#callously ignoring her friends' safety

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter One

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does. | Word Count: 2.2k

Warning(s): strong language, mentions abusive relationship, gun mention, talk of death, trauma/PTSD themes, Fem!Reader

A/N: gonna be honest I got this idea from a c.ai bot. If you want to be on the taglist for this let me know <3

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On The Lam

The luminance of the sun beating down on you nearly distracted you from every tense thought telling you to back out. It felt ridiculous, standing out in the open like this, even if it was a populated area. The conversations of bypassers came in pieces.

A woman bickering with her husband about what takeout to get; an elderly woman talking to a most likely disinterested grandchild; a fuckboy bragging to one of his friends about how he scored the previous night—you yearned for the days where life was that simple. Living in blissful ignorance, when you were hopeful for the future ahead of you.

If you’d seen your past self, only a few months younger, you’d have called her a moron. How could you have not known? The red flags were all so obvious in hindsight. And for your stupidity, you’ve been living a life of recluse, wondering which stranger who passes you will eventually have his face.

In the present, cursing yourself for making an even denser decision: meeting a stranger online, someone to keep you safe. Shelters are too crowded, the police department is a joke, and cat and mouse can only go on for so long.

What can you say? Desperation makes people do things far from themselves. The saying goes both ways, you figure—each day that passes when he can’t find you is an increasing jeopardy to your safety.

You nearly squeeze the life out of the coffee cup you’re holding when the black pickup truck parks near the curb, just like you’d planned. His car was real, that’s all you knew. The windows were tinted, as dark as the law would allow. It could be anyone sitting inside the driver's seat.

The engine idles for a few seconds, before it comes to a stop. However, the driver doesn’t leave the truck to reveal himself. It’s up to you to make a decision. He’s surely already staring at you, as you stand there like a roach that’s staying still to avoid detection.

The speed of your steps towards the vehicle are about as fast as the pitter of your heart, increasing when you climb inside. You look in the backseat first, and indeed, there’s no one back there waiting to ambush you.

He’s staring at you, hands resting on either of his thighs, as if this wasn’t some sketchy meetup straight out of CSI, where the unsuspecting woman ends up wrapped in a tarp by the five minute timestamp. But he’s not giving you a look of malice or anger, it was the absence of emotion.

You fish out the envelope from your pocket, the deposit for his trouble, and then flash your phone screen, showing proof that you were the other text bubble responding to him. He takes the package and skims through the bills with his calloused thumb, giving a nod of approval.

If he wanted to hurt you, he could’ve locked the truck door by now and drove off God knows where. But he hadn’t. This ridiculous situation could be real after all.

He speaks first, revealing his weathered deep voice, with an accent you can’t locate. “Apartment or house?”

You take a few moments to process, shaking away the metaphorical cat that has your tongue. “It’s an apartment… Downtown, by the projects.” Your voice wavers slightly as you meet his callous gaze.

The ragged voice dripping with disdain, the eyes that look like they’ve witnessed it all, muscular arms that could choke you out in seconds, the insignia tattooed on his forearm, the small scars you can see around his eyes. You can only imagine how he looks under the balaclava tightly gripping his face.

You feel like it’s one danger stacked on top of the other—on the lam from an ex-lover, living in a chancy neighborhood, and now sitting in the car with one of the most intimidating men you’ve ever laid eyes on.

He closes off the envelope again, sticking the wad of cash into the cup holder. Next, he reaches into the center console, pulling out an ancient flip phone and a scrap piece of paper and pen.

“This is the burner phone you’ll use until our contract is up. No outside calls, no texting, and under no circumstances will you use your personal cell.” He has the phone outstretched, but won’t allow you to take it until you’ve nodded to reassure that you’re listening.

You flip up the screen, seeing only one number listed in the contact. No photos, no apps, nothing else. You stuff it into the pocket of your jeans, retrieving the paper and pen next.

“Write down your address, flat number, and cell. Everything we discussed before.”

You scribbled down all the info, cursing yourself at the awful handwriting before you. He doesn’t glance at your work, just hastily takes the items back and stuffs them into his pocket.

He then gives you a look of vexation, like you’re supposed to know what the next step in all this is.

With the tightening of his brow, he huffs and reaches across your lap, so close it makes you lean as far back into the seat as possible at the sudden proximity. His elbow is digging into your abdomen as he outstretches his arm toward the lock.

Click.

You jump at the sudden noise, despite the threat of him immediately harming you diminishing now that you have a possible escape. You’re not going to take your chances now, despite the fact that your address is folded in his pocket. Not your smartest decision, but neither was marrying the one that landed you in this situation.

You climb out of the vehicle, giving him one last glance before you shut the passenger door. There’s no going back now. You’re a few hundred dollars less, and a few hairs away from packing up and skipping town again.

You get inside your own car, turning the key to begin your drive home. His black truck tails you the whole way back, looking even more out of place in the sketchy neighborhood your apartment resides in.

When you enter the lobby, you gaze out at him through the window. He’s parked in front of the opposing building, probably trying to appear conspicuous. The landlord is sure to notice a “visitor” taking up your second parking space day by day. He moves like he’s done this a thousand times, like he’s thought of every way for someone to flag his presence.

By the time you reach the stairwell, he’s behind you, following your path up to your apartment. When you reach the inside, it’s as if you’re seeing your own place for the first time.

The barren walls where you hadn’t bothered to tack anything onto, the pathetic looking sofa in front of your box TV, not to mention your kitchen—the counters and stove untouched. The only sign of life is little traces of you; your laptop, still open and displaying what you were last browsing, the laundry you hadn’t folded yet, not to mention the mess of luggage in the corner.

It’s obvious to him by now that you’re not here to stay for long, and there’s a palpable reason for him being here. No one lives like this by choice. That wasn’t his problem, though. He was your muscle, your already paid muscle, so what does he care about the disorderliness of your apartment?

“I cleared out the spare room for you. It’s not much, I know.” You turn the corner, revealing what was more of a broom closet than a bedroom. You’d put out an air mattress for him, as well as a folding chair to pose as a nightstand.

He doesn’t react, just gives the scene a glance, then moves on without you. He’s casing the place, taking note of the layout in his mind. The lack of grandeur would come in handy. Two exits—entrance and terrace, only a few small windows, and not many rooms for an intruder to hide in. This was nothing to him.

Once he’s finished his walkthrough, you’re both standing in the entrance again.

“I supply my own weapons,” he pronounces, giving the living space one more scan. You had noticed it by now, the holster on his dominant side.

His eyes instinctively come back to you as you fiddle with your fingers in apprehension, how you’re wearing a wedding ring, but clearly no sign of a lover with you.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the situation at hand: a woman fleeing from her spouse. But he knew there was more to this plight than just a hotheaded spouse. You weren’t the stereotypical battered woman he was expecting—no visible injuries, no cowering at the sight of his large frame, nor were you a petrified dear in the headlights.

He’d prefer it that way. Less strings attached, less drama, less chance of this job turning messy.

You force your nervous hands to your sides, noticing how he studied them. Though he was technically on your payroll, you felt you were in no position to question him.

He was actively standing in your apartment, had access to your information—it was a little late for cold feet.

—

“Did your husband strike you?” The officer questioned, not bothering to read the cues in front of him.

You hadn’t called them. It was your nosy neighbor, who somehow spent more time eavesdropping on your arguments than anything else. The icy concrete steps provide no comfort to your shivering legs as you’re perched on them, still in shock of it all.

“No, we were arguing,” you mutter, feeling overwhelmed by his grilling and the blue and red flashes lighting up the street. He hadn’t struck you. That was the truth. Why was it so goddamn difficult to tell the truth?

You felt this was all smoke. That the tension between the two of you would ease up after your place is swarmed with cruisers.

It should’ve been, at least. The serenity came and went as fast as the impatient officer. Instead of the previous dramatics of flying cutlery, it was hushed threats and holds on you that bruised where only you could see.

It was those evenings that you prayed for your nosy neighbor, or anyone for that matter to give you an out. No one did. He was too stifled, and too smart for that; the type of temper more disturbing than any man throwing violent punches.

You weren’t foolish. Things would get worse, you’d be completely dependent on him, and then dead before you had the chance to make an escape. You swore that wouldn’t happen to you—becoming a martyr for abused women. You weren’t going to be the next awareness story spread on social media.

Legalities were laughable, so you bailed. Packed up each of your belongings piece by piece, and bought the first plane ticket out of there. The leaving wasn’t the daunting part, like you’d heard before. No, it was the running—hiding away in your apartment, having to look over your shoulder in the checkout line, all of it.

Your husband’s wit was what charmed you in the first place. Then, it was his determination; it was jarring and never ending. But now, they were parts of him so potent they sent a chill down your spine. 

You weren’t going to cut and run without that damn persistence of his close on your tail.

—

You find yourself repeating the same routine. Laying there, staring at the water damaged ceiling above you, worrying endlessly about the road ahead of you.

Fate was something you once viewed as the reason for all the bullshit—the happenings already in place for you, sometimes ending in a lesson or a new chapter. It had to be fate, the way he’d find you eventually, no matter how much distance you make.

As you wandered out of your room, you rub the fatigue away from your eyes, steadying your view of the dim apartment. The carton nearly slips through your fingers when you see him lightly snoring in the armchair instead of his room. That was something you needed to get used to, that’s for sure.

He stirs awake, coming to attention immediately. You give him the pointless offer of something to drink, met with the rejection you were expecting. He remains there, hands folded across his chest in restlessness.

You flick on one of the shotty lights, which flickers constantly as it does a terrible job of lighting your kitchenette. You pull out a chair and take a seat at your table, rubbing your thumb along the glass in a soothing fashion as you take small sips from it.

It was becoming a pattern, long before you moved here. Gazing out at the shimmering stars in the sky, using them as a distraction from the chaos around you.

When you’d run out of tearful words, or the dread of what he’d do wouldn’t let them escape your lips—you look out the window at the stars. It felt sick to find solace in something that reminded you of him, but you did nonetheless. Your mind wasn’t plagued with remembrances—rather, it was deserted, as if its way of coping with the scars it still harbored.

The man sitting in your apartment knew that freeze all too well—the pause of total dissociation. The eyes of the person glossed over and expressionless. All he could do was hold his gaze on you as you sat at the table, unable to form any words of reassurance.

An intruder busts in, and his countermoves would be swift, precise, and lethal. Beyond the shadow of his nonchalance, he was a man yearning for the distraction of the night sky.

[sapphicsaus]

regal ties (pt. 5) - wanda maximoff

a/n: sorry it’s been a minute, but i’ve started classes and i don’t really have any time to write now. but i’ll try every now and then when i can.

i ii iii iv v

You dressed up in regal wear for the gala.

Stationed near the door, you stood and watched as Wanda seemed to enjoy a dance with her brother. It was a delight to see Natasha as well. Though she was serving the royalty, she still looked regal.

As she walked by to grab more food from the kitchen, you stopped her. The soft touch almost made her flinch, but she instantly noticed the calloused hands caressing her skin.

She turned to look at you, and you regarded her softly with a smile. “May I speak to you?”

“You may. But I can’t go far.” Wanda watched from the corner of her eye as you pulled Natasha over to a corner. “Is it important?”

“I just wanted to say hello.” The redhead scoffs, a large smile gracing you as she ducks her head. “I cannot stand you.” She pushes you back, making you laugh from your belly.

“My mother will burn me alive if I don’t get this food to the guests.” You laugh more, smiling down at her. “My apologies. I just-I love teasing you.”

“Jerk.” You let her walk away, and you walk back to your post.

“Y/N!” You turn your head, sighing as Pietro drunkenly waltzed over. “I dressed you up, and you do is work?”

“It is my job, sir.” He hums. “That may be, but I consider you a friend, and my friends have to dance at my galas, it’s a requirement!”

Sighing, you reluctantly let him drag you from where you were to dance with him and Wanda. “Dame.”

“Princess.”

———

The dancing went on for quite some time. Natasha and Yelena watched subtly at your uncoordinated dancing, which they were reminding themselves to tease you about.

You were stiff, and that led Wanda to lead. “You know everything but how to dance!” She giggles. You silently follow her, ignoring the looks from royalty who recognized that you were a knight.

“Oh, don’t worry about them.” She noticed your gaze, and made you look at her. “They’re jealous that someone as gorgeous as you can dance with the princess.”

“Gorgeous? I’m flattered, but I swore you couldn’t stand my face some time ago.” You smirk. She rolls her eyes, a faint smile on her features. “Just take my word, Y/N.”

“First name bases as well. I’ve gotten far in short time.”

“Oh, no. You shall still address me as-“ A window crashes, and all the guests jump in shock. You rush over to the disturbance, frowning at the sight of a torch.

Almost as if you anticipated it, another one came flying through, but you caught it and tossed it back out. You pop up from your crouch, and look around. “Guards, get them all somewhere safe. Someone find me Rogers!” You look back out the window and there are men clamoring to enter, as well as a small army marching up the hill.

“What’s happening?” Pietro asks. “Get to safety, Prince.”

“What about you?”

“You think I can’t handle myself? Go!” He sighs, running behind the guards, carrying his sister with him to wherever the royals were being taken. The staff huddled in the kitchen, and the guards stood their ground.

“Men! Follow me.” They ran after you down the steps, and outside into the square. That was when you saw it, the men were fighting others, and joined in.

After taking down a few, you’d made it to a man who’s throat you were going to slit, until you heard a chilling voice. “HALT!” The fighting ceased even from your side, and you dropped the man, before looking at the Titan before you.

Next to him stood two young women, one with swords, and the other with metal appendages and a single sword. “If I can’t speak to the king himself, I will take the next best thing! If I can’t get that…I’ll start killing your subjects!” You looked at Steve, who seemed to be knocked unconscious, but thankfully breathing.

“That would be me!” You yell. The Titan hums, looking over at you. “Hmm. You must be the Dame.” You nod, swallowing nervously. “That I am.”

“Well, I have a message for you.” You clench you jaw, holding to the hilt of your sword.

“Tell the king…that if he does not want to speak to me directly about his plans to invade my land, my children,” He points to the young women beside him. “Will take his children. And I will make an example of them!”

“How dare you threaten the king’s blood?!” The daughter with the longer sword charges you with speed, but you have a second or so to gather your bearings and begin to fight.

You dodge her big swings, and catch her sword with your own, giving you enough time to kick her directly in the stomach. She stumbles for only second before sending a much rougher kick to your side.

You fall to your knees in pain, and she swings her sword right in front of your neck. Your eyes widen in fear and your breath picks up. “Nebula!” The woman silently looks over to her father. “That’s enough.” She hums, backing away.

“Do you all see how easy it was for Nebula to make your precious warrior vulnerable?” Silence amongst the soldiers fill the empty space as you look down in shame. “Unlike this encounter, I will show the king no mercy if he doesn’t not get me a meeting!”

He looks directly at you. “Out of you, I shall make an example.” In a flash, Nebula’s blade ran across your skin, and you were in shock to the point where you barely noticed it.

The Mad Titan almost chuckled at your resilience. “Men. Come!” What’s left of his army retreats, and you place your palms on the wet, muddy ground. “Y/N?” You bend down, letting out the contents of your almost empty stomach.

———

“I should’ve been there to help you!”

“Prince. She took me down in less than 10 seconds, and could’ve decapitated me. I’ve been training since I left the womb, what makes you they wouldn’t have taken your head as a message?” Pietro sighs, stopping his pacing.

He shoots you a sad look, before placing his head in his hands. “Father wants to strike Titan. He wants to ambush after attacking you and the square.” You frowned with confusion.

“Why?”

“Thanos is evil. If he doesn’t strike now, whatever deal the Mad Titan wants will fall through. And we will be in peril.”

———

You stormed down the castle corridors, clutching your broken rib with a new limp in your step. Pietro was trailing after you, attempting to calm you.

You burst into the throne room with a furious face. “You cannot invade!” You yell. “Why don’t you just make the deal?”

“Excuse me?” The king asks.

“We don’t have the army for an ambush, let alone to fight a war!” Everyone in the room watched in shock as you took ragged breaths. The king’s family, including Wanda and Marya, watched on as well.

“You’re out of it, Y/N. But no matter, because I will move forward with the strike, and because you are so bold as to speak to me like a commoner, you will lead! So their blood will be on your hands as well as mine!” He storms over to you, getting into your face.

“I will do what is right! You will show respect for your king, and remind yourself that your current fate is better than death at my hands!” You huff, sparing Wanda a glance, before storming out.

Tags:

@wlwfanfictionss @nothingisrealanyway @sadpiscesheart

[ilosttrackofthings]

aos s6: Jemma is the real villain

[shoutogepi]

Best Friends

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.7k

[ ☁︎ ]  angst

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : unrequited feelings :’( really brief mention of sex (not nsfw tho!) & also (underage?????) alcohol consumption! 

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : On your last night in the dorms, Shouto realizes he has feelings for you, his best friend. 

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : idk honestly i started writing this last night and was gonna abandon it... but then val tagged me in an angst ficrec and i was like ok well! this is a sign to post bc then i will have at least one sho angst on my masterlist lolll oops :o

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   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃onight was the last night in the dorms. Three long years had come and went, and now everyone’s belongings were cleaned out and secured away with cardboard and tape, leaving an empty wing that was currently filled with bodies, neon lights, and red solo cups. Music was pounding through the hallways, reaching every room and allowing no one total escape from the celebration.

You had been occupying the dance floor with Mina and Tsuyu for the last half hour, and now that you had sweat off the latest drink of the night, it was time for you to set off and find your more moderate-tempered companion. The pink-skinned girl wiggled her eyebrows at you when you alerted them of where you were heading off to, Tsuyu planting a love tap on your ass as you made your way from the swarm of people. The frog girl wasn’t usually so loose, but the alcohol that pumped through everyone’s veins had left only a select few unaffected. Tsu, just like you, was one of the ones that was happily allowing the weight of daily student life slip from her shoulders.

There were plenties of warm bodies swaying with the heavy bass rattling the hallways, shadows of couples and interested singles leaning against the walls, whispers and rowdy laughs echoing as the entire graduating class of UA partied the night away. Skimming by the line outside the bathroom, your feet found their way toward the end of the hall easily enough, taking the path you had so many times before.

A creak sounded as you pushed the cracked door open, the sight of the open shoji screen allowing moonlight to stream onto the bamboo mat floor which crunched quietly underneath your tentative steps.

“Shouto?” you whispered his name, eyes taking in the silhouettes of the packed boxes against the walls before you turned and saw a shadow sitting on the mattress beside the door.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your voice jolted Shouto from his wandering thoughts, his attention turning to you right away. He seemed surprised to see you standing there, and he peered up at you from his slightly hunched position on the couch. He acknowledged you with your name, his voice low and steady. By the sound of it, you wondered briefly if he had even had a drop to drink tonight.

Blinking at him a few times, you tried to adjust your eyes to the contrast between the bright moonlight and dark shadows. When you could finally see the planes of his handsome, somber face, you spoke, trying your best not to slur. “What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

He paused, lagging for a second before the corners of his mouth curled and his eyes crinkled at the sight of you. “Just thinking,” he answered, examining you in that intrigued way he always did. After a moment he must have reached the conclusion that you were some level of smashed, for he patted the empty space next to him on the bed with a smirk and said, “Come sit with me.”

For a moment you wondered why he was alone, but then your brain caught up with you, and you realized that his other friends were probably busy with their own issues or endeavors. Ever since Midoriya finally grew a pair and asked Uraraka out, the two had been going at it like rabbits every spare second they had. And you could only imagine how busy Iida was as class rep, trying to keep the party at least a little bit under control. Momo was definitely helping him, and you had seen Bakugou begrudgingly holding Kaminari up with Kirishima under his other arm when you’d passed by them in the hall… Leaving only you to come and rouse the half and half hero from his solitude.

“Well that’s not allowed tonight!” You exclaimed, fist slapping against the side of your thigh. You would’ve used both hands for emphasis had the other not been occupied with a half-full plastic cup. Your legs felt like jello as you moved toward him, his cool hand wrapping around your arm to offer his support and steer you into the spot beside him. You almost fell but he held you up with the one arm, chuckling as your butt finally met the safety of the duvet.

“Thinking’s forbidden?” he laughed at your insistence, the sound rich and deep as his hand lingered on your wrist.

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, pulling your hand away from his to cradle your precious cup and shooting him a playful, sideways glare.  “Brain turned off for the night. It’s in the fine print of the party rules, of course.”

Shouto gave you a funny look, eying you from the side. He repositioned himself, sitting upright and closing his eyes. It was hard for him to remain stoic when the quiet sound of your amused giggles tickled his ears, but he managed a nod before his eyes settled on you again. “Okay, I think it’s off.”

Conversation was always natural between the two of you, he never had to struggle to keep it flowing. And he liked talking with you, being in your presence. Which was the only reason why he was still entertaining this ridiculous charade.

“How do you feel?” you inquired, a goofy grin on your lips.

There was a twinkle in your eyes as you teased him, but Shouto held no qualms with your playfulness. Most people were still afraid to joke with him, believing that he was too obtuse to understand humor. Sure, he had struggled with the transition to school life in the beginning of their first year, but after you had transferred into their class second year, he found himself opening up even more than he already had.

“I feel… the same.” The grin on his lips remained, his eyes settled on your drunken form. His gaze flicked to your smile, shining in the moonlight and making something twinge in his stomach. He cleared his throat, pushing down the feeling that haunted him every time he looked at you too long. “This doesn’t really work, does it?”

You pretended to entertain the thought for a moment, eyes rolling as you considered it animatedly before your lips broke into a beautiful smile again. “No,” you giggled, shoulders shrugging in your cute, drunken fit. “But it’s easier when you’re not sober!”

He turned, faux surprise hung from his brow. “You’re drunk?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice and splashed onto you where his jean-clad thigh brushed against yours.

“Shut up!” You punched at his shoulder and pushed him away from you, shuffling yourself in the process.

Your hair swished with the movement and suddenly the soft, sweet scent of you was crashing over him. He breathed it in shamelessly, allowing himself to indulge in the warm feeling that suddenly emanated through his chest.

