentally after kneeling down to grab some popcorn from under the seats – and no matter what you say, he insists that you’re going to run into trouble on the way home (even though you have the grumpiest face in the Chicago area – probably all of Illinois – and there’s probably very few people who would approach you because of it without even starting to consider the whole mind-blind thing). “Did you at least bring a hat?”

You pause. “Yes?”

“Mari –“

“Nick, it’s minus ten.” You zip up your jacket and straighten, reaching to grab your phone to make sure it doesn’t topple to the ground while you swing your bag over your shoulder. “That’s nothing.”

“Alright,” he concedes, sensing that you’re not going to budge. “But… call me if you see anyone acting - I don’t know, suspicious, okay?”

“Don’t you worry enough at work?” you ask, reaching for the bathroom door and pulling it open. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Button.” You can hear a smile in his voice. “I never get tired of you.”

You nod at the co-worker by the ticket booth as you wander through the lobby, your boots squeaking loudly against the floor. You don’t know how they didn’t dry in the eight hours they spent sitting in your locker – they’re still as wet as they were when you got here earlier today. Well, yesterday, technically.

Jesus, you’re tired. He should be more worried about you falling asleep on the train than he should be about you getting mugged.

Before you push open the front doors of the theatre, you pause and heave a sigh, remembering that he’s still waiting on the other end of the line. “I’ll call you if I see anyone acting suspicious,” you promise, hoping that you sound sincere. And you are sincere – even you don’t want to die by a mugging-gone-wrong. “And once I get on the train.”

“And once you get off the train.”

That gets a laugh out of you – not an entirely frustrated one, either, which is a feat to behold, at this hour and after this much badgering. While he can just tune into your thoughts whenever he wants to hear whether or not they’re ‘ah, that customer sucked’ or ‘ah, I’m being actively murdered’, sometimes – especially now that you’re an adult with a part-time job – he likes to let you pretend that you have some semblance of privacy (even though you really don’t). “Alright, before and after I get on the train,” you repeat. “Anything else?”

“Nope. Be safe, okay, Button?”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Love you,” Nick replies. “Bye.”

The call clicks off before you have a chance to say ‘love you’ back, and after spending thirty seconds deliberating whether or not you want to call him again to do so, you decide against it and brace yourself before pushing out into the night.

Thankfully, it’s snowing outside, and you take a minute to tilt your head back and let the snow hit your face. Most people might complain, but you like the snow. It makes everything in the city look pretty… dreamlike, almost. Still, after breaking yourself out of your reverie, you sigh and stuff your phone in your pocket, regrettably beginning to feel the tips of your nose and ears getting cold already. It’s minus ten, you remind yourself, gritting your teeth and dragging your boot-heavy feet down the sidewalk. And you’ve survived worse. Worse weather, and…

Well, worse.

You sigh a second time like a melodramatic dog that hasn’t yet been fed by its owner and glance up just in time for you to notice a man wandering down the sidewalk towards you. Late forties or so, with a leather jacket and slicked back hair – is he a mobster? He walks like a mobster, at least ones that you’ve seen in movies, and – it’s Chicago. He could very well be a mobster.

Should you call Nick?

You opt not to this time, but tighten your fingers around your phone anyway and hold your breath as he gets closer and closer, close enough that you’d probably be able to pick him out of a line-up if he tries anything, and then, in the span of about two seconds, he walks directly past you without even looking over, leaving you shaking in your boots for more than one reason and sufficiently not-mugged. (No word on whether or not you’re sufficiently not-frostbitten, though.) You’re almost disappointed – do you not look put-together enough to at least try mugging? – and then you remember that going unnoticed by as many people as possible is something you usually like, so you let your phone fall to the bottom of your pocket and keep walking. A little faster, this time, though - just to be safe.

Which is good, because it hasn’t even been a full minute when you hear footsteps behind you – quick, careful footsteps, too close for you to run away from.

Oh, well. It was good while it lasted.

“Mari?”

You frown and turn around – sure enough, Grayson Black is standing behind you, a package of toilet paper stuffed under one arm and a paper grocery bag hanging from his opposite hand, his golden-brown hair tucked beneath what looks like a hand-knit toque.

Great. Just your luck. He looks like he stepped out of a Whole Foods advertisement and you’re wearing a coat that’s about three winters old and smell like stale popcorn that someone put way too much butter on.

“Hey, Gray.” You smile at him, trying to pretend that you hadn’t convinced yourself you were within an inch of imminent death. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh – just walking home from the store.” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Work,” you say, pointing to the theatre down the block. Grayson follows your finger and then sighs.

“Right.” He turns back to you. “Sorry, Nick told me you were working, I was just… surprised to see you out so late.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. It’s not like you have any friends to go clubbing with, so you can understand his confusion. “Uh – okay, well… See you later?”

“Are you going to the station?” he asks. Why is he still frowning?

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you,” Gray offers.

“I – what?” You shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”

“And it’s late.” He takes a step closer, but not close enough to break the unspoken barrier between you. “Besides… Nick will kill me if he finds out we ran into each other and I didn’t walk you.”

Of course he’s only offering for Nick’s sake. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I won’t tell him.”

“Mari.” God, the way he says your name is a prime example of why every girl in Illinois has a poster of him of their bedroom wall. “Can you let me walk you to the train station?”

You stare at him for a second, sticking your tongue against the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too wide. “Okay, yeah, sure. When you ask so nicely.”

He laughs and moves closer until you walk side-by-side with the usual distance between you, though it feels much bigger tonight – actually, considering his arm is sticking out half a foot farther than it does most of the time because of the package of toilet paper stuck under it, the gap probably is bigger than usual. You glance around at the street while you walk, listening to the crunch of snow under your boots and the gentle hum of passing cars. God, you’d kill to be in a nice, warm car right now – you should’ve taken a cab.

Actually, no, you’re glad you didn’t. You’re probably safer (and happier) on the street with Gray than you are with a potential Ment cab driver.

“So.” You turn to Gray, and he turns to look at you before you even say anything. “Another late night run for Arizona?”

He laughs again, and you try not to let yourself feel too pleased with yourself about it, because he could just be doing it to be polite, right? “No, not this time,” he answers. “Just some… ah… dish soap. I’ve been out for a week, and…” He grimaces, and you get the sense he’d reach up to scratch the back of his head if he had a free hand. “I finally ran out of plastic cutlery tonight after dinner.”

“Mmm… Well, that’s a good reason for a midnight run to the grocery store if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Of course, a couple cans of Arizona just so happened to fall into my basket, and – it would be rude of me to say no...”

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” You smile. “That’d be downright heretical, and Fortitude has a reputation to keep.”

Gray laughs, louder this time, and you feel your smile widen. “Anyway, enough about me,” he says. “How was work?”

“Ah… it was okay.” You shrug absently, feeling his eyes on you while you do (even though he should be looking at the ground so he doesn’t slip on a patch of ice and fall on his ass). “Had to stay late and clean up, which was gross, but… According to Nick, I have some cookies waiting for me when I get home, so that’s nice.”

“Something to look forward to,” Gray agrees, nodding.

As if anything compares to this. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Something to look forward to for sure.”

“Are you getting excited for the Academy?”

You cringe. As thrilled as you were to get accepted into Aeon, the prospect of finally starting there is nowhere near as thrilling. Though it’ll be nice to have classmates that are strictly non-Ments – at least when you’re not working with Sally’s class – the idea of being back in any kind of school isn’t… well, that isn’t something to look forward to. Still… “Yeah, kinda,” you answer. “Not ready to go back to school, I think, but I also don’t want to be scraping gum out from underneath movie theatre seats for the rest of my life.”

He makes a face. “That sounds… gross.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “It is. But I’ve snuck into a couple movies so far and watched them for free, so… it’s an okay trade-off, I think.”

“Sounds like it,” Gray muses. He turns to you. “You’re really not excited to go to Aeon?”

“I said kinda!” you protest.

He smiles. “You shouldn’t be nervous, Mari.”

You’re the one to make a face this time. “Who said I was nervous?”

“No one had to.” He angles his head in your direction like he’s sharing a secret. “I can tell.”

“And Nick told you.”

“Nick… may have mentioned it.”

“I’m not nervous.” You’re lying, of course, because you’re nervous about everything. Right now, only half of your brain is tuned into the conversation because the other half is nervous that you’re going to slip on the ice and break your neck, which would both be not hot and so embarrassing that you’d have to write off your friendship with Gray entirely for the rest of your life and become a full-time hermit whenever he comes over for dinner. “I just… I don’t know…” You kick a block of ice and watch it skitter through the fresh snow in front of you. “I don’t want to disappoint Nick.”

“You could never disappoint him,” Gray responds. “You’re brilliant.”

“Psh. Not even Nick could get away with saying that.”

“He didn’t.” Gray adjusts his grip on the package of toilet paper. “I mean, I’m sure he thinks it. I meant that… I meant that I think you’re brilliant.”

Sure, that could be a really cute compliment Gray gave you, but you’re probably just being too optimistic, right? Like – sure, he’s nice to you and brought flowers to your graduation ceremony and sure, he gave you that cute teddy bear for Christmas and sure, he once brought over a 6-pack of Dr. Pepper for dinner because you were having a bad day and he knows it’s your favourite, but… “Gray,” you sigh. “British people say everything is brilliant.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if his cheeks are pink because of how cold it is out or – well, for other reasons that are so impossible that you don’t let yourself continue that train of thought. “That’s true,” he says. “But I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but you don’t say anything. Thankfully, you don’t think Gray seems to mind, because he doesn’t say anything else, either.

There’s a crosswalk coming up, and even though no cars are coming and you could easily get away with some perfectly safe jaywalking, you stop and press the button (ha) anyway and wait for the light to turn, figuring you don’t want to risk it if Gray wants to report anything back to Nick. (Because Nick could very well assume that you jaywalking is something to be grievously concerned about.) Although, on second thought, you’re not sure Gray’s paying very much attention right now – he’s glancing across the street with his eyebrows furrowed, a distant look in his eyes. He must be thinking hard about something, so you elect not to interrupt him.

Now that there’s a lull in conversation, you find your eyelids beginning to flutter. You stayed up late last night after falling down a Wikipedia rabbit hole – that’s why you shouldn’t watch documentaries at three in the morning, you think to yourself - and Nick had to wake you up at noon to make sure that you weren’t late for your shift, so… Yeah, falling asleep on the train sounds like a pretty likely scenario.

Gray shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the other and once again adjusts his grip on the toilet paper package – as he does, though, it topples out of his grasp and lands perfectly in between your feet with a soft, snowy thump. You bend down to grab it the same time Gray does, of course, because you’re the two most awkward people in the world, and there’s a three-second pause before you finally reach for the toilet paper and scoop it into your arms because it would be too awkward now not to.

“Don’t worry, I can take it,” you say before he can protest. “You have your… uh…” You gesture to his bag. “Hand full, anyway.”

He tries to protest anyway. “Mari, let me –“

“No, it’s okay.” You smile pleasantly at him. “You’re walking me, so I can… you know… take one for the team.”

He deliberates for a second before nodding – you think he might only do that because the crosswalk light has started beeping at you. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The snow is starting to lighten up, now – you can see the train station in the distance. It’s still a few blocks away, which means you more than enough time to make a sufficient fool of yourself. (Or perhaps, continuing the theme of the rest of the night, a not-fool of yourself?) “You know, uh, if you think I’m so brilliant…” You’d put air quotes around it if your fingers weren’t too cold. “Maybe we should have a Scrabble rematch soon?”

You, Nick, and Gray ended up playing a round last time Gray came over for dinner, but Nick stopped halfway through because he was getting bored and decided to go try mixing a new drink instead. Usually you would’ve complained – you like to wipe the literal board with him whenever you can – but it was hard to complain when you were sitting across the coffee table from Gray and splitting a plate of cookies like a couple of little kids. (It’s hard not to feel like a kid around Gray – shy and long-limbed and awkward. Like Bambi, but less cute because you’re a human and also, just generally, not cute.) “I still can’t believe you beat me...”

“Is now a bad time to remind you that I was my school’s valedictorian?”

“Yes, it’s a terrible time,” you reply, watching Gray grin out of the corner of your eye. “English was one of my best classes! I’m supposed to be good at Scrabble.”

“Well… maybe you’ll be better during our rematch.”

Okay. Keep it cool, Mari.

It only sort of sounds like you’re arranging a date with the love of your life and he’s not even taking a couple seconds to be weird about it.

“Oh, I will be better,” you say. “That’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Do you work tomorrow?” He sniffles – he must be cold. This is what he gets for wasting his night walking you to the station instead of going back to his nice, warm apartment. “Maybe I could pick you up after your shift and train with you back to your house.”

“Oh, uh –“ You clear your throat. “Yeah, I work tomorrow! I think I get off at six?”

“Okay, great. Just let me know if – erm, that changes or… something.”

“Yeah, I will,” you reply, a little taken aback.

What in the world is happening?

Did you actually get stabbed by that maybe-mobster, and awkwardly making plans to play Scrabble with Grayson Black is your purgatory?

“Uh… I just – I hope I remember to tell Nick,” you comment. “Not that he’s ever bad when you show up on our doorstep unannounced and ask for dinner…”

“I – I don’t ask,” Gray stammers, “he offers before I can even get a word in, and – and I say yes because it would be rude not to!”

