#home is a person / whose bloody hands match yours.

[zombholic]

MY KIND OF LOVE PT. 2 — abby anderson

summary — illegal boxing was never on your bucket list until your friend brought you to one.

description — poc fem!reader, illegal boxer!abby, reader has tattoos and a couple of piercings, mentions of drug usage, bidding, sexual themes, not for minors.

— 🥊　　 ◦ ✺ 　 🚩　 ⟢ —

After being humiliated in front of a crowd of strangers you decided to never listen to Jesse again. You were currently at work serving alcoholic beverages to customers when you heard a voice call out from afar, squinting your eyes you saw as your one and only friend appeared from the dim lights, his face was slowly recovering from the damage he took from a week ago.

“Jes, why are you here?” Your eyes shifted back to mixing up drinks and pouring shots.

“Listen, I’m sorry for forcing you to come to the match, I didn’t think she would touch you.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, guilty was written all over his face, he was truly sorry.

“Sit down i’ll pour you a shot dumbass.” You grinned at him your eyes still not meeting his but you could feel the stupid kiddish smile he was pulling from his lips.

It was pretty slow today since it was a Sunday, you were leaning over the counter of the bar conversing with him when suddenly the shattering of glasses had you snapping your neck to the direction of the sound.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Why was Abby here— why is she fighting—

“It was an accident I didn’t purposely spill my fucking drink on you!” The smaller woman was quick to dodge Abby’s large fists trying to connect to her.

The quick instincts from the smaller purple haired girl was starting to piss off Abby, her every move was predictable every time she was going in for a swing. The smaller one throwing a fast punch to the muscular girl’s abdomen causing her to hurl over.

“Fucking bitch.” You could see the way her anger flushed her scarred face, she was beyond just the color red.

“I need to stop this—“ Jesse grabbed your arm.

“Do not get involved she will actually kill you Y/n.” He gave you a stern expression.

“Jes—“ Before you could finish your sentence you saw as Abby grabbed the girls head, slamming it against the brick wall relentlessly.

A couple of men the size of Abby ripped her away from the girl, blood covered the wall, the table, her hands. The poor girl was unconscious barely even able to tell if she was still breathing. Slipping away from Jesse you had quickly ran over to the bloodied girl sitting on your knees as you dialed for the ambulance.

“Did you fucking kill her?” Your brows pinched together as you looked up at Abby, whose expression alone made you fear for your life.

“I hope I fucking did.” She was fuming, her ears ringing, breathing uneven.

“God you’re actually mentally fucked up!” You shouted as you stood up and faced her.

Very brave stupid of you.

Abby could only force out a breathy laugh, she towered over you build and height wise. God you only met her one time and knew the type of person she was.

“You are fucking insufferable Abby.” Your finger jabbed at her chest.

She was quick to grab your wrist, her grip was tight so tight you knew you were going to bruise. She pinned you against the brick wall that she used to almost murder a girl, her other hand grabbing your jaw, squeezing your lips together.

“Watch your fucking mouth, don’t wanna end up like her do you?” She threatened, her face nearly inches away from you, you could feel her breath on your cheek.

“Abby, enough is enough.” A woman who obviously knew her pulled her away.

You rubbed your now swore wrist, your brow’s farrowing as your eyes never leaving her blue ones. Jesse quickly ran over to you, cupping your face in his hands making you look over to him.

“Let’s go home.” You nodded your head agreeing with him.

Laying on his couch in his amazing apartment you had placed a bag of frozen vegetables on your wrist, you were watching him play the new Modern Warfare game that you got him for his birthday a few weeks back.

“Is she known for almost murdering people?” Your question made him chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah she kinda does that a lot. Why do you think she’s always winning at all these matches.” He was focused on the game but still managed to answer your questions.

“Oh Jes, there’s a halloween party tomorrow, you’re coming with me.” You were now scrolling on your phone as your feet now laid on his lap.

“Couldn’t even give me a choice.” He grabbed your foot as he started tickling it.

“I will actually fucking kick your balls so hard your damn ancestors will feel it!” You screamed kicking your legs around.

— 🥊　　 ◦ ✺ 　 🚩　 ⟢ —

authors note — part 2 ON THE SAME DAAYYY?? WHO AM IIIII??

tag list — @whore4abby @atomicami @aouiaa @doepretty

[silky-nereid]

— Awaken, my love!

yandere!Reanimator x reanimated!reader

Yandere! Reanimator who returns home after a long travel and is utterly distraught finding out that you tragically suffered from a contagious disease that spread rapidly through the once peaceful town.

Yandere! Reanimator who manages to find only some parts of your limbs and gets your perfect condition brain back from a merchant since somehow the dead diseased brains became a strange delicacy.

Yandere! Reanimator who sketches out your features on a clean parchment paper to remember what you look like and she disregards her moral compass to bring you back.

After fourteenth digging up, she had stopped hurling up the remains of dinner. Sweat dribbled down her forehead, pushing up her wireframes to see correctly. Her sweaty hands gripped the bloodied bone saw, tied a faded ribbon to the forearm.

“My love would want this.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I’m doing this for them.”

Back and forth. Back and forth. She collected the forearm and pulled out an upper arm piece that started at the bicep to see if it would match to be a perfect fit.

She smiled returning to the basement, replacing the wilted flowers that you favorites with newer ones to cover up the overwhelming smell of rotting parts. Her gloved hands caressed your covered face, pulling back the white cloth to see the stitches of flesh littered over your face as some skin was too far burned to be saved and she couldn’t let you be even more broken.

Yandere! Reanimator who smiles and buys clothes for you which she still joins in the rare luncheon by fellow neighbors because she still has to make the rare appearance. She still celebrates your anniversary and birthday because all she needs is a time to continue.

Yandere! Reanimator who unwittingly follows the mourning period and has brought clothes that fit your body. She often forgets to care for herself because she’s deep into stitching the body parts and gets rid of flesh too far rotten.

Yandere! Reanimator who notices the odd stares from the town sheriff but ignores them. She smiles since today would be the perfect day to have you brought back and she happily set up the table where you would come back to her.

“My love.” She heard the downpour through the basement. “You’ll come back to me and everything will be normal.”

She placed you on the metal slab, opening the wooden doors and pulling the chains that lifted you towards the downpour and hearing the distant thunder coming closer and closer.

“Awaken, my love!” She smiled. “We have many things to do when you awaken!”

Her hands held an ax, haggard breathing escaped her lips. Her eyes looked towards the unconscious sheriff and then back to you whose lungs rattled against the rib cage, stepping back to the chain that pulled you back down. Her eyes widened, seeing you immediately sit up with your limbs cracking with each movement and the smile on her face grew even more.

Yandere! Reanimator who keeps the lips of the sheriff quiet by bribing and helps you get readjusted to the new reality and always keeps you inside during the day. She smiles when you try to leave the house but she manages to pull you back to her.

Yandere! Reanimator who’s facade is cracking because you’re wanting to be independent and going back to your old ways of being alive. She occasionally sabotages your attempts to be independent because she can provide for you.

Yandere! Reanimator who tries to stay calm because you started using a different name for yourself and now decided to ask her to create a new person that can understand you which fully cracks her calm persona.

Her hands were covered in spilled ink, her eyes filled with tears and lips trembled. Her pink dressing gown’s trim was coated with splats of blood.

“I did this for you.” Her stained hands grabbed your shoulders. “I did everything for you and you want me to create someone new for you? I won’t do it.”

Your unsteady eyes looked at her with a recognizable emotion; fear. Her once warming eyes bloomed with unbearable hatred and she pressed your back against the bookshelf.

“Why are you so ungrateful?” She asked. “You ask so much. I want the person I love back, I brought you back and act like an entirely different person.”

You managed to scramble out of her grasps and legs out the door and into the scorching sunlight. Watery eyes darted up to the white ball of the sun, your stitched hand rose up to cover one of your eyes. Your other hand grazed the green grass, your ears heard an unfamiliar noise which was a familiar mixture of bird’s shrieking with a human-like quality.

She found you once more, curled in the abandoned cemetery up. Her eyes looked at your disheveled appearance, she held your stitched face as you slowly came too. She held you close to her and heard the wheeze of your lungs, her hand rested on your nape and thumb next to your ear.

“I love you,” she said. “You will learn to accept my love.”

[hana-no-seiiki]

༊*·˚ GUEST IS GOD CUSTOMER SERVICE お客様は神様 カスタマーサービス ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

☎️ . . . HELLO HELLO! You have reached the Guest is God’s customer service line. How may I help you, dearest guest? ♡

Oh, you’re new ? My my, why don’t I introduce you to our establishment first, shall we ?

line status: unedited

The Guest is God Host Club is home to many of our fantastic hosts here to make your day, afternoon, or evening a little more interesting. Our employees cover a vast amount of needs our visitors might want from a regular old friend to talk to or maybe a dominant sexual deviant to spend the night with !

It’s important to know that despite our guests position as gods and goddesses of our club, to touch and perform any type of activities must with our hosts must first ask for consent. The best way would be to use our in-house formats such as “May this god . . . ? “ or “Could you service this god by . . . ?” as our staff are trained to respond immediately to this call.

If you break any of the rules, especially the one above, you are to be eliminated escorted outside the premises and blacklisted from entering.

So, dearest Guest. Please make sure to read our rulebook thoroughly !

Now that you know what The Guest is God is, how about I introduce you to our hosts and hostesses?

Now I may be a bit biased, but [L/N] [Y/N] has got to be my favorite ♡ You’ll find them to be the best match for you if you’re interested in the maid types . [Y/N] may act like a bit of a brat at times however, as such it’s your job as our guest to put them in their place ! We can’t have a disobedient servant after all . Oh oh, and I heard, if you pay extra you can bring them home to do your chores and what not. Aren’t you just excited by the thought of —

[ You hear an awfully loud cough from the other side and a couple of smacks. ]

Thanks but th-that hurt, y’know!

Fine ! Fine ! Moving on. Geez.

Now, Hazu Kashi is our latest addition so there may be times he . . . gets out of character but rest assured he’ll get to an acceptable level . . . one day. He’s supposed to represent the Dominant Daddy type but he’s a bit too shy. I honestly don’t know what boss was thinking trying to —

[ Another smack, this time much, much louder ]

He does pack a hit however! [ groan ] Making him the perfect sadist to entertain any of your masochistic needs!

Unto our next host, shall we?

If you’re looking for a more experienced worker. Ms. Hilda Mcguire might be more up your speed. She has worked here for close to a decade now and used to be the top of the ranks before [Y/N]. If you’re into the classic femme fatale who’ll sweep you right off your feet then I suggest scheduling a meeting with her.

Mmm . . . who next . . .

Oh Oh! If you’re up for even more spice in your life, might I direct you to our very own Orochi Kimura! The Yandere Lover. Signing up for them is a little tricky though. Buncha waivers regarding privacy and the lack thereof moving forward with his contract, possible missing peers and family members, bloody letters and what not.

Ah, you want something a little more tame?

Keisuke Abe is pretty rough around the edges. If you like a little excitement but not - well risk your life and all that. Keisuke is pretty fun to hang out with. Though the smell of alcohol in his dedicated room is quite nauseating. He’s great at bringing people out of their shells !

For guests with more expensive tastes, I recommend Junichiro and Nao. Jun is the perfect sugar baby for those whose time is little and wallets big. Give him a gift or two and he’ll be yours to use however you’d like. Nao on the other hand is for guests who love to be on the receiving end.

Tired of demure partners? Why don’t you try Masashi? Personally I wouldn’t hang out more than I have to with the grump, but surprisingly he’s quite popular with the folks here. Some people really do like getting insulted 24/7 huh?

On the other hand, if you like the definition of bland . . . er - shy. Well Haku, Hazu’s twin, should be right up your alley! He’s more of a listener than a talker, so he’s usually partnered with chatty clients.

Let’s get some estrogen back in for our last few introductions . . .

Hinata has to be my second favorite next to [Y/N]. She used to work as a regular old nurse both in and out of the club until Boss was looking for a potential replacement for the latter. Fortunately I heard that [Y/N]’s graduation was cancelled so they’re both available at the moment. As a host she’s pretty similar but with less of the formal speech and more of the motherly vibes, y’know?

Emi Ishii is a jack of all trades when it comes to the sibling-con types. May it be the clingy little sister or the big boobie- [cough] nice older sister, Emi’s got ya covered! A little warning though, that girl can talk for hours if you pick the little sister option. Even I got winded.

And last but not least, we have our general staff members. You might encounter us once in a while during your stays inside the club.

Our boss Mr. Melchior is basically as old as time at this point. I heard from Ms. Hilda that he’s been here since she started working ten years ago and he has not age a bit! He can be really, really scary when people break the rules . .

Ursa or what we usually call her, Bear, is in charge of security. Nothing gets past her sight. If you ever see a big bear mask and claws. Make sure you’re in your best possible behavior.

If you’re having scheduling problems or issues with how your host is acting, please contact either Akihiko Sugimoto or Mei Lan. They’re in-charge of human resources and management respectively.

A quick ring of a bell will alert Kin, our cleaner of any messes you’d like to have gone. He doesn’t exactly talk so don’t expect a conversation if you ever pass by him down the halls.

And last but not least, little old me! I man the desk 24/7. No rest for the wicked they say h a h a! You can call me Youko. I’ll be handling your documents, log in times, and what-not in addition to any questions you may have about The Guest is God.

You still need a bit more time to choose?

Once you’ve made a decision just give this number another ring. I’ll be right here to guide you along the sign-up process.

Hope to see you here soon, Mr. Eden Whitlock!

GUEST IS GOD REGULARS: [reply to be added to the taglist]

©️ hana-no-seiiki 2023.

[therealsmuttyone]

Lilia part one:

I looked at everyone. 600 men under my command. 600 men waiting for my instructions. 600 families waiting. “Alright everyone listen closely. This is our one shot to kill them all and go home. We have too much waiting for us. Our kids, wives. Family. Friends! They’ve been waiting for you for years. Will you let them wait for nothing? What are you fighting for? Who are you fighting for?” With those words, i could see their will to fight grow stronger. It was like a dream they held on to. Home. “Our Queen and Princess trusted us to carry the name of Briar valley with us on this journey! Are you going to make them regret it? Our future heir, whatever it may be, a princess or a prince, needs us!” I looked at Baul, my second in command with a look of determination. “Baul you lead the charge.”i tapped on his shoulder and looked down at him. “Show them why you’re my second in command” His eyes matched my determination. I knew he had his daughter waiting for him. He had a reason to fight. “Isaiah, you flank the guards, twins,” I shot a pointed look at the set of identical twins who seemed to not only share a face, but their movements scared even me. They were synchronized. Way too synchronized.”you two will shoot any ambush attacks and Ivy, you stay back!”

I thought about what i wanted. Who i wanted to fight for. I could see her perfectly in my mind i could hear her voice. To say it sounded like bells was cliché but it certainly sounded gentle. Like a mother’s song, carried by the wind. But it was as sharp as a thousand thorns. Like roses. Beautiful but deadly. Koneko. She too was a fae. I wanted her to hug me and tell me everything was going to be fine. i took one deep breath and closed my eyes. Okay Lilia, i thought to myself, this is your chance to show humans-no to remind them that fae are not to be tested. Prove Meleanor right. She made you the general. Their lives are in your hands now. Make Revan proud. Prove the senate wrong. You’ve only got one chance. I opened my eyes.

“CHARGE!!!!!!” The battle was long and bloody. The screams of human man and child alike fell on the deaf ears of my men, as they slaughtered them. They were stealing for us. Killing us without reason and without cause. i charged the castle as the twins (whose names i could never remember) laughed and killed them all. I was on the second floor of the castle when it happened. I was stabbed. “AAGH!” Cried out and held my hand to my wound but…there was no blood…there was no wound…how? I saw it… “who was that? What was that?” The disembodied voice that seemed to magically behind me made me want to kill myself. “A vision. One doesn’t need common sense to know that. But that’s what we get for having a filthy bat as a general” they spat out the insult, like it was poison. “A filthy bat” “oh screw off.” I said standing up. I didn’t care for the senate. Not one bit. They laughed. “Lilia, that is the one person you cannot let live. If anyone else survives we can find and dispose of them but this one….” A path of green seemed to glow in front of me. I followed it.

