#centre bell almost exploded

[lottiecrabie]

MATTY HEALY AND LOTTIECRABIE IN THE SAME ROOM?????

i know he checked my account after the show and saw i was there and just started kicking himself that he didn’t make a priest joke

[peachhyychenle]

bloom bloom, heart | h.rj

'bloom bloom pow! the moment i met you, i felt like i'd explode. my heart fluttered. i hope it's not a dream' - bloom bloom, the boyz

pairing: florist!renjun x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.6k

for the nostalgic melodies event hosted by @knet-bakery

playlist: bloom bloom the boyz, life still goes on nct dream, dive into you nct dream, cherry kisses chungha

a/n: my first fic for an event!! i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. also,, go check out everyone else that participated in the event!! oh, i also haven't had the time to proof-read this so, sorry lmao.

summary: flowers held many different meanings, and renjun loved that. from giving someone a baby's breath to giving them peonies, he loved how up front the message was, yet how hidden it was to someone that didn't understand their true meanings. You had always adored flowers, the colours, the scents, the meanings. And so, every week, you would go into Floral Dreams, to buy new flowers to draw, however Renjun would always throw in additional flowers to express his ever-growing crush on you, unbeknownst to him you understood every word.

If you had told Renjun this time last year he would be working part time as a florist, he would've simply laughed. But yet here he is, adorning a black apron, rearranging the plants in the display cabinet.

Floral Dreams was a great place for Renjun. It was never too busy, it was a five minute walk to his apartment and, thanks to Donghyuck, he has learned far more about flowers in the past month than he has learned about art history at his uni classes. He would never admit it to him, but Renjun was intrigued by the meanings each flower held.

From the bluebell to the yellow carnation, every flower held a different meaning. At first, Renjun couldn't care less. They were just flowers after all, their only job to him was to sit and look pretty. However the longer he spent in the floristry, the more his curiosity and his passion grew.

And now here he was, currently wiping down the counter he had just used to arrange a bouquet for somebody's birthday.

As he returned behind the till, the soft chime of the shop door bell rang. He glanced over and locked eyes with you. You seemed to be a regular. always popping in on a Wednesday afternoon, no matter the weather, to buy different pre-made bouquets. At first, Renjun found it odd how you would only buy one particular colour palette of flowers or even just a singular flower, however as you came in more often than not with a camera bag over your shoulder along with a sketchbook poking out the top of the tote bag you carried, it started becoming clear why you would buy them.

His current theories are that you are an artist that just really liked to paint flowers (specifically pink and yellow varieties) or you're a plant mum that just has an apartment filled to the brim with colourful flowers and plants.

His first hunch was correct.

A few months ago, you had moved into Neo City in order to attend the local university and study fine art. It was an interesting place for sure. It was a quaint town yet there was always something going on, whether it be different celebrations for certain holidays or events, to small annual carnivals and parades that would happen.

During your first week of moving in, you had explored the town centre, natural curiosity getting the better of you. That was when you stumbled upon Floral Dreams. The forest green painting on the window frames along with several broad leafed plants sat outside the shop, charmed you.

You remember when you first met Renjun. It was a rainy Wednesday about a month after you had moved. Your classes had just finished and you decided to buy a small bouquet. Something to brighten your dreary dorm room. And so you headed to Floral Dreams. When you stepped into the shop, instead of the cheery greeting you would usually get from Donghyuck, you found that he was busy talking to another guy, Renjun.

Both boys had briefly glanced towards the door, with Donghyuck giving a small wave, whilst the other boy shot you a smile. He was cute.

Returning the wave with your own, you continued into the shop, looking at all the flowers, taking in their colours and scents. Five minutes had gone by and you had chosen all the flowers you had wanted and walked up to the counter to place your order.

You rang the small bell placed on the countertop and after a few seconds, the new guy from earlier emerged from the back room and properly greeted and introduced himself, Renjun.

To say he was pretty was an understatement. He had a soft smile, kind eyes and long hair which made him look ethereal. His voice was melodic. So melodic that you only snapped back to reality halfway through his sentence.

You purchased the flowers and had another look around the empty shop, this time to admire the blossoming flowers. Back at the counter, Renjun would glance at you, whilst he wrapped the bouquet, his mind thinking about your smile and vibe whilst his hands carefully wrapped the bouquet up.

When he was finished, he rang the desk bell to catch your attention. He handed you the flowers and you were on your way. Not before turning back to Renjun and shooting him one last smile with a cheerful goodbye.

From the moment you walked in, Renjun knew his heart had exploded and his slightly dull world would never be the same again.

Week after week you would come back to the shop. It was always at 4pm and it was always an hour into Renjun's shift. You guys had managed to acquaint yourselves and make small talk, with the weather and how both of you had been, being the usual topic of choice.

Today Renjun was determined to make a move. Whether it was changing the topic to be something more in depth, or giving his number to you, he was definitely going to do something. And so when you walked up to the counter to place your order, Renjun made his move. He asked the question that had been on his mind. Why in the heavens did you buy so many flowers? The laughter that followed made Renjun's heart flutter, it was beautiful.

You then proceeded to explain the reason you moved and why almost all the store's sales were from you. Upon hearing that you went to the same university he did, Renjun was enthralled and began talking about his passion for art and the history behind famous pieces.

Much to his dismay, his hands had a mind of their own, and had wrapped up your selected bouquet far too quickly for his liking. Just as you were about to grab the bouquet, Renjun let out a 'wait!' which made you pause.

He ran into the back room and came out a moment later with some ribbon along with a couple of gardenias and blue salvias. 'It'll make the bouquet look amazing, trust me' he said with that smile you had fallen for.

Once he was done, you took the flowers, bid him adieu and left, ready to take photographs of this masterpiece.

As soon as you left, Renjun let out a sigh of content and his heart started to calm down. He had a crazy idea to use what he had learned from Donghyuck, and to confess to you in the form of flowers.

It was a bold move, one that made him feel happy with himself.

Over the next couple of months the same routine would occur. You arrived, picked out flowers, ordered the bouquet, Renjun would wrap them up, you would take them, then leave.

However, as time went on, you began noticing flowers that you hadn't picked out.

For example, you had ordered a bouquet with mainly red flowers, with a couple of white ones to make it more visually appealing, however you don't really remember picking up the white camellia. Or that time you noticed a couple of yellow jasmines mixed with your sunflowers.

You eventually thought of looking up what these flowers meant. You knew one of your old high school flowers loved gardening and would often talk about flower meanings, but you had never paid any mind to them. Oh how you wish you had.

And so that's how you spent the evening on different websites looking at different meanings for all the flowers you could remember buying, and the definitions.

The morning after, you had a brilliant idea.

That next week, you came in at the usual time with a list on your phone of all the flowers you had never actually bought. You suspected that a certain someone kept slipping different flowers into your bouquet, which was actually quite sweet to you, however you were going to surprise him.

You picked out various flowers that were composed for a yellow, blue and white theme. You included the yellow jasmines and gardenias, along with the white camellias and blue salvias. Additional flowers were added and made a stunning bouquet, the best you had imagined yet.

For how quiet the shop was, your heart was thumping a lot louder than usual, despite this you walked to the till with a small smile. The normal routine went on, Renjun making conversation with you. The topic for today was conspiracies and aliens, which would usually be quite interesting to you, but your mind was in a different place.

Just as Renjun was tying the last ribbon up, a 'wait!' escaped your lips. A slightly startled Renjun paused to look at you. Dashing away to the front of the store, you picked out a red rose and walked back to where he was waiting.

Much to his surprise, you added the rose to the centre of the bouquet, pushed the bouquet towards him and then pulled out a letter that had been in your coat pocket and pushed it across the counter in his direction.

He froze. Almost everyone knew what a red rose meant.

He opened the letter. All the flowers he had given you with their meanings were listed, along with the red rose.

I love you.

Underneath was a small paragraph. His already racing heart began to explode as he read the words 'let's go on a date tomorrow' followed with your number underneath.

He looked back up to you. You were currently looking everywhere and anywhere that wasn’t Renjun.

Placing the letter down, he came around from behind the desk and hugged you. He could feel you tense up under him, however in a matter of seconds, your arms were around him, and a sigh of relief escaped your lips.

From the moment he met you, his heart had exploded, the colours in his world seemed to be brighter whenever you were there.

He loved hearing your laugh, seeing your smile, being in your presence.

Time felt non-existent with you.

He loved you, as much as you loved him.

And that was all he needed.

[silversatin2105]

Shaman king: Hao meeting his queen

Hi I have taken a little bit of a break from writing Akina’s story just to do three parter ficlets, This one will cover him meeting his future wife and their first year together , In this I have decided to give her the name Usagi as suggested by one of my followers and she will be an Itako from the Patch tribe, If you like this content please drop it a like and reblog and if you don’t ignore it.

Shaman king: Hao meeting his queen

It was a new day for Usagi in Patch village, She knew that the shaman tournament was about to start as strange faces from all around the globe started to appear, She had been busy perfecting her skills and making sure she had plenty of trinkets to sell the newcomers, On that day the weather was nice and warm as she left the hut she shared with her carer.

“What a nice day” the red head remarked as she went down to the river side to collect water for her cooking as it was her turn to make breakfast, from her backpack she took a ceramic pot and filled it with water that she would use to make porridge for the youngsters, A task that she enjoyed.

As she prepared to carry the pot back to her hut she heard a commotion in the village centre, being the inquisitive type she approached the crowd, to her surprise was a big group of new shaman following a guy with long hair and star shaped earrings, “Who is that ?” she thought as she watched them walk on by, As soon as they went she was approached by Silva.

“I want you to stay away from that shaman Usagi” Silva warned in a strict tone as he gently guided her from the crowd and back up to her hut, Silva had been watching over Usagi ever since her parents were murdered just five years ago, the elder shaman helped her prepare breakfast, Usagi tried to clear her thoughts of the mysterious stranger but the more she tried to push it from her mind the more she wanted to know who he was.

“Breakfasts ready” Usagi called out to the youngsters as they all came out from where they were and took a seat at the central table, She busied herself serving out the porridge to each child before taking her own and sitting down at the table.

Before eating they thanked the great spirits for the food they were about to eat, a mark of respect to nature for providing another day of peace and equanimity, After breakfast she washed the dishes and got her stock ready to go into the village and sell them for money to pay for tomorrows set of meals.

By the time she arrived in the village centre it was 9 o’clock, She took out her goods and arranged them by type, first was the oracle bell accessories, second was a set of woven necklaces that she had spent most of last night finishing and lastly was the key rings and charms she had prepped a few days ago, when she was sure all looked right she took a seat and did her cash float.

“The store is open “ Usagi called out with enthusiasm, She served her first customer and did her usual customer service greetings, At that moment the mysterious figure she saw earlier approached her stall and browsed the collection of trinkets on offer, after a while he looked at Usagi picking up a pentacle necklace.

“How much for this ?” the figure asked with a kind smile looking over its craftsmanship, Usagi looked up at him and stood up clearing off her dress whilst looking at him with her amber shaded eyes.

“It will be 20 dollars, I also have a shaman tournament deal on that you will receive a lucky charm for 5 dollars” Usagi spoke out the price ready to haggle if she needed to as the price of that necklace and charm could feed the youngsters for two meals.

“Oh do I look like the type who needs a lucky charm? “ The figure questioned in a playful tone looking the girl in front of him up and down almost judging her every move and testing her resolve, Usagi just raised her eyebrow and looked at the stranger in front of her.

“Look it’s a deal we have ongoing at the moment and I think everyone participating will need some amount of luck, trust me I have looked into the history of past tournaments and lets just say its no game of red light/ green light” Usagi explained to the guy in front of her making him laugh in response he was amused by her concern for the contestants of the tournament.

“A ha I see well I don’t need it, I bring my own luck” The long haired shaman retorted looking at Usagi with a curt smirk, At that moment Usagi was getting frustrated with the strange shaman in front of her, She went to speak but he cut her off almost beating him to the punch.

“I will however buy the necklace and offer the five dollars as a satisfied customer” He spoke taking the money from his pocket giving it to her making her even more suspicious, Usagi crossed her arms at that moment looking at him.

“Why was there such a commotion surrounding you earlier?” Usagi questioned looking at him determined to get her answer, this guy had ticked her off and her curiosity from earlier had been quelled but not cured.

“Well you see the reason there was such a commotion earlier is that I will be the future king” the figure answered looking at the girl with a peaceful smile before going to leave her stall, Usagi was peeved at this to her this seemed like a mocking answer and overly confident at that.

“Don’t you think its conceited to crown yourself king before you’ve actually won the tournament, let me give you a piece of advice drop the cocky attitude and you may make friends around here” Usagi warned the guy as he spun round pinning her to the wall looking into her eyes with anger almost as if she had said something taboo.

“Listen here girl you should watch who your speaking to, What if I wasn’t a nice shaman, What if I could end your life and destroy your soul at the same time, think before you…..” The figure warned before usagi cut him off looking into his eyes with a glint of anger at what he was doing.

“No you think before you speak, I was giving you advice for life around here and you took it like a petulant child, You look what fourteen years old well I am about one year your senior so cool it” Usagi schooled him making him step back in surprise, He had not been spoken to like that in all his years of being on this earth.

When the silence had cleared the figure burst into fresh laughter confusing Usagi, It was true laughter as he held his side looking up at the girl as she uncrossed her arms looking at him as if he was insane.

“you’re the first one in a while to talk to me like that, You seem strong willed I like that what’s your name girl?” the guy questioned her after regaining his composure at that moment Usagi had let her guard down a little more.

“The names Usagi, I live in the west corner of the village” Usagi introduced herself leaning against the nearby wall whilst straightening out her hair with her fingers, the figure stood by her with a smirk.

“Nice to meet you Usagi, My name is Hao…Remember it well and I do suggest you decide your loyalties, just a piece of advice” Hao trailed off before leaving her stall leaving her confused, What a weirdo she thought as she went back to selling her goods.

At the end of the working day she had managed to sell all her necklaces, Perfect that will do for meals for a couple of days was her thoughts as she made her way home to greet her guardian, He had already prepared the evening meal.

“Wow Silva this looks great” Usagi complimented him before tucking in, He looked at her with a kind smile and sipped his tea before taking a seat by her as she ate.

“Thank you, How was the sales today?” He questioned looking at her coin purse before taking another sip of his tea as she took the pouch from her side and continued eating her meal; she then took a sip of her own tea.

“The takings are well, we will be able to buy food for a couple of days” Usagi proudly spoke as Silva looked over the stock noticing that she had undersold on charms today, He raised an eyebrow looking at her with crossed arms.

“I see that you have undersold on charms today, the tournament is coming up and the contestants will need all the luck they can get, Have you been offering them like I suggested” Silva questioned her looking for an honest answer.

“I did as you suggested but that strange shaman didn’t want to buy one, said he already was lucky and get this he already thinks he has…” Usagi went on to say before being cut off by her guardian he looked at her with a grimace, this was a situation he didn’t want happening.

“I specifically told you not to get involved with him, what did he tell you?” Silva questioned sternly as if the fate of the earth depended on her answer, this was out of character for Silva as he usually respected her judgment on things, something was wrong this time around as Silva looked like he might break from his anger.

“He didn’t say much, All he said is that he will be the future king and when I called him out on it he threatened me, He told me he could destroy my body and soul he was quite rude so I told him off again and he oddly started laughing he then asked me my name and greeted himself as Hao and before leaving he told me to sort out my loyalties” Usagi told him everything and most of the truth each word adding to his anger, He looked like he might explode at any moment.

“That bastard, From now on your job of selling trinkets is temporarily revoked, That job will be given to kalim and you are not to leave the village alone” Silva ordered her as he stood up and walked towards the door as Usagi stood in protest looking at him.

“Silva that’s unfair I want to help out in anyway I can” Usagi protested to him making him turn round to look at her with a growl, what had him so enraged she thought before he spoke to her again.

“I have spoken, Godiva will be told of the new rulings, till then I will look for jobs you can do and I suggest you do your best to put that guy out of your mind, it will do you no good Usagi” Silva said before heading out to make his reports leaving her confused and upset, What was the issue was her thoughts.

And with that the night had came to a close as flared anger caused misunderstandings, What was going to happen next ?

[afwfan]

Lucy is as tough as they come. Tougher even. So when Teah starts throwing fists Lucy is thrilled to oblige. Lucy knows she’s got heavy hands of her own, and she trusts in her chin to handle anything anyone else can dish out. That super kick was *fast*, it was *strong*, and it came like it was out of nowhere. Staggered, the Crusher stumbles back a step or two, collects her balance, then comes forward again with her hands still up, face first into a drop kick. This time she's knocked down, but like the Energizer bunny she gets back up almost immediately, only to collect the top rope missile drop kick into the side of her head. Lucy is that tough, and she keeps getting up. Teah isn't just that fast, her legs can explode with enough force to help her drop kick and NBA center in the face, or spring to the top rope or turnbuckle in a single go. So every time Lucy is coming up, she keeps meeting Teah coming down. And when Lucy starts struggling to keep getting up, it just means that Teah is coming even further down before her feet, knees or elbows crash into the Crusher. But Lucy isn't ever going to stay down for long, not even for a three count, and after kicking out twice, and now even back to her feet… But, this time with Teah's help. And even though her legs are made of jelly, her balance is good enough and she's not going off her feet again without a fight. That's perfect as far as Teah is concerned, and the Irish whip into the turnbuckle is served up with a vengeance. Don't let Teah's relative size fool you. As a former gymnast she is literally a pocket of power. So when Lucy slams into the turnbuckle off her back with so much force that the entire ring moves, it's less that she staggers forward towards the centre of the ring than that she is simply bounced back to her tormentor. Teah's power and strength isn't just explosive. Lucy has all the bells of Notre Dame ringing in her head, and when Teah gets her arms wrapped around the Crusher's head Lucy feels like her skull is about to pop. Lucy has been put to sleep before. It doesn't normally hurt this much. In fact it's never hurt that much. And then it doesn't hurt any more at all...

[lesetoilesfous]

Are you taking prompts with the Florence + The Machine prompt list? ;v; If yes, can I request "She’s just like the weather, can’t hold her together" for Hawke x Isabela? Thank you!

This made me so happy and was such a gorgeous prompt for them, I really really hope you like it!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: F!HawkeBela

Characters: Marian Hawke, Isabela

Tags: brief reference to infanticide and making children tranquil, fuck the chantry, mage hawke, hurt/comfort, established relationship, I just really like writing boats in storms, do you like character’s eyes glowing whilst they lose control of their powers because they’re overwhelmed by emotion and Only Their Loved One can get through to them?, this fic is for you

Rating: Mature

Isabela had joked once to her first mate that if she ever fell in love with anyone it would be with a strong gale blowing in a south-westerly direction. She had never thought she would mean it literally. But now, struggling to stand on her ship as it kicks and bucks harder than any deep road Bronto, boots slipping against the deck wet with lashing rain, Isabela can’t even find the good sense to regret it. Around them, waves roar as living mountains, crashing down in blue-grey cliffs of granite that howl as they fall and send The Harpy tossing on the water like an unhappy Orlesian princess on a mattress full of peas. 

Isabela ignores this, and the shouts of her crew as they swing over the side of the deck, barely held onto the ship in the storm by the lifelines they’ve tethered to the mast. Templar bodies go swinging over the sides of the boat like shooting stars or diving bells, crushing what crew Isabela has left against the rigging before flying off into the night like so much crumpled silver ribbon. Isabela opens her mouth, trying to shout over the storm. “HAWKE!”

Hawke doesn’t respond. Her always-blue eyes are blinding now, washed bright with light and magic. Her body is crackling with electricity and the tempest spirals around her, exploding outward in a strange suspension of rain and wind before crescendoing into the maelstrom above them. Around her feet are three dead bodies in apprentice robes. The oldest cannot be fourteen. Their bodies are still on the one patch of dry deck left on the ship. 

A wave slams into the Harpy will all the force of an avalanche, and Isabela’s feet go flying, sending her tumbling into the wheelhouse hard enough to bend her ribs close to breaking. She swears, and slips a dagger from her belt, cloth-wrapped hilt damp as bloody bandages. “Sorry, pet.” She mutters to the deck as it rises to meet her almost vertically, like a cliff face, and the Harpy’s keel tries desperately to keep her anchored in the water against the force of the shoving waves like a bird tugged off its perch by a particularly strong wind. With a wordless shout of effort, Isabela slams her dagger into the deck, and uses it to help her start scaling her ship as she moves back toward her lover. Hawke herself is blind and raging, lost to her magic, the dead apprentices and their injured bodies as still around her as lambs in a dream. 

Thunder cracks the sky open and lets lightning through, and where it spears into the ocean the water flashes from ink black to teal, illuminating like a witch’s cauldron and skittering with sparks that dance over the frothing waves. Isabela thinks she can hear someone screaming. Cannons come rolling toward her with a sound like groaning millstones, and Isabela kicks away from the deck in time to swing her body over the iron, cursing as she watches them hit and splinter the far railing before sinking into the belly of the sea. 

Water is running down Isabela’s back and chest, icy fingers digging into every wrinkle and crease of her body that she’d almost forgotten she had. Her hair is heavy and damp as wet kelp on her shoulders, and her knuckles are aching. The Harpy crashes back down into the waves with an explosion of white foam like shattered glass, and above them the mainsail swells with the wind, wrenching the Harpy forward and up the next blue mountain of water that dwarfs her the way a giant would a child. Isabela gets onto her feet and sprints, chest aching with the effort. 

Hawke is surrounded by a vortex of magic, and as Isabela breaks through it the lightning skitters across her arms, singeing her clothes and hair. She pushes through, fighting the water and the howling gale until, abruptly, she is in the eye of the storm. It’s silent.

Isabela stumbles to a stop and hesitates, transfixed as she stares at her lover, black hair lifting on a wind Isabela cannot feel here, so close to the centre of the tempest. Light jumps across her skin and down her body. Her clothes are dry but there is water on her nose and cheeks and chin. She is frozen like some strange Tevene statue, reduced to nothing but spitting magic. Around them on the deck, which is pale as sand next to the rain-dark wood beyond them, the apprentices lie as quiet as the sleeping children they should have been. Their hair is shaved roughly, and their foreheads are blistered with burns. Their bodies are littered with bruises. 

