#i forgot to save so i got set back a few minutes TuT

[abrushstrokeofsilver]

i have ideas for tomorrow and the day after but yeesh yesterday and today were "low energy and don't have the energy to think too much about this particular prompt" days

anyhow have an aurora borealis colored couple

[hoboal87]

The Fear

Title: The Fear

Pairing: Dean x pregnant!Reader, minor Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Summary: Dean comes home to find Y/N missing.

Word Count: 2300+

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, violence, fluff, pregnancy, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, 15 x 20 adjacent.

A/N: my entry for @princessmisery666's #daily mix challenge combined with a Nonnie request.

Edit: I forgot to thank the lovely @lovealways-j​ for beta-reading this for me. Thanks, Sabrina!

My song is "The Fear" by The Score

My Full Masterlist

Something’s wrong.

Dean can sense it the moment he steps into his shared room with Y/N. He looks carefully around the room, trying to find a clue as to what’s got his hunter instincts in high gear. It looks no different then when he and Sam left three days ago, and yet, every bone in his body is telling him something is off.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly as he makes his way towards her old room down the hall. She’d been in the process of turning it into a nursery for the last month and had a tendency to get lost in paint samples and baby supplies. As he closes in on the room, he can feel himself becoming more on edge and instinctively reaches for his gun. “Sweetheart? You in there?”

Dean’s heart sinks further into his stomach as he reaches the newly-converted nursery. The usually meticulously organized room was in a state of disarray as if there had been some sort of struggle. Dean calls out for Y/N again, willing her to give him some kind of sign that he was overreacting to what he was seeing.

He quickly pulls out his phone dialing Y/N’s number, he and Sam should have never gone on that hunt, Y/N was due in less than a month, but she insisted that they go.

This is Y/N, sorry I can’t come to the phone, if it’s an emergency please contact Sam or Dean…

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, waiting for her message to end. “Hey sweetheart,” he does his best to keep his voice steady. “Me and Sammy just got back and I just got a feeling…” he takes a deep breath. “Call me back. Love you.”

Dean pockets his phone, before taking in the room again, trying to convince himself that it’s his new-father instincts and not his hunter instincts that have him so on edge. That’s when he sees it: under a discarded bag, a small pool of blood. Dean’s breathing grows heavier, and he scans the room again, looking for any kind of sign of what may have happened in the room.

“Sam!” Dean yells out, his breath quickening. “Sammy!”

Sam’s behind him, skidding to a stop before taking in the sight of the room before him. Even with only a cursory glance Dean knows that Sam’s thinking the same thing as him, something’s happened to Y/N.

Dean hurries down to the infirmary, Y/N had insisted that they have everything to monitor her in the final months and in the worst-case scenario anything needed to help her deliver. The simple fetal monitor is right where they’d left it three days prior, Dean insists on listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child on an almost daily basis, letting the rapid thump thump thump put him at ease.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when Y/N’s picture fills the screen. He takes a minute, calming himself, she doesn’t need to know that up until this moment he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, “y’know you had us worried for a minute.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, save for heavy, scratchy breathing.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Y/N whispers, choking back a sob. “I shouldn’t’ve trusted her. Now–”

“Baby, listen to me,” Dean finds Sam in the hall and mouths trace the call, Sam nods and bolts towards the library. “Are you okay? The baby?”

“That depends on you, Dean,” an unfamiliar voice replaces Y/N’s. “Now, be a good little soldier and do as I say. Only then will your precious wife and child have a chance to make it through this unharmed.” Dean can feel his blood boiling, this is why he could never not be a hunter. He and Sam have made too many enemies over the years, and now Y/N and their baby may be paying the price.

All the fear that he felt when Y/N first told him she was pregnant comes rushing back to the surface. Dean never thought he’d get married, let alone be a father, but with Rowena keeping the demons in check, and Jack limiting the angels' interaction on Earth, with the exception of Cas, life became some version of safe for the brothers.

That’s why Y/N insisted that they take the simple salt n’ burn just one state over. She knew that they were going a little stir crazy, Bobby, Jody and Donna, had started training the next generation of hunters so that boys could retire. Dean was hesitant to leave, Y/N was only a month away from her due date, but she shooed them out the door, claiming to need her own space from her overprotective husband and brother-in-law.

“Are you listening, Dean?” The voice tuts and Dean tries to clear his head of ‘if’s’ and ‘could’ve’s’ all it’s doing is driving him crazy.

“I’m listening,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. The voice gives coordinates to a location a few hours away and before he realizes it he’s in the Impala, ready to do whatever it takes to save his wife and baby. Sam tells Dean what he’s already sure of: this is a trap and Y/N is being used as bait. He doesn’t care, he can’t lose her, lose their baby, not when she’s done nothing more than love him.

The sun is setting when they pull up to the abandoned farmhouse, original, Dean thinks. Dean wants to go bursting in, guns ablaze, but Sam stops him, reminding him that they don’t know who or what has got Y/N, and they have to be smart. He wants nothing more than to punch his brother for suggesting that they wait even a second longer to rescue Y/N, but he lets the words sink in and reluctantly agrees.

Silver bullets, holy water, dead man’s blood, witch-killing bullets and machete’s are divided between each brother, knowing that whatever has Y/N, one of these things will most likely kill it. When they enter the farmhouse Dean’s eyes lock on Y/N, who’s against a wall, two chains around her wrists.

Dean rushes towards her, the only thing on his mind is getting her and the baby out of this place and back home. Her breathing is shallow when he reaches her, and he gently inspects her body. Gingerly, he touches her face, allowing her Y/E/C eyes to meet his and she smiles lazily at him. Knew you’d come, she whispers, and Dean leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. His free hand lands on the swell of her belly, where he can feel a slight kick against his palm.

“I love you,” Dean says softly so that only Y/N can hear him. “I’m gonna get you outta here, sweetheart, okay?” Y/N nods slightly as Dean focuses his attention on freeing her from her bonds.

There’s a grunt behind Dean, and when he turns around, Sam’s on the ground, and there’s a somewhat familiar woman standing behind him.

“Dean Winchester,” she exclaims as two large men appear and pull him to his feet. “Been too long.”

“Jenny,” he utters, remembering one of the first cases he worked with Sam. “You look good, a little dead, but, good.”

“Always the charmer, weren’t you Dean?” She takes a step towards Y/N. “I could smell you on her the second she walked past me. Women always trust other women, made her think I was a hunter; a tragic backstory here, a name drop there, and bingo, the dumb bitch is leading me into your home.”

Dean feels his anger rising as he tugs against the two men, his eyes flicker to Sam, who slowly starts reaching for the blade next to him.