“you can’t do it Lilia. We know you can’t.” I scoffed and turned right. A fancy castle. I wasn’t too amazed by it though. I had people to kill and a lover to return to. “I can. Do you forget who i am?” “We don’t forget Lilia…we just know your heart…and you don’t have the heart to kill this one.” the path stopped in front of a door. A basic wooden door. One that was quite smaller than the rest. Hell one could mistake it for a servants door. I took a deep breath and drew my sword. “Shut up. I can.” I shoved that door open and almost laughed…it was a baby…but a wee baby sleeping peacefully in the crib that lay directly in the center of a room. The room was bare but it was full of signs that the parents loved the baby…toys and gold..and cards and pictures and crude drawings. My face scrunched up at the sight of it all. Fae children were much more mature..probably because we didn’t do all of this shit. “This is who i have a kill? A baby?” The Senate seemed pissed at my cocky question. “Don’t be so prideful. That baby, should you let him live, will kill and destroy everything you have ever known and loved.” I looked at the crib again. “This thing? It looks like a monkey..” the senate wasn’t appreciating my humor. “He will kill the heir.” I looked at the crib. “I…” it was a baby…”it’s just a baby…and I’m just a man…trying to get home. Please. Give me some other options! I can hide the baby!” They shot that idea down “He’ll find you.” “I can raise him and hid it from him!” They shot that idea down, “He’ll find out. You know what you have to do. “

Could i do it? I stood over the crib and looked at the baby with golden hair and an air of innocence you’ll never see on a child fae. I..I’m just a man. I raised my sword over the sleeping baby. “Forgive me…”

Authors note: I’m sorry this took longer than i expected to actually write this…..damn…the word count….just count it..i’m stupid. It’ s over 1,000…anyways, part one has been done, time for part two! What do you guys think will happen next? Let’s leave theories in the comments. Sorry for the grammar mistakes, English isn’t my first language. Or my second. Or my third. Working on part two now. WHOOOOOO!!!

@koneko-dreams

[falconedreams]

TOE = Theory of Everything

Last night I dreamt that I was vacationing in a US national park of some sort, camping. I say that it’s a US national park, because when I went to the administrative lodge to pick up my keys for my cabin, the guy at the counter handed me a rifle along with my keys. I was like, what?! I didn’t ask for it, nor did I pay for it. Then the guy said, “No, it comes complimentary with the cabin. Bears, y’know.” I was like, WHAT?! But who am I to turn down free stuff? I thought I’d just leave it in a corner of the cabin until I was ready to go.

Anyway. During the camp I made friends with a group of local college kids and they were telling me stories about the urban legend of an axe murderer in the area whose victims mysteriously vanished and never returned. Having heard lots of similar urban legends while I was in school, I laughed them off as college kids with overactive imaginations. OH WOW WA I WRONG.

In the middle of the night I awoke to some faint screaming. Not sure why no one else heard it - or maybe they did, and were sensible enough not to come out. Anyway, I'M not sensible, so I went to check out the screaming, along with my complimentary rifle.

There really WAS a lunatic, clad in black and a black ski mask, brandishing a bloody hatchet, running after a father and a daughter who looked and sounded very much like like my OCs, Jared and Merlyn Reading (who was doing the screaming). Jared is an academic who works out in the library and Merl is a tiny little girl, so the murderer was gaining ground on them fast. I shot at the murderer, he fell, and all three of us ran back to the campsite ASAP.

The Readings, like sensible people, immediately fled to the airport and got on the next plane home. I, like a NOT sensible person, stayed behind to call the police and help the police search the crime scene later. There we found many bodies with axe wounds in various states of decay, as well as a freshly shot off human big toe, courtesy of moi. Apparently my aim sucks. The police said they would issue an alert to the nearby hospitals to look out for anyone coming in with a severed big toe.

Well, days turned into weeks and no arrests were made. Then one day I saw on the news, a report on this insane cult started by this eccentric billionaire. He looked like one of those people on true crime documentaries whom their acquaintances always describe as "very charismatic" after the fact, but then you wonder in comparison to what, because month-old goat turds are probably more attractive. Anyway, he'd started a cult in honour of his lost big toe. He said that TOE stood for Theory Of Everything, and that's why his Toe Knows All, and "departed for the spiritual realm" before the rest of him, so that it could convey "cosmic messages" to him about whom he should sleep with next to avert the end of the universe - regular culty bullshit like that. I thought it was a joke and a half until the reporter asked him how he lost his toe, and he looked DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA and gave the EXACT DATE, TIME, AND LOCATION where I'd shot the axe murderer. He said he'd lost it in a "hunting accident" while he was "holidaying" at the camp, but oh, that SMUG LOOK. I was like, oh, this is classic serial killer. They think they're too smart to be caught and are taunting the police. But surely the police will catch on, right? Like this guy practically confessed on TV.

Uhhhhh NOPE I WAS WRONG AGAIN! After a few days of no arrest news and the cult continuing to be covered on TV, I went to the police station and was like WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGGGG!!! And the police were like well it's too circumstantial you see, lots of people lose toes all the time, it's not a crime to be weird and worship your own toe, freedom of religion. And I was like OMG HE SAID HE LOST IT AT THE EXACT DAY AND TIME AND LOCATION!!!! DNA TEST HIM AND THE TOE I GUARANTEE THEY WILL MATCH!!!! And then they were like well it's still too circumstantial, we can't ask someone so powerful to submit to a DNA test without more concrete proof.

So I was like, fuck you, I’ll get your concrete proof. I attempted to infiltrate the cult and was caught and KO'ed in all of 5 hours because I am not good at Stealth. When I came to I was tied up on an altar in a room alone with the murderous creep and a hanging rack of various.....metallic implements. And the guy was like "Wow you are a lot scrawnier than I expected." And I was like "You were......expecting me? How did you know I was coming?" And he was like, "Duh, did you think the interview was a taunt to the police? It was a trap for YOU! I knew the police wouldn't do anything to someone of my status without overwhelming evidence. But the person who shot at me that night, proved they were the kind of person to put themselves in danger to save others instead of feigning ignorance and saving themselves. I knew they would come for me if the police didn't. And tada, you're here! Only I was expecting some blond-haired blue-eyed white knight hero complex type. YOU look like you would lose a fight to a well-fed cat." And I was like "Er....okay rude but anyway what was the point of you luring me here?" And he was like "Isn't it obvious? You took my big toe, so I’m going to have to take yours. And then.....well, I have all the time in the world to decide what to do with the rest of you." So he turned back to his rack of metal instruments….

And I will never speak ill of the alarm clock again because it THANKFULLY rang and woke me up before anything messed up could happen.

[brotherism]

Cain and Abel, Keith Vaughan / Andrew Kozma, Song of the Insensible

[hhhecates]

You gotta expect the unexpected-

# — pairings: modern au!xiao x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, xiao, mentions of hu tao, keqing, ganyu and childe

# — summary: Xiao looks like he could kill you, I mean- he could kill you, but he's also a very soft baby. Reader looks like the soft baby, but actually has literally 0 fucking mercy, you better start running the moment you cross them

# — warnings: mentions of blood and injury, mentions of slapping, bullying, cursing 

# — tags: hc/drabble format, fluff, hurt/comfort (just a little), crack(?), college au, canon divergent

# — notes: I just love visually opposite couples whose personalities don't match their aesthetic is this why I ship Sara and Kokomi??

No because modern au xiao x reader where:

Xiao has an edgy emo boy/e-boy/grunge aesthetic. He is covered in pretty and intricate tattoos, and has so many piercings adorning his ears, lips and tongue. Xiao who wears tons of pretty rings and black polish. Chains adorn his neck and sometimes even leather harnesses strapped over a black turtleneck and a crisp white shirt. He is seldom seen without a mask and earphones, and everyone on campus is just scared shitless of him. How could they not? Xiao whose unimpressed stare is so sharp and unforgiving that has people embarrassedly looking away from him in mere seconds. Xiao whose knuckles are more often than not bruised and bloody, and sometimes traces of blue and purple can be found on his face too. Xiao who has the most preposterous rumors surrounding him, from the classic "he's a delinquent who used to beat up his fellow classmates in high school" to him being part of some kind of mafia organisation. Xiao who is also the first to be in class in every lecture, no matter if he looks like he hasn't slept in a week or two, he sits in the very back corner of the lecture hall and glares at whoever dares sit too close to him. A cup of coffee constantly finds home in his hands, which often brings to the question, just how many of those does he drink a day?

But what they actually don't know, is that Xiao is perhaps the softest person to ever exist.

Xiao who has such a strong and unyielding sense of justice, and will never turn his back or ignore a wrongdoing. Xiao who seems so unapproachable and closed off, but is always ready to help, to lend his notes or tutor his juniors with so much patience. Words spoken in a firm yet soft voice, Xiao might be extremely blunt, harsh even at times, but he's never mean, never unfair, there's a special kindness to Xiao, one that's rough around the edges, but doesn't need to be sugarcoated to be so genuine and selfless. Xiao's the person who stops at every alley to pet and feed stray cats, no matter if he has only some spare change left in his pockets, no matter that he knows he'll need to pick up a few more shifts at his shitty part time job, he doesn't think about it twice before setting down the cup of instant ramen back on the shelf and pick up some canned tuna for the little black kitten that wanders outside the convenience store. Xiao who has the most piercing eyes of sulphur yellow, but those same eyes oh so quickly turn into mellow honey as soon as he sees his lover. Xiao who never misses a chance to buy reader old poetry books and flower seeds to plant on their balcony cause he says "it just reminded him of them".

And then there's reader, oh so visually different from Xiao, that you'd do a double take if you ever saw them together. Reader who instead rocks a soft and colourful vintage aesthetic: bold patterns that make your head spin, unique silhouettes you've probably last seen in a 70s movie and fun jewelry that clinks and twirls with each step. They're shy and wide eyed, a skip in their step and more often than not a stutter in their softly uttered words. Reader is Xiao's beloved, they're witty and eloquent, but also easily distracted and quiet. You'd often find them conversing with the flowers Xiao gifts them, whispering soft praises that make Xiao heat up at the sweet sight and pure adoration filling his eyes. Xiao never thought he could be jealous of a flower until then. Or again, they would be trying out some new recipe they found and that made them think of Xiao, adjusting everything down to perfection to fit his tastes just right (because they know, he likes things just a tad sweeter than others would).

Reader whose voice probably only Xiao knows, they don't really speak much in the first place. Reader who is confrontational and never backs off, but also polite and never out of line. Or at least, they usually are. They are when the other person if playing fair too. Because the moment they were heading to the university cafeteria to have lunch with Xiao and their mutual friends, they overheard someone picking on Hu Tao, a close friends of theirs as well as their partner. And then they won't play fair anymore. They won't lower their voice to make someone else more comfortable, no, not when some bully out there is openly belittling their friend. Then reader steps in front of her, brewing in silent fury with a challenging tilt of their head. And while no one would expect it, Xiao knows that hell is about to go down.

"Oh? What's this? Are you done with your pathetic charade just yet?"

"Do you really have nothing better to do than pick on random people for your own enjoyment? How pitiful. Or at least, that's what I would say, but pity entails at least a little bit of sympathy. And I happen to have none for you."

Words flow like rivers, burn like acid from their lips, pitch fluctuating between truly mocking and subtly patronizing, huffing a condescending laugh or two.

"Wow. Do you really have no better insult than to call me a whore? Cause truly, I appreciate the effort- if there was ever any- but you seem to be the only one to be shouting and barking angrily at me like a dog in heat." Reader keeps going, undaunted and unwavering, no matter that they might get a couple of slaps across the face along the way.

"Suck on that bitch!" and with that another slap is sent their way. By this point even Hu Tao is tugging on on the back of reader's shirt, but oh, reader happens to be quite stubborn and have the bad habit of never backing down

"Suck on what? Your mother's clit?" And when they get another slap, they just smile back at them

"Hit harder".

And if it wasn't for teachers intervention reader would probably have more than just a bloody lip and bruised cheek, but the self satisfied smile that's still on their face speaks louder.

Only then reader sees xiao in the background, who rightfully looks two seconds away from murder and he's being physically held back by keqing, ganyu and childe (and really, they're barely managing it). The change in reader's expression is so abrupt, you'd think you're looking at a completely different person, their eyes turning soft and mellow like molasses, faint dimples appearing on the sides of their lips in the effort to hold back a reassuring smile, Xiao wouldn't probably be able to resist them if it weren't for the blood very much still dripping down their chin. As soon as reader is close enough, (and keqing, ganyu and childe finally deem it safe enough to release him) xiao immediately tugs them even closer, muttering a curse of two under his breath. His own eyes never leaving theirs, cat like pupils shivering in unspoken concern as his trembling hands hastily yank the wide collection of rings that adorn his fingers to properly hold his lover's face in his hands. It's a habit, how reader immediately nuzzles into his warm palms, cold fingertips gently caressing the skin under their eyes in a tender greeting, xiao's eyes still desperately hold onto his lover's figure even when the latter's lids fall close to relish the warmth he provides.

"You absolute fucking idiot" is the first thing he tells them, and reader laughs, tinkering and resonating, their eyes open to again, and Xiao almost relents at the adoration finely quilted in them (for him, only for him, and he knows). His grip on the sides of their face tightens in the slightest, still enough to make them flinch faintly at the unintentional touch on a sore spot on their jawbone, enough for xiao's breath to stutter again in his chest and almost, almost let go of them completely, the fear of just doing them more harm assailing him. His lover can see it, as clear as the day, the moment of hesitation that makes his own bones tremble so uncomfortably, so reader wraps a careful hand around one of his wrists before he can decide on pulling away, their thumb gently rubbing circles on the skin of his wrist.

Xiao shivers. He looks at them, almost pleadingly, a gaze so intimate and vulnerable that reader shuffles even closer if possible (that's not for anyone's eyes to see but theirs).

"What am I going to do with you?" Xiao sighs, it's meant to be out of exhaustion, but it tastes more like one of relief. "Does it hurt?" he asks again, unrelenting, the pads of his fingers trace gentle patterns on the skin of reader's face, so so gentle that when they touch the already bruising spot on their cheekbone, ironically they can just smile a little wider, a little sweeter.

"No, it doesn't. It doesn't hurt at all".

I’m literally typing this out in my geology lecture lmao. Bonk me in the head with a pan, I should be paying attention to rocks.

[lostinwildflowers]

A Battle Lost and Won

Miya Atsumu x Reader

Summary: When your kingdom loses in a battle against foreign invaders, your personal knight gets injured. What is the outcome when you clean his injuries?

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: angst, some dirty jokes, teasing, flirting, Atsumu being a little shit, it's a little suggestive but SFW, readers first kiss, and of course :) FLUFF

A/N: Here we go, y'all!!! This is my first contribution to The Royal Rodeo Collaboration being held by The Barn! Lemme tell y'all, this thing was 0///0 to write. I hope everyone enjoys it! Reblogs are very much appreciated :D -Birch<3

It had been an excruciatingly long day out in the fields. The soldiers of your kingdom had been prepping for the battle before the sun even rose, the moon was high in the sky as they finished training and gathering their weapons for the gruesome fight ahead.

You see, your kingdom was at war against a foreign invader, and the invaders were trying to steal your land. Thus, a large sum of your troops, including you, the princess, were shipped off to the east to fight them off.

The invaders were known to be grueling and nasty fighters, making dirty moves and slices to your soldiers to try to win the fights. Your soldiers, however, were fair and loyal to their kingdom, some going as far as to lay down their lives whenever needed.

Although your soldiers were strong and compassionate, they were no match in this battle. The war itself had been going on for years, and your kingdom had managed to hold the upper hand until this battle in particular.

The sun was sinking deep into the sky now, the horizon painted with mixes of reds, pinks, and oranges as your soldiers marched home the best they could. The medics that went with the soldiers to the battle did the best they could, tying pieces of cloth together to make shifty slings and tourniquets.

Many soldiers had to limp or walk back to camp, as their horses had run off, been killed, or were stolen by the invaders. The generals and commanding officers immediately went to regroup with the king, discussing the losses and small victories.