Isabela holds her breath as she steps over them, and lifts a hand over Marian’s cheek. When she speaks, it’s in a whisper. “Hawke.”

Marian doesn’t move. Isabela catches her breath, and looks up at the whirling vortex of black clouds above them. She clenches her teeth, and touches her lover’s skin. The effect is like getting hit by lightning, a burning punch up the inside of her arm that she can feel in her bones. Isabela grits her teeth, and brings her other hand up to clasp Marian’s face in her hands, pressing forward to push their foreheads together as she kisses her cold, still lips. 

Ignoring the pain of the magic racing through her skin, Isabela steps closer, winding her arms around Marian’s chest and pressing her face into her shoulder. The ship and the storm and her screaming crew may as well have been an ocean away. Here it is dry, and quiet, and still.

Isabela holds Hawke as tightly as she can, and shuts her eyes. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry. I’m here.”

Isabela doesn’t know when the storm stops, or how they make it out alive. She keeps her eyes shut, and her arms around the stiff, tense line of Marian’s chest until her lover slumps like a puppet with its strings cut, and collapses around her, weeping. Isabela doesn’t move away, she just holds her tighter, running her hand through the unruly mess of Marian’s black hair as she presses kisses to every part of her she can reach. “It’s alright. It’s alright, I’m here.”

Eventually, Marian’s weight is too much for Isabela to hold standing, but she still doesn’t pull away. Instead she folds, taking Marian with her. The crew don’t come closer, and their voices are quiet - though whether that’s only the echo of the storm in her ears Isabela doesn’t know. She waits until Marian opens her eyes to look up at her, once again fully human, face red with sunburn and wet with tears. She says, “I didn’t, I’m sorry, I -”

Isabela says nothing. She just presses her closer, and rubs slow circles in her back, hushing her. Marian weeps until she cannot cry any more, and then lies there, quiet and shivering, face hidden in Isabela’s shoulder. Isabela holds her with shaking arms, and kisses her again and again. Around them, the ocean sways and kicks gently under a suddenly clear sky. Marian sniffs, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry, again, Guessing this really wasn’t what you signed up for, was it?”

Isabela purses her lips, and catches her face in her hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. “I always know exactly what I’m getting myself into, harpy.” Marian’s mouth twitches in the direction of a smile, and Isabela leans forward and kisses her, deeply, despite the snot and tears and ozone sting of magic on her tongue. 

Marian pays for the cannons, later. But first, they give the children a proper burial. Afterwards, they share a drink on deck together, sweating and dusty from the beginning of extensive repairs. The crew give Marian a wide berth. She drinks deeply from her cup, and looks at the horizon when she says, “it’s bad luck, you know.” She cuts a glance at Isabela, eyes blue as magic in the twilight. “Mages, on ships.”

Isabela shrugs, and steps closer, resting her hand over Marian’s on the railing and winding their fingers together, tightly. “Bad luck for templars, maybe. But something tells me we’re going to be just fine.” The corner of Marian’s eyes tighten, and she looks away from her, toward the leaping horizon.

“You have a lot of faith in me.” The words are pulled thin, like too little thread across an open wound. Isabela squeezes her hand against the still damp railing of her ship. The sea breeze pulls her salt-thick hair whipping against her cheeks and chest. She’s looking at the sunset when she replies, gazing at where the sun burns the sky as it dips into the sea. 

“I know. But I have to have faith in something.”

[ilikefandom]

Snape’s Secret

Hi again. This is my first time posting with Snape and any constructive criticism will be adored. I tried to make the reader as ambigous as possible. 

Warnings: Fluff, Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Snape is not himself and nobody knows why, that is until our lovely reader shows up.

Type: Oneshot

When the third cauldron exploded the class held its breath as they turned to look at the professor. Severus Snape was looking at the culprit, Neville Longbottom, who was shaking in his boots. Snape’s face turned red, however it was not rage he expressed.  

“Clean it up Longbottom.” Snape hissed at the fourth year student, before stalking to the other side of the classroom to sit at his desk. 

The class sat in stunned silence as Snape opened a drawer in his desk. He looked up at the class, “Well?” he growled, “Back to work.”

He slid a letter out of the drawer and opened the seal gingerly with his fingernail. Looking back up at his class, Professor Snape sneered, “Do I have to tell you again? Back to work!”

He unfolded the letter as most of the class turned back to their cauldrons whispering about Snape’s sudden change in attitude. Some speculated it was the upcoming Triwizard tournament, others thought a pay raise was behind the slight smirk on Severus’ face, but Hermione Granger knew better. 

Snape had been in a decent mood all week, he had yet to deduct more than 50 points from Gryffindor or any house for that matter. Snape had yet to give any student, in any house, detention. He had been seen receiving letters and at least once a day, and this made Hermione wonder if the serious, snarky, Severus Snape had found himself a significant other. 

Snape folded the letter, picked up a piece of new parchment and began to write a reply. He was so engrossed in his response that he neglected to call up the students for sampling until he was done. He folded the letter, casting a clever little traveling spell over the entrance to the drawer, he placed the letter through the top and closed the drawer, removing the spell with a flick of his wand. 

“Now,” Snape turned to his class who stood around their cauldrons chatting and none more loud than the so-called ‘Golden Trio’ “Bring up your samples to my desk so that I can grade them. Hurry up!” He snapped. 

The class collected their samples and passed them to the brooding teacher as he placed them away for testing on his grading block. He opened the letter he had received earlier and smiled slightly at the small, uniform handwriting. 

Dearest Severus

I hope that the students aren’t giving you too much trouble. As I write this I sit at my desk as my students watch our first media study. Teaching History of Interaction has been the best experience and I wish it was an elective at Hogwarts rather than a mandatory subject here. I miss you so much and I cannot wait until the Triwizard Tournament as we will be able to see each other for a few months as our Interaction field trip takes place. My most senior students noticed my ring during the first period. Seriously, get a bigger emerald next time. 

I can’t wait until this summer. I bought my dress last week and I ordered you a set of navy dress robes. They should arrive in a few days. Drinking cocoa, watching films with my students and thinking about you.

Always yours,

(Y/N) 

Snape gave one final half smile at his parchment before the bell rang and he dismissed his class with a wave of his hand. 

A few weeks passed and soon all the other schools arrived for the Triwizard Tournament. As all of the rules were spoken about the tournament, Dumbledore checked his watch. He smiled and stood when Barty Crouch Sr. had finished speaking. 

“Thank you Barty,” he said, addressing the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a nod. “Today we have another collection of students joining us merely to observe the Tournament. May I present the senior students of Borealis Academy of Magical Learning and their Deputy Headmistress, Ms. (Y/N)(L/N). 

The heads of the students turned as an attractive young witch led the band of formally dressed teenagers to the front of the Gryffindor table, where the students each found their niche. Ms. (L/N) found her way to the Professors’ table and sat herself in between Dumbledore and Professor Snape. 

A hand touched Hermionie’s arm as she looked at the Deputy Headmistress. When she turned to see who it was, a student, a rather attractive one she had to admit, from the Borialis school. 

“I’m sorry.” They said with a soft smile, “Can you pass me the chicken please?”

Hermione smiled, “Sure, can you tell me about your…”

However, she was interrupted by Ron before she could finish her sentence. “Why would she choose to sit beside Snape? There were plenty of empty chairs.”

“Why not?” The student asked with a quizzical expression. “I’m Sam by the way.” They added with a slight grin.

“Snape is horrible!” Ron started with a grimace, “He’s like the worst teacher here, and I’m Ron, Ron Weasly.”

“And I’m Hermione Granger.” Hermione said as she shook Sam’s hand. “Can you tell us about your teachers and curriculum? I have never heard of Borealis.”

Sam gave a hearty chuckle, “Borealis Academy of Magical Learning is in the very Northern part of Canada. It’s a huge castle made of ice. My favourite subject is Transfiguration, however, if it’s teachers you want to know about, Ms. (L/N) is my favourite, she’s everyone’s favourite.” They picked up three of the drumsticks and put them on their plate, they also spooned a large ladle-full of a creamy bisque into a bowl. 

Ron looked over at the young woman who was laughing at something Dumbledore had said. He turned back to Sam, who was happily munching away, and asked, “Are there any bad teachers at your school?” 

Sam smiled, “One that I don’t like. He teaches our mandatory Muggle Subjects class.” Sam shivered, “He gives the most horrible detentions. I also dislike our Magical Music teacher, but only because they’re so stuffy and angsty, I love going to their class.” 

Harry, oblivious to Sam’s presence, jumped in his seat. “Since when did somebody else join us?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Sam, this is Harry Potter, Harry this is Sam, they’re from Canada.” 

Sam gave Harry a little wave. “Hello. So what do you guys think about Hogwarts? Apparently our top four grades go to this Tournament thingy every four years to see a “Fantastic display of Magical Cooperation” as it was put on the permission form.”

“Well,” Hermione stated, “We’re only in Fourth Year, so we haven't seen this before…” She began to ask Sam more questions and they were happy to oblige with answers. Ron, however, was not paying attention, he watched, instead, as Professor Snape slipped his hand gently over Ms. (L/N)’s left one, caressing her fingers gently, where a beautiful silver and emerald engagement ring sat.

Ron gasped and almost knocked his plate onto the ground. Startling Hermione and Sam out of their conversation. 

“What?” Asked Hermione, indignant, as she was in the middle of quizzing Sam about what classes were mandatory in Canada v.s in the UK. 

“Snape’s touching her hand.” Ron said plainly and the quartet turned to look at the point where Severus Snape’s hand covered Ms. (Y/N) (L/N)’s. Hermione went slack-jawed, Harry’s eyes went wide and Sam… Well Sam was smiling their cheerful smile.

“She flaunts that ring like nobody’s business.” Sam commented going back to their meal, “At least we know who this mysterious English fiance of hers is.” 

Sam looked as if they just had an epiphany and turned down the table to shout “Oi! Sara! Check out who’s marrying our teach!”

Heads turned and smiles formed on several faces down the table as gasps of ‘Finally!’ and “Yes!” echoed down the hall. Ms. (L/N) who had heard the commotion shook her head and beamed as she flipped her hand over to take Snape’s in hers. 

(Y/N) laughed quietly as she gazed at her students with joy. She turned to Severus and smiled saying, “Severus, dear, you didn’t tell your students you were engaged, did you?”

Snape sneered at his food while (Y/N) laughed. 

“Engaged? Severus?” Squeaked Professor Flitwick.

“You didn’t tell us!” Minerva McGonagall exclaimed. “Might I see the ring dear?” She asked with a slight tilt of her head. 

(Y/N) smiled and held out her left hand to the Transfiguration teacher as the other woman inspected the ring. “My goodness! It’s very nice!” Poppy Pomfry chimed in sneaking a peek at the jewel in the centre.

“It was my idea,” Severus said glumly, “and it happens to be the stone of the month when we met. And it has our birth flowers carved into the side.”

“You’re forgetting one tiny detail darling.” (Y/N) said with a smirk, “It was my money.”

The other teachers gasped, as (Y/N) shook her head and giggled. “I come from a rather affluent family, it was a drop in the bucket that is my inheritance. I just like to make fun of him when I can.”

Snape rolled his eyes and took her hand again, with no prompting. (Y/N) drew her hand back to her side and turned to smile at Severus. 

She would have a full life ahead of her to tease him, but, for now, joking in front of his co-workers would have to do.

Author’s Note: If you are non-binary or non gender conforming please let me know if I did an OK job with Sam. I wrote them based on the personality of one of my non-binary friends. Just let me know so I can write more realistic non gender conforming characters. 

Author’s Note 2: Please send in requests for characters. All unmarked readers will be automatically assumed Fem. Make sure to send in a plot too. Bye!

[paganinpurple]

A Feline’s Family - MariChat May 2019

It’s been another hard week. Whilst I found a little time to edit, I found none to write. I’m gonna try writing some more today, but we’ll see. No promises on the next update as a result.

Autocorrect and I had a love-hate relationship during this chapter. It loves to tell me I’m wrong and I hate it because it’s deliberate this time.

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3

Chapters (If there’s no link, it’s not written yet)

1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10

11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20

21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31

Day 22 - Sick

It was still the middle of the night when Chat awoke, briefly confused by the proximity of the ceiling above him and the darkness-muted rose colour of the duvet cover against his chest. As the memories of the sleeping arrangements from earlier caught up to his foggy mind, and the emptiness of the bed as well, he heard a muffled noise from the floor below.

Peering over he spotted a head of dark, messy hair – as its owner stood bowed over her desk, grabbing at something hastily. He noticed the tissue in her hand when she brought it up to catch her sneeze, tossing it in the trash in favour of a fresh one when she lapsed into a new bout of sniffles again.

“Are you okay, Bugginette?” he rasped out. He gripped at his throat as she looked up at him, the mere act of saying a few words feeling like an attempt to swallow a block of sandpaper.

“Kiddy?” she sniffled, her nasally tone making it clear that her nose was blocked up and interfering with her regular speech. “You should be asleeb. You need your res’ to feel bedder.”

“Looks like I could say the same to you.”

Taking advantage of his super-abilities, Chat leapt over the guard rail by the bed and landed almost silently beside her. She flinched for a moment at his reckless actions before giving him a half-hearted swat to the arm.

“You scareb me,” she grumbled when he laughed, her accompanying frown deepening when it transitioned into more of a coughing fit instead as his raw throat protested. “You shouldn’ do dat when you’re sick.”

“And you shouldn’t be down here without a blanket. Besides, I’m only a bit sick. You seem much worse off.”

“Nahb,” she told him, her voice adding a new consonant to yet another word that didn’t need one, “I always seemb worse than I actually am. I don’t feel too bad, excepd that I can’t stob sneezing.” She punctuated her words by grabbing another tissue to catch the next one that exploded out of her suddenly.

“Nuh uh,” Chat croaked out, catching her off her guard by sweeping her legs out from under her and scooping her up into his arms. “Thank God for enhanced abilities,” he thought as he wobbled for a moment, slightly weakened from his illness, but still plenty strong enough to carry her safely.

Keeping his tail  pointed straight out behind him for balance as he began to ascend the steps back up to her bed, Chat desperately tried not to think too hard about the feeling of her arms pressed against the bare skin of his neck or the way she didn’t seem to cling too tightly to him. She had absolute trust in him not to drop her and it made him glow inside with pride.

When he reached the top he gently sat her down, gesturing for her to scoot up the bed and climb back under the covers and -to his relief- she did so, though not without a pause for a sneeze or two on the way. He climbed back down to grab her box of tissues and situated them beside her except when he tried to retreat again this time, she gripped his wrist. He looked up at her face for further clarification.

“You comeb back to bed too,” she sniffed, her inflamed nose standing out even in the darkness.

“I will in a minute,” he smiled, “Just need to get a few things for us first.”

With a quick fumble for the no-longer-hot water bottle from earlier, Chat retreated again to prepare to take care of his Lady.

*

It seemed like only a few minutes later when the words, “Hey, you still awake?” roused Marinette from the restless doze she had slipped into.

“Hmm?” she murmured.

“I made us hot drinks,” came the whisper again, “Lemon and lots of honey with a shot of cold medicine mixed in. Like my mom used to make me when I was sick. If you breathe it in while it’s hot, it can help with the sneezing too.”

Blinking a few times, clearing away the tiredness from her eyes, she tried to focus enough to take the mug from him.

“Sit up properly first, or you’ll choke or probably spill it.”

“Dowing meb? I’ll do boff.” Huh, her nose seemed to be even more clogged than before. Maybe it was to do with her tiredness, or maybe she really was worse than usual.

She righted herself, pulling the duvet up to her chin before freeing her arms to take the mug from him. The steam wafting from it smelled delicious and she inhaled as deeply as she could manage through the one nostril that would allow it. It was with a pleasant surprise that she discovered it soothed her skin where she had rubbed it raw with the tissues.

A tiny, hesitant sip revealed it tasted as good as it smelled and gave way to a much larger gulp from the mug. It was followed almost immediately by a hiss in pain at the scalding temperature.

“Careful!” he scolded her, “It needs to be hot to help the sneezing. Breathe first, drink after.”

“How comeb you’re drinkin’ yours already then?” she huffed.

He smirked gently, not fully facing her as he took a long drink from his own mug. “Didn’t let the kettle boil for mine. Switched it back on for yours. It’s you who’s been sneezing; my throat just hurts.”

“Ohb. Well, are you at least feelin’ any warmer dow?”

“Yeah, much warmer. Which reminds me…” He leant over towards the end of the bed and snapped up the hot water bottle he’d forgotten about, boldly pulling the duvet away from her and tucking the cosy accessory against her pyjama top before replacing the cover.

“Uhb…danks,” she mumbled, a warmth spreading through her from both the water bottle and her sudden affection for his thoughtfulness. “You didn’t habe to dough. I would’b been fineb.”

“Marinette.” His words were chastising.

“I would dough!” she told him, sounding very much offended despite her affectionate smile.

“You’re only sick because of me, Princess. Now blow on it a few times so you can drink it down. I think Sleeping Beauty needs a little more sleep than she does beauty right now.”

“Are you drying to say I look ab mess, Kiddy?”

“A gorgeous mess,” he smirked slyly, “As always.”

She chose to blow on her drink and take a tentative sip instead of responding awkwardly to his dreamy gaze.

*

When her drink was over half empty and Chat had finished his, he took the mugs away, leaving them on the desk below to be dealt with properly in the morning.

Marinette took her time curling up under the duvet, finding the optimum position to sleep in with a nose as snotty and blocked as hers bothering her. She whined for Chat to hurry up the whole time she did so, acting as if he was deliberately trying to slight her by being out of the bed at all. His amused chuckle was quickly becoming her favourite song.

When he finally started to crawl over to her, he laughed at her sprawled form laying in the centre of the bed, gently poking her side to get her attention. “I need some space too, you know,” he snickered.

“Dere’s plenty of roomb if we cuddle dight,” she said back, the cold medicine loosening her tongue enough to be even more forward than she had earlier. She didn’t even notice his startled expression at her words, instead using her arm to sloppily beckon him towards her more.

He responded eagerly, sliding into bed and positioning himself so that her face was resting against his collar bone. She snuggled in close until her nose hit something. From his viewpoint, he missed the way she screwed up her face in irritation, so he had no opportunity to think of it as cute – though he definitely would have done if he had seen the expression.

“Your bell is in de way,” she grumbled, stubbornly giving the mentioned bell a tiny headbutt in defiance, “Be Adrien againd sob I’m comfy.”

He chuckled again, -louder this time- his throat no longer feeling particularly sore when he did, thanks to his drink and most likely to Plagg too. After all, the small creature must have been enhancing his own body’s natural defences to his illness.

“Anything you say Bugginette,” he said fondly, dropping his transformation and his eyelids too, as he started to drift off to pleasant thoughts and dreams for the remainder of the night.

Buy Me A Coffee?

[razieltwelve]

The Twilight Terror (Flash Fiction Fridays #6)

The last remaining members of Everton’s Council glanced at one another as bells began to toll throughout the city.

“He’s finally here.” One councillor got to his feet. “It took longer than we expected.”

“It was only a matter of time. It took him a year to wipe out the Empire. He was younger and smaller then.” The other councillor shook her head. “We’ve lasted almost as long, but we still don’t know why he’s attacking in the first place. Nobody does.”

“Does it matter?” The third councillor asked. “We’re all that’s left. Either we hold him off, or we die. That’s all there is to it.”

X     X     X

The barrier over the city flared a brilliant blue as a blast of blindingly bright fire crashed into it. The whole city shook beneath the weight of the assault. The barrier crackled and hissed, and frantic cries of alarm filled the air as barrier mages struggled to reinforce the beleaguered bulwark.

“Reinforce the barrier! Hurry! He’s coming back for another pass!”

Beyond the barrier, a massive winged shape raced through the sky. Titan wings beat the air, and the Terror’s black scales gleamed in the moonlight as the dragon swooped in for another attack. Another searing cloud of flame enveloped the barrier. Cracks spread from the point of impact, and the cries of alarm took on a new, feverish pitch.

“Redirect all available magic to the barrier! I don’t care if you have to cut off everything else, the barrier has to hold!”

The Terror’s wings spread, and he hung in the air. His silver eyes shone with malevolent intelligence. This was what made him so dangerous. Dragons were intelligent, but so few of them bothered to use their cunning in battle. They relied on their immense power and durability to triumph. But the Terror was different. He learned with astonishing speed, and no tactic ever worked against him twice.

His scales shifted, turning from black to white, and empyreal flame kindled in his jaws. There was a flash – like a second sun rising – and a beam of impossibly concentrated fire lanced straight through the barrier and struck one of the towers that served as an anchor. The tower didn’t explode. It simply ceased to exist. The barrier flickered, and the Terror fired another lance of white fire.

Inside the barrier, the councillors couldn’t help but admire the beast’s intelligence. A barrier was designed to repel any incoming attack. A dragon’s fire normally dealt damage across a huge area, so the barrier had been calibrated to defend against area-of-effect attacks. The lances of white fire were different. Empyreal fire not only had powerful anti-magic properties but it also concentrated the dragon’s power into a much smaller area.

The result? Each lance could pierce through the barrier to strike the anchors it relied upon. And with two of those anchors gone, the dragon was free to use the fire that had made him infamous across the world.

A torrent of black fire spewed out of the dragon’s mouth. The obsidian tide rolled over the barrier, a tsunami of corruption and decay. The barrier flickered again, and huge chunks of it began to fall away and tumble toward the city below.

“The barrier has been breached! Prepare for combat!”

Above them, the Terror folded his wings and dove. The last remnants of the barrier shattered, and a maelstrom of black-and-white fire roared to life around the great dragon as he landed in the centre of the city.

Pathetic.

The word thundered through the mind of every single person in the city, and images of the horror the dragon had inflicted on the Empire and the rest of Everton drove them to their knees.

Burn!

The last councillor staggered to her feet. The city had been almost completely devoured by a sea of black fire. A few magical attacks struck the Terror, but they simply clattered off the dragon’s scales. Silver eyes alight with malice, the dragon unleashed another beam of white flame. The mages and their escort vanished.

This was why people called him the Twilight Terror. A dragon who could wield both corrupting fire and empyreal flame had never been seen before. It made it almost impossible to defend against him. His corrupting flames were devastating, capable of obliterating huge swathes of territory. His empyreal fire was perfect for more concentrated attacks.