“Up,” Jenny orders and when Y/N doesn’t comply she produces a blade, and presses it against her stomach. Dean’s heart stops at the threat to Y/N and their baby. “If you want to give your baby a chance to ever see the light of day, I suggest you cooperate.”

Y/N’s legs are wobbly as she stands, tears glistening in her eyes as Jenny slowly runs the blade against her. Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave her, watching as Jenny uncuffs her, and leads her slowly over to him.

Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s veins and he frees himself from his two captors; headbutting one and throwing a punch at the other as Y/N is pushed out of the way. Sam is up on his feet and in a swift move, swings the blade through Jenny’s neck, her body falling limp to the ground. For the briefest of moments, Dean relaxes, only for a vamp to be coming at him again.

Dean can barely keep track of anything, his eyes tunneling in on the large vamp in front of him. He can hear the grunts of Sam, and the familiar sound of another vamp going down. Y/N isn’t in his line of sight, and through the blood pounding in his ears, he hears Sam call his name.

It was just the distraction that the vamp needed and he barrels towards Dean, slamming him against a wooden post. He feels something pierce his side but he keeps fighting against the vamp. As the vamp is about to take his final shot, his head is gone, and Sam is quickly resheething his blade.

Y/N cries out, cradling her stomach and even from a distance he can see the pool blood between her legs. Go, Dean orders Sam who quickly obeys.

“I think she’s in labor,” Sam mutters. “I don’t think we can get her to a hospital in time.”

Dean rushes to Y/N’s side as best he can, telling her everything will be alright. Dean returns to Baby, grabbing the first aid kit, hastily patching up the wound, and retrieving a blanket from the trunk. The pain hits him all at once, but he pushes through it, his pain doesn’t matter, all that matters is that Y/N and the baby are safe.

Y/N’s screaming out in pain, begging for someone to make it stop as Sam does his best to calm her. Dean closes the distance in only a few steps, positioning himself behind her. He takes her hands in his, whispering praises in her ear as Sam orders her to push.

Within only a few minutes, Evelyn Marie Winchester is brought into the world, wailing loudly as Sam wraps her in his flannel and hands her over to Y/N. Dean offers Sam a silent thank you as he takes in the appearance of his daughter. Evie’s the perfect combination of him and Y/N.

The moment of bliss doesn’t last long, as Sam reminds them that they still need to get Y/N and Evie to a hospital. Dean moves from his place behind Y/N and winces at the pain now radiating through his body. Sam gives him a curious look, and Dean shrugs, trying to convince his brother that he’s fine.

Dean takes Evie out of Y/N’s arms, and cradles her against him as Sam helps Y/N to her feet. Dean takes a few steps before legs start to give and his vision starts to blur. The last thing Dean hears before everything going black is Y/N and Sam calling out his name.

Five Years Later

Dean watches as Evie runs around the backyard of their new home, chasing Miracle and laughing hysterically. Y/N was right, the Bunker was no place to raise a little girl, she deserves everything that he and Sam never had, and he is determined to give it all to her. Evie will never know what it’s like to go to bed hungry or cold, or wonder when she’ll see her parents again.

The opening of the front door tears Dean’s attention away from his daughter, Sam’s voice filling the otherwise silent house. He turns to see his brother carrying a ridiculous amount of gifts followed by a very pregnant Eileen with a shaggy haired toddler attached to her hip.

“Unca De!” Little Bobby tries to squirm out of Eileen’s hold and she carefully lets him down. The toddler bolts for Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s leg. “S’Evie’s birfday!”

“I know, buddy!” Dean laughs at his nephew, “how ‘bout you go tell her ‘happy birthday’?” Dean opens the side door and lets Bobby out.

“You are going to spoil my daughter rotten, Sam Winchester,” Y/N appears from the back of the house. Dean’s still amazed that even after years together, Y/N can take his breath away.

“Well, if I had another niece or nephew, I could spread the love.”

“I think you’ve spread enough love, Sammy,” Dean jokes as he heads into the kitchen, Sam following behind him. “I mean, you’re basically having your kids back-to-back.”

“Three years is hardly back-to-back,” Sam reaches out to grab a beer. “You’re just mad ‘cause I one-upped you.”

“Actually,” Dean peeks into the living room. “We’ll be even. Y/N’s pregnant.”

The words have hardly left Dean’s mouth before Sam’s engulfed him in a hug. Dean’s positive that Eileen and Y/N are having a similar conversation at this very same moment, but what neither Sam or Eileen know is that they have a bet on who will crack first.

“Just found out a couple of weeks ago,” Dean continues with the ruse. “She wanted to wait until after yours was born, didn’t want to take Eileen’s thunder or something.” Sam nods, seemingly understanding.

Hours later, after the last present has been opened, and the final piece of cake has been eaten, Sam and Eileen take a very sleepy Bobby home. Evie sits at the kitchen table, listening carefully and a smile growing on her face as Dean and Y/N tell her that in six months she’ll have a little brother or sister.

“Or both,” Y/N corrects with a knowing smirk.

“Both?”

Please reblog or send me an ask with your feedback!

This one-shot was requested by a nonnie, my requests are currently open, you can send me an ask or DM me if you’d like to request something. 

Buy Me a Coffee?

[qlala]

pleeease can we have more teacher barry au? or kidfic? my crops are dying

Alright, sorry for the slight delay on this one, but please know that you're a menace and I kept thinking about it and then I wrote this for you all in one sitting.

It's both teacher!Barry (though still set in the canon universe!) and coldflash kidfic. <3 I just put it up as a prequel to "good cop, bad cop" on ao3, since I guess it technically is that? Although, if you guys have opinions about what order the series should be in, I'd interested to hear it!

“Barry?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve got something in your hair.”

Barry hid a wry grin, and glanced over at Len—at least, glanced as far in his direction as he could manage. Two small hands were holding his head still, though Henry did let go of one handful of Barry’s hair to reach out when Len stepped around the coffee table and stood in front of them.

“Alright, kid.” Len bent down and hoisted Henry off Barry’s shoulders, and both of them ignored Barry’s indignant yelp when Henry didn’t quite remember to let go of Barry with his other hand in time. “I like the hair too, but he’s gotta move his head to”—Len propped Henry on his hip and reached out to steal the top page from the stack of papers in front of Barry—“grade pop quizzes.”

“Those are midterms.” Barry stretched, then tipped his head to one side with a muffled crack.

“Then you’re going easy on them.” Len took advantage of his distraction to hand the paper to Henry, who scrunched it in his hand with a broad smile.

[read on ao3, or continue reading below the cut]

“Len!” Barry recovered the paper in a sweep of yellow lightning, and Len traced his trajectory from the fading after-image even as Barry tried to smooth out the test on the arm of the couch.