“You could try it, if you wanted. It really does help,” you offered your cup to him, shrugging.

Shouto eyed the red plastic cup, hesitant. He really wasn’t one to drink, but then again, neither were you. Tonight was about celebrating your graduation from UA, opening the next chapter of your lives. The thing was, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to move on when it meant leaving all his relationships either behind him or pushed to the side. Okay, maybe he was kidding himself… there was only one person he would miss having in his daily life, and that person was sitting right beside him— the same one who was the source of his conflicted feelings.

“Or not!” your hand retreated and you took a little sip, the sweet jungle juice washing down your throat easily. “No pressure. It’s your choice, Sho.”

He nearly groaned at the nickname, the one he only allowed you to call him. Grabbing the cup from you, his calloused fingers brushed over your soft knuckles. He smirked at the excitement that surfaced in your gaze as he brought the lip of the cup to his mouth, emptying the contents in one long go. The liquid was sickly sweet, masking the bitter poison that entered his body alongside it.

“That was… truly disgusting.”

“Whaaat?” You balked, grabbing for the cup in dismay. He kept it out of reach, even though it was empty, setting it on the far table instead. “It’s good, I dunno what you’re on. It’s really, really good. Heheh, just like me…”

Shouto blushed at the innocent innuendo, looking at you as you closed your eyes and let out a noise between a sigh and a laugh. He gulped, realizing that the alcohol was already taking effect and he was beginning to slip under its influence. Your method of “turning your brain off” was proving to be much more effective with the alcohol’s aid, but that was a whole other issue which he failed to foresee. 

He usually preferred to keep his brain on and fully functioning, especially when he was alone, with you. That way, when you roused the butterflies in his stomach and pulled on his heartstrings, he could tell himself to just ignore it and focus on how important your friendship was to him. But now, his defenses were failing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop his heart from beating faster, palms getting clammier.  

“You’re good?” he reiterated quietly, watching the way your tongue swiped across your lips, enchanted by it.

You chortled, finding the thought entertaining, apparently. “Yes! I feel really good right now.”

“Ah,” he murmured, sitting back and allowing the pillow he had propped up to sink around his form. “I feel... kinda good, too.”

A mix between a laugh and a scoff escaped you at his confession. “You feel something already, Sho? Wow, that’s so efficient.”

Shouto didn’t really know what you meant by that, but he only smiled softly at the happy look on your face. He closed his eyes and listened to the fast rush of blood in his ears, the feeling of warmth prickling at his skin. He wasn’t drunk, per se, but he felt a little lighter than usual.

You had said that drinking would turn his brain off, but it seemed only part of it wasn’t functioning. The other side of his mind was working overtime, much to his chagrin. 

He was suddenly aware that this would be one of his last moments with you before everything would change. You were going to an internship not too far from his, only an hour away by train. But seeing you wouldn’t be nearly as easy as walking down the hallway… and it could only happen if the both of you found a time that worked and had the motivation to travel the distance to meet one another. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to do all that, just to see him.The realization hit him hard. 

No more sneaking to one another’s room and having whispered, midnight conversations. No more studying together and simply being in your presence. No more opportunities to let his gaze linger on you longingly, nor chances for him to grab your hand when your knuckles brushed against his in the middle of your walks. 

He felt sick at the thought of living without you. Maybe… maybe it was time for him to face his feelings head on. He had spent so long denying the recognition of them, the acceptance of them. The loss of you was imminent, unless he could finally force himself to say something, and it had to be soon.

As if you had picked up on his distress, you hummed quietly and shuffled closer to his side. His quirk spiked at the sudden proximity, heat flaring up as your head came to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m a sappy drunk, so I apologize for what I’m about to say,” you mumbled into his t-shirt, his skin prickling as your warm breath wandered through the seams and onto his skin. 

He huffed out a laugh to ease your worries, but he stayed absolutely still, unwilling to move a muscle in case it would somehow scare your body off of his. 

Then you whispered, “M’so lucky to have met you, Sho.”

Shouto choked on thin air, subtly wiping the moisture on his palms across the tops of his denim-covered thighs. Your scent surrounded him, and he couldn’t resist resting his head on top of yours, slowly breathing between your locks. “I… I feel the same, Y/n…”

It was quiet for another moment, his mind playing out a hundred ways to confess, trying to find the right words. Meanwhile, you were simply enjoying his reciprocation and the peacefulness of the quiet away from the party, completely unaware of his inner turmoil.

You sighed and he shivered as your breath scattered across his collarbone again, almost jumping when your fingers landed softly over his. How you remained so soft with their vigorous training, he had no clue. But your fingers felt so warm, so right lacing with his. His throat was thick with apprehension, a lump forming there as the seconds ticked by. It wasn’t often the two of you were sitting so close together, and he wondered if he was a piece of shit for thanking whatever God there was out there for you being kind of inebriated and so touchy right now. 

Slowly, he turned to look at you, eyes wide and conflicted, taking in how truly astonishing your beauty was up close. You lifted your head from your perch on his shoulder, gaze locking with his before your lips curled into a meek smile. Digits tightening around his, you squeezed his hand and rubbed your thumb across his knuckles.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, screaming at him to do something— anything— whatever it took for him to just form the words and tell you that he was in love with—

“Thank you for being my best friend.”

—you… He blinked, the words registering. 

You continued. “I know we’re moving away from each other, but I never wanna lose you. I cherish our friendship too much for that to happen, Shouto.”

Your words cut him. 

Friends. Friendship. 

His blood felt like it had frozen in his veins and he had become a statue, stock still as you carried on thoughtlessly, eyes now flickering over to the moon hung low in the indigo night sky. 

“Please promise me that we'll never change. We might grow as people, but… our friendship will stay intact, right? I don’t wanna grow apart.”

It hurt. 

Time had stopped and his lungs shriveled up, his body aching as if you had just lodged your knee straight into his ribs. His tongue tasted bitter suddenly, and he could almost hear the sound of his heart cracking.

But Shouto was good at hiding his emotions, years of compartmentalizing them giving him an edge that no one else he knew had. He kept his face neutral, even if it felt like he was withering and dying inside.

“I just… don’t ever wanna lose you.”

It was almost impossible to force his lips into a thin, hollow smile. But he managed, even if it felt like prying iron with a crowbar. He looked into your eyes and nodded.

He understood. To some extent, he truly understood. 

“I don’t want to lose you either, Y/n... Don’t worry,” he took a deep breath, forcing the next words out even if he felt like he was about to be sick.

He cherished his bond with you too much to risk chancing it, confessing to you, and throwing it all away after your certain rejection.  He loved you too much to ever hurt you, and he was too selfish to let go of you, too. The only one that would suffer from this was him, and he was alarmingly alright with that.

If it meant that he got to hold onto you, even for just a little bit longer. 

If it meant that you would be happy... Even if he wasn’t.

“We’ll always be friends... I promise.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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˚‧º·(˃̣̣̥∩˂̣̣̥)‧º·˚ ˚‧º·(˃̣̣̥∩˂̣̣̥)‧º·˚ ˚‧º·(˃̣̣̥∩˂̣̣̥)‧º·˚ 

afJSNKJKDKJ WRITING ANGST FOR MY BABY IS SO HARD AHH I LOVE U SHO PLS... reader is so dumb to see u only as a friend i hate that dumb bitch  ughhh (TдT)

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏 . 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[khaleesiofalicante]

While a positivity blog is great, posing it in opposition with the "call-out" blog immediately devalues it. The one person who was called out on that account (the original one) was an adult sexualizing teenagers who blocked anyone who tried to tell her that what she was doing was harmful. It makes it seem like you're trying to support adults who sexualize minors.

There's no way to "communicate" with someone who blocks anyone who tries to "call" them "in". a call out is a statement that this type of behavior isn't acceptable and a promise to make the fandom a safer space for teenagers.

I asked very respectfully not to send me follow up questions on this matter. Because this whole "call out" thing had been weighing on my mental health.

But once again, I keep getting dragged into this.

This my response to every ask I've gotten regarding this matter over the last few days. The asks I've been ignoring because it's not my place to give an opinion on this. Or rather, I do not have to. I don't have an obligation to do so.

But here we are.

The very reason I find the call out blog problematic is because of a sentence you said in your ask.

You mentioned that because I find the call out blog problematic and I quote "it makes it seem like you're trying to support adults who sexualize minors."

This is the problem.

The call out is not the problem. It's the way in which they are being called out.

Over the last few days, I've seen tsc blogs, for the lack of a better word, being "investigated". Posts dug from the past, follower lists analysed, screenshots posts and shared in public.

This is not a call out. A call out refers to interpersonal confrontations occurring between individuals on social media. In theory, call-outs should be very simple – someone does something wrong, people tell them, and they avoid doing it again in the future.

Now I understand you mentioned an individual refused to listen. I will not comment on that - since I do not know this individual personally or how they reacted. I do not prefer to talk about people I don't know personally. Neither the people calling them out - or the person being called out.

But what I can tell you is that when you call out someone, it only works when you point out why they are wrong, not what what they are doing is wrong. So, instead of calling someone a pedophile, it is essential to explain how their behaviour impacts you or your peers. It is important to address this issue in the larger fandom, not just by spamming one person's ask box. Because this issue is greater than one blog.

The reason why I don't condone this call out blog is because it is so easily possible to get carried away and overpunish people, turning alleged perpetrators of upsetting acts into victims themselves. The moral high ground people stand on evolves from calling out to public shaming of individuals.

I am requesting this entire fandom to rethink your actions and to reevaluate your choices. All of you.

It breaks my heart that you would say that I support adults who sexualise minors when have spent my whole adult life protecting children from such people. It is literally my job.

I recently saw one of my dearest friends being called "homophobic" because they support Jace - because Jace 'outed' Alec and therefore those who support Jace are also homophobic. It really hurt because I know the struggles my friend had to go through in order to protect themselves from their own homophobic family.

It makes me so sad and yet so angry that you are not aware of the consequences your words have on people.

People who make such claims. You seem to forget that we live in a digital world now. You all seem to forget that we are living through a pandemic. We study online. We work online. We entertain ourselves online.

So when you shame people online so callously, it can affect irreparable damage on their professional lives. It can ruin their mental health. It can impact their families.

While the intention of the callout blog - and those who support it - might be honest, the way in which they are achieving their goal is incredibly harmful for people in this fandom regardless of whether they are guilty or not.

I want to point out that this call out blog achieves nothing. It doesn't root out the pedophilia and sexism that exists on Tumblr - or in the fandom. The call out blog does't achieve anything. I'm sorry. It had to be said. The only thing this blog achieve is spreading a culture of shame, fear and stigma in the tsc fandom.

So, I urge you to rethink your actions and reevaluate your methods.

I do not believe in giving bland advice. So, as someone who works on these issues, allow me to point you in an healthier and more effective decision.

WHAT CAN YOU DO?

If the goal is "a promise to make the fandom a healthier space for teenagers" then you are doing it wrong. I say this as someone who works on creating healthy spaces for teenagers. It's up to you whether you want to listen to me or not.

But you are going about it wrong. Here is what you can do instead.

1. What we are doing wrong? Currently, you seem to be focusing on the people - not the issue. If you want to make the space feel safe, you need to address the root cause. What differentiates a call-out from bullying is that it shouldn’t be about punishing someone for something they have done, rather it should be about establishing a new pattern of behavior. In other words, when someone calls you out they want you to start showing through your actions that you care about the issue you’ve been called out on. So, show that you care about the issue.

2. How do we show we care? Focus on the teenagers. You are focusing on the wrong group of people. Cancelling out someone or calling out a blog or getting someone to deactivate is not going to make teenagers feel safe. Trust me on this. You need to address the issue to the victims. You need to ASK THEM how they want to be feel safe. While your method might work for you, it might not be what everyone wants. It might not make everyone feel safe. So, talk to your peers. What is it that you can do for your own community? Is it writing an email to CC about this issue in the fandom? Is it addressing it in a larger platform like a magazine or YouTube? Is it reaching to Tumblr and talking to them about doing their job and enforcing the community guidelines efficiently? THIS is how you fix the problem - not by chasing people out when you find them to be problematic.

3. Why are you complicating this? Why can't we just call people out? Because then you will only be addresing the symptoms, not the root cause. I understand that most of you are minors and therefore will not have the same awareness about how the system works or don't ahem access to same resources and opportunities we adults do. But unfortunately, it is our reality. We all live online. We all need to educate ourselves and do better.

I'm sharing an excellent resource here which was developed by UN WOMEN in 2021 to speficially tackle the issue of bullying, disinformation and hate speech experienced by youth - especially young women. It's a free online course that helps you learn this topic better. It even gives you a certificate from the organization.

I am ALL for calling people out as long as you do it the right way. So, if you want to be a warrior on Tumblr, if you want to protect your peers, if you want to create a safe space, you need to learn how to do it the right way. Otherwise, like most social activists, you are doing more bad than good. Your attempts to create a better world only lead to more chaos and pain.

4. I still don't understand. Then here is a simply answer. I hope this helps.

Please make better choices. Be conscious of how your actions online affect people both in digital and offline spaces.

You are allowed to fight for your safety. You are allowed to fight for your rights. But you are not allowed to hurt another person to prove your point. Then your whole initiative becomes counterproductive.

You need to be more aware. You need think more critically.

Finally and most importantly - I once again ask that you do not drag me into this. I am not the president of this fandom. I am not your parent. While it is my job to create awareness and work on online safety, I am not on tumblr to be an activist. This is my safe space. This is my comfort space. This is where I come to take my mind off all the stressful and heartbreaking things I have to work on as an activist. I am here to shit post like most people. I do not have to teach you to be decent or how to be sensible or how to be kind. That is the job of the education system and your family.

I'm sorry those around you have failed you and it has come to this. I only hope you do not fail yourself.

Make better choices.

Love, Dani.

[sunjaesol]

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwynriel’s first fight

I was inspired to write this piece from a post by @himadrij so I hope you enjoy!

"You two have to start talking." Cassian groaned in frustration.

"I do not know what you are talking about. We are talking." Gwyn stubbornly crossed her arms after pushing her plate away. Azriel sat quietly at the opposite end of the table.

"Do not play ignorant." Nesta rolled her eyes. "You need to start talking to each other. About whatever is upsetting you." Nesta switched between the mates with a hard glare- one that would normally have the receiver cowering.

"I am not upset. Anything you would like to share Gwyneth?" Azriel lifted his eyebrows while staring her down. His cool demeanor over the situation infuriated the priestess. She was in knots over the situation meanwhile he was as cool as a cucumber. His shadows normally gave away how he truly was feeling, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was as if he was hiding them to punish her and it was working.

"Nope." She popped the P as she said it. If he wanted to be stubborn, well then she could play that game as well.

"What did you do to piss her off, Az?" Cassian turned to the Shadowsinger with a smirk. Gwyn felt smug that Cassian assumed it must have been something Az did to piss off Gwyn and not the other way around. Az simply rolled his eyes. If he was not going to answer, she might as well do it for him.

"Azriel agreed to go on his fourth dangerous mission of the month even though he knows my birthday is coming up." Gwyn's tone was pleasant even though she was feeling anything but. Cassian cringed as Gwyn spoke while Nesta sent Az a glare. The red head had not even told her best friend for the reason of the fight until this moment.

"And as I have told Gwyneth, this is my job. Rhys asking is simply a formality. It is not a choice." Azriel did not spare a glance to his mate. He kept his eyes on Cassian as he spoke.

"And as I told Azriel, Rhysand would allow him to skip one mission for my birthday."

"Skipping one mission could put this court, and therefore my mate in danger."

"He could send one of his other spies. He has so many at his disposal that I am sure there is one competent enough."

"My other spies are busy doing other jobs."

Cassian and Nesta's heads moved back and forth as they watched the verbal sparring that was occurring at the dining table. Gwyn was never one to back down from a fight and she would not start now. Azriel was being unreasonable as he normally was when it comes to his work.

"Well I am certain one of them could make time if you asked." A hard glare was set on the pretty females face. She did not want her mate to see how hurtful his decision was.

She never wanted him to feel as though he had to choose between his job and her, but she also never thought that he would choose his job every time. The truth was that Gwyn missed him. She hardly ever saw him anymore, and could not help but feel like he was doing this specifically to be away from her. Azriel decided not to respond. He turned back to his plate and roughly speared a piece of chicken. Cassian seemed apprehensive to say anything for fear of making it worse. Gwyn watched as a silent conversation occurred between Nesta and Cassian before the latter spoke up.

"Birthdays are important Az," he started off slowly. "Perhaps, you can ask Rhysand to delay the mission until after." Gwyn started to perk up at that. It was not a half bad idea- a promising compromise, she thought. Her hope was fading by Azriel's continued silence.

"Or we could celebrate early?" She decided to extend an olive branch. She remembered Nesta mentioning that relationships were all about compromise. She could certainly try if Azriel was willing. However, his stubbornness seemed to win out.

"Gwyn," he finally turned to look at her to plead with her. "This is for your own safety- for the entire court's safety. I do not have time to focus on silly birthday parties. I need to do my research and then leave as soon as possible. We can celebrate when I get back. I just do not have the time right now." Gwyn was so frustrated she groaned. She could tell Nesta and Cassian wanted to be anywhere other than here, and she could not blame them.

"You never have time for me anymore. It is like you do not even enjoy my company." It was not entirely true, but it was how Gwyn had been feeling as of recently. He was consumed with his work. She understood that there were parts of his job that she could never know about, but it was starting to feel like that was every part now.

"I couldn't possibly imagine why when we have such pleasant conversations as these!" He shouted in frustration. The sarcasm was dripping from his words so heavily that they stung much deeper than any of their previous bickering. Azriel's shadows finally let loose as he pulled at strands of his hair. They were waving about more chaotically than Gwyn had ever seen before. One reached out to her and she quickly pulled away. She did not want to be comforted by him or his shadows right now. Gwyn looked down at her plate- she could not stand to look at him currently. All of her insecurities began to attack her.

"Gwyn," he began. Remorse coating every word. "I am so sorry. I did not mean that. I was speaking out of anger, it is not true. I would spend every second of every day with you if I could." She heard as he pushed his chair back. She knew he was going to come over to her, but that is not what she needed right now. She needed space. She quickly got up as well.

"Sorry to have ruined your dinner." She looked at Cassian and Nesta as she said it, but the words were meant for Azriel as well. Nesta's face was as soft as she had ever seen it. Cassian had the same look on his face.

"Gwyn," Azriel tried again as he continued to move towards his mate. Gwyn did not want him though. Not while she was feeling so vulnerable.

"I will speak to you later." Was all she could manage before she fled to her room. Nesta had given her a room in the House of Wind which Gwyn would be forever grateful for- even if she mainly stayed in Azriel’s room nowadays. However, she felt more overwhelmed here than she ever did in the library.

                                             +

"Fuck." Was his only thought as he plopped back down in his chair and pulled at his hair. He truly did not need this added stress.

"You will make this up to her." Nesta snapped like the viper she was. "You will make it up to her, and then you will be here to celebrate her birthday." Her glares were enough to unnerve Azriel.

She departed just as quickly as his mate. He groaned once more. For as long as he lived he would remember that look on Gwyn's face. He had not meant what he said. His anxiety had reached new levels lately with all new nightmares plaguing him at night. Nightmares of losing his mate in torturous ways. Doing his job seemed to be the only relief. As long as he knew everyone's secrets, he knew his mate was safe. For some reason, she could not understand his overwhelming need to protect her from all potential threats. He knew he would spill any of the night court secrets if it meant keeping Gwyn alive. He had to assume that his enemies knew that too. His shadows continued to swirl around him angrily. They wanted his mate as much as he did. He remembered how she pulled away from them- not wanting comfort from them for the first time ever. He knew in that exact moment how much damage he did, and it was extensive. He would grovel for weeks if he had too.

"Smooth move." Cassian piped up in between bites of green beans. Azriel sent him a withering look.

"I should probably go check on her."

"I would give her some space if I were you. You might want to rehearse what you are going to say anyways since you seem keen on putting your foot in your mouth." Cassian raised his eyebrows at him. Azriel grudgingly agreed with his best friend.

Perhaps, he should practice what he wanted to say. It might help him to avoid this exact situation. He had been frustrated that his mate did not seem to understand how paralyzing his anxiety was. However, she was not a mind reader, and he had never properly explained to her why he felt the need to be consumed with work. He would give her some space, grovel for at least an hour, explain himself, and then pleasure her for at least the next week straight to start off as an apology for the awful words he said to her. Then he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to her.

                                             +

Gwyn let out a sigh as she sunk down into the bath water. The warmth felt good on her stiff muscles. Trainings had been extra long recently since her mate was otherwise preoccupied and she found herself not wanting to be alone with her thoughts. Gwyn rested her head against the back of the large tub, flipping her hair so that it rested outside of the tub to avoid the water. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax. Well as much as she could given her current emotional state. Part of her knew that Azriel was just lashing out- that he did not mean what he said. But the other part, the insecure part, was still undecided about how truthful his outburst was. She could not fathom any other reason for his constant need to be on missions and away from her. She attempted to distract herself with her mind-stilling, but before she could get too far into it, foot steps sounded in the adjourned bedroom. It was his way of alerting her to his presence. Gwyn continued to ignore him, but she could feel Azriel looming over her from behind. Rough, calloused hands scraped over her exposed arms, brushing against her shoulders and neck, and finally resting in her hair. She kept her eyes firmly closed. He would not win with a few sweet words and tender touches- not this time.

“Gwyn.” He whispered.

His lips brushed against the outer arch of her ear causing a shiver to ripple through her body. She internally cursed herself for giving him any sort of reaction, even an involuntary one. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, her neck, her collarbone, then the top of her breast. She felt his tongue slide over her skin which finally got him a reaction. She quickly shoved away from him and pushed herself towards the opposite end of the tub, turning around to face him as she did so. Gwyn pulled her knees up to cover her breasts. There was no way he was getting a free show out of all of this.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” She settled a glare at him.