The Terror smashed another building and stomped toward the last councillor. As he lowered his head to glare at her through the clouds of ash and debris that filled the air, she finally got a closer look at the dragon’s face.

Black scales and silver eyes… and a small patch of white scales on his snout.

Die.

X     X     X

Timmy looked up from the book he was reading as Spot thrashed in his sleep. The dragon rolled onto his feet and snarled. Flame gathered in his jaws, and he lashed the air with his tail.

“Spot,” Timmy said. “Calm down. You were having a dream. Please, don’t burn down my office.”

Spot blinked, seemingly realising where he was for the first time. He shook his head. A dream?

“A bad one, by the looks of it.” Timmy chuckled. “It must be because of all those pineapples you ate before having a nap.”

Pineapples can’t give you bad dreams. Spot’s stomach rumbled ominously, and the dragon chuffed. Maybe I had a bad dream because I didn’t eat enough pineapples.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Timmy grinned. “But, hey, you never know.”

Spot tilted his head to one side. Can sheep eat pineapples? I wonder if Little Spot would like some.

“Hmm… I think they can, but we should check with the shepherds first to be sure.” Timmy got up. He was feeling a bit peckish. “Come on. We can grab some snacks and go visit Little Spot.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

With Halloween coming up, I thought this would be appropriate. Was it just a bad dream… or was it a glimpse into another world where things turned out a bit differently? Who knows?

Anyway, this week’s post was delayed because I had my second dose of vaccine. I felt awful the day after, and the most bizarre thing was that rather than my arm being sore (that’s where I got the injection), my knees were absolutely killing me all day. It honestly felt like I had arthritis or something, so I just didn’t feel like doing anything. That said, I’m feeling almost back to normal now.

Incidentally, if you aren’t already familiar with them, the characters from today’s snippet are from The Unconventional Heroes Series.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter four.

wc: 3,109. original publish date: october 7, 2020. 

JFK starts the car forty-five minutes later. He turns the key in the ignition cautiously, silently begging the car not to make too much noise. Van Gogh is asleep in the passenger's seat. The car whirrs to life and Kennedy doesn't rev the engine this time. He turns to Van Gogh and smiles slightly. He realises for the first time that the boy is wearing his old junior varsity cross-country jacket.

***

Van Gogh wakes up some time later. He stretches before opening his eyes. He rubs the sleep out of them as they adjust to the darkness. The cool outside air seeps in through the windows and suddenly he wishes he'd brought gloves. Gogh plunges his balled fists into the pockets of Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket. The boy inhales deeply through his nose as he takes in the scenery, seeing nothing but pine trees lining the outstretch of the quiet highway in front of them. There are no cars in sight. No buildings or houses or rest stops. There are a few white markers shoved into the ground next to the road, but most of them are bent or broken -- probably from swerving cars crushing them out of shape.

"Where are we?" He asks in his small voice, foggy sleep still tugging at his throat.

JFK turns his head ever so slightly, as if to make sure his best friend is really awake and he's not just hearing things. Satisfied with the reality of the boy, he nods toward the built-in GPS screen. "One hundred three miles outside of Exclamation!," he replies.

Van Gogh furrows his brow at the machine. "Yeah, but I mean where."

"I just told you."

Gogh gives up and sits back in his seat. He opens his mouth to nag Kennedy about turning on the seat heater, but the button is already illuminated. He smiles to himself.

"How long have you been driving?" He asks a couple minutes later, his eyelids weighing down again.

Kennedy scrunches up his nose. "Over an hour."

"I was asleep the whole time?"

JFK nods in affirmation. Van Gogh stares at his side profile, his eyes tracing his pointy nose and thin lips. His gel is wearing off, causing his brown hair to flop around his ears and the top of his head a little bit. Kennedy blinks slowly, and Gogh does the same, almost in solidarity.

"Are you tired?"

JFK shakes his head, but he's squinting.

"You're tired," Gogh decides. He's only met with a shrug.

"Let me drive," he tries daringly.

Suddenly, Kennedy is miraculously alert. He straightens his back and he opens his eyes up fully. "You can't drive, Van Gogh. You don't know how."

Van Gogh shrugs, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "You could teach me."

The car fills up with silence again, but it's a different kind than when Van Gogh was asleep and JFK was lost in his own head.

Van Gogh tilts the face of his digital wristwatch upwards to read the time. "It's 11:30, Kennedy."

"Is it?" He asks absently.

"We should stop somewhere. We could both sleep."

"I don't even know where we are," JFK protests.

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "You're the one who said we didn't need a plan."

Kennedy nods, his motions sticking with the rebuff of tiredness. "I haven't seen any signs for miles. Think we should just get off somewhere?"

Van Gogh shrugs agreeably. "I don't see why not."

JFK pulls down his turn signal and the car hums with melodic clicks as he changes lanes. He slows down the vehicle each time he passes over the dotted white lines even though they have the highway all to themselves. He follows the rules when he's alone -- Van Gogh can't help but think that's something he was never supposed to know.

Kennedy exits the highway seamlessly, and stops the car at the intersection. The traffic light is glowing red even though all the other lanes are empty. Van Gogh always thought there was some sort of censor in the road that knew when cars were pulled up to the lines, waiting to be dictated through the intersection. He wonders when he'd started thinking that, who'd told him, if it was true. He pulls the cuffs of Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket over his hands and brings his knees to his chest, balling himself up in the warmth of the seat heater. Even with no snow on the ground, the town of God-Knows-Where is having as harsh of an April as Exclamation! is.

The town looks just like every common roadside stop -- clean sidewalks, towering lampposts with chipping paint, empty convenience store parking lots sprinkled with litter, barren gas stations lit by buzzing yellow lights. In the dead of night, the whole world freezes and the town looks like a photograph on a gift shop postcard. Van Gogh wishes he'd packed his camera so he could capture it in all its drowsily nostalgic glory.

Finally the traffic light glows green and Kennedy turns left, driving the car into the centre of town. There's a park with chemically green grass, visible even under the moonlight alone. In the middle of the lawn is a white statue that seems to be made of marble.

"That's just cement," Van Gogh says.

"Hm?"

He points out the window. "That statue. It's supposed to look like marble but it's not actually."

JFK nods, and then smiles. "That's kinda dumb."

Van Gogh smiles in return and sneaks a glance at the boy. "Yeah, it is."  

With a controlled turn of the steering wheel, the car glides blissfully around the park. Kennedy continues to drive, but slower than the speed limit. Van Gogh, balled up and shaking from the cold, still manages to stare out the window at the sleepy neighbourhood, wrapped in a blanket of the night. Some of the houses have their porch lights on. Some have cars parked in the driveway, others on the street. All of the houses look the same, and it reminds Van Gogh of his own neighbourhood, only posher. The houses are two stories and their porches are made out of poured concrete rather than splintering wood. The doors have brass knockers and the windows are French, full of panes and feminine glass. Van Gogh wouldn't mind living in a photocopied world if it was at least a picturesque one.

"Do you think there'll be a motel in this town?" JFK asks, penetrating Gogh's quiet bewilderment.

He turns his attention away from the window and onto the driver. "Probably not a motel, but maybe some small family-owned inn."

"I don't see one."

"That's because you're in the residential part of the town," Van Gogh scoffs, the magic of the anemoia wearing off. "It'll probably be back where the gas station and stuff was."

When Kennedy turns toward Van Gogh, he looks almost disappointed.

"You wanna look at the houses some more, Gogh?"

Gogh shakes his head, but the movement is mechanical. His eyelids drop and he has to blink fast to keep himself alert.

Kennedy sighs in serenity rather than exasperation and pulls into the driveway of one of the cookie-cutter houses to make a three-point turn. He reverses the direction of the car with ease and continues through the town, driving slowly enough to quiet the noise of the engine but quickly enough to get Van Gogh into a bed before he can fall asleep in the car.

The inn is small and the parking lot is empty of all cars. Unlike the convenience store parking lot, this one is clean, and the bushes along the sidewalk and the edge of the lot are perfectly manicured. JFK pulls into the spot closest to the long, wooden stairs leading up to the porch. The building looks almost like a house from the outside, only longer,  like a mansion made of common shingles and dusty edges.

The sign doesn't have a full or vacant indicator on it, but Kennedy guesses it's the latter due to the nature of the parking lot. He reaches over and rests a hand on Van Gogh's shoulder gently. Van Gogh blinks and looks up at him, his eyes wide with innocence. Kennedy smiles softly. "I found an inn."

Van Gogh unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the car door. JFK does the same on his side of the vehicle and they walk up the stairs together. The wooden porch groans under their weight and Van Gogh steps the rest of the way across it quickly, a nagging thought in the back of his mind telling him it'll break if they don't get off of it soon.

JFK pushes through the door of the inn first and holds it for Van Gogh. He huddles close to the taller boy as he walks, his stomach somersaulting with each step he takes. The inside of the inn is dimly lit and furnished with consonant floral wallpaper, every wall a different pattern and colour. The lobby itself isn't very large: room just enough for a fireplace decorated with pictures of past tenants on one wall, a congregation of chairs and a game table set in front of it; a wide, dark hallway across from it, where Van Gogh can just barely make out the white railing of a grand staircase; a tall bookshelf exploding with leather bound novels, complete with shiny gold lettering snaking down the spines on the third wall; and on the fourth, a bored woman collapsed against a desk, a clunky old computer in front of her and a stack of travel guides by her elbow. She's tall, lean, and pale, with short magenta hair and a face full of piercings. In this light, she looks like Joan of Arc -- but Van Gogh knows she's back at home in Exclamation!, probably spending her Friday night sulking.

The girl doesn't react even as JFK steps up to the desk. He leans against it, batting his lashes at her in his overly flirtatious nature. Van Gogh rolls his eyes and walks up next to his friend to ring the bell, stomping his heel down on it.

"Hi there. What can I do for you?" The girl drones in a monotonous voice.

"We'd like a room," Gogh says before JFK can make a snarky comment.

"Great. How many beds?" She asks, still in her flat tone.

Van Gogh can see Kennedy turn toward him to consult out of the corner of his eye, but impulsively answers the girl before he can talk to JFK. "Two."

The girl sucks on one of her snake bites as she punches the keys on the slow computer. Van Gogh watches her intently now, wondering if this is one of her anxious habits. She seems to fidget with her piercing the way JFK chews gum.

"You look like my friend," Van Gogh blurts suddenly, not sure why he felt the need to tell her, or why he referred to Joan of Arc as his "friend". He's talked to her once or twice on the teen crisis hotline (which Kennedy could never know about), and she's JFK's friend, but Van Gogh doesn't have time to think about making friends. John F. Kennedy is enough for him.

"Oh, yeah?" The girl replies absently.

Van Gogh doesn't say anything more. JFK's smile fades.

"Okay, here you are," she says, pulling a key off one of the nails stuck into the wall behind her and handing it to Kennedy. "Room one-oh-four."

"You have one hundred four rooms in this place?" Gogh asks.

The girl shrugs. "Probably not. I think the rooms start in the triple digits."

"That's dumb," Kennedy replies, and Van Gogh wonders if he'd said it himself since he'd opened his mouth.

Thankfully, the girl -- secretary? -- doesn't take offence. "Yeah, I think so too. But I guess there's more ring to the three-digit numbers than anything else."

"How much?" Kennedy asks, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his letterman jacket.

"How many nights?"

"One," Van Gogh says before he or Kennedy can think.

"Like twenty-six dollars? I don't know. No one ever stays here."

"What town are we in, anyway?" JFK asks, swiping his card through the machine.

"Blackbox."

"Well, I'd say that's why no one ever stays here," Van Gogh retorts.

The girl's eyes narrow. "Why? Where are you two from?" She scrutinises the boys.

"Exclamation!," Kennedy replies.

"With an exclamation point on the end," Gogh admits.

The girl laughs. "Oh man, and you're criticising this town?"

Both boys stare at her blankly. She rolls her eyes and pulls a travel guide out from the stack next to her. She fishes a pen out of one of the drawers on her side of the desk and bites the cap off with her teeth. She holds the plastic piece in her mouth as she scribbles something down. When she's finished, she sets the pen on the desk and takes the cap out from her teeth before covering the pen with it and throwing it back into the drawer. She flips around the guide so it faces Kennedy and Gogh.

"This is Marshtown," she says, pointing at a circled spot on the map with her finger.

"Is there a marsh there?" Van Gogh asks. "It's a lazy name either way."

The girl takes a moment to think, sucking on her snake bite again. "I think so. But it might've gotten its name because it's foggy there all the time -- like, all the time. There's no ocean to blow a breeze over or anything. I think it's just like that. But anyway, you should check it out. Think this place is creepy?"

Both Kennedy and Van Gogh nod without looking at each other.

The girl smirks, and continues. "If you want a real kick, go there. I've been there with my boyfriend a few times."

"Oh, we're not-" the boys start to explain at the same time, their cheeks glowing pink and their temperatures rising.

The secretary girl smirks again. "Whatever. It'd still be fun to go."

Kennedy pulls his card out of the reader as it beeps. To the girl, he says, "thanks." He turns to Van Gogh, handing him the door key. "Go find our room. I'll go get our bags from the car."

Van Gogh opens his mouth to protest, but Kennedy is looking at him with his intense stare again. He decides to let it go. He nods, mumbles a quick "thank you" to the secretary, and heads toward the grand staircase. He shudders as he walks through the darkness, the cold suddenly burrowing deeper than it did when he was outside. He pulls Kennedy's -- his -- letterman jacket more tightly around him.

He climbs the staircase, the wood hard beneath his Keds. Van Gogh trails his hand along the railing as he walks, steadying himself as he observes all the gold-framed paintings hung along the wall. They're all oil-painted people he's never seen before -- very much different from Exclamation!, where he's met the clone of all the people in the paintings. These faces look respectable, but common, like they're only made to seem like they're important. Van Gogh exhales. Maybe it would be nicer here, where he isn't constantly reminded of how he'll never be the man whose DNA he shares.

Eventually, Gogh makes it to the top of the stairs and pries his interest away from the paintings. There's a sign tacked to the wall directly in front of him: rooms one hundred through one hundred fifty to his left, rooms one hundred fifty-one through two hundred on his right. He turns left and walks almost all the way to the end of the hall, turning to open the door marked one hundred four. The key slides into the lock easily, but the door takes an extra push to open.

Inside is the same hideously mismatched wallpaper as the lobby and atrociously unclean carpet as the hallways. There are two queen beds side by side with their headboards against the wall to the left of the door. Where the wallpaper peels, Van Gogh can tell that the room itself is painted a mossy green, which clashes with the already clashing patterned duvet covers on the beds. There's one window shielded by sheer white curtains and an old white space heater beneath the windowsill. There's no desk, but there's a stone fireplace on the wall across from the beds. Thankfully, there are no framed pictures of past tenants. Van Gogh couldn't sleep with them watching him.

The boy steps all the way into the room and closes the door behind him. In the space behind the door is another door. He pushes it open. It leads into a large bathroom, complete with a heavy mirror and speckled yellow tile on the floor and lining the shower wall. Van Gogh closes that door and looks around the room, feeling that there's something missing.

There's no closet or dresser. Great. Good thing they're only staying one night, because he'll have to live out of his suitcase. He can't stand to think that he'll have to refold all the clothes he rifles through after getting dressed each morning.

Gogh claims the bed closest to the window and sits in the middle of it. He's just begun to untie his shoes when the door pushes open. Van Gogh sinks in on himself, terrified of what could be trying to break in.

"Relax, relax! It's only me," Kennedy laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Van Gogh scrunches his nose. "Took you long enough."

Kennedy pushes Van Gogh's brown suitcase and it rolls across the carpet to him. "Here. I thought you might want this."

"Thanks," Gogh mutters, pulling off his shoes and sliding off the bed.

***

By the time JFK and Van Gogh have showered and changed into bed-appropriate clothing, it's nearly 1:15 in the morning.

"We should go to sleep," Kennedy suggests, sitting up in bed and readying himself to go turn off the light.

Van Gogh shakes his head. "No. I'm wide awake now."

Kennedy gives him sleepy eyes, still holding himself up on his elbows. "How long do you need?"

In the low lighting, JFK is made of soft edges and rounded corners. His mound of brown hair is fully flopping over his face now without the gel, and every thirty seconds or so the boy has to push it out of his eyes. The collar of his grey Harvard shirt hangs off of his neck to reveal his collarbones, and his eyes are heavy with sleep. Van Gogh's pencil scratches against his sketchbook.

"Fifteen minutes," Kennedy mandates.

Van Gogh takes another look at the boy and smiles. "Fine by me."

He starts to draw.

[soradragon]

Purple Hyacinth

First Bakugou x reader and I think this one has become one of my favourites! I put my entire being into making this so I hope you all like this just as much as me! ^^

Thank you for helping me edit this @xxbyimm and  @jinks-world​ !! love you guys!!!