“So feet on the coffee table are allowed when the Flash does it?”

“Language,” Barry reminded him, without looking up.

Henry, ever the trooper, was taking the loss of his prize in stride, and Len rewarded him by bending his knees to let him reach for the next paper in the stack.

“Leonard.”

“He’s working on his reading.”

“He’s eighteen months old.”

Len read the upside-down paper Henry was offering to him. “Another year for whoever’s test this was, they might be at his level.”

Barry got the same ruffled look he always did when he was torn between defending his students and agreeing with every hyperbolic praise Len had for their son. Eventually, he landed on, “You’re not helping.”

“I disagree.” Len accepted the paper from Henry, turned it right-side up, and finished skimming it. “You’ve got a typo in question three. That’s why they’re all putting ‘hydrogen.’”

Barry yanked the exam back, despite having a stack of identical ones on the table in front of him. His eyes went wide as he looked over it at Flash speed, and then he said a word that made Len cover one of Henry’s ears with his free hand and tut.

“You shape the minds of the next generation with that mouth?”

Barry wasn’t listening, too busy dragging his hand down his face, his fingers ending up in an annoyed fist over his mouth.

“Can you please,” he said slowly, evenly, with the couples-shrink-approved, conflict-management voice that always made Len smirk, “give Henry his snack.”

“With pleasure.”

Barry leveled him a glare, but it was without heat, and he tilted his chin up in a clear request for a kiss when Len passed behind the couch again.

Len obliged. He could feel some of the stress drain out of Barry’s shoulders when he drew his fingertips over the edge of Barry’s jaw with the hand not still supporting Henry.

“Hi,” Barry murmured when Len pulled back, at least a full minute later than he’d intended. “Missed you.”

“I was gone an hour.”

Barry’s answering smile was crooked, with an unabashed dimple that Len refrained from tracing his thumb over; he had a reputation to protect. “You know, you could just say it back sometimes.”

“Fine.” Len smirked as he tweaked a cowlick that Henry had left in Barry’s hair. Then he met Barry’s gaze, all false sincerity, and drawled, “Hi.”

Barry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t hide the wry smile even when he turned his head away for a second, though, and he gave Len a playful glare. “You know I meant—“

“Hi!”

For a second, neither of them moved. Then Barry reeled back with something like panic in his eyes, alarmingly contagious, based on the way Len’s heart tripped into fourth gear. “Did he just—“

Len hoisted Henry up to sit on the edge of the couch, and they both stared at him. He ignored them both for a few moments, small hand squishing the cushion before he watched it slowly expand back to its original shape. Then he noticed their eyes on him, and looked up with a beatific smile. “Hi!”

Barry was off the couch in a bolt of lightning, then back a heartbeat later with his phone out, talking so fast he was nearly incomprehensible. “Twice, Joe, I swear, he looked right at us—“

Len got a glimpse of Detective West’s patient expression on the phone screen as Barry waved it toward Henry. “Barr, you said that the last three times. I told you, kids talk when they’re ready. Iris didn’t say a word until she was—“

Barry turned the phone and held the screen out to Henry. Len bit back a reflexive objection; they’d agreed, no screens until he was five (and it’d be eighteen if Len had his way).

Henry reached out for the phone, all Barry’s reckless confidence when confronted with anything new.

Tinny over the speakerphone, West’s voice said, weary but unflaggingly affectionate, “Hi, Henry.”

Barry let Henry have the phone—and that time, Len did shoot him a look—and Henry flattened a tiny palm over West’s face on the screen. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully, lifted his hand, and chirped a delighted, “Hi!”

Barry swept him up with a rush of static that made Henry shriek with laughter, phone forgotten in an instant. Barry deposited them both at Len’s side with a breathless grin, and Len didn’t quite manage to disguise his own smile as a smirk when they looked up at him in unison. West’s voice was still coming from somewhere nearby, but Barry could fish the phone out from between the cushions later. For now, Barry was getting suspiciously bright-eyed, and Len lifted Henry out his arms before Barry could set the kid off crying, too.

“Who had ‘hi?’” he asked. He ruffled Henry’s hair, already overdue for a cut, dark and curling up at the ends. Henry only allowed it a moment before he started to fuss, his snack clearly not forgotten despite the excitement.

“Iris,” Barry hiccuped. He wiped the heel of his hand over both cheeks, then said, “She had ‘hi’ and ‘bye.’ She’s gonna be insufferable.”

“She’s gonna be rich,” Len countered. “Mick put ten grand on ‘Flash.’”

Barry shook his head on a laugh. “You did explain to him that we’re specifically not letting people say that in front of him? Given the whole”—he gestured, with a glimmer of lightning that distracted Henry into a fresh smile—”child’s grasp of a secret identity?”

“And deprive the pool of his ill-gotten gains?” He passed Henry back to Barry and tapped him on the tip of his nose. “Never.”

“She’s just gonna put it in a college fund.”

Len hummed, and didn’t mention the account he’d already placed a quarter mil into at the credit union downtown.

Barry’s eyes narrowed all the same. “What was that?”

“What was what, dear?” Len leaned hard on the pet name, flat and sarcastic, but he knew even before Barry straightened up that it wouldn’t work.

“That ‘hmmm.’ That was an I’m-not-telling-you-something ‘hmmm.’”

Len was saved by the bell, literally.

Someone leaned hard on the buzzer to the front door. A second later—and utterly predictably, given the number of metas in the family Len had married into—Wally West phased through the door, bouncing on his toes and looking around the room before he even finished setting Iris on her feet.

“Joe says Iris won,” he said.

Barry tore his suspicious gaze away from Len to blink over at the new arrivals. “Joe knew about the pool?”

“People on six different earths knew about the pool, Barr,” Iris said. She leaned on Wally as she toed out of her work heels. “Now, give me my favorite nephew. Can you say, ‘journalism school,’ Henry?”

Barry let her scoop Henry out of his arms, his brow still furrowed. “Wait, six different earths? How much was in the pool?”

He sounded a hair indignant, and Len took the opportunity to snake an arm around his waist and pull him back against his chest.

“Say the word,” he murmured against Barry’s ear, smiling when he felt him shiver. “I’ll get you triple by dinner.”

He felt Barry’s heart speed up where his back was pressed against him, and Len nipped the shell of his ear to cement his victory.

“No felonies,” Barry reminded him, but his voice was breathless, and he didn’t disentangle himself from Len’s arms.

“Mm, forgot again,” Len lied. “How about we send Iris and Wally to show Henry’s first word to Joe in person, and I make it up to you?”