“Mmm… sure.” You shake your head fondly. “You’d probably eat Nick’s dinners every night if you could.”

“Yes, but for the company,” he says, smiling. “Not for the dinner.”

“Not entirely for the dinner.”

He laughs. “Alright, you got me. Not entirely for the dinner. But…” Clearing his throat, he adds, “Mostly for the company.”

You can’t exactly disagree. Nick could serve you a plate with nothing more than an uncooked chicken breast on it and you wouldn’t even care as long as Gray was there to get salmonella with you.

You’re nearly at your stop, you realize suddenly. You’re both disappointed and relieved – disappointed because you always hate to leave Gray, but relieved because things have gone too well so far and you’re starting to get suspicious. It’s just like you always say (to yourself) – you’re not lucky. You’re incredibly unlucky. If something is going well, it means that something incredibly unwell is going to happen as soon as possible.

You pause before you reach the stairs to the train platform and turn to Gray to say goodbye.

“Well… here’s my, uh… stop.”

Gray looks at you. “Here it is,” he repeats.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say. He tilts his head, almost in question, but you continue – “You really didn’t have to.”

“Mari.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch carefully as Gray raises a hand like he’s in a trance, reaching out to you like –

Like what?

Is he going to kiss you?

He blinks and the trance breaks, shattering into a thousand little pieces like a snowy sidewalk under a winter boot. “Oh, sorry,” he says softly, and you don’t miss the way he backs up a half-step. Did he really forget about the… well, everything? He never forgets. Gray drops his hand before raising it to his head again, moving it in little circles near his temple. “You have a –“

Following his movements, you reach up, and –

Of fucking course. There was popcorn in your hair the whole time! You make a note to guilt Nick about distracting you when you get home.

“Damn it.” You pull it out of your hair – how did it get so tangled in there? – and toss it onto the ground, hoping that he’s not going to call you out for littering. (Would that even count?) “Thanks.”

“Uh… you’re welcome.” Gray smiles at you again, and though it’s awkward and a little forced, it’s still a Grayson smile. “I should… let you catch your train,” he continues, running his free hand over his head before scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I should let you get back to – uh – doing dishes?”

He nods, laughing. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds right.” With one last lingering look, he smiles a little wider. “Goodnight, Mari. Get home safe.”

You smile back at him, suddenly bashful. “Yeah, you too.”

Should you watch him leave? No, that’s weird, right? You stand under the streetlight and consider it for several seconds before realizing that you’ve watched him for too long already, and then you shake your head, turning to the stairs and bracing yourself to trudge through the snow that’s gathered on top of them (as if you need anything else to be unnecessarily difficult today). The platform is relatively empty when you reach it, save for a couple of teenage girls and a man in a business suit looking entirely out of place at this time of night and at this weather, and you take a seat on a bench, settling in while you wait for the train to come.

You’re much more aware of how cold it is out now that Gray’s gone – even the sweat on your hands feels like it’s going to freeze – so to distract yourself, you look around the platform for something to entertain you. You manage squint at a weird-looking piece of graffiti a few feet away from you when you hear footsteps approaching.

Sure enough, when you turn around –

“Mari,” Gray says. “I’m sorry, I forgot the –“

He points to your lap, where you’ve diligently placed his package of toilet paper.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” you say, picking it up and holding it out to him from one end so he can grab onto the other. “I totally forgot.”

“No, that’s alright, I forgot too,” Gray assures you, because of course he does – when is he ever anything but nice and diplomatic? Once he’s tucked the toilet paper under his arm again, he chuckles to himself and continues, “Alright. Erm… goodnight again, Mari.”

“Goodnight,” you reply.

With the toilet paper returned to him, he gives you a short, stilted wave before he turns and heads for the stairs again. You force yourself to look the other direction, making a mental note not to stare at him whenever he walks away from you.

You make a couple other mental notes on the train home, too, though it’s mostly in an effort to keep yourself awake. You definitely need to get more than four hours of sleep tonight if you have a long shift again tomorrow, especially since Gray’s coming over; you probably shouldn’t wear new jeans to work in case you run (or, more accurately, sit) into any more puddles, and you might as well bring a hat with you next time you leave the house, because there’s a spare sitting on the shoe rack near the door, anyway.

You definitely make a note to double-check your hair for pieces of someone else’s half-chewed popcorn before leaving the theatre from now on, too - then, when you think about the possibility of running into Gray outside work after all of your shifts from now on, you decide that you should probably triple-check, instead.

[protect-him]

I came up with the missing cat meet cute with fenders in mind lol, so fenders for "I found your missing cat"! 😻

Sorry this took me a bit. This weekend was a bit of a rough one. I also turned this a bit on its head from what I’d originally intended to write. It’s a little sadder, but hopefully the sweet will make up for it?

Anders had been working a lot lately. He hadn’t really intended to be spending so much extra time at the clinic, but with this year’s flu outbreak being especially vicious, he couldn’t make himself leave. Not when people needed him there.

So when Justice insisted that he take a week—a week—off of work, he hardly knew what to do with himself. He got home, fed the cat, and passed out. He woke up after a blissfully long sleep and blinked in the half-light of the sunlight filtering through the blinds. He felt a momentary panic that he was supposed to be at work, but remembered that he was on break before he launched himself out of bed. Realizing that he could sleep in, Anders flopped back down, sighing as the tension in his shoulders released.

After several minutes of laying in bed, he heard the cat meow in the other room. Wait. Cat?!  Anders sat up, brows furrowing. He blinked back sudden tears. He put down Pounce several weeks ago. He didn’t have a cat anymore. He must simply be hearing things. He collapsed back and flipped over to bury his face in his pillow. All the calm he’d been feeling from the restful sleep was gone now as he trembled and tried not to sob into his pillow.

He heard another meow, and stopped crying, holding his breath. As he pushed himself up from his pillow, the bed dipped. A grey shorthair sat down and regarded him.

“Excuse me?” Anders said, sniffling. “Who are you?”

The cat just stared at him.

“How did you get in?” Anders asked, confused, as if the cat would answer him. He reached a hand out cautiously, and the cat immediately pressed its head into his hand. “You’re very friendly. And well-fed.” He ran his hand down the cat’s back. “Your fur is soft too. You’re not a stray, are you?”

Concerned at having a strange cat in his apartment, Anders got up and wandered into the other room. Pounce’s food bowl still sat in the hall, and there was still some food in it.

“I’ve been putting out food before bed without realizing, haven’t I?” Anders mumbled, opening the bin next to the bowl. He still had plenty of cat food left. And the water bowl was full as well.

The cat followed him as Anders shuffled into the kitchen to find himself something to eat. Only when he opened the refrigerator, he found he was out of both milk and eggs.

Anders groaned and pulled his hair up out of his face. "I have to go out anyway," he said. "I'll check with the office to see if anyone has reported a missing cat. The only explanation he could think of was that the cat had followed him in after work, or come in when he stepped outside after getting home for some fresh air. He did that often enough.

The first thing he saw when he opened his front door was a sheet of paper, tacked up immediately opposite his door.

"Missing cat, belongs to the resident of Apt 113. Grey male." And there was a picture.

"Hey, that's him," Anders said. "He didn't go far." He glanced at the apartment next to his, number 113. He'd never met the person who lived there, but they were in luck. Their cat was just next door. He plucked the poster from the wall and shoved it in his back pocket. He’d contact his neighbor when he got back from the supermarket and had his morning coffee.

When Anders returned home, he was surprised to see another poster already tacked up on the wall across from his door. He juggled his groceries onto one arm and unlocked his apartment. As soon as he opened it, he saw another copy of the poster on the floor just inside.

“Alright, alright, I’m getting there,” he muttered. “Someone really wants their cat back.” Of course, if it had been his cat, Anders would have been knocking on all his neighbors’ doors, so he didn’t blame his neighbor for sliding posters under people’s doors, hoping to find their cat.

The cat in question seemed unbothered.

“I don’t understand why you aren’t trying to get home,” Anders said to the cat. He put his food away and pulled out his phone, dialing the number printed on the poster.

“Hello?” He said, as soon as the person picked up. “This is your neighbor. I found your missing cat.”

“I know.”

“I live right—wait, what?”

“I saw him in your window.” Anders’ brain was short-circuiting. His neighbor had a voice so casually sultry, it should be illegal. And he was looking in Anders’ apartment?

“Ah, I think he must have followed me in,” Anders said. “I only just realized he was here this morning.”

“It has been three days.”

“Maker…” Anders muttered. “I’m surprised you didn’t come knocking on my door. When...are you free to meet up now? I’m not sure if—what’s your cat’s name?”

“His name is Greypaw. I will come over.”

Anders smiled. This man’s voice was lovely. The call disconnected and Anders blinked at his phone. Wait, he hadn’t mentioned which apartment he lived in. He was about to redial the number when there was an insistent knock at his door.

Anders went to the door and opened it to be greeted by a handsome elf with piercing green eyes, his face framed with soft white hair.

“H-hello,” Anders stammered.

“May I come in?”

“Oh. Of course.” Anders stepped back, gesturing to allow the elf inside. “Ah, my name is Anders.”

“Fenris.” The elf went to crouch next to his cat, who was sitting comfortably on Anders’ kitchen rug. Fenris. Anders liked the name.

“Has he caused any trouble with your cat?” Fenris asked, turning to look back at Anders.

“My cat?”

“I have seen your cat at the window before,” Fenris said. “An orange cat, correct?”

“Ah. Pounce. I put him down a couple weeks ago…”

Fenris scooped Greypaw up in his arms and turned to Anders. The cat was surprisingly content to be flopped onto his back and cradled to the elf’s chest. Anders felt a tightness in his throat.

“I did not realize…”

Anders chuckled.

“You couldn’t have known,” he said.

Fenris came to stand beside him. Anders unconsciously reached to pet the cat as he looked into the man’s face. Greypaw leaned eagerly into Anders’ hand. Fenris’ expression was difficult to read.

“You miss your cat,”  Fenris said.

“Pounce was very important to me.”

“Greypaw likes you.”

“He’s a beautiful cat.”

“He does not like people generally,” Fenris said. “This is why I thought that something must have happened to him.”

“I think I would have noticed if he was desperate to get out,” Anders offered, unsure why the man hadn’t already left. Fenris didn’t seem put off by the fact that Anders had held his cat captive for several days. “I work long hours, and I’ve been getting home late all week.”

“I noticed.”

“Should I be worried at how much you know about me?” Anders asked, grinning nervously.

“I take walks along the walking path behind our building several times a day sometimes,” Fenris said. “I think your cat liked to watch me. Sometimes I would come up to your window and talk to him.” Was Fenris...blushing? “He would put his paw over my hand.”

Anders felt his eyes starting to tear up, hearing Fenris talk so tenderly about Pounce.

“Would you like to come and visit Greypaw?” Fenris asked him. “I am home in the evenings, you would be welcome to come and see him after your shift.”

“A-are you sure? I get home late sometimes.”

“Yes, I know,” Fenris said. “I don’t mind.”

“Then...may I text you?”

“You have my number now,” Fenris said. “Please do. I would prefer to know who is knocking on my door.”

“Right. I apologize again for—”

“Greypaw seemed to know that you needed the company,” Fenris said, turning to the door. Anders could have sworn the cat was grinning back at him. “I shall speak to you soon, then.”

“Yeah.”

And the elf was gone. Anders still held his coffee in one hand. Had Fenris been...flirting with him? Or perhaps Anders had imagined the entire exchange. He pulled out his phone and added the most recent call as a contact. He then started a new message to “Fenris ♥” before he could change his mind.

Anders: I have tomorrow off work, are you free mornings?

A minute later, he received a reply.

Fenris ♥: Tomorrow I am.

Anders: Coffee?

Fenris ♥: I would like that.

[luxekook]

bangtan host club ❯ part i

❯ pairing: ot7 x reader

❯ genre: ouran au, college au, crack, smut

❯ summary: when you had decided to take summer lessons at your college, you hadn’t factored in the impending presence of seven insufferably attractive and arrogant boys… the bangtan host club. 

❯ word count: 2.1k

❯ warnings: 18+, cursing, suggestive language, terrible pet names, excessive dramatics

❯ banner by: maggie @kimtaehyunq​

a/n: while this fic is loosely based off of the anime version of ouran highschool host club, it is set in university - meaning that all of the boys are of age (at least 21 years old)

host club members

❯ Kim Namjoon as “Kyoya Ootori” ❯ Kim Seokjin as “Tamaki Suoh” ❯ Min Yoongi as “Takashi ‘Mori’ Morinozuka” ❯ Jung Hoseok as “Mitsukuni ‘Honey’ Haninozuka” ❯ Park Jimin as “Hikaru Hitachiin” ❯ Kim Taehyung as “Kaoru Hitachiin” ❯ Jung Jungkook as “Haruhi Fujioka”

Taking summer classes had never been on my agenda, my studies having been mapped out in detail since the day I arrived on campus three years ago. And then the university’s president suddenly has this utterly groundbreaking epiphany and adjusts the curriculum to “ensure that all students will leave Bangtan University well-rounded”. 

Screw that. My ass is already well-rounded enough, thank you very much.