If you want to be tagged in the upcoming fics don’t be afraid to ask me!^^

Masterlist

Bakugou x reader

Warnings; angst and fluff and idiotic pinning

Anyway, enjoy^^

~~~~~~~

As he walked, Bakugou pulled a hand through his hair.  He just got back from the infirmary and the bandages around his back weren’t the only evidence of what happened this morning, for his arms and hands were still trembling. The confrontation with you played over and over again in his head, still affecting him. 

In truth, you hadn't punched him that bad. He knew you could have done way worse, but you held back - even though your anger somehow had gotten the best of you.

You had been shouting at him, your eyes filled with tears that had yet to be shed. Bakugou doubted he could forget that look in your eyes anytime soon. 

Black ooze mixed with white had shot out of the bulbs from the centres of your palms, forming a tentacle.  It had slapped him across the face, it strangely felt like plastic filled with water had hit him.  

The force of your blow had been enough to launch him through the terrain. The stinging pain of rocks and rubble digging in his back still felt nothing like the dull, aching inside Bakugou's chest. It constricted his heart with strings of pain, tugging and pulling at it mercilessly like he was a mere rag doll. His fist clenched around the fabric of his uniform right where his heart throbbed painfully inside his chest.

Frustration and confusion plagued Bakugou’s mind as he relived the way you had been shouting at him. You treated him like he betrayed you, with that, hurting him more than he would like to admit. 

Usually, you were a soft-spoken and tender girl, completely opposite of the one that had been standing before him. Kirishima had to hold you back before you could march up to him and do who knows what, but you struggled in his hold. When it became clear you couldn’t free yourself from the firm grip you were in, you started to shout. You yelled at Bakugou about how insensitive he was, about how he didn't care about anyone but himself.

When you finally ripped yourself from Kirishima’s hold and stormed in Bakugou’s way, it didn't occur to him to duck away or to evade your attack. The things you said to him before you used your quirk had stunned him into silence and glued him to the ground. 

Even now, hours after the event,  your words continued to bounce around inside his mind, haunting him with the image of your tear-stained face. 

"So we are not worthy enough to be here!? We shouldn't be here because some of us have a hard time controlling our quirks!? So you say we are worthless!? Fuck you, Bakugou!"

Bakugou was at a loss. So many thoughts consumed him, pushing to get even a second of the spotlight. Why did he even care? You were just you, so why did it bother him seeing you cry like that? Why did he want to comfort you and beat the living shit out of anything that had made you sad? 

Which obviously included himself then… And that...confused him...

How did he set you off the way he did? He always made sure his actions and the things he said had never bothered you. 

You'd laugh that annoyingly perky laugh of yours when he exploded - figuratively and literally.

Why was it so different this time? What did he say to make you so sad? He did have a vague hunch but he wasn't that sure about it.

One thing was clear. He wanted to make you smile again, he wanted to fix whatever he had done to make you mad with him. If he had to punch someone (or himself) to make it happen, he damn sure would do it without a second thought.

Bakugou felt determination burn within him as he walked through the halls towards the dorms with a purpose. He was going to make amends, and find out what he had said to set you off.

*(*)*(*)*

...It was harder than he originally thought...

He was standing right there, in front of your door. He just had to raise his hand and knock. 

Easy as that. Couldn't have been easier.

And yet, Bakugou hesitated at the last second. He just stood there, frozen, in front of your door with his fist raised. He must’ve looked so damn ridiculous. Why was this so much easier in his head?!

Kirishima had come up to Bakugou when he wandered inside the common-room looking around him. Suspecting you would be in the common-room like normally, but you weren’t there. Kirishima told him ( before he could even ask) that you went to your room after getting detention. 

Well, that backfired. Originally, he was going to put the thing in your room and leave before you would know that he was in your room. 

His only plan exploded right in his face.

Now, there was only one option left...and he didn't like it.

Come on, it can't be that hard! Just knock on the damn door and get on with it!

Bakugou scolded himself, shaking off the last thoughts of going back. Pumping himself up to take that last, final step.

He was ready. 

Raising his hand towards the door and -

You opened the door before he could knock...

Crap!

Your eyes widened slightly when you saw Bakugou standing before you. But your surprise was short-lived, and your face quickly scrunched up into a scowl. You did not look happy, not happy at all.

"What do you want Bakugou?"

Bakugou resisted the urge to flinch when you spat his name out with such venom. But he also noticed the slight crack in your voice. You were still hurt.

Not knowing what to do with himself, he mirrored your expression and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Both of you were taking each other head-on, glaring at each other with fury and an annoying stubbornness. But that didn't really bother Bakugou, because above all, he secretly admired your perseverance. 

It was the puffy red eyes that dismayed him. You had been crying...

His mind raced.

What now? This wasn’t the plan, what should he say? Fuck, he had not prepared for this. This wasn't going as it should have! 

Bakugou cursed himself. His body didn't cooperate, he was frozen stiff.

After a moment of awkward silence and stubbornly glaring at each other, you finally caved in. You sighed frustratedly and said: "if you're not gonna say anything, then I'm closing the door. Goodbye Bakugou."

That was enough to snap Bakugou right out of his stupor. He couldn’t allow this to happen after all he has done!  Bakugou’s instincts took over and he reacted without thinking. He grabbed the door before you could fully close it, almost getting his fingers slammed in the door and the doorframe. Bakugou didn't pull, he still was giving you an out.

You gritted your teeth, Bakugou was so infuriating, it angered you. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't make yourself hate him. What was worse is that he didn't even know you couldn't make yourself close the damn door. 

Why did this boy affect you so much? You gave him one final glare before giving in. He won.

"What is it that you want?" you hissed.

This time Bakugou didn’t freeze this time he pushed his pride aside and he was ready to tell the truth. And he would succeed. With effort, Bakugou pushed the words past his lips. A non-filtered sentence and then some came right out of his mouth. He just hoped it didn't disappoint. He felt stupid like that idiot Deku...How humiliating!

"Take this! I hope this thing will clear up what I've done or whatever..."

Bakugou shoved the bush of purple Hyacinths he had brought with him, into your face as he spoke. The bell-looking blooms almost got pushed right into your nose.

Bakugou glared towards the ground, not daring to even glance towards you. His entire body burned in shame, he really wanted to blast some stuff to pieces. 

What he didn't know was that you had taken the flowers, immediately recognizing the meaning behind them the moment he shoved them into your face. You felt the sharp, sudden feeling of new tears coming, but you didn't really care. These were happy tears. 

One thought invaded your mind, letting all the frustrations and irritations fade. 

He remembered.

A giggle had escaped your lips when you saw Bakugou blush. Ah, he was trying so hard to apologize. Your heart melted, right at that moment you knew that you would always forgive him. For he - even though he didn't let it show - took the time to listen to your rambles about flowers, and little nonsenses...and he took it to heart, he remembered them...

Isn't that worth forgiving?

Bakugou's heart skipped a beat when he heard your sudden giggle. That soft and annoyingly endearing laugh of yours. His head snapped up, and he stared at you, his mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. 

Right at that moment, he was convinced he just had gone to heaven. Or an angel had gone down to earth and was now standing before him - either was a possibility - You left him speechless.

You stepped to the side, fully opening the door for him. It was an invitation to go inside, and he took it. 

"Midoriya told me you would come and try to apologize to me one day, " you said, opening a cupboard and pulling out a pot and a sack with dirt. Putting the flowers in the flowerpot, covering the roots with dirt and watering them. "You can take a seat if you want, no need to stand there."

Your back was towards Bakugou as you spoke. He grumbled under his breath, staring at the ground. Not daring to look up at you as he took a stool to sit down on.

Of course, that Deku would tell you that...

You took your time admiring the flowers Bakugou had given you. They were a beautiful purple-ish blue colour, you already knew they didn't come from just a flower shop. 

These beautiful babies still had their roots. No, they came from a farm, which meant he had gone through all that trouble to get them for you.

You felt your heart flutter inside your chest, taking a deep breath to steady yourself and prepare to face him and the questions he could and would definitely have. 

Bakugou could feel your nervousness radiate off of you as you faced him. 

This awkward tension was killing both of you - Bakugou wanted to high-tail the fuck out of there and he was convinced that you were thinking the same. He knew you well enough, so he could tell. 

Bakugou hated this. He hated being the reason why you were behaving this tense. He hated how he felt so many emotions but couldn't carry them over in the right way. 

He wanted to tell you so much: about the way you made him feel when your smile was directed at him. About the way you made him feel in general. He wanted to reach out and take you into his arms and never let go. But even as he felt that urge taking him over, he withheld himself. 

Bakugou didn’t feel he was deserving of that title which would give him the freedom to do so: to give you the attention and affection you deserve.  So instead he glared at his hands, hunching over to block you from seeing him.

You, on the other hand, were in conflict with your own mind. You wanted to explain to him that everything was alright, it was actually not his fault, to begin with. But knowing him he wouldn't accept such a lame and vague attempt at reassurance, no, he knew you wouldn't snap at him - or anyone for that matter - for no reason. You would either have to go all out and tell him everything. Or, keep it all to yourself and tell nothing, leaving Bakugou with the guilt for something he didn't do. 

You just couldn't do that to him. So you made your decision and went with the first option. You took a seat on your bed and you looked at him, giving him a calm, understanding smile.

"I am glad that you came to me sooner than everyone else thought. That means a lot to me." 

Bakugou's eyes widened slightly, lifting his head. He just stared at you.

You glanced towards his back, the smile on your face falling slightly. Emotions were swimming in your eyes which Bakugou couldn't place.

"I-I hope it doesn't hurt as much as it looked...S-sorry for throwing you back there...I've put too much strength behind it, I-"

"Tsk...It's fine..."

Bakugou cut you off before you could go on any further. He turned his head to the side because everything was better than looking straight at your hurt face.

"Didn't hurt that bad..." Bakugou mumbled under his breath, pressing his hand against his mouth. You almost didn't hear him. 

A relieved sigh left your lips. "I'm glad." You whispered and suddenly it felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. 

Bakugou glanced towards you, he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He felt like an idiot. That smile of yours would be the death of him before any of the villains would get to him.

You were a weird one that's for sure, was it possible for you to have more than one quirk?

None of you said anything after that. The air was getting awkward again. Both of you could feel it. This was getting ridiculous.

"Thank you for remembering my rambles about flowers," you began, slowly letting go of your nerves. "I didn't think you would remember the meaning behind them, but you did. Thank you."

Bakugou grunted, resisting the urge to look away from you. "It's nothing-"

"It is! This means a lot to me! Flowers have always been a huge part of my mom's life. And flowers and their meanings were everything to her. A-and they mean a lot to me too..."

You spoke up enthusiastically, almost jumping in Bakugou's face in your excitement. 

Bakugou stuttered when you suddenly grabbed both of his hands as you rambled on.

"Ever since I was little, my mother taught me the symbols behind flowers and the passion behind them! I would always find blue cornflowers by my bedside when I got ill, as a wish for good fortune."

You practically had stars in your eyes as you spoke. "You see, when I was younger I used to have a very fragile immune system. I was sick all the time. It became even worse when my quirk manifested. Flowers always made me happy, and-and..."

You suddenly stopped, realising the position you were in, you jumped away as if Bakugou had burned you. Bakugou rose from his seat in an attempt to follow, his arm reaching out towards you in a longing manner. Before he acknowledged what he was doing, he let his arm fall to his side reluctantly.

This was harder than both of you originally had thought.

"I'm so sorry!” You murmured as you hastily tried to explain yourself, while furiously blushing and flailing your arms about “I just started rambling without thinking!"

You looked like a flustered tomato, Bakugou thought. Shit, that made you even more adorable.

He cleared his throat, stuffing his hands in his pockets."Huh. Your immune system got weaker because of your quirk? What kind of weird shit are you talking about?"

He knew it came out rather curtly, as he tried to hide the abashment in his voice. He immediately regretted snapping at you like that, but you didn't seem to be bothered by it. Instead, you sat down again.

This was going to be a long story, Bakugou could tell by the way you looked at him. Open and trusting.

And it gave him a new sense of adoration towards you. Opening yourself to him with your past. Bakugou sat down on the chair without noticing it himself, waiting for you to start your story.

"You know that my quirk has to do with black all-destroying acid, and white healing ooze right?"

Bakugou nodded.

"Well,” you went on. “My own body creates those oozes. Though my skin is immune to the black acid, my insides are not." You sighed, touching the spot on your neck which looks more pinkish than the rest of your body. "My quirk is called inner yang-yin ooze. A quirk, which resembles the ying-yang symbol, yang; the symbol of female and devastation. Ying; the symbol of male and life. When my quirk manifested, I wasn't prepared for what was to come."

You shivered and took a moment before you went on again. 

"My insides were scorched, luckily a friend of ours with an erasure quirk stopped the yang ooze from scorching my insides. It does mean that I need to use my quirk constantly, covering the yang ooze with the yin. Sometimes I lose control over my quirk and some part of my body will be scorched." You explained, pointing towards the pinkish spot.

There was a short silence before you took a deep breath.

"So yeah...that's also the reason why I flipped out when you said that some of us were weak and 'if you couldn't control your quirk properly you were never meant to be here in the first place.' It brought some bad memories to the surface. It wasn't really your fault I got mad, but you just… triggered me, I guess." You concluded, fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for Bakugou to reply.

He was quiet, staring at you with wide eyes. You didn't know what to think...

But after a moment or two, Bakugou moved, hunching his shoulders and casting his eyes to the ground.

Fuck...fuck...

Bakugou felt like a moron, guilt seeped into his skin, like a shiver down the spine. He had no right to say stuff like that when he, himself never went through something like that. 

"Fuck..."Bakugou mumbled under his breath, pressing his hand against his face. 

Oh god, he had told you, you didn't belong here...

Bakugou felt his stomach churn at the thought, his thoughts quickly spiralling into an abyss of negativity. Each voice shouted at him, berating him for his ignorance and stupidity. Bakugou wanted to rip his hair out as the voices came at him without mercy.

They were deafening, drowning out everything else. And suddenly Bakugou wasn't in your room anymore, as it morphed into a prison of black nothingness.

Until suddenly the voices stopped...it all stopped, and Bakugou felt like he could breathe again. Your soft voice pulled him out of the black abyss and your touch brought him back to his senses. He was in your room again, curled into himself. You sat on your knees in front of him, your worried face close to his. His head cupped in your hands.

"Are you alright, Bakugou?" Your soft, concerned voice did things to him.

"Uh...Yeah..."

*(*)*(*)*

"Y/N...please...dammit Y/N...!"

You heard a faint voice in the distance, your head felt fuzzy. 

"...Why did you just run at that villain without thinking…!?"

Warm little droplets fell on your cheek.

"...Stop being so damn reckless Y/N...!"

T-this voice...why was it so familiar...?

"You think no one cares...b-but...I do, you damn idiot..."

You felt your conscious slowly slip away again, you felt something soft touch your forehead before sleep took you.

*(*)*(*)*

You groaned, slowly sitting up. 

"What happened...?" You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes, getting rid of the sleepiness. The moonlight streamed through your window, illuminating the room in a white sheen. You were in a hospital bed. The nightstand was covered in 'get well soon' cards, they were from class 1-A. Your class.

One thing stood out more than the other things. It was a small vase, standing at the corner of your nightstand, Blue salvia, blue cornflowers and red tulips.

You immediately knew who gave these to you. 

Warm feelings fluttered inside your stomach, you smiled softly.

flower meanings: 

purple Hyacinths; (I'm sorry)

Blue cornflowers; (a wish of good luck/good luck charm)

Blue salvia; (I'm thinking of you)

red tulips; (declaration of love/ dedication towards you)

~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, and keep soaring high!^^

_____

Bakugou taglist

@gliesewolff​

[havenoffandoms]

Sweeter Than You (Eskel/Lambert, Modern AU)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: "A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating."

Pairing: Eskel/Lambert

Content Warning: Modern AU (lawyer Lambert, baker Eskel), implied sexual content at the end of the chapter (nothing graphic)

Read on AO3.

Lambert has had the shittiest day at work. 

First, he got stuck in downtown Novigrad traffic even though his traffic app told him that the roads were all clear, which in turn made him late for his 9am meeting. Real professional, great first impression. His client was understanding about the situation, but Lambert hates being late, especially when he’s trying to score new clients for his firm. The meeting went well despite his tardiness, and Lambert is convinced he’ll get the case settled in no time, but his day just kept getting shittier and shittier. He ended up spilling hot coffee on his brand new suit and the only spare he kept at the office was slightly too snug when he put it on. Great, he apparently put on weight, too. That has to be Eskel’s fault, what with all the treats he bakes for Lambert at the weekend. 

If the day wasn’t bad enough, Lambert’s car broke down on his way to lunch with an important client. It took the tow-truck a whole hour to get to him, which meant that Lambert had to cancel on his client and lose out on a potential settlement agreement. To add insult to injury, the sandwich Lambert ended up buying from a nearby bakery tasted of ass. Though admittedly Lambert’s taste buds have considerably developed since he started dating Eskel, because the man is a literal genius in the kitchen. Lambert can’t eat generic sandwiches anymore without comparing them to Eskel’s creations. 

When the tow-truck finally showed up, Lambert decided to call time of death on this generally miserable day. He called his secretary and told her to clear his diary for the day, which he knew that Essi would pull off. She’s hands down the best secretary in the whole of Novigrad, in Lambert’s eyes anyway, and well worth the considerable salary he pays her each month. After calling Essi, Lambert hailed down a taxi only to find that he left his wallet in his car, which was now being towed away to the nearest garage. Great. Just fantastic. 

Fuck this shit, fuck his car, fuck his job, and fuck the entire universe. 

Lambert just starts walking without a clear destination in mind. His suit is too tight and uncomfortable, but he can’t bring himself to care as he tries to work off the anxious energy bubbling in his chest. He wants to scream, or punch something, whatever yields the most satisfaction. Why is the world against him today? What did he do to deserve this? Lambert considers dialling Eskel, but he knows that his boyfriend won’t be able to hear the phone if he’s at work.

Oh, wait a second. 

Lambert looks around for the first time since storming off and he quickly realises that he’s not actually too far away from Eskel’s shop. The thought brightens his mood a little - if Lambert’s not able to go home and hide away from the world, at least he can spend the afternoon helping his boyfriend out in the bakery. Or just wait until Eskel has a minute to spare so Lambert can hug out all his frustrations in the backroom… or do other things in Eskel’s office. With a renewed spring in his step, Lambert makes haste towards Eskel’s shop. 

It doesn't take long for him to reach Lil Titbits, a quaint-looking shop just off the main street of Novigrad's business centre. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but Lambert knows just how hard Eskel worked to make the inside of his shop as inviting and cosy as humanly possible. As soon as Lambert steps inside the bakery, the heavenly smell of warm baked bread and freshly made coffee invades his nostrils. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend like he’s stepping inside his and Eskel’s home rather than his boyfriend’s shop. 

The little bell above the door chimes loudly, announcing his presence. Lambert instantly notices that the place is quiet - which is not unusual for a Wednesday afternoon, when most of Eskel’s customers are still either at work or at school. Lambert notices an elderly couple sitting in the booth by the window, enjoying a generous slice of lemon-meringue pie - oh fuck, Lambert loves Eskel’s lemon-meringue pies - between themselves. Lambert can’t fathom why anyone would share a slice of pie that good, especially since Eskel’s creations are by far the best fucking thing Lambert’s ever tasted. People are weird. 

Apart from those two customers, the place is empty. It doesn’t take long for Eskel to appear behind the counter, wearing his favourite apron, the one that reads “They Call Me Darth Baker” written in a white font on the black fabric. Geralt, Eskel’s brother, bought him that apron for Christmas, but Lambert never thought Eskel would actually wear it at work, for every customer to see, but that’s Eskel for you. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about what people think of him. Lambert has always admired that about him. 

“Hey babe,” Eskel greets him, his smile bright enough to rival the moon, stars, and the fucking sun.  The deep baritone of his boyfriend’s voice washes over Lambert in calming waves. “Bit early for you to be here. Everything alright?” 

Lambert’s legs move of their own volition, and before he knows it, he’s behind the counter burying himself in the warmth and safety of Eskel’s arms. “I am now,” he breathes, his tone just on that side of pouty, before rubbing his cheek against Eskel’s nerdy apron. He doesn’t give a shit if the customers at the back of the shop see them, nor does he care if he ends up with flour in his beard. He needs this, needs to feel Eskel close, because today’s been a shitty day and the only person who can make it better is his boyfriend. 

“Oh sweetheart, what’s up?” Eskel asks, his voice soft and reassuring like he’s talking to a spooked animal. Lambert only tightens his hold around Eskel, not ready to break the sweetness of the moment by reminiscing about his not-so-good-very-bad day. “Wanna move through to the kitchen?” 

That, in fact, sounds like a great fucking idea. Lambert almost whines when Eskel pulls away from him, but the urge quickly fades when Eskel laces their fingers together and drags Lambert through the back by the hand. Once they have regained a semblance of privacy, Lambert lets Eskel pull him into another soul-crushing hug. 

“I hate everything. And everyone. Well no, not everyone. I don’t hate you.”

“Mmh, good to know,” Eskel rumbles, sounding amused, “what happened, puppy?”

Lambert buries deeper in Eskel’s embrace as he replies, his words slightly muffled by the fabric of Eskel’s apron. 

“Got stuck in traffic this morning, then was late for my meeting, spilt coffee on my suit, my car broke down, I missed lunch with a potential client who’s worth a buttload of money, and I’m getting fat,” Lambert ends, his tone decidedly whiny when he’s reminded of just how snug his emergency suit feels. Damn Eskel and his ridiculously good treats. 

“Naw, hell Lamb,” Eskel shifts and grabs something resting on the working surface behind him. When Lambert looks up, he sees Eskel holding what looks to be a lemon and white chocolate muffin inches away from Lambert’s face. “Open up! My baking always cheers you up.” 

“Your baking is the reason why I’m getting fat!” Lambert grouses half-heartedly, his tongue poking out from between his lips to lick at the buttercream frosting covering the top of the muffin. “Mmmh, white chocolate! I knew it.” 

“Was gonna save it for you to celebrate your new client. Guess it can also be used as a consolatory muffin,” Eskel brings the treat closer to Lambert’s lips and offers a small, encouraging smile, “c’mon, take a bite. I promise you’ll feel better.” 

Lambert can’t resist Eskel’s pretty eyes anyway, so he happily lets his boyfriend feed him the muffin. Lambert takes a huge chunk out, the white chocolate and lemon flavours exploding on his tongue pulling an appreciative moan. Lambert’s eyes flutter shut as he savours his morsel, and when he opens them again, he sees Eskel’s smile has widened into a pleased grin. 

“Good?” he asks, like there’s any fucking doubt about how good his muffin tastes. 

“As always,” Lambert whispers in response, snatching the muffin out of Eskel’s hand and stuffing what’s left of it in his mouth. Eskel levels him with an unimpressed look, clicking his tongue in disapproval at his boyfriend’s actions. 

“You’re gonna choke one of these days,” Eskel tells him, trying not to laugh as Lambert tries to chew around the massive bite in his mouth, “look at your lil hamster cheeks. Adorable.” 

Lambert glares - the full effect of his scowl is probably lost on Eskel, though, with how Lambert is still struggling to swallow his treat - but the intention is there. Eskel shakes his head fondly before leaning in and catching Lambert’s lips in a chaste kiss which probably tastes sweet and lemony, but Eskel doesn’t seem to mind the taste of his dessert on Lambert’s lips. It takes Lambert a little while to swallow the food in his mouth, but when he does, he puckers his lips in a silent request for more of Eskel’s sweet kisses. 