This led you to where you were currently waiting at the edge of the camp, worried eyes scanning through the masses of soldiers for your personal guard and knight, Miya Atsumu.

Atsumu had been your guard for the last 5 years, always at your side through the mornings, afternoons, and evenings. He was always stood behind you at dinners, watching the entrances and exits for intruders.

He would be the one to escort you on walks around the gardens and down to the stables. Atsumu even let you read to him, spending hours in the library when the skies were dark and the only thing to light up the room was a single candle.

It was nights like these when Atsumu would listen to your voice, but never the words. His honey-colored eyes would flick over your features softly, his walls caving as he let your voice lull him into a false sense of safety.

But in this moment, you were the one whose safety was being threatened, because as hundreds of soldiers passed you, none of them were your knight. None of them were your best friend and secret crush, Miya Atsumu.

Tears started welling in your eyes as the last few soldiers made their way into the camp, and soon enough, the large barbed wire gate was being shut. A cry leaves your lips as you bring hands to your face, crouching down at the stabbing and gut-wrenching feeling taking over your body.

“Um, princess?” the quiet voice comes, and soon you are met face to face with Osamu, who was bloody and beaten, but very much alive. You quickly reach out, grabbing onto the pauldrons on his shoulders as you look up at him, desperation and fear written on your face as you whisper, “Is he…?”

Osamu just shakes his head slightly as he salutes you gently, “Princess Y/n, your personal guard, Miya Atsumu, is at the recovery tent. I was ordered by the King to watch over you until he is healed.”

At the knight’s words, you rapidly gather your skirts before you start sprinting towards the medical tent. You have to scurry around horses and their handlers, wounded soldiers and chefs, but when you finally get a clear path, you resume your rapid pace.

You can hear Osamu on your heels, his voice calling out to you to get you to stop, but you pay him no heed as you burst into the white tent. Dozens of eyes make contact with your own frantic (colored) ones, and nurses start to run up to you, scanning over you for injuries at your sudden appearance.

You brush off the nurses as you catch sight of Suna, the nurse who tended to your injuries or any of the royals if you got any. At his station, Kita Shinsuke sat on his table, who had a nasty gash on his forearm that he was getting stitched up.

Quick footsteps lead you up to the two men you would call your friends, eyes wide as you take in their surprisingly calm appearances. You go to open your mouth, but Suna beats you to it as he says, “Atsumu is waiting out back with the other critically injured soldiers. We will get him in here as fast as possible.”

Osamu finally catches up with you at that point, chest heaving a little bit as you take off for the back of the tent. He goes to follow you but Kita says, “Let her be, Osamu. She needs her knight right now, and she’s at camp. There’s plenty of security around.”

The grey-haired knight just nods, sitting down in a chair at the end of Suna’s station as he loses sight of you. Meanwhile, you weave in and out of the other med stations, accidentally knocking over a tray or two before you make your way to the back flap of the tent.

You nearly bump into Aran as you rip the curtain back, the poor man could barely see because he had a swollen black eye. You mumble an apology before you hear a cheeky, “Awe princess, were ya worried about me?”

At those words, you whip around, coming face to face with your blonde-haired and smirking knight. He still donned his heavy armor, but it no longer glistened silver as it was covered in smears of blood, grime, and dirt.

You choke a sob back as you rush over to him, buckling at the knees to crouch in front of where he sat. His eyes widen in surprise as he takes in your frantic form, some of his arrogance leaving as he realizes how upset you actually were.

You cup his face boldly, feeling the heat of his skin on your own as you lean your forehead against his, eyes closing momentarily to fight back tears as you whisper, “I thought-”

“Stop it, princess,” Atsumu interrupts you, brown eyes flicking over your face carefully and methodically as you open your eyes. The soldiers blink in shock at his firm tone and blunt words, as they were all trained to treat you with the utmost respect.

Tears still fill your eyes as one of Atsumu’s gloved hands rests on the back of your head, softly ruffling the hair he smirks, “I’m still here. They just sent me back here as a high-priority patient because I serve under ya. But I’m fine, Suna will have me fixed up in no time.”

You shake your head as you start to pull away, wiping your eyes hastily you command, “No, Atsumu. You’re coming with me. You need medical attention now.”

Atsumu goes to complain, but he stops whenever he feels slight pain in his head, and then blood drips from his temple and down to his cheek. You can feel the panic slowly settle in your chest as Atsumu stands up, and you instinctively reach for him.

The blonde-haired soldier chuckles when you loop your arm through his own and he teases, “Ya know, princess, I can stand up on my own.”

You just roll your eyes as you guide him away from the mass of wounded soldiers and back toward your personal tent. Atsumu lets himself fall into step with you, his eyes watching your figure as you gaze forward, the soft and colored rays of the sun catching the corners of your eyes and lighting them up in a way that could only be described as ethereal.

As you rip open your tent, your handmaids all rush at you, but you quickly brush them off and say, “No one is to enter this tent tonight. I need to attend to Knight Miya immediately, go get yourselves some dinner and rest. Await your king’s orders.”

The women all nod and run off, leaving you to secure the ties on the flaps of the tent and light any remaining candles and lanterns. Atsumu smirks as he sits on a stool, watching you as you intensely pick things up, gathering the needed supplies to take care of him.

You set down the alcohol, gauze, and other supplies on the small desk next to him, and Atsumu can’t help the way his heart squeezes ever so slightly when he knows you’re doing all of this for him.

With another flirty tease, he says, “Do ya really not trust Suna to take care of me? He’s the nurse in charge of all the royals and their staff ya know.”

You’re quiet for a moment as you break the seal on the alcohol, and you shoot him a sideways glance as you blankly state, “I trust him. Suna has many other soldiers that need tending too, I can handle you.”

“Wouldn’t ya like to?” Atsumu gives you a cheeky wink, and you have to fight the blush on your cheeks as you roll your eyes and smile at him with a huff. Atsumu’s head tosses back in a more violent laugh when he realizes how flustered you actually got.

“Awe princess, ya know all ya have to do is ask if ya want-” “Stop it Miya!” you squeak out, turning away from the handsome soldier in front of you to continue prepping the supplies as you try to calm the red on your cheeks.

Atsumu just snickers and then gives a wounded sigh of, “Ouch, Y/n. Back on the last name basis? I thought we were a lot closer than that, princess.”

You give him a sharp glare as you continue to try to fight down your blush, and you walk over to him and mumble, “I need you to take your armor off, Miya.” Atsumu just tuts as he replies, “It’s not coming off til ya call me yer nickname.”

You once again roll your eyes as he smiles innocently up at you, widening his thighs on the stool to let you close to him. You sigh as you rest your hands on his armored shoulders and you say quietly, “Fine. ‘tsumu, I need you to take your armor off so I can check you for wounds.”

Atsumu gives you a wide and genuine smile as he shifts on the stool, crossing one arm over his chest to start taking off the pauldron on his opposite shoulder. A sharp hiss and groan fall from his lips, halting his movement immediately.

Your hands hover over his chest as Atsumu’s face twists in pain, his breathing coming out jagged and heavy. He blinks up at you in pain as he manages to grumble out, “Aight, maybe I need ya to take it off of me, princess.”

A nod is all you give him as you gently pull his arm away from where it was protecting his chest, letting it hang in the air before Atsumu pulls away from your grip.

You feel a little downcast at his movements, but you are quickly interrupted as he rests his gloved hand on the curve of your hip, his eyes sharply watching you as you start to pull off the dirty pieces of armor.

Your hands are shaky as you slide the pieces down the bulk of his arms, your fingers brushing up against the fabric of his undershirt where you can feel the hardened muscle underneath. Atsumu is fairly quiet as you help undress him, his eyes watching your every move, trying to make sure nothing was too heavy or too personal for you to get off.

When you go to pull off the chainmail breastplate, you have to get really close to Atsumu, gently reaching up onto your tiptoes so that you can peer over his shoulder to unclasp the buckles holding it in place.

Atsumu smiles at the look of intense concentration etched on your face as you try to get the chainmail plate to untangle from his body. As you work on one side he mumbles, “If you wanted to touch me, this isn’t the way I would have gone about it.”

The furious flush returns to your cheeks at his comment and you don’t reply as you lift the destroyed armor over his head, dropping it onto the floor where all of the rest of his armor laid.

You move to pull the final piece of armor off of his chest, the neck piece that everything locked into. As your fingers undo the clasp holding it together, you realize your face is only a few inches away from Atsumu’s and you swallow hard when you see his eyes flicker all over your face.

In a decisive movement, you pull the last piece of armor off, and you move to a small pail to clean your hands as you say, “Off with the clothes too, ‘tsumu. I’ve gotta be able to get to your skin.”

With a chuckle, Atsumu stands up from the chair, dropping his pants to leave him in his undershorts and his shirt, and he says, “Princess, I need help getting this shirt off, I’ve got a...”

As his words trail off, you look up from where you are drying your hands, and you rush over to him, seeing the red seeping through the fabric on his chest. Instantly you reach for the scissors, simply cutting the shirt from the bottom up to the neckline, and then you pull it off of his shoulder in a hasty movement.

You can’t deny his warm and smooth skin feels nice under your palms, but you try to brush off the thought as you take in the gaping wound on his chest. Atsumu grunts as you accidentally brush it with your hand, and your eyes fill with concern as his close in pain.

“I’m sorry, ‘tsumu. I’ll try to clean this as fast as I can,” you murmur softly. Atsumu chuckles as he slowly reopens his eyes, “Trying to get rid of me that fast, princess? I’ve got nothing to do all night you know, take your time.”

You nod as you reach for the alcohol, pouring some of the clear liquid onto a pad of gauze. You turn to the blonde in front of you, and it finally registers in your head that your knight, your best friend, and crush is in front of you, stripped down to practically nothing, and waiting for you.

You quietly set to work, cleaning the wound as efficiently as you can without causing too much pain. Atsumu grunts and hisses in pain at the sting of the alcohol, his hands finding their way to your hips on instinct.

He squeezes them in pain every few seconds as you stitch the wound up, and you have to stop him once because he was squeezing you too hard. Let’s just say that he was a little embarrassed by it, and he tried to be a little tougher as you finished cleaning the wounds on the rest of his body.

Atsumu’s body was full of bruises and scrapes, and he ached from the beating he had taken as well as the sting from the alcohol. Thankfully, all you had to do was clean his face and bandage the wound on his forehead.

You part Atsumu’s thighs once again as you dab at the wound on his forehead, eyes concentrating on wiping any stray blood from sliding down his cheek. Atsumu’s gaze doesn’t waver from looking over your face, especially once you part your lips in concentration and he can see your tongue just barely peeking out.

You’re close to him in that moment, one hand resting on his bare shoulder with his hands on your waist. You briefly set the damp cloth down so you can brush the stray blonde hairs out of his eyes, and you scan over his features in case you missed any dirt or wounds.

A deep sigh falls from your lips as you sadly smile up at him and Atsumu simply quirks an eyebrow at your new expression. You just blink in response, looking to your feet you mumble out, “You really need to be more careful out there, ‘tsumu.”

The blonde just squeezes your hips slightly, regaining your attention as he teases back with a smirk, “Why? Do ya love me or something?”

You don’t respond, simply sliding out of his grasp as you try to calm the flush spreading on your cheeks and the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You grab for the damp and used washcloth next to the knight, and Atsumu’s smirk drops when he notices you don’t respond.

You turn back to the supply table, setting down the dirty towel in exchange for a clean one and a bandage. You don’t meet Atsumu’s eyes as you work on the wound on his forehead, but he places his hands on your waist regardless, this time with one sneaking around your back while the other sat near your hip.

Sharp and jittery movements of your hands make Atsumu hiss in pain when you dab at the cut a little too harshly, and he goes to snap at you when he realizes the tears in your eyes. He grabs your wrist firmly in his own hand as he pulls it away from his face, pulling the bandage out of your hand and setting it on the table.

“You don’t really love me, do you?” he whispers quietly, eyes curious and genuine as you blink back your tears. You try to step away from him, pulling at his firm grip, but even in his injured state, Atsumu is strong and pulls you close to his bare chest.

In a swift movement, his arms cage you to the desk of supplies behind you, and he towers over you as he stands up to his full height. You have no place to put your hands, so you let them rest against his abs while trying to avoid the injury on his chest.

“Answer me, princess,” he murmurs to you gently, his expression vulnerable as he locks eyes with you. You swallow shakily as you say, “There’s more than just your life on the line when you fight, ‘tsumu. Mine is too. I need you here to protect me.”

Atsumu’s gaze softens as he absorbs your words, and he moves one hand from its firm grip on the desk to tenderly cradle your cheek, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him.

His lips barely part as he whispers, “You’ll never lose me, princess.”

The unshed tears in your eyes glisten as you look up at him and blink once. A single tear slides down your cheek as you say, “Then prove it.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Atsumu leans into you, his golden-colored eyes shutting as he captures your lips for himself. He places his mouth firmly onto your own, moving slowly as if to ease you into the heat of his kiss.

Your heart jumps when his lips touch your own, and your eyes widen in surprise before they shut in content. Your lips move in sync with his, letting him steal your first kiss with ease, as there was no one else you would rather give it to.

Your hands slide up the toned muscles of his abdomen, moving to rest on his pecs in a fluid motion. Atsumu quickly pulls away in pain, his forehead resting against your own with a slight collision as you rip your hands away from his injured chest in panic.

Your mouth opens and closes for a second before you stutter out, “Oh- oh my gosh, I’m so sorry Atsumu, I didn’t-”

The blonde tilts his head quickly in his pain, capturing your lips in a quick kiss to shut you up for a moment. When he pulls away this time, he gently rests his forehead against your own, nuzzling his nose with yours for a moment.

Honey-colored eyes meet your own (colored) ones in a soft staredown, and you can’t help the feeling of warmth spreading through your body at his gaze and touch. You close your eyes, enjoying the tender moment before you hum out, “I should really finish cleaning your forehead.”

Atsumu chuckles at your words as his characteristic smirk slides across his lips and he replies, “How can I let ya clean my wound when I could’ve been kissing ya like that this whole time?”

You flush at his comment, and you groan and hide your face in the crook of his neck as Atsumu laughs at your embarrassment. He tosses his head back as he giggles, “What?! C’mon princess, you know it’s true.”

You pull away after a second of regaining your composure, and as you gaze up at Atsumu, you lean forward to press a soft peck against his pink and bruised lips. Atsumu hums ever so slightly at the weight of your body pressing against his own, and his rough hands tug you close to him.

As you pull away, you push him back onto the stool, trying to cool the flush that had spread up to the tips of your ears. You grab the bandage that had been carelessly placed on the table by Atsumu, and you gently wrap it around his head, careful to pull the hair away from it so it didn’t get caught.

Your touches are soft and lingering, and Atsumu feels himself melting under your careful hands as he murmurs to you, “I will always win from now on, princess. For you.”

You smile at your knight and you nod, leading him over to your bed, you pull the covers back and offer him the space next to you. Atsumu carefully crawls over to you before laying on his back, opening one arm so that you could tuck yourself close to him.

There are no disturbances in your private quarters as the two of you lay together, the only sounds being the occasional gasp or hum as you discovered each other’s mouths in wanton kisses, and the snore that falls from Atsumu’s lips when you both manage to fall asleep.

And from that night on, you were no longer a princess sharing a bed with her knight, but two lovers forever entwined in a battle for a long and healthy relationship and life.

Tags: @callmepromise

[serendipitystation]

You Can Take Me Home: Chapter 1 (A Bridgerton fanfic)

Read it here: AO3

Summary: When Anthony meets his siblings' new teacher by chance, he feels his search for a wife has finally come to the perfect end. With Ms. Sharma comes the catch, however, of her older sister, Kate, who disapproves of their relationship in every way. As they war with one another and try to deal with their own struggles, only one thing is certain; even the strongest of walls break down eventually. Modern re-telling of S2 with some changes.