But despite my best efforts (i.e. begging President Kim to make an exception followed by crafting a petition that gained over ten thousand signatures), I have found that there is no avoiding the dastardly new physical education requirement. And since my schedule for my upcoming senior year has been planned and set for literal years, I’ve been forced to enroll in the sole summer physical education class offered at Bangtan University - Introduction to Weight Lifting.

I wish I was kidding.

To say that I am dreading the start of class tomorrow would be an extreme understatement. I’ll be lucky to escape this summer without physical injury or the loss of my dignity. Athletics have never been my strong suit, and I’ve only entered our campus gym to go to the smoothie bar.

Groaning at just the mere thought of working out and being graded for it, I trek down the streets of outer campus towards the library, swearing under my breath and sweating profusely.

It’s a blazing hot, blue-skied Sunday in July. Typically, I would be lying on a beach somewhere with a drink in my hand, soaking in the warmth of the sun with joy. But instead, here I am, sweltering and desperate for air conditioning after my ancient window unit wheezed its final breath last night. The comfortable chill of the library is my only hope aside from my landlord who promised to fix my air conditioning by tomorrow.

My frustration builds as I turn onto the block lined with imposing and picturesque estates in which the upper echelon of Bangtan University resides. I’d bet the very last ice-pack in my freezer that these houses have unfailing central air.

I pick up my pace, worn Doc Marten platform sandals slapping against the hot pavement. The pristine mansions seem to mock my distress as they exude the coolness of unbothered wealth. Despite there being no Greek life here at Bangtan University, the lack of letters emblazoned on the numerous estates I pass does not symbolize a lack of status. 

This block is home to the athletic teams who throw massive parties whenever they happen to be in the off-season. It’s also home to the legacy clubs - the exclusive groups of current students who are relatives of past alumni.

And last but not least, this block is home to the infamous Bangtan Host Club, a small group of idle rich boys with exceptionally good looks and a penchant for entertaining. 

The aforementioned group’s house comes into view as I draw nearer to campus. The host club’s mansion sits on the corner lot right across the street from campus. Typically, students are wary of such proximity - but not those boys. No, they’re un-phased, throwing massive parties every weekend without fail and without repercussion.

During my first semester, I had been confused as to why their parties had never been shut down; but now I know better. The host club’s president Kim Seokjin is the son of none other than the fucking president of the university - the very same man who damned me to my weight lifting fate.

In fact, almost the entire host club is related to someone with influence - either at the university or within the surrounding community. The only exception to the wealth factor is Jeon Jungkook, who attends Bangtan University on a scholarship not unlike myself.

About 99% of the university are host club stans. As for me? I don’t subscribe to that bullshit. And I do mean literally ‘subscribe’. They have newsletters, merch and everything. I would say I don’t understand it at all, but a small part of me does.

They’re fucking gorgeous. Like I’m talking Tom Ford at New York Fashion Week gorgeous. Armani catalogue centerfold gorgeous. Goddamn Sports Illustrated Men’s Swimsuit Edition gorgeous. 

In fact, I’m pretty sure Kim Seokjin actually does model in his spare time. With his long limbs, broad shoulders and pillowy lips, Seokjin certainly has the features for it. My freshman year roommate bought so many posters of Seokjin from the host club’s merch website I think I could identify him from a hundred yards away in the dark. 

“Hey!” The bellow emanates from the porch of the host club’s house and jolts me from my memories, “Hey, princess!”

I let out a snort. Whoever that pet name is directed at needs to shut that down immediately. I mean, ‘princess’? In this economy? Please. I need off this block ASAP.

“Hello? I’m talking to you, angel!” 

The voice sounds closer now, and my eyes squeeze shut. Oh god, this person cannot be talking to me, can they?

Princess? Angel?

The sheer absurdity pushes me onward, and I do not spare a single glance in the direction where the inane greetings originated. Alas, I barely make it two feet before a tall figure screeches to a halt in front of me, panting like he had just run a marathon. 

I blink as I take in the very boy who just crossed my mind a minute earlier. Kim Seokjin looms over me, chest heaving and smile gleaming.

“Cupcake, hello!” his smile grows wider, “Why didn’t you answer me? I was talking to you.”

My brain is trying to wrap itself around the unfathomable phenomenon I’m currently witnessing. The host club president is beaming down at me like I’m the last custom Rolex ever made. His white t-shirt that probably costs more than my rent stretches across his shoulders in a way that has to be illegal. 

A bead of sweat drips down my back between my shoulder blades. I don’t have time for this attractive detour; I only have time for a long sip of iced water and a seat under an air conditioning vent somewhere deep within the recesses of the quiet library.

“Were you?” I shrug, looking over his illegally broad shoulder and plotting my escape, “I didn’t realize, considering my name isn’t princess, angel or cupcake.”

I inwardly cringe at my tone. I have a tendency to be irritable when the weather is hot, and it seems like today is no exception.

Seokjin stares down at me, his cocky expression wavering for a split second before snapping back into place. “Well, tell me your name then, sunshine, so that I may cordially invite you to the host club’s latest summer extravaganza!” His dark brown eyes sparkle as he remains seemingly impervious to my building ire, beaming down at me.

“No, thank you,” I shake my head decisively and attempt to sidestep around him. 

None of my friends are on campus for the summer, and there is no way I'm going alone to a party full of strangers. That just screams bad decisions, just like the time I willingly ate the dining hall’s “Mystery Meat Special” during my second semester.

Seokjin cuts off my path yet again, and my scowl intensifies as I glare up at him, “Could you move, please?”

Seokjin gapes back at me, “D-don’t you want to come to our party?” I stare at him with eyebrows raised. He continues at a higher decibel, “Don’t you know who I am?”

The nerve of this boy. My eyes scrunch shut as I send a quick plea to anyone out there in the universe to send me patience and then internally count backwards from ten. 

“Yes, I know who you are, Kim,” I finally say, completely exasperated, “And no, I still don’t want to go to your party.”

Seokjin is gobsmacked, looking like he’s seen a ghost as he stands before me open-mouthed. For a second, I allow myself to indulge one more time in his attractiveness, my eyes wandering along his toned torso, his muscular arms, his high cheekbones, his messy brown hair. 

And then he bounces back, snapping his fingers, “Aha! I know what this is. You’re playing hard to get! Okay, I can play along with you, sunshine.”

It’s my turn to gape at him this time, watching as he mumbles to himself about how I must want him to beg for me and how he would just love to do so. I’m about to put a stop to this madness when he spreads his arms wide and announces loud enough for the entire block to hear, “Sunshine, please, attend our party! My heart longs for your presence, and I will only be happy if I can have your arm in mine next Friday night...”

I’m honestly beginning to worry about the boy in front of me. Is he completely unhinged? Am I being Punk’d right now? 

Seokjin prattles on, “So, my sun, my moon, my stars, will you please do me the honor of joining me for a night of fun courtesy of the host club? No guest has yet to be disappointed and—!”

I finally just reach up and cover his mouth with my palm, steadfastly ignoring how plush his lips feel against my skin. “Kim Seokjin!” I hiss, “I promise I am not playing hard to get. I simply do not want to go to your party. Now, please, for the love of god, let me walk by you in peace.”

Loud bursts of laughter sound immediately after I finish speaking, and I whip around to locate the source. Two boys jog over to where Seokjin and I are standing on the pavement. Their laughter doesn’t subside with their approach. If anything, it grows louder.

“Oh, come on, pres,” the pink-haired boy who I know to be Park Jimin jeers, his melodic giggles punctuating each word. “Is this how you plan on handling your first rejection?”

My eyebrows pull together in confusion as I turn to face Seokjin, only to find him lying dramatically on the lawn in front of his house with one arm throw over his face.

“Go away, Jimin,” Seokjin groans, ripping out a handful of grass and throwing it at the other boy. Obviously, he doesn't calculate for the wind and sputters when the grass blows back in his face.

“Boss, you’ve really hit a new low,” the blue-haired boy - Kim Taehyung - grins as he looks back and forth between me and the over-the-top performance happening on the lawn. All Seokjin does in return is flip Taehyung off, seeming to have learned from his grass-throwing lesson.

Well, there’s no need for me to stay a second longer within this realm of crazy.

I turn on my heel and head off towards the library, renewed in my desperation for the relief of blissfully cold air.

Alas, I don’t get too far before the two boys with colorful hair are in front of me - each with an arm thrown over the other’s shoulders. 

“Well, well, well… I must say,” Taehyung drawls.

“You’re quite an intriguing little thing,” Jimin cocks his head, looking me up and down. I try in vain to steel myself against the heated assessments both boys are giving me.

I’d heard a lot about these two - most of it being completely outlandish and borderline unbelievable. Do they really do everything together?

It’s as if that thought is written all over my face as the smirks grow on the faces of Jimin and Taehyung. “If you don’t want to come to our party for Jin-hyung…”

“Will you come for us?” Taehyung finishes Jimin’s thought, and I am almost certain that he intended for that question to be as suggestive as it sounded.

Before I can even attempt to answer, Seokjin launches up from the ground and barges in between the two boys. “Yah! That is no way to speak to a lady! Have I taught you nothing? Don’t you fools remember lesson number fifty-two on being a good host?”

“We didn’t say anything inappropriate, pres,” Taehyung shrugs, looking pleased with how riled up the older boy is growing. His pink-haired counterpart grins, “If anything, you’re the one with the dirty mind, twisting our innocent words into such filth.”

It’s as if Seokjin is struck by lightning - his shock turning him pale as a ghost before the redness overtakes him. I cannot tell if it’s due to embarrassment or anger. All I know is that I need to bounce.

When Mt. Seokjin finally erupts, I slink away and practically jog across the street to campus. Ah, free at last...

a/n: this is part one in my host club series! originally i was going to make this a giant one-shot but i figured i would just break it up into smaller pieces so that i could get some content out uwu

© luxekook do not repost, edit or translate

[giorno-plays-piano]

One Of A Kind

Pairing: yandere!Steve x Reader.  Warnings: obsession, graphic depiction of violence, death of minor characters, unstable skinny Steve.  Words: 1963.  Summary: the ones hunting your family knew nothing of a monster in human shape lurking behind your back.  Ps. I’ve finally decided to choose Steve for this one. Thanks to everyone who participated in the discussion!  _____________________________________  Steve was an odd kid. Well, technically, he wasn’t much of a kid - he had already turned 18 - but with his extremely skinny built he looked younger to you. You knew his mother fell very sick when she was pregnant with him, and it explained a lot about his physique. It wasn’t his physical health that troubled you, though.

He was really into this military stuff, secret operations, death traps, serial killer hunting, things that guys of his age were not often interested in. Not to this extent, at least. His room was full of war history books, documentaries, scary posters with roaring bears, his own drawings of knives, guns, grenades and things like that. Steve didn’t talk much, and sometimes he even preferred gestures to communicate with others. You thought that maybe his anger manifested itself in this way. You didn’t even want to imagine how severely Steve had been bullied at school before moving here. Thankfully, most of the time he was really sweet to you, smiling shyly, helping you out with the choirs and trying to adjust to living together. Your dad married his mother a month ago, and now you all moved into a new house, pretending to be an average happy family.

Except for Steve’s disturbing hobbies, it wasn’t that bad, actually. You were slowly getting accustomed to the presence of someone other than your father, having nice family dinners together, going to shop with your stepmom who was always treated you nicely, playing cards with Steve in the evenings… You could get used to it. One of the hardest things was trying to think of Steve as your younger brother because you just didn’t feel like it. You were growing closer and closer with each day, true, but to consider him your relative wasn’t that easy. Maybe you couldn’t accept him this way at all. Maybe him just being your friend would be enough.

The first day you moved into a new house your stepmother asked you to keep an eye on him when she wasn’t around. She said something about his health – he needed to take his meds every day – and pleaded you to forgive Steve if he would be rude to you. She asked you not to tell anything to your father. It was surprising, considering the fact you dad wasn’t really strict or unkind, but everyone had their fears, right? In the end, you meant the world to your him. She was afraid he would hardly tolerate her son’s bad attitude towards you.

Anyway, you knew your father wanted you to became closer to Steve, and you did the best you could. At the end of the month it was you bringing him his medication every evening, not his mom. You were wishing him goodnight and turning off the lights in his room as if you truly were his older sister, and he was more and more willing to spend time with you. As the time passed, Steve didn’t seem so scary to you anymore. He was just a poor kid mistreated by people.

It all changed when those men showed up in your house one morning. They were heavily armed, black balaclavas concealing their faces, their beefy figures advancing upon your father. The next moment he was laying dead in the hall. The blood gushing from the hole in his chest quickly covered the grey floor you had only washed yesterday.

Steve’s mother was the next one after a man asked her something and was not satisfied with her answer, apparently. You heard the gun firing in the kitchen, and you knew what had happened to her. But the only thing you did was staring at the floor covered in your father’s blood, your body frozen to the point you forgot how to breathe.

They were dead. They were dead, and you were all alone in the house with five murderers. The only reason why you were still alive was because they simply didn’t see you standing on the top of the stairs.

No, you were not alone. You had Steve. You needed to get him out of the house before these men caught you.

“Get the kids!” Somebody yelled from the kitchen, and you ran without thinking.

Steve’s room. Steve’s room. In the end of the corridor. To the left.