Gwyn knew he felt guilty. It was written plainly on his face. She did not even have to see his shadows, which he was hiding away, to know that they wanted to touch her. Her glare lessened only slightly into a grimace.

“Gwyneth Berdara, I love you more than anyone and anything. I love you more than my job, or this court, or even my own shadows. I love you so much that it is almost paralyzing. I love you so much I can picture all the ways I could lose you- all the ways my enemies may take you from me. I love you more than Rhysand or Cassian. I love you more than the stars in the sky. I will never be able to express to you how sorry I am, but I promise you I did not mean it. I love every second I spend with you.” He was so genuine as he said it that Gwyn’s eyes began to water. She quickly wiped at them.

“Who knew you had such a way with words?” She muttered. Finally, Azriel reached out to her with a shadow. She hesitated for a second before allowing the shadow to caress her face. Az harshly wiped away a tear of his own.

“You are right. I will send someone else on this mission.” She wanted him to spend it with her cause he wanted to, not because he felt guilty. Gwyn voiced the insecurity that had been eating away at her for the last several months.

“Why are you so keen to be away from me? You throw yourself into dangerous mission after dangerous mission with no regard for how anxiety inducing that is for me. I am constantly worried that you are hurt or in trouble or cauldron forbid dead. You say that you can picture your enemies taking me away while I sit comfortably in the night court surround by the most elite warriors. I picture your enemies taking you away from me while you engage in dangerous activities. Do you not see how unfair that is?” His face seemed so tortured. As if he was finally expressing how anxious he had been feeling lately.

“You are right. It is unfair.” He started slowly. He moved closer to her side of the tub to intertwine his fingers with her. “I was not looking at it from your perspective. I was consumed by the idea that if I could keep on top of all the information I found, then I would be the first to know if anyone had something planned against you. I was being taunted by images of my brothers discovering you, and continuing the torment from my childhood.” At the mention of his brothers, Gwyn softened completely. She knew his childhood was his biggest vulnerability. She just wished he told her this sooner. “I know how capable you are. I trained you myself, you won the blood rite for fucks sake. I just want to protect you in the way I was never really able to protect my mom- or myself for that matter.”

Gwyn shifted onto her knees to grab Azriel’s face with both her hands. He did not seem to care that she was getting water all over him, so she did not pay it much mind either.

“I understand. I appreciate you telling me. I know that’s hard for you, but do us both a favor in the future? Talk to me about it. I have been going out of my mind thinking that I make you unhappy when all I need to do is kick your ass in hand to hand combat to ease your anxiety.” They both had slight streams of tears on their face. They were not sobbing, but quietly crying together. Az let out a sharp laugh at Gwyn’s final words. It had her smiling through her tears as well.

“If you beat my ass in hand to hand I will bring you on my next mission.” He rolled his eyes as he said it, so Gwyn knew he was joking. It sparked a brilliant idea in her mind though.

“That is perfect Az!” She brought his face closer to smack a quick kiss on his lips.

He tried to lean in again for something more, but she held his face back firmly. His hands came around her waist to bring her closer. It was as if her enthusiastic kiss was an all clear sign for him. He knew it was safe to touch her intimately after she made the first move.

“What’s perfect?” He asked when she dodged his second attempt at a kiss.

“I should go with you on missions! You have anxiety about my safety? I will never be safer than when I am at your side.”

“You think the answer to my worries over your safety will be to bring you on my very dangerous missions instead of you sitting comfortably guarded by elite warriors as you so graciously mentioned earlier?” He quirked one eyebrow in her direction with his lips turning up ever so slightly into the barest of smiles. It was the one he normally gave when he was teasing her. She nudged his shoulder slightly.

“Okay when you put it that way it does not sound as perfect, but come on! I can help you research each mission, we can come up with a game plan, a backup plan, an A, B, and C plan, and then we will both be happy because we can protect each other.” Her smile was so brilliantly happy that Azriel could not find it in himself to give her an outright no. He gave her a soft smile before tucking her under his chin for a tight hug. She reciprocated by squeezing him with her wet arms. His shadows were finally content to sit on his shoulders and stroke Gwyn’s back every so often.

“I will discuss it with Rhys.” A high pitched squeal that he had only ever heard on rare occasion broke out from her throat. He threw his head back in laughter he could not quite contain.

Gwyn hopped out of the tub so quickly Azriel worried she might slip. She was already tugging him into the room she occasionally occupied when she wanted time alone.

“Where are you taking me?” He could not stop his laughter even if he tried. The image of his naked mate pulling him around with a bright smile was enough to quell his anxiety for the moment. She sent him a suggestive smile, one that always promised a good time.

“To find the ribbons, of course.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Jung Hoseok and the Magic to Happiness | 05

; Hufflepuff Teacher!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 3.5k

; Synopsis: An unexpected issue with your Ministry of Magic job leads to you taking the role of Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. It’s here that you meet your best friend’s younger brother for the first time in years, the Hufflepuff Head of House, Jung Hoseok. While you contend with seeing him once again, Hoseok tries to show you that he’s very much a man and no longer the gangly teenager you once knew.

; A/N: Not as much of an ‘interesting’ chapter as the last one, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it all the same! I know some of you have been hoping to see this character and what their thoughts are all about what’s going on. This chapter is more of one that’s just self-assessing!

Last Chapter ; Next Chapter

-

You don’t go to breakfast the next morning. Not because you’re trying to avoid Hoseok or anything, but because you didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning and so slept through the morning meal. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had kept your mind occupied instead of letting you drift off.

Thankfully, no one questions your absence. It might be because most of the castle is likely sleeping in today or is packing for the Hogwarts Express. You don’t have to be present when the students begin their journey back to London and you feel that’s probably a good thing at the moment. 

The awkwardness between Hoseok and you would be excruciating for anyone to be around, particularly yourself. So you’d burrowed into your duvet when the usual alarm went off and only woke up properly around noon. 

You’re still in bed though, the covers pulled up to your chin and helping you to feel snug and warm against the constant coolness of your stone room. Which means that you’re staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom intently, brows furrowed as you think over the night before once more.

As if you haven’t already replayed every moment in excruciating detail, latching onto the most ridiculous things. For instance, you couldn’t stop thinking of what Hoseok’s lips looked like up close or the heady scent of him that no longer inspired only safety and friendship in you. How hot his hands had felt against you.

It was embarrassing how often that thought morphed into you imagining the same scenario but minus any clothes. Would his hands be warmer? Would they be as gentle as they’d been on your back last night? Would his hands feel soft on your bare skin or would you be able to feel the subtle callouses formed from years of caring for magical animals?

Groaning out loud, you roll onto your side and bury your face into your pillow. How are you meant to face him when all you can think about is the taste of him on your lips? 

A delicate chiming causes you to peek at your bedside cabinet, eyes narrowing as the noise repeats itself. You don’t even need to check to see who it is; you know already. So you reach out and blindly grasp for the magic mirror, eventually feeling your fingertips pressing against the smooth, reflective surface.

Now your grimace is more because you know that you’ve just smeared fingerprints all over. But you don’t get a chance to clean it because as soon as you look at the hand-sized surface, it activates with a gentle tinkling. The silver mirror shimmers slightly and you’re left looking at the image of Jisoo’s pretty face, smiling at you.

For a moment, you forget that you’ve not even bothered to get out of bed yet. You’ve not been able to shower, and the crustiness of your eyes tells you that your makeup wasn’t removed either. You’d obviously been in more of a fugue state than you’d realised when you’d gotten back to your quarters.

Normally it wouldn’t bother you as Jisoo has seen you in much worse states. But this had been caused by Hoseok, her brother. Her little brother. Her little brother who was incredibly attractive, a great kisser and had looked at you like you’d hung the stars when you’d pulled away from him.

As you think that, you immediately remember his annoyance at any topic relating to age and feel like hitting your forehead. Chaeyoung was right; he did like you. Merlin, how stupid were you to miss all those obvious signs he’d been giving? The poor guy had been practically shouting it from the rooftop for weeks now.

“I’m so stupid!” You curse, spitting out a few more severe swear words after that to the surprise of Jisoo. It’s not helped when you notice how similar they look, maturity making the familial genes even more prominent between the two. Just your luck.

“Hi...are you okay?” She asks, her brow furrowing in concern and you sigh deeply. Ignoring her question for a few seconds, you take the time to push yourself up the bed and fluff up the pillows, letting them act as a backrest for you to prop yourself up. A quick spell cleans your face and mouth, studiously ignoring the fact that it’s considered lazy to use magic for these kinds of tasks.

Still, you feel a little more refreshed and not like one of those zombies from muggle television shows.

Taking a deep breath, alongside a few swallows of water from the glass you always keep by your bed, you pick up the mirror once more and smile at Jisoo. It’s pretty obvious that she doesn’t buy it though and you didn’t expect her to. She’s known you too long to let you get away with pretending, so you drop it quickly.

“I’m...okay, I promise. I just...I’m a little confused about something.” You’re not entirely sure that you want to admit the fact that you might fancy her little brother just yet. Jisoo is very open-minded and she’d always thought Hoseok’s obvious feelings when he was younger had been cute. But the unrequited emotions of your teenage brother are very different from the mutual attraction between your adult brother and your adult best friend.

“Oh? Did something happen last night? Hoseok was acting a little strange as well when I talked to him earlier.” The urge to sink under the covers is very strong when you hear that, but you use pure will to remain in place.

Of course, they’d already talked. 

Scanning Jisoo’s face closely, you try to use your own best friend's sixth sense to see if she already knows that you’d kissed him last night. But she’s either a master of acting or she has no idea because there’s only genuine concern in her expression.

You feel the need to talk though and you want to do that with your best friend, even if she is Hoseok’s sister. The feelings you have are confused and you just want to try to sort through them all. 

“I kissed Hoseok last night.” The words rush out in a breath, almost mumbling with how quiet they are. Still, Jisoo hears them perfectly thanks to the spell on the mirror. From the way her eyes widen in shock, you know that Hoseok hasn’t revealed that little tidbit to her. Part of you wonder if that’s to protect your privacy, but you don’t get a chance to consider it further.

“Merlin...so that’s why you’re both being odd! What happened? It was the Winter Solstice Ball, right?” Relaxing back, you nod and make an affirmative noise while chewing on your lips.

“Yeah, it was. It was all going fine, the students were having a good time and all that but then Hoseok finally arrived and-” Pausing, you frown before groaning out and running a hand across your face. “You don’t want to hear this! This is your brother.”

“Ignore that. As long as you don’t give me...descriptive details then it’s fine. This is one time that I have no interest in hearing about how well he kisses or what he’s like in bed, so keep that to yourself. Otherwise, keep talking.” Mortification runs through you at Jisoo’s mischievous smile and she laughs in delight.

“We didn’t do that! I swear.” Muttering, you reach for your glass and take another swig in an attempt to give yourself time to get yourself under control. Partially because you’re embarrassed about Jisoo thinking you’d slept with her brother so quickly but also because you’re feeling a little warm at the thought of sex with him.

A thought that you’d likely come back to at a later time but isn’t something to consider right now.

“I didn’t think you had. Firstly, you’ve never been the kind of person to shag someone on the first date. Or before the first date, I guess, as you’ve not even had a date. Secondly, neither is Hoseok. Don’t ask how I know, I’m surprised he didn’t blurt this news out this morning.” One of your eyes narrows in contemplation at that and you realise that you don’t want to ask.

The idea of Hoseok sleeping with someone else causes an unpleasant sensation to bubble in your stomach. Something else you don’t feel like analysing at the moment.

“Okay...well...firstly, I hate the word ‘shag’ and you know it. Secondly, I’m really confused right now. I mean, objectively I’ve known Hoseok is hot. Like, I’m not stupid. I have eyes and he’s well...yeah. But I think I’d always managed to have some kind of barrier between us, you know? Like...he was your little brother and he was just my friend here. But then last night he came into the hall and Merlin. It was like something switched in my mind, and I finally realised that he’s not just attractive, but he’s...he’s my kind of attractive.” You realise halfway through talking that you’re just telling Jisoo your thought process as you go through it.

She doesn’t respond though, just gives a considerate look with her lips slightly pursed before taking a sip of her drink. You don’t know what she’s drinking as it’s a mug, the image on the front just a generic cat. The fact it’s not moving gives away that it’s a muggle creation.

“And then we just kept talking, all night. Even when we had duties, we kept meeting back up and it felt so natural and normal. It’s like I’ve known him for all my life or something, our conversation is so easy and I don’t feel uncomfortable around him. You ever have that with someone?”

“Once or twice. It’s a good sign though. I know you’ve become pretty good friends over the last few months so maybe that’s why it’s all clicking now. Relationships that start from a solid friendship usually end up being some of the best. Maybe that’s why it’s all feeling a little more natural than normal. You’ve found someone that makes you feel comfortable and safe.” You wonder how many times you’d told Jisoo that her brother inspired those feelings within you since being here at Hogwarts.

As that runs through your mind, you suddenly become distracted with an entirely different thought.

“Hang on, did you suspect that I might like him? You’ve always been very accepting of my friendship with him and if I remember right, you’ve been the one encouraging me to spend time with him. Is that why you’re not surprised at this?” Jisoo’s cheeks blush a pretty pink, so like her brother that you can’t help but smile.

“I may have suspected something. I am your best friend, after all. And his sister. When you’re close to both sides, you notice things.” Her voice is teasing and you wonder if other people have been suspecting this as well. 

Suddenly, all the times your fellow professors had arranged for events and Hoseok had happened to just be attending as well began running through your mind. Was everyone scheming?!

You’d never considered yourself a suspicious person before but you certainly were now. Seokjin and Chaeyoung, in particular, were going to be at the end of a very serious set of questions whenever you next saw them.

“In all seriousness, I didn’t think that you might like him. I just thought you were enjoying having a good friend at Hogwarts as Hoseok is someone you already know, so you at least had a link with him. You finding him nice to look at was expected; I’m not stupid, I know he’s pretty. He’s my brother and I’m gorgeous,” There’s a slight smirk to her smile, and you roll your eyes at her ego, fully recognising that she’s trying to cheer you up. “But you never really gave the inclination that you wanted anything romantic with him, so I didn’t suspect too much with you.”

Humming, your nose wrinkles as you look away from the mirror and contemplate her words. She’s not wrong, mainly because you hadn’t considered that with him until last night. Hoseok had been firmly in the friend box in your mind. It’s only now that you realise he’d been subtly creeping into the romantic box without you noticing.

“That’s because I didn’t realise I wanted that. I feel like I missed something really obvious, and everyone around me knew. I’m pretty sure Chaeyoung and Seokjin knew; there’s no way that they wouldn’t try to interfere. They’re those kinds of people, you know?” Jisoo giggles lightly, running her hand through long, silky black hair.

“Sounds like my kinda folk. Seriously though, don’t stress over it. All you’re going to do by over analysing things is get yourself tied up into knots. I know you and you’ll just talk yourself out of anything that could potentially happen. There’s nothing wrong with going for what you want if it’s going to be good for you. As his big sister, I can safely say that Hoseok will be very good for you and to you. He’s a good guy and I don’t want you to throw away a chance at happiness.” 

You groan yet again, pulling one of your spare pillows to stuff your face into. Even if you’re feeling completely confused about what to think or do, you’re glad that you get to talk it through with Jisoo. She always knows just what to say and how to help you come to decisions that felt right.

Shifting, you sit up straight and look at Jisoo’s image in the mirror, feeling even more thankful that she’s willing to talk about this particular subject. At that thought you frown, knowing that she’s close with her brother.

“Did you suspect anything with Hoseok? You said that you got to notice things from both sides…” Trailing off, your eyes narrow as you watch the way she bites her lip in an almost coy way. It wouldn’t surprise you as she knows her brother far better than she knows you.

“Yes, I did with him. He fancied you so much when he was a teenager and I thought he’d just...grown out of it, you know? Neither of you saw each other for ages so I just assumed his hormones had finally settled down. But then he practically jumped at the chance to help you apply for the job and...well, he’s being very obvious lately. I swear, every conversation has to include you in some way and he gets this look on his face.” Jisoo says, brow creasing as she thinks back.

“What look? Does he get a look? What kind of look?” The questions pepper her but she doesn’t look annoyed by them. Instead, she just smiles before laughing lightly, taking another sip from her mug before taking her time nibbling on a milk chocolate covered digestive biscuit. It makes you scowl, realising you’d given yourself away once more.

“Yes, he gets a look. I don’t know how to describe it to you but it’s like...he gets this smile and I swear his eyes get all shiny. He’d be appalled to know I’d noticed this as he’s never come out and said anything but I know what he looks like when he likes something. Hoseok talks about you the same way he talks about anything else he loves.” The last word makes your eyes widen and you’re thankful Jisoo doesn’t comment on it.

She’s noticed though, you know that she has. 

“Oh, okay. Well...I haven’t noticed.” What a stupid thing to say, but you don’t have anything else.

“Obviously.” Jisoo gives you a droll look, causing you to glare at her. It’s probably not as effective as you’d like given the two of you are hundreds of miles away and only visible through a reflective surface. Still, it makes her laugh at least.

Not the reaction you wanted but you’ll take it.

The conversation between you both falls into a lull, the silence of your room almost deafening. It lets you start to think once more and you don’t think that’s a good idea. Jisoo is right in that you tend to talk yourself out of things that might have a big impact on your life.

You’d taken a whole month to finally apply for the job here at Hogwarts and even then, you’d had to have Jisoo convince you that you should accept the offer when they made it. A good choice now, but you had a constant fear that big change might have negative effects on you.

The possibility of beginning something romantic with Hoseok was perhaps the biggest change you could do and it had the potential for so many repercussions if it went wrong. He was your work colleague, your friend and your best friend’s brother. It wasn’t like if you tried dating him then you could just never see him again.

Hoseok was likely to always be a part of your life in some way.

But he was such a good person and he could be something positive in your life, too. You found him to be charming and kind, funny and thoughtful, intelligent and attractive. There were a lot of reasons against trying a relationship with him, but there were so many more reasons for it.

“Would it not bother you? If anything happened then you’d be stuck between us, and he’s your brother so you’d have to take his side.” Your words are quiet, almost reluctant. Jisoo doesn’t respond immediately though, giving you the benefit of thinking seriously about your question before shaking her head.

“I would be stuck between you both if it ended badly. But I don’t either of you are the kinds of people to make me choose something like that. More importantly, I have high hopes that kind of scenario won’t even happen. I have a good feeling about this, for both of you. You both have to decide what’s right for you but...I don’t have any issue with it. If anything, it’d be great. My best friend and my brother getting together? If you married him then you’d be my sister-in-law and your kids would be my nieces and nephews!” There’s palpable excitement in her voice now, matched by the way she almost vibrates as her imagination runs wild.

You, on the other hand, feel your cheeks going warm with embarrassment as you try to follow where her mind is running. It feels a little overwhelming if you’re being honest, but you just push those thoughts away.

The last thing you needed was to start fantasising about marriage when you’d only kissed the man once.

“Jisoo!” You scold.

“What? I don’t get to live this life of romance so let me have my dreams. I’d rather you marry him than anyone else. Your babies would be so cute.” She wriggles in her seat, hands clapping and you’re reminded once more how similar the siblings are.

“Jisoo,” Whining, you pout at her before rubbing at your temple. “Don’t marry us off before we’ve even talked after last night.”

“Fine, fine, spoilsport. Anyway, it’s your decision. Yours and his. But just know that I think you’d both be good together. Don’t push him away because you’re scared, he’s a good guy. Not saying that just because he’s my brother, either. If you decide no, then don’t be afraid of that either. I know him, he’ll be a gentleman and will accept it.” You know she’s right and it makes you feel a little better as you take a deep breath.

Nodding slowly, you give her a weak smile before wincing when your stomach gurgles almost painfully. A glance at the clock shows that it’s been a very, very long time since you last ate and your stomach is not happy with that. 

“I’ll think it through, I promise. I won’t make any rash decisions. For now, I need to just analyse my feelings and thoughts regarding him before thinking about anything else. But I’ll admit that I’m not opposed to the idea. As much as I’d like to continue this conversation though, I need to go get something to eat or my stomach might eat itself. I’ll talk to you again later, okay?” It’s only a few minutes later before you’re ending the spell on the mirror, watching as it turns into a reflective surface once more.

Placing it onto your bedside table carefully, you let yourself fall back onto the mound of pillows and simply stare up at the ceiling. 

Of all the decisions you’ve made in your life, this one seemed to be the most daunting. Yet just the thought of his bright smile makes your lips quirk automatically, causing you to let out a breathy laugh.

Yes, he’d be good for you.

[harrysgloves]

Three’s Company

Harry Styles x Reader x Florence Pugh

Story Summary: The relationship of Harry Styles, Florence Pugh, and Y/N are kept under wraps... until it all falls apart. 

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Language // Angst 

Authors Note: Please ignore the fact I’ve had writters block for over a month... Hope this is at least (semi) close to what you wanted anon! I kind of been carried away in daydreams of a poly relationship with Harry and Florence lately... xx

>>>Kind of a continuation of this fic<<< (Not necessary to read first)

PART TWO

>>><<<

"Come on." Harry breathed out the words onto your skin. His lips pressed against the smooth sensitive velvet of your inner legs. "Jus' wanna make yeh feel good, baby."

"I gotta go." You whined, your head pressed down into your pillow on his bed as you pouted up at the ceiling. It was 11:32 and you had exactly 28 minutes until you needed to be across town for this dumb lunch you promised your friends you'd show up to.

"Only need five minutes." He smirked into your skin. Playful green eyes shot up from between your legs when you out a huff.

"Shut up." You mumbled, your legs snapped closed as you tried to roll out of his oversized bed. His long, lanky, arms around your waist trying their best to stop you from leaving.

"Wait!" He pouted, his head rested on your shoulder.

"Harry." You groaned, your head leaned back as your feet dangled off the bed, inches away from the floor, and towards the plans, you were starting to regret making for the day.