A blush was climbing steadily up Barry’s neck, and he’d already shown his hand when he said, “The midterms. Progress reports go out Friday, I have to—“

“Telling me the fastest man alive can’t grade a stack of ninth grade chemistry tests before third period tomorrow?”

“They’re for my AP class,” Barry gasped, and he caught Len’s hand where he’d been tracing his fingers down Barry’s stomach. But he cleared his throat, then said, “Iris? Maybe you wanna bring Henry to the station? It would make Joe’s day.”

Iris gave him a knowing look, but her eyes were warm when she shared her smile with Len. “Mm. I bet it’ll make someone’s day.”

“Singh’s, probably,” Wally said, where he’d been drawing increasingly elaborate flowers of static out of the speed force for Henry’s fickle amusement. Then he glanced up. “Oh. Oh, you meant—yeah. Alright. I’ll grab the diaper bag. And congrats, you guys. On the first word, not the—“

Iris patted his arm and interrupted with, “The station, Wally?”

Wally ducked his head on a nod and gave them both a sheepish grin.

“Make sure your father doesn’t arrest my sister,” Len said. “She’ll show up as soon as she gets the intel out of Cisco.”

“No promises,” Iris said. “But I’ll give him the heads up. Bye, boys.”

The after-image of Wally’s lightning hadn’t even dissipated when Barry dropped his back against Len’s shoulder, one foot tapping rapidly. “Are we bad parents?”

Len nosed at the corner of Barry’s jaw and slid his fingers under the hem of his shirt. “No.”

“Maybe we should—should’ve, uh, reinforced it, more. He might get—confused. He said ‘hi,’ but we—oh my god, did we even say ‘bye?’ Len—“

Len spun Barry and pushed him back against the couch, then kissed him to distract him from looking anxiously at the front door. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I’m overthinking this,” Barry agreed. “No, I’m not. Len, his snack—“

“There are snacks at the station. Joe has a drawer full of Cheerios.”

Barry slid a hand through his hair, gave one last jittery look toward the door, and then slumped back against the couch with a laugh. “You’re better at this than me.”

“Already did it once,” Len said, smoothing the worry out of Barry’s brow with the pad of his thumb. “And look how Lisa turned out.”

It didn’t land the way Len had aimed it to. Barry gave him a warm smile instead of an alarmed look, and Len had to tick his gaze away for a break from the earnestness in that expression.

“Yeah,” Barry said. “Yeah, okay. Now maybe we could, uh, stop saying our family members’ names for a little while?”

Len rolled his eyes, but he allowed Barry a brief smile as he hooked his fingers in the front of his belt. “I thought you’d never ask.”

*

*

[❤️ Link to Ao3 ❤️]

[softboyuris]

Doctor’s Orders

Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 5.2k+

A/N: I did a thing. It became this thing because of @eideticmemory. I am in no way shape or form half the writer she is but I had to do this. Inspired by this anon. 

Summary: Spencer losing his virginity. That’s it. That’s the plot

Warnings: sex, swearing

{masterlist}

Spencer Reid did not party. He did not go to bars or get drunk. He rarely had more than one drink when he did go out with his coworkers, or more, was forced to. Don’t get it wrong, he loved them. They were more like a family to him than work buddies but in his line of work, he rarely had a day off. So when he did, he would prefer to spend it his way- curled up on his leather sofa with a good book, or ten. And no one could change his mind. 

Now Derek Morgan, Spencer’s best friend and one of his aforementioned coworkers- although some might say they’re more akin to brothers than either of those labels- he liked to party. He loved going out with his friends, doing shots and drunkenly destroying open mic night. And he always, without fail, dragged Spencer out with him.

What? He was concerned for his friend. His best friend. Spencer never talked about what happened while on the job but Derek knew it got to him. It got to them all something that came with the territory. And recently he had been extra stressed and tense and Derek knew just what he needed. 

A night out on the town where, hopefully, he could help pretty boy get laid. 

Spencer didn’t want this. He begged, literally begged Derek to let him stay in but ultimately lost the fight. Because in the end, Spencer did enjoy hanging out with him he just wasn’t always too happy about the location. Or getting stranded at whatever bar and/or club they stumbled into after Derek, without fail, went home with a girl. Sometimes two. 

Trilly’s was a local bar, often frequented by cops meaning it wasn’t too heavily trafficked and even when it was a busy night, it’s numbers didn’t compare to the bar Spence knew Derek would drag him to. 

Which is why when Spencer agreed to go out, “Just for an hour, tops,” his one condition was that they go there. While his best friend may enjoy hitting on an entire group of girls at once, Spencer much preferred to sit in a corner and observe. 

Flirting was not his forte and he had little to no desire to make it one. Sure, he’d been on a few dates before. Kissed one or two girls in college but dating just wasn’t really his thing. Really, it wasn’t. It’s not like he didn’t have game or anything. That totally wasn’t the reason. 

As bad as it was, Trilly’s very rarely saw females. Spencer knew the statistics, and with under thirty percent of law enforcement being female, the odds were in his favor. He could go out, have a drink with his friend and avoid any awkward confrontations when Derek would inevitably try to be his wingman. It would be a fun, easy night.

After almost a month of detective work, Y/N had finally caught the son of a bitch who had been ransacking local, small businesses over the past two months in Alexandria. She was exhausted. Twenty-seven days of non-stop work, late nights and early mornings that sometimes bled into each other. She hadn’t taken a single day off. 

Many of the businesses the culprit hit had to shut down because they didn’t have the means to stay open. Citizens didn’t want to shop at a store that had been burglarized by a man in the wind, worried he’d come back for more than just a few valuables. So Y/N put all her effort into finding him with some sliver of hope that it could save the business that hadn’t gone under already.

John Willis was pulled over for his taillight being out and the cop that apprehended him noticed several of the missing items that had been reported laying in his backseat. Y/N wondered how, after evading law enforcement for two months, he was caught so easily. 

She didn’t let it weigh on her mind for long though. Willis was locked up and she finally got a night off. 

She wouldn’t call herself a party girl, but she was known to get a little mischievous at the local cop bar, Trilly’s, every now and then. And tonight, she planned on having some fun. 

Y/N dragged her best friend and crime-fighting partner, Jasmine, out with her. Jasmine had reluctantly agreed, having just gone through a pretty rough break-up. Y/N reminded her that he was trash and she would find someone better. “Or at the very least a very hot cop to have rebound sex with.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “I will do no such thing.” But she agreed to come out anyway. 

When Y/N got to Jasmine’s apartment to pick her up, Jas was already waiting outside, dressed in a low cut deep blue dress that hugged her curvy figure. “Damn girl, I’d take you home in that outfit.” Y/N quipped as Jasmine got into the car. 