Somebody was already following you with such speed you could hardly outrun him. You didn’t dare to glance back, but you knew it was a large tall man with a knife or something like that in his hand instead of a gun because he didn’t shoot you outright. He would either kill or rape you in the next 10 seconds. Maybe he would kill you once the leader got whatever he wanted from you.

“STEVE!”

You jumped to the door and suddenly fell onto blue carpet in his room, Steve standing right in front of you with something in his hand. You blinked and heard the loud steps of a man behind you.

“Help me!”

Your head was not working properly, panic ruling over you now. Why did you ask him for help? What could tiny Steve do against a 6’5 feet tall armed man who was obviously not some rookie robber? It would take at least several policemen to bring him down, not a scared to death girl with shaking hands and a kid skinny as a rail.

Then you heard a weird bubbling sound somewhere behind your back and saw Steve’s black boots moving instantly. Why was he wearing his combat boots in the house? And, more importantly, did he just throw something at the man?

Crawling further to the opposite wall, you didn’t dare to turn around until you felt the boy’s gentle hand pulling you up with a strength you never expected from him. His sickly-sweet smile was now gone, one of his hands covered in blood and clenching a small knife, the other holding your arm. You looked at his unnaturally calm expression, all emotions wiped from his face.

“I will help.” He said quietly and moved to the door, punching the man’s legs to the side to close it.

Then you finally saw the intruder laying down on the floor and not moving. Did Steve knock him out? Did he throw the knife at him once he entered? The pool of blood under his face was growing so much you realized Steve must have cut his throat right after that.

There was no time for second thoughts when the boy motioned you to the open window. He got on the red roof first and helped you to come down, then jump right into the bushes. You were shaking feverishly, understanding absolutely nothing but following Steve to the forest without a word. At that moment he was godlike to you, your protector, your saviour, the one who had just saved your life. You didn’t ask where he got the knife or how he managed to kill that big guy. Nothing else mattered than your survival.

The next moment you were fully conscious the two of you were somewhere in the woods, Steve wandering around some garbage and fiddling with rusted metal and pieces of rope. He had bandaged your leg that you scratched badly while clawing your way through the bushes. Where did he get the bandages? You looked around and saw a first-aid kit on the ground near you. When did he?..

Now watching him you thought Steve was way too collected. His face betrayed no emotion when he placed a plank with long nails in the grass. Then he pulled the string somewhere close to the fallen tree, setting some kind of a trap. You could not comprehend what he was doing.

You reached down the pocket of your shorts instinctively, searching for anything that might help. Instead you found one of Steve’s white pill cases with his meds. You often carried them with you not to forget to give him a few every evening.

When he suddenly touched your arm you almost jumped, shivering and letting out a gurgling sound. The boy was standing in front of you and gazing at the pill case in your hand.

“Your… your meds.” You mumbled under your breath. “For the evening. You’ll be ok.”

He smiled, rubbing your shoulders with his unbearably hot hands dirtied with dry blood. For some reason Steve looked happy as if you two were not in the middle of the woods, chased by fi… four murderers. Why was he so calm? He heard the gun twice; he knew his mother was dead.

When you watched him as he took your hand again and pulled you forward, you saw him wearing his black jacket, t-shirt and tactical pants. Why? He didn’t plan to go anywhere this morning; it was Sunday. When did he get dressed? Did he do it when he heard the men coming? But it happened in the matter of two minutes maximum. Did he start gathering his things once he heard the first shot?..

“Steve.” You felt tears streaming down your face when you saw an old metal bear trap close to one of the multiple trails on the forest glade.

He pointed his finger to the other places around, and you saw snares and ropes everywhere.  

“Steve.” You repeated weakly, thinking of everything that happened. You were ready to cry. “They’re dead. Our p-parents… These people will kill us too.”

In a second, he let go of your arm and stepped closer to you, his hands now on the sides of your face. His hollow eyes stared at you sharply. Opening his mouth wide, Steve pressed the tip of his tongue to the roof that way you could see and then exhaled slowly. After that he closed his mouth and inhaled through the nose for a few times. You realized you were repeating after him – he was teaching you to control your breath. Steve was helping you to calm down.

You were breathing with him for a few minutes until you felt your heartbeat returning to normal.

“If you want my protection,” he said calmly, touching the lock of your hair, “I will protect you.”

You squeezed his hand in yours, staring him into the eyes. You only realized now something was very wrong with Steve. He acted nearly… inhuman. He wasn’t bothered by the death of his parents. He wasn’t frightened like any sane person would be in a situation like this. No, instead he planned how to get rid of those guys, setting death traps right before your eyes. He made them so thoroughly and so fast as if it weren’t his first time setting them. And where on Earth did he get a real bear trap?

Something was telling you he was far more dangerous than any of those men breaking into your house. You had never asked his mother what mental issues he had, right? You had never found out what his meds were for. Were they really just for helping him to calm down before going to bed? Why was his mother always keeping him in her sight? Why had his hobbies always involved depiction of extreme violence?

You bit on your lip and looked at Steve’s face. Whoever he might be, he was your only savior. So be it. If it was the only way to survive, to avenge your parents slaughtered like pigs, so be it. Whatever he would do, these people deserved it.

“I want it, Steve.” You whispered to him, gently rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

He gave you one of his sweet smiles in return and showed you the safe path on a glade full of his traps, guiding you by the hand.

[jumpship90]

Into the Multiverse!

“You can’t get any kind of connection with the lab?”

“Negative, Captain. Dr Welles’ terminal is not accepting transmission requests.”

Jaq swore under their breath. They really could have done with Phineas’ advice on this one.

One minute they’d been shuttling replacement parts for a generator down to the New Hope Centre, the next, they’d been thrown completely off course by a phenomena they had never encountered before. Since passing through the . . . what had ADA called it? Portal? Anomaly? Jaq wasn’t rightly sure what it was but the important point was their systems had gone haywire ever since they had been sent hurtling through, every alarm the Unreliable had (including a few they’d been previously unaware of) screaming at them until Parvati had gotten things under control. All was quiet now and that worried Jaq more.

They stared out the cockpit window at the ship before them – a mirror image of their own – and tapped their fingers against the arm of the captain’s chair, picking at the edge of the frayed leather.

“And you’re reading life forms aboard the . . . other Unreliable?”

“Correct, Captain.”

Was this some sort of trap? Another attempt by the deposed former Board members to undermine the new government in the system? Or something else? Something stranger?

“Transmission inbound. It appears to be from an alternate autonomous-digital-astrogator.”

ADA’s pixelated brows had disappeared upwards in surprise on the terminal. Jaq suspected their own expression was similar.

“Patch it through, ADA.”

There was a moment’s pause as the connection was secured and then a woman’s voice filled the cockpit, steady and authoritative.

“Am I speaking with the Captain of the Unreliable?” she asked.

“Correct,” Jaq replied, curiosity warring with caution. “And you are?”

Static crackled in the air and Jaq rubbed the back of their neck where their hair stood on end.

“I too, am the Captain of the Unreliable. My Unreliable, that is.” The voice sounded thoughtful now and tinged with what might have been excitement. “It would appear you and your crew have crossed into this Universe via a temporal rift.”

Right. Obviously. That made total sense, Jaq thought. They narrowed their eyes at the ship opposite, searching for . . . they weren’t really sure what. Markings from a mercenary group maybe? Or something off, something to mark it out as hostile. It really did appear, in every way, to be exactly the same as their own.

“You suspect a trap?” the unknown woman asked.

“Wouldn’t you?”

The alternate Captain hummed. “A reasonable assumption, to be certain, but not correct in this case, Captain . . ?”

“Evenshaw,” Jaq offered. “Captain Jaq Evenshaw.” There didn’t seem any risk in giving their name. It carried a little weight after all – or it did in their own universe at least, and if this woman was to be believed then that seemed unlikely to be the case here.

“And I am Captain Aethel Fiori de DeSoto,” she returned.

DeSoto? Was this some long-lost relative of Max’s? Well, at least that didn’t sound like the name of any Board loyalists Jaq had come across.

“Have you encountered the concept of the multiverse before, Captain Evenshaw?”

“Uhh . . .” It sounded like something Phineas might have mentioned once or twice but they couldn’t say they understood it.

“Not to worry,” the other captain offered and Jaq found her voice strangely reassuring. “If you are willing to meet – and I believe it may be mutually beneficial for us to do so – then I will do my best to explain. Though, it might be best, Captain Evenshaw, if you came alone. I think it would be prudent to avoid our two crews making contact.”

 * * *

Jaq waited for the hiss of the airlock doors opening, their nerves tingling in anticipation. Their hands felt empty without the weight of a rifle but they had agreed to come unarmed. They tightened the strap on their body armour just for something to do.

“I believe you are making a grave mistake, Captain,” Max had said as they’d prepared to leave the safety of their own ship, and for once, even Felix hadn’t argued with him. Under other circumstances, Jaq would have been inclined to agree with the vicar, walking alone and unarmed into unknown territory wasn’t the brightest plan, nor the most strategically sound, but there was something about the tone of the other captain that set them at ease.

Still, Jaq was wary when they stepped through into the uncannily familiar confines of the alternate Unreliable.

“Aah, it’s you.”

Jaq froze just beyond the threshold of the airlock, taking in the striking woman before them. Her dark skin was framed by white hair and Jaq found themselves staring back into golden eyes that regarded them with curiosity.  She stood a little over their own height, graceful limbed and with the confidently controlled posture that Jaq recognised as being that of a fellow soldier. They frowned and weighed her up, searching for any sign of hostility in those startling eyes.

“How nice to put a name to face,” Captain Fiori de DeSoto continued. “Or one of them, at least.”

Jaq’s confusion must have shone through their attempts to guard their expression as she offered a reassuring smile. “All will be explained. Please, accompany me somewhere we might speak more freely.”

With that she stood aside, welcoming them aboard the Unreliable. As Jaq stepped in, they thought they caught sight of a curious pair of eyes watching them from the hold before the figure skittered away. They followed Fiori de DeSoto up the stairs to the captain’s cabin, their hand hanging loose at their side, fingers just within reach of where their holster should have been.

“Tea?” the Captain asked upon entering the room.

Jaq nodded, staring about them, taking in the décor. This was the first real difference they had noted since boarding. Where their room was adorned with tossball posters, photographs and hastily scribbled to-do lists, this space was, though still distinctly homely, perhaps neater and more ordered. Jaq spotted the same drinks trolley that sat in their room, but rather than holding bottles of zero-gee and abandoned electronics, it was adorned with crystal and glass that appeared handmade, and there were stacks of books about the room that would not have looked out of place in Max’s cabin.

“Here.”

When they turned, Captain Fiori de DeSoto was offering them a cup of fine china painted with intricate patterns, the sweet smell of trip-teaze drifting from it. Jaq accepted it with a grateful smile. They’d seen enough to just about convince them there was no risk here, or, at least, not if they extended the Captain the same courtesy she had shown them.

“Now then,” the Captain said, taking a seat on the edge of her bunk. “Shall we talk?”

 * * *

“So, you’re telling me I’m in one of an infinite number of alternate universes?”

Aethel nodded. “That’s right.” She’d been patient in explaining the concept of the multiverse, fielding Jaq’s questions without hesitation or any hint of frustration as they struggled to wrap their head around what was happening. Admittedly, they’d found accepting the idea they had slipped into another dimension a little easier than that Aethel was married to the vicar. . .

“And in this Universe, I – I mean the other me – is still in stasis aboard the Hope?”

“Most likely,” she replied. “Or perhaps you never boarded the Hope. We could not say without checking the personnel records. Anything is possible.”

Jaq fiddled with the empty tea cup before setting it down cautiously atop the polished surface of the desk beside the captain’s terminal.

“Of course, it would be best if you did not have contact with the other you,” Aethel continued with the same casual authority with which she had bestowed all her knowledge throughout their conversation. “Who knows what might happen should that occur. This reality could splinter at the anomaly of two Jaqs occupying the same space. Or you might become trapped here.”

Jaq had no reason to doubt her knowledge on the subject. They grimaced at the thought. It was probably best not to break time and space as they knew it if it could be avoided.

“Phin’s not going to believe this,” they muttered. They weren’t sure they’d be able to remember half of what Aethel had explained. They’d have to ask her to write it down for them so they could provide him with a full report.

“Phin?” Aethel seemed to turn the word over in her mouth for a moment, weighing it up. “You are referring to Dr Phineas Welles, I presume?”

Jaq gave a wary nod and realised they were running a thumb over the band of black ink etched into the skin of their finger. Out of habit, the ring itself sat safe in their pocket on its chain, in case of the need for sudden violence. It had been an unnecessary act in this incidence.

They noted Aethel’s gaze following the movement of their thumb. “Ahh, I see,” she intoned, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jaq slipped their hand in their pocket.

“And you would like to return to Dr Welles?”

“As soon as possible.” And without inducing some sort of tear in the fabric of the universe, preferably.

Aethel cast them a warm look full of understanding. “Well then, let’s see what I can do to assist with that.”

Thank you to @autonomous-digital-astrogator for organising this exchange.

@jackalgirl I hope I got some way towards capturing the wonderful complexity of Aethel’s character. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know her and can’t wait to read more of her story. 