Rating: M

Length: Medium individual chapters

-----

Anthony Bridgerton is an upstanding member of society. He is the eldest son and male head of a distinguished family with ancestors of nobility and a Viscountcy held during the height of the Regency era. He has a respectable career in finance whose ladder he has scaled with speed in the years since graduating university, a commitment to self-bettering habits, and a personal portfolio that even seasoned financiers wouldn't tip their nose up at. He is a person of self-drive and politeness, he gives back to the community, and he is known for his efficiency and desire to meet expectations in every area of life- every area. All in all, if Anthony had to give himself a rating of "trash human" to "paragon of all that is good", he'd place himself pretty high on the scale. Even the most respectable person can be brought low, however, by just a single flaw. In Anthony's case, his flaw is his relationship status. 

Over the years, this marker of societal success has cycled with the consistency of an indecisive east wind between "determinedly single" to "mildly occupied by a woman" to "overbearing, yet taken" and back again. Anthony has always written off this fluctuation on the basis that it's the 2020s, relationships are no longer something that society should judge people by, and it's no one's business to start with, anyway. Who cares how many women he's dated when he has a retirement fund and a near-guaranteed promotion every few years at his job? In a still-very-material world, he has stability. A good reputation. A bloody Tesla. (Yeah, that's right- he's got a great car and he's environmentally conscious.) But no- no, no. None of that matters. He could be the king of the world and he would still have the worth of a used piece of gum stuck to a shoe if he can't find his "love match", or so his mother, Violet, says.

According to his mother, Anthony's problem is that he's been "listening to his head and not his heart". On the other hand, his siblings repeatedly diagnose him as "having an ego so large that it doesn't leave enough room for two people". Over the years, Anthony has learned to keep his mouth shut in response to both arguments- no amounts of repeating "love can't pay off a mortgage" has made a difference up until now. Still, he knows that in some small way, his family is right; the one thing he lacks is a wife. Once he finds the person who can complete his life, everything is set. Finding this woman, however, has been a losing battle thus far.

Anthony isn't looking for perfection in a woman, but he would like her to be intelligent, practical, ambitious, family- and goal-oriented, and attractive (at least reasonably so). Some of the women he has dated have come close to checking off this list, but never close enough. Something always ruined things in the end; one didn't know how many kids she wanted, one couldn't calculate a tip, one even tried to convince him that veganism was the future. Still, it's all or nothing in the game of romantic relationships. His two youngest siblings joked that he should ask their new English teacher out on a date, noting she was "really pretty and smart and good at dealing with annoying kids", but Anthony assured him that he wasn't that desperate. His mother's questions, however, could be what sends him over the edge someday.

"How did your date go last night?" Violet asks one afternoon as Anthony is walking into Greg and Hyacinth's school. Ever since Anthony's father died when he was young, all emergency contacts across the Bridgerton family have usually been set to Violet, then Anthony. The most common use of this system comes with school pick-ups- in today's case, that amounts to nabbing Greg, who had to stay behind and make up a quiz he missed.

"It was fine, Mother." As Anthony talks and walks, he prays no overzealous mother spots him, lest he be cornered and someone tries to convince him yet again to attend the next parent forum meeting.

"Just fine?" His mother asked, voice trailing upwards the slightest bit. Anthony has heard the same tick in her tone a million times and knows what it means- gentle disappointment.

"Yes, just fine. We had a nice time." Anthony says curtly.

"When are you going to see her again?" His mother tries another question. Anthony takes a deep breath, preparing to let the hammer drop.

"We decided that it would be best to part ways-"

"What happened this time?" Violet's question cuts him off, her voice just a tiny bit higher in decibel.

"Nothing- nothing happened this time. It just wasn't a good fit." Anthony says. There is a slim chance- 10% at best- that his mother will let this drop. Alas, not today.

"At some point, Anthony, you will meet a woman and she will be your paramour and I fear that you will turn her away simply because you can't see past the surface of your interactions." Violet says with the passionate vitriol of a worrying mother. Anthony pauses in the hallway, lowering his phone and allowing himself a moment to breathe through the tension that has begun expanding in his chest. 1...2...3...4...5. As he counts, he can feel his heart beat slow. Calm once again, Anthony adjusts the cuffs of his suit quickly and continues walking.

"When that day comes, Mother, I will admit that you were right and I will concede, but until then, I'd appreciate a bit of trust in how I conduct my dating life." Anthony chooses his words carefully and tries to keep the sharpness that comes so naturally to him out of them. On the line, his mother sighs.

"You don't need me to trust you, but I do wish you did at least a bit." Violet says wistfully, just as Anthony spies the correct classroom a few paces away.

"I appreciate your concern- I do," Anthony says as he approaches the classroom door and opens it, stepping inside. "But I'm confident that I will find the right-" As Anthony looks up, he freezes.

The sunny classroom he's walked into is taken up by an orderly flight of desks, Greg hunched over one in the second row. At the front of the classroom stands a slight figure writing on the whiteboard, the pink of her cardigan matching the near angelic flush on her beautiful face. Anthony blinks once, then twice, then his brain stops stalling.

"Mother, I will see you at home," Anthony mutters into the phone before hanging up and turning his attention to the ethereal woman.

"Hello, ma'am. I am here to pick up Gregory," Anthony says. At the sound of Anthony's voice, Greg notices his brother's presence and starts to pack up his books. Meanwhile, the woman turns her bright eyes on Anthony.

"Ah, yes. Thanks for waiting. He just finished his quiz." The woman smiles serenely at him before turning back to her writing. In the back of his mind, Anthony wonders if secondary teachers are supposed to look like nymphs walking among humankind, but he shakes away that thought quickly and clears his throat.

"Wonderful. Am I free to take him home, Mrs....?" At the uptick in his voice, the woman caps her marker and turns back to him.

"Ms. Sharma. I'm the new English teacher for Years 7 through 9," she says. For the first time that day, the smile that grows on Anthony's face is genuine.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sharma. My apologies- I appear to have lost my words. Perhaps, as the English teacher, you could give me some new ones?" Ms. Sharma laughs in response, a delicate, tinkling sound that matches the rest of her.

"My teaching is reserved for the students, not the parents," Ms. Sharma replies, shaking her head good-naturedly. Anthony is quick to correct her.

"I'm Greg's older brother, actually- not a parent. Though the confusion is understandable," Anthony pauses for effect, feeling the familiar thrill of the chase spark in his veins. "Does that make a difference?"

Ms. Sharma laughs again and Anthony feels something in his chest settle into place- the sense of rightness that he seeks with every decision he makes, the aligning of the pieces before him. As he continues the conversation, taking in the presence of Ms. Sharma and her delicate smile, it occurs to him that he might owe Greg and Hyacinth an apology or, at least, an ice cream.

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 1

My submission for the 2021 Hinny birthday challenge for the HG discord! Thanks to Liza for organizing, to @accio-broom for the Brit-pick, to @secretkeeper13 for the beta, and to anyone else who helped (I'm probably forgetting a few folks, apologies).

The challenge theme this year was content based on TV! This is an (extremely loose) X-Files AU, but you absolutely don’t need to be familiar with X-Files to understand this :D

TW (spoilers): swearing, references to (severe) mental health concerns, (eventual) consensual relations

___________________________________________________________

D A Y  + O N E

The woman probably finds herself charming as she stands in their driveway, her hands clasped in frozen excitement.

But Ginny just finds her creepy.

Really fucking creepy.

Harry drops hired car into first gear as they pull in. This woman— the head of the village council, Ginny reckons, the one she spoke to on the phone— wears perfectly-pleated Chino pants with a lavender jumper draped across her shoulders.

Her attire is standard for a posh village… especially a new-build village, one with a covenant and loads of stupid rules. It’s the woman’s eerie, opened-mouthed grin that shoots a chill up Ginny’s spine.

Her stark white teeth glint in the sun, but her smile doesn’t move an inch… and the longer Ginny stares, the more unsettled she grows. The only thing larger than her grin is the mane of yellow hair that surrounds her face like an ersatz halo.

Harry clears his throat as he turns off the car; Ginny realizes this is the first sound either of them has made since leaving London.

Awkward.

She reaches for her door handle, but the random woman gets to it first.

“You must be Jenny and Henry!” she shrieks, yanking on Ginny’s shoulders before she’s even unbuckled. “Oh, sorry! Love, do let me get the strap!”

Ginny’s on her feet and pressed to the stranger’s perfumed bosom before she has a chance to tell her she can manage just fine herself, thanks.

“Lovely to meet you in person!” the woman cries, nearly shaking with enthusiasm. It’s not until Ginny’s returned a weak squeeze that the vice-like grip around her middle weakens.

Rubbing her aching shoulder, she sneaks a glimpse at Harry; while she fought for air, he apparently climbed out of the car, only to stare at the two of them like a deer in the headlights. Now his elbow’s at an awkward angle, his hand behind his back, which could only mean one thing: he’s reaching for the wand in his back pocket.

Shit.

Ginny shakes her head and hopes her eyes convey what her lips can’t: She’s just a standard Muggle weirdo. Relax.

“I’m Jane. Jane Connors. In the flesh!” The woman (whose voice Ginny now finds painfully familiar) throws her hands in the air and twirls on the spot. “I take it you’re Jenny and Henry Petri!”

Harry interrupts with a booming chuckle before Ginny says a word; in three quick steps, he’s wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “That’s Pee-tri, actually. Like the dish,” Harry— Henry— adds with a wink. “And speaking of dish…” His eyes travel over Ginny, his voice going all deep and silky.

She bites back a shudder, hating the way her stomach drops as his fingers graze her arm. All that keeps her grounded is knowing the truth: Harry’s good at his job, nothing more. The only reason he’s suddenly become a skilled actor is that his career demands it.

Hers does too, she reminds herself firmly. And if she has any intention of successfully completing her first solo mission, she needs to get her shit together. Now.

Ginny blinks up at Harry, appropriately sobered; his eyes glimmer with mirth. As suspected, he’s only doing his job. Touch is just part of the assignment description. He has no way of knowing what it does to her— because really, truly, it shouldn’t.

And maybe if she keeps telling herself that, it’ll eventually come true.

Harry winks at Jane, tugging Ginny against his side. “My new wife and I had a long journey from the city! We were hoping to get some alone-time before tucking in, I’m sure you understand.”

Jane looks puzzled. “You— but it’s 5:43!” An uncomfortable giggle burbles from her lips. “You must be moved in by 6. Surely you’ve read the covenant rules?”

“Erm… may have missed that one,” Ginny lies. “There’s quite a few, see. We’re used to—”

But Jane shoves her fingers into her mouth, cutting her off with an ear-piercing whistle. Just as quickly, another chill races up Ginny’s spine. People up and down the street emerge from their semi-detached homes and race towards them, their faces in downcast unison.

They’ve all been watching. Waiting for the signal. Ready.

Ginny’s not sure how long ago the Department of Mysteries delivered the moving van and left it on the street, but the horde of random people aren’t fussed with the details, either. Within five seconds of Jane’s whistle, the strangers throw open the back door and begin an unloading process that reeks of military precision.

“Here’s the house key!” trills Jane, pulling it from her pocket. “Oh, and Petris!” She turns to Harry and Ginny, wagging her finger. “I’ll also need a copy of your car key, ASAP. We’re firm believers in the buddy system here in Arcadia.” She returns her attention to the stone-faced neighbors, who are now scurrying to the door. “This way, friends— right this way!”

“I— that’s really unnecessary,” Ginny says, bewildered, as people rush inside their new house, boxes in arms. “We’re perfectly able to—”

“Nonsense!” cries a man with grey sideburns as he takes a box from the back. “We’re neighborly here. You’d better get used to it.”

“Yes!” chimes another voice. A chubby man wearing a Polo and a golden necklace emerges from behind the lorry, hurrying up the walk. “We’re like a family here. We all— oh no!” He lets out a startled cry as a box labeled FINE CHINA topples from his arms and lands on the pavement with a thump.

He rushes towards it, face falling, but Ginny’s main concern is the box’s silent descent; she runs over, making a mental note to have a word with the designer of these props. Would something noisy and fragile have killed them? For fuck’s sake...

“Sorry,” the man says with a pained wince. “I’m just so clumsy. I-I promise, I’ll—”

“It’s fine,” Ginny soothes, dropping to her knees. “Don’t worry, really. We aren’t too big on dishes.”

Maybe if she keeps him talking, he won’t realize it’s bloody empty. Seriously, this is amateur shit. Luckily, he’s too distracted to notice.

The man offers a sheepish smile. “I’m Mike. Mike Snodgrass. You may have seen Mike and Jess in the resident guide, but erm…” He trails off, sadness in his voice.

Ginny cocks her head to feign confusion, but of course she’s familiar with Jess Snodgrass, 25, reported missing last November. Her photo’s been on Ginny’s desk for almost as long. Even now, Jess appears in Ginny’s mind with such startling clarity that she can almost see her beside Mike... all 5 feet of her, with curly red hair, bright blue eyes, and a lopsided grin.

Jess Snodgrass… Arcadia’s third missing person. The first to disrupt the couples-only disappearance pattern.

Mike shrugs. “But erm… it’s just me now,” he repeats. “I’m a primary teacher at Saint Julian’s, just up the road.” He nods to his left. “So if you’ve got any homework or school questions, give me a ring!” He pastes on a smile that doesn’t match his eyes; it’s an expression with which Ginny’s well-acquainted.

“I’ll have to remember that, Mike Snodgrass,” Ginny says, shaking his hand.

She immediately regrets it.

Seeing Mike Snodgrass on paper is one thing, but touch makes him human. His hand feels big and warm, his smile earnest and sweet; he reminds her so strongly of Neville that her stomach aches. Ginny breathes through her nose and focuses on the way his necklace — a medallion of Saint Julian, appropriately enough — sparkles in the sun.

“Like I said, I’m all alone,” Mike repeats, offering his hand to help her up. “If you ever need anything, Jenny, don’t hesitate to ask!”

Ginny taps her chin. “Actually, I do have a question! I reckon it’s just a rumor, though. You don’t have to confirm or deny.” She winks at him and leans in as a woman in a fleece jumper rushes past.

Mike’s smile widens, his face brightening… and ah fuck, that one hurts, because she’s about to break his heart.

“Mike…” Ginny murmurs, studying his expression. The more she says his name, the less he reminds her of Neville; she wants to keep it that way. “With everyone being so bloody hospitable here, how come there are so many disappearances?”

Mike stops bobbing. His smile vanishes as quickly as the former occupants of Jenny and Henry’s new home. When Ginny looks back into his eyes, her gut plummets with a sensation of wretched familiarity.

Because she expected sadness on his face… the same type she saw when he mentioned Jess’ name. Sadness she can deal with; sadness is painful, but she sees it all the time.

She sees something worse, though.

Fear.

And not day-to-day fear. This isn’t like hating needles or avoiding clown movies. Mike’s face is filled with the sort of wide-eyed, gripping, primal terror that seizes your insides in a vice. This is how you’d feel if your entire family were held captive in a dungeon, and a single word to the wrong person would spell their deaths.

Or how you’d feel if your ex-boyfriend were the corrupt government’s most desired fugitive… and you still fancied him very much, indeed.

“I… n-no idea,” Mike finally stutters, blinking. Then he sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his expression brightening again.

“So what do you and Henry do for work?” he asks in a booming voice, his grin now unnaturally wide. “We’ve got a carpool to the city if you’re interested. Reducing our carbon footprint is of utmost importance here in Arcadia!” He finishes by spreading his hands in each direction before placing them on his hips, that shit-eating grin still plastered across his face.

In another life, Ginny might’ve laughed. There certainly would have been a lot to cackle over, if she had the luxury of easy laughter. After all, she may as well be living in an am-dram nativity performance, complete with an overeager Joseph beckoning her to the stables after her harrowing desert journey.

Now, though, his reply only fills her with sad, professional detachment. Because fucking hell, how much did this poor man rehearse to get that line right?

She takes pity on him and snaps the bait. “My husband and I work from home,” she says, matching his volume. Someone’s clearly listening; it’s the least she can do. “You won’t see us out much.” Ginny brings the box to her hip. “And seriously, don’t worry about replacing the dishes, either. We mostly do takeaway.”

“No, let me bring you new ones,” Mike insists, his eyes pleading. “Tomorrow? Would that be—”

“What is this?” a voice demands from the back of the truck. Ginny peers around Mike’s shoulder. The man with the gray sideburns stares inside the lorry with a look of disgust.