Jasmine looked her best friend, who wore a similar dress that was red, up and down with a smirk. “Right back at you, sexy.” 

Trilly’s was unusually busy for a Wednesday night. When Y/N and Jasmine finally made it through the door, the place was pretty packed. The music was turned up louder than normal and a large group of people had made the middle of the room into a makeshift dance floor. Or grind floor would be more accurate, as that’s the only dance move these people evidently knew how to do. 

They squeezed their way past sweaty bodies to the bar, hailing the attention of the bartender almost immediately. Y/N ordered them a round of shots. 

“Starting the night off strong, are we?” Jasmine popped one eyebrow up as she leaned against the slightly sticky bar littered with peanut shells and drops of missed alcohol. 

Y/N nodded. “Only way to do it!” She partially yelled over all the commotion around her. The bartender set down two shots in front of them. “To rebound sex.” 

Jasmine laughed, a barely noticeable blush dotting her cheekbones. “Mmhmm, sure.” She raised her glass but Y/N stopped her before she could down the liquid. 

“Nuh-uh,” She tutted. “Say it back or else it won’t work.” With reluctance, Jasmine just barely whispered the cheer back but it was enough to satiate Y/N. “Much better.” She chimed. They clinked their glasses together and downed them simultaneously, placing them upside down on the bar after.  

Spencer was already uncomfortable. Derek and him had literally just stepped foot in the bar and he was already regretting his decision to go out tonight. It being a Wednesday, he never thought in a million years it’d be this busy. 

People pushed past each other in front of him. A group of at least twenty people were grinding against each other in the middle of the room where they’d deemed it the dance floor for the night. The floor was sticky as was the booth and table the two men eventually found themselves seated in. Spencer grimaced, his phobia of germs eating at his mind. 

“Breathe pretty boy.” Derek smiled, slapping Spencer’s arm across the table. Spencer inhaled slowly, looking around at all the people bustling around him. This was clearly not his scene.

“I didn’t expect it to be this crowded.” Spencer yelled over the noise. 

Derek laughed, “Where’s the fun in an empty bar?” Spencer held back the glare that was fighting to make itself known. When he didn’t respond, Derek slapped his hands on the table. “I’m going to go get us drinks.”

Y/N scanned the crowd for Jasmine who had said twenty minutes ago that she was going to slip out to the bathroom. 

After a few minutes of searching, she spotted her friend practically sitting in the lap of some stranger at a booth across the room. She laughed to herself, setting some cash down on the bar for their drinks before making her way through the crowd. 

When she gets to the booth, Jasmine looks up at her. “Y/N, you found me.” Her words are a little slurred. Y/N forgot how much of a lightweight her friend is. “This is Derek. He’s an FBI agent.” She whispered the last bit, or thought she did but the men at the booth laughed.

Which is when she noticed the guy sitting opposite them. She made eye contact with him and smiled. She could feel her face get hot but she passed it off on the alcohol coursing through her veins.

He was cute. Y/N studied his face for a second, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blatantly checking him out. He looked pretty young. Obviously he was old enough to be an FBI agent but had she not known that, she would have guessed him to be fresh out of college. 

His hair was longer but it suited him and he had really kind eyes that Y/N was drawn to. Even though he sitting, she could tell he was tall. His shoulders slumped slightly as if trying to fold in on himself, something she knew all too well being quite tall herself. 

“Y/N.” She introduced herself, snapping out of her dazed state and returning her attention to Derek, who was the exact opposite of the guy she was just looking at. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, about my friend.” She joked. 

Derek shook his head, a wide smile on his face. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Any other guy and she would have been pulling Jasmine away but there was something about Derek that was non-threatening. She somehow knew her friend was in good hands. 

Literally, he had great hands. His muscled arm was wrapped tightly round Jasmine’s waist as she leaned into his side. Y/N would be lying if she didn’t admit to his obvious allure. 

Y/N looked back over to the other guy, who she now noticed had been staring at her the whole time. Upon them locking eyes, he swallowed. “Is this seat taken?” She asks him, pointing to the empty spot beside him. He shakes his head, his hands falling nervously into his lap. 

Spencer was mentally scolding himself for being at a loss of words, which he never was. He could rattle off facts about literally anything and talk for hours but right now, he was speechless. 

Y/N slide into the booth beside him. “So, are you with the FBI too?” She asked, her hands cupping her glass. She figured he was but since he didn’t offer her a name, she figured she would try and make conversation. 

He nodded. Derek cleared his throat and Spencer looked up at him, pleadingly. His friend just aggressively nodded in Y/N’s direction, a way of telling him to say something. 

“I’m Spencer.” He squeaked out. 

Y/N looked up from the table. “It’s nice to meet you Spencer.” She smiled. Spencer waited for the inevitable offering of her hand, getting prepared to explain how he doesn’t shake hands because the amount of germs that are passed in a handshake are staggeringly high. 

His eyebrows pinched together when a few moments passed and her hands didn’t move from her glass. “You don’t shake hands?” He asked, slightly dumbfounded. 

Y/N chuckled. “Did you want me to?” She asked, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Spencer’s cheeks ran crimson and Y/N smiled at herself. “Not on the job, don’t feel the need to be so formal.” She summed up, leaning against the worn leather of the booth. 

“Where do you work?” It feels like such a dumb question but it’s left his mouth before he can process it. You’re at a cop bar, Spencer, where the fuck do you think?

“Alexandria PD.” Y/N answers without thought, sipping at her drink. “Been there for three years now.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest.” Jasmine waves her hand at her best friend, scoffing. She turns to Derek, pressing her pointer finger into his chest to accentuate her words. “She's the lead detective. Youngest to ever be promoted.” 

Spencer’s eyes don’t leave Y/N while Jasmine talks. Y/N looks at her friend incredulously but there’s a small smile on her face and a blush is creeping up her neck. “I don’t like bragging.” She says to Jasmine, a small laugh leaving her lips.

Spencer has never been mesmerized before but he’s completely lost in Y/N’s laugh that he barely hears Jasmine continue talking. 

“Pfft, it’s a big deal, Y/N. It’s not every day that a twenty-five year old gets promoted to that position.” Jasmine continues. 

“Sounds like congratulations are in order.” Derek smiles, his eyes never leaving Jasmine. Y/N shakes her head. Jasmine is definitely not going home in the same car she came in. 

“Thank you, but it’s not a new promotion.” She takes another sip of her beer, welcoming any distraction at this point. She hates it when she’s the center of attention. 