[blurry-fics]

Hard Feelings

Pairing: Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: Profanity, small anxiety attack, angst

Word Count: 4245

Request: josh and bed sharing 😭😔💕✌🏻 -@panickedbrain​

Author’s Note: Hopefully this super long fic makes up for my sporadic posting schedule! I hope you enjoy it :) (picture credit)

“Here, let me get that for you,” Tyler said, grabbing your duffle bag from where it had been crammed into the backseat.

Shortly after waking up drenched in sweat, you had received an email from your apartment building that the air conditioning had stopped working overnight and was in the process of being repaired. That part had been manageable, even if it meant sitting on the couch in an oversized t-shirt directly in front of a fan on full blast, but by the time lunch rolled around, a second email had come through saying the issue was much bigger. The estimated time until it would be fixed?

Three days.

You had called Tyler immediately, asking if you could crash on his and Josh’s couch until the issue was fixed. After ten minutes, and what you assumed had been a household meeting, you got the confirmation that you would have a nice, air conditioned place to stay until your own building was back up and running. Half an hour later, you were speeding down the highway towards Josh and Tyler’s house on the edge of Columbus, a duffle bag full of your essentials tossed into the backseat.

“Thanks,” you said, slamming the trunk closed after him and hitting the lock button until the car beeped. “And thank you again for letting me crash here until my building is fixed. I don’t think I would have lasted another hour in that heat.”

“It’ll be nice to have you around.”

“I doubt Josh shares that sentiment,” you snorted. Ever since you and Josh had met, there had always been a sort of rivalry between you two: he teased you about not going on enough dates while you teased him about going on too many. This, of course, was only an elaborate coverup for how you truly felt about him.

“You’d be surprised, he actually seemed pretty excited to have you around.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’ve known him for three years, of course I’m sure.”

You followed him into the house, instantly reveling in the feel of cool air washing over your body. Tyler, not even slightly phased by your reaction, continued to walk straight into the living room and dropped your stuff onto an unoccupied chair in the corner. This, you assumed, would be your closet for the indefinite future.

“Where’s Josh?” you asked, realizing that you had been inside the house for more than thirty seconds without hearing a sarcastic remark.

“Out on a run. He should be home soon.”

“In this heat?” You looked out the window, as if to confirm that the sun was still, indeed, shining.

“I don’t claim to understand his actions,” Tyler said, holding his hands up in defeat. “Want anything to drink?”

“I’m ok, but thanks.”

You finally sat down and kicked your feet up on the coffee table, allowing yourself the first moment of true relaxation since you had received the email from your building earlier that morning. Tyler continued on into the kitchen. The sound of cupboards being closed and cups clinking together filled the once-quiet house.

You were about to ask Tyler about a recent date that he had been on when the front door swung open, letting in a gust of warm air. The conversation was immediately forgotten as Josh stepped through the door, his chest still heaving beneath his sweat-stained top. Strands of hair were pressed to his forehead, but he quickly ran his hands through them and pushed them back, making a mess of curls on his head. He started to look your way, so you quickly averted your eyes. The magazine on the table sure was interesting, huh?

“Hey, Y/N,” he said. You could detect his shortness of breath in the way he was talking.

“Hi,” you said, shooting him a smile as if this were the first time you had laid eyes on him. “Have a nice run?”

“It could have been better.”

He bent down to untie his shoes. His shirt - which really should have been considered a tank top, considering how much of the sides he had cut away - fell forward, revealing his sweaty chest underneath. You only stared for a moment before ripping your eyes away, already feeling your cheeks get hot. It just so happened that this was the moment that Tyler walked into the room. He caught your eye and wiggled his eyebrows, which earned him an eye roll.

“You know you want him,” he mouthed.

“Shut up,” you mouthed back.

Josh finally stood up and stretched. Though it was tempting to glance at him, you kept your eyes fixated on the posters hanging on the wall. Tyler already had too much ammo to tease you with as it was.

You were relieved when Josh finally went upstairs and you no longer had to overthink every glance in his direction. Tyler collapsed down onto the couch next to you and took a long sip of his drink before kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

“Should I even say it?” he asked.

“It wouldn’t work, Tyler.”

“How do you know? Have you dated him before?”

The shower started to run upstairs.

“I don’t need to date him to know.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but that’s a little ridiculous.”

You turned to look at Tyler, letting your head roll back so that it was rested on the cushions. He took a sip of his drink and raised his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.

“It’s not! All it takes is one glance at us to know that we’re complete opposites, and we’re always poking fun at one another about it. He’s outgoing, confident, charming, willing to take risks… we really couldn’t be more different.”

“Haven’t you heard that opposites attract?”

“Haven’t you heard that’s bullshit?” you scoffed.

“Are you kidding? Josh always flirts with shy people because he thinks it’s cute.”

“Well he’s never flirted with me, so that must mean that he doesn’t think I’m cute.”

“Now that’s bullshit if I ever heard it,” Tyler snorted.

“Name one time Josh has ever flirted with me.”

“Are you kidding? You two were all over one another at the arcade the other night.”

“I was trying to beat him at skeeball!” Tyler shot you a look. “What?”

“All I’m going to say is that he wasn’t having a skeeball competition with anybody else.”

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever, Ty.”

“Come on, Y/N, will you at least give it a shot? One date?”

“I’m not putting our friendship at risk for the sake of one date that wouldn’t tell me anything.”

Tyler sighed loudly. “One,” he said, dramatically holding up his pointer finger, “one date is not enough to ruin a friendship if the friendship is strong enough. And two,” his middle finger flicked up to join the first, “one date is enough to tell you everything. How many times have you called me after a first date to tell me about how it wasn’t going to work out?”

You crossed your arms across your chest. Tyler was right and you both knew it.

“I’ll try, alright? But I’m going to take it at my own pace. And I don’t want there to be any meddling.”

“No promises,” Tyler grinned - a pit formed in your stomach - and leaned over to bump your shoulder with his own.

Before you had a chance to plead with Tyler not to get into the middle of it all, Josh came back downstairs. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a loose tank top, though it wasn’t as revealing as the one he had worn on his run. His hair, no longer sweaty, was still soaking wet and falling in loose curls around his face. Water dripped from them, running down his collarbone until they hit the hem of his tank top. Tyler gently reached over and pressed on your chin so that your mouth was no longer hanging open.

“What did I miss?” Josh said, grabbing the neck of his tank top and using it to wipe away a stray droplet of water.

“Not much,” Tyler chimed in before you had a chance to. “We were just talking.”

“Were you dying of boredom without my presence?” Josh grinned.

“You wish,” you scoffed. Tyler shot you a look, clearly unamused by your sarcastic remark in place of flirting. You shot him an apologetic smile when Josh wasn’t looking.

“So, Y/N, Tyler said you’re going to be staying with us for a few days,” Josh said. He slowly made his way into the living room and lowered himself onto a chair, obviously still feeling the effects of his morning run. His legs stretched out, making his shorts slip just a little bit further up his thighs. The hangnail on your thumb suddenly became very interesting.

“Unfortunately,” you said, looking up for just a second to meet his eyes.

“Oh, come on, am I that bad?” he stuck out his lower lip. You chewed on your own to hide the smile threatening to overtake your face.

Distracting was a better word.

“Tolerable,” was the one that left your mouth, however. “Most of the time.”

“You know,” he said, holding his hands up in defeat, “I’ll take it.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” Tyler sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

Josh answered, “Three days-”

“-give or take-” you chimed in, wincing a little as you pulled on the hangnail too hard.

“-of fun.”

“Fun,” he nodded. “Right.”

“Alright, I’m back,” Tyler said, gently sitting back down on the couch and resting his cup of water against his legs. “Everyone ready?”

You and Josh answered with mumbled agreement. After a busy afternoon of reading and writing music - ok maybe your afternoon wasn’t that busy - the three of you had settled in the living room to watch the latest Netflix series together. The plan had been to only watch a few episodes and then go on a late night drive together, but it ended up sucking all of you in. Now, half past midnight, you were all still lounging in the living room watching the fifth episode of the series.

“This is the last episode for me, though,” you said. “I need to sleep at some point.”

“Good plan,” Josh nodded.

You turned to smile at him - the two of you had been getting along really well all night and you were beginning to think you might be able to follow Tyler’s suggestion after all - but your eyes went directly to his phone. His fingers were flying across the screen as he typed out a message to someone whose name you couldn’t quite make out. It only took one winky face emoji for you to figure out the nature of the message he was sending.

Maybe you didn’t even need one date to tell you everything.

Josh slipped his phone back into his pocket and you pushed yourself a little further into the couch, stretching your legs just enough that you could jam your toes into Tyler, a form of subtle punishment for getting your hopes up. He playfully pushed them away and you relented, not wanting to make him genuinely angry. He had only been trying to help, and it’s not like he had any control over Josh’s dating app habits.

You tried to get comfortable and pay attention to the show, but thoughts about Josh kept creeping back into your mind. It didn’t help that the fan in the corner of the room kept carrying the scent of his shampoo towards you. It was clean and nice and reminded you of mornings on tour when Josh would join you at the table to eat his cereal and ask you how you slept and tease you when you would tell him he was in your dream. Because that’s what you did: you teased one another and poked fun at your dating habits and most definitely didn’t flirt.

You pulled your sweatshirt up over your nose so that the only thing you could smell was your laundry detergent and the musty smell of your apartment that lingered on everything you wore. Now was not the time to have a crisis about your relationship with Josh and overthink every little interaction you had ever shared.

Thankfully, the show started to get interesting and your thoughts were quickly overwhelmed with trying to keep up with what was happening on the screen. Even though he was right at the corner of your vision, Josh was far from at the forefront of your mind.

“No way!” Tyler said, sitting up so fast that the water in his lap spilled all over your legs and the couch. He was still too preoccupied with the plot twist to notice. “She was- and he- you’re kidding!”

“Tyler!” you groaned, already feeling the water soaking through the material of your sweatpants to your legs.

“Oh shoot,” he said, finally noticing the mess he had created. “Hold on.”

Tyler quickly set his cup down and ran up the stairs. You gently removed your legs from the puddle that had formed and tried not to drip more water all over the place.

“So much for having a dry place to sleep,” Josh said.

Shit. You hadn’t even thought of that.

“I’ll just steal Tyler’s bed,” you sighed. “It’s his mess, he can pay the price.”

“Good luck with that.”

Tyler returned, now carrying a number of towels in his arms. He haphazardly tossed them onto the couch and started to pat at them, which seemed to be doing a surprisingly good job at soaking up the water. You grabbed one of the smaller ones and started to dab at your sweatpants.

“Hey, Dun, want to stop flirting and get off your phone for long enough to help us clean up this mess?”

“I don’t know, looks like you have it covered,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“We do,” Tyler said, glancing at you.

“So it’s cool if I head up to bed?”

“Go for it.”

“Goodnight, guys.”

“See you tomorrow,” you said.

“Goodnight.”

You watched as Josh disappeared up the stairs and around the corner. After your talk with Tyler earlier in the day, tonight had not gone like you had hoped.

“Don’t even say it because I’m really not in the mood to hear it,” you said, standing up and throwing the towel down on the couch. “And don’t turn around.”

“Roger that,” he said. You could hear him continuing to dab water off the couch.

A new sense of frustration washed over you as you stripped off your sweatshirt in favor of an oversized Death Cab for Cutie shirt Tyler had bought you as a “congratulations for completing your first term of college” gift. He had given it to you the same day he announced he wouldn’t be coming back next term. At the time, you had been afraid that your newly formed friendship with him wouldn’t last, but here you were years later.

“Where am I going to sleep tonight?” you asked, failing to keep the edge of frustration out of your voice. You tossed your wet sweatpants over the back of the chair and pulled on your pajama shorts.

“With Josh.”

You snorted, “Very funny. You know, I’m beginning to think all the stuff you said about him flirting with me was bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit and I’m not kidding.”

You finished tucking your clean sweatshirt away in your bag and turned to face Tyler, expecting him to have his usual dorky “got ya” grin on his face. When you realized he was just casually scooping up the now damp towels, your stomach sunk.

“You’re not serious?”

“I am!”

“Tyler Joseph, you are not making me sleep in the same bed as Josh.”

“Watch me.”

You started to sprint towards the stairs - Tyler couldn’t kick you out of his bed if you were already in it - but Tyler was faster, even with the towels in his hands. He took the stairs two at a time and slipped into his bedroom, closing the door just before you could get a foot inside.

“Tyler, please,” you said, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it.

“Work it out.” His voice was muffled through the door.

You sighed. Once Tyler had his heart set on something, there was no changing his mind about it. That door was not going to open until he wanted it to, and your unwillingness to sleep in the same bed as Josh was not a good enough reason for him.

You stood in the dark hallway for a few minutes, contemplating the options that currently stood in front of you:

Suck it up and ask Josh if you could stay in his room for the night.

Sleep on the wet couch and deal with the discomfort.

Go home and spend another night in your sweltering apartment.

Sleep on the floor.

You groaned and childishly stomped your foot against the ground, not liking any of your choices. On the other side of the door, you could hear Tyler casually getting ready for bed without a care in the world. He didn’t have to worry about a broken air conditioning system or a stupid boy or where to sleep.

Stupid Tyler.

“Is everything ok out here?”

Could this night get any worse?