“Yes?” Eskel teases, raising one eyebrow, “can I help you?” 

Lambert’s lower lip juts out into a sad pout at those words, an action that pulls a warm chuckle from deep within Eskel’s chest. He takes pity on Lambert and pulls him impossibly closer to his firm body, rubbing his nose against Lambert’s in a tender gesture. Lambert’s hands come to rest on Eskel’s hips, where he squeezes the soft flesh of his boyfriend’s puppy fat. Gods, but he loves absolutely everything about Eskel. 

“Can you close the shop early today and take me home?” Lambert asks, voice barely above a whisper, as he stretches up to capture Eskel’s mouth in a demanding kiss that leaves very little as to which kind of activity Lambert has in mind for their evening together. His hand squeezes Eskel’s hip more firmly, pulling a needy whine from his boyfriend in response.

“Minx,” Eskel growls under his breath, punctuating his statement with a final kiss, “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Eskel walks away, Lambert doesn’t miss the way his boyfriend has to readjust his pants which are now tenting at the front. Lambert leans back against the worktop of Eskel’s baking table, and first undoes the buttons of his suit jacket, then the top three buttons of his shirt. He, unlike Eskel, isn’t trying to hide the visible bulge forming in his far too tight pants, dammit. 

“You do what you have to do, sweetheart,” Lambert speaks in a sultry tone, the irritation brought on by a rather shitty start to the day long forgotten when he meets Eskel’s lust-blown eyes, “I’ll be right here, looking like a goddamn snack for you the whole time.” 

Eskel curses under his breath, pointedly looking away from Lambert. 

“Bastard. You just wait until we get home,” Eskel threatens half-heartedly before leaving the kitchen to empty the showcases and store the pastries in the refrigerators on the main shop floor. Lambert feels positively giddy with anticipation at the thought of how him and Eskel will spend the rest of the evening. 

Lambert’s day, in spite of everything, doesn’t seem so shitty in the end, not when he’s got Eskel to come home to. 

[hanadoesstuffbadly]

‘Online’ ch I - RS&t7D University AU

Hello, I was looking for Red Shoes fanfiction when I discovered that there are little to no Modern AUs being written. So i figured, screw it, I’ll do it myself because I love modern AUs.

This is the first chapter and it is very long, so if you don’t feel like reading it, fair enough. I’m planning to write the whole thing anyway because I also love writing and it’s good practise.

Small warning if you do want to read this: Merlin is British. I am British. British people are very sarcastic and very moody all of the time. This entire first chapter is from Merlin’s perspective so there are a lot of British phrases and idioms used. If you are fortunate enough to not be an eternally grumpy Brit, don’t worry, the next chapter will be a very bad written impersonation of an American!!

Also, this is my first ever fanfiction so please don’t judge me too harshly, I am but a young peasant girl.

Sooooooooo.... Summary.

Merlin is a twenty year old student at Southend University. To combat his detrimental narcissism, his counsellor suggests online gaming. Merlin tries to cheat by using an ancient game called Fairytale Island, which designs your avatar to match a photograph. This plan falls apart when his laptop explodes, turning his avatar tiny and green. He ploughs on regardless, sure that he will encounter nobody. Little does he know, that a newly moved student from the States is coming online the very same night. :)

(It’s kinda switched so Merlin is the last of the F7 to get his attitude set right.)

With that done... I hope you don’t hate it!

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Merlin couldn’t stand mornings, especially Friday mornings. Because for the duration of his first year of Uni, Friday’s lessons had always begun at the reasonable hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon. This left Merlin a good half hour to be awake, out of the door and on his bike, zipping past the crowded Southend beaches. In short, Merlin hated Friday mornings because he had not seen one in fifteen months. Needless to say, it was not a welcome reunion.

Approximately twelve minutes prior to commencing with today’s zipping -at the unlawful hour of nine in the morning- Merlin had been idly stirring shredded wheat into a depressing gruel (much to the disgust of the ever-vigilant, ever-attentive, red-haired cook,) basking in his own tardiness. 

Had he asked for counselling? No. 

Did he need counselling? None of their business.

Did he want to be dragged out of bed at half-eight by six overbearing housemates who apparently believed it was "necessary" or "overdue"; to be packed off to the Resource Centre so that they could “Evaluate any and all emotional or psychological issues which may have arisen for you, as a student whom we have identified as being at risk, before the beginning of this new academic term”? No, he did not!

Contrary to a promising forecast, the sky was a sapphire pool overhead. Thus, the fantasy of motorbiking down empty seafront roads, the brassy drumming of thunder and the gurgle of saltwater smothering his roaring engine (Hans called him a madcap but personally, Merlin preferred the term Raptor-trainer) was squashed. And given that a motorbike charging down the road in the wee hours of the morning was frowned upon, Merlin was forced to content himself with walking at a purposefully counter-productive pace to the bus stop down the hill. Stubbornly, he insisted on himself that he wore a cobalt-blue, long-sleeved shirt with grey trousers; dressing not for the weather he had, but the weather he wanted. This was a stupid idea and the sleeves were rolled up before he reached sea-level. He had to restrain himself from missing a bus entirely. It wasn’t crowded, because of course it wasn’t. Everyone else in Southend had better things to be doing. 

Like sleeping. 

The bus didn’t even go all the way to the college, stopping at least a dozen yards from the entrance like a noncommittal shrug. It took everything in Merlin to not  keep his butt planted securely in his seat; let the busyness of British public transport whisk him away to the Leigh on Sea station; catch a train to Fenchurch street; disappear into Central London; never be seen or heard from again, especially by Dr- as a student whom we have identified as being at risk- LeFey; then inevitably die from water pollution at a ripe old age of thirty-five. It took everything in him, but he walked down to the building, through glass-doors ornamented by a million sweaty fingerprints, and into a waiting room that smelt of Sellotape.

Unsurprisingly, the stately woman at the desk gave him barely a passing glance, handing him a form to fill in with the enthusiasm of an automatic door sliding open. Also unsurprisingly, the assistant behind her paused in rearranging a filing cabinet to brush a couple of sandy hairs behind her ear and chew the end of a pen like it was made of liquorice. She even wandered aimlessly away from her task altogether, sidling up to the front desk most inconspicuously.

Merlin's mood brightened. While he leant down to scribble his name and address on the paper, he winked discreetly in her direction.  In spite of definitely not looking at him, her cheeks turned beetroot crimson and what might have been a giggle or the beginnings of a small heart attack escaped her lips. 

Against all of the shoddiness of his day so far, Merlin grinned inwardly, sizing her up with half of his attention. Tall, slender, twenty-one, twenty-two most likely. Stray blonde curls framed a thickly tanned face, the rest piled atop her head in a bun. In all, not a bad picture, although her wardrobe did leave something to be desired: Bell-bottomed jeans and a T-shirt reading "Darth Vader was framed", betraying that 

A. She still thought that bell-bottomed anything was a good look, and 

B. That she had never paid more than six quid for a shirt. 

However, her figure and the hang of her hair more than made up for those discrepancies. Perhaps he could get something out of this counselling after all. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly,

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he waved the form vaguely in front of his face, "but I have a small problem."

Perhaps knowing exactly what he was doing and being used to it by this point, the woman, Ms Marion- who had decided that underneath a lace cardigan was the place for a name tag- ignored him completely, leaving miss bell-bottoms to round the edge of the counter and come to stand by his side over the offending form.

"What's the matter?" She asked, sincerely.

"Y'see," Merlin began, fixing her with a smile that even Jack admitted made anyone weak at the knees, "right here it's asking me for something that I just don't really get." He pointed accordingly, and bell-bottoms leant in closer. To get a really good look at the text, of course.

"We need your mobile number."

"Oh, I see, now here's the thing." Wearing a look of utter helplessness, he faced bell-bottoms completely. She appeared confused, her face becoming redder by the second. "I don't have one of those."

"What?"

"A mobile number." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't mind terribly giving me yours, would you?"

If he squinted, Merlin was fairly certain he would see her bell-bottomed soul leaving her body and fluttering out of the window. He took her lack of reaction as an invitation,

"Lin Pendragon." He extended one hand, still cloaked in a fingerless glove the colour of wet bark. Despite his housemates deciding otherwise, Merlin was in fact not his actual name, and he would sooner be caught dead than introducing himself with it to an attractive young woman such as this. "Part time Ancient Historian, full time Romantic."

Bell-bottoms took the hand and shook it with unexpected firmness,

"Gowlle Delocks. Part time assistant, full time, um..." She seemed a little lost, floundering like a GCSE English paper "Full time-"

"Doctor Morgan LeFey. Part time tolerator of tardiness. This is not one of those times Mister Pendragon."

Spinning on his heel and effectively knocking the form onto the floor, Merlin faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway of a side-office like a disgruntled flamingo.

One thing came to mind when Merlin looked at the counsellor and that was the smell created when someone burns popcorn in a microwave. Forehead too small; nose too large, a hairy wart taking up most of it; everything that should end in a curve ending in an acute, needle-like point. She looked like a bad imitation of a Picasso painting come to life. Yellow hair that might have been blonde hung from her scalp, which he could almost see for how thin the stuff was; and her olive skin was definitely closer to a pale, sickly green from where Merlin was standing. The murky, sky-blue gown that would have looked excessive in the nineteenth century certainly didn't help. Summed up, she looked like a creature one would throw something at if it approached them on a dark night. Merlin felt his nose wrinkle in disgust.

So, he had been forced into counselling by a literal witch. Today was just going swimmingly wasn't it.

Dr Lefey's "office" was exactly what Merlin expected. Save of course for a cauldron,  broomstick and small children in display cases. Indigo curtains rather than blinds hung at each side of a wide picture window that looked out on a garden peppered by horrendous little gnomes. Their China faces were stained green by years of mildew build-up. Her wooden floor she had covered with gaudy, knitted rugs, and the sides of her desk had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to them. On the off-white walls hung various, tasteless frames of all sorts and colours, each depicting a photograph taken by somebody who was evidently not a professional photographer. One such picture especially caught his eye.

"This you, Miss… Lefty?" The question was stupid, of course it was her, every other human being on the planet had at least managed to look like one. The photo showed the woman sitting in a cluster of children underneath a cobbled-together shack, a paper tiara on her head and a wand made out of several plastic straws. "The fairy princess in the mauve cardigan?"

"First," She answered, pushing the door shut behind her with her pointy hip, "It's Doctor Lefey, but you will call me Morgan in these sessions." Merlin couldn't help but smirk internally when she assumed there would be more than one of these nightmares. "Second, yes, that is me in the photograph, November, four years ago, Uganda, a recycling activity. And third," The slam of a hefty file being dropped unceremoniously on to a desk made Merlin jump. "I was the fairy Queen."

"Well, your majesty," he ducked his head in a mock bow, "you've aged..." At first, he searched for an adverb but then realised, he didn't particularly need one.

Morgan gave Merlin that pinched smile that he'd seen Arthur's girlfriend, Gwen, give customers at The Golden Goose Cafe when they told her she had no idea who she was dealing with. Also called the 'booting-you-into-next-Thursday-would-cost-twenty-pounds-an-hour-but-i-am-legitimately-considering-it' face. Merlin ignored her easily. He'd had years of practise doing so.

He plopped himself down onto a teal green sofa with a ketchup stain running up one arm. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but the garish pixie cushion did help somewhat. Morgan paid him no attention, leafing through the thick file which she had retrieved moments before. She paid him no attention for a little too long.

As aforementioned, Merlin was fine with ignoring people. Even enjoyed it sometimes. Unattractive waitresses, bin-collectors, overweight people at the gym, pedestrians. Being ignored, however, was a far less comfortable experience. Probably because it was such a rare one. He coughed into the pasty silence.

"Those your medical records?" The room was quiet enough to facilitate a pin drop sounding like a bowling ball being dropped. A long, controlled intake of breath was easily made out. “Cosmetic surgery?” 

"No." She said shortly, continuing with her browsing, "but they are yours." Merlin quickly stopped ignoring her. "And your birth records and your parents birth records and every other detail of your stimulating life story, Merlin." He short-circuited momentarily.

"That's not my-"

"No, it isn't your given name, but it's what your roommates call you and according to them, the one you prefer going by." Alright, those googly snitches were going to pay later. He recovered from his surprise gracefully as always, but that left him no less indignant.

"I- I wasn't aware that you'd have access to that information."

"Several reliable sources have identified you as being at risk, Merlin, everything in this folder is strictly need-to-know." A smile that could have been genuine spread across her features, and it may have been nice if it weren't so nauseating to look at. He crossed his arms and sunk lower into the sofa, muttering to himself,

"You hardly 'need-to-know' about the name though."

"Obviously, anything said in this session doesn't leave this room and the values and standards of Southend University are to be observed at all times." With quick strides on legs like skipping ropes, Morgan left her desk and placed herself gracelessly on a trademark shrink chair. 

The ‘So, Merlin.’ Was audible on her spindly lips before they left them.

"So, Merlin. First, I'd like you to relax," Difficult, I'm sitting across from a gorgon, I'm a man moments from death, "and tell me about your background, where you're from, your family." He gave her a blank look.

"You just told me that you have a massive file telling you that stuff."

"Yes, but I'd like to know that you also know that stuff. Reviewing your case will prove very difficult if we aren't on the same page. Now, if you please." With an exasperated puff of air into his cheeks, Merlin leant forward so that his elbows braced against his knees and his hands clasped together.

"Fine. I was born in Seoul, South Korea; my parents died in a car accident when I was three. I was brought to England to live with an aunt in Ipswich."

"And you were comfortable with this change?" The interruption caused Merlin to blank for a second.

"Wha- I was three. I was comfortable sitting in a tumble dryer with knickers on my head!" This retort was not appreciated, judging by the tapping of Morgan's pencil against a green clipboard that had seemingly materialised out of thin air.

"These are regulation questions, try not to overthink your answers." With this she returned to drawing writing utensils from the ether apparently, a silent signal for him to continue. Already, Merlin's mind was going through fantasies of sprinting down the hill, across the high street and off the end of Southend pier.

"Alright then, the aunt was arrested when I was six-"

"Why was she arrested?"

"Are shrinks meant to interrupt their patients?"

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a University counsellor, why was your aunt arrested?" Nothing about this experience was relaxing. Getting a Frostino with Miss Delocks, the part-time-assistant would have been relaxing.

"Possession of illegal firearms. Just a taser. Five years in prison under the law of the United Kingdom. Happy?"

"Yes, this is very helpful. So, your guardian was arrested and…"

"I went into care, obviously. Seven foster homes over six years. Adopted after my eleventh birthday by Igraine Pendragon and her husband. I moved into their home in York, Summered in Cumbria; went to school with their son. Igraine died when I was fifteen, Uther when I was seventeen. Arthur and I moved out to one of the cottages we own in Leigh two years ago. It was all perfectly fine and now here I am at Southend University in a counselling session I didn't ask for with a counsellor that I'm certain nobody has ever asked for." Okay, the last bit slipped out half unwarranted, but he might as well be honest.

Long, mole-flecked fingers curled and tightened around the edges of her clipboard, leaving dents in the malleable green cork like it was plasticine.

"Right." Came a snarled response from between smiling teeth. "Now, on to some more current information: Who do you live with during your time at the University?"

"Igraine’s son, Arthur, and the five student tenants who rent out rooms." That felt weird to say. For some reason, whenever Merlin thought about the six other occupants of Stanrocc cottage, it was hard to remember that they weren’t all related in one way or another.

“Right, and are you comfortable with these living arrangements?”

“I’m a University student who gets to live in a fully catered house free of charge, what do you think?” The pinched ‘threaten-to-speak-to-my-manager-again-and-I-will-hit-you-with-a-shoe’ smile returned.

“Okay then.” A rustling of paper signalled that the background questions were mercifully coming to a close, as, Merlin hoped, was this entire experience. Unfortunately, the next words out of the witches’ mouth weren’t, ‘thank you for your time, Mister Pendragon, I hope you and Miss Delocks have a splendid afternoon.’ Instead she intertwined her grotesque fingers and looked him in the eye. The fact that he didn’t turn to stone was a shock.

“Now, Merlin, I’d like to know what features you look for when meeting new people.” Alright, not what he’d wanted or expected to hear.

“Is this a personal interview-”

“Just-” Morgan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they completely disappeared into her face. “Answer the question, Merlin.”

“I look for the same things anyone looks for. Do they look approachable? Would I want to be seen with them out and about? Those kinds of things.” He darted his eyes from Morgan’s varicose ankles to her sloping forehead. 

“So, you base the value of other people’s company solely upon their outward appearance and draw any and all judgements from those assets?” There were too many words in that sentence, was all Merlin could think in response. When he did finally puzzle out what the question actually was, he gave the woman a jovial nod. Finally, they were on the same wavelength.

“Of course I do, how a person looks tells you a lot about who they are, doesn’t it?” 

Morgan must have been writing something down, but it still felt as though her eyes had not left Merlin for a second. An intake of breath through her wide nostrils filled the room.

“To some extent, maybe.” She shifted on her chair and the look in her eye of a person who had gotten exactly what they wanted was unnerving. “Merlin, do you think you feel this way about other people because these mentalities could have been forced on you in the past?” Her nasal voice had become one of understanding and professionalism, the Northern accent thinning considerably. Merlin didn’t like it at all. “Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look?”

Throughout this entire, stupid session, Merlin had been wanting to avoid answering questions. Now all he wanted to do was say something so devastating yet so on point that it would shut this witch up for the rest of her career. And yet his tongue remained still, rooted to the floor of his mouth.

“I see.” The counsellor stood and shook out her skirts with the smug air of a woman victorious. Merlin wanted to throw something at her. Like a shoe. She went around to the back of her desk and retrieved a post-it-note shaped like a unicorn. “I’m giving until the beginning of the new term to combat this problem that we seem to have here." In one motion she ripped away the post it note and was making her way back towards him, brandishing it like a literal curse rather than simply the figurative one that it clearly was. She handed it to him unforgivingly.

"I'd like you to try a social activity that is purely audio based. Interactions with others that don't allow them to see your appearance." The urge to crumple the note into a ball was strong. “I’ll schedule another session three weeks from now.”

"And what if I'm perfectly happy with the way things are? I don't need to change anything." Merlin shot back, and control of the situation brushed his fingertips before Morgan's condescending smile dragged it out of reach again.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many reports do you think I received from your professors and peers of this self-important, judgemental behaviour?" Merlin was already standing as he milled the question over for a full couple of seconds.

"One or two, I'd imagine." He finally mumbled. The witch drummed her pencil against her crossed arms and shook her head. "Well," Merlin started, "it can't have been-"

"Twenty-four." She didn't look victorious now, just a little sorry. That was so much worse. "Twenty-four different people, who you have known for only a year or so. Still think you don't need to change anything?"

Merlin didn't want to look around at her ridiculous face again. He didn't think he even knew twenty-four people well enough for them to report him. Her voice carried on no matter how much he wanted it not to.

"If I don’t see improvement three weeks from now, regardless of how you feel about it, I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely."

The facts stung like poisonous, green smoke in Merlin's head. He pulled at the ornamented door handle, dismissing himself. Then a question came into his mind and forced itself to be asked.

"What activities would you suggest, then?"

"Start an interactive podcast; volunteer for a University chat-line; Online gaming." Merlin's humourless scoff punctuated her list.

"Yeah, no. I'm not an ‘over the phone’ kind of guy." He stepped out into the hallway and noticed Miss Delocks' head spin in his direction. The last ten minutes had dampened any mood he might have been in for going out, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to cheer himself up. He heard one last reply from the witch before he strode off in the assistant’s direction,

"Keep that attitude up and you won't be a "Part-time Ancient Historian" either."

-

In case the presence of a pale pink fiesta with mermaid stickers running along the doors wasn’t indicative enough, the loud guffaws and scattered shouts told Merlin that his housemates had company. This was before he even reached the top of the hill. Night was creeping across the sky already. Merlin would have liked to stay out longer, but the witches’ words had stuck a little too keenly to him, and a college bar surrounded by five beautiful young ladies was not, it seemed, the best place to process things.

Stanrocc cottage was one of a kind really. It was called a cottage because it managed to be too small to be a villa but also too pretty to be a house. The walls were brick, covered in an artsy kind of cement stuff with shells mixed into it, then painted white. Kingfisher blue window frames peeked out from beneath an overgrowth of marble-like gladioli and ballet-slipper foxgloves. The diminutive front garden was mostly taken up by the wild-cherry tree that had looked hurricanes and landfalls in the face, released a string of angry expletives and stayed precisely where it was with zero intention of ever going away. Around its ankles sprung up Snowdrops every Winter, but right now, in the twilight of August, the space was taken up by a hoard of decaying daffodil corpses.

Through one of the windows, a blonde head was just visible. It stood up haphazardly and came to the door when Merlin knocked. Jack appeared in the doorway, but he’d barely laid eyes on Merlin before he was leaning back inside and shouting into the noisy fray, his accent thick, probably from laughing,

“Ee’s back!” With that he left the door hanging open. Merlin entered, a little disgruntled at the lack of welcome, until he got inside and found out why. Seated on the various beanbags, chairs, and sofas, were their usual six occupants, but with them were four less usual ones. Alright, not that unusual, three of them Merlin knew he recognised.

First was Arthur’s fiancée, Gwen. She was a common recurring visitor. Whenever Arthur wasn’t following her around the café, she was following him around the cottage. The other two present were less clearly defined by engagement rings or Facebook relationship status’. 

Upon sitting back down on his very expensive armchair, Jack had one-hundred-and-fifty centimetres of pink-leggings wearing, ashen skinned vegetarian seating herself comfortably on his lap. That one was Viviane… Or Niniane. Merlin never actually paid attention when Jack gushed about her, but he was almost sure her name was one of those. She was Jack’s “study partner'', both of them being up and coming chemists. Funny, because to Merlin’s knowledge, studying didn’t usually involve reclining on each other’s laps; playing with each other’s hair (or her playing with his, at least) and going out on spa trips together. If they weren’t together, Merlin couldn’t blame Jack. All spread-out, round eyes and large lips, she did look a little like a fish with legs.

Lastly there was Briar. Nobody actually knew what Briar was. Was she Hans’ friend? His girlfriend? A kind of omnivorous goat? It was a mystery. Altogether they knew seven things about her: Like Hans, she was German; she took fencing lessons; her wardrobe consisted entirely of ankle-length, floaty skirts and a special talent of hers was tripping over literal air. She slept with a baseball bat, wore purple contacts in her eyes and, while you wouldn’t imagine so from her physique, she had the appetite of a full grown horse. They didn’t even know what she was doing at the Uni. With her legs folded in front of her, she leant on her maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend’s signature bean bag chair, one hand holding a row of scrabble pieces. The other was surreptitiously burrowing through Hans’ homemade bag of steak flavoured crisps, which famously tasted like dog food to everyone but those two. The curly-headed bag-holder didn’t seem to mind at all.

There was one other girl with them, seated on a folding chair between Briar’s feet and Arthur’s elbow. Merlin gave her barely a passing glance however, taking in a round figure, cherry-pink shorts, and shoulder-length brown hair before he lost interest. 

Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look.

The counsellor’s stupid voice drove through his thoughts unbidden like an off-rail train. He shook his head and shoved them back down into his subconscious where they belonged, ready to be forgotten. 

The ringing of the words, however, was replaced by his stomach gurgling irritably. A muffin and a salted-caramel hot chocolate were not enough to go on for a whole afternoon. His eyes fell on the Chinese food containers strewn about the coffee table and surrounding floor. A takeaway was a rare occasion in Stanrocc cottage. In the entire county of Essex, there were exactly four fast-food establishments that Hans trusted and respected, and thus, would allow them to purchase from. Two of these were fish-and-chip shops; one- Merlin’s particular favourite- did flame-grilled kebabs; and the last one was the Jade Dragon Restaurant. Very expensive- meaning Jack was probably to thank for it- and very, very good Chinese food. It dawned on Merlin a little late that this uncharacteristic treat might have been meant to make him feel better, judging by the sizeable stack of barbecue kebab boxes that could be seen just inside the kitchen door. Nobody else liked barbecue kebabs.

But he was too tired and too hungry to feel bad for not coming back. He’d been busy.

 The energetic game of scrabble had come to a standstill when his arrival was announced. Now ten pairs of eyes were on him and six of them were concerned. Merlin made for the kitchen, the multitude of expectant faces making his chest knot.

 “Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, half-heartedly when he noticed both Arthur and Hans shifting as if to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

 Noki, the second of the triplets, swept up a container filled with Prawn crackers and extended them in Merlin’s direction. He waved them away dismissively.

 “Really, it’s fine, I’ll grab something from the fridge.” And with that he left the room.

 Much to his dismay, the fridge was a sorry sight, being mostly bare save for half a watermelon and an empty milk carton. It was a Friday, he soon remembered, which meant Hans would be grocery shopping tomorrow. Also, Briar was there.

 Footsteps came thudding along the short passage between the living room and the kitchen. Merlin didn’t have to look up to know that an orange vest with arms was blocking the door.

 “What do you want, Arthur?” Even in the fridge, Merlin could feel the glare in the back of his head. Crossed arms also wouldn’t be a surprise.

 “I want to know where you’ve been, and why you didn’t feel the need to tell us you weren’t coming back?” Merlin finally selected a yogurt cowering at the very back with a best-before date of yesterday. He shut the fridge door with his foot, searching for a clean spoon on the draining board.

 “You know you aren’t actually my dad, right?” He plunged the end of the spoon through the paper covering and started ripping the excess away. “I can go where I want.”

 “No.” Arthur had now moved completely into the room. “But you’re still one of us, mate, and we were all worried. The triplets almost got in the truck to come pull you out of whatever ditch you’d fallen into.” Merlin actually looked him in the face this time. He was scratching his ghost of a goatee the way he always did when he felt in deep water. “You didn’t exactly leave in great spirits this morning.”

 “Lurrk, uum fyrn.” Merlin said through a mouthful of yogurt. The stuff was absolutely repulsive, but it was the best conversation avoidance technique he had without a book to hand. He manoeuvred around Arthur, trying desperately to keep from openly weeping at the foul stuff. The best-before date ought to have been the may-not-kill-you-before date. 

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed behind him. “I can see that. But you’re-“ Merlin dashed up the stairs, discarding the yogurt discreetly in the kitchen bin as he passed it.

Arthur had changed since meeting Gwen. It was like something had been plucked out of him. The thing that had made Merlin feel close to him while everything was happening: The adoption, losing both their parents. It was like Arthur had grown up, changed somehow. And had left Merlin behind.

 And from what he had seen in the other room, Arthur wasn't the only one.

 Merlin emptied the yogurt out of his mouth and gargled mouthwash to get rid of the lingering flavour of overripe strawberries. A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him.

 “What did the counsellor say?” It was Arthur again. Merlin had honestly had enough of today. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He poked his head out, startling his friend who still had his fist raised to knock again.

 “She suggested I take up gaming.”

-*-

Hours later, Merlin turned over his pillow again, trying his absolute hardest to fall asleep. He’d tried relaying a movie in his head, but thinking about the ending just made him sad. He’d tried reading his new book, but Neil Gaiman wasn't particularly relaxing. At last he had just shut his eyes and told himself to sleep, with real authority and gumption. That just made him more awake because his brain hated him.

Eventually he sat up and tugged the string on his lamp. The clock on his desk told him it was 2:26. Merlin’s bones told him that he was actually in a void in which time was a construct of society, and he felt much more inclined to believe the latter. Seeing as somebody, probably Hans, had left a plate of reheated kebabs in front of his door, Merlin hadn’t starved, so he couldn’t explain the hollow discomfort that was plaguing him now.

Actually, he could, he just didn’t want to.

Twenty-four people thought he was a self-important, narcissistic idiot.

Walking around his room to clear his head quickly turned into walking downstairs and into the kitchen to get some shreddies. There were still a few chocolate ones left, them mercifully being the one cereal that Briar didn’t love more than life itself.

As he dejectedly spooned the stuff into his mouth, green smoke came unfiltered through his head again, spelling out: I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely. Merlin groaned and pulled at his bark coloured hair.

Ancient and Medieval History, while not a popular course, was still difficult to get into. Only twelve or so universities in the country even offered it. And even then, Southend alone offered the module on folklore and mythologies. So many essays, so many projects, so much time spent reading about the sordid love-lives of ancient deities. For nothing apparently. All because some people he didn’t know thought he was self-obsessed.

Nothing added up.

And gaming? Really. Podcasts and chat-lines were an instant nope, but gaming. In his entire twenty years, Merlin had played one game and one game alone. And well, that one was…

Next thing he knew, Merlin had left the congealed cereal lonely on the sink and was fighting his way through a wall of cobwebs into the storage room. The lights hadn’t worked in there for years, so Merlin clasped a battery powered torch from Colchester castle like a lifeline.

With his finger and thumb he gingerly shifted bicycles, boxes of DVDs and even a taxidermy rabbit that had gone to holes, until he saw it. The shiny, green corner of a laptop-games-console-hybrid emerged from the darkness. And then was immediately plunged back into it when the torch exploded in Merlin’s hand, the light flickering away with a puff of smoke. Merlin had expected this, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the game and high-tailing it out of the storage room before the shadows could grab his ankles and eat him. Safe in his own bedroom again, Merlin intrepidly opened the game.

Fairytale Island was created by Avalon Games nine years ago. In its entire run, localised in Southern England, it sold about three-hundred consoles. These consoles were box-like laptops, but a more accurate comparison would be an oversized Nintendo DS. The keyboard-space was taken up by the controls, while the screen was above. Graphics-wise, it was surprisingly ahead of its time. What you did was you uploaded a full body photograph of yourself, lined up the limbs and head, and voila, you had your avatar!

This particular console had been bought by an incredible woman named Igraine, for the eleven year old boy whom she had fearlessly rescued. Merlin ran a finger gently over the sticker, feeling the scratchy remnants of its glitter-glue border. On it was a simple little message, rounded off with a clumsy smiley face and the letter I, in wide swirling print.

For the most handsome Prince on Fairytale Island!!!

Obviously his avatar had to change, lest he wanted to continue with the slenderman-esque creature created by his imaginative twelve-year-old self.

Merlin had to stand on his bed to get himself into the frame of his plug-in webcam. Not really knowing what to do with his arms, he did the only rational thing and T-posed. In his pyjamas. In front of a game for preteens. At twenty past two in the morning. 

If one of his housemates came in now he would kill them and dissolve the body in acid.

The screen counted down, readying the camera.

Three… Two… O-ghlowhfsajfhlsdkhlhdsjfh…………….Error………...rebooting, thank you for your patience.

Well. That seemed fair.

Hopping down as quietly as possible, Merlin watched the static clear from the screen like ghost lightning. He should have expected it. Motorcyclists had long said that ‘Love is when you like someone as much as your motorbike.” Merlin was inclined to disagree, because his bike was the one piece of mechanical equipment that didn’t figure it should explode whenever he dared breathe nearby. No bond would ever be able to trump that kind of loyalty.

Reservedly, he fiddled with a Rubix cube until the screen returned to normal. Nothing seemed that wrong with it.

Until his avatar loaded again.

A brief visit to the bathroom mirror was made so that Merlin could examine both his eyes, but when he came back they found the same sight.

Where there should have been a tall, thin, carrot-shaped, Merlinish mage character, there now resided a tiny, stout- if still Merlinish- one. And it was green. Not even a nice green, like fern or emerald or sage. This was a green that reminded a person of snot and nothing else… Except maybe a dehydrated basil plant.

Merlin bashed his head against the edge of his desk. What had that witch done to him? Why was he concerned about this? 

Giving up on answering that question, he looked up to face the diminutive monster that bobbed in place like an excitable pea with legs. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he tried to reason. If he didn’t focus, it almost looked like an obese, unwell Gollum. But hey, maybe the other players will like that kind of thing?

Without realising it, Merlin scoffed out loud at himself.

Other players? This game had a range of a thousand kilometres squared and was being handled by a technopollyon (a word that was not a word until Merlin discovered there was no term for a person who inadvertently breaks technology, but there were a multitude of Greek words that he could misuse in its place.)

The chances of another pathetic Englishman within his third of Essex being in possession of and online on Fairytale Island at two-thirty that night, were not worth thinking about. Because they were nonexistant.

With that in mind, Merlin took one last bitter look at his avatar, and continued resolutely on to game.

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

Wow! Thanks for reading that!!! I hope you enjoyed it!

(Btw, Gwen, Viviane and Briar are my headcannons for the end credit characters and Morgan LeFey is the fairy princess)

Again, thanks so much. I’m putting the next chapter up at some point, this one from Snow’s perspective.

[rainandhotchocolate]

Room of Requirement - The morning after

A/N Here’s another cause I’m behind haha SORRY anyways here’s the morning after from the room of req fic for @siriuslyjanhvi <3 <3 

Y/N rolled over, stretching out her shoulder which had been tucked awkwardly across her side, Sirius arm covering it, his hand stretched along her waist. She blinked her eyes open, the soft light of the candles still flickering in the room, the lack of windows making her feel oddly confused about the time of day.

“Sirius,” Y/N murmured, moving herself so she was face to face with sleepy Sirius. His mouth moved open and closed a few times as he woke up, snuggling into her softly.

“What,” He yawned, running a hand through his hair. Y/N felt a little ball of warmth sitting in her stomach as she watched him, his eyes finding their way to hers.

“What time is it, do you know?” She pulled herself up slightly and lay her head on the corner of the couch to try and wake herself up a bit.

“When did we fall asleep?” Sirius mumbled, sliding upright and looking for his watch that he tossed off last night. It was across his clothes on the floor, gleaming gold, and Y/N watched the muscles across his back flex as he reached over and picked it up.

“Fuck!” He jumped up quickly, grabbing at his clothes and throwing Y/N’s towards her face.

“What, what!” Y/N caught them just in time, stumbling off the couch and staring at him, confused.

“It’s 9am, we were meant to meet everyone for breakfast.”

“Shit,” Y/N swore, pulling on her skirt and jumper as quick as she could, searching for her underwear that Sirius had thrown off her the night before.

“Ok, ready?” Sirius held out a hand for Y/N.

“Oh no wait!”

“What?” Sirius looked alarmed but Y/N leaned in quickly and kissed him.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merlin nearly give me a heart attack why don’t you,” Sirius breathed out a laugh, taking hold of her hand. “Merry Christmas.”

They ran across the stone floor, passing numerous paintings that screamed Merry Christmas out to them, clearly already drunk. The Fat Lady was singing Jingle Bells very loudly with her friend, Violet, with tinsel covering every inch of the Portrait.

“Password,” She sang, equally as loudly, swaying dangerously into the table beside her.

“Yuletide” Sirius breathed, huffing loudly from their sprint down the corridor.

“And a Merry one at that!”

The couple pushed open the door and rushed into the Common Room. They were met with four very withering looks.

“And where did you two sneak off to huh?” James raised an eyebrow at them, leaning against the couch with his arms around Lily’s shoulders.

“We just, uh, fell asleep, sorry we’re late-“

“Fell asleep huh!” James shook his head, tutting. “Does anyone hear believe that?”

A chorus of ‘nope’, ‘not even a little bit’ followed James’ attempt at authority. Y/N felt her face begin to flush at the stares, particularly Lily who was smirking at Y/N directly.

“Can we just get to breakfast?” Sirius sounded equally as flustered, glaring at James who was still tutting obnoxiously.

“We may, if I can hear an apology for ruining my meticulous plans.” Remus was holding back a smile, but gave them an equally scornful expression.

“We are sorry for ruining your very much non-existent plans past meeting for breakfast and presents at the same time.” Sirius rolled his eyes at Remus.

“And I expect an apology for the sexual relations on the night before Christmas,” James continued, earning a collective sigh from the rest of the group, Lily, Remus, and Peter standing up to join Sirius and Y/N and head to the large Christmas Tree where piles of presents were sitting underneath.

“Come on it’s a holy day!” James called after them, running after them, clapping his hands onto Sirius’ back. “Ok, I’ll forgive you, if you promise to help me prank Dumbledore, I want to give him a final present for when we leave.”

“I’m offended that you thought I was ever going to not do that,” Sirius placed a hand over his heart.

They all sat around the tree, Remus grinning at all of them as he set him self up as self-proclaimed present giver.

“Alright, who is up first!”

James and Sirius both yelled “me” almost immediately, so naturally he gave presents to Lily and Peter first. They spent the next hour unwrapping gifts, a mound of torn paper piling in the corner of the room. Given that none of them had jobs, and were incredibly broke (except James, but he was pretending for the holidays), they’d all vowed to just give each other something cheap or handmade. Lily had knitted everyone jumpers that had rude versions of their names on them (James’ was great fuck), Remus bought huge blocks of chocolate and fudge from Honeydukes in everyone’s favourite flavours, Peter had bought animal plush toys that danced when you squeezed them for each person (given that Lily and Y/N weren’t Animagus, they received a giraffe and sloth respectively), James bought different books (For Remus, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them with the page on Werewolves completely scribbled out and rewritten by James and Sirius), Sirius had charmed gold rings to burn when someone they didn’t like was around (namely, Snape), and Y/N had drawn on packs of exploding snap to make them relevant to each persons life (Lily’s had moving pictures of a large Lily, books, and hair dye because she managed to put pink dye in the boys shampoo and conditioner bottles).

Sirius had pulled Y/N in towards his lap, holding his arms around her waist as she bit down on the fudge. Lily was giggling at her exploding snap with James, Remus and Peter pulling on the oversized jumpers. James’ stomach rumbled loudly, making Lily laugh.

“I think it’s likely time for Christmas Lunch.” Peter smiled, clearly having been waiting for the opportunity to bring up food.

“Yes please,” Y/N could feel her mouth drooling at the thought of turkey and potatoes. The Marauders, Lily and Y/N stood up, moving the presents over towards the couch for later and heading towards the Portrait Hole.

The Great Hall was set up with only one table along the centre of the room, all others standing on the side of the room, including the teachers table. There was twelve huge Christmas trees covering the room, each decorated perfectly in different house colours, tinsel looped across the walls.

There was a mix of students sitting at the table, a couple of Hufflepuffs, one or two Slytherins, and now the group of Gryffindors entering boisterously. The teachers were sitting throughout the table too, clearly having been told to mix themselves up but were still talking to each other from across each end. Dumbledore was making small talk with a young Hufflepuff who clearly looked incredibly uncomfortable.

The Marauders sat towards the middle of the table, Lily making a point to sit on the other side and dragging Y/N with her so that they weren’t all awkwardly on the one side.

“Ahh, Merry Christmas Gryffindors,” Dumbledore turned to greet them, giving them a wide smile.

“Merry Christmas dear Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” Sirius nodded an imaginary hat towards Dumbledore who had a twinkle in his eye.

“I see you’ve done your research.” He raised a glass, “I think we have everyone now if you’d like to all join me in a toast.”

Everyone around the table raised their mixed glasses and turned towards him.

“May you all eat until you are ready to burst and get the presents you were unsure you wanted but secretly needed.”

“Hear, hear!” James and Sirius called out loudly as the loud clinks of glasses hitting each other echoed across the room.

“Now, let’s eat.”

As he spoke the words food appeared on the golden platters sitting in front of them, along with golden Christmas crackers sitting between each setting. A large turkey and glazed ham sat in the middle, plates of roasted potatoes and vegetables sitting in large ornate bowls along the centre of the table.

Everyone began digging in enthusiastically, Y/N included. She felt a hand slide against her leg, squeezing it slightly and turned to see Sirius smiling at her.

“Having a good day, love?”

“Better now,” She smiled up at him, leaning up and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Can’t wait to spend many more with you,” Sirius murmured, so quiet that Y/N wasn’t sure if he wanted her to hear it so she didn’t reply but leaned her head against his shoulder. A lifetimes worth of Christmases, she thought.

TAGLIST: @HERMIONIE-IS-MY-QUEEN​  @AVERYTRUERAYOFSUNSHINE @SIRIUSLYJANHVI @BLUSHINGSKYWALKER @BLACKPINKDOLAN @THEBABBLINGBOOKWORM @CHERRIE511 @IMLUKESNIRVANA​ @AVENGERSASSEMBLEE​ @MARAUDERSANDCO​ @SLY-VIXEN-UP2NOGOOD​ @KATBERNOULLI @SIRIUS-LYSAD​ @EVYIIONE​ @MINERVA26LOVE​ @AIKEIA​ @GOLLYDEREK​ @GREATWOMBATBLAZE​  @SONGFORHEMA​  @YOUR-TYPICAL-GIGGLE @MYOWNVIPERROOM @HERMIONIE-IS-MY-QUEEN @DEMIWITCH527

[julemmaes]

Alone together // part three

Matthew Fairchild and Lucie Herondale modern au

Okay I’m so so so so so sorry this is so late (and it sucks so I really don’t have any excuses) but I’ve been so caught up with my new gang (you don’t really wanna know about that) that I didn’t have time to do nothing.

I’m obviously blaming them cause it’s easier but reality is another one and it’s just that I’m a very shitty writer.

I wanna dedicate this part to one of my favourite human being. This is for you my love @taco-taco-belle, I hope you like it at least a little bit cause you’re literally the only reason I could do this:)

Words count: 4,535

"You gotta be shitting me." The guy took a break, laughing sarcastically and rubbing his hand to his face desperately. "You’re fucking with me." he whispered.

Lucie and Christopher, who were still arm in arm, exchanged a worried look before returning their attention to the empty shelf. The price tag as clear as the sun said Pot Noodles Original, but there wasn’t a single package in sight. It was as if suddenly everyone in London had decided to go to their trusted store and raided it.

Matthew seemed to be on the brink of a crisis.

Lucie was about to touch his arm, to get him away from what seemed to be his worst nightmare, but Christopher’s phone vibrated against her side. The boy didn’t seem to notice, and Lucie gave him a little nudge, "You got a message." Matthew turned to his friends, "If Jamie wants the noodles for Cordelia, tell him he can go fuck himself." Lucie chuckled and shook her head, thinking that if there was only one box and the message was really James’s, he would bring it to him running.

But Christopher’s expression was not amused at all, Lucie noticed, while reading the message. He paled, holding the phone tighter between his fingers, turning off the screen.

"Kit?" Matthew asked with a confused look, taking a step towards them to peek at who had texted him, but Christopher clutched his phone to his chest, looking lost. He blinked several times, trying to understand. Lucie and Matthew could almost feel the gears of his brain working, "It’s Grace, she..." he took a step back and the girl who was tied to his arm was forced to leave him. " I have to go, guys, I have to-" he interrupted, turning to Matthew, "I’m sorry Math, I can’t stay. I would stay if I could, you know, but I have to... I’ve got to go."

Matthew looked at Lucie worried, before shaking his head, "No, you don’t have to apologize. We’ll see you tomorrow." As soon as the words came out of the blond’s mouth, Christopher shot to the exit. Lucie remained motionless for a second before starting to chase after him, Matthew right behind her.

"Kit!" she screamed, trying to stop him, "What happened?"

They walked out of the store, waving at the owner, and Christopher stopped in the middle of the street, starting to walk backwards towards his car, "Something happened with Tatiana."

Lucie held her breath and heard Matthew whispering a soft shit.

Everyone knew Grace well.

When James had met her many years before he had managed to keep their friendship a secret for a few months, but his sister and his best friend had begun to notice strange behavior and they had asked him questions over questions until he gave in and told them everything. Grace’s parents had died when she was little and Tatiana, who had risked losing her son Jesse shortly before, had not thought twice about taking her under her wing, but things had become ugly in a very short time. She locked Grace in the house with her brother.

Tatiana had lost her father and her husband during a shooting in the centre and from that moment on, she had gone mad, locking herself in her small house in the countryside, far from everything and everyone, "far from the dangers of the city", she always told her brothers. She had closed herself up so much that Uncle Gabriel and Uncle Gideon had found out that she was pregnant only during the sixth month, when Tatiana was no longer able to hide it, avoiding to meet them inventing excuses not to let them visit.

"Do you need us to come along?" Matthew asked again as he began to walk with a quick pace towards Christopher, who shook his head "No, I have to go alone. I’ll call you if I need a hand." And then he turned around, got in the car and drove away.

Lucie took a deep breath, thinking about how hard this must have been for Grace, and how much Christopher already cared for the girl, to go help her in the middle of the night.

Damn, she should’ve gotten him to tell her what happened on their dates on the way to the market. Although with the distance between the house and the store she would surely be able to ask only the details of the first date, at least she would have done some gossip.

She was still tormenting her hands, thinking about her cousin, when Matthew put the scarf around her neck, placing it in her jacket, "Are you okay?" Lucie first looked at the scarf and then Matthew, with a raised eyebrow. He shrugged, "You were shaking, I’m fine even without it."

Lucie smiled at him and felt her stomach twist again as her cheeks turned red. She gritted her teeth, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

It had been a few weeks since she first realized that being around Matthew didn’t make her feel like it did before. That every night, when they met at the bar and their hands even just brushed, she needed a few seconds to recover from their contact. That every smile he gave her was like a fist to the chest pushing all the air out of her lungs.

There had been one episode in particular, that Lucie had decided not to tell anyone, in which he had passed behind her, laying his hands on her hips not to make her trip and she had dropped the two drinks she had just prepared, too shocked by the reaction of her body, which felt like electricity had just passed through her. Matthew had immediately moved her from the broken glass by lifting her up into the air and placing her behind him and then started to clean in her place, without saying a word. For that thing she got a very shitty lecture and had to apologize several times to Catarina, the owner of the bar.

"Are you listening to me, Lu?"

Lucie withdrew from her thoughts, nodding absentmindedly, "Sorry." she said shrugging, "It’s just that we’re all so exhausted from work and these-" she shook her hands midair, as if to indicate everything that was going on in their lives lately, "These things and we meet every night, that’s true, but I see how everyone would prefere to stay home and sleep."

"I don’t think they feel forced." Matthew answered with an arched eyebrow as he was shaken by a shiver. Lucie frowned, starting to undo her scarf, but a warm hand landed on hers and her brain shorted out again. "No, you keep it, I’m not cold." he smiled, moving a blonde strand that had fallen on his eyes. "If you start feeling too cold though, you tell me, I can survive a night without feeling warm."

"True, but you shouldn’t." He gave her a light thrust with his arm, winking at her.

Lucie flared up, focusing on not stepping on the pavement lines. "Anyway," she resumed, returning to the initial topic, "I’m not saying that they feel forced, I just think maybe we need a few days to relax." she scratched her forehead, squeezing her eyes for the light coming from inside the nearby Mc Donald’s. She saw Matthew nodding slightly.

He kept his eyes fixed on her, she could feel it. She felt it from the way every fiber of her being was yelling at her to move from his visual range or she would explode at any moment. She was going to talk, to ask him if he had done anything interesting last weekend (although she knew very well that he had stayed home to read the last drafts she had sent him) but she felt his hand slipping into hers and nearly choked on her own saliva. She looked from the ground to their hands and then, with a force she did not know he had, she looked at him.