"Sweetheart, 've missed yeh." His calloused hands wandered down your waist, under the shirt you'd stolen from his closet for your impromptu nights stay.

You were starting to wonder why you even bothered having an apartment of your own when those fucking hands started soothing motions on your breast. Rough fingers swirling your nipples into a hard peak.

Your soft sigh floated through the air as his lips curled against your neck. You could tell he thought he won this time, his gloating smirk, a self-satisfied hum drifting from that damn mouth that you simultaneously wanted to smack and grind against. He always knew how to do this, he managed to find all your weak spots in less than a month.

The bastard.

"You two always start without me." The voice of your girlfriend broke through that foggy haze of lust in your mind. You jumped away from Harry. Your bare feet hit the floor with a loud slap.

"Ugh." Harry groaned as he slammed back into the soft mattress, his eyes glared at Florence. "Now she's gonna leave."

"What? No…." She drew out in a whine. Perfectly pink lips pouted at you from the corner of Harry's bed.

"I promised them I'd go this time." You mumbled as you tossed articles of clothing that didn't belong to you across the room.

You three needed a cleaning system.

"But…" Florence sighed as she took down her hair from the towel on top of her head. "Today's our day off."

"You guys can still do stuff." You said as you wiggled quickly into your jeans, not at all paying attention to the worried look on both of their faces.

It had been a little less than a month of dating and the two of them hadn't gone anywhere without you. Sure, you'd done things separately with the both of them. Separate dates, divided time between both their apartments, and long nights with either one of them in a bed.

You'd done just as much together as you had apart but neither one of them wanted to push the bounds of the slightly new relationship. That left you with one boyfriend and one girlfriend, who really didn't seem to be dating each other, only you.

"We've talked about this." You groaned as you slid your bra around your bare stomach. Harry's shirt bunched around your neck as you threaded each arm through a strap. "Go out on a date, fuck each other."

"We do!" Florence protested, her arms crossed against her bare chest, the towel in her hair fell slightly as she pouted to you.

You couldn't have rolled your eyes harder if you tried.

"Without me." You said as you tucked Harry's shirt into the top of your jeans. His head popped up from the bed, a dimpled smile across his face when he saw you wearing his clothes for the day.

"We wanna give yeh time to get used to it." He said as he rested on his elbow. His soft curly hair hung in his eyes.

"I know," you sighed as you sat down on the edge of the bed to put on your socks. " I appreciate it but really, you two are dating too."

"Won't change your mind?" Florence asked after a second too long of you three being in silence.

"Flor," you cooed in a soft voice when your eyes lifted to see her looking so vulnerable. "I'm not going anywhere. I want this."

Your hand cupped around her face, thumb stroking her cheek. Her head nodded in agreement before you leaned in to capture her lips with your own.

This would be good for all of you, you thought. A chance for the three of you to become a solid unit, not separate moving parts. You smiled softly at her as you leaned back from her. Her eyes still held a look of disbelief hidden deep in them.

"Promise I'm not going anywhere."

>>>

"You're late!" Your best friend yelled way too loudly at you as soon as you rounded the corner of the sidewalk. Your cheeks flamed as you glared at him, thankful your sunglasses hid you at least a little bit from the seemingly millions of people, now staring at you.

"Get famous friends and now you think you can be late."

Your elbow dug into his side as you passed him. The doors to the sports bar, you used to be a regular at, opened with a ring as he mumbled under his breath, dutifully following behind you as he rubbed the sore spot on his side.

The long table that was once filled with your handful of single friends was now filled to the brim with the original three and their partners. You were the only singleton, the lone warrior, or at least that's what they all thought.

The decision to not go public was made almost immediately by the three of you. No media coverage seemed like the smart move for everyone involved.

The only exception you made to the keep-it-under-wraps rule was your immediate family and your one best friend, Sam, who promptly told his own girlfriend.

"You should go out with our travel agent, Y/N, he's really sweet. Not much of a looker though." Lisa, a girl you didn't even like, piped up halfway through your pasta dish. Your teeth ground together as you smiled up to her over your fork.

"Might as well, Y/N." Sam's girlfriend, Casey, snickered from the other side of you. Her laughter was cut short by your foot kicking her leg under the table, hard.

"I'm good." You huffed, you didn't know how much longer you could take sitting here with all of them trying to set you up with friends of friends, or worse their sad sympathetic smiles everytime one of the couples at the table did something cute.

"You could tell them." Sam whispered to you when he saw your mounting frustration with the situation. Most of your friends had married assholes who had no problem voicing their opinions about your love life.

By the third beer and your slice of cheesecake, you had relaxed a bit. The conversation had finally gone from your lack of love life towards everyone's children or careers. The end of the long lunch was finally on the horizon and you could successfully ditch having to hang out with all of them again for at least another 6 months when your phone started buzzing out of control from your purse behind you.

All 6 people who sat around the table with you seemed to be more invasive than you originally thought. All set of eyes stared you down as you unlocked your phone to silence it, when the notifications caught your attention.

So many fucking notifications.

Every account you had, countless tags and mentions, tweets from every person in America, it felt like.

Thank fuck, @Y/N_Y/L/N can FINALLY leave @Harry_Styles alone!

Ding, Dong, the third wheel is DEAD @Y/N_Y/L/N

Hope @Y/N_Y/L/N is recovering well from @Harry_Styles choosing the better girl @Florence_Pugh

#Florencerry #Farry #Florry CONFIRMED. #ByebyebyeY/N

That familiar feeling of dread flooded your stomach, your tongue grew thick with anxiety as your eyes scanned so many messages. Your silence covered the entire table, or maybe it was the ringing in your ears that made it feel that way.

You said you wanted them to go on a date, not this.

No, this, this was awful. A picture of your two partners with their tongue shoved down each other's throats. They were in a corner, away from everybody, trying to be as private as possible. Harry's hand wrapped in her hair, her own hands grasped the back of his shirt.

Why wouldn't they be more careful? Where did this leave you three?

Where did it leave you?

"Everything okay?" Sam's voice sliced through your anxious thoughts.

"Just my brother." You lied as smoothly as you could. Your phone quickly locked and placed back into your purse, a wad of money thrown on the table for your meal. "He's at my apartment, got to go let him in."

"Okay?" Sam's voice trailed behind you as you rushed through the doors to the restaurant and back to the safety of your own apartment.

>>>

"What the fuck?" Florence groaned, her pillow thrown off the bed, towards Harry's phone that wouldn't stop ringing.

"'M up." He mumbled, his blurry eyes barely opening. They definitely shouldn't have had all those drinks with lunch.

"Wot?" He grumbled, half-asleep into his phone, not even paying attention to the name that flashed across the screen.

"Why didn't you tell me you're going out with Florence? This is great for the movie!" Jeff cheered, loudly, way too loudly. Harry's eyebrows pulled together as he pulled the phone back from his face.

Florence gasped, shooting up from her place, phone in hand as she panicked. Her eyes widened larger and larger, the longer she looked at her phone.

"Oh no." She whispered, her phone pushed in Harry's face that fell into a frown the second his eyes focused on the bright screen.

"Well, 'm not-" he cleared his throat that suddenly seemed like the desert. "'M dating her and Y/N."

"At the same time?" Jeff said after a very long and uncomfortable pause. Harry's hand ran through his hair as Florence signaled for him to put Jeff on speaker.

"Yeh, we're all datin'." Harry's lips pursed as he hit the speakerphone button. He wasn't exactly sure what Jeff would say. Sure, he was supportive in the past but this was new territory, at least for Harry.

"Harry…" Jeff sighed through the phone. His voice seemed to make the room go completely still. Everything paused in time. "You can't- listen, it's not a good idea to go public with that."

"Not really y'choice."

"Give it till the movie's over. You and Florence date publicly and promote the movie, once it's done go public then if you still want to."

"We'll talk 'bout it." Harry muttered, the phone call ended as quickly as it started. His phone thrown haphazardly back onto the nightstand beside the bed as he let out a long groan, his hands ran down his face.

"God, Y/N had to see that already. She's probably freaking out." Florence said as she got out of bed, determined to go check on her girlfriend no matter how late it was.

"Jeff was right." Harry said softly, his eyes fixed on the wall opposite of him. The small amount of light that filled the room was barely enough to see the shocked look across Florence's face, but Harry didn't have to see it to know it was there.

Even he was surprised at his own words.

Was he really prepared to give you both up to save his career? Or could he take all the stigma from dating two girls at once? He didn't know and he didn't have time to process.

"You did not just say that."

"What would people think, Flor? 'M a guy, dating two women! I'd be a womanizer and yeh two the bimbos who put up with me datin' each other."

"Wow, Harry." Florence's voice boomed around the room as she threw on her clothes. Angrily stomping around until she was clothed.

"Yeh knew what I meant." He sighed, his head rested in his hands.

"I don't want to hide who I'm with. I'm happy with you two and I can't believe you want to hide that!" She shrieked, her foot stomped on the floor as she glared at him.

Logically, she could understand his reasoning. Emotionally, she was pissed. How could he be thinking of hiding away what you three had? You were the perfect girlfriend and the three of you worked so well together.

"I wanna give it time!" He snapped back, his voice sharp with an anger she hadn't heard before.

"Why?" She asked in a huff, her hands crossed over her chest as she glared at him.

"People are gonna eat her alive. She'll always be the third wheel. If we wait til after the movie maybe it won't be so bad" Harry's words sucked the life right out of Florence. Her chest seemed to deflate as she stared at Harry. Stress, anxiety, and about a million other feelings ran through her all at once.

"Oh." She sighed, the edge of the bed dipped in as she sat down. Both of them silently staring at random objects in the room that suddenly become the most interesting thing.

Both of them wondering where this left the three of you.

>>>

It had been three months, three long and hard months of feeling like the outsider in your relationship. Maybe not in private but in public, you were always the odd man out.

Don't stand too close to Harry.

Don't be too friendly with Florence.

Don't laugh too hard.

Don't smile too much, and for the love of God, do not let anyone catch you hugging each other for too long.

It was hard but as the holidays grew closer and the final scenes of the movie were filmed, you knew the end was just on the horizon. You'd finally be able to hold hands with them in public again. You'd be able to fix Florence's hair or adjust Harry's shirt without being murdered online.

The trivial things that you used to not pay any mind to doing every day were hard to stop doing in public at first. It was a hard road, with too much speculation from fans and a lot of rude tweets about you, but it was worth it. You'd spend your nights wrapped up with the both of them, a smile on your face as you drifted to sleep.

It was hard but worth it. You'd repeat to yourself almost daily.

They cared about you.

They wanted to be with you.

You loved them both.

"Hello?" Your voice cracked as your one hand rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, the other barely opening the front door of Harry's house.

You didn't think he was expecting anyone.

"Is, uh, is my brother here?" Gemma asked from the other side.

"Oh, he and Florence are at an interview for the movie." You said as you opened the door fully for her. Your bare legs that weren't covered by Harry's t-shirt raised at the cool air that ran in. "You can wait for him if you want."

"Yeah, okay." She mumbled as she walked passed you, her eyes barely made contact with your own as she made a fast-paced walk to the living room.

"I'm sorry, if I'd known you were coming I would have picked up or you know, made tea or something." You said awkwardly from the entryway. Your arms crossed over your chest as you walked further into the room.

"No offense or anything," she started as she looked over the semi-messy room and back over to you, "why are you here?"

"What?" You asked with an uncomfortable chuckle, the smile that was there fell from your face.

"This is Harry's house and he's not here. Plus, he's dating Florence." Her pointed words stung deep as her eyes sliced into you.

"He's, he didn't- wait," you stuttered out as you circled to where she was standing, your eyebrows pulled tightly together as you looked into her stern face. "Did he not tell you?"

"Tell me what? That you're Florence's friend?"

The lung was sucked out of your lungs so quickly it felt like you were a fish out of water. Your tongue wetting your lips was the only signal to your brain that you were still alive and moving around, breathing but barely.

"Florence friend, right." You said softly, your eyes stung as you scoffed. You shook your head as you stared at the floor.

It took a millisecond for you to get a hold of yourself. You gave her a sad smile as you walked past her towards the bedroom. His shirt left on the bed and all of your belongings that were in sight packed into your oversized purse.

You were done.

You were so done being the third wheel. You could handle it for a little bit, maybe even forever if it was just with the public, but this was his sister. His family, his inner circle, and he hadn't told her.

"Y/N?" You heard her panicked call of your name from the other room. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. Your head thrown back as the tears started to flow down your cheeks.

You couldn't be with one and not the other.

"Where are you going?" Her voice broke as she saw you standing there, your bags packed, his shirt on the bed.

"Y/N?" His voice stung, the betrayal burned in your throat.

"I'm leaving." You said from the middle of the bedroom, your back still faced them as they stood in the doorway.

"You'll be back tomorrow, right?"

"No, Flor, I'm not coming back." You whispered, tears flooded your eyes as you heard her suck in a deep breath.

"Y/N, 'S almost over, one more interview and I prom-"

"Fuck your promises." You yelled as you turned furiously in your spot, your vision blurred as you glared at him.

"Wha-"

"Ask your sister." You scoffed as you stormed past them, your shoulder knocked his as you pushed through the doorway.

"What does that mean?" Florence yelled as she trailed after you. Harry's shocked face and slumped shoulder not deterring her at all from chasing you down.

"It means I'm done." You sniffed, the sleeve of your sweater used as a tissue. "I'm your girlfriend not some slut you welcome in your bed from time to time."

"We don't think that at all!" Florence cried harder, her hands cupped your face as she closed in on you. Your shoulders shrugged, your own hands pushed hers away as you sucked in a deep breath.

"I can't Flor. I just can't."

"Baby, please, lemme explain…" Harry pleaded as he walked up behind Florence, his hands rested on her shoulders, his own green eyes watering. "I didn't it to get out before we were ready. Jus' a little longer and then it goes back to normal."

"This is normal. This will always be our normal." You sobbed, your hands covered your eyes as you turned from the both of them. Your arms hugged around yourself for comfort. "I'm always going to be the one who's in the middle of your relationship."

"You're not!" Florence choked as she held onto Harry's hand.

"I'll fix all of this, please, jus' stay." Harry's hand reached for your own but you jerked your body away.

You couldn't say anything, nothing more would come out. No words made sense to you right now. Your heart was broken and so were you. You turned to leave, walking tight past the shocked Gemma and towards the door.

"I love you." Her words made you pause but only for a second, the doorknob turned in your hand before you could give it a second thought.

Leaving was harder than you ever imagined but you couldn't stay where you felt unwanted. Your sniffling nose and shallow breathing was your only company as you walked the long street back to your car then back to your lonely apartment that shined with object after object that reminded you of them.

[cognacdelights]

fluorescent adolescent [7]

the romantic tirades of indie routledge series masterlist

my outer banks masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys 

summary: angry and upset at the way she was treated, indie gets her revenge on an oblivious jj. however, not before she gets the release her touch-starved body has been craving in his absence. 

warnings: sexual content. dirty talk. public sex. underage drinking. angst. swearing.

There weren’t many skills in life that Indie Routledge had mastered; she was considered by most as a give-it-a-go kind of girl. Well, that was until it came to math, as Pope Heyward had come to realise after attempting to explain algebraic equations to her. Let’s just say, Indie thought of algebra as more of a foreign language, rather than a sub-branch of math. Cheerleading during her freshman year faired far better - motivation-wise, at least. The brief, three week period in which Indie had somehow made it onto Kildare County High’s award-winning cheerleading team had been plagued with a plethora of slips, trips and falls. A sprained ankle - and a broken nose on Thalia Ramos’ part - had swiftly ended the young Routledge girl’s career as a flyer. However, her career as an electric guitarist, not-so-astonishingly, was even shorter. After two weeks of out-of-tune strumming and accompanying tone deaf vocals, Big John had gently suggested that she retire from the demanding world of rock and roll and had promptly sold the guitar to a friend of a friend; not to mention, Wonderwall was banned from the Routledge household for the foreseeable.

However, there was one thing that she had come to master during her fifteen trouble-filled years on this godforsaken planet - besides raising absolute hell for her at-a-loss brother. Grudges. Indie Routledge could hold a grudge longer, and harder, than the best of them. There was no escaping the feisty, sharp-tongued hellcat’s wrath once you had entered into the notorious realms of her bad side. From the intense, acrimonious death glares, to the caustic, bitter snipes of her venomous tongue, to the suffocating quiet of her silent treatment; you would bare witness to it all, as the insufferably oblivious JJ Maybank had come to find out the hard way.

As his bare, sun-soaked shoulders leant against the cushioned back of the bench, he peeled the sweat-ridden skin of his thighs from the scolding leather and rested his hips nonchalantly on the edge of the seat. He brought the freshly-opened can of beer up to his lips - taking a long and generous sip - as the scorching, mid-day sun beat down above him. The reflective lenses of his off-brand sunglasses covered his murky, cobalt eyes, allowing him to shamelessly devour her curvaceous silhouette from the opposite side of the deck. His tongue dragged lazily along the chapped ridges of his bottom lip as her dainty fingertips bunched around the faded, stone-washed fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, pulling the garment up and over her tousled top-knot.

“Dude,” Pope’s reprimanding voice attempted to pull the shaggy-haired blonde from his hormone-induced trance, accompanied by an abrupt slap against his shoulder, “he’d kill you if he saw you looking at Indie like that.” Despite his quite adamant disapproval, the usually soft-spoken boy couldn’t resist taking a swift glance in Indie’s direction; the ruched, ivory bikini - which only just covered her most intimate of areas - was a stark contrast against her bronzed, olive-toned complexion, that glistened celestially under the Mid-Atlantic sun. She was utterly a sight to behold, and that fact was undeniable - no matter who you were to John B.

“I’m just admiring the scenery,” JJ responded somewhat casually, an air of dismissiveness present within his gravelly tone. However, whilst the blasé words that so effortlessly rolled off his tongue indicated one thing, his inconspicuous eyes suggested another; behind the over-sized, reflective glasses, his cerulean orbs were drinking in her scandalously-clad, slender figure and indulging themselves in all of her glorious liberties. His searing gaze fixated on her cleavage, refusing to relent as she obliviously leant forwards in an attempt to reach the tanning oil - the thin fabric of her bikini shifting ever so slightly to expose even more of her chest to him. A haughty, brazen smirk tugged briefly at the corners of his lips as he revelled in the sight before him; whilst Indie merely sported B cups, her boobs were delightfully perky and the two spear-headed, titanium bars which penetrated either side of her taut, rosy nipples were a definite turn on for him.

Leisurely regaining her posture, she adjusted the loosely-tied string of her bikini top, which had slipped uncomfortably high up her back. The lackadaisical movements allowed her to flaunt the perfect amount of sun-kissed side boob, and showcase the heart-shaped, do-it-yourself stick and poke tattoo that had been drunkenly carved into the left side of her rib cage. A lustful moan vigorously clawed at the back of JJ’s throat, desperate to surpass his beer-soaked lips and resonate through the salt-laced, open-ocean air. He suppressed the ungodly groan with a subtle cough as his hazy, indigo eyes continued to follow her cleavage - her love-marked breasts bouncing ever so slightly with each sprightly step she made towards him. 

“Will you?” the sultry melody of Indie’s voice diverted Pope’s rigid gaze from the calm, distant waves of the horizon. His deep umber eyes swiftly fell upon the half-empty bottle of tanning oil, which she had half-heartedly thrust in his general direction - purposefully avoiding her barely-clothed silhouette at all costs. He would be downright lying to himself if he refused to admit that she was a radiantly beautiful temptress, and that the odd inappropriate thought hadn’t grudgingly crept it’s way into his typically innocent mind on occasion, but he knew it was wrong on so many levels; if he existed in the Garden of Eden, then Indie Routledge was the forbidden fruit that devilishly taunted him from the evergreen trees above. She was his best friend’s little sister, after all. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he admitted solemnly, bringing his almost-empty can of tepid beer to his lips. Once again, his cautious, mocha eyes concentrated on anywhere but her exposed physique as they peered above the metal rim, settling on her luminous, cinnamon orbs out of safety. Indie’s signature pout painted her olive complexion as her neatly-plucked eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Pope stared back at her with a deadpan expression - as if it were completely obvious as to why he refused to place his sinless hands on her sun-drenched, bikini-clad body. 

Outstretching his upturned palm, JJ interjected their conversation with a nonchalant offer, “give it here.” Indie was forced to finally acknowledge his presence after a prolonged period of subjecting him to her soul-crushing silent treatment, eventually allowing her mahogany eyes to fall upon his relaxed, shirtless silhouette as a sour scowl contorted her doll-like features. Her cold, impassive gaze trailed along the toned lengths of his athletic body as she silently mulled over her next move. She so desperately wanted to stand her ground with him, however a subtle arching upwards of his untamed eyebrow saw her reluctantly caving in to his demands with a defeated exhale. 

“Just know that you were the last resort,” her vicious tongue sniped with it’s venom-laced words, as she forcefully placed the tanning oil down in his hand - the grease-coated bottle slapping loudly against his calloused palm on impact. 

Pope let out a rapid breath of air in the form of an uncomfortable whistle tone before standing from the scorching, leather seat, “I’ll leave you two to it then.” His bare feet padded against the blistering fibreglass decking at an increasing pace, cautious not to burn the already sensitive skin of the undersides of his feet, as he approached the similarly scolding ladder. Wisely, he opted to launch his sculpted, over-heating body into the sweet, frigid relief of the open waters, instead of slowly and painfully descending down the fire-like steps. 

In a sanctimonious display, Indie swiftly swivelled on the heels of her feet, leaving the teal-eyed boy with the glorious sight of her voluptuously pert ass. The corners of his upper lip twitched ever so slightly - a satisfied smirk creeping across his chiselled, stubble-lined features for a fleeting moment as he insolently admired the sight before him. She, however, stared out into the distant waves, observing intently as the remaining pogues frolicked carelessly around in the placid waves.