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, turning to face Josh. Your jaw nearly dropped upon seeing him. Sure, you had seen him in pajamas countless times on tour, but never like this. He was wearing a pair of Adidas sweatpants that were resting way low on his hips. You couldn’t help the way that your eyes slid up his torso until they met his. Some of his curls were falling into his eyes, which you really hoped meant he couldn’t see how blatantly you were ogling him right now. His mouth curled into a smile around the toothbrush that was half-hanging out of his mouth. Think, Y/N, think! What were you going to say? “I just thought I would be able to bargain with Tyler since he… you know, with the couch? But since I’m standing in the hall, you can probably figure out how that went.”

“Classic Tyler,” Josh said, pulling his toothbrush back out of his mouth so he could speak. “You know, you could sleep in here if you wanted. My bed is big enough for the two of us.”

You hated that Tyler’s plan was working.

“Um, yeah, sure. I just need to finish getting ready for bed.”

“Cool, just hop in whenever you want.”

How was he being so nonchalant about this?

“Will do,” you said, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He laughed quietly and disappeared back into his room.

You took your time going through your nightly routine, trying to put off having to be in the same bed as Josh for as long as you could. Tyler was probably laying in his own bed right about now, completely alone, feeling satisfied with the work he had done in pushing you and Josh closer together. The thought of it was enough to make you want to kick down his door and chew him out for putting you in situations like this, even if deep down you knew he was just trying to help you out.

Josh was already in bed when you walked into his room, scrolling through his phone. His torso was no longer on full display, but the light of his phone was illuminating his features. You made an effort not to stare as you walked over and slipped under the covers. The blanket was thick, but the fan at the end of the bed was producing enough air to offset the warmth. Besides, any amount of cool air was an improvement from the absolute hell that you had woken up to earlier that morning.

“Are you comfortable?” Josh asked. They were the first words you had exchanged since you entered the room.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me sleep in here, by the way.”

“I wasn’t about to let you sleep on the soaking wet couch. You’re supposed to be comfortable while you stay here, not dealing with an issue that’s just as bad as a furnace apartment.”

“Tell that to Tyler,” you snorted.

“You should give him a bad Yelp review.”

You and Josh both laughed.

“I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

The two of you exchanged some more small talk before finally deciding that you should get some sleep. After your friendly conversation - that featured a few flirty remarks on both sides - you were feeling a little bit better, though you couldn’t deny the tension you felt now that the room was quiet. It was like you could feel every little shift in his sleeping position and all the heat radiating off of him and hear every tiny change in his breathing.

And it was making it very hard to get some sleep.

You carefully rolled over onto your other side, which meant that you were now facing Josh, hoping that the change in position would relax you a little bit. After checking the time, and realizing you had spent nearly half an hour trying to fall asleep to no avail, you closed your eyes and tried to calm your mind. All you had to do was get to sleep, then you didn’t have to worry about Josh anymore. He would become a problem for you to deal with in the morning.

Unfortunately, sleeping Josh had different ideas. He rolled over, leaving his nose inches from yours, and flailing his arms all over the place. Your hands were just barely touching, sending tingles into your arm and erasing what tiny bit of tiredness you had managed to accumulate. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest from just that tiny bit of contact.

And you were supposed to spend all night in a bed right next to him?

Suddenly overwhelmed, you shot out of bed, tripping a little over the mess of blankets you had made while trying to fall asleep. Josh sat up instantly, his hands splayed out on the bed behind him, holding him up. He squinted, looking around the room until his eyes landed on you.

“Are you ok?”

“I can’t-” you heaved, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“Do what? What’s going on? Are you awake? Am I awake?”

“We’re both awake,” you said, resting a hand on your chest.

Josh slowly threw the covers off of him and got up, walking around the bed until he was standing across from you.

“What is going on, Y/N?”

“It’s just you and me in the bed and it’s overwhelming and I don’t know what to do.” The words were spilling out of your mouth before you could stop them. “First it’s the teasing and Tyler’s remarks and the pretty people on Tinder that are so much better than I’ll ever be and now I’m here in your bed and you’re right there and I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about all of it…”

“Hold on, slow down, I don’t understand,” Josh said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I like you, Josh, a lot. And I know I tease you and act like I don’t, but I really, really do.”

Josh closed the space between you, resting his hands on your cheeks with just enough force to finally get you to look at him. His eyes were shining.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

His lips crashed into yours and he tasted like toothpaste and smelled like shampoo and his skin was warm underneath your fingertips but not sweaty and you were completely lost in him. You liked the way his calluses brushed against your cheeks and how his lips fit perfectly with yours. You liked a lot of things about him, really.

“Sorry, that was really embarrassing,” you mumbled when he finally pulled away.

“It was cute.”

“Me practically falling out of your bed because our fingers brushed for half a second and then ranting at you incoherently at two in the morning is not cute,” you laughed.

“If I brush against your fingers right now, will it happen again?” Josh smiled, leaning close enough to you that his nose pressed against yours. His fingers ghosted the length of your arm and eventually brushed against your hand, his pointer finger just barely curling against yours.

“All my cards are already on the table.”

“I like your cards.”

“What?” you giggled.

“I don’t know where I was going with that,” he laughed with you.

“Thirty seconds into this… whatever it is and you’re already losing your cool.”

Josh grinned. “What can I say? You just do that to me.”

“Alright, that’s it, we’re going back to bed,” you said, grabbing Josh’s arm and dragging him back towards the bed.

“What do you think Tyler will say when we tell him about this?”

“I can already see the look on his face when we tell him he was right,” you sighed, sliding back under the covers. Josh joined you and opened his arms, inviting you to lay on his chest.

“If it makes you feel any better, he has to deal with us for the next few days.”

You smiled, “If we’re lucky, he has to deal with us forever.”

“I like the sound of that.”

When Josh leaned down to kiss you again, the entire world faded away.

[paulinedorchester]

London, July 1943: Excerpt from a work in progress

After nearly twenty minutes, Foyle decides that he might as well walk.

A cab pulls up at the entrance to the Victoria Coach Station every few minutes, but the drivers favour passengers in uniform. Difficult to resent that in wartime, but it quickly becomes clear that they’re really looking for the Americans – ready, willing and able to pay twice the normal fare. There are throngs of them in London: on leave, newly returned from North Africa, giddy with the success of the Sicily landings. Foyle keeps looking for familiar faces but sees none.

It’s barely a mile to Charles and Pamela’s place, if he recalls correctly, and it’s a fine day. After almost three hours cooped up in the coach it’ll do him good to stretch his legs. He hasn’t brought much with him and his suitcase is easy to lift. He picks it up and sets out.

Travel remains slow and uncomfortable, as it has been for the past few years. The discomfort is as much psychological as physical. Posters with such inscriptions as Must you travel? and Is your journey really necessary? are still displayed at every station, and Foyle had weathered a few cold stares from passers-by as he entered the coach stop at Hastings.

But it’s Charles and Pamela’s twentieth wedding anniversary on Saturday, and it had been kind of them to invite him. He really doesn’t feel the need for a change of scene, as they seem to feel he must, but he is curious to know what London looks and feels like with no official duties to discharge, even in the midst of the war.

And the war is everywhere he looks. Westminster has been spared neither bombing nor the depredations of the war effort. The railings have been removed from the familiar public garden he passes as he walks north along Buckingham Palace Road, and the garden has been cut up into allotments.

Buckingham Palace itself, he recalls as he makes his way past it, was hit repeatedly in 1940; it’s hardly a moldering ruin, but clearly only stopgap repairs have been carried out, the King and Queen waiting out the shortage of manpower and materials along with the rest of the country.

And as he walks across the Green Park he sees that it’s the public garden writ large: stripped of ironwork, much of the land being used to grow food.

At length – it’s a longer walk than he’d remembered, after all – he reaches Arlington Street and the drive in front of Arlington House. In 1936 Charles and Pamela had given up the fine Georgian house in Highgate that they’d taken before their son Alan was born and moved into a large flat in this mansion block, just completed at the time in the height of modern style. The move was a practical one, they had said: the place was and is an easy walk from the Admiralty, where Charles’ duties were demanding increasingly long days, and their daughter Averill’s school – now evacuated to Yorkshire – was also fairly close by.

Arlington House still stands, but it’s sandbagged and most of its metal ornament is gone. Some windows on the lower storeys, Foyle observes, have been blown out and boarded up.

‘My name is Christopher Foyle – I’m here to visit Commander and Mrs Howard,’ Foyle tells the elderly porter, who looks him up and down in an appraising way.

‘Yes, sir. They’re expecting someone by that name,’ the porter concedes, sounding a bit skeptical. At once he adds, ‘May I see your identity card, please?’

Foyle had suspected, and still suspects, that Pamela was privately relieved at the end of the Howards’ conventional existence in the suburbs. As he waits for the lift he reflects, not for the first time, that it’s hard to decide which seems more unlikely: her decision to leave her earlier life of vaguely Bohemian gentility for marriage to a Naval officer, or Charles’ choice of her as his wife.

Not that they aren’t well suited. They were both born into well-to-do families whose fortunes had been made during the previous century from the more refined aspects of trade: fine printing and engraving in the Howards’ case, textiles for the Fourniers. Pamela’s parents, though tolerant of their daughter’s artistic inclinations, had put the kibosh on her youthful ambition to become a ballet dancer.

Of age by the time the last war began, she had joined the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, driving an ambulance between Calais and a point that was often unnervingly close to the front. After the war she’d been one of the countless women to whom marriage had seemed an unlikely prospect, if only given the small number of surviving men. Although she had no real need to earn her own living she’d found a position at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, as a Deputy Company Manager, the first woman ever to fill that role.

And then, one evening in 1922, she’d somewhat reluctantly accompanied her father to a banquet at Drapers’ Hall. There she had been seated to the left of 1st Lt Charles Howard, R.N., a junior executive officer in attendance to represent the office that supplied Naval uniforms, still a bachelor at nearly thirty-two. (Foyle has never been entirely clear about how old Pamela is.) They were married nine months later. The wedding was a spectacular business in a Regency chapel of ease in St John’s Wood; Andrew, five years old and saucer-eyed throughout his first visit to London, had been a pageboy.

The brevity of their courtship had caused some talk, according to Rosalind. Still, it was a conventionally appropriate match – but also, Foyle knows, a very happy one. Pamela found Charles bright, witty and kind as well as quite handsome. His determination to remain in the Navy – in the teeth of his family’s expectation that, as the only surviving son, he would return to civilian life and enter the family business – had struck a chord with her, even as the novelty of life as a mildly rebellious bachelor girl with a toe in the demi-monde was beginning to wear off. Charles’ sense of duty was counterbalanced, and his own long-neglected aesthetic interests reawakened, by Pamela’s creative impulses and artistic connections.

It is Pamela herself who answers the door of the flat and laughs gently when her brother-in-law is unable to conceal his surprise.

‘Jill was called up,’ she explains, ‘and there’s really no hope of replacing her. They’ve all been called up! Not to worry, though — I haven’t yet taken over the kitchen. Mrs Ellis is still with us, bless her, so we won’t starve! It’s awfully good to see you, Christopher, and I’m very glad you’ve come. It means a great deal to Charles, as it does to me.’

Rosalind and Pamela had taken to each other at once, and became quite firm friends, Foyle recalls.

Mrs Ellis brings in tea, apologises for its meagerness and withdraws to the kitchen.

‘Would you care for something a bit stronger than mere tea?’ Pamela enquires. ‘I can imagine that you might need it, after travelling in this day and age. There’s no whiskey of any description, I’m afraid, but we do have a bottle of rather good Portuguese sherry.’

‘Well, um, perhaps a very small glass. Thank you.’

Sounding less facetious, she asks after Andrew.

‘He’s, um, he’s well,’ Christopher replies. ‘Not that it’s easy on him – not that I wouldn’t prefer to see him in some sort of nice, safe job at a desk – but he holds up all right on the whole. How’s Alan?’

‘Happy as the day is long — adores the Royal Naval College, talks constantly about the Painted Hall, and is quite convinced that we’ll win the day just as soon as he’s on active service!’

‘That’ll be, um, another two years, won’t it?’

‘Quite right,’ Pamela says dryly. ‘A bit long to wait, in my opinion. He has a chit for the week-end. He’s asked after you.’

‘It’ll be very good to see him. What about Averill?’

‘I’m afraid not — she won’t be here, I mean. Keighly’s a long way off, fifteen’s a bit young for such a long journey on one’s own — as I see it, at any rate — and they’re keeping those girls busy year ’round there. We haven’t seen her since Easter — and we went there. Quite a trek in these conditions! But there’s some good news on that score — the school’s coming back to London in September. I don’t know that I was meant to tell you that,’ she adds, ‘but there it is.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘Charles and I have had a few conversations about that, I can tell you! But Keighly’s not all that far from either Bradford or Leeds, and they’ve both been Blitzed. I suppose that the governors think that they may as well take their chances! In any case the decision’s been made — and it’ll be marvelous to have her home.’

‘Of course. I understand you have a new job,’ Christopher adds.

‘Yes. I’m afraid I wasn’t much good at making Sten guns — they showed me the door, Christopher, to be perfectly honest! — so I’ve joined CEMA as a sort of manager-at-large.’

Christopher frowns, puzzled.

‘Seema?’ he asks. ‘Oh, the Committee, um... ’

‘Or the Council, as it is now, for the Encouragement of Music and Arts.’

‘That part of the Government?’