Matthew’s green eyes were glimmering with an emotion that Lucie had only seen him turn to the people he had a relationship with. It was the same look Jesse had given her many times.

Matthew’s lips were bent up in a sincere smile, not into the one he reserved for the bar’s customers, but she noticed how they were twitching nervously and waiting for her reaction.

She gripped her fingers around Matthew’s hand and saw how his shoulders relaxed at that contact.

"I know a, uhm..." Lucie coughed, trying to clear her voice that had come out too low to be audible, and heard Matthew chuckled next to her, "I know a place where they make noodles 24/7. It takes a while to get there because it’s downtown, but it’s really nice."

"Lucie, if you’re kidding me right now, I swear I’m not talking to you anymore." Matthew had stopped, forcing her to stand in front of him, but the grip on her hand had become firmer and now their arms were a bridge between their bodies as they looked into each other’s eyes.

Lucie put her hand on her heart trying to hold back the laughs that threatened to come out seeing her friend’s face.

Matthew seemed to have seen the most beautiful thing in the world, his eyes glowed even more than before, and Lucie would have sworn to have seen a little drool dripping from his mouth before his tongue licked on his lower lip.

Lucie’s eyes darted away, "I swear on our friendship," Matthew made a coughing grin, taking a fist to cover his mouth, "that I am not lying to you and that the place is called Dear Lord, Ramen." a giggle escaped her control.

"Now I know for a fact that you’re fucking with me because there’s no way I don’t know about a place called like that." Matthew started walking again, this time closer to Lucie than he had ever been. So close that their shoes touched every step they took.

"Did I swear on our friendship or not?" she asked spying on his reaction with the corner of her eye.

She saw him nodding as if lost in thought and then they were silent for a while, while Lucie took them across the bridge to Potters Fields Park.

She began to feel her shoulders stiffen, perhaps she should not have specified that theirs was a friendship twice in a row, while they were holding hands at three o'clock in the middle of town when everyone else had left or stayed home because their other half was too tired to stay. God, now that Lucie was thinking about it, they were all alone because everyone else was holed up in their homes like old couples. Maybe Matthew was right, maybe they were all old dudes.

She cast a worried look in his direction trying to understand if her words had bothered him, but on Matthew’s face there was carelessness and what Lucie could only define as pure happiness. She relaxed again, detaching her hand from Matthew’s and before the boy could miss her presence, she put an arm around his and put their hands back together. He smiled at her, tilting his head to the side and leaving a kiss to her hair.

If someone had told her a few minutes before that the nigt would end with her and Matthew walking the cold streets of London, she would have never believed it.

They had just passed Christopher’s favorite cupcake shop, when Matthew interrupted that comfortable silence they had created, "Do you want to hear some bad noodle jokes?"

Lucie opened her eyes, smiling, "Of course I want to hear them."

Matthew cleared his throat, standing still, ready to recite the ugliest lines Lucie would ever hear in her whole life, she was sure, "Okay, then. What do you call a fake noodle?"

Lucie twisted her mouth thinking of an answer, "A needle?"

Matthew pulled back slightly, confusion in his eyes. "What? No-What?"

"I don’t know, I said the first thing I could think of." Lucie retorted.

"An impasta."

"Not funny, try harder."

"Rough crowd, I see." she scoffed, but he smiled widely, "My housemate told me he went to the noodle bar and got food poisoning..." he made a short break, to create suspance, "I was like ‘Why would you even order that? '"

Lucie sniffed a laugh through the nose, but nothing more. She turned to him, with an expression that said ‘can’t do anything better?'. Matthew then started making jokes over jokes, and even though Lucie seemed amused, nothing was really making her laugh. At least, that’s what she wanted the boy to believe. She was having the time of her life, and the fact that they were still holding hands was just a plus.

"Okay, since the good-guy jokes don’t seem to make you react, I’m gonna start with things a little bit… stronger."

Lucie tensed. The flirtatious behavior was a feature of Matthew’s. He always had it, and it was one of Lucie’s favorite things on the face of the earth, but in that moment, if he had made a sexual joke, she would probably have died on the spot. "Oh shut up. They were all beautiful and I’m dying of laughter." the fake laugh s made was one of the ugliest laughs either of them had ever heard, and that led to real laughter. Lucie hoped to have distracted Matthew from the idea of saying dirty things, but it didn’t seem to have worked when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, turning slightly towards her and placing her hair behind her ear.

He got menacingly closer and when his lips touched her skin, a shiver ran down her back, paralyzing her. She felt the hairs of her arms standing up and her cheeks reddening, when Matthew came even closer, crushing her against his chest, "What do girls and noodles have in common?"

Lucie closed her eyes, trying not to think about the closeness of their bodies or the fact that Matthew was talking noodles to her, which if she focused too much on would have ruined what had just been created there. If it wasn’t for every point where their bodies were catching on fire, she would probably have laughed out loud, but as she was struggling to catch her breath, laughing was something completely foreign in that moment. All she could come up with was a feeble, "I don’t know."

She felt as Matthew’s lips bent upwards against her ear, "They both wiggle when you eat them." His voice became more hoarse than she had ever heard and had to hold back the sound of awe that went up her throat. Her eyes fluttered open.

She was about to turn to him and Matthew’s lips brushed her cheek. And she knew that if she moved half an inch she could finally kiss him. She moved in his arms and he made her back away a few steps until her body fully adhered to the wall of the bulding. He put his hand on her cheek, pushed her face up towards him.

They were looking each other in the eye and Lucie had described that color so many times on the pages of her notebooks that this could only be a dream. She had tried to capture that spark that made them so alive with dozens of words, but nothing had ever done justice to that green that she loved so much.

"Matthew."

Their lips grazed and then the ringing of a phone cut through the silence. The boy jumped backwards making an exasperated noise. Lucie tilted her head back and slammed it against the wall, closing her eyes, annoyed, while Matthew answered the call.

Obviously their first kiss would not have been in that moment.

Obviously something had to go wrong and ruin everything.

"Anna?" He asked him with a confused look, as he approached Lucie again, placing his hand on her face gently and fixing her scarf, as if it were something he did every day. Both of them opened wide tehir eyes when the girl shrieked through the phone, "Where the hell is Christopher?"

"He had to go to Grace’s place. Why?"

Lucie pulled away from the wall, telling Matthew to put the phone next to her so she could hear better. A very bad feeling was forming at the mouth of her stomach.

"Because he just texted me, ‘If mom and dad ask you, I’m sleeping at your place, don’t worry.’” she said in a slightly calmer voice, but always worried, "As if writing such a thing at three o'clock at night was normal." Anna snorted. Lucie pictured her passing her hand in the hair. "I’m out with Ari, but if he needs anything, we’ll get to him immediately."

"Nono, don’t worry about it." Lucie immediately said, taking the phone from Matthew’s hand. She knew how little free time the two girls had since Ari started working full-time, and that was the first night that the two of them could go out without having to worry about setting up too much. "He asked us to stay out of it this time and in case he needs help, Math and I will go."

"Oh hello Luce." Anna’s voice seemed more than pleased to find out that her cousin was with Matthew at that time and when the girl turned a questioning look to the boy, he scratched his head embarrassed while shrugging. "All right, by the way."

"Don’t worry, Kit is distracted, we all know that, but he seemed more lucid than I’ve ever seen him in my entire life. Nothing will happen." Lucie reassured her, while Matthew shook his head agreeing with her.

"If you say so." Anna sighed, "What are you doing anyway? Are you always with the others?"

Lucie started coughing thinking about what they were going to do a few seconds before they were interrupted and Matthew took the phone, hitting his hand on her back. Lucie couldn’t hear what Anna was saying.

"No, we’re going to eat."

"Yeah at three, yes."

"I don’t know where it is."

"Why do you want to come? Isn’t it your date night?"

"Wait, I’m asking Lucie."

"It’s at the cross between Lafone St and Gainsford St." she said in a raspy voice before he could ask her anything. Matthew raised an eyebrow, raising a thumb up as a sign of question. Are you all right? Lucie nodded, coughing one last time. She had to start reacting better to the image of the boy’s lips on hers, or she’d die soon.

"Alright, meet us there in about 20 minutes."

"No, we won’t be late."

"Anna."

Matthew’s tone became a warning and Lucie immediately realized that her cousin was teasing him. Anna wasn’t stupid, and if there was one person that Math told his feelings for her about, it had to be Anna. Lucie grimaced at him and then heard laughter on the other side of the line.

"See you later and say hello to Ari." Matthew hang up and sighed deeply, staring at the phone with amused eyes for a moment. He put it back in his pocket and gave Lucie a shy smile. He offered her arm and they started walking again as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of her lips so close to Matthew’s. And their breaths sharing the same air, or the name of the boy who came out like a prayer from her mouth.

They were now five minutes from the park when Matthew pulled away from her and clenched his fists, making Lucie’s eyebrows arch. She was gonna ask him if anything was wrong, if he’d rather go home or something, but he stopped for the third time and Lucie found herself thinking that they would never make it to the restaurant in time if he was about to push her against the nearest wall and started kissing her again and Anna would be right.

Probably if he kissed her right then, they’d never go to eat, and her house was just a few blocks away anyway.

But when Matthew turned, his face slightly pale, Lucie knew that there would be no new kisses. At least not that night. Because the expression on the boy’s face promised only broken dreams and hearts. She took a few steps back, embracing herself and trying not to look Matthew directly in the eye.

She knew she had hoped too much. She knew that night would be the only night she could pretend to be truly loved by someone. She knew Matthew would never consider her except as a friend. She’d already been in that situation, and if she could talk before the other one, maybe she could save herself the apology that someone had to make after an unwanted kiss.

"Lu I-" he whispered, turning a blind eye and rubbing his forehead, "shit."

"You don’t have to say it. I’ve already figured it out for myself." she said much more feebly than intended. "You’re lonely, I understand. It’s hard for me too to be in a group where everyone gets together and shows love to each other every five seconds." She smiled at him with watery eyes, always without meeting his eyes. She was fiddling with her fingernails, biting her lower lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry.

"Tonight was just a mistake, I get it. Really. But please don’t apologize." she replied with her eyes downcast. She didn’t want to hear it. If she said that, it would have hurt less, it would have been easier.

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked, interrupting her train of thoughts.

Lucie felt brave enough to look up and Matthew had his eyes slightly opened, him mouth gaping, as if he didn’t understand why she was telling him all those things. "You mean… Are you saying that-" Matthew stuttered, taking a step towards her, putting his hands in his pocket, "Do you really think it was a mistake?"

Lucie swallowed visibly. She had never lied to Matthew. And she would not start now, even at the cost of making a fool of herself. She shook her head no lowering it again, but the surprised sigh that seemed almost a laugh from her friend made her raise an eyebrow.

"Oh Jesus, Lucie. How can you think those things," he sounded so happy, "after I almost kissed you against a wall and after we held hands for an hour?" he laughed. “I don’t go around holding hands with strangers, you know? I usually keep it for the special ones.”

Lucie felt a rush through her body, "You’re the one who started acting weird by letting go of my hand." she replied slightly raising her voice so that she could hear her.

Matthew laughed, "Yes, because I’m trying to tell you that I like you and I’m nervous, Lu."

Lucie’s head snapped up, and she finally looked Matthew right in the eye. His cheeks were red and he was torturing the edge of his jacket. Well, it was obvious he was nervous.

But she didn’t care that he wasn’t relaxed. She was more interested in the fact that the guy who had driven her crazy the last few months just told her he liked her.

"I thought," she shallowed again, "I thought you were gonna tell me it can’t work. I’ve been there, Math." Lucie noticed how he gritted his teeth before he spoke.

"Yes, I know. And it also seemed to me that we had already talked about the fact that the only one who lost something was him."

"I don’t want to talk about Jesse now." she murmured, approaching him.

He made a sly smile, "No, definitely." he placed a hand on her cheek and she leaned on that long-awaited touch.

"But I’d like to hear more on the subject ‘I like you’, you know?" she drawled positioning herself so that her chest was pushed against his body. She stretched her neck and laid a soft kiss to his jawline.

Matthew brought both his hands to her hips, "Oh yeah?" he kissed one cheek and then the other, blowing on her nose, before leaning his forehead against hers. "I like you, Lucie. I had for a long time."

She smiled calmly, starting to feel her eyes pinching.

"And I never did anything to make you understand that," he continued, "and I’m sorry I wasted all this time. But I’m not going to let you go now, if that’s what you want." he said in a soothing tone. His eyes still glimmering with that emotion so strong, so fierce, that lit up his whole face.

"Don’t let me go." she said with graceful simplicity.

Matthew stretched out to her and finally their lips touched, melting in that kiss.

They had waited so long, both unaware of each other’s feelings, yet their hands knew exactly where to rest and their lips and tongues how to dance.

Lucie had had the opportunity to kiss some boy, but she had never felt so alive. She had never felt her heart overflowing with joy.

And the boy before her, who was now breathing her as if his life depended on it, who had protected and reassured her when she needed it the most, whom she had considered as a brother for much of her life, but that was the furthest thing from a brother he could represent.

Lucie almost broke off screaming when Matthew’s phone rang again.

"Anna, fuck you, I just did it." he said, answering exasperated, passing a hand through his hair. Lucie burst into laughter when a chorus of joy from the two girls exploded on the other side of the phone. He saw Matthew looking at her with a satisfied smile. "We’re coming, but please don’t call again."

The boy didn’t even give her cousin the time to say  goodbye that he was on her again. Hands stuck in her hair and eyes closed as he kissed her desperately.

They just stood there and basked in that new sensation for a few more minutes and only when Lucie was fully satisfied and her lips were given the right attention they broke off. They burst out laughing, hugging again and holding on to each other.

"Let’s go eat noodles, Math." she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him towards the restaurant. "You deserve it."

But he stood still and looked at her, smiling too broadly. "What?" she asked, smiling faintly. He shook his head and began to walk beside her, "Nothing. It’s just the best night of my life." She nodded and gave him a stealthy kiss on the cheek.

"Well, at least now we can be alone together, right?" she asked.

Matthew chuckled, "You will never be alone again, Lu. I promise." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and then he started running, leaving her behind, while he screamed that if she didn’t hurry, they would surely run out of noodles and he would never be able to eat anything.

Lucie burst into laughter, started running after him.

Yeah, that was definitely the best night of her life.

MY HEART

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[randombtsprincessa]

Bells and Roses

All Rights Reserved © Randombtsprincessa/Tulips98

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 4.4k

Genre: Smut

Summary: You pay your muse a visit. Or alternatively; you and Jimin haven’t defined a relationship but does it stop you from turning it wild? Lol no.

Warning: Jimin dancing, no real relationship defined, pink! Jimin, a lot of handsy behaviour, fingering, oral (female receiving), riding, sub! Jimin, unprotected sex (be safe kiddos)!

A/N: Happy Birthday, my love, my life, my beautiful Park Jimin! I was inspired for this fic from Cake Waltz! You can listen to it while reading this!

I love feedback!

An idle glance was cast at the delicate chain watch circling your wrist, eyes flickering over the glittery digits before returning to the front of the hall. A hush fell over the murmuring crowds surrounding you, the well-dressed masses shifting and straightening in their plush seats with their eyes drawing to the front as well where the spotlights had been directed.

You waited keenly, the rest of the ambient lights dimming till darkness hid you in its embrace, masking away the slight change in your face, if any occurred.

You, of course, knew it was inevitable. You were an expressive person, some might say a little highly strung, but it was all in a day’s work. You were here to have fun, let loose. Maybe even get another stroke of inspiration but you weren’t going to be specific about it.

This wasn’t about you, not really.

The curtains rose and colors exploded in your vision.

A dusky shade of pink was first, circling spotlights forming a halo upon the wooden stage where stood perfectly posed, curled ballerinas in glittering costumes of the same pink. The pink light dimmed, the ballerinas sinking to the floor with their feet curled behind them, a bow of sorts.

Another light burned, a blinding silver this time, hitting just the edge of the curtains and unbidden, your body lurched forward in anticipation.

The light flickered, building tension as a brush of strings echoed, followed by a deep thrum of beats that pulsed in your blood. It was an unusual combination, mellow, sweet tinkles that contrasted against the sultry bass, sending chills down your back.

The spotlight was back and from it – just as the beat dropped – emerged the reason why you were here, sitting among people who held no delight for you.

The figure threw itself into a spin that had you gasping in concern, feet flying over where a head should be, before landing squarely in the centre of the second spotlight, this time a raging purple. Loose, white shirt that hung around the torso and black tights caught the light, glinting and winking at the audience with its sequins.

No, your delight lay in this, watching the figure unfurl, standing straight and proud, a tilt to his head that had him eyeing the crowd, a particular trance in those orbs that made you bite into the glossed surface of your lip.

The ballerinas moved in synchrony, as they reached up on their toes, a perfect throw arabesque pointing towards the figure of your interest but he still didn’t move, taking his time to study the audience that watched. You sent a silent thanks to the darkness that shielded you because when he was done, he turned his back to the stage before opening the dance with a pirouette, a brush of his fingers trailed onto each dancer that had been turned to him.

You slumped in your seat, chin stuck to your chest as headiness clouded your mind. Your eyes never strayed, fixed on the man that pranced, settled and then took flight (almost literally) on the stage. The bass never seemed to reduce his pace, his feet, encased in white, following the faerie precision of the composition.

The dance was a mix of his contemporary and ballet, the ballerinas more an accessory on the stage, paling next to his vitality but of course you could be biased. It wasn’t like you even saw what the girls and boys in the tutus were doing. Your eyes were fixed on the man who with a roll of his neck, turned a seducer and then as innocent with big glimmering eyes and a too familiar pout.

The music went on, and your delight soared with him.

It was almost too short but it was more than enough for you, overwhelmed as you got to your feet with the rest of the audience when they rose for a standing ovation.

He finished off the dance with an over exaggerated flourish, a mischief that he loved when he knew that he had rendered a mind blowing performance. His head was tilted again, eyes roving.

You could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smirk brewing on his face but there was no way it could’ve been aimed at you. You had shrouded yourself from him exquisitely. He had no business having that smirk on his face.

Park Jimin

The name lay as exquisitely upon your tongue as the finest wine, the sweetest delicacy. Meeting him had been the rarest coincidences, but knowing him now felt like serendipity. You had been a fresh out of college artist, eager with your skill and your degree.

Everything had been lovely until you were prompted to hold your own exhibition in one of your friend’s galleries and you were struck without inspiration. Landscapes…cityscapes…abstract…nothing seemed to fit. Canvases were discarded, paints tossed around, palettes and brushes broken in frustration and quite a few tears shed before an impromptu walk through the city landed you standing dubiously in front of the Theatre.

Slumped in one the same chairs as you had been, you’d laid eyes first on the lead dancer for Calico Dance Academy, the rising star. You had both been much younger back then but even then he had been graceful, sleek like a striking cobra and just as entrancing.

He had basically pried your third eye open with his beauty. So, when you learned that his doors were open for admirers, you knew you had to take your chance.

You gazed at the bouquet in your hand, clasped loosely within your fingers as you studied the flowers.

“How may I help you?”

You flinched at the customary questioned posed to you by the cheerful florist, soft cheeks lifting as she welcomed you to the counter.

“Yes, hi,” you stammered before clearing your throat. “I would like some flowers, please.”

“You’ve come to the right place.” The girl laughed softly, but not deprecatingly, moving to the side so you could see the arrangements behind her. “How would you like them?”

You studied the shelves, moving from the simple collection of a few stems tied neatly together to an extravagant affair of lilies and daffodils, too big for you to carry.

You thought back to the night before and the lapels of the man’s costume.

“Can I customize a bouquet, with sunflowers and roses? And could you add those small bells to it?”

It was relatively easier, finding Jimin’s delivery address and dropping the flowers off. The studio was not too big, considering the academy was still finding itself but Jimin was certainly quick to find you, following you out one day when you were done leaving the flowers at the front desk.

“Hey, you’re the secret admirer.”

You turned to see the beaming man taking quick steps towards you, still in a tight black shirt and leggings that enhanced his thighs. You were surprised to say he was much shorter up front and that much more beautiful.

He smiled at the startled look on your face and you could’ve sworn flowers blossomed from the cracks of the concrete sidewalk.

“You leave me flowers,” he prompted.

You nodded, more for your sake than his as he stuck out his hand. “It’s not much of a point being a secret admirer. Let’s make friends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Some people would like a secret admirer.” You told him, catching his hand in yours nevertheless.

“Some people would also be creeped out by it but you seem nice. I’m Jimin, and you are…?”

You stared at the expectant look on his face, a part of you itching with some indescribable emotion.

“Y/N,” you managed at last. “I’m Y/N.”

Park Jimin proved to be a great friend. With the most charming disposition, he was also equally brainy. As clichéd as it seemed, he helped you see things that you didn’t in your not so humble artistic perspective. He was a storm, bubbling with gossamer energy and you had never been so grateful to have your life thrown in the path of so impressive a storm.

So, after a soft afternoon spent in the park with ice cream after his practice you popped your question.

“So…you know, I am a painter right?” you asked lightly.

Jimin slurped at his strawberry scoop delicately. “Yup,”

“I was, just thinking, you know, that – if you don’t mind awfully – I could paint…you, I guess.”

Jimin stopped with his tongue still gracing the side of his scoop, his eyes flickering to yours in amazement. “You want to…paint me?” He asked.

You shook yourself a little, ready to save face. “It was just a thought. I mean, you don’t have to even consider it. I know most people get freaked by the thought of getting painted and it’s a whole lot of hassle.”

Jimin cut you off, laughing as he streaked an ice cream soaked finger across your cheek. You squealed in turn, sliding away from him on the seat.

“Stop trying to put me off, Y/N. Of course, I’d model for you. I’d be honored. We can go now; I have all the time in the world.” Jimin leaned in and before you could even register the motion, he’d kissed the line of pink sugar from your skin, popping his lips as he did so, careless and ignorant of the way your eyes lingered on his mouth.

Four hours later, your masterpiece was ready of sorts. Jimin held still the way you told him to, hair fluffed as he stared out your window in one of his somber stage expressions.

“God, Y/N,” Jimin grinned, peering over your shoulder, watching you apply the small shades and contours to his neck and collarbones. You’d yanked his sweater down a little, much to Jimin’s amusement to reveal the sharp bones beforehand. You thanked your insight now; they looked beautiful in the fading evening sunlight.

“Is that a good god or a bad god?” You halted your hand, staring at the picture in trepidation before Jimin laid a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Good, Y/N, I can’t wait to see myself up on your friend’s wall.”

You invited Jimin with your customary selection of flowers, delivered to his house this time, the invitation to the exhibition tucked within the stems.

It seemed Jimin was much more excited about the exhibition because he showed up an hour before you; seeking his picture while you ignorantly mingled, clueless until you spotted a familiar figure, studying the one picture you were responsible for.

“Jimin,” You called the man, his head tilted to the side as he stared at his likeness against the lavender wall.