His audacious fingertips took it upon themselves to curl beneath the double-knotted ties of her bikini bottoms, inching her hour-glass figure ever close to him until he could feel the smooth lengths of her sun-kissed legs against his. The warm palms of his hands wandered the short distance to her voluptuous hips, applying a gentle touch of pressure to guide her petite frame into his welcoming lap; his ring-cladded hands carrying a certain authoritative and domineering contingence that Indie simply couldn’t ignore.

With his paw-like palms coated in a generous amount of tanning oil, JJ began tenderly caressing the dainty, sun-kissed broads of her shoulders - his masterful thumbs massaging the coconut-scented product into her skin in soothing circles. Indie’s incandescent eyes fluttered closed as her tense, aching muscles reluctantly relaxed under his delicate fingertips, an almost inaudible moan of satisfaction slipping out from between her slightly parted lips. Seven painfully long days and pining-filled nights had passed since she had last felt the invigorating touch of his fingertips against her searing skin, and the mere, innocent gesture of him rubbing in her tanning oil was slowly - but surely - beginning to douse the week-long, burning rage which she had directed towards him. 

“You like that, hmm?” he hummed imperiously, his tone low and gravelly as his thin lips grazed ever so lightly against the soft skin of her neck with each spoken word. Her slender arms pricked with goosebumps - almost as if on cue - as she felt the faint scruffs of his stubble tickle against her exposed collarbone, and his taunting lips curl upwards into a haughty, satisfied smirk. In truth be told, JJ Maybank had missed their secret, intimate rendezvous; he longed for the subtle hint of watermelon that lingered on her plump, luscious lips and hankered for the euphoric sensation of her tight, dripping pussy clenching around his painfully hard dick once more.

“I’d like it a lot better if you shut up,” Indie spat with a sour tongue. 

“Hey, watch the mouth, madam, before I put it to good use,” JJ responded with a playful warning, mistaking her seething snipes as her infamous, satire-laced flirting. The smug smile which had painted itself across his defined, rosy-tinged features grew ever so slightly, as the mischievous tips of his stubby fingers toyed with the loosely-tied knot of her bikini top. Teasingly, he pulled the thin, ivory band towards him before abruptly letting go - allowing the lax elastic to snap somewhat gently against her spine; of course, it wasn’t anything too rigorous, just a little something to capture and secure her attention.

“Try it, I dare you,” her dark, mahogany eyes peered upwards at the taller, shaggy-haired blonde, the back of her head resting comfortably against the brawny muscles of his squared-off shoulder, “I’m in a biting mood.” His murky, indigo eyes met with hers as his wandering palms slipped casually beneath the double-knotted tie and continued to carefully massage the sweet-smelling oil into her beautifully bronzed skin in effortless, gentle, circular motions. She was facing a real confliction of emotions in that moment; the insolent smirk which, not so graciously, graced his sunburnt complexion fanned the flames of her hurt-fuelled hatred towards him - however, the way his masterful hands tenderly caressed her back doused the fire just as rapidly. 

“Mhmm, there’s that attitude that I love so much,” JJ countered her fiery quip with a lighthearted chuckle. His beer-stained lips placed several sloppy kisses into her tamed, chestnut tangles as he allowed his free-spirited hands to dauntlessly inch around her front. Indie’s gaze dropped - suddenly - to the two bear-like palms that had brazenly slithered beneath the thin, ruched material and cupped both her petite, bouncing breasts in a domineering hold. His audacious hands were pleasantly warm as they sensually fondled her cleavage - his masterful thumbs working every inch of her hickey-littered skin as heavy, jagged breaths surpassed her chapstick-coated lips. A quiet, lascivious whine echoed between them as his gentle fingertips toyed with her nipple piercing, twirling the titanium rods around in a painfully slow motion. 

“The only thing you love is the sound-” Indie’s vindictive words were crudely interrupted by an elated gasp forcing it’s way out from the depths of her throat, as his mischievous fingers flicked against her hardened nipple. Frustrated by his teasing touches, she sunk her two front teeth into the rose-tinted flesh of her bottom lip in a desperate bid to discourage the searing, sensuous heat that was promptly building between her sun-soaked thighs. 

“What was that, Squirt?” his taunting, husky voice questioned. Her terracotta eyes had focused themselves on the frayed, princess-printed beach towel that laid flat against the opposing, leather cushions, but she just knew from the blatant mocking in his inflections that an overbearing, pompous beam had plastered itself across stubble-lined features. This only enraged the dainty, sour-tongued virago further. 

“The only thing you-” she began again, her tone significantly lower, resembling more of a resentful and infuriated growl. However, her malicious words were once again disrupted by a second high-pitched, pleasure-filled gasp as the calloused tip of his thumb flicked against her excited nipple once again and his sumptuous, massaging motions became increasingly more rigorous. As valiant as they were, her efforts to smother the lustful heat emanating from between her now clamped together thighs were futile - as her scant bikini bottoms dampened with desire. 

Feeling the drenched material clinging against the exposed skin of this muscular thighs, JJ’s audacious fingertips retreated from the comforting shelter of her bikini top. Painstakingly slow and ever so lightly, he traced the concave outline of her hour-glass figure until he reached the soaking wet haven of her bikini bottoms. His chapped, beer-laced lips found a sweet spot nestled within the crook of her neck and began their salacious assault, as his work-worn palms allowed themselves to forcefully slip between the crack in her love-marked thighs. JJ proceeded to prise them apart with an authoritative touch of pressure, having her spread her bare, sun-drenched legs so he had full and unrestricted access to her gloriously sodden core. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he informed in his trademark, throaty tone - although he knew in his bones she wouldn’t; Indie Routledge had gone seven days without his tantalising, expert touch and her svelte, slightly-toned body was evidently just as touch-starved as his own. 

Slipping his ring-clad finger beneath the utterly soaked fabric of her bikini bottoms, he ran a teasing stripe along her dampened folds - drawing a long, lecherous moan from the back of her throat. His sharpened teeth grazed against the now mauve-tinged patch of skin as his thumb found her acutely sensitive bud of nerves. He worked a, gentle at first, series of figure eight motions against her swollen clit, enticing a melodic symphony of pleasure-filled purrs and whines from between her slightly parted lips. With each passing second, his masterful motions grew rougher and more abrupt. 

Pushing the juice-soaked fabric entirely to the side, he lathered both his middle and ring finger in her pearl-like nectar before thrusting them into her yearning warmth. Instinctively, Indie clamped her dainty palm across her mouth, muffling the emphatic, enraptured moans that soon followed his fast-paced thrusts. JJ abandoned his rhythmic figure eight motions as he focused solely on thrusting his fingers deep and hard into her dripping core - expertly curling them up against her delicate pleasure point. Her voluptuous hips rocked in synchronisation with his rapid momentum, the cool metal of his rings contrasting against the sweltering heat of her pussy. 

Squeezing her clouded, cinnamon eyes shut, Indie released a barrage of sinful expletives and high-pitched moans into the safety of her clasped hand. She could feel the beginnings of her much-anticipated high building in the pit of her stomach as the already tight walls of her soaking pussy contracted around his stubby fingers. With a pleased-with-himself smile still contorting his sunburnt complexion, his thumb returned to it’s previous salacious cycle of pressing rigorous circular motions against her delicate rose bud. Her lubed-up walls clamped hard around his silver signet ring and he took this as his cue to hastily retreat from her warmth. 

“Don’t you dare,” she whimpered at the sudden loss of contact - fury detectable in her strained, stringent tone. A low, tormenting laugh vibrated from the depths of his vocal chords as he nectar-drenched fingers drew cursive patterns against her inner thighs. 

Minutes dragged by as his hazy, teal eyes watched her heaving chest regain it’s gentle composure, before plunging his two long and stubby fingers back into the depths of her still soaking core. Indie’s head subconsciously threw itself backwards - resting against the burly broads of his shoulders - as his pace quickened with each vigorous thrust. JJ’s calloused thumb found her swollen clit once more, reprising his previous cycle of sensuous figure eight motions alongside his momentous thrusts. Salacious moans continued to spill from between her chapstick-coated lips as she allowed his free hand to guide her seductive curves into a synchronised rocking - forcibly meeting against the juice-soaked balls of his knuckles. Once again, the rigid clamping of her core’s warm and nectar-stained walls around his masterful fingers triggered JJ’s hasty retreat - still sporting the imperious smirk which Indie had come to loathe with a searing passion. 

“I hate you,” she spat, overwhelmingly frustrated. Taking charge of the unfolding situation, Indie’s lavender-painted fingertips tensed around his bracelet-clad wrist - dragging his loosely clenched fist back between the hickey-painted plains of her inner thighs. 

“If you hate me, you wouldn’t want me doing this, would you?” his gravelly, sardonic tone tormented as his juice-stained fingers found themselves thrusting themselves vigorously back into the warm depths of her forbidden fruit. With great difficulty, she suppressed the raucous whines and elated moans which clawed desperately at the back of her throat as she indulged herself in the lascivious contact between them. Several sloppy, rigid plunges had her yearning, touch-starved centre clenching tightly around his fist for a third time. JJ - once again - attempted to deny the cinnamon-haired hellcat her release; however, her juice-stained thighs reacted much quicker than he could and clamped themselves together - trapping his teasing fingers within her sodden core. She was desperate for a release. 

“Alright, you win, pretty girl,” JJ cooed into her ear, a deep laugh resonating through the salt-laced, mid-ocean air. Cautiously, her thighs relaxed their rigid hold around his bruised-covered fist and allowed his dauntless fingertips to ease back into their fast-paced thrusts. Within seconds, Indie was bordering on the edge of her orgasm for a fourth time; her hankering walls fell into a desirous cycle of clenching and un-clenching around his juice-covered knuckles in anticipation of the euphoric high she had been craving all week and her lecherous whines filled the oppressive, muggy air surrounding them. One set of ballerina-shaped fingernails dug themselves into the burly flesh of his thigh as the other carelessly sunk into the clammy palm of her hand - her dainty fist contracted into a tight ball as she bit down into the tanning-oil-covered flesh in a successful attempt to silence her pleasure-filled screams. 

“Fuck, I wanna feel that tight pussy clenching around my dick so bad,” the shaggy-haired blonde let out a carnal groan - his chapped lips capturing hers in a steamy, lascivious kiss. Everything about their raunchy embrace was sloppy, needy and unchaste as his large, sweat-riddled palms guided her enticing hips so that they faced his. Her petite knees sat either side of his shirtless, athletic silhouette - trapping him beneath her aching, eager pussy. 

“Mhmm?” Indie taunted with a sultry hum, her plump, luscious lips remaining in a salacious synchrony with his. Grinding her nectar-soaked heat against the very tip of his hardened dick, she felt his pulsing length continuing to grow as it strained uncomfortably against the unforgiving fabric of his swim shorts. Her desperate fingertips combed through the tousled waves of his fair locks, tugging carelessly on the straw-like ends. 

“Mhmm,” JJ struggled to responded, his hormone-focused brain transfixed on the euphoric sensation of her damp, clothed pussy rubbing against his dick. 

“Too bad, pretty boy,” she purred against her earlobe, her tone swiftly transforming from one thick with desire and lust to one laced with bitterness and revulsion, “you better sort yourself out before John B sees.” Adapting his harsh words from the previous week, she spoke with the same causticity and sourness - completely removing her scandalously-clad figure from his yearning grasp. An acidic scowl contorted her bronzed, doll-like features as her darkened, sorrel eyes bore into his unphased.

“What the fuck?” he questioned with an un-amused groan, completely perplexed by her abruptly sudden turn of mood. His still cum-drenched hand reached out to coil around her dainty wrist and coax her back into his welcoming lap - however, as his ring-cladded fingertips clasped onto her, she snatched herself from his grasp with a cold and impassive stare. “What is the matter with you, huh?” his now highly-frustrated tone pushed for anything resembling an explanation, “you’ve been one hell of a bitch all week and it’s wearing pretty fucking thin, India.”

“Did you just call me-” the utter shock of his use of her government name stopped her from finishing her exclamation - the venom-filled, rage-fuelled words getting caught in the back of her throat. Her bare, exposed chest heaved with jagged breaths as she struggled to contain her anger; JJ Maybank had never - not once - ever referred to her as India in the eight years that he had known her, until now. Indie’s cheeks flushed an enraged rouge, as did the tops of her ears, as she finally reached her boiling point. “Do you know what, Jesse James? You’re a real piece of shit. Fuck you, and your one inch wonder. I’m done with you and whatever this is.”

“This,” JJ gestured between the two of them with his forefinger, “isn’t anything. You’re just a smart-mouthed little girl seeking out attention that she can’t handle, and I’m not fucking entertaining it anymore.”

Taglist: @bellaguarneri @spilledtee @outrbanks @ilovejjmaybank @outerbxmalia @parkerpetertingle @jjouterbanks @summerintheobx @poguelifesurfshop @o-b-x @maybanksmalfoy @pogue-writings @milamaybank @heypopemain @wtfstarkey @trinnwazheree @corebore123 @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @queenniccimicci @maybankslut @jiaraendgame @starlightstarkey @abbiesthings @dannii-li @tempestuousjj @abbiesthings @stfukie @diverrdown @curlybrownhairedboys @joshy-obx @jjmaybankx @fanofmany @jjtheangel​ @obxlife @tangledinsparkles @jayjaymaebank @linctaviaxbellarke @rafecamerondeservesbetter @belledutchess @tembo-ndoto @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @secretmoonphantom @lolitstiana @blindedbyyourgrace17 @rudyypankow @sunwardsss @john-shelby @angelicbabybutterfly​ @kamcrazy123​ 

[seeuonadarknite]

cat and mouse — yandere tsukishima kei x f. reader

warnings: noncon, fingering, exhibitionism, degradation, rumors

All throughout high school you would tell yourself that college would be a breeze if you made it out alive. Sure, the difficulty in studies would increase tenfold, and turning in work would be a lot more crucial towards your final grade, but it would all be worth it in the end. You were working towards a goal, towards a purpose. Once you received your diploma, you'd be capable of getting a real, well-paying job that would financially take care everything you'd ever need.

And the best part about the college you were attending was that, for the most part, the people were all good-natured and grounded. You didn't have to deal with juvenile brats that projected their insecurities by picking on smaller people.

For the most part, that was.

Whilst the campus wasn't necessarily riddled with hellions, it still had its flaws. There was one person who you could definitely live without; Tsukishima Kei. He was an admirable student who was enrolled for free with the help of his scholarship. Nobody would ever suspect a guy like him to do something as dastardly as using his power to tarnish a fellow classmate's reputation in order to isolate them from the school's population.

But that was exactly what he had done to you.

None of it made sense to you. Why would a guy you have nothing to do with take time out of his day to make your life a living hell? At the start of the semester, you had multiple friends and your studies were going perfectly. But the four eyed monster had to barge his way into your life and sabotage all of your relationships by spreading a stupid rumor that all of his minions believed because it came from a reputable guy like him. Why would Tsukishima lie about something like that? He just wanted the world to know the truth, right?

You were sick and tired of the entirety of the campus keeping a distance from you as if you had some sort of plague. If people actually looked into both sides of the story, they would understand that everything coming from Tsukishima's mouth was utter horse shit. This immature behavior of his was absolutely unacceptable and you were determined to get to the bottom of it.

So you took it upon yourself to approach him after bumping into him on one of your off days. Sure, it was risky confronting him head on, but you were literally in frozen back aisle of a grocery store. If he tried anything funny with you, he'd be immediately stopped with the scream of your mouth.

Inhaling a deep breath, you flickered your eyes towards the lanky blonde who seemed to be torn between picking out ice cream flavors. If you calmly approached, he might be willing to reason with you. All you needed to do was figure out the perfect time to attack—

"Oh? So you're some sort of stalker, too?"

Shit. He turned around to face you whilst you were busy getting caught within your internal battles. Great, you no longer had the upper hand here. So much for the element of surprise.

In an instant, he was on the move, looming over you and making small steps towards your cowering figure until your back hit the door to the icy freezer. Goosebumps began to stain your skin as the condensation of the chilly glass soaked through your flimsy tank top.

His palm greeted the glass as he placed it right above your head, successfully blocking your desired escape route. This is okay. You were one scream away from safety—

"Mmf!" His rough, calloused hand clasped over your mouth before you could even think about mustering up a measly response.

You felt small under his scrutinizing glare as his eyes narrowed dangerously at your cowering form. "Nobody can see us back here. However, if you don't shut the fuck up, they'll hear us. And everyone will know just how much of a slut you really are." It was obvious in the way that he spoke that malice was dripping from his tone as he tantalizingly carried his penurious words.

You didn't understand; had you done something to hurt him? Why was he so keen on preaching to the world that you were just some brainless slut that didn't deserve her privileges? And it wasn't as if what he was saying made any sense whatsoever. If you screamed, all fingers would automatically be pointed towards the guy cornering his frightened victim. That was kind of the nature of calling for help.

Flickering your unsteady gaze up towards Tsukishima's, you felt your stomach drop. The way his enigmatic golden-brown eyes burned holes into your form through his fogged glasses sent chills running up your spine. It was a complete mystery how he managed to look so uninterested, yet with such hawk-like intensity at the same time.

The way he stripped you down with his menacing gaze left you regretting not equipping yourself with pepper spray beforehand. Any form of self defense would've been completely conductive towards your case. But alas, you let your guard down and made the fatal mistake of showing up at the grocery store unarmed. You'll have to dually note not to be vulnerable in any public space for the next time.

It didn't help that the voice in the back of your mind was screeching at you to do something, pleading with you to make a move, nonetheless your body failing to pick up on any internal signals. Not only was your inability to move on your own making matters difficult, but Tsukishima's knee propping itself up in between your legs rendered your legs useless, terminating your biggest line of defense. The way he predicted your every move like it was as easy as drinking water was unnerving; he definitely knew what he was doing.

It was hard to decipher what rang louder in your ears; your heart pounding through your chest at rapid speeds, or your labored breath. Perhaps it was just your nerves hitting you like a runway truck, but it genuinely felt as if every one of your organs had clambered up into your throat. It couldn't get much scarier than this. If you stuck around here for much longer, he'd have his way with you in no time and you'd be left with nothing but a guilty conscious.

The fact that he was actively defiling you was humiliating enough in itself, doing it in the back of a sparsely populated grocery store only added insult to injury. If you allowed yourself to get violated by your college bully, much less inside of a public space, it'd eat at you for who knows how long. You couldn't just let him get by with such a vile act.

However, he didn't give you much time to sulk on it, as he interrupted your train of thought with his free hand traveling down south towards the hem of your shorts. Once his hand reached your navel, you began violently thrashing in his vice-like grip like a wild animal. Going down without a fight wasn't on your agenda.

You half expected him to scowl at you and maybe cuss you out, but his facial expression remained as vacant as ever. Having said that, although he seemed unbothered by your gesture, it still wouldn't do in his book. He had to stop you from making a scene somehow, so he swiftly removed his hand from your face, only to shove his fingers into the wet caverns of your mouth. The way your tongue desperately pushed at his digits only caused the tent in his trousers to grow. You were unintentionally coating his fingers in your warm saliva.

Nonetheless, whilst Tsukishima was having the time of his fucking life, you were feeling your vision begin to impair as tears clouded your eyes, threatening to spill from the brim. This only egged him on as a sinister grin tore across his face. The way your warm, salty tears frantically poured down your face empowered the lanky male. It proved that only he had the power to turn the handles behind the faucet in your eyes with just the touch of his hand; he was the only one capable of making you feel this way.

A pathetic mewl emitted from your throat, unintentionally sending vibrations throughout the fingers that Tsukishima had shoved into your mouth, as he wasted no time in slipping his fingers under the elastic to the flimsy piece of clothing protecting your sensitive parts. The way he dragged his slim fingers across your folds was absolutely agonizing. It stopped you from predicting his next course of action, as he was going so painfully slow.

He eventually guided his index finger towards your slit, prodding the pad of his digit against your weeping hole. He got a kick out of watching your body quiver with anticipation as he dragged out his movements, slowly inserting his lengthy finger into the heat of your cunt, inch by inch.

It felt like you had been waiting for decades before he finally plunged his finger all the way inside of your cunt, basking in the way your walls immediately clamped down on the digit. You immediately began regretting wishing he'd hurry his pace, because he quickly resorted to pummeling your hole with his nimble finger at rapid speeds. At this rate, it felt like your legs were going to give in beneath you.

It didn't take the blonde long before he swiftly inserted another finger, relishing in the way that you practically sucked on his fingers as a form of leverage. The way he scissored and curled his fingers inside of you at unbearable speeds left you a whimpering mess. It remained a complete mystery to you on how the store's patrons didn't seem to notice the gigantic blonde expertly fingering you into the freezer, fucking your hole with his fingers senseless.

And it was unbelievably humiliating how unbothered he was by the lewd, obscene sounds of squelching your cunt produced as he curled both nimble fingers upwards, repeatedly hitting the spongy spot inside of you that you could only assume was your g-spot.

If he continued at this rate, you'd come undone in no time. As much as it embarrassed you to cum all over your bully's fingers in a matter of minutes, you couldn't ignore the tight knot forming in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't ignore the tingly sensation you felt heating up in your core. At this point, it didn't even matter to you if you gave into his childish game of cat and mouse.

"Hey, shortcake, eyes on me." You had managed to successfully distract yourself from the situation at hand by pondering over your own release without even realizing it. It seemed like you were beginning to enjoy yourself as you chased your own release, much to Tsukishima's dismay. That wouldn't do. The purpose of this was to humiliate you and put you right in your place. You weren't supposed to be enjoying this one bit.

Perhaps if you had cried a little bit harder, or even bitten down on his fingers that remained idle in your mouth, maybe he would have been content with just violating your cunt with his fingers. But in his book, you were growing bored. And he was as well.

Perhaps it was time to take it up a notch. It was time for the real deal.

[justasillybear]

Is that a Dog?

It all started, as did many of the things that went wrong in Percy’s life, by not asking the right questions.

In his defence, it hadn’t seemed necessary to ask Grover anything other than “Can I have one” when his best friend and roommate had pulled out some freshly baked brownies from the oven.

First mistake.

The second mistake was sneaking two more brownies while Grover hadn’t been looking.