‘No, not as such. It was run strictly on private funds at first, but Parliament has awarded us a hundred thousand pounds per annum — and Mr Bevin absolutely loathes us!’ Pamela adds with great glee. ‘Some of the people we’ve reached,’ she continues, sounding more serious now, ‘have never seen a live performance of anything before — they’ve simply never had the opportunity — unless it was the village amateur dramatic society, I suppose. It’s truly wonderful, Christopher — we’ve had letters from people who tell us that we’ve opened up whole new worlds for them! War does break down barriers — as dreadful as it is to think of it doing anything beneficial!’

‘I’ve often heard – um, the young woman who was my driver – I’ve often heard her say much the same thing.’

‘Would that be Miss Stewart?’

‘Oh – yes.’

‘We’ve heard some very encouraging things about her.’ Pamela smiles and sips her tea. ‘As it happens, CEMA is looking for a regional officer for the Hastings area. We have someone in Brighton, but she has her hands full with that region — and she’s expecting a baby in January.’

‘This a paying position?’

‘Oh, of course! Not lavishly, I’ll admit — two guineas per week to start with, plus travel expenses.’

‘That isn’t too bad,’ Christopher considers. ‘If I can think of a likely candidate I’ll let you know.’

‘I’d be quite grateful for that.’

Modern as the flat may be, it has a hearth and a mantel, with a clock sitting atop the latter that now strikes the hour.

‘Charles promised to come home at a reasonable time today,’ Pamela notes. ‘Christopher, I ought to tell you that he left here this morning in — I was about to say “in a foul mood,” but “in a highly unsettled state” might be a better way of describing it.’

‘What about?’ her brother-in-law asks, trying and failing to picture this.

‘I don’t know! I can tell you what brought it on, though — a letter that arrived in the morning post. But I didn’t see it — not the letter itself, I mean — and Charles didn’t tell me what was it said. All I know is that it seemed to agitate him a good deal. He took it away with him. Well, when I say that I didn’t see it, what I mean is that I didn’t read it,’ she goes on. ‘Of course I didn’t. But I did see that it was typed — on rather better paper than one is accustomed to seeing nowadays, and that the paper was marked.’

Christopher smiles dimly.

‘I’m no longer with the police, Pamela,’ he reminds her.

‘Well, no. I know that, of course. But isn’t it interesting, nonetheless?’

‘Depends on what’s in it.’

When the door to the flat opens a few minutes later; Pamela excuses herself and goes into the hall to greet her husband. Foyle hears both of them saying his name, and Charles using the words apologise and upset. After a few moments the Howards return to the sitting room.

‘Christopher! Wonderful to see you! Thank you so very much for joining us,’ Charles begins, shaking his brother-in-law’s hand. ‘How was your journey up? We’ve been hearing the most terrible stories,’ he goes on. On the surface he’s the same as ever, but something has changed behind his kind eyes. Something has rattled him.

‘Oh, can’t complain,’ Christopher replies.

Charles asks after Andrew and – with a vagueness that seems almost deliberate, as though the subject were slightly too indelicate to bring up – enquires as to whether Christopher is keeping himself satisfactorily occupied these days. These subjects having been discussed, there is a short silence during which he looks first pensive, then determined.

‘Pamela tells me that she’s put you in the picture about my... well, my loss of an even keel this morning.’

‘Well, um, she told me that it occurred,’ Christopher replies.

‘Mm. There was a letter in the morning post that gave me quite a shock. As the day went on, though, it dawned on me that it concerns both of you as well,’ Charles continues, glancing at Pamela and then back to Christopher. ‘Please correct me if I’m wrong, Christopher, but I don’t believe that you ever met my brother – and of course I know that you never did, Pamela.’

‘Knew him only by reputation,’ Christopher affirms. Captain Nicholas Howard, 4th Battalion, Royal Surrey Regiment, had been killed in action on the first day of the Battle of the Somme and was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross.

‘Yes. Well. It seems that there was at least one thing about him that I didn’t know either.’ Charles falls silent again, looking perplexed. He reaches inside his jacket, brings out an envelope and removes its contents, which he offers to his wife and brother-in-law. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you both simply read this.’

He watches for a moment as Pamela and Christopher stand side by side, each holding an edge of the letter paper, taking in its contents. Then he looks out of a window.

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Eleven

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Eleven: A Balancing Act

My darling Inej,  

Don’t think for a minute I don’t know what you’re aiming at with this letter full of questions. You may have my heart, but you can’t be privy to all of my schemes, especially when I’m now aware that your birthday is next month. Did you think I would forget? My dear, I forget nothing.  

So, no, to all of your questions. I’m not telling you what I’ve been plotting lately. I’m not telling you what has been on my mind. I’m not telling you if I’ve been visiting Jesper and Wylan’s more than usual. You must wait in suspense just as Jesper did. That’s part of the experience.

And don’t make that scoffing sound when you read this. I remind you that this whole birthday gift experience business was all your idea. You have no one to blame but yourself.

How do I sleep at night, you asked? Noisily, I’ve been told, but just fine, thank you.  

With all of my scheming heart,

Kaz  

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

To my favorite Inej,

Has he said anything at all to you – regarding the incident in my last letter? We found him on the couch again this morning. It’s at least becoming less startling when it happens. I just wish I understood it. He has that uncanny ability to vanish without explanations, and Wylan and I aren’t sure how to bring it up since he’s so clearly bent on pretending it’s not happening.

I suppose if our sofa and our dog are what he needs right now for whatever is happening inside that ridiculous brain of his, then I’m glad we’re able to help in some small way. He’s not taking advantage of much. We only wish he’d trust us with more.

I mean, we’ve all have nearly died for his schemes on more than one occasion. Should I remind him of that? What could possibly be too much to ask of us at this point?

All my love,

Jesper  

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

To our feared and beloved Captain

For her twenty-first birthday:

Cake and kvas and mysteries galore

Are awaiting your arrival

Return to Ketterdam if you wish to know more

Your presence is requested at the enclosed address, at 3 bells the 18th of October.  

No questions. All will be revealed in time.

Love,

Your favorite Crows

(addition in Kaz’s handwriting)

That gods-awful poem was Jesper and Wylan’s idea. Withhold judgment until after the evening. I’ll make it worth your while.  

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

 Dear Nina,  

I’m sailing away from Ketterdam today having nearly every single one of my birthday wishes fulfilled but one. But I won’t hold it against you. I know why you couldn’t have been there, or at least, I understand why I don’t know the specifics of why you couldn’t be there. Just know that, at the time of writing this and always, you are sorely missed.  

You would be so proud, though, with how our boys outdid themselves. I am impressed and moved and, frankly, still a little speechless. I’m honestly still replaying the memories and recalling the half-starved scrappy little things we all were seven years ago, and the two images side-by-side could not be any more different. I hope, wherever you are, the passage of time is bringing you similar new hopes. You deserve that and so much more, Nina.  

Where to begin? You know, years ago, just before we started the Ice Court, Kaz made me this lofty, insane promise. That, if we did it right, we’d be kings and queens. I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right.  

The day started at a dressmaker’s shop. I’d been given an address and a time to arrive, and that alone was a little jaw-dropping. It was in The Lid – an absolute premier spot I’d never even heard of when I lived in Ketterdam. I was grossly underdressed when I arrived. It’s not that I have anything against dresses – you know this. They’re just not at all practical for my line of work, and so I have none. I confess that sometimes I’ll admire them in a shop window when I’m out and about in a port town, but why in the world would I ever spend the coin on one? I wouldn’t even know what suits me anymore.  

This dressmaker, though, Nina. She knew all everything about the right fabrics, the right cut, the right make. They’d booked me the entire shop all to myself, just me and the dressmaker. She found me an absolute perfect gown – I’m staring at it right now. I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do with it now that my birthday’s over. Maybe I’ll prop it up in my desk chair and have tea with it every once and awhile. It’s this breathtaking light, pastel yellow, like sunshine, with all this detailed beadwork and exposed shoulders and what the dressmaker called an A-line waist. You might know what that means. I think it’s just dressmaker code for very pretty. She tailored me into it right there in the shop and fitted me with shoes and a cloak to match.

(My one regret was having no idea what to do with my hair. You’d cringe, but I left it in the braid. A minor detail the boys overlooked.)

It took a good few hours to get fixed up in the dress, and it was nearly evening by then. The dressmaker assured me it was all paid for, and right about that time, a black carriage pulled up in front of the shop. And Jesper and Wylan had their heads out the windows, shouting like madmen at me from the streets. I think the entirety of The Lid knew then about my birthday.

Kaz was in the carriage, too, hiding his enthusiasm as he does so well. I have to tell you, though, Nina, I won’t ever forget the look on his face when I got into the carriage. He was clearly trying his best to remain cool and unaffected, but I saw it, the way his jaw dropped slightly and his breath caught. This is obviously why I can never get rid of this dress. I’m just imagining what he’s going to end up writing in his letter after this, since, verbally, he actually managed to mumble that I looked beautiful, right there in front of Jesper and Wylan.

You know, it’s interesting. When he says it, it’s not at all like hearing a man in the Menagerie say it. When he says it, it’s like it’s not just the dress. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s the same words, and yet it’s so very different.  

And it only got better from there. The city was getting dusky, and the lamps were being lit. We were still in The Lid, amongst carriages and carriages of the filthy rich from the Financial District, the Government District, and tourists from all over. I kept leaning my head out the window to figure out what was coming next.  

Nina – they had bought us all ticket to the Cirque Euphoric.  

Maybe this means nothing to you. But it’s only the most ancient, most elite, most elaborate traveling circus in the world. It can only be afforded anymore by the wealthiest of tourists. And they were there doing an entire season in The Lid in Ketterdam, under a big top the size of two city blocks.

Nina, you don’t understand. My entire childhood, I kept posters and drawings and any relic that made its way to the markets from the Cirque Euphoric. Their high wire artists set the standard for all other performers in the business. The things they do in the sky, Nina, are things I haven’t even begun to imagine yet.

Sufficed to say, as soon as I figured out where we were going, I lost it. I did not know what to do with myself. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I burst into tears. It was a horrifying few moments for everyone involved. They were fairly certain they’d done something horribly wrong, instead of so wonderfully right. But that only last a couple minutes. I was able to get it together before Kaz could yell at the driver to take us back to East Stave. And then the merriment resumed, soaked handkerchief and all.

Oh, Saints, Nina, it was everything I’d ever imagined and more.

I don’t know how he knew this, but Kaz had reserved us the very best seats. You don’t want to sit too high at a circus or you’ll miss entertainment on the ground. Sitting too low presents a problem, too, because you want to be able to see the footwork the high wire artists can do. We were right in the middle, just where I’d have picked seats myself. Sankta Alina, I felt like a little girl again. I haven’t been that happy in years. I’d almost forgotten what it was to be that happy. And to watch it all with such beloved friends, who knew me well enough to know I would like this, to watch and hear their reactions to the performances. They might have loved it almost as much as I did. Almost.

We took another carriage ride after, hours later, when it was dark and the streets were bustling with very different crowds. I would have assumed that was the end of it, but Kaz had made us reservations in a private dining room at a fine dining club I’d never heard of.

My entire crew from The Wraith was waiting in the dining room. We ate a meal there fit for royalty, with drinks and a cake big enough that even you might have gotten sick of it after awhile. I don’t think I’ll need to eat again for weeks.

It must have been around midnight or past when we finally rolled ourselves out of the club. We took another carriage ride, stopping first at the Van Eck mansion so Wylan could haul a decently-sloshed Jesper off to bed and hopefully not to the toilet bowl. I actually never heard how he ended up faring that night.

And then it was finally just Kaz and me. If I hadn’t been so tired then, I think I’d have tried to snog his face off the whole way home. I’d been noticing his smug little smirk all evening. He’d planned the whole thing. Like I said, kings and queens. He’d made good on his word at last.  

But we were both exhausted on that final carriage ride – he’d booked me a room at the Geldrenner. And it’s not like I needed anything else at that point. The whole experience had already exceeded my expectations. He leaned back against the window, and I rested against him under his arm. We both dozed off there before the end of the ride.  

Which is another point I realize I haven’t mentioned to you yet. This has been happening lately. Kaz falling asleep in unusual places. Jesper’s been worrying about it for weeks now. I was having a hard time believing it until I witnessed it myself. Tell me this isn’t weird:

We got to the Geldrenner, and I asked him to come up. Oh, calm down. Are we really going to pretend like this is shocking at this point? Frankly, given the number of years, it’s shocking we weren’t sneaking into hotel rooms four years ago. And it’s not like we do much more than kiss. Although, I thought about it. It was my birthday after all, and he had just gifted me the experience of a lifetime and a luxury hotel room to boot. I was definitely thinking about it.  

But that’s not the weird part. Let’s agree that’s not the weird part, anyway. We came up, and we did very little talking. There’d been plenty of talking happening all night, and I was more interested in other things he can do with his mouth. Kissing, Nina, Saints. I can sense you doing that waggling thing with your eyebrows. I’m talking about just a lot of kissing, as soon as he let me get my hands on him. The kind of kissing every grown woman should have on her birthday, kisses that slide into more kisses, like there’s nothing else in the world happening but this.