“She never wants to celebrate her successes.” Jasmine tuts, rolling her eyes. She finally breaks eye contact with Derek to look at Spencer. “You know, she was top of her class at UCLA and has three masters. Three. I barely got through my one.” Jasmine hiccups at the end, nodding.

Derek looks over at Spencer and Y/N. “Looks like pretty boys gonna have a run for his money.” 

Y/N looks over at Spencer, quirking an eyebrow. “Oh.”

Spencer’s cheeks darken but he doesn’t offer further explanation. Y/N looks to Derek for answers instead. “Three PhD’s.” He says, raising three of his fingers up in conjunction with his words. 

Y/N nearly chokes on her beer. “Three?” Getting her master’s was hard enough she couldn’t fathom doing it again for her doctorates. 

“He goes by doctor.” Derek winks at her. 

“Morgan.” Spencer warns, looking up at him with stern eyes. Derek throws his hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to call me doctor.” He says to Y/N, running a hand through his hair. “He just likes messing me.” 

Y/N smirks. It’s small and nearly imperceptible but Spencer notices and it makes his breathing pick up. “Who said I didn’t want to, Doc?” Spencer swallows, pressing his hands together to distract himself. 

The conversation moves on but after a while, Jasmine and Derek are in their own little world, leaving Spencer and Y/N to talk. 

She learns that he was the youngest person ever recruited for the FBI, a fact which he didn’t want to own up to. Similar to Y/N, he didn’t like the spotlight on him. Unlike Y/N, he had a reason to have the spotlight on him, which she told him after finding out he’s a literal genius. 

“You can’t have an IQ that high and expect people to not put you at the center of their attention.” Spencer blushed at her words. 

“I don’t mind your attention.” He replies, making Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “But normally, people are more annoyed by it than they are fascinated by it.”

Y/N tucks a pieces of hair behind her ear. “Well they’re clearly missing out.”

They talk for what feels like hours. Every new piece of information Y/N gets, she savors. There’s something about Spencer that makes her want to know everything about him. And she damn near does. 

He doesn’t just work for the FBI, he works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, which is like the best of the best. He has an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute, a skill which Y/N is borderline envious of, and he’s from Las Vegas. Which is where his mom lives, in a clinical facility because she has schizophrenia. 

“I’m so sorry, that must be really hard on you.” Y/N says, placing her hand on Spencer’s arm soothingly. Her eyes are soft like her hand which he notices when he accidentally brushes it. She really means it.

Spencer learns that Y/N came to Virginia after university because her dad passed away and she was the only person in her family close to him. He left everything to her which also meant she had to go through all his belongings. 

A tenant in his apartment building found him dead. The initial report said he had died of natural causes but after his autopsy they found signs of foul play. As it turns out, he was murdered. It’s what propelled Y/N to become a cop in the first place. “I set up base here and never looked back.” 

He also learned that she’s probably the sweetest and funniest person he’s ever met, and he’s friends with Penelope and JJ. She’s smart, she seems to pick up on all his little quirks and respects them. And she’s beautiful, which he knew from the instant he saw her but is even more pronounced now that he’s getting to know her. 

The two had been so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t notice that their friends were no longer sitting across from them. With a quick glance behind them, Y/N saw Jasmine slip out the front door, holding Derek’s hand and laughing flirtatiously.

Spencer groans next to her. “He was my ride home.” 

“Did you really think the night was going to end any differently for those two?” Y/N asks, settling back into the seat. 

“No.” Spencer relents. Without thinking, he reaches across Y/N and takes her drink, taking a few sips before realizing what he’s done. “Sorry.” He says, placing the cup down. 

Y/N moves a fraction of an inch closer to him. “I don’t mind.” Her hand lightly brushes his thigh. “But, as you probably already know, we practically just kissed.”

Spencer’s breath hitches in his throat as Y/N’s hand comes to rest fully on his thigh, her fingertips lightly tracing circles on his inner thigh. He tries to focus on anything else but he can practically feel the blood rushing to his dick. 

Y/N notices the change in his demeanor, leaning in closer so she can whisper. “I’ll stop if you want me to.” Y/N doesn’t know what’s come over her. Sure, she’s hooked up with guys she just met at the bar before but she’s never been this straightforward with someone. Not right off the bat, and definitely not with this much ease.

The tension between them has been palpable ever since she sat down an hour ago and now, with their friends gone, there was nothing stopping her from commenting on it. 

Spencer shook his head at her words, mumbling something Y/N didn’t quite pick up on. “What was that, doc?” She emphasized the last word, her hand slowly moving up his thigh. 

He started to bounce his right leg nervously. Y/N smirked. “I make you nervous?” He nodded slowly. Y/N stopped what she was doing, removing her hand and putting some space in between them. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She was suddenly overcome with embarrassment, her actions finally seeping into the logical side of her brain. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” Spencer nearly growled. Now it was Y/N’s turns to blush as she nervously looked over at him. There was a hunger in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. She unconsciously squeezed her legs together. 

He leans closer to her until his lips are grazing her ear. “The bathroom’s empty, we could sneak away, no one would even notice.” 

Y/N swallows at the implication. He’s been watching, waiting for the right moment to initiate whatever the fuck this was. Which means he knew it would get to this at some point. 

Without a second thought, Y/N grabs his hand, hauling him out of the booth and making a beeline for the bathroom. 

Just as Spencer had told her, the bathroom was empty. That, of course, didn’t stop her from checking all the stalls to make for certain that they were alone. Trust me, no one wanted to hear what was about to happen. 

Spencer was still standing by the door, his once cocky demeanor now dwindling into the awkward nervousness that Y/N had grown to love about him. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She says softly, grabbing both his hands. They just met, she doesn’t know what he has or hasn’t done before and while Y/N might have some experience with bathroom sex, she’s found that not all people do. In fact, it’s very rare for her to find someone who has. 

Spencer lets go of her hands and for a split second she thinks he’s going to turn around and walk out but then his lips are on hers and she’s trying to get her brain to catch up because she’s missing it. 

In a surge of confidence, Spencer cups Y/N’s face, smashing his lips against hers. After a moment, she kisses back, her hands coming up to run through his hair. 

The moans that fall from her lips at the contact has him hard. He moves them so she’s the one pressed against the door, his hands coming down to grab her hips and pull her against him. 

His tongue asks for entry and she gladly concedes. In a swift motion, she’s wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands supporting her by holding her thighs. 

Y/N’s dress has been effectively hiked up from the change in position and while she respects his respect for her, she wants his hands on her. She reaches down to move them up until they’re resting on her bum. With a satisfied grin she pulls away from his lips. 

He looks at her, out of breath and red in the face. “You’re not wearing underwear.” He breaths out. 