“Y/N,” he greeted, not looking at you, thankfully because you were blatantly staring at your friend.

You had never had occasion to see Park Jimin in a suit but by god, it was a sight.  

Tight black satin clung to his figure, stretching over his shoulders and hugging his waist. “I see you found your picture.” You had to smile.

Jimin turned to you with a smirk. “I don’t know if it’s the lighting or the finishing touches but I do look mighty fine. You picked a fantastic model.”

You shoved at him. “That’s just your ego talking. I have it on good authority that the painting is just fine.”

He pouted at that. “What have I said about the self depreciation, Y/N?” He didn’t wait for an answer, aiming a hopeful look at his own self. “So, when do you need another painting of a hunk?”

It was during the third painting that you and Jimin ended up on your too messy bed. Fast, rough and brilliant, Jimin rolled off of you in a daze, eye glimmering in the shadows.

“If I’d known you felt that good, I’d have jumped on you sooner.” You managed in a huff, causing Jimin to break out in a guffaw that lasted well into the minutes that you took to clean up and slip into a nightgown.

He stayed on his back, gloriously naked with no signs of wanting to pull the comforter up across his body. You stepped cautious when you saw that the light in his eyes had changed, something deeper and serious flickering in them now.

“What’s wrong?” you’d asked.

Jimin was mum for a while before speaking, “I don’t want you to think of this the wrong way.” He said slowly before wincing, realizing the start had been wrong itself.

He sat up, finally tugging on the covers to recover some dignity. “I meant, I don’t want you to think that I’m just into the whole wham-bam-thank you ma’am thing.”

You continued to frown, silence prodding him into further speech.

“I want this, I really do but I don’t know how much time I can devote to you.” He said finally.

You broke out laughing. “Jimin, you know we don’t have to define a relationship just because we slept together one time. We can still be friends.”

“I don’t want to just be friends though. I want to define something, just in case you go and find some other muse.”

It had taken a few days to discuss out terms to define a relationship between you and Jimin. Both of you were busy people, what with your exhibits picking up and needing you to focus on extensive travel while he toured for his own shows.

You didn’t want to look it to face but you knew Jimin was a very attractive man with a healthy amount of libido that needed to go around along his charisma. That was one of the first things you’d brought up; exclusivity. However, your friend turned potential lover had quickly shot the idea down, vehemently stating he would very much appreciate some form of stability, something solid to come back to.

Did that answer any of your questions? No, neither did you manage to put a finger to what exactly it was that Jimin and you were.

However, it did not stop either of you from falling into bed with each other whenever Jimin and you happened to be in the same city.

You were at your florist again; much more upright and sure of your order this time as you smiled at the long term girl friend behind the counter.

“Y/N! It’s been a while.” She greeted, straightening the uniform cap perched on her bleached hair.

“Hey Solji, yes it has.” You agreed, your eyes screening the assortment of flowers.

“I take it the special receiver of the flower is back in town then?” She asked, moving to the usual selection of sunflowers, fresh and dewy, high near the sun.

“How do you know?” you gasped, looking around as Solji smirked, wrapped a pretty blue paper around the roses and sunflowers.

“I’ve been wrapping flowers for a good many years, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of flower givers. You’re timed and only get one particular customization. Of course, he or she is special.” She plucked out a tiny string of small bells before tying the package off.

“Pretty observant, I’ll have to be more careful.”

“Or one day you can just introduce us,” she teased back, cashing you out. The soft giggles followed you a good way as you carried the bouquet towards Jimin’s building.

It had been a few months since Jimin had moved out of the small apartment that he’d had to share with roommates. With the success and acclaim that followed his dancing troupe, he had purchased an apartment of his own, making it easier for you to show up whenever you wanted to.

You deigned to be sneaky about your approach, leaving a small painting of his last performance, on cheap canvas first at his doorstep, sliding it in and ringing the doorbell, quickly concealing yourself in the alcove of the stairs. You watched the door swing open quickly before a head peeked around, looking slyly around before shutting the door again.

You let out a giggle, flitting down again to place the bouquet in front of the door when the door flew open again, nearly scaring you into heart palpitations as you were met by the crinkle eyed grin of none other than Park Jimin.

Clad in baggy grey pants and a pale blue shirt, stood the man who’d been your muse ever since you’d laid eyes on him. As your eyes drifted over his features you fixated on one change that had you gaping.

“Jimin,” you gasped out, “…your hair is pink!”

On his part, he looked sheepish, raising a hand to pat at his head before opening the door wider to let you slide in, swiping the bouquet from your hand and taking a whiff.

“Ah, my favorite,” he sighed, complacent as you looked down the apartment you hadn’t stepped into for months now.

The deep, woody scent of new furniture still lingered, clearly from having been locked ever since he got it and you wondered if you should’ve gotten a bigger bouquet so he could smell something better than varnish.

The sweet bliss of his arms wrapping around you diverted your attention, turning to look up at him.

“I saw your name in the audience listing.” He mumbled, lowering his head to nuzzle within the crook of your neck.

“And hence the smirk,” you realized, placing both hands on his chest. “You knew I was there. And here I thought, I’d surprise you,”

“I always check audience listings in case some company is scouting.” He shrugged before smiling slyly. “So, did someone miss me?”

“Nope,” you shrugged away, walking off to remove your coat, knowing that Jimin was sporting a spectacular pout by now. Such a spoilt baby…

“Ugh, come on, I missed you, you know…pay attention!” He whined, catching you near the couch, back to wrapping his arms around you.

Spinning you around he caught your lips in a nostalgic kiss, scorching in the way his plump petals caressed yours, trying to find a break in your armor.

You let him find it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tugged you closer, a satisfied hum escaping the pair of you, his hand drifting over your waist and back before pulling away.

“I wanted to come back ever since I got on the plane you know,” he told you.

You smiled, remembering the pained expression with which he had dropped your hand, disappearing through security with his eyes returning to you every few seconds.

“I know, I could tell.” You brushed kisses over his jaw line.

He tilted his head back before looking down at you, amber eyes glinting in the afternoon sun beaming into his living room. “Stay with me.” He whispered, a lull of command in his voice that made the dull ache in your stomach sharpen, keening you towards him.

He raised his eyebrows in a way that told you he knew his effect on you and you allowed him to bask in the knowledge. “I already planned to.” You let him know.

“Good, because I’m taking you to bed and not letting you up until we’re hungry and gross.” He said, not waiting for a reply as he tugged on your hand, leading you further into his home.

You barely had time to glance around the space before Jimin was locking the bedroom door, pressing your bodies up against it and leaning over you. Warm breath wafted over your bottom lip when he brushed his against your tingling skin.

Your hands crept up his back, moving to pink fleece on his head. It must’ve been hard to maintain it without getting it fried completely but the strands felt silky enough with your eyes closed.

Jimin walked backwards, hands drifting down to his shirt and pulling it off and moving to his windows, drawing the shades and casting the room in gloomy lighting.

“Come on then,” he grinned and you followed, pulling at your clothes until they decorated your steps towards him where he sat on his bed, watching you with his lip caught between his teeth. The strip tease probably wasn’t as sexy as you wanted it to be but at least you tried and by the looks of it, it was enough.

Jimin’s hands wrapped around your waist, squeezing with abandon. “I missed your skin, your warmth.” His eyes drifted to you lazily, his fingers moving to the band of your simple underwear. You placed your hands on his shoulders, balancing yourself as he began to tug the garment down your legs, the action even more erotic when he groaned; catching sight of your glistening slit.

Jimin’s thick fingers landed first at your knees, slipping around the back and sliding upwards, his eyes still glued to yours, minutely examining each expression or change that passed over your face. The way you tilted your head back before down again to look at his actions, the small pants; they were only making Jimin harder, wanting to rip into you with wild, wicked intentions. He held control, of course, no need to rush.

His breath hitched when his thumb finally made contact with the apex of your thighs, eyes flashing to the point of contact before up at you again. Was that a hint of apprehension?

“You’re already wet.” He mumbled, your eyes fluttering and cheeks reddening but you held fast to him.

Jimin had clearly been working out. His shoulders were broader; muscles more pronounced at you latched yourself on them while he attended to you in his gentle yet teasing ways.

And then he lowered his mouth…

You were glad that you had had the foresight of grabbing Jimin before because even before those luscious lips touched your skin, you were buckling, a rampant moan escaping you when he carefully parted your slick flesh, exposing your clit to his punishing tongue. Jimin pulled away, his tongue swirling before retreating back.

“I missed your heat.” He said before diving back in.

There were few things in your life that compared to Jimin giving head. Maybe the first time you had seen him naked, his skin glowing but still full, nothing chiseled about him as of then. Now he was harder, his planes more defined but you loved him just as much, the rake of your fingernails still shone the same and your kisses worn with as much pride as he used to.

Jimin was far into you for you to think much ahead. The way his hand migrated to hitch your leg up, placing it on the bed next to him to give him more access before dipping his fingers into you, curving the way he knew he reached your sweet spot, waiting for the groan to be satisfied before he returned to sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue pushing forward so he could collect more of your juices on his tongue.

He barely took a breath, finally pulling away and retracting his fingers from you gently, feeling the tightness of you close on his hand, trying to keep him there.

“Fuck, don’t be greedy, babe. You’ll get what you want.” He chuckled, deep and throaty. His eyes were nearly black now, pupils blown out.

You’d loved that, how he could be so fucked out even when he barely received any pleasure himself.

You removed your hands from his shoulders, studying him carefully. His cheeks were sunk in, a little more angular than you remembered. His biceps bulged where he leant on them, his thighs were thicker. You made a mental note to feed him while you had him here and another to ride his delicious legs while you were at it.

Jimin smiled a little at your scrutiny, “Y/N, what are you thinking?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead reaching up to undo your bra, letting it drop at his feet. “I’m thinking…I want to ride you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped, you could see him clearly swallow before he was nodding. “Yeah, okay, we can make that happen.”

He began to back further onto the bed but you stopped him, placing a hand on his knees to bunch the material of his sweats and tugging at them.

Your lover gave you a wide eyed stare. “Like this?”

Your eyes ran up the newly acquired abs, placing a kiss directly on them. He clenched at the contact. “Like this,” you whispered.

Jimin was quick to lose the sweats at that, eyeing you for further instruction as you flicked your hair behind you, placing a knee on the bed beside his hip and the other on his chest, anchoring yourself as he held himself at the base, angling the tip to brush against your entrance. You sighed, the thrum of his groan as you sat down on him bracing you.

The stretch burned you deliciously, the girth of him sliding against the right spots as you tried to get him in as deep as you could.

Jimin’s back arched, the tips of his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he mumbled unknown, unheard words. His eyes opened to see you kneeling over him.

“Fuck me, please.” He begged, a hint of desperation plaguing him that you couldn’t ignore.

Raising yourself, still using your hands for support, you dropped back down, using his pants of breath as a metronome, your hips gyrating and thrusting in time with him.

Jimin lay obediently still below you, letting you fuck the both of you into a pleasurable oblivion. His skin was starting to collect sheen.

You bent over him, feeling him whimper before bracing himself against the floor and thrust up into your warmth. His hands moved up your back, digging into certain special spots before wrapping into your hair, trapping you against him as you sunk your teeth in his shoulder, hiding cries of pleasure that he could hear anyway.

“Are you close?” He asked, yanking on your hair to look at your face, contorted a little.

“So close,” You arched your back, further pushing your body into his skillful hands.

“Good, me too, I want you to come with me.” Jimin let his hand cup a breast, while the other fell where your bodies connected. His thumbs set to work, rubbing sparks of extra pleasure into your peaking nipple and clit.

You whined, back tilting as your nails dug into his thighs as you exploded on top of him, a similar groan sounding below you as Jimin let go as well.

You felt his seed flood you as you convulsed on him and you probably would’ve toppled over if Jimin hadn’t sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close while he kept thrusting, slowly letting you both come back down to earth.

By the way his hand moved back to your ass, a light squeeze placed on it, you knew you were far from done.

[buckybabybaby]

Mr Hollywood (Epilogue Part IV)

Final Part!

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 2085

Chapter summary: Do you hear wedding bells?

A/n: The final, final, part, I promise!

(If the picture is all blurry, opening it in a new tab in browser helps!)

Warnings: Just fluff. But if you really don't like the idea of getting married, this is not for you.

Previous: Epilogue Part III

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

“Bucky? What is up with you tonight?”

“What d'ya mean?”

“You keep fidgeting.”

“Sorry.”

He shifts beside you again before stilling, and you settle back against him to continue watching the movie, cuddling into his warmth, a small smile on your face as he pulls you closer.

It's been so nice having him home for the past few months.

After filming on his début show wrapped following it's forth season, he was inundated with offers of work, and he'd flown back especially to announce his new role was in a British series, filmed mostly on location only a few miles down the road. You had tried to protest, not wanting him to sacrifice his career for you, but when he'd explained it really was the best move, in every sense, you'd been thrilled.

Now, you can't imagine not spending your free time with him.

The weekends are just like they used to be, at the diner, or picnics by the river, sometimes lunch at the local garden centre as you buy yet another packet of seeds, what is different however are the crowds Bucky draws. The public are now aware of the nature of your relationship with him, and whilst he tries to be inconspicuous the two of you together are far too recognisable.

At first he hadn't been keen to subject you to the attention, and the potential backlash, but the number of times he had been wrongly linked to yet another actor was growing out of control, and he felt he had to do something to quash all the rumours.

“I never want you to doubt what we have,” Bucky had said when he told you his plan.

In order to cause as little fuss as possible, one afternoon in the winter just after you got together, he'd posted a picture of you and him at the Hollywood sign, with a simple caption, 'my world'. He had warned you beforehand that not everyone on the internet would be positive, especially when they learnt he's not 'available', but you knew it was for the best.

The general reaction wasn't nearly as bad as you feared. Isabella and her little friends belief that you and Bucky would one day be married appears to have been commonly held within the school, as when you went in on the Monday after his big declaration no one batted an eye. They clearly either thought you two were already together, or were not in the least surprised that it had finally happened, and aside from Edwin's spontaneous hug in congratulations, which caught you off guard in the nicest way, the day passed as any other would.

Even when the press turned up at the front gate, desperate to get a picture of the one who'd stolen the heart of Hollywood's favourite darling. Peggy 'no nonsense' Carter saw to them, and armed with laws and regulations around the sharing of photographs of children, before the morning break they'd been scared away. She also accompanied you home that evening to ensure there weren't any lingering around, wanting to make sure your home was still a safe space, somewhere to escape back to when everything became too much.

Eventually it all died down, and Bucky looks so much happier now he can talk openly about you in interviews, not having to dodge around the subject. Will you ever get used to seeing your name on celebrity gossip sites? Probably not, but it's just part of the crazy roller-coaster that is life with Bucky, and no matter how nasty the journalists can get you know it's all worth it.

By his side you can get through anything.

Back in the present he squirms next to you again, knocking into you as he adjusts his position.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Looking over at you, he smiles tightly. “Well, maybe. I'm not sure yet.”

Frowning, you pause the movie to give him your full attention. “Anything I can do?”

“Whether everything is okay kinda depends on you,” He says quietly.

Tilting your head as you watch the way he wipes his palms down his thighs, you wonder what's got him so worked up. Now you're thinking about it, you realise he hasn't relaxed properly all evening, despite showering and changing into his pyjamas, he's been paying more attention to tending the fire than enjoying the film. Sitting up, you gently remove his arm from around you so you can rise from your slouched position and get a proper look at his face. It's almost the same look of mild terror he wore four years ago in New York's Central Park, when you had both tripped your way through declarations of love, just before your very first kiss.

It clicks. There's only one reason he'd look like that now.

“Bucky, I know what this is.”

He blinks up at you. “Oh yeah?” He asks, voice high.

“Yes, and you don't need to be so nervous. We've talked about this.”

“I still want...” He trails off, his gaze slipping to the dying embers in the fireplace.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm.”

“I love you, you know?”

His face softens at your declaration. “Yeah. I do.”

“And you know there's no proper way to do this, no perfect way, and no way to mess it up either.

“I know. I just want it to be special for you. Please let me try at least.”

“All right.” You sit back in your seat, buzzing with anticipation as he collect his thoughts. Licking his lips, he takes a shaky breath, looking back across at you as he begins to speak.

“Y/N. My love. My best friend. These four years have been everything I've ever wanted, and even before then, your friendship completely changed me, for the better I hope. Thank you for always keeping my feet on the ground.”

“You're the sole reason I'm where I am today, and without you I'd be lost. I knew you were someone special from the moment we first met, outside the school gates. Do you remember?

“'Course. Mrs Jenkins hasn't been able to look me in the eye since.”

He laughs brightly. “Well, you were very quick to shut her down when she asked if I even had the right qualifications to teach.”

“I wasn't too snappy, was I?”

“Nah. My Y/N? Never.” His manner turns serious again, sitting up straight and maintaining eye contact. “I want to thank you Y/N. Thank you believing in me when I didn't. Thank you for giving me the confidence to keep going. And thank you for always being there, for forgiving me despite giving you every reason not to. I couldn't live in this world without you.”

“I couldn't live without you either Bucky,” You croak, your emotions getting the better of you. Reaching across to squeeze your thigh, he waits for your gazes to meet again before continuing. “Which brings me to a very important question.”

You nod encouragingly, grinning through the gathering tears.

“I'm gonna do this bit properly, so,” He slides off the sofa, kneeling before you and taking hold of your left hand, his own eyes watering as he peers up at you. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, most beautiful person I've ever met, will you do me the honour of marry-”

“Yes!”

“-ing me?” He finishes, even as you're pulling him up to kiss clumsily. Knocked off balance by your enthusiasm, he ends up crushing you into the cushions, his body relaxing against yours when you refuse to let go.

Bucky always kisses you like he doesn't know when he'll next get a chance, and this time is no different. Tongues find each other as you hook one of your legs over his hips, the taste of salt from both of your tears only making the moment sweeter as you gasp into each others mouths, fingers lacing above your head as you try to get as close as possible.

Breaking away at length to breathe, you sigh contentedly, running your fingers through Bucky's hair as he traces his own along your sides.

“Didn't ever imagine you'd propose to me in your pyjamas,” You murmur after a minute or two.

“Sorry! If you want-”

“Bucky, shush. I'm teasing. This is perfect.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I'm sorry I haven't got a ring either.”

“That's all right too. With my job I wouldn't wear it often anyway.”

“But I will get you one. Gotta do it properly, every little detail.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

To prevent him from promising anything more extravagant, you lean up to touch your lips to his, softer now the initial elation has dimmed slightly into comfortable bliss. His body is still trembling with the pent up nerves, making your heart skip, so in love with this man you could explode.

“Was it really that scary for you to ask me to marry you?”

“Yes,” He laughs, resting his head against your neck.

“Golden Globe winning Bucky Barnes was scared to ask little ol' primary school teacher Y/N to marry him?”

“Technically, it was James Barnes who won the Golden Globe. Bucky is just your boyfriend-”

“Fiancé.”

“-Fiancé, who still can't believe he's got this lucky, so yes, I was scared.”

“You knew what I was going to say, though?”

“It wasn't so much your answer I was scared of, just making sure I got it right for you.”

Melting under him at his words, you let him trail his lips down your throat as your mind wanders to the big day.

“Oh!”

“What?” Bucky asks, not lifting his head off your shoulder.

“I was just thinking about how many flower girls and boys we're going to have to have. Amelia and Benjamin, obviously. Edwin and Ana's children, even Spencer, he's old enough isn't he? Or he will be by the time it happens. Isabella is almost too old now she's twelve, nearly a teenager.”

He chuckles at your rambling. “You know she'll still want to be one. It's all she ever asks me about when you're not in the room.”

“Really?”

“All the time.”

“Can't let her down then. And what about your best man? Dayton or Sam?”

“Err.” Bucky pauses his kisses to contemplate his answer. “Now you're asking.”

“Which one will have the most embarrassing stories? Pick them.”

“In that case then, neither.”

“Would it really be that bad?” You giggle, squishing his cheeks between your hands. “I know everything already.”

“True. But does your mum need to? Or mine for that matter? I wasn't exactly an angel during college. Or at any wrap party, ever.” He winks at you when you stick your tongue out in mock disgust. “Don't act so innocent Y/N. We both know what happened in that bathroom at the NTA's.” 

Releasing his face, you look away as your own heats up. “Dunno what you're talking about.”

Bucky hums, grinning cheekily. “No? I'm sure Sam remembers what he walked in on.”

You slap his chest lightly. “Don't make it sound so filthy! Nobody was naked, nothing explicit was going to happen. I was just happy for you.”

“Very happy, I'd say.”

Rolling your eyes as he snickers into your hair, you shuffle into the corner of the sofa to allow him to lay beside you, foreheads touching as you breathe each other in.

“We're engaged Bucky,” You whisper gleefully, linking your hands together and pulling them to rest over your heart. “Lucky you. Must feel like winning an Oscar, getting to marry me,” You joke, smiling so wide it hurts.

“Better.” Bucky says it so matter of factly, with such a straight face, that your breath catches.

“Remember to talk about me in your acceptance speech when you do win one, then.”

“If I win one.”

“When, Bucky. When you win. And I'll be right there by your side so you won't forget who to thank first.”

“Okay, if you say so. When I win I promise to mention how being your husband is better than any academy award, in front of millions of viewers and a roomful of fellow professionals. Should pick up a few 'ideal partner' points if nothing else.”

He beams at you as your body shakes with laughter, knowing that he is ridiculous enough to keep that promise.

“Seriously though Y/N.” His lips brush yours once, twice, three more times before he pulls back enough so you can see just how much he means it. “Being with you is like winning an Oscar every day.”

*****

A/n 2: This really is the end now, however much I'll miss them. But I can't just keep dragging it on, mainly because I've run out of ideas! I couldn't write their wedding for so many reasons, one, I couldn't keep it gender neutral as easily, and two, I just wouldn't know where to start! So just imagine it yourself. Sam is definitely gonna be there, along with Bucky and Y/N's entire families, Peggy of course, Edwin, Ana and their children, a guest list and a half, definitely a day to remember! But not something I could write, so this is the natural end of their tale... :(  

So here is my 3rd (probably?) thank you note! It's the middle of February now and I posted the first chapter of this fic in the middle of June last year, a whole eight months ago, so if you've been here from the beginning just know I love you and thank you so much for sticking with me. This hasn't been the most consistently updated story but we've got there in the end! And it you've commented at any point, please know I treasure every single word. I write for myself, the story I want to read, with the sort of characters I would like to have in my life, so if anyone else enjoys it too then that it just a bonus!

I have another idea for a slow burn series, and hopefully it won't be too long until I post that. More Bucky x reader, of course ;) so if you've liked this, maybe you'll like that too! Stick around, basically!

Once again, thank you so much for reading! xoxo

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