“A trampoline!” Harry says, stepping aside as another neighbor races past. “We’re thrilled to put it in the garden, aren’t we, Jenny Cakes?”

Jenny Cakes. Is he fucking serious? Two can play at this game, prat.

“Indeed we are, Hen,” she croons, leaning into his side. “Jen and Hen.” She heaves a dreamy sigh and stares into his eyes. “We even rhyme!”

“Rhyming or not, this isn’t allowed,” the man barks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d have to apply for a special exemption with Mr Gogolak, but in the meantime…” He checks his watch. “5:53. Seven minutes. It’ll have to go in the garage tonight. I’m Oliver, by the way— Oliver Skinner.”

Harry gives him a theatrical scowl. “I’d say nice to meet you, but those who are enemies of trampolines are generally enemies of mine.”

Ginny bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but Oliver remains unamused. He raises his pointer finger as if to say something, but Harry gets there first.

“Onnnnly kidding!” Harry winks and claps his shoulder. “Hope we can be fast friends, Oliver.”

Oliver just glares back. “Count on it.”

_______________________________________________________

Ginny’s taking this whole thing very seriously. Not that Harry blames her.

Her voice echoes against the walls of the empty home as she paces around the sitting room, her camera flipped outward to record.

Despite his five-year Auror career, Harry has no real concept of what Unspeakables do. Which, he supposes, is by design. He knows they… know things. Secret things. Things you’d be happier not knowing. He also knows that Kingsley isn’t fond of them. Or perhaps it’s Attica Monkstanley, Ginny’s boss, who King dislikes in particular. Attica’s famous for her refusal to disclose anything — ever. This ranges from potential terrorist plots to her favorite type of sandwich. Thus, Attica isn’t particularly popular. After a career built on helping absolutely no one outside her department, the request for Auror backup on an undisclosed, top-secret endeavor went over about as well as a hippogriff stampede in a posh tea room.

Harry sighs at the blank walls of their would-be living room. King’s in charge now. Big in charge. He or Robards were the obvious choices to accompany Ginny — sorry, Unspeakable GW — on this mission, but when you’re Big In Charge, you call the shots. The shot King called was to pass the assignment to Robards, who in turn passed it to Harry; Robards decided he didn’t need to (direct quote) “take off a week from pre-existing assignments for some fake marriage, new-build village bullshit in the arse-end of Muggle nowhere.”

Admittedly, Harry’s in a bit of a lull at the moment. He’d been assigned to track and recover Yaxley, but that trail went cold on the border of Romania. Harry’s certain he’s just beyond their reach, maybe hiding in a cave, but seeing as how Harry’s not Big In Charge, his opinion doesn’t exactly matter.

Which is precisely how he’s found himself in this bland house in the village of Arcadia, pretending to be married to his ex-girlfriend… who, incidentally, he’s still hopelessly infatuated with, even five years after he ended things.

Because Harry Potter is nothing if not pathetic.

There’d been no realistic way to decline the assignment, though. Not that he’d tried. Seriously, imagine explaining that to your boss: “Mm yeah, sorry King, I can’t do my job because I still wank to the memory of Unspeakable GW riding my—”

Ginny’s narration jerks him from his thoughts. “It’s 6:15 PM on our first day of the assignment,” she dictates into her phone. “Auror Potter and I are secured in the home, posing as Muggle couple Jenny and Henry Petri.”

“Pee-tri!” Harry corrects, throwing his voice across the room.

He hopes he’s loud enough for the camera to detect, but he isn’t exactly brave enough to find out. Harry picks up their empty curry boxes and scampers into the kitchen without so much as a backward glimpse. He may have been forced into this assignment, but he’ll be damned if he can't have a bit of fun.

Her narration stops as he dips out of sight; if Harry were the gambling sort, he’d bet all the gold in Gringotts that she shot him a two-fingered salute away from the camera.

For some fucked up reason, the thought stirs something warm and exciting that lies dormant in his stomach. What’s worse is this feeling almost makes him smile.

No.

Harry draws a breath as he enters the kitchen.

As Kingsley’s told him several times, this arrangement is strictly business— regardless of his past with her. And in retrospect, yeah, the whole setup is an easy way for King to A) refuse responsibility himself, and B) put Monkstanley in a tough spot if it goes pear-shaped.

Harry pops open the rubbish bin. This is just the sort of liability King’s always looking to avoid, really, but— wait. He blinks down into the bin to make sure he’s not just seeing things, but nope… for some reason, the interior is divided into three sections, each in a different color.

Huh! Harry mulls this over before picking the blue bin at random and tossing the containers in. Maybe he’d know what each color meant if he bothered to read the covenant rules. Fortunately, he had much more exciting plans that particular evening involving Ron, loads of butterbeer, and a Canons/Falcons match from hell.

Whatever. Surely Arcadia would make an effort to clearly explain their recycling system if they really cared about the planet.

He returns to the living room just as Ginny’s providing a more in-depth introduction. “Right. I’m Unspeakable GW, badge number”— her voice becomes garbled gibberish, an extra level of concealment, before slipping back to normal speech— “and we’re here to investigate the series of unexplained Muggle disappearances in the village of Arcadia. As this may involve a potential escapee from the Thought Chamber, the Department thought it best for me to investigate. The Thought Chamber’s been my area of expertise for four years…”

Harry sinks into the sofa as she continues; he’s unsure if he should be sad or impressed that this is teaching him more about her job than she ever shared. Not that she did this for long while they were actually together, mind. Nonetheless, his chest flutters again with that stupid bittersweet pride as Ginny scans the room with the phone camera. All of this pageantry is necessary for her job, he knows. Careful documentation. Detailed recordings.

But for fuck’s sake, look at how much she’s done! She’s the youngest Junior Unspeakable in history, soon to become Senior, if this mission works out. She’s composed, she’s eloquent, she’s graceful. Another smile threatens to break through before Harry suppresses it; he just hopes that there’s someone in her life to remind her of how special she is.

She’s really dressed for the part, too. Harry’s certain that none of this is actually in her wardrobe. Seeing her out of jeans and a jumper is off-putting, but she’s done it so damn well. She once told him that most of her clothing choices were based on how easily she could wear them flying.

He swallows the sadness creeping up his throat. He doesn’t even know if she still flies, but she doesn’t in this outfit, that’s for damn sure. Her trainers are impeccably white, with a floral button-up blouse done up to her neck. She’s a bit like a young, beautiful Aunt Petunia; Harry reckons this is more or less the goal, but when she turns around to describe the stairwell, his eyes drop to her arse.

Shit.

He glances away as quickly, but he got a good look. Her casual trousers are rolled at the ankles, but they’ve done nothing to make her look… plain. Harry shuffles on the sofa, desperate for anything else to think about. Somehow, Aunt Petunia’s face still puckers in his mind’s eye, but now he can’t escape the mental image of her bent over the oven of 4 Privet Drive, only this time sporting a round, perfect—

“Potter’s here for backup,” Ginny says, returning to the sitting room. “I’m on primary investigation.”

Thank God; he sighs at the welcome distraction before remembering that bantering with her has always been an effective palate cleanser. So he does that, instead.

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry calls, leaning back against the cushions. “There’s nothing less interesting than the suburbs. Which is why I could never do your job, Jen.” He ends with a wink, resting his hands behind his head.

Ginny arches a brow, holding the camera in front of her. “And please take note, Attica, that the next time this happens, I’ll be the one to choose the names.”

She means it casually… he knows she means it casually. But something in her words pricks him. Irritates him. Wedges beneath his skin.

“Quite an assumption I’ll ever spend this much time with you again,” Harry mutters under his breath.

Shit.

He freezes. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, at least not so… bitterly. Once upon a time, he possessed the social graces to think before replying like that— but days of interpersonal nuance are long gone. They belonged to a carefree teenager with few thoughts aside from the next time he’d run his fingers through the thick, red hair that currently swayed in a long ponytail.

By the time he looks back up at her, Ginny’s face is filled with disappointment. And she’s closed her phone.

“I’ll have to redo that last bit of filming,” she says with a sniff. “But for what it’s worth?” She raises her chin. “You didn’t mind spending time with me in the distant, distant past, Auror Potter.”

Ha!

That was a tremendous understatement.

He’d been in love with her. Stupidly. Disgustingly. The first six months after the war were a blur of sex and mourning. They’d been so punch drunk and delirious that they probably used each other’s bodies more than either of them knew. He really thought they’d have a future, though… that they’d end up getting married and buying a house. Except theirs would have been different than this one. Filled with far more character and history and warmth. Their home would have smelled like baking bread and sounded like kids giggling and felt like a soft blanket on a cold night.

But none of that had anything to do with the way he snapped. So why bring it up, really?

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, tucking his hands beneath his bum. “That… I didn’t mean. I’m sorry. I just meant that we don’t see each other much, and…” He lets out a slow breath. Best to stop talking before he digs himself deeper.

“I forgive you,” Ginny says quietly. A full second passes before she offers him a smirk. “As long as I can still call you Pookie Pie in front of the neighbors.”

Harry blinks at the carpet with a sad smile. “Deal.”

[prongsy]

“ Did you just…. propose to me?”

I saw this prompt and I just had to write something even though it’s two am right now. Hope you guys like it. Please be gentle. :)

Remus was having a strange day.

When he woke up in the morning the weather was fine.His breakfast was fine. Everything was fine and so quiet. Peaceful even.

He was immediately on edge.

Don’t get him wrong, he liked the peace, but it was completely out of the ordinary. His friends and boyfriend were loud and spontaneous and……. absolutely nowhere to be found.

He woke up that morning and they were all already out of bed so assumed that he would be seeing them in the Great Hall for breakfast.

Nope.

Nada.

He really started to get worried when none of them showed up to their morning classes. The most surprising thing was that none of the professors took notice. Not even McGonagall. When he asked Lily between classes if she knew where the boys were, she just smiled at him with a twinkle in her eye and walked away.

Now he was panicking. When the students were sent out to lunch he didn't follow. He started to go towards the dorms, intent on grabbing the map and finding those three idiot boys and giving them a dressing down they would never forget, when he felt a hand on his arm.

“What?” He says as he turns to look at Lily, whose hand drops from his arm at the movement.

She’s silent as she grabs his hand and walks him to the Great Hall. He tries to stop her and continue on his search for his boys, but she won’t budge. She shoulders on as she continues to walk him toward the Great Hall. He eventually relents and lets her lead him, all while he questions her weird behavior.

“Why are you so determined to take me to the Great Hall? Sirius, James and Peter have been missing all day and I honestly doubt I’ll even be able to eat anything until I find out what exactly they’ve been up to all morning.” He says, a small furrow forming in between his eyebrow as his face scrunches in confusion.

“I just think that this is a lunch you aren’t gonna want to miss.” She insists with a coy smirk across her lips. She’s been spending too much time with James. And Sirius. And himself if he’s being honest.

He looks at her for a moment, feeling an odd mixture of pride and trepidation, before looking away and pouting slightly. Everyone seems to know what is going on except for him and he is not having it. Not one bit.

They finally make it to the Great Hall with Remus still pouting and Lily still smirking. The Hall is quiet, which is strange for a large group of 7th years, and everyone at the professors table seems to be watching him a little too closely. Remus sort of shuffles his way to the Gryffindor table, acutely aware of the empty seats surrounding him and the weird tension of the rest of the members of the table.

He’s about to start filling his plate with food when hears someone clear their throat at the front of the room. He turned to see that Dumbledor had stood up at the center of the Great Hall’s stage and seemed to be prepping for a speech. Remus turned to pay attention, as did every other student.

“I would like to apologize for interrupting your lunch, but as a lot of us know someone has something very important to ask someone here and has asked to be able to make this announcement right now.” Dumbledor says, smiling in the vague direction of the Gryffindor and causing Lily to squeal excitedly whilst clapping her hands.

“Come on boys, the floor is yours,” he says as he sits back down at his chair, looking to the left.

Remus follows his line of sight to see James and Peter walking out in muggle tuxes. Peter has on a black tux with a white dress shirt and a black tie, his hair slicked back nicely, and in his hand he is holding a white rose. James is dressed similarly, except his hair is an absolute mess as always. He is also holding a white rose.

Both of them walk towards the Gryffindor table and so right in front of him. Remus has never been so confused in his life. They both smile at him, faces brimming with happiness, and drop the roses into his hand. He looks at them in utter confusion, but they both just smile widely at him and step back to form the beginning of a horizontal line across from Remus.

Remus opens his mouth to ask what the bloody hell was happening when he heard more footsteps. He looks over to find the entirety of the Gryffindor Quidditch team walking towards him, all dressed just as sharply as Peter and James, and all holding a single white rose.

Just like James and Peter did, they all drop the rose into his arms and step back into the line. Remus is absolutely flabbergasted and the entire Great Hall is vibrating it seems.

“What the he-“ Remus cuts himself off as he feels his breath hitch and his heart start beating a harsh tattoo in his chest.

Merlin, he thinks, this cannot be real. Walking towards him is Sirius Black, his boyfriend of three years and his best friend of seven, dressed in a beautiful dark marine blue suit that makes his eyes look absolutely stunning. His long, dark hair is pulled back into a french braid with pieces framing his face. His finger nails are elegantly painted in a marine blue shade that matches his tuxedo.

He’s beautiful, so heart wrenchingly beautiful and Remus can’t breathe. Remus can’t breathe because Sirius is beautiful and he’s smiling that Sirius Black grin and making his way towards him with a single red rose in his hand and Merlin, Remus can’t breathe.

Sirius finally reaches Remus and stops right in front of him, just like the other did. Except Sirius doesn’t step back. He stands there nervously, red rose in his hand, before reaching for Remus’ hand and pulling him up. Remus lays the roses on the table and stands instantly, still staring at Sirius, always staring at Sirius.

He watches as Sirius shifts a bit before he feels him place the red rose in Remus’ now free hands. He sees Sirius take a deep breath before he hears him speak.

“Remus, I love you,” he starts and Remus can feel his throat closing up.

“ You have been my best friend since I was eleven and I will never be able to thank you enough for that. You have given me things that I didn’t even know I needed and have made me feel things I didn’t even know a person could feel. You have shown me what it feels like to fall in love, what it feels like to trust and be trusted in return. You have been there during my worst moment and you have let me be there for yours. You are the first thing I see when I wake up and the last touch I feel before I fall asleep. You are truly one of the only things I’m sure of and there is nothing I want more than to see you in every part of my life, no matter where I turn. I love you,” he chokes out as tears start to fill his eyes. Remus is surprised by the tears that have already escaped his eyes and made their way down his cheek.

Sirius sniffles a bit before he continues.

“James and the Potters might have shown me what a family feels like, but you Remus Lupin have never felt like anything other than home. Would you please, please do me the honor of spending the rest of your life with me?” He starts to get on his knees and reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small burgundy box.

“Remus Lupin, will you marry me?” He looks up at Remus with the most hopeful eyes whilst he opens up the small box to reveal the ring, and Remus can’t breathe.

Remus can’t hear anything other than his heartbeat thumping in his ear as he looks down at the love of his life. The love of his life that just asked him to marry him and has gone suspiciously silent and is looking a little bit worried,

Oh right, he thinks, I need to answer.

He tries to speak. Tries to open his mouth and say yes yes yes! What comes out instead is:

“Did you just…. propose to me?”

Remus wants to hit himself. Over the head. With a dictionary. Hard.

“Um...yes?” Sirius looks two words away from fainting as he says this.

“Oh, then yes” Remus breathes out, feeling stupid, but oh so very happy.

“Yes?” Sirius asks even as the grin starts to make its way across his face again.

“ Yes. Yes!” Remus can’t help but laugh a little.

Sirius scrambles up to his feet and sweeps Remus up into his arms. He spins the both of them around a bit while the rest of the student body explodes into applause.

Sirius puts him down before reaching for his face and pulling him down. Remus meets him halfway as he wraps his arms around his waist and kisses him deeply. They can hear James wolf whistling in the background, but neither of them care, too wrapped up in the moment to focus on anything other than in each other.