She laughs, curling her finger around the hair at the back of his neck. “Actually, I was. Seemed to have lost them.” She shrugs innocently. 

His eyes widen as he realizes what she’s saying. Something in her knew he would get it. He chastely kisses her cheek, his lips hovering over her ear. “You took them off, didn’t you? When you went to the restroom twenty-seven minutes ago.” 

Y/N bites her lip, partially to fight back the laugh that wanted to come out knowing Spencer had counted the minutes, and nods. “Naughty, naughty girl.” He whispers, biting her ear. She gasps at the action, not expecting it, which propels him to grind against her. 

“You gonna do something about it, doc?” She giggles, leaning forward to place a kiss on his collarbone. 

Spencer moves them over to the sinks and sets her down on the counter, standing between her legs as he kisses her neck. Y/N starts to undo the buttons of his shirt just enough to expose his chest, which she runs her fingernails down, leaving red tracks in their wake. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his forehead pressing into her chest. She lifts his head up to kiss him, fingers combing through his hair again, an action she’s coming to thoroughly enjoy. 

“Do you have a condom?” Y/N asks as she kisses down his neck, her hands following in motion until they hit the top of his jeans. 

Something about the question jars Spencer. Like his thoughts finally register exactly what he’s doing and the nerves slowly creep back into his stomach. He nods hastily, reaching into his back pocket where his wallet is. He sets it down beside Y/N on the counter. 

Y/N unbuttons his pants and pulls the zipper down, tantalizingly slow, being careful to avoid touching his erection. Still attacking his neck with kisses, she pushes both his jeans and boxers down and they land bunched around his ankles.

She can’t help but look. I mean, really, it’s human nature to be curious. 

His whole body is flushed red, or marked red by her fingernails and mouth, and that doesn’t exclude what he’s packing. And boy, is he packing. Y/N swallows at the sight. 

Spencer avoids eye contact now that he’s fully exposed but Y/N is gentle in bringing his eyes to hers. She kisses him. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Bathroom sex is just like normal, bed sex.” She laughs a little at her phrasing. 

Spencer just nods nervously, reaching next to her to pick up the condom. He rips the package open and, with slightly shaking hands, focuses on putting it on. 

After a few moments of fumbling hands, ragged breaths and a deep red blush that’s been slowly creeping up his neck, a smile slides across Y/N’s face. She places her hands over his and he looks up at her with worry in his eyes. “This is your first time doing this, huh?” 

He swallows nervously, a small nod of his head indicating that her assumption was correct. “Like, ever?” He nods again. She responds by bringing his lips to hers. Y/N kisses him gently, a lot more calm and composed than they had been walking into this bathroom. 

There’s still a nervousness about him but Y/N feels him relax into the kiss, slowly gaining back some of the confidence he had a minute ago. His tongue swipes over her bottom lip, her jaw dropping to allow him to search her mouth with his tongue as if he’s done this a hundred times before. 

Had she not asked, she never would have guessed that he was a virgin. Aside from the obvious nerves, which she had passed off as a combination of alcohol and public sex, there was nothing about the way he held himself that made her second guess it. 

His blush has completely taken over his face and it makes Y/N’s heart beat faster, if that is even possible because it was already running at a million beats per second. The taste of him overwhelms her senses which is why she lets out a small whine when he pulls away.

Spencer looks into Y/N’s eyes, his own glazed over with lust. “It’s okay.” She whispers, dragging her hand down his chest until it lands right above his sex. “I’ll teach you.”

He gulps, audibly gulps, as she wraps her hand around his cock. His forehead falls to her shoulder briefly as a barely audible “fuck” falls out of his mouth. 

Y/N shuts her eyes and tries to contain the excitement boiling inside of her.  

She slips the condom on with ease. Spencer watches her do it before looking up at her. Now she can see just how nervous he is. His hands are slightly fidgeting at his sides so she grabs them, placing them on her hips. 

She scoots forward enough for access while still being supported by the granite beneath her. Spencer’s hold on her hips tightens. 

Y/N hooks her hands behind his neck, giving him a nod of approval. “Whenever you’re ready, baby.” She whispers, looking in his eyes. Her entire demeanor has changed. She’s settled down so that he can enjoy this as much as possible and her eyes reflect that kindness.

Spencer removes one of his hands from her hips to help guide himself. He fumbles a little but after a few misses, his tip gently pushes into her. Y/N inhales sharply at the contact. 

“Is this okay?” Spencer asks hesitantly, searching Y/N’s eyes for any sign of regret. She nods her head enthusiastically, a whimper falling from her lips. 

“Yes, please, Spence, fuck me.” 

He obliges, inching into her slowly until he’s buried to the hilt. “You okay?” He asks again, freezing his motions. 

Y/N, overcome with pleasure, takes a minute to reply. “Please keep going.” 

He finds a steady rhythm. It takes him a bit of time but he gets there eventually, fueled on by the soft moans that fall sporadically from Y/N’s lips. His thrusts are slow at first, picking up in speed as he grows more confident. 

Spencer, being the person he is, knows everything there is to know about sex. But knowing about it and actually doing it are two very different things and he’s coming to that realization very fast. 

Words cannot describe how good this feels. The way her walls clench around his cock with every thrust. The feeling of her hands on his back, fingers pressing little crescents into his skin hard enough to leave a bruise. And the noises she makes when he hits that perfect spot, encouraging him to continue. 

Pure bliss is what it is. If this is what heaven’s like, Spencer Reid would gladly die in Y/N’s arms right now. 

Y/N hooks her ankles around his waist, pulling him closer. She gasps out a moan at the new angle, her head falling back. Spencer somehow manages to pull her hips even closer. He thrusts faster but at a steady pace that has Y/N’s legs shaking. 

“Spencer.” She moans when his lips attach onto her neck and start sucking the spot just above her collarbone. She’s close, which honestly shocks her. She also knows Spencer’s not going to last much longer, she doesn’t expect him to at least. 

“Shit.” He mumbles against her neck. 

“You gonna come?” Y/N asks between gasps of breath, one of her hands moving down to rub circles on her clit.

“Mmhmm.” Spencer moans. 

“Then come baby,” She encourages, getting closer to her own release now that her fingers are working are her core, electricity jolting her body. 

He tuts, a moan breaking the action. Y/N can tell he’s holding back. Spencer lifts his head so he’s looking at her and it nearly sends him over the edge, that look of pleasure plastered on her face. “Wanna wait, for, fuck- for you.” He manages out between moans. 

“I’m right behind you baby, just let go.” As if under her complete control, Spencer releases and within a second is tumbling over that edge, stilling inside her. His orgasm knocks the breath out of him.  