It could be said, as Percy would later point out, that Grover was the one responsible for everything that happened after that. Months later Percy would look back on that moment and realise Grover hadn’t even attempted to warn him that there was weed in the brownies. Then he’d shake his head and think wow Grover really screwed me over. But that was months away.

In the present, Percy felt like he was floating, everything felt bright and new, and Grover was driving him to go get a milkshake. How could he be mad at Grover when he was the reason Percy felt so at peace? He could hear Grover’s Michael Franti CD playing, and his soft voice singing along, not quite drowned out by the loud honks of irate drivers stuck like them in New York traffic. If he were in a clearer state of mind, Percy would likely have realised that Grover had also eaten one of the brownies and shouldn’t have really been driving. But he wasn’t, instead he let his eyes drift out the window up towards the perfectly blue sky. So blue it almost looked like the ocean and Percy wondered if he just reached up would he fall in and-

What?

Holy. Shit.

“A puppy!” Percy screeched, starting out of the window and at the car a few places ahead of them to the left. He turned to Grover and pointed to the little golden retriever that was poking its head out of a car window. It’s tongue was hanging out of its mouth and Percy felt his heart clench at the sight. He hadn’t known it before, but now he realised that was what he’d been missing in his life.

“Nice spot, what a cute dog.” Grover approved, peering over, his eyes looking slightly red and heavy-lidded.

“He looks... Like he gives good hugs”. Percy mused. He desperately wanted to test out his theory. Percy sent up a quick prayer asking for help, and was elated to find the traffic moving. He waited with bated breath while their lane moved forward until they were parked next to the dog. “Fuck yes!” he virtually screamed. Today was the best day!

“He's so tiny?” Percy mused, eyes continuing to stare dreamily over and then… the puppy looked at him and BARKED. And Percy just knew he was calling out to him. Asking to be petted.

Percy unbuckled his seat belt and rolled down the window, decidedly ignoring Grover’s confused exclamations. “He wants to be petted!” Percy offered as he reached out to touch soft golden fur. The dog yipped happily in response, pushing his small wet nose into the offered hand. Percy could feel his eyes growing misty again. He loved dogs so much. He’d always wanted one growing up, but Gabe had never allowed it. His mum had felt bad about it, getting him a fish instead which he’d loved - but it wasn’t the same. Don’t get him wrong, fish were awesome and that gift had been one of the reasons he was now studying marine biology. But… no fish had ever given him this moment. The moment where they look at you with adoration in their eyes and promise to love you forever. Percy hoped the puppy knew that Percy felt the same way.

“Um, Luke. A stranger is petting your dog.”

Percy looked up from the deep blue eyes of his new ride-or-die bestie and saw a blond girl who looked to be around his age staring at him like he was crazy (which Percy thought was a little rude.)

“Is he your dog?” Percy questioned, reluctantly removing his hand away realising that he should probably have asked the owner’s permission before sticking the upper half of his body out of the car to pet their dog. Even a dog as friendly as this, with beautiful and kind blue eyes.

“No. He’s-“

“Mine.” A deep voice cut in, pulling Percy’s attention to the driver seat of the car, where a young man with bright blue eyes, soft golden hair, and a truly wicked smirk was staring at him. The guy looked around 19 with a gnarly looking scar trailing down from his eye to his chin. Which … Damn! The scar should have detracted from how unfairly attractive he was, but instead, it made Percy want to lean over and touch it. He wondered how it would feel. If it would be rough?

Focus Percy!

“Wow, Annabeth, you didn’t say he was cute”. Percy felt his cheeks flush, and he could hear himself spluttering out nonsense for a good few moments, searching for an appropriate response.

The guy kind of looked like his dog, which was weird. What was even weirder was that the realisation made Percy want to reach out and pet his hair too, to see if it was just as soft as his dogs.

“Uuuh, noo..what, not? I’m not… you’re the one that’s. I don’t – cute! Grover. This guy thinks I’m cute?” Percy managed eventually, much to the growing amusement of the man in question. He quickly averted his eyes, turning to Grover who stared back giggling softly. Traitor.

“Percy, you’re very cute. Now you need to sit back down. We could move at any moment.”  Grover managed between breathy giggles. He didn’t sound very concerned, so Percy decided it was safe to ignore his warning for now. If Percy had to choose between personal safety and the opportunity to spend time with a cute dog and an equally cute owner, well, safety didn’t stand a chance.

“Okay, Grover,” Percy said in a peaceful tone, turning back around to once again pet the head of the puppy, “but I’m in the middle of something very important right now.” At this Grover’s laughter got louder.

“You!” Percy pointed at the driver, “Have a nice face. And smile. And eyes. Grover and I are going to get milkshakes, would you and your puppy like to join us? We could hold hands and talk about your dog and how all three of you are rocking the blond blue eyes thing-”

“Percy the traffic is moving…” Grover butted in.

“Grover, a moment!” Percy begged, yelping when Grover started to inch the car forwards with the traffic, Percy’s torso still half out of the car. Luck seemed to be on his side today however as the other lane was also moving slowly alongside them, so Percy decided to just continue to pet the dog's head. He shot a quick glare at Grover for good measure though.

“Hey idiot, you need to listen to him and get in the car. What if traffic picks up?” the girl warned, mumbling to herself about high idiots.

“Percy is it?” the driver asked, drawing Percy’s attention away from Grover and back to his unfairly handsome face. Percy could feel a grin stretching across his lips.

“How’d you know my name?” he wonders, feeling pleased. He liked the way his name sounded coming from the older guy, all deep and slow like he was savouring each syllable. The guy laughed at the question.

“Your boyfriend there’s said it a few times.” He explained, and Percy nodded vigorously in understanding, and then begun to shake his head equally as energetically. “Grover? No! He’s like… a brother. Definitely not my boyfriend.” Percy explained forcefully, He really didn’t want the hot guy to get the wrong idea. Grover was his best friend, but he’d rather jump into the harbour than date him.

“Why the harbour?” the guy asked through chuckles. Percy hoped he’d keep laughing, the sound was making his head feel as light as the brownies had.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yup, green eyes, you did. And I’m sorry, I’d love to hang out more, but I need to drop my sister off at her girlfriends.” He said, pointing a finger at the girl in the backseat. Percy turned to look at her with sad eyes. The girl with golden curls looked like she couldn’t decide if she should smile or scowl. He was disappointed to note her eyes were more grey than blue.

“Oh, that’s sad.” Percy pouted, retreating back slightly into Grover’s car. Before he was fully in, the guy reached out a hand to stop him. He had nice hands, they were large and calloused, and Percy wanted to hold one.

“Wait. Um, maybe I could give you my number, so I know you got home alright? My name's Luke Castellan. C-A-S-T-E-L-L-A-N. We could get that milkshake another… less traffic-bound time?” Luke asked, looking nervous for the first time, making Percy grin. He quickly whipped out his phone and typed in Luke’s details.

“yes! .” He cheered, once to Luke, and then once again to the dog who was still nuzzling his hand. “So, I’ll see you both soon?”

“I’ll hold you to that, Percy.” Luke teased and Percy felt himself nodding.

“Promise,” Percy said firmly, sliding back into the car to Grover's relief. He waved at Luke once the window was rolled up, pleased to see the guy was still staring over at him. He looked like he was saying sometimes but Percy couldn’t tell what. Whatever it was, it made the girl in the backseat lean forward and smack his shoulder. Luke waved one final time before turning his eyes back to the road. His face looked bright and carefree, and Percy wanted to look at him forever. Then the traffic moved and Luke, and his puppy, were gone.

Percy tried not to feel too sad, but he wished he’d taken a picture.

“Only Percy-fucking-Jackson could get a guy’s number after molesting his dog while high in traffic.” Grover giggled, and Percy allowed himself to be dragged away from his thoughts.

“What can I say. I’m irresistible”. He stated, smirking over at his best friend. Grover just continued to giggle. Laying back in his seat he looked back up to the perfect blue sky and thought of Luke's eyes. Luke Castellan, Luke Castellan, Luke-

Maybe he wouldn’t blame Grover after all.

[marvelwritings]

Can't tell me there's no point in trying

Summary:  Peter travels back in time, get's a concussion and Tony takes care of him, even though in his mind, Peter has been blipped for three years.

In hindsight, the exact memory of when they started researching how to travel back to the past is lost on him. It’s just that he had been so devastated, after Tony’s death, that his emotions had reached through to the only person that somewhat knew what he was going through. Peter didn’t want to compare Wanda’s situation with his, after all, Wanda was the one that was forced to choose between the love of her life and saving the universe, but the weight of their grief was the same none the less.

Wanda had approached him while he was out on patrol, and though there was not set plan, Peter was willing to try anything to get Tony back. They started of their plan by seeking help from Doctor Strange, and when that hadn’t worked,  Peter had snuck in and stole -borrowed as he preferred to call it- a few books that might have been helpful for their goal. Between going to school, patrolling, putting up a front for his friends and aunt -and as of late Happy-, and searching endlessly for a scrape of hope, Peter had worked himself to the bone. It would all be worth it though, if their plan came to fruition.

It hadn’t worked the first time, nor the second time, and neither did the third. Failed enough times that Peter’s heart sunk into his stomach, and that he carefully tried to convince Wanda to try something else. The spell was eerily straightforward with very little need for ingredients, nothing more then saying two sentences and having a personal item of the person they strived to reach, and if they hadn’t managed to work it out in three attempts, Peter assumed, though the idea rendered him dejected, it would never work.

Until he went out on patrol again that night. One moment he was excitedly talking to Karen, animatedly retelling the story of how he managed to stop a bank robbery, as it the AI hadn’t witnessed it, and the next he tried to shoot out a spiderweb to building so he could swing over, only for the web to hit nothing but air.

‘Ow, wow’, Peter floundered, trying his best to reach something and prevent himself from slamming on the ground -again-, but he failed. He banged into a tree at full speed, colliding head first and tumbling down while hitting every branch possible. That was the first sign that should have tipped Peter off. There were no trees in the middle of Queens. Under normal circumstances, he would have considered that, but the heavy impact is not working well in his favor.

Landing on the ground on his stomach with a hard thud, his body, and specifically his ribs, screamed in agony, and he rips the mask off without considering his predicament. Anyone could walk by and see the face beneath the mask. Still, Peter can’t breath with the way his ribs object, but at least without the mask it’s fresh air he inhales.  

He turns around and struggles to get on his back. His hand instinctively slide over his stomach, protecting the hurting area. Come to think of it, every area on his body hurts. Peter knows the logistics of cracked ribs, and savvies that even with the aid of super healing, it’s not going to repair in a few minutes times.

He inhales as a small as he possibly can, despite knowing he shouldn’t, and braces himself for running back to May’s and his appartement. He can’t stay here, where anyone could walk up to him and attack him while he’s down. He laughs incredible, at least aunt May, and Tony of he was still here, would be proud of him for calling it a day.

When he blinks his eyes open though, he’s met with nothing but grass and green for miles, and a blurry vision that tells him he has a concussion. While trying to sit up, his visions spins like  he’s a part of a rollercoaster, and his stomach turns uncomfortably.

‘Oh no,’ Peter moans, ‘aunt May is gonna kill me.’ It’s the only thing he can say before he has to swallow back bile and decides it’s best to be quiet from now on. He struggles to his feet, stumbling a few times before successfully finding his footing in the grass.

His vision does not clear, but he forces himself to take a few steps in any direction anyway. Wondering if seeing all these trees are because of his concussion, Peter freezes when he hears tiny footsteps approaching the opening his still currently residing in. It’s accompanied by children’s crying, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound. Perhaps it’s a trap, but Peter has never done well ignoring a child ever since meeting his baby sister.

‘Hello?’ he calls out tentatively, squeezing his eyes shut firmly to clear it, but it doesn’t help.

‘Hi’, an adorable voice answers back to him, a head peeks out from behind a bunch, as if the child is equally as curious about Peter as Peter is about her. He can only notice she does this because blurring colors that inch closer little by little. The girl sniffles, ‘I hurt my foot.’

Peter is out of his depth here. He’s only ever impressed children by swinging them around in the sky, but his body will not allow that right now. Instead he tries to focus on what he would do if Morgan was the one that was hurt. Adopting a tone only Morgan has ever heard from him, Peter crouches down on his knees. His ribs creak in dismay, but he ignores it firmly. Someone needs him right now.

‘Oh that’s not good. Does it hurt a lot?’ Peter himself cannot assess the damage.

‘No I guess not’, the girls splutters, pulling up her foot to show Peter.

‘Okay, that’s great. Do you live for away from here? I bet that if I take you back home, your parents will give you a lollipop because you were so brave.’

‘Oh’, the child cries out in wonder, pain in her foot forgotten completely at the mentions of dessert. Peter can’t help but smirk a little, bribery works on Morgan every time too. ‘I’ll show you, but you have to carry me okay?’

Peter can’t think of a worse activity for his injured body to sustain right now, but he’s not about to let a kid down.

‘It’s a deal, lead the way and hop on up.’ His tone is cheerful, even though he has to bite back pained groans by biting his lip.

The girl shows no hesitation and follows his lead immediately, giggling in delight.

‘So, do you want to play a game on the way over?’

They end up playing I spy with my little eye, which Peter loses every time, and not only because he can’t see straight at the moment. The girl, being clearly very young, is a spitfire, which is good because it means Peter doesn’t have to talk during the trip.

It gets increasingly harder to carry her the longer he has to endure the pain, but he knows that salvation is near when the girl, points to a brown blob in the distance. ‘That’s it, there it is. Put me down, I want to get my lollie now.’

Peter obligates, and watches as she runs without any regard for her painful foot, smiling to himself. He hears the door of the house open, and a male cadence calling out and sounding so joyful he must not have noticed Peter yet. He can only imagine the weird sight that must be, to see a stranger bringing home your daughter, but Peter can’t move away yet. His body has stopped listening to his commands.

‘Daddy, daddy, can I have a lollipop, Peter said I could if I was brave, and I was! He said so himself.’

Peter assumes she points to him, and his smiles weakly, although he’s having trouble even finding the strength to do that. Once he walks a little further, he should rest for a bit, close his eyes for the briefest amount of time. Before it get’s to that point though, Peter hears a glass mug being dropped on the ground. The sounds is piercing in contrast between the quiet forest and the intrusion, but that’s not the weirdest thing.

‘Peter?’ That same cadence exclaims, the voice breaking of the syllable. It’s strange, because for the briefest moment Peter’s mind flashing the name Tony at him, but the man is long gone.

Peter just about handles frowning at the direction, a weird knowingness to the exclamation, like the man somehow knows who Peter is.

‘How do you-?’ The sentence is cut short when a wave of nausea slams into Peter again, and he can’t keep himself upright this time. His knees buckle, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and the ground nearly welcomes him with open arm. Before he can collide with it again however, in such speed Peter can’t phantom the man being fast enough, he instead lands between the mans arms. All the strength has left his body, and Peter can do nothing but let his head roll onto the man’s shoulder.

‘Pepper’, he screams, so shut up it comes across as hoars, pulling Peter even closer to him than thought possible. ‘You’re okay kid, you’re okay. I promise you’ll be okay.’

---

Peter comes too slowly, groggily, as if moving through solaces. The logical part of his brain, of which there is much, screams at him to panic. He doesn’t know where he is, he can only vaguely remember the events leading up to his current situation, and he can’t ensure his safety or anyone else’s furthermore, but the smaller part of his brain soothes him.

Tells him everything is fine and he’s safe. It’s rare that Peter feels that way. Even at home with May in their appartement, there’s a constant need to be alert. Peter snaps awake from every little sound, his body turning rigid from the forceful transition between sleeping and waking up, even if the cause was only a door creaking.

It doesn’t make any sense for Peter to be this tranquillized right now, or any other time for that matter. He groans, pained, fluttering his eyes open to find himself in a dark room with the windows drawn. His eyesight is still blurry, his head is still pounding beneath his skin, and because there’s no acute danger to be detected- his spider senses tell him so, though he hasn’t learned to trust them completely yet- he allows his eyelids to droop closed again.

A warm, calloused hand strikes through his hair softly, while a thumb strikes out the frowning lines that pain flashes put on Peter’s forehead. Peter realizes with a startle that his not alone, and that must mean his Peter tingle has failed him, but can’t force himself to push the hand away. It’s nice to experience a loving touch after so many rough handlings, and the memories of lab days with Tony, car rides with Happy, building Lego with Ned and cuddling with MJ render him immobile. He longs so fiercely to feel safe, to be safe, that he leans into the touch like a cat being petted.

‘It’s okay Pete, just go back to sleep.’ A rough voice rumbles from besides Peter. All the rest he previously had, flies out of the window, as his entire body fill up with adrenaline. That voice belongs to a man that’s long gone, a man that sacrificed himself to save Peter and paid the ultimate price for it. That voice can only originate from a ghost.

Peter practically jumps up, opening his eyes and looking in the direction where the voice came from, but he miscalculated how fast his concussion would go away. He stumbles, faceplanting into the body that held Tony’s voice, and was only held up by the grace of the other man. Again, there were bouts of pain, but not only from his physical ailments.

The fire that Peter imagines to be inside of him, the one that destroys everyone else around him but leaves him, unfortunately intact, burns up from the remnants of his heart. He’s tried very hard to move on from Tony’s death in the past few months, and he had almost convinced himself that he was over it. That would be a flat out lie though, and Peter Parker doesn’t lie. The agony of the situation had just been shoved to the back of his mind, while Peter took on so much so he wouldn’t have to touch upon it, to prod in it. It peeked out every once in a while, when Happy would tell May about his life and an anecdote with Tony would be told, or when a poster with Iron man on it drew his attention, but it’s easier to pretend to be okay then to deal with the truth.

‘Hey Peter, I’m glad to see you too, but don’t get too excited now bud.’ Tony laughs, but the tone with which he says it sounds grief stricken, with the barest hint of hope coating the edges. He lowers Peter back down into the bed, and Peter has to bite back a sob at how comfortable the sheet caresses his skin, and how gentle it is on his wounds.

He shakes his head vehemently, trying to clear it and be able to think logically. He wants so badly that Tony is actually here, but there isn’t any way for that to be true, unless.. Peter gasps, memories piercing through the fog in his head. Unless Wanda managed to do what they set out to do. And that would mean that It’s no weird fever dream. Peter’s hand clench up in Tony’s shirt, pulling him down so Peter can meet him in the middle and hug him. He still can’t see the expression on Tony’s face, but he prepares to be rejected, and can’t find it in himself to care. Even if Tony pushes him away after barely a brief second, at least Peter still did something he had set out to do for months now.

That doesn’t happen. Instead, Tony grabs him even tighter, a gentle hand cupping the back of Peter’s head as he curves his body around him.

‘Tony’, Peter whispers, the first tears starting to track a path on his cheeks. ‘Tony.’ Sobs are building up in the back of his throat, unable to be contained for much longer, and as they escape, Tony doesn’t scold him, or tells Peter to stop, but he starts to rock the both of them.

Peter can’t be sure, but he thinks he feels splatters of Tony’s tears on his shoulders as well.

‘Morgan’, Peter says nonsensical after a while, sobs are still heaving his body, but he’s had experience pulling himself together in need before, and right now he needs to know Morgan is safe.

‘Is she okay?’ he asks Tony, with a clumsy tongue. The crying has made his weak and aching body even more exhausted, the rocks reminding him of babies being cradled and normally he wouldn’t want to be seen as a baby, but he doesn’t care right now. He just want to enjoy being around Tony again.

‘Morgan?’ Tony laughs, sniffling quietly like he’s refusing to let Peter knows his been crying too. ‘She fine, she’s probably playing in the barn again even though Pepper tells her she’s not allowed. She’s a bit of a menace, just like you Pete.’

At that, Peter sobs turn into heaves, his entire body shaking with the force of them. All the grief of the past few months, the guilt that Peter has carried knowing it’s all his fault, is all coming to a head now. It’s his fault that Tony’s dead, it’s his fault Morgan has to grow up without a father, and it’s his fault the world doesn’t have Iron man to protect them anymore. He’s tried to so hard to make it right, but how can he? How can he ever be the person Tony was, when he’s just Peter Parker.

‘Kiddo, please calm down, you’re gonna make yourself sick’, Tony soothes despairingly. He lowers peter again but stays close, his hand going back to striking Peter’s hair. ‘You’re okay, I promise you, I won’t let anything else happen to you.’ Tony is getting chocked up again, but this time he doesn’t try to hide it. ‘Not again.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’, Peter whispers, his voice wrecked by the amount of crying he has done. He wants to talk to Tony, explain what happened, spend time with him and beg for his forgiveness, but Tony shushes him, and he’s asleep before he can argue.

----

The next time Peter struggles to consciousness, he senses their presence; Morgan, Pepper and Tony, and he knows without a sliver of doubt that its them. He shakes with the knowledge. The room he’s in, his room as Pepper had told him upon visiting for the first time, is scattered with spiderman toys, and even a few posters on to wall to complete the image. The sight is ridiculous, but Peter laughs at it all the same. He tries to keep the smile on his face, but melancholy isn’t easily beat.

At the very least his concussion seems to have gone away since waking up a first time, and all that’s left to remind him he took a fall is a vague pounding in his head, and the nausea. It’s not as bad as before, and Peter takes the reprieve with greedy hands.

The hustling and bustling of the family, alive and well, downstairs is crustal clear to Peter’s advanced hearing. It’s strange, being back in the lake house without it seeming so bleak. After they defeated Thanos, and Mister Stark died, Peter’s mind helpfully supplies, he had only been here twice. Pepper tried her best to come back, to give Morgan a home away from the home they owned in the city, but too much had reminded of the husband she was forced to burry, so they moved fairly quickly.

So it unusually to see it the way it was supposed to be. Lived in, with Morgan’s giggling and Pepper’s pretend scolding voice, with mister Stark chuckling quietly to himself, a perfect little family. It’s supposed to emit a warm, honey affection bleeding through every crack, and it’s a shame it isn’t anymore.  