But then the weird part happened. We’re lying on the bed (fully clothed, Nina, he even still had his gloves on), or at least, he’s lying back on the pillows and I’m kissing him, and then I notice he wasn’t really moving. And I sat back a moment, and I swear to you, he had fallen asleep. Believe me, I called him out on it right then, literally – “Are you sleeping?!” And he flinched right awake and apologized and blamed it on the kvas, and I might have even believed him.  

Except Jesper keeps talking about this strange new habit of his. And, as I replay the night’s memories in my head, it does feel like something was off. He seemed paler. He seemed quieter. He seemed – well, tired.  

Now I can’t kick this feeling like there’s something more happening behind the scenes. I wish you were here, Nina, and you could work your magic like you do and just squeeze the truth out of his brain somehow. I’ll have to settle for my own magic, I guess.  

When I look over my letters from him, he’s off-handedly mentioned feeling overwhelmed, particularly since this kid Artie joined the Dregs. And, don’t get me wrong, the kid is kind of handful. His moods swing wide between murderous rage and affectionate admiration. But he’s not Kaz’s sole responsibility. Pim and Anika do a lot to keep him on task and out of the bad kind of trouble. I wouldn’t think this would be enough to drive him to exhaustion.

But then again, Artie is the same age Jordie was. I wonder how much that gets to him. I wonder how much time he spends avoiding that. I wonder if he allows himself to think of it at all. Would that be enough to push him to the edge? Or is it something more?

It couldn’t be me, could it? Am I becoming exhausting?  

Ugh, Nina, come squeeze this out of my brain, too. And then come dress shopping with me, because it is much more enjoyable than I thought it would be.  

Missing you terribly,

Inej

[delldarling]

lost things | pyx

This was Faebruary’s story of the month over on Patreon! I gave the time between posting this a bit of a break because of the plethora of fae tales I’d been writing in February, but hope you all enjoy!

female fae x gender/body neutral reader 2500 words sfw | fluff, sweetness, holding hands, dancing, adventure note: here’s a story that is rather close to my heart <3

Lost is scrawled in a nearly empty diary, tossed in a plastic milk crate full of books. The word is messy and traced twice over, just above a small splattering of ink. The ink drops remind you vaguely of dot-to-dot pages and a smile slips onto your face as you trace them. When you flip it over, a small pink sticker reads: .25 It’s older and weathered, but the paper is clean except for that single word. Twenty five cents feels more than worth it, so it comes home in your pocket.

The word sticks with you throughout the day though, caught fast in the back of your mind like it’s important, even though you’re fairly sure you haven’t lost anything. Maybe you saw a poster somewhere for a lost animal? But even after silently recounting your day in your head, you’ve got nothing.

“Lost,” you mutter, going outside to sit on your back porch in the early evening. You’ve repeated the word so often now that it’s lost its meaning, which has you shaking your head in exasperation. Maybe you can ask- Movement in the corner of your eye makes you pause.

At first, you think it’s just a shadow, caught on the edge of your vision because of the evening wind blowing through the yard. You ignore the movement, elbows on your knees, trying to figure out exactly what has you feeling so strange.

It’s the light that finally catches your eyes. Fine, gleaming pinpricks of light, like a swarm of neon bright fireflies, draws your attention to the woman standing in the corner of your yard. Your heart chokes you, pounding desperately in your throat as you jump to your feet, but she’s still there, even after you blink, repeatedly. Trying to convince yourself that she’s nothing more than a figment of your imagination doesn’t make her go away either.

“I haven’t heard a Calling in an age,” she says in a low, smooth voice, walking through the grass. The fine pinpricks of light dance over her skin as she moves, mirroring… mirroring the stars overhead. Your gaze darts up and then back down to her face. She smiles when she gets close, but it's one born of polite confusion and it isn’t until she stops in front of you that you feel like you can draw breath again. “What have you lost?” She asks, less than a foot away, hooking her thumb in the cloth belt wrapped around her waist. She tilts her head, chin length, lavender colored waves brushing over her shoulders, revealing the pointed arch of one dark ear. The mirrored stars make it look like the drop of her earring is a shooting star, gleaming strangely against her skin.

“I- Where did you come from?” You glance at the fence, wondering if she hopped it - her exposed forearms are rather muscled, but then you see the trees in the corner of your yard. Towering, sprawling things that most definitely were not there ten minutes ago. “And who are you? And did you just say-”

“Lost,” the strange elf woman repeats, and a chill crawls up your spine. “I came because you asked for aid, of course. And you may call me Pyx.”

“Pyx,” you repeat, focusing on her eyes. The entire sclera is black, or as dark as, in the fading light of evening, but it’s her irises, like pale silvery moons, that make your jaw drop.

Pyx lifts her head, breathing in deeply and searching the sky. When she turns, you catch sight of small protrusions near her temples. “Yes. Now, what have you lost? I cannot move as swiftly in your realm during the daylight hours, so if we must leave-”

Lost, she’d said, just like the diary, and then you can see, clear as day in your minds eye: The ink splatter.

“Okay, so. So I’m not sure uh.. What it is that you do to help find lost things, but I haven’t lost anything? And I think this was all a mistake. There was a book - a diary, journal, thing - and sure, the word lost was in it, and I’ve been thinking-”

Pyx stares while you ramble, until you mention tracing. Then she laughs. Throaty and full, clutching at her middle until someone a few houses down, or maybe on the street? Shouts “What the fuck is so funny over there?”

“You cannot Call me by mistake. You say you’ve lost nothing?” She finally asks, catching her breath. Her grin grows smaller, but is still sparkling in her gaze.

“T-that doesn’t mean nothing. Everyone has lost something, but I’m not- Actively looking? I’m missing a few socks-” You startle as she takes a step closer, erasing the distance between you so she can lay a strong hand on your shoulder. She’s tall, you realize, and has a good five inches or so on you.

“Your way,” she corrects you. “You’ve lost your way,” Pyx says, like she’s sharing a secret, like it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

“Maybe motivation,” you mutter, frowning, but then Pyx is curling her hand around your wrist and nodding her head towards the trees.

“Come with me,” she insists, tugging you away from your porch. When you don’t resist, when your eyes simply widen, she drags you towards the trees, stars whirling over her skin dizzyingly fast.

The trees are bent into an arch towards one another, branches interlocked at odd intervals, and it looks like nothing so much as some kind of black hole, caught between the branches. Apprehension has you tempted to drag your feet, to put a halt to this, but before you can do more than open your mouth, Pyx is pulling you through the arch.

Darkness closes over you like cool water, and then dissipates into a fine mist that you suck straight down into your lungs, leaving you coughing as you come to a stumbling stop against Pyx’s winged back. You jump away, tearing your hand out of hers to stare at the pitch-black insect wings tucked in tight down her spine.

“You have wings?” Is the first question out of your mouth, though there are more crowding your brain for attention. What the hell was that portal, where did she bring you, is she- “What-”

Pyx stretches them out and you notice the line of buttons on her shirt over the top of each wing - the buttons look like precious stones. She flutters them, laughing quietly and then lays them against her back once more. “I take it that Fae are as rare in your realm as humans are in mine?” She asks, taking your hand and lacing her fingers through yours. Reflexively, you squeeze her hand, speechless as she starts walking. “Most are Court bound after all,” she continues, though you can’t say you completely understand what she’s talking about, “so if you don’t frequent a Court-” Pyx stops, a small little smile appearing as she nods her head to the side.

You follow the gesture, still trying to catch up with your rambling thoughts about Faeries, and then your mouth pops open in astonishment. Golden light is spilling out from a shop front, just barely reaching over the toes of your shoes, but then you have to look up. And up. And up.

The shop - the bar, you think, with raucous tunes drifting out the door - is nestled underneath the roots of a redwood that looks like it was planted by giants. It’s then that you realize you’re surrounded by those massive trees on all sides. The sky looks… Much farther away than normal. You squeeze Pyx’s hand again, gaze darting back to the open doors and the roots draped over them like a curtain. “The best thing to do when you find you’ve lost your way,” Pyx explains, stroking a thumb over your hand as she walks you both towards the entrance, “is find a bit of fun.”  

As soon as you spot more Faeries and beings of various stature inside though, you dig in your feet. “You just said that humans were uncommon around these parts? Is that- Is that going to be a problem?”

Pyx blinks and then purses her lips as she thinks over her answer. “They might be more willing to buy you a few rounds?” She says, like she isn’t entirely sure how they’re going to react. “But if you’re worried about safety-” Pyx pats her thigh, giving you just enough time to catch sight of a silvery blade, and then a shadow is stopping in the doorway, hands on their hips.

“Pyx!” A short, bearded man calls out. “My favorite tracker! Made a new friend, have you?”

For the next thirty minutes, it feels like you’ve been pulled into a whirlwind. Pyx introduces you to a slew of Fae, and you can barely keep up with the list of names. You do remember Kolin though, the dwarven man who insisted you try a cup of raspberry wine. And the two men who can near fade from your sight like ghosts, leaving nothing behind but an unearthly light where their hearts should be? They’re wisps and their dancing is lovely and haunting.

Halfway through your second drink though, you frown and Pyx leans an elbow on the table, arching a lavender brow. “They didn’t slip you a draft of Tears, did they?”

“You drink tears?” You can’t help asking, setting your cup down with a clatter. The sound doesn’t reach much farther than your table though, before Pyx starts laughing again.

“Thrice brewed tears with a twist of moon-fruit,” Pyx teases. Or.. You think she’s teasing. You’re in a Fae tavern and you were brought here because you found a diary with the word lost written in it’s pages. You’ve met people that you’ve only ever read about or seen on TV screens - and yet you’ve seen nothing like them either. “Time for a dance, I think,” Pyx decides, taking another sip of her drink before she gets to her feet. She sets down her cup and offers you a hand, nearly doing some kind of clip with the heels of her boots that reminds you of bowing. For a moment, the stars on her exposed skin - her face, hands and forearms, seem to burst, to fizzle out like fireworks before they settle back into place.

“Are you alri-”

“Uh, yes,” Pyx says, clearing her throat. “I just- we’re not in Court. Anyway! Would you like a turn about the room?”

Regardless of how overwhelming some of the evening has been, you… You kinda do. Pyx is tall and looks fierce when she isn’t smiling, and her skin is peppered with the stars, flying somewhere over the giant tree you’re sitting in. This is most definitely a moment to seize all the experiences you can.

“I think I would,” you agree, laughing when she pulls you to your feet and spins you out into the middle of the floor. You let her lead, not caring overmuch that you don’t know any of the steps - none of the Fae seem to care, and even the wisps start clapping along, urging you and Pyx to move faster, to keep dancing. Everything in you, from your toes to the top of your head, feels light. Alive.  

"How are you feeling now?" Pyx asks after you’ve danced around the entire room at least twice. She leads you back to the doorway so you can grab some air, smiling brightly at you as you catch your breath. Standing here, staring out at the enormous trees, part of you wonders if you shrank to get here. Faeries are supposed to be small, aren’t they? Ah, it doesn’t matter.

"Better," you confide, because it's true, because you feel at ease in a way you haven't in quite a while. "Is this what you do?" You find yourself asking. “Taking random humans - or Fae, I mean, out for a good time? Helping them find- Fun? Motivation?”

Pyx shrugs a shoulder, wings arching with the movement before they settle against her back again. “I pursue. I track lost things. We all do - not Faeries,” she corrects, “but my people. We’ve been called Navigators, Compasses - Star Followers, because we’re never lost.” She lifts her hand and splays her fingers, displaying the glittering stars mirrored on her skin. “There aren’t many of us who roam, as we’re in high demand,” she says. Her lips quirk, though you’re not sure whether she was trying to smile or frown, it’s gone before you can blink. “We can track down any lost thing. For a hefty price.” She does smile then, though her nose wrinkles when she sees the startled look on your face. "Your price was my company. We don't see many humans here these days, and fewer still have Called for me in.. quite a while. Where did you learn?" She finally asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Your explanation is likely much shorter than she expected it to be, but Pyx nods. "It's meant to be passed on, you see,” she explains. “Find another who is lost, send them to me. Of course you're free to keep the knowledge - I've led a human or two out of the woods! But it is hard to share such things in this day and age, is it not?"

“The diary? Or-”

“The ink!” She clarifies, smiling as she traces a shape in the air. “It was the constellation I was born under. It Calls me when you trace it. It was given to an old friend. A… A very long time ago, I imagine.” Pyx sighs. “I’m afraid I’m a bit terrible with time. Seeing as I haven’t seen the state of it, it could be something recent, passed down to their kin.” She sounds so terribly… lost, and then she freezes when you slip your arms around her. You’re careful of her wings and to keep your hands in considerate places, but- as soon as she melts into it, you shiver.  

"...are you lost?" You can't help asking. Because it’s a valid question, and she seems like she’s missing something, or perhaps someone, the way she’s been talking about her people, about finding things.

“Less so, after this evening,” she teases, hand stroking down your spine. She sighs again, but this time it holds a sweet note and then she’s pressing a kiss to your temple. “But I think it’s time I took you home. I’m not in the business of whisking humans away permanently.”

That… Makes you pause. Not the thought of permanence, but the thought of going home. Pyx notices the way you’re starting to worry at your lower lip though.

“I’ll be back,” she promises, lacing her fingers through yours once more, “perhaps even before you feel lost, you have my word.” She starts to walk, away from the tavern, away from light spilling out of the doors. Hand held fast in hers, you follow.