They pull back, grinning at each other happily. Remus lifts up his hand and wiggles his fingers at Sirius to remind him to put a ring on it. Sirius reaches down to pick up the box he dropped in his excitement, blushing all the while. They both giggle as Sirius takes his hand and slides the ring on his finger before planting a kiss on it.

Remus finally looks at the ring and he can feel tears fill his eyes once more. It’s a simple gold band with a beautiful engraving of a wolf and a dog laying with each other under the full moon. Remus looks into Sirius’ soft grey eyes and feels tears make their way back down Remus’ face.

Sirius brings his hands up to wipe Remus’ face before pressing their foreheads together.

“So this is what you were planning all morning, huh?” He whispers into the space between them.

“Of course, only the best for my fiancé.” Sirius whispers back with a lovesick smile on his face.

Fiancé, wow.

Scratch that, Remus Lupin was having the best day.

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part IV/VII)

"wrong name"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @sunshineandshadowss @missmulti @accioweaslcy

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa

Warnings: language, mentions of Fred x Reader, brief mention of death ig (?) Feels

A/N: here's a Christmas fic that has no right to be this angsty lmao, enjoy nonetheless <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

We apparated in the Weasley front yard together at dusk at the same time as Percy did; we greeted him with a hug and entered their old home, only to be met with more hugs.

I had only stayed at the Burrow once, arriving the night we escorted Harry, and leaving shortly after the tragic and abrupt ending of Bill and Fleur's wedding.

I had attended to the wedding as Fred's date. Even if we agreed that there was nothing serious between us, we cared deeply for one another, and I was important enough for him that he asked me to present ourselves together in front of his family.

How odd it was that the second time I was staying at the Burrow, it was because I had been asked to attend this Christmas gathering by none other than George —as friends, of course—; so odd that it made me anxious, but Arthur and Molly were way too welcoming for that anxiety to carry on longer than a minute after I stepped into their home.

"Y/n, dear!" Molly held me back while George went to greet his siblings, who had arrived earlier than us. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"She didn't want to come." George snitched, coming back to us after hugging his father. "Said she felt like she was trespassing."

"George!" My cheeks burned when he exposed me.

"Oh, darling," Molly pulled me into the house to join the rest. "You're always welcomed here, don't be silly!"

Molly had liked me since day one, even before Fred and I became a thing. I was the one to receive her when the Weasley matriarch first visited the shop, and we immediately got along. Fred had explained to me that it was because I reminded his mother of her younger self.

"You're a snitch." I whispered into George's ear as we both walked behind Molly in the kitchen direction, his only response was to stick out his tongue, which made us both chuckle.

Molly looked over her shoulder and I caught in her eyes the same emotion I saw in Ginny's the first time she came to visit the shop after the reopening.

A profound emotion rooted in hope; a bittersweet feeling coming from the thought that, even though Fred was gone, George seemed to be coming back to us.

I felt it too, whenever he smiled. It was lovely to see him actually happy; I wished I could keep him like that forever, even in the nights, when everything would come down on his shoulders, tearing apart every spark of joy might have had in the day.

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

We weren't finished with food yet when Arthur wiped his mouth with the napkin and, clapping his hands once, exclaimed, "Alright, time for presents!" Teddy, who rested on Bill's lap, squealed, his hair turning pink; that baby was smart. "I'll get them, dear." He stopped his wife from standing up and went to get them himself.

He distributed the gifts, and I was surprised when he handed me one. "Oh! You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense!" Arthur stopped me, resuming his task with a warm smile. Everyone was happy in that moment, and I knew George's mood had a big part on that.

He unwrapped his, which turned out to be a purple and orange scarf and matching mittens. He was putting on the mittens when I tossed the wrap of my present, uncovering a cardigan formed by several tones of my favorite color.

"Put it on!" George requested excited. unbeknownst to me, it had been him who told Molly my favorite color. "Aw you look fantastic." He observed, poorly wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"Of course I do." I agreed, shifting on my chair to face him, my hands traveling to his scarf to relocate it properly.

Though we didn't notice, it wasn't the first time that more than one pair of eyes observed us that night, and it wouldn't be the last.

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

Bill and Fleur had offered to take care of Teddy since they were leaving to Shell Cottage, so Harry and Ginny could spend the night at the Burrow without the worry of the baby.

Percy was terribly tired, so he withdrew from the living room to go to sleep.

Thank goodness he did; Percy was probably the second most affected by Fred death, and after that nice evening, he wouldn't have wanted to witness what was about to happen.

Ron, Hermione and I had colonized the settee, while Ginny and George were on their feet near the table, chatting about some nonsense; Molly was cleaning the dishes. Harry had offered to help her, but she refused, so the boy decided to talk with Arthur instead.

Molly pointed with her index finger at the remaining glasses laid on the table and called for George.

The thing is, she didn't really call for George.

"Fred, darling, hand me those."

The room fell silent.

It took a moment for her to realise, but an instant later, Molly was covering her mouth with her hand, her glassy stare fixed on the wrong named twin.

My eyes frantically travelled to every single person in the room, who had gone livid. We all seemed to be holding our breaths, waiting for some kind of explosive reaction.

Then my attention was drawn to George, whose, until that instant amused gaze, had turned blank and expressionless.

"Darling—" Molly's voice shattered with a single word. As Arthur went to console his wife, Ginny led her older brother aside and whispered things only he could hear, attempting to sooth him. "It slipped..." Molly cried.

I stayed sat on the couch with Hermione and Ron, the three of us frozen; I felt like I was an intruder witnessing a very intimate family moment.

"George don't—" we heard Ginny raising her voice before her brother disapparated. "Bloody hell!" She spun around and walked to me. "Y/n, speak to him, he'll listen to you." She practically begged, nodding her head at the window, prompting me to look at George standing alone at the edge of the cornfield, already making his way in.

"I-I..." I didn't need to look around in order to acknowledge all the eyes laid on me. "O-okay." I blinked away my own tears and rushed to the door, only to be stopped by Molly's shaky hand.

"Please- tell him I'm sorry."

"I don't think he'll blame you." I reassured the wrecked mother, offering her a comforting smile before making my way out and jogging into the cornfield myself.

"George?" When I didn't obtain an answer, it dawned on me how dumb it had been to dive into that area without knowing where to go. "George?"

I yelped when something tugged on my sleeve, making my body pivot on my heel. "You know how easy is to get lost in here?" The ginger questioned in a raspy tone, the hand that had been on my sleeve going down to mine, which invited him into my hold.

"She didn't mean— I reckon she just... Saw him in you for a second."

"I know." Though his eyes did look a bit red, he was calm.

"You alright?" I inquired, taking my hand to his cheek, on which he leaned.

"I just..." Sigh. His right hand travelled up to his face to hold mine in it before pulling away. "I need a moment alone."

I nodded. "Don't take too long or you'll catch a cold." He hummed affirmatively, and I half-heartedly left the cornfield and headed to the Burrow.

I excused George, assuring them he would be okay and, though the previous light-hearted environment didn't return, the tension in the air dissipated a bit.

A few minutes later, George came in; his mother welcomed with open arms and he returned the hug, having a small conversation against Molly's shoulder before making a beeline to me, sitting by my side.

I felt my cheeks flushing as he leaned on me, putting his head on my shoulder; suddenly self-conscious at the closeness between us. Somehow it was different being that close the privacy of our flat, than outside of it. Though it felt somehow inappropriate, when his long fingers intertwined with mines, I indulged him, trying hard not to meet neither Hermione's nor Ginny's eyes —they had been staring so much that I had noticed them an hour ago.

I was completely unaware of Molly's gaze laid on us too.

George, whose eyes had been closed, sit up straighter to whisper in my ear, "Can we go back to the flat?" My eyes met his and I realised we were even closer than I had thought in first place.

"I thought we were staying the night?" I murmured, trying in vain to keep his family out of the conversation they were pretending not to hear.

He leaned a bit closer only for me to hear his words. "I don't think I can sleep in my room."

"Do it for your mum." I squeezed his hand and he sighed. "I'm gonna stay in that room with you." Another sigh, but this one was of defeat, letting me know that I had talked some sense into him.

HERMIONE'S P. O. V.

At the beginning of the evening, when George and Y/n had first stepped into the Burrow, Ginny had come to me, urging me to observe them closely.

At first I didn't know why she would say that, but after the wrong name slipped out of Molly's lips, I started to get a hold of the matter, but it seemed so surreal— it just couldn't be.

Though the way Y/n's cheeks lighted up when George took a seat between us did remind me of the way I used to react when Ron got a tad too close to me in our sixth year.

After a while Y/n seemed to forget about our presence and eased besides George, making their bodies get closer.

When we decided to call it a day and the ones left in the living room started to retreat to their rooms for the night, Y/n got up without letting go of George's hold at any moment and, thanking Molly for her hospitality, they made their way upstairs.

Had my eyes not been trained on them, I would have missed the way George's hands went to Y/n's waist as his chin fell on her shoulder.

I left the sofa and walked to Ginny before she and Harry could slither to their dorm. "Are they...?"

"Not sure." Ginny replied with knitted brows. "What'd you think?"

"I... Don't know." I confessed.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

We entered the dark room, illuminated only by the light provided by the night sky and started to discard our clothes in silence without looking at each other.

I was the first one to finish, making my way to my old bed and catching a glimpse of Y/n's silouhette while she threw a tee on.

I was utterly, hopelessly in love with her.

I had known I loved her for quite a while, but the feeling that had made my heart swell and my stomach flutter when she got into the cornfield without giving it a second thought in order to find me, that was something else.

I had also felt it when she had found me lifeless in Fred's room a couple of months ago; that feeling had been the reason why I found the strength in me to come back to life.

I was young, but I just knew what I felt went further from only love.

"What's on your mind?" She was already slipping under the covers by my side, her arms wrapping around me and bringing my back closer to her chest.

You, I wanted to say. "Not much."

"Liar." She tugged on my shirt and I turned on my other side so we would be facing each other. "C'mon, it's just me."

Words blurted out of my mouth, escaping my control. "Do you see him when you look at me?"

And I wasn't making anything up; It was, in fact, on my mind. It had appeared during the walk through the cornfield and it hadn't left, but Y/n's scent, touch and words had backed that thought to a corner of my mind.

She wondered, tucking one of my locks away from my forehead. "Sometimes, but not like you think." She must have sensed my inquiry because she explained further. "There are small gestures, jokes— things like that in you, that remind me of him." Her eyes were roaming all over my face, her hands bringing mines to her heart. "When you're happy, like tonight— I can't quite explain it but... it sorta seems like he's still here. So yeah, you could say I see a little bit of Fred when I look at you." Her eyes finally met mines. "It's not a bad thing— you love him so much that we can still see him through you."

"Loved." I corrected her, my thumb drawing circles on the back of her palm. "He's dead." A tear rolled down my cheek, but Y/n caught it with her fingertips before it could reach the pillow.

"Love never dies, Georgie." Her replied seem to carry more significance that someone would see at first sight, but I was too tired to discern it.

I couldn't tell if she had scooted closer, or if I had unconsciously leaned on, but the tips of our noses were nearly touching.

Initially, she didn't attempt to put more distance between us, and I couldn't help but let my hopes get high. I waited for a sign, something that would let me know I could close the gap between our lips —oh, how I craved to feel her lips—, but the sign didn't come and we stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before she casted down her eyes, immediately breaking the spell.

"Goodnight, Y/n." I whispered, turning my back to her.

"Goodnight, George." She mumbled back, coming closer to cuddle me.

[tobiosmilktea]

where orchids grow — kageyama tobio

2.1k words | genre/s: hanahaki!au, angst, hurt/comfort | warning/s: mentions of death, mentions of depression | pairing/s: kageyama x reader, platonic!tsukishima x reader

↪︎ in which an innocent little crush led to your downfall

a/n: i wrote this almost a year ago when i first started this blog. i thought the writing was really mediocre so it has been sitting in my drafts ever since,, BUT it’s finally getting to see the light of day cause i’m cleaning out my drafts :)✨ pls be easy on this one ewbd

it haunted you in your dreams, squeezing and grasping and clutching at your lungs until your final breath gave way–until they shriveled up into nothing as flower-torn chest had killed you. well... not yet at least.

no matter the amount of effort you had put into suppressing your feelings for the setter until it was nothing but a withered memoir, you couldn’t help but lay upon your bed, restless, as you recalled the flashing images of bloodied flowers that had been freshly thrown up from your lungs earlier this evening. you liked to think you’ve learned to control your emotions and feelings around kageyama well enough that the aching feeling of growing flora in your chest wouldn’t effect you that much, but of course the feeling was still evident. however, it was earlier this evening when the setter split half of his meat bun for you after a practice game and the sheer look of care and admiration in his eyes forced a rose to travel up your esophagus.

it was so horrifyingly beautiful, a disease growing flowers within its host, wrapping until it plants itself to the point of rupturing the owner’s heart and lungs due to unrequited love. you hated it—despised for that matter as the memories of your past self screeching in pain and heaving to breathe. your face turned alabaster.

your heart thudded against your rib cage as the feeling of suffocation of chrysanthemums, daises, roses, tulips, cherry blossoms, and dandelions echoed within you. your hand rested upon your chest. the feeling of such ghosted atop your rib cage where you could faintly feel the growing stems of flowers and weeds.

there was an evident aching within your heart that wasn’t from hanahaki, rather from the thought of how brutal it was caused an immense pain to compete with the actual disease. the first incident of you throwing up bloodied flowers was the moment you got home one day. you were walking home with kageyama after hinata went ahead as he had his bike with him, leaving you two to your own demise (he had a little hunch about your feelings for the raven-haired boy, but he never bothered to confirm it). it was then you two reached the entrance to your house in which you two bid a farewell. you were so enthralled with how beautiful he looked with his dark blue eyes that shined thousands of stars.

it was game over for you.

you stumbled through your front door to which your mother worriedly asked if you were okay. you could barely mutter out a response as the roses and daises and chrysanthemums fought their way out of your system, throwing up your one-sided feelings in hues of thick crimson and hollow chests. 

from then on, you had routine check ups at the hospital. in fact, you had an entire team of doctors taking care of you due to how rare the condition is. you see, hanahaki disease only occurs to those so massively in love with another, whose feelings can compete against the strongest love of all, that a simple little crush wouldn’t cause all this commotion. unfortunately, friendly love wasn’t enough to ease her homemade raptures.

they also said it was long term illness, well... long term taking into account how well you can endure the pain. occasionally there are those who can endure the pain their entire lives, yet there are the majority who simply die from the excruciating pain within a few months. the only true way to cure yourself from hanahaki was to either get kageyama to match your feelings or to get surgery to remove the constantly growing flora.

the thing is with surgery is that the moment you get it, your feelings for that person completely disintegrate. you can you no longer feel the same love as it is permanently gone. you can never regain those feelings ever again.

that was the fact that scared you the most.

despite knowing you can no longer take the pain and that you needed this surgery, there was a twinge of hope within your aching psyche that perhaps there was a chance. a chance that kageyama tobio would look at you for once that wasn’t just a friendly gaze. a look in which he would come to realize that he was in love with you. and because of this, you endured the pain a little longer.

the only downside was that no one else besides your family knew about your condition. not even your friends. and yet, with most secrets that are difficult to keep, eventually it will get out. tsukishima found out sooner than you’d had hoped.

you and tsukishima shared the same class and one day kageyama had visited your classroom during lunch, giving you his favorite milk from the vending machine as payback for helping out the volleyball club and with tutoring. it then when you felt your cheeks burning cherry red and the infamously familiar sting within your lungs. he then gave tsukishima a melon bun that he owed and the moment kageyama walked away, the blonde middle blocker immediately noticed the pain written across your face.

you pushed the carton of milk in his hands when you dashed down the hallways towards the restroom. fortunately, you were able to make it in time, locking yourself down in one of the stalls and profusely throwing up sticky and bloody flowers with hot streaming tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. you immediately wiped them up. you couldn’t let anyone see you like this.

you flushed the toilet and watched the water turn red to clear when it went down the drain. you sighed, leaving the stall and looking upon yourself at the mirror. you looked absolutely terrible. from the dark circles under your eyes from nights filled with insomnia due to the aching pain, to your eyes still red from sobbing in the stall, and now to your hollow cheeks.

and because of the constant radiating pain, it became increasingly difficult for you to eat proper meals, leading for you to loose an unhealthy amount of weight. yachi was the first one to notice the sudden weight loss and the constant state of indifference. she knew there was something wrong, but she was too afraid to ask you. eventually, she asked if you were depressed one day and somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

afte leaving the restrooms, you were surprised to see taukishima waiting outside the doors and you were immediately trapped. the harsh glare staring down at you and his more than worried voice eventually led you to finally confessing what was wrong with you. and for the first time in your life, you’ve never seen the middle blocker so worried and caring. that his usually harsh demeanor and signature teasing remarks were softened because the thought of losing you scared him deeply. besides yamaguchi and yachi, you were the closest friend he had and he would hate to lose one his friends.

he would often ask you, “are you considering the surgery?” to which you wouldn’t know the answer to and that you were still waiting for the rare chance kageyama could’ve like you back.

it surprised you the sudden look of disappointment that etched across his bespectacled face.

during practice or during games where you suddenly get coughing attacks whenever you were around kageyama and talking to him, it was tsukishima who would immediately pull you away from the others and take care of you. he was the one to help you clean you after yourself and wipe your tears. eventually, the rest of the school believed you two were a couple.

however, there was the day were the pain was too insufferable. you had hanahaki for six months at this point where the disease would get into the most dangerous stages that one day you called tsukishima up one and finally made the decision.