‘Morguna, go play with your toys for a second, I need to talk to your mom about something very important.’ Spying on Tony leaves a bad taste in Peter’s mouth, but he can’t help it. He’s been so devoid of any scraps connecting him to Mister Stark, that he’s willing to forgo manners.

‘Is it a surprise?’ Morgan asks, mirth in her voice. She’s so much younger than Peter ever remembers her being, because he’d never got to witness her at that age. His heart clenches, the hurt still so fresh.

‘You know what little miss, as a matter of fact it is, so you better scoot, or we might not be able to get in time.’

Morgan squeals in delight, and Peter hears her little footsteps sprinting outside. Peter smiles, he knew Tony would be a good dad someday. The downstairs is quiet for longer than normal, and Peter suddenly turns worried that Pepper and Tony caught him.

Then, Pepper speaks up again. ‘You can’t keep spoiling her you know. She’ll turn into a monester by the time she hits fourteen.’

‘She’s fine,’ Tony placates. Peter visualizes Tony pressing a kiss to the top of Pepper’s head, the only weakness the woman has, which he takes great advantages of. The issue seems to be settled, the playful disagreement put to rest.

Peter ponders over what to do next. He’s so extremely awkward, and despite hoping for an opportunity like this one, he has no idea what to say to Tony.

‘Oh Tony, is it really him?’ Peter freezes, so caught of guard by the heartache in Pepper’s words. She sounds both optimistic and demoralized, as though she has had her hopes up for so long she can’t risk it again.

‘It is Pep. I know it is, I saw it in his eyes.’

‘But how?’ Pepper questions extensively. ‘He was blipped, just like so many people. None of the others have come back.’

‘I don’t have all the answers Pepper, God knows I wish I had. All I know is that my kids back, do I need to question why?’

Hearing, outright hearing mister Stark say Peter is his kid, has Peter tearing up, something sharp sticking at his ribs and feeble heart. It hurts just as much as he longs to overhear it again.

‘He might be able to bring the others back. Tony, I get why you don’t want to hear this, but he could be the key to helping millions.’

‘He has to be nothing but healthy alright? Maybe he can help, maybe he can’t, but all I’m sure of is that I’m never,’ Tony’s voice sinks lower and even more venomous then before,’ putting him in the line of fire again.’

I’m okay, Peter thinks, needing to scream it to Mister Stark’s face that he didn’t do anything. It wasn’t up to anyone, just like it wasn’t up to anyone to save Tony either.

‘I’m sorry’, Tony utters, sounding defeated and, honestly, old. ‘I’m sorry, but I just got him back, and I can’t, I can’t lose him again.’

‘It seems like the first step in ensuring it never does it to go up and talk to him. Go to him Tony, say what you couldn’t say three years ago. And’, Pepper swallows thickly. ‘Tell him we all love him.’

Peter’s grateful he won’t be forced to initiate the first move by walking downstairs.

‘Underroos, I’m coming up so you better not be sleeping anymore.’ The flawless transition between vulnerable and slipping into his role a cool role model is staggering, but it doesn’t surprise Peter in the slightest anymore. He’s spend too much time with Tony for that to be the case.

He doesn’t know what to do with his body, how he’s supposed to respond to seeing Tony in person again? Part of him wants to lung at his mentor, while the other part hisses at him to act like a normal human being. Peter ends up sitting down on the bed, standing in front of  the door, hiding behind the closet and finally back to bed in the span of however long it takes Tony to reach the room.

By that point, Peter is too distracted by the glimmer of his past to overthink the encounter. He remembers the lego set as if it just happened. It was the first bout of Peter’s interests that Tony listened to wholeheartedly. After the battle with Thanos, it had slipped Peter’s mind completely. He had no idea Mister Stark had this thing in his home.

‘I asked May if I could take it with me, when I moved out here’, Tony says with melancholy, taking a seat by Peter on the bed, but leaving a considerable distance. He’s not looking at the lego set at all, instead dividing his full attention on Peter. Swiftly his eyes roam Peters face and posture, sucking in all the little details Tony hadn’t been able to discern about him after a while.

‘There’s so many of that stuff in her apartment, but this one was the most fun to put together, because it’s the death star you know? It has all this detail and it took forever to make but that’s all good, cause there’s so much detail and-’

‘Pete’, Tony sounds chocked up, like the façade he was forcing himself to wear is already slipping. Peter hasn’t even said anything yet. ‘God kid, where the hell di you come from? I’ve tried everything but I-‘, he takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Peter has only witnessed mister Stark crying once, so it’s a shock that it occurs again. ‘I didn’t know how.’

‘Mister Stark-’, Peter stops, cutting his own sentence off. Is he even supposed to say anything? Is he supposed to blab the secrets of the future. His Spidey scenes are distinctively ordering him not too, but Peter itches to all the same. ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to say,’ he settles on, ‘with the butterfly effect and all.’

‘The butterfly effect? Kid what in the world are you talking about?’

‘You know, like in the movie, where he can travel back in the past but it always alters things for the worst?’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen the movie’, Tony asserts, almost deadpans. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘Just- just please trust me Mister Stark’, Peter pleads, hands beginning to tremble with the need to reach out for reassurance. The memories of the one complete hug Tony had ever given him sparking a longing in him.  ‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course’, Mister Stark firmly agrees.

‘Then don’t ask me how,’ even to his own ears the desperation is tangible, ‘please.’

Tony clasps his hand on Peters shoulder, a ground weight to which Peters never endings zing in relief. Before he can stop himself, he’s crumpled in, his head on Tony’s shoulder while his hands twist in the back of mister Stark’s shirt. The reciprocation is immediate.

‘I’ve missed you’, He chokes out, feeling rather annoyed at himself that all he seems to be doing is crying. His time here is limited, he can sense it, the hunch that time is of the essence and he doesn’t posses much of it, and he refuses to waste it on more tears.

‘Me too, Pete, more than you know.’

‘I think I have a pretty good clue’, Peter laughs bitterly, it’s not the same really. He’s only been missing mister Stark for a few months, the man in front of him has been missing him for three and will need to miss him for two more years. The buzzing in the back of his head grows louder. Another stroke of Parker luck, he spend most of the time he had with mister Stark unconscious.

Whatever, he can’t change it now, but he has a few more things to say before he needs to leave.

‘Tony’, he begins, using Mister Starks first name to ensure he understands how important this is. He pulls away, just enough to be able to look Tony directly in the eyes, but what he sees there is nothing short of panic. His hand tighten, softly guiding him back but Peter resists.

‘Please don’t tell me you have to go again.’ It seems that despite Peter intent, Tony savvies more than he’d like. Peter smiles bitter.

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘What?’

‘What happened on Titan, when he blipped all of us, me, that’s not on you mister Stark.’ Peter repeats patiently, watching as Tony’s face hardens.

‘Peter-‘

‘It’s not. You couldn’t have protected me any more then you did. I’m sorry it turns out the way it did, but I need you to know it’s not on you.’

‘I should have done more.’ Tony insist, raising his voice a few octaves. Downstairs, Morgan asks Pepper why her dad is so close to yelling. ‘I should’ve, you were my kid Peter, are my kid, and I failed.’

‘You didn’t fail’, Peter yells back just as loudly, he stands up from the bed, subconsciously trying to appear taller so he has more say in the situation. ‘Because if you already failed then what did I do? I’m still here and you-‘, he cuts himself off once again, almost spilling all the secrets.

Tony approach him like he’s an animal that needs to be handled with care. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about, but I’m a grown man Pete, I can take care of myself.’

‘But I-‘

‘Ah, ah, ah, not talking back, I’m the adult here. Zip it kid. How about this, we’re both not to blame alright?’

Peter isn’t convinced Tony believes that, but it’s still a weight of his shoulders to have said it to Mister Stark, maybe, in the future, when he pins the blame on himself once more, he’ll think about this moment. He nods.

‘I have to go now Mister Stark’, The words tumble out of his mouth before he realizes that it’s the truth. Whatever is going to happen next won’t wait much longer.

Peter walks over to the window and opens it, ready to swing out after saying goodbye. He can’t go and see Pepper and Morgan, it’ll upset them as much as it’ll upset him. He’ll see them back in his time.

‘Wait,’ Tony screams, as I Peter was going to leave without a goodbye. The embrace he pulls Peter in is heavier this time, loaded with the upcoming goodbye’s. It’s still nice though, and Peter enjoys every second of it. Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s temple then holds it there when he asks; ‘How long do I have to wait before I see you again.’

Peter swallows painfully and considers lying to make Tony feel better but, ‘two years’, he eventually confesses, figuring that he can at least give that little piece of information.

Mister Stark simply hums, but Peter notices his tears nonetheless. With one last, solid squeeze, Peter wiggles out of the embrace and tries to stall his own tears. It would hurts less if he could go back to find Mister Stark there, if only he had a way to warm Tony.

He’s pretty sure he can’t go into too much detail but; ‘Mister Stark, when it happens, please hold on. I can’t lose you either.’

‘Okay Pete,’ Tony assures, his hands shaking with the urge to drag his kid back, safe in his arms. ‘After this is all over, we’re going to hold a movie night okay? With pizza.’

‘And Star Wars?’ Peter asks hopefully. Mister Stark laughs, his eyes wet. The smile is all Peter demands before he jumps out the window, not waiting for an answer. He prays that he’s done enough without messing anything up. He hopes.

---

When Peter makes it back to his own time, his phone pings with a message.

It reads; ‘Hey kid, still up for a movie night?’ send by Tony Stark.

[creativeashproductions]

Drowning in the Past // Luke Patterson

Summary: Julie’s estranged older sister returns home after a shameful night from New York City. Band on hiatus reader is forced to come home to face the consequences her actions had, including her hurt younger sister. In finding herself she happens to discover friends on her journey.

Warning: Swearing, talk of alcohol and drugs, underage drinking, grief, sex, angst and some fluff.

Words: 2.4k

A/N What if Julie had a sister in a successful signed band named Graveyard Petals. Part Two - Healed by the Music (Coming soon!)

Masterlist

Blowing a raspberry with pursed lips, you prepared yourself for the lecture that would happen the minute your foot crossed the front door. The last year had been one of the hardest dealing with the sudden death of your mother and dealing it with as best as you could. Everything was going moderately okay with the band, but you fucked up three days ago. Typically you knew the limits with alcohol but with the anniversary of losing your mom and attending an after-party was a massive mistake.

Especially when the tabloid released unflattering photos of you needed help from your bandmates getting to the car. Unaware until the next morning when the phone rang.

The shrill round of a ringtone blasted into your sleep pulling you into a blistering hangover and groans. The night before was a blur. Hand tapping the table you grasped the phone blinding pressing the screen until you lucked out on the green circle.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The shout flung you upright, “You got drunk? You’re eighteen! We had a deal.”

“Dad.” You groaned rubbing your head. Going entirely still when you felt the covers shift, terrified, you glanced over to see a body in the bed.

Oh my god. Your eyes widened clueing into the stranger in the bed just as naked, and you were on the phone with Dad. You scrambled into the adjoining bathroom to the hotel room.

“Y/N, you said you stopped. Why did you lie?” Ray Molina asked his daughter clenching the bridge of his nose, “Your Tía called me this morning and send a link to a lovely article. My eldest daughter, my responsible daughter, intoxicated, being held up by her friends.”

“I know. It’s just it was Mom-“

“I know what yesterday was. You should have known it was a bad idea to drink. I called Lucy. You’re coming home. That’s final.”

Ray’s voice was solemn as he spoke utterly disappointed in you before it went to shit further. The safety of the bathroom shattering when the door opened and the acoustics of the room amplifying the voice.

“Hey, last night was amazing. If you’re ever in town again, just call me.”

“Y/N Molina.” The words were tense, “You better be home immediately. We will be talking about this.”

The phone hung up, and your head fell to your knees, sinking into the shame brought by your actions. You had naively overlooked the negatives of the lifestyle 

The SUV came to a stop outside the home who hadn’t been in for the past year. You typically avoided it by living in the house with your band.

“I want you to take the break to find yourself again. Heal.” Lucy spoke, turning to stare at you, “I took a chance on your band, I went against Andi Parker. Please don’t make me regret doing it. You’ll be staying here and reconnecting with your family.”

You wordlessly nodded to her words before climbing out of the SUV where the driver had put the suitcase. Most of your things were still in your childhood bedroom. You wandered up to the front door at a glacial pace, hoping to avoid what would happen in the house.

“Y/N.” The door was open with your dad standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression he didn’t often have. A look of pure disappointment, “Go to the kitchen.”

A sigh fell from your lips as you nodded your head as you wandered into the homey place your mother had adored cooking in. She loved music and cooking almost as much as she loved her family. In the kitchen, your sister was doing homework. Julie avoided music because of the death of your mother and you fleeing.

“Julie,” Ray spoke, getting the sixteen-year old’s attention, her eyes shuttering as you met her gaze. Julie’s eyebrows came together with a look of heartbreak and left her homework to flee up to her room.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke, looking at the table as Ray sat across from you. You stared at the chip on the edge from when you cut your scalp running after Julie as a kid.

“Lucy agreed that you need to be home. You kept it hidden very well, but until you can get yourself together, you will not be touring. Until I deem it okay, you will fix your relationship with Carlos and Julie. You will volunteer for Julie’s school program, and you will not be allowed at any party.” Ray spoke, “I could make your punishment worse. I also want you to get yourself checked.”

You winced remembering he was well aware of your one night stand after hearing the person’s voice.

“I don’t have any-“

“I don’t care. I don’t know if you’ve been with one person or more, but you need to be checked out.”

Ray left the girl, “Remember why you love music so much. Your mom wouldn’t like who her daughter turned out to be.”

That broke your heart more because he was right. You were exactly how your mother raised you not to be.

Your eyes stayed locked on the black nail polish that matched the nose ring you had gotten a few months back. Hair dyed with streaks was another rebellious choice. You had changed so much from the girl that had gotten a record deal with her band.

Without even realizing your feet left the house to stand in front of the studio, you avoided. What was once a place of love and happiness was tarnished by the loss of the woman who introduced you to music. A place where you learned how to play the piano when your feet couldn’t touch the pedal. Where you had caused callously painstakingly learning guitar.

“Why are you here?” Your back stiffened at Julie’s hostile tone, “Don’t you have some country to be in.”

“No. I messed up.” You spoke roughly playing with the ring on your finger. The necklace in your pocket felt like it was burning.

“Whatever.” Julie scoffed brushing passed to open the doors to the studio. Her hands slammed the doors closed in your own hurt face.

Julie stomped to the piano, ignoring the other people in the room as she slammed the piano open. Her fingers shaking as they came to rest on the white keys, but the tears flowed down her cheeks. It was bittersweet to see you back in the house after months of dodging her calls, and finally, when you come home, it’s because you got into trouble.

“Are you okay?” Reggie asked the Molina girl. Her red eyes meeting the three ghosts in the room, “You were kinda yelling out there.”

Luke was uncomfortable at the tears he saw running down Julie’s cheeks glancing at the closed garage doors. It terrified him when girls cried. He never knew exactly how to comfort them.

“Yeah. Someone I thought I knew is out there.” Julie scoffed, “I don’t think I’m the best to be rehearsing with.”

“Come on, Julie! I’m sorry! You deserve an explanation. I’m a terrible sister.” You called from outside. The band shared a look of surprise as they had absolutely no clue Julie had another sibling.

Julie grunted stomping to the doors with a furious expression, the aggressiveness of opening them startling you. Standing across from Julie was a girl that the three didn’t know and so unlike Julie. You had a ripped band shirt tied in the back to make a form-fitting crop top, high waisted jeans. Hair dyed and a piercing set you so far from Julie.

“You’re playing again?” You smiled, looking at the piano ready to be played, but Julie didn’t react, “Mom would be proud of you.”

 “One of us shouldn’t be a disappointment.” Julie snapped.

“Oh, damn!” Reggie exclaimed to the guys, “Julie really went for the throat.”

His words took your full attention to see three guys in very ’90s like clothing intently watching your interaction with your sister. Julie was surprised you could see them but her anger and hurt overpowered that part.

“Look I’m really sorry for how I’ve been acting.” You sighed stepping closer only to stop when Julie stepped back, “I never wanted to hurt you but Jules you shouldn’t have to see how I was acting. I haven’t been a good role model.”

“You still hurt me. I needed you.” Julie’s voice cracked as she wrapped her arms around her, “If they hadn’t come into my life, I wouldn’t have played again.”

“You needed someone who wasn’t doing what I was doing.”

“What were you doing?” Julie softly asked. You hesitated on telling her the truth, but she needed to know why it was best she hadn’t been exposed to your behaviour.

“Will you listen?” You asked the younger girl. She nodded, so you led her to the couch that had come with the place. Julie sat on one end of the sofa while curled your legs under you.

The guys followed right after and honestly, you didn’t care if they heard.

“Last year, when Mom was sick, I wasn’t there. I was there the day she passed, but I was selfish. It was stupid, but I honestly thought she would be okay.” You softly began reopening a wound that hadn’t healed, “I know she was proud and pushed me to continue, but I shouldn’t have. The more time passed, the harder it was to see me.”

“You guys were getting more popular.” Julie shrugged, “I’ve always been proud that you chased your dream.”

“I know. That dream came with negative parts though Jules. To cope, I started drinking, I changed my hair, got a piercing, experimented with some illicit things and I…uh…slept with a few people. I was never meant to sleep around, I commend people that do and love that but it’s not for me.  I tried to change myself because I thought I could change how I felt.”

Julie was silent, scanning your features and the changes she had been blinded from with rage and pain. It felt like part of you was missing, there was an emptiness in your eyes and your shoulders were drooped, and you didn’t have that smile.

“Things really went to shit, pardon my language. It’s another change.” You winced at the word choice, “Mom’s anniversary was on the same night we went to an awards show. I had gotten drunk, but I performed at the show still good.”

“GP won two awards.” Julie grinned, “You were wearing the ring.”

You raised your index finger where a simple ring had sat for years, one that matched the one on Julie’s finger. You may have taken the Virgin Mary necklace off, but you could never take the ring you had with Julie off.

“My faith took a nosedive.” You admitted reaching into your pocket for the Virgin Mary necklace, “I didn’t feel like it was right to wear this and live how I was. Anyway at the after party I got extremely drunk, James and Iris had to help me to the car. Tabloids came out the next morning, and Dad called.”

You winced remembering the nasty hangover and the rather shameful lapse of memory. You still have no clue the exact details with the one nightstand.

“Ooh. Tía sent him a link? She was looking after Carlos. It was a lot of Spanish.” Julie winced remembering the shocking words leaving the older woman’s mouth.

“Oh, it gets worse. Just as the call was about to end…my hookup made their appearance.”

Julie choked, “You slept with someone?!”

“Hollywood life.” You weakly replied, making jazz hands, “So for the next few months I’ll be here.”

Julie was quiet, “Well if it makes you feel better. These guys are Luke, Reggie, and Alex. They’re ghosts.”

 You were silent, staring at the younger Molina taking in the news better than she had expected, “I can’t judge after the past year.”

Helping Julie with her band and spending time with your family was more healing than finding the bottom of a bottle was. You attended a few sessions with Dr Turner and finally rediscovered the love of music. You often fielded questions from the guys too.

“What’s your band’s name?” Luke asked, placing his chin in his hands, listening intently to hearing your stories.

“Graveyard Petals.” You chuckled with a wide grin, “My mom had a band with petals in the title, so I wanted to honour her. Our band was driving to a gig still trying to figure out a name when we went past a cemetery and the name kinda just clicked.”

“That’s so cool!” Reggie spoke with a wide grin, “God, I wish we got the chance.”

“It has its moments.” You shrugged, “I’m actually meeting up with them in a few hours if you wanted to come?”

The guys nodded their heads each sporting a broad grin at the suggestion.

“We’ve all been finding ourselves again. My mom was our mentor, so it hit all of us hard, but I acted out worse.”

Luke’s eyes couldn’t help but notice that your necklace was resting on the hollow your neck just like Julie. A lightness came over him seeing that you had been finding yourselves once more.

“You seem happier,” Alex noted, leaning his elbows on his knees because he was right. In the time you had been home, you had changed your hair back to its natural colour, and your skin wasn’t as sickly pale as before.

“I am.” You smiled glancing at Luke, “I’m thrilled I got to meet you guys. I feel like if that tabloid hasn’t come out, I would have overdosed or drank myself to death.”

You hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in months now. Music poured out of yourself with such a healing aspect you couldn’t believe it. You dad was ecstatic his little girl had found her way back to her true self.

Reggie and Alex glanced at each other before poofing out to leave Luke there with you. There was something between Luke and you that made the two boys happy. You each deserved happiness.

“So can I see some of your songs?” Luke asked with a soft smile that tugged at your heartstrings. You grabbed the notebook from your guitar case covered in doodles before opening it to a half-written song.

“So this is very raw and special to me.” You spoke glancing up at the teenage boy with a sparkle that hasn’t been seen in over a year, “It’s called Sober.”

Part Two - Healed by the Music

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[slutsofren]

Danger Days Chapter 1: Summertime

Summary:  You think you've settled in pretty well to Jackson, your best friend Maria was leading the community with her husband Tommy. Things were going rather fine until a turbine went south. While at the power plant, you came across two visitors. Joel needs his brother to complete a mission but you stepped in, dredging up your past with FEDRA, with the Fireflies. Shit can't hit the fan twice right?

Word Count: 1,399

Read on AO3 here

Warnings: none, just a bit of backstory

Notes: this is a Joel x Reader/OFC multi-chap series, absolutely no use of y/n or other descriptors as long as I can try. Reader is about 30-35 in this timeline.

You put on the worn-in boots, trying to ignore the phantom pains shooting in your left hand. The skin around the nub where your pinky used to be was swollen and throbbing. It frustrated the hell out of you. After all these years, memories and ghosts haunted you whenever the nerves flared up in your palm. Doing your best to ignore it, you laced up the last shoe and grabbed your black sherpa denim jacket, tossing it over your shoulders to keep the late summer chill away.