“i’m tired of waiting, kei.” you muttered harshly as your voice was getting more and more hoarse each day. it was getting worse. you two sat nonchalantly on some random playground swings. the sun was setting and the blond was carefully gazing at your eyes that was soaked in honey. “i’m getting the surgery this weekend and I want you to come and take care of me.”

“of course.” 

it felt like everything was going to be okay when he said that.

you woke up to hush chattering, as if a a big group was in the room trying to speak softly, yet failing to do so.

“guys she’s awake!” a voice exclaimed. It sounded like hinata.

suddenly a whole herd of volleyball players came surrounding your bed, their expressions had looks of smiley relief melted upon their faces as they didn’t hesitate to bombard you with questions. the poor nurses could barely get past the towering high school kids as the thought of you being okay was more than enough to fuel their adrenaline.

“i’m glad you’re okay now, (y/n).” sugawara beamed at you.

“yeah!” cut in tanaka loudly, “i can’t bare to lose my favorite first year all because of a stupid crush!”

your eyes suddenly widen. the rush of fear and worry filled you as you looked at tsukoshima who was standing at the end of your hospital bed.

“i had to tell them, they were threatening me.” he scoffs lightly.

“we don’t know who your crush was though, so you’re okay!” added nishinoya who patted your shoulder gently.

daichi then cleared his throat, capturing the team’s attention. “we should probably go and let to the nurses take care of her. we have practice too.”

the room was suddenly filled with loud ‘yes, captains!’ as they all piled out of the room, leaving only kageyama to stray behind slightly. tsukishima looked at the you two briefly before closing the door. this was something that you and tobio had to discuss.

there was a feeling of soreness atop your chest, possibly from the stitch that ran down your center of your torso that was in the process of healing. tbe tall setter approached your bedside, scratching the back of his neck. usually whenever you looked at kageyama an itchy feeling would arise in your throat and your chest would feel tight, and yet the moment you laid eyes on him, you felt nothing.

“tsukishima told me what happened,” he starts. the initial fear of confrontation diminished into nothing but acceptance. you couldn’t hide your previous feeling forever. “you should’ve told me.”

you sighed, “i was going to... but then i started getting the symptoms and i knew that there was no point in telling you when you didn’t feel the same way.”

“but if you told me, maybe there was a chance i would’ve helped you get better.” the setter tried to state, only making you want to roll your eyes and scoff.

shaking your head, you pulled your hand out of his. “that’s not how it works, kageyama. your fake feelings would only make it worse and i don’t want to be with someone who’s dating me out of pity.”

“but i don’t pity you, i—”

“it doesn’t matter, now.” you shook your head and cut him off, “you don’t have to worry because the surgery removed my feelings for you permanently. you don’t have to feel guilty about it anymore.”

kageyama gulps, nodding as straighten his posture. “but i almost killed you.”

“i’m here now, aren’t i? i’m okay.”

the setter still couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten and his gut wrench. “are we still friends despite all this?”

you nod. “of course, that’s not even a question.”

before their conversation could continue, one of the nurses knocked upon the door and opened it slightly. “sorry to interrupt, but all visitors must leave now. the visiting time is up.”

“oh, alright.” the volleyball player swiftly bows and waves goodbye to you before leaving the hospital room.

he cleared his throat the moment he stepped into the hallway, all uncomfortable and itchy. quickly catching up with the rest of his teammates that waited for him at the entrance, he quickly grabbed a water cup from the waiting room and gulped down its contents immediately—yet the feeling didn’t stop.

“kageyama, hurry we need to get to practice.” hinata calls out to him.

drinking one last cup of water in the desperation to heal his scratchy throat, he threw the disposable cup aside.

“i’m coming!” yet his voice was far too hoarse to be heard.

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea

[brotherism]

— salma deera, letters from medea

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 4

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

If you have been reading this series....things are going to start happening....

Title: Dreams, Chapter 4

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3773

Summary: For Sam and the reader, a winter night working together leads to an uncomfortable confrontation and a confusing dream.

Warnings: angst, fluff?, alcohol, swearing, slow burn, I think that’s it!

           The tree was still up a few days later when you were throwing together sandwiches. It was a gloomy afternoon, stealing from the already meager offering of sunlight you got each day, but at least you could see the Christmas lights as you worked in the little kitchen and listened to Me Talk Pretty One Day. Brushing crumbs off your hands, you ducked your head into the bedroom to tell Sam lunch was ready.

           He was sitting on the bed with his legs crossed under him, looking surprisingly young with his long limbs folded. He glanced over at you briefly with a noncommittal nod before turning his gaze back to the wall. You walked into the room when you understood; following his eyes to the photos where you’d taped them up. Toeing off each of your boots, you climbed onto the mattress with him and gently put your arm around his broad shoulders. “He would’ve loved this,” Sam murmured, and it was almost too low for you to hear.

           “Which part?” you asked, trying to match his tone.

           “This cabin, the bar, Christmas.”

           “I think you’re right.”

           You looked over at the pictures, a tight row intentionally placed a little too low so you could see them as you fell asleep. Sam tilted his head to rest on yours.

           “We had a lot of fun though, didn’t we?”

           You considered the memories and the heat coming off of him under your cold fingers. “Yeah, we did.” After a beat you opened your mouth again. “Getting that tree was fun.”

           Sam pulled back and you looked up at him. A sad smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

           You curved your head back into him. “Dean would’ve liked that too.” He was silent for a moment.

           “There’s no way he would’ve worked at the bar and not made every night a party.”

           He was right. Even just passing through, bars like the one you worked at were Dean’s favorite—no frills, honest people, décor not so nice it couldn’t tolerate some spills in the name of a good time. In the right mood Dean would’ve been everyone’s best friend in an hour, taking shots with the owners and playing pool with anyone who had a spare minute.

           You sat upright and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Okay, then tonight’ll be a party.”

           Sam looked at you in surprise. “Uh, what?”

           “You heard me. Tonight, we’re doing tequila shots and dancing on tables and talking to people longer than to take their orders.”

           “It’s a Monday.”

           “Wouldn’t have stopped Dean. Now come eat this sandwich I slaved over, you’re a lightweight on an empty stomach.”

           Sam’s smile was tired, but he obediently untangled his legs and got off the bed to head to the kitchen. You padded after him, letting a deep breath out through your nose. Dean would be so pissed if he saw you weren’t being strong for Sammy, just a little tougher, come on. By the time Sam sat down at the tiny breakfast bar to eat, you’d screwed your face back together.

           In some ways, it was better that you’d had this sudden change of heart on a Monday, when there weren’t so many customers to watch you crumble if it came to that. You had a propensity for being a sad drunk even in the best circumstances, and this first time truly drinking around people since losing Dean was about the worst circumstance as you could imagine.

           A few shots in Sam’s cheeks were flushed and you could feel the heat in yours as you sucked hard on a lime wedge. He was pretending to know about some football controversy with the over-shoulder towel that was ever present when he worked, his legs crossed and accentuating the long, relaxed line of his body. It was an especially cold night and condensation clouded the windows of the bar where hot air met the freezing glass. You watched as a woman about your age—you were pretty sure her name was Megan but had only served her a handful of times—traced lazy shapes in it before replacing the moisture with a hot breath and starting over. It was almost hypnotic and you didn’t know how long it was until you snapped back to reality when Sam’s warm hands wrapped over your shoulders.

           “You okay?” he asked, low and private, straight into your ear.

           “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just tired,” you lied.

           Sam gently and half-consciously kneaded the muscles in your shoulders. Before you realized what you were doing, muscle memory bobbed your head to the side, kissed his rough knuckles, and pressed your cheek to his hand. You both froze.

           “Aw, so cute,” Steve sang out from across the bar top.

           You took your chance to step forward out of Sam’s grip. “Yeah, yeah. Refill?” Steve nodded, and you snatched another Miller High Life out of a mini fridge under the bar and popped the cap with a fluid practiced motion. About a week ago you’d realized that the twist-bottle callus you had just below the first joint of your index finger had come back, a recurrent souvenir that had lasted years after you’d quit bartending last time. You were thankful for it as much as the distraction from your bizarre reflexive step over the unspoken boundary between you and Sam. It wasn’t that the contact was unprecedented, obviously, you could only catch even chunks of sleep tightly wound around Sam and kept your fingers wrapped around his forearm as he drove, but Dean was the last person whose skin your lips had touched. Until now, you corrected yourself. It was a very specific kind of closeness in a relationship already stretching the limits of what appropriate intimacy could possibly be.

           You jammed a cold metal scoop into the ice machine to break up chunks and buy some time. The same grief-hungry part of your brain that searched Sam for facial tics and habits that Dean had couldn’t stop repeating how much those hands felt the same, dry and warm and firm under your lips, under your cheek, and you wanted to clutch at them, a phantom of Dean’s that first stitched you up in Bobby’s kitchen all those years ago when life was easy and bloody, so nervous to touch you his hands shook and the scar still remained to this day. You crashed through those thoughts with a solid thump of This Is Sam Not Dean Sam Your Friend Sam The Only Thing You Have In This World, and how cruel it was to triple distill him down to only the parts that were reminiscent of someone else. Sam, who chopped wood to keep you warm, who restocked beer in the little life you’d created here. Sam, who in his own unfathomable sadness let you latch onto him as a steady point in a storm and kept you afloat just as you had him.

           “Hello?” Joe repeated, a touch of concern peeking through his annoyance.

           “Yeah, sorry! What’s up?” you asked, hearing the shrillness of your voice as you tried to overcompensate.

           “I’m trying to buy you a drink, hon. 5 shots, dealer’s choice.”

           “You, me, Jake, Steve and who?” you asked, racking up 5 sturdy shot glasses.

           “Your Paul Bunyan over there, unless you’re trying to take his too. I’ve never seen you guys really drink before, gotta jump on my chance,” he winked.

           “Oh, okay. Uh, Sam—” you called out across the bar. He was wiping up a spill you knew didn’t exist from the way he focused too hard on the bar top, trying to look busy. He looked up at his name and walked over with his hands jammed in his pockets. His unease was palpable, and your heart sank as you let go of any possibility that he wouldn’t have registered the fleeting kiss and the shift was only in your head. “—Joe’s trying to get you drunk.”

           “Careful, Joe, you think you can carry me home?” Sam joked, and you thought you would be the only one who’d be able to detect the tightness in his throat underneath it. He rubbed a lime wedge on the web of his thumb and poured salt over it before handing you the shaker. You almost dropped it when your fingertips grazed his.

           “To the only people dumb enough to move up here in the winter,” Steve proclaimed, touching his glass to the counter before shooting it. You all followed suit, politely chuckling at the teasing. When you took the lime wedge out of your mouth, Sam had his palm open in front of you. You dropped the rind in his hand and let him take the stack of glasses to the sink.

           It didn’t get as crazy as Dean likely would’ve gotten which was probably good for the bar’s bottom line and your drive back to the cabin, but Sam did end up somewhat accidentally hustling Jake for $100 over a game of pool and singing along to Shania Twain when you put it on. You were careful not to touch him or stare too long the rest of the evening, and by the time you were flipping chairs up for the night you had almost convinced yourself that nothing was different save for a little softness around the edges of the ever-present bolus of sadness in your stomach.

           Sam had two cases of Miller Lite from the basement in his grip, the veins on his forearms popping out as he set them on the ground in front of the beer cooler and crouched to replace the ones that had been drunk that night. You double checked that the cash drawer of the register was even and hopped up to sit on a spare spot of counter.

           “That’s the last one?”

           “Yeah, I already did the Coors and Bud.”

           “Are you good to drive or do you want me to?” You wiggled your toes in your shoes, feeling the ache of standing for hours in the balls of your feet.

           “No, I’m good to drive,” Sam said, shaking hair out of his face. He looked up at you, hazel eyes hard to read with fatigue or fear or pity or some murky combination thereof. You drew tight spirals over orders you’d taken that night, feeling the pen press impressions into the small notepad. The absence of words spread out to close the distance between you, feeling cloying and claustrophobic even as the Nate Bargatze standup you’d cued up piped out through the bar’s speakers.

           “Hey, I—”

           “Are you—” Sam started at the same time. You held out a palm to signal for him to continue, not truly wanting to speak yourself. “Uh, sorry. I just…I—I’m not Dean. I can’t be Dean.”

           The words and deflation in his shoulders made you wish you’d been set ablaze. Stunned, you felt your mouth open and close around words that weren’t materializing, just collecting in your throat and hardening there, the backup starting to choke you.

           “I, uh—I know,” you finally managed to squeak past the lump.

           And part of you wondered if he was right in thinking you were using him as a stand-in. As atypical as the whole situation was, you couldn’t imagine that it was normal to sleep in the same bed and spend virtually every minute together. You began to feel sick at the thought that Sam would be out living up to his potential somewhere if it weren’t for you, back to law school or righting the wrongs of the world rather than in a Northwoods dive bar restocking domestic beers at 2:30 on a Tuesday morning. The selflessness of it seemed unfathomable and yet so entirely something Sam would do. Suddenly it felt like the walls were collapsing around you.

           The moment stretched out and Sam stood up, leaning on the counter across the bar from you. His jaw was set hard and he tilted his head the way he did when he was trying to stop himself from teetering over the edge of tears. “Sam, I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

           He cleared his throat but looked down at the nonstick mats on the floor. “No, ah, you don’t need to apologize. I just need you to know I can’t be him for you.”

           You didn’t dare look up in case you met Sam’s eyes as you nodded, so eviscerated and humiliated you were having a hard time taking a deep breath. After a long minute you heard the clink of bottles as Sam finished restocking, grabbed your coat to mumble something about warming up the car, and went to the small parking lot. You managed to make it into the Impala before your vision started swimming and the potential enormity of the situation crashed against you; was this the end of your carved out hideaway, full of grief and memories and comfort and little moments of affection and joy you had just barely started to accept? All for some stupid thought that Dean would be happier if you were out getting wasted, an idea that reduced him to a drifter barfly instead of the complex man who’d been more loyal and loved more deeply than anyone you’d ever met. The tears dried up quickly as self-disgust rolled over you and started ringing in your ears. You didn’t hear Sam coming and jolted when he opened the door, recoiling against the passenger side to give him as much space as possible. He glanced over at you with eyes so pitying that you couldn’t bear to look at them, staring out the window at the abject darkness the rest of the drive home.

           Sam didn’t turn on the stereo.

           Back in the cabin, you quickly shucked off your coat and snatched what you needed out of the bedroom before barricading yourself in for a shower. You didn’t bother taking your makeup off first, allowing the sting of mascara to get washed away in the water. It was too hot and you didn’t care; you only came out when you realized you were going to leave Sam in a cold shower in the last week in December.

           You brushed your teeth in the mirror and took a few deep breaths before sliding out, heading past the open bedroom door straight to the kitchen in order to gulp down a panicked glass of water. Mercifully, you heard the bathroom door lock when Sam entered it quietly. You took the opportunity to grab your pillow out of the bedroom, tossing it on the couch and pulling the throw off the sofa’s back to cover yourself. Your eyes were closed tight and ramming up against your racing mind when Sam came out.

           “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he said softly from behind you.

           You opened your eyes but didn’t move your head to seek him out. “It’s okay.”

           Sam appeared in front of you, legs bending severely to perch on the short coffee table. His bare chest still glistened a little from the shower and you knew the green flannel pants he was wearing were soft and thick to the touch. Earnest hazel eyes meeting yours, Sam braced his elbows on his knees.

           “Sam, I’m really sorry. It was a weird reflex and it was unfair for me to—”

           “No, I, it—it wasn’t that. It’s just like, sometimes when you look at me, you look like you’re seeing a ghost. I’m just—I need to know you’re not staying here because I’m the closest you can get.”

           If your heart hadn’t been shattered and re-shattered over the last almost- two-years and today, the fear and resignation in his eyes would’ve sent you to pieces. You pushed up to sitting in order to give Sam the respect he deserved.

           “I can’t—I won’t lie and say you don’t remind me of him, but you’re my best friend—been my best friend since I first met you guys—and I am so, so, sorry I made you feel…I could never try to replace him, Sam.” You were barely making sense, having a hard time stringing together how you felt. “The only place I want to be is with you. You’re all I’ve got.”

           It felt desperate and needy but it was true and Sam deserved the truth. You didn’t shy away from him, stayed there holding his gaze until he seemed content having searched your eyes for anything hiding from the light. After a moment he nodded tightly against lips pressed in a firm line. “Okay.”

           Sam stood up, the broad planes of him catching the glitter of the Christmas tree lights. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and tentative. “Can you, uh, can you come back?”

           It took a moment to process before you nodded, standing up and snagging your pillow before following Sam into the bedroom. You climbed into your side of the mattress, close to the wall and your tiny precious gallery, and Sam folded around you, his warm skin seeping through your t-shirt onto your back. You felt tense and comfortable all at once, safe and uneasy. The two of you sat there for a long time, the relatively light weight of Sam’s arm over you betraying that he wasn’t asleep either. When drowsiness finally began to tug your eyelids closed, he pressed his lips to a spot on your shoulder exposed from the looseness of its sleeve. The last thing you remembered was his arm going heavy like an anchor across yours.

           The sun is hot and delicious on your cheeks, baking the cotton of your jeans and t-shirt into you and turning the roof tiles under you into a frying pan. Wispy clouds move with no urgency across the sky above you and you can’t think of anything better than this, glancing down to worn laces on Dean’s boots undone to give his feet some air as his t-shirt clings half-humid to him. You know his freckles are going to be darker by dinner and it makes you smile to think about it but you’ll never tell him—it makes him shy to be reminded of the spray of pigment that makes him feel alternatively feminine or juvenile but never stunning the way you think it should. You press up to your elbows, barely registering the sting of heat and grit of the roof underneath you and kiss the spot on Dean’s arm where his shoulder slopes into his bicep. He smiles down at you, a lazy half-open smirk perfectly framed by the blue sky behind him like a painting.

           “You’re so weird,” he chuckles. “Who kisses someone’s arm?”

           “Then come down here,” you toss back, exaggerated pout ready for him. He ducks down to you, the warmth of his lips on yours like a cookie fresh out of the oven, like sliding down the hallway on new fuzzy socks, like the summer’s first plunge into water.

           Sam’s head peeks out from under the gutter. “Bobby’s putting brats on the grill, do you want any?”

           “Hell yeah, extra onions,” Dean yells down, grinning smugly when you make a face.

           “Me too!” you call out, watching Sam squint up at the roof. 

           “No onions though, right?”

           “You’re the best, Sam.”

           Sam beams up at you, dimples almost high enough to reach the squint-crinkled skin around his eyes. He nods and ducks back out of sight.

           “Come on, I’m thirsty,” Dean says, standing up. He reaches a hand down to you and takes a half step back to brace himself, stepping on the lace of his other boot. He stumbles and it’s a quick shuffle and you realize he’s too close to the edge his next step is into thin air like Wil E. Coyote and you’re grabbing at that same thin air and you can see his face change when he realizes and some part of your subconscious that’s even deeper than this can feel it’s happening again and the sound is so final, such a wet crack but you scrabble to the edge anyway because you have to see and Dean’s lying there.

           He’s clutching his left leg bent against his chest like a stretch. “Son of a bitch, what the fuck!” he mutter-yells, and you hear the thump of Sam and Bobby running through the old house and skittering to a stop in front of him as you carefully shimmy down the porch post with your hands tearing on the gutter’s rusty edge, jumping down when you feel the railing beneath you.

           “Dean! Are you okay?” Sam yells over Bobby who’s cursing out the goddamn idjit told you not to climb up there it’s like having a bunch of teenagers in this goddamned house and Dean winces and nods angrily.

           You’re lifting up the hem of his jeans and gingerly taking off his boot and Dean hisses when you peel off his sock, but nothing is poking through the skin and that’s better than you expected. “Can you stand up?”

           He nods again and you can practically taste him biting back the string of expletives when you and Sam each take an arm and lift him to standing. You snake a hand into his pocket and grab the keys to the Impala, leaning behind Dean to say to his brother, “I’ll take him to the ER.”

           Dean doesn’t argue and it’s yet more evidence that it’s pretty bad, but you feel fine, elated almost, that he’s still warm under your palm and against your side, that he still smells like fresh laundry and domestic beer and a little bit of salt and engine grease. Sam’s long arm opens the door when you get there and slides Dean in and you promise to text when you know how bad it is as you round the car and get to the driver’s side. You turn the key in the ignition and throw your arm around Dean’s seat to reverse out of the driveway. Dean’s looking at you as you throw the car back into drive, staring almost, and his face is soft even around the broken ankle.

           “I’m always going to love you,” he says, smooth and sure of himself. You tug your eyes away from the road with half a question on your face but Dean doesn’t explain why he’s saying this now. “I’ll be okay and I’m always going to love you, no matter what.”

           It doesn’t make any sense and you open your mouth to tease this unexpected sappiness, remind him the ankle is just one more in a long string of injuries he’ll owe you for, and then Dean’s gone, the car’s gone, and the heat is coming from Sam’s chest in front of you. 

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 5

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[just-my-fandom]

Bruises (JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader)

Request; Reader is the Pogue queen who is a badass and trouble maker like JJ, and doesn’t take shit from the Camerons lmaoo

I needed to post something so here’s this piece of shit :) BUT currently taking requests for Stranger Things, Outer Banks, Criminal Minds and the Flash ONLY

Masterlist

_______________________________________________

“Really think this is a good idea?” You fix your button up white shirt, tight against your skin but perfect to match your dress pants, heels sinking into the sand beneath you,

“Perfect idea,” John B hums, licking his hand, but you smack it out of the way before it can touch your hair,

“I’ll kill you,” You threaten, throwing your hair into a messy bun, but neat enough to look presentable, “Let’s give Sarah the note, find Pope and Kie, and get out,”

“After you, milady,” JJ gestures an arm out, snatching the note from John B before following behind you, hand grazing your lower back,

“You get that note to Sarah,” You order, after darting past security, “I’ll find Kie and Pope,”

“Aye aye, captain,” JJ solutes you, ducking into the crowd after instantly spotting the Kook Princess on the dance floor,

You step to the side, heels clicking as you lift a tray of iced water and vodka from one of the many tables, balancing it on a single hand,

“Hello your highness,” A male in a light blue tux rounds to your front, your eyes looking forward to meet Rafes eyes, his smirk almost sickening to you,

“Rafe,” You greet, one arm behind your back as the other extends the tray of glasses, “Care for a drink?”

“No thanks,” Rafe hums, eyes scanning down your figure, “Say, what’s a pogue like you doing here working for a Kook party?”

“Oh you know, good pay,” You shrug a shoulder, eyes scanning around in search for either Pope or Kiara, “Needed extra money for my dream car, might as well start here,”

“You know, I can help you with the car,” Rafe steps forward, hand on your waist, and you can already smell the vodka in his breath to tell you he’s had more than one to drink, “I just might need a little favor,”

“No thanks,” You grunt, and duck to the side to circle him, able to keep the tray from tilting, “I can do it on my own, I’m a big girl, you know?”

“Oh I know,” A sharp shove to your shoulder causes the tray to jerk and clash onto the ground, shattering the glasses so every Kook looked over to you, gasping when you glance at Rafe over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes

JJ and Sarah look over in alert to see Rafe squaring his shoulders, JJ shoving the note into Sarah’s hands before stepping out of the crowd, stopping when your fist lunges forward, sending Rafe off his feet and bumping into an older Kook,

“This is who you have walking around your precious island?” You ask, looking around to show you were talking to everyone, “I’d watch out for your daughters, guys. Especially your teenagers,”

You look back down at the Kook now on the ground, hand already bloody from holding his nose, “Don’t ever fucking touch me. Just because you’re a Kook doesn’t mean you’re anymore special,” You raise your voice, glancing back to the Kooks around, “None of you are!”

A moment of silence, and you scoff, shaking your head as you lift up a second tray of drinks, “Enjoy your party, sir,” You turn, glancing back over your shoulder, “You might need some ice for that,”

Chatter slowly raises as Topper pulls Rafe up to his feet, scolding him for doing such a thing in such a public area, and you set the tray down at an empty table to run your hands over your front, heaving out a deep breath,

“Y/N!” A hand grabs your arm and tugs you to the side, your free hand coming up in a fist as you clench your jaw, scowl dropping when you turn to Pope, whose eyes are wide, “What the fuck was that? Punching Rafe,”

“And what the fuck is with everyone getting touchy?” You hiss, pulling your arm free and crossing your arms, “He touched me. What did you expect me to do, get on my knees and suck his dick?”

Pope squints his eyes at your sarcasm, sighing, “You’re going to get yourself in trouble,”

“I already am in trouble, thank you very much,” You scoff, when Popes eyebrows furrow, “Because both JJ and I stood up for you, we had to split the restitution for the boat that you sunk,” You roll your eyes, “Uncle T doesn’t even know that I was put in prison,”

“I didn’t ask for you or JJ to do that,” Pope protests, and you raise your eyebrows, shaking your head,

“And I wasn’t going to let JJ get caught in the cross fire alone. You would have done it for any of us,” You pause, “Take that back. No, you wouldn’t have. Cause you’re the golden boy. And when you fuck up, one, or the rest of us, have to go down for you,”

Popes brows relax when you step back, turning in time for another set of hands to grab your arms, the security guard at your right ordering you to walk along with him,

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You ask, loudly, looking back at Pope to see him look at his father, then back to you, “Let go!”

“Y/N! Hey!” JJ runs up to you, taking your free hand to pull you out of the security guards grasp, sliding his arm around your shoulders as he shoots a grin to the guard, “Thanks for finding her for me. We’ll be leaving now,” He glances at Pope, “Remember, mandatory meeting in T-minus thirty!”

“What are you doing?” You ask, shortly, JJ glancing down at you as he walked towards John B at the enterance,

“Saving your ass,” He states, and you roll your eyes, holding his hand at your shoulder as you fastened your pace, “And don’t worry. I handled Rafe,”

“I handled Rafe, JJ,” You narrow your eyes, “You just wanted the last punch,”

“Okay, yes,” JJ gives in, “But I gotta protect my girl, yeah?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart,”

. . .

“So you’re telling me that this letter basically tells us where the gold is? On the island,”

“Exactly,” John B points the bundled up letter in his hand to you, your hand running over your face to hold in a deep sigh, “And with Sarah Cameron’s help-,”

“Wait,” You cut, eyes now narrowed, “You have Sarah Cameron, a Kook, helping us find the gold?”

“Oh, he’s macking her,” JJ states, your lips parting as your eyes flick from John B, to JJ, then back to John B,

“I’m not macking her,” John B protests,

“Then what the hell is she doing involved in our hunt, John B?” You ask, roughly,

“We need her help,”

“No we don’t!” You shout, “We’ve been perfectly fine on our own, the five of us, and now you’re bringing in a Kook? No. I’m sick of you guys doing things thinking it won’t effect the rest of us. You know, Pope,” You put a finger under your chin, facing the male on the log, “I have yet to hear a single fucking thank you for saving your ass from prison. JJ, have you?”

JJs eyes flick from you to Pope, head barely shaking so you pressed your lips together and nod, once, “Exactly,”

“Well, thank you,” Pope mutters, and you throw your arms out,

“It doesn’t matter now!”

“Why are you so worked up over all this?” John B asks, stepping up, “We find the gold, with the help of Sarah, and we can find Dad,”

“Dads dead, John B!” Your outburst causes everyone to fall silent, your glossy eyes staring at him, “I hate to tell you, but he’s dead. He has to be. Stop giving yourself false hope or it’s just going to hurt worse when we find out the truth,”

John B steps up further so he was in front of you, eyes flicking between yours as his hand shoves the note into your chest, “He’s alive. I’ll prove it to you,”

“You really think that he’s still out there?” You blink so the group behind John B could see the glisten in your eyes, your hand raising to wipe your nose, “It’s been months, JB. There hasn’t been any findings of abandoned boats, other than Scooters, and we found that boat,”

You cross your arms, at the sudden chill of wind, “I’m not working with a Cameron. Especially Sarah,”

“You can’t be serious, Y/N,” John B exhales, breathlessly, “We’ve come all this way- finding dads compass, finding the Royal Merchant, we’re so close,”

“We can do it without Sarah!” You exclaim, “I’ve been trying to explain that to you! We don’t need Sarah. She’s probably using you to get to the gold!”

“She’s not using me,” John B snips, and you flick your eyebrows up, laughing,

“So you really are macking her,” You nod, “John B, you do realize the only reasons I want to find that gold is so we can support ourselves, and pay that damn restitution JJ and I owe for something we didn’t do,” You hiss, jaw clenched, “I’ve accepted dads death. It’s time you do the same,”

Stepping back, you round John B towards the van parked feet away, that was lit up from the camp fire beside Kie, “Take me home. I’m done with this shitty adventure,”

“Y/N, come on,” Pope sighs, standing up,

“I got it,” JJ holds up a hand, jogging after to where you had climbed into the back of the van. He sits down across from you, leant against the back doors with your arms crossed, “Hey pretty girl,”

“JJ, I love you, but you’re the last person to convince me to apologize,” You flick your eyes up to his, and JJ holds his hands up, shaking his head,

“I was just going to ask if you were okay,”

“Well I’m not,” You slide your arms to wrap at your legs, knees pulled to your chest, “Like I told John B, I only want that gold to pay off our restitution,” You suck in a deep breath, sighing, “And, maybe, John B and I can pay our way through DCS. Yeah, we fight a lot, but he’s my brother. My twin brother. I can’t see us being split apart, you know?”

“I know,” JJ nods, sliding across the vans floor to turn and sit next to you, shoulder pressed to shoulder.

You slide your hand through his and squeeze it, turning to curl into his side and sigh another breath, “What if we do get taken?” You ask, so quietly JJ almost didn’t hear it, “Taken away from Outer Banks?”

“I’ll kidnap you and hide you in Kie or Popes house,” JJ grins, lips pressing to your hair before you sit up, snorting,

“I don’t think either of their dads would be happy with that,”

“They can’t get mad at what they don’t know,” JJ flicks his eyebrows, testingly, and you smile, eyes flicking between his in thought,

“I love you, JJ,” You murmur, JJ grinning as he leans forward, allowing your lips to meet as his hand reaches up to hold the side of your face, delicately,

“Who wouldn’t love me?” He laughs against your mouth when you groan, leaning back to roll your eyes and look to the front of the van when the side doors slide open,

“Ready to go home?” John B asks, quietly, your eyes shifting to JJ one last time before you run a hand down your face, chin on JJs shoulder,

“One bitch move from Sarah, and I get to slap her,” You demand, John B looking at Kie, who shrugs in an ‘if that gets her from ditching, then sure’ motion,

“Fine,” John B rounds to the drivers side, Pope extending a hand for you to high five, Pope then explaining how he won’t have to worry about college fees once the gold was his.