“Oh shit,” you whispered to yourself as you took a step outside your home, immediately being blasted by the cold.

Tonight was one of the weekly adult get-togethers at Seth’s, something most of the Jackson residents looked forward to. Usually, you’d never bother with attending but your best friend and her husband managed to convince you to come out and relax for once. Admittedly, it was rare for you to have a night off since you often volunteered to walk the perimeter of the safe zone, keeping an eye out for any activity.

Your feet shuffled along until you came to the bar, the music wafting through the air and you made your way inside.

The pub was lively tonight, you could spot a few couples having a blast dancing to the music playing from the jukebox. It seemed like tonight the adults were throwing it back and reminiscing with some old 1980s music. You called over the man himself, Seth, and he grabbed you a beer.

Thank the stars the greenhouse had a steady growth of hops, you couldn’t imagine trying to do any of this sober. You leaned against an unoccupied area of the bar table, idly watching as people danced and sipped at the bottle.

After doing this little routine, the drink was getting a little warm from the heat of your palm but that was alright, you were living in the moment. Your best friend and her husband always told you to let your hair down every once in a while, so to speak. It was near impossible to always be on edge, waiting for the next fight. For half your life this is how it’s been, it’s hard to shake off that feeling even after a couple years of relative safety.

You looked up from your drink, your eyes finding the couple on your mind. You sat watching as Maria and Tommy were in the dead center of the dance floor looking at each other like there was not a damn worry in the world. It was something you envied of the woman, if you could admit it to yourself. Not everybody finds love and some semblance of peace in the goddamn apocalypse. Good for her, good for them .

Gustavo, an elderly Hispanic man, walked up and stood next to you. “Mija, why don’t you go dancing? You’re too pretty to be standing here alone,” he says, his subtle accent eliciting a soft smile from you.

“Because you know I’d sooner bite their heads off if they tried, tio.” Gustavo wasn’t related to you but you loved the blacksmith like family, so much that you called him your uncle.

The elder man gave a hearty laugh, his calloused hand gave your cheek a small pat. “I want to see you dance with somebody before I die,” he says as he turns to leave.

You give him an incredulous look, “Don’t keel over too soon, tio, or I’ll bring you back myself and make you wait even longer!”

His laughter still rings in your ears long after he walks away. Your eyes steal a few more glances at the dancefloor as you turn around and abandon you nearly empty glass of beer on the countertop and resume watching how everybody sang along and moving ungraciously together. Feeling alive, living in the moment. Carpe diem or some shit , you think.

It doesn’t take much for Maria’s perpetual scowl to mark across her face, that woman was always pissed off about something. So, when the power went out in the pub, you could only imagine the blonde woman immediately furrowing her brows, grumbling something explicit wanting to find out what cut her date night short. Being the leader of the community rarely had nights off.

The crowd inside Seth’s was slightly alarmed, power hardly ever went out in Jackson. It usually signalled the worse. You gently shoved your way to where you last saw Tommy and Maria and found her leather clad arm, “Think it’s bandits?”

“I hope not,” came from Tommy to your right, his voice low and weary.

“Alright everybody, go home. We will figure out what’s going on and we will all be back to our normal routines. Got it?” Maria’s voice was short and authoritative, something you sure scared the shit out of some of the younger kids.

Slowly, the patrons all filed out, using whatever the moon illuminated as their only guide to getting outside safely. You could hear a few curses and muttering every time it sounded like somebody walked into a stool or table, it was kind of funny.

Tommy was the first to pipe up, “Let’s head to the fence, make sure everybody is okay.”

The three of you filed out and headed straight for the perimeter, there were no sounds of shouting or gunshots which was good to note. The closer each of you got to the fence, the eerie silence met with you.

“The electric fence is down,” Maria grumbled.

You looked at her, “Think the power plant is out?”

“Probably,” she sighs, “We can leave at first light.”

After you leave them, you head straight for your home as they continued to circle the perimeter and talk with whoever was on guard duty tonight.Your home was a walk away, further out from the other homes. It’s not much outside of a small studio loft but you loved it. It’s cozy and has everything you need within a couple dozen steps.

The room is dark, naturally, but you manage to walk to the little kitchenette off to the left of your room to find your solar lantern. One of the best damn discoveries you managed to find since the pandemic hit. It turned on easily, creating a dim glow around your room. You went to your desk and started to get your backpack ready for the trip to the dam. Stuffing it of some snacks, your spare knives, and some extra bullets, each a hotter commodity than the next.

It had been rainy recently so you decided to pack a couple extra jackets and flannels, making sure you had plenty of socks to go too.

By the time you finish packing your backpack for the excursion, a soft knock arrives at your door. You opened it to find Gustavo standing there, looking bright eyed. “Mija, I heard you were headed out to the dam.”

You nodded, “Wanna come in, tio?”

“Ah, no, Antonia is waiting for me,” at the mention of his wife, the lovely woman, you wonder where she was hiding at Seth’s. The two of them hardly go far without the other. “I just wanted to come by and bring you this.” Gustavo puts a semi-large wrapped gift in your hands and you take it, shifting it this way and that.

You open it, removing the ornate paper and it opens to a brown rectangular box. You slip the lid off and find an incredible hunting knife with a leather holster. “Gustavo,” you say. Your eyes wide in adoration, looking at the handcrafted knife.

His chest puffs out in pride, “Just don’t let Tovar see it, pendejo has been trying to take it.” The two of you chuckle at the expense of his young apprentice. He was a bit of a handful and full-time idiot, you admit.

Putting the knife down at the small table by your front door, you give Gustavo a warm hug and your thanks. He left shortly after that but not without giving the old man a kiss on the cheek and a promise to not hurt yourself with his gift, and another for keeping it away from Tovar.

You shut the door and turned back to your loft, standing in the dim light. Leaning against the door, you take a moment and close your eyes. Tomorrow’s excursion was going to be long.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Twenty-Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3549

Warnings: None

A/n Thanks for your patience, and happy reading :)

Our first day of traveling is rough.

In my months of comfort in Imladris, I easily forgot the vigor with which galloping on a horse shakes you. By the time we stop for the night, every muscle and bone in my body is screaming for rest. And, despite Haldir’s assurance that I will get used to the weight and awkwardness of the metal that is somehow both cold and hot, the chainmail has grated on my nerves all day.

Haldir helps me down from Faervel and I wince when my feet make contact with the ground.

“Walk around for a while,” he advises, then nods towards Glorfindel. “I’ll return later — I’m going to coordinate watches and take the first shift.”

“Okay.” I smile up at him, waiting for a kiss goodbye, but he just nods once and then turns, off to get to work.

I purse my lips. I guess he’s sore from riding, too.

Trying to push the uneasiness from my mind, I spend just a few moments walking and stretching before I turn to my own tasks. I’m in charge of Faervel and two of Glorfindel’s horses, so caring for them will occupy me until supper.

{***}

When Baranor calls for dinner, I hurry to our campsite. We are close enough to Elrond’s borders that Haldir and Glorfindel feel we can light a small fire and, while nothing on the road could compare to the delicacies served at Elrond’s table, a meal cooked with fire is much better than stale bread and soggy fruit. I sit on a rock near the flames, accepting the bowl Baranor places in my hands. Alex, Glorfindel, and one of the extra guards, Nodron, join us.

After a few minutes of eating in tired silence, I hear footsteps behind me, and turn with a smile to welcome Haldir from watch. He nods at me and accepts the bowl handed to him. He sits next to me on the rock — that’s normal — but keeps distance between us and barely spares a glance in my direction. Instead, he alternates between talking strategy with Glorfindel and Nodron and scanning our surroundings. I huff, eating my soup in silence. This earns me a brief raised eyebrow, but his focus soon returns to the mountains and his conversations.

What is going on with him? Did I upset him somehow? Is he grouchy from the day of traveling?

With my food finished and no one talking to me, I have no reason to stay gathered by the fire. I stand and take my bowl to the stream, wash it out, and then return it to the bag holding our cooking supplies.

“I’m going to bed unless anyone needs anything,” I declare, picking my bag up from the ground. I’m met with shrugs and murmurs, but nothing more.

With a huff, I throw my bedroll on the ground, spread it out, and take my hair out of its braid. I roll onto my back, frowning when I notice that the stars are covered by clouds. The chainmail digs into my skin, and I shift uncomfortably. I sit up and take a cursory look around. No one can see me. How would they know?

Quickly, I stand and pull off my tunic, then tug the chainmail after it. As soon as the biting, cold metal is gone, I put my tunic back on, eager for its warmth. Already, I feel better.

“Put it back on.”

I yelp, the metal falling to the ground with a tinny clink. I whip around to face Haldir, who has appeared out of nowhere. “Where did you come from?”

My eyes have yet to adjust to the night, so I can’t read his expression, but I do see when he shrugs his shoulders. “You said you were going to bed, no? So, I followed.”

I narrow my eyes, deciding to just get to the point. “I’m not sleeping in the chainmail. It’s uncomfortable, and I don’t sleep well on the road as it is.”

“You are sleeping in the chainmail,” he counters, no room for flexibility in his voice. He bends over to lay his own bedroll a few feet from mine. Huh. Does he not want to sleep closer to me? “We could be attacked at any moment, including during the night.”

I shift on my feet, glancing warily at the peaks and valleys that surround us.

Haldir huffs, looking up at me from the ground. I’ve adjusted to the limited light and can now see the exasperated look he gives me. “I do not want to frighten you, but I do want you to be realistic. Should we be attacked, the chainmail could safe your life, so you will wear it. We are not having this discussion again.”

I set my hands on my hips and grit my teeth. So he ignores me all day and now he’s talking to me like I’m one of his wardens? Oh, no. I tilt my head to the side, staring him down. “Have you ever heard of a compromise? Do you even know what the word means?”

He stands, his towering height and stern expression creating quite an intimidating presence. But unfortunately for him, he’s kissed me softly, cuddled closer to me in the middle of the night, and told me how much he loves me. It’s kind of hard to be intimidated by someone after that.

He sets his feet. “This is not a question of compromise, it is a question of safety. I—”

“—It is a question of compromise, actually.” I cut him off. “I agreed—begrudgingly, might I add—to wear the uncomfortable, heavy chainmail for this journey. I’m only doing it for you. So that means you have to meet me in the middle and give a little. If we’re attacked, I promise I’ll put it back on. There. Compromise.”

He only raises an eyebrow. “So you are telling me that, should orcs rain arrows upon us, chaos erupt, and a legion of warriors come at us with sword and spear, you are going to take the time to undress, put the armor on, redress, and then attempt to save your life?”

Well. He’s got me there. I sniff, not ready to let him win this. “Yes.”

He doesn’t move. “Then by all means, when you study strategy for over three thousand years, fight in countless battles, and lead the most formidable military force in the realm, you can make that choice. But for now, you are a fragile, stubborn, human woman that, despite her ability to make me want to pull my hair out, I love very, very much. So you will wear the chainmail at all times.” Without breaking eye contact, he bends down, scoops the metal up, and pushes it into my hands.

I grit my teeth.

With a huff, I tug my tunic off once more. I feel a deep satisfaction when I finally make him break his stoic demeanor. He watches for a fraction of a second before nearly hurting his neck snapping his head to the sky so quickly. I smirk, pulling the chainmail over my body once more, then adding the tunic.

“You can look now.”

He clears his throat and lowers his eyes to mine, nodding once. “Thank you.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t do it for your gratitude, Marchwarden.”

He shakes his head and lies down on his bedroll. I sit on mine, gathering my cloak over me like a blanket before lying back.

Neither of us speaks.

After a few minutes, soft noises arise in the vicinity as those not on watch make their way to their own bedrolls. Footsteps crush the grass near my head and something heavy and warm drops over me. I raise up on my elbow, opening my eyes to the tall, grinning figure of Glorfindel.

“Here you go, dear Lady Cosima,” he declares in a near sing-song voice. “I have brought you an extra blanket. It seems you are in the path of a cold front, and I would not want you to suffer for it.”

I turn to look over my shoulder at Haldir, biting my lip to stop the laughter escaping at his glower. Glorfindel’s meaning is lost on no one.

I turn back to my friend and thank him.

“It is no problem,” he waves it off, still grinning from ear to ear. “Though, if you continue to find yourself in this uncomfortable position, my bedroll is nearer to the fire.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You would switch with me?”

“No.” He winks, making sure both Haldir and I can see it. “I would allow you to join me.”

My mouth falls open, my shocked laugher sounding through the clearing. I grin, playing along. “I shall keep that in mind.”

With a final, pointed look at Haldir, Glorfindel returns to his own bedroll.

I pull the new blanket over my shoulders, snuggling into it. It smells like the outdoors, and I breathe it in. The exhaustion of the day hits me. “Goodnight Haldir, I love you,” I call, not bothering to turn around.

His annoyed grumble is the last thing I hear before sinking into sleep.

{***}

The sun rises and brings wth it a cool chill, hinting at the autumn to come. I change into fresh clothes and brush my teeth quickly, re-braiding my hair as I go. With as many of us as there are, it doesn’t take long to tack up the horses, pack the bags, dole out breakfast, and get on our way.

Haldir smiles when I meet him at Faervel’s side. He reaches for me and I think he’s about to pull me in for a hug and make up for our disagreement last night, but instead of encircling me, his hands pat at my sides — he’s feeling for the chainmail!

I gasp, pulling away from him and glare at him in accusation. “You don’t trust me!”

He only smirks haughtily and drops to one knee, waiting to help me onto the horse. “Just checking. Now please get on the horse, Cosima, we haven’t got all day.”

I grumble and press my foot into his hands with more force than is strictly necessary. He chuckles and swings me up, settling in front of me a moment later. He nudges Faervel to encourage him to move forward, quickly guiding us nearer to the front of the line. While Glorfindel is here, he and one of his guards take point. Faervel seems dissatisfied with this, and Haldir frequently has to to tug on the reins to remind him to keep his place in line.

Behind me, I hear the familiar sound of Roch’s whinny, and I turn around in greeting. Rumil and I lock eyes. I smile. He clenches his jaw and lifts his chin in the air, avoiding my gaze. I sigh sadly and turn to face forward once more. I guess I deserve that.

Haldir shifts and a warm, calloused hand encases mine against his stomach. When he speaks, it’s in a voice so low I can barely hear it — probably to keep the others from listening in. “It won’t be like this forever.”

But I don’t have forever. And neither do you.

I bite the words back before they can escape my lips. It’s something Haldir and I both already know. Saying it out loud won’t do us any good. “Has he spoken to you?”

Haldir shakes his head, eyes continuing their scan of our surroundings. “Not yet, outside of what is necessary. But he will, I’m sure of it.”

The hope for a future reconciliation will have to be enough. With a sigh, I lean my cheek against Haldir’s shoulder blade, Faervel’s trot jostling me from side to side. We haven’t even been on the road an hour and I’m already longing for my bedroll.

“Did you really not sleep well,” Haldir asks, a hint of guilt in his voice.

I decide to let him off the hook. He really is only trying to keep me safe. “Yes, but it’s not the chainmail’s fault. It’s just getting used to the ground, and I was cold, and being on the road again…well, you know.” I sigh again, stopping my words. He can fill in the rest of my sentence. He knows well that, though I feel better traveling in a larger company and with some self-defense training behind me, being in the orcs’ territory still makes me nervous since the attack.

Haldir doesn’t say anything for a while, just nods absently while his eyes scan over the ridges to our left and right. “Can I join you tonight after watch?”

I blink. “Of course.” Then, I psych myself up, hoping I don’t sound too unsure or hurt. But I have to ask — it’s been bothering me since yesterday. “Why didn’t you last night?”

Haldir makes a noise of apology. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Our nights together have been in the privacy of your bedroom. I didn’t want to put you in a position where you would be close to me while surrounded by others.”

I breathe out a shaky laugh, glad that’s all it is. “That doesn’t bother me! I just worried that you didn’t want to be seen with me so publicly.” I take another deep breath, forcing myself to get the words out. “You’ve pretty much ignored me since we left Imladris.”

His shoulders tense. Then, he twists in his seat just enough that we can look each other in the eye. “I’m sorry, it was not my intention to treat you that way. It’s just—” he sighs, shaking his head. “I can afford to relax in Imladris and will be able to once we get to Lothlórien, but the road is completely different. Say I were to kiss you or hold your hand, and become distracted. In that one moment, I could miss something, and that could cost the life of someone here. I can’t risk that.”

I nod, the pieces coming together. “I can understand that.” I raise up, just high enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

{***}

Haldir takes the second watch shift, so I fall asleep on my own. But late in the night, I’m awoken by warm arms encircling me and pulling me against a solid chest.

I smile, snuggling into the warmth. “Hi.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, mindful of our companions.

“It’s alright.” I match his volume. “How was watch?”

He pushes a strand of hair over my shoulder and smooths it down my back. “Quiet.”

I hum in response, already slipping back into sleep.

He presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “Goodnight, melethril.”

{***}

An hour into our journey the next morning, dark clouds form ahead.

Haldir curses under his breath.

I rest my chin against his back, trying to use him to block the wind. “That doesn’t look fun.”

“No, it does not,” he agrees, voice grave.

The wind blows again, and I shiver.

“Not minding the layer of armor now, are you,” he teases, tilting this head slightly so I can see the upturn of his cheek.

I roll my eyes, not about to admit that I’m thankful for the extra layer. “Eyes on the path, Marchwarden.”

He leans to the side and hands me the reins. “Here.” Before I can register what he’s doing, he’s gripped Faervel’s mane and swung from the front of the horse to the back.

“What—” I sputter, whipping my head around to stare at him in disbelief. “How did you do that?”

“Practice.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, but his chest puffs out proudly.

I shake my head, still trying to figure it out. But all thoughts die when he shifts, pressing himself against my back. He takes his cloak and arranges it to fall over my shoulders and cross at my front, providing another layer of warmth. He takes the reins from me and holds them in front, his arms resting against my sides.

I lean back against his chest. “I’m not gonna lie, I like this way of riding much better.”

He makes a noise of appreciation. “I thought you might.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek then returns to all-business.

I purse my lips. I never really considered how frustrating it would be to be in the constant company of others for three weeks straight. Because right now, I want to turn around and kiss him until neither of us can breathe, but I can’t.

But the thoughts of what else I’d like to do to him wash away with the torrent of rain that falls on us. I gasp loudly, streams of cold water pelting my face. The cloak Haldir had made for me is helping — I’m not soaked through like last time, but the rain is quite persistent. I look over my shoulder, seeking out Alex. He slouches on the back o Baranor’s horse, hunched against the wind and the cold.

I turn my head to face forward, calling loud enough that I hope Haldir can hear me over the thunderous rain. “Is it warmer in Lothlórien?”

His chest twitches against my back as he shifts to accommodate Faervel’s changed gait. “It rarely gets cold enough for snow, but we do see the odd storm like this, and that can really drop the temperature.”

“Wonderful,” I grumble, and shrink against him in hopes of warming up. Cold water follows the tendrils of my hair and slides down my back, over my chest, under my legs. It’s so uncomfortable. But the only thing to do is press on.

{***}

We stop for the night in the same cave we rested in on the way to Imladris. Glorfindel orders a fire to be started immediately, and his guards get to work. Minutes later, Haldir leads my shivering form deep into the cave and stops me next to the flames.

“I hate the cold,” I grumble, reaching my hands as close to the fire as I dare.

“Agreed,” Haldir murmurs, peeling the cloak from my body and lying it on the ground where it can dry. A second later, he hands me a pair of my least-wet clothes. The ellyn in the cave respectfully turn their backs while I change, but I know I’ve seen most of them naked by now, so they’ve probably seen me as well.

Ah, the joys of traveling.

Alex collapses on the other side of the fire, giving me a haggard nod. “Doing okay?”

I grin tiredly back at him. “About the same as you.”

He chuckles ruefully, shaking his head.

Haldir throws a blanket over my shoulders and tosses one to Alex. They were encased in a material similar to my cloak, so they’re mostly dry. “I will return shortly. Do not move,” he cautions, standing and leaving my side.

Alex and I warm up in silence, each of us too occupied by our discomfort. After a while, I turn to speak to him, but he has fallen asleep, snoring softly against his bedroll.

Minutes later, Haldir reappears with dinner, cooked on the larger fire near the front of the cave. It seems this one is only meant for the freezing humans.

“How are you,” he asks, tugging the blanket tighter around me.

I chuckle at his obvious worry. “Much better, thank you. And thanks for dinner.”

Haldir grimaces. “Thank Glorfindel. Though, proceed with caution, he is not an excellent cook.”

Warily, I take a bite of whatever dinner is, then scrunch up my face at the oddly sour taste. “No, he is not.”

Haldir laughs, settling himself behind me and pulling my back against his chest. “Regardless, I still recommend you eat.”

The empty feeling in my stomach concurs. We sit in silence, warming up and eating.

Haldir picks up one of my strands of hair so it catches the light of the fire. “It’s so wavy when it’s wet.”

I snort. “And it’s going to be frizzy when it dries. How do you get your hair to look so nice all the time?”

He grins, jokingly tossing his hair into my face. “Genetics, my love.”

At this, I laugh loudly, then clamp a hand over my mouth at Alex’s sleepy noise of annoyance. Haldir and I don’t move until Alex turns over and his snores echo through the cave once more.

Despite my efforts, a yawn escapes, betraying the cold exhaustion already weighing heavily in my bones. I push my bowl into Haldir’s hands. “You can finish my food. I’m more tired than hungry.”

Haldir places the bowl on the ground. “No thank you, I’ve already had more than enough of Glorfindel’s cooking.”

I grin, not blaming him one bit. I stretch out and, getting the hint, Haldir shifts to give me enough room to recline on my bedroll. To my pleasant surprise, he doesn’t rise to join the others. Instead, he lies down next to me and allows me to press my face into his chest, sandwiched between him and the warmth of the fire.

I glance up at him, forcing my eyes to stay open. “You don’t have watch tonight?”

“Not tonight,” he promises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Sleep well.”

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me happy :) Let me know if you would like a tag!

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