He’s jerked off before, had countless orgasms in the privacy of his own bed but nothing like this. Never like this. His head falls onto Y/N’s shoulder, slick with sweat.

The feeling of Spencer unloading inside her has Y/N coming, Spencer’s name leaving her lips in broken moans as she wraps her arms around him. 

Spencer remains motionless for a minute, trying to catch his breath. Y/N can���t fathom trying to move right now, so she welcomes the stillness, her hands rubbing Spencer’s back. 

After a moment, he stands up and helps clean Y/N up. She smiles the whole time at the gesture. After pulling his clothes back on, Spencer stands in front of Y/N. 

“That was…” Spencer breathed out, his hands landing on Y/N’s thighs. 

“Unexpected.” She finished his thought. “Amazing. Best you’ve ever had?” She laughs, her hands propped on his shoulders. 

“I have nothing to compare it to but I’ll get back to you on that.” Y/N laughed. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” She smiles. He leans in and kisses her softly. 

“It was definitely something.” Spencer says as he helps Y/N down from the counter, balancing her when she stumbles slightly under her weight. 

Spencer’s arm wraps around her waist. “It definitely was.” 

“Did you really think the night was going to end any differently?” He asks, repeating the words she had said to him right before everything changed.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “Nope. It was just what the doctor ordered.” 

[ri-ahhh]

if you do feel like writing, i've always thought you would really kill a concept about your first or one of your first dates with grayson!!😇 i feel like you capture his energy sooo well

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

She glanced up from her phone at the sound of a frantic voice, deep and familiar and slightly out of breath.

Her stomach swooped a little at the sight of Grayson towering above her. His cheeks were slightly flushed, hazel eyes wide and scared.

As they should be. She shook her head and let a smirk grace her freshly glossed lips, standing to greet him with a questioning, arched brow. Playing it as cool as she possibly can while dying slightly at (one) the relief flooding her chest and (two) how utterly fine he looked in those casual tailored pants and short sleeved button-down.

“You had me worried for a minute there, Dolan,” she admitted, the heels of her thigh-high boots making her the perfect height to lean up and peck his cheek both in greeting and as a silent acceptance of his apology.

Grayson kissed her back on her own cheek, and took her hand as they both sat down at the table she had been saving for nearly 45 minutes by then. His palm was warm and the perfect mix of calloused and soft, and his fingers squeezed hers as his thumb rubbed the backs of them gently.

“Really, I’m so fucking sorry. I totally forgot they opened a new location a few months ago. I feel like the biggest dick,” he pouted.

She shrugged, secretly enjoying listening to him grovel and watching him almost literally sweat in his seat. While they had hung out casually a couple of times, this was their first official date, and he had named the place... only to leave out some crucial information that left them at the same restaurant, on different sides of town.

“I think the waiter was starting to feel sorry for me. He asked if I was okay and gave me a free margarita about ten minutes ago,” she said, nodding to the mostly untouched glass of frozen slush in front of her.

“Fuck,” Grayson groaned, face-palming and tipping his head back. She finally let a full grin light up her face, biting her lip through it as she watched his Adam’s apple bob in the shadowy light of the restaurant.

He brought his head back to a normal position, and she caught the look of surprise flash in his eyes when he realized she wasn’t that upset. His lips turned up at the corner in a sheepish, crooked smile that made her melt a bit. “Well, if you weren’t gonna let me pay for dinner before, now you definitely have to.”

She giggled and squeezed his hand before letting go, bringing it to the straw of her margarita instead to give the melting ice a stir. “Yeah, I think I might allow it this one time.”

At that moment, the waiter, a jolly middle-aged Hispanic man, returned with two fresh water glasses and an excited shout. “Hey! He’s here!”

She and Grayson both blushed — Gray more so than her. He held up his hands and glanced down in defeat while she laughed heartily.

“He’s here!” she confirmed, resting her chin on her fist and observing the redness in his cheeks subside. “And he’s very sorry for keeping both of us waiting, Mateo.”

“Ay, I knew there was no way anyone was leaving this pretty lady alone on purpose,” Mateo winked. He turned a slightly stern gaze on Grayson. “Right?”

“Oh.. yeah, no, not on purpose,” he blubbered, unprepared for a barrage from the waiter of all people.

Mateo gave him a playful side eye and tutted. “Well, I’ll take care of both of you, and you take care of her, eh?”

Grayson stared, and she had to bite back more laughter at the look of utter bewilderment on his handsome face. “Uh, yes, of course. We were just discussing that, actually.”

The waiter grunted in approval, but left them with a wink after accepting their order of guac to go with the chips and salsa already on the table.

“Why do I feel like I just met your dad?” he asked, watching the man disappear into the kitchen with a shake of his head, slightly dazed.

She swallowed her sip of margarita and smiled. “Oh, you wouldn’t have met my dad if he saw me sitting here alone longer than 15 minutes. He would have been out on the hunt for you.”

“Shit,” he mumbled. “This is gonna take a while to live down, isn’t it?”

“Let’s just say, I can’t wait to tell your brother what an idiot you are.”

“Oh god. That would make ‘a while’ quickly become ‘never.’”

They slipped into easy conversation, as they always did. It was seamless and flowing, made even better by the delicious dinner they had. The little bit of tequila in her system was affecting her in all the right ways by the time Mateo cleared the table and handed Grayson the check without even asking.

They had been sitting across from one another the whole night, but Grayson slid into the seat next to her once Mateo was gone for good. His big, warm palm found her knee, and his fingertips squeezed just enough to send a shock up her thigh, electrifying all of her.

She reached up and swiped at a little drop of water clinging to the inside of his top lip, letting her hand linger on his stubbled cheek so she could stroke it affectionately with her thumb.

“Thanks for not standing me up,” she said quietly, barely audible over the loud mariachi music blasting through the restaurant. She pressed the pad of her thumb into a cute dimple in his cheek.

“You’re welcome,” he joked back, twisting his head and nipping playfully at the digit, eyes locked on hers. “I would have missed out on a pretty awesome date.”

Her teeth caught her lower lip. “And an even better nightcap,” she added suggestively.

She felt as much as she heard his sharp little inhale, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, siding her hand down his chest until it rested on his, interlacing their fingers before she stood up decisively. “I think you’ve redeemed yourself.”

Grayson chuckled, but there was suddenly a heat in his eyes that undoubtedly matched that in her own. He followed her up and turned to lead her out of the restaurant. “Let’s fucking go.”

Mateo gave them an enthusiastic wink and a thumbs up as they left.

“I think you got his approval after all,” she laughed, sliding into the passenger seat of his car. Hers would be fine in the well-lit lot until he could bring her back to it at some point later.

Much later, if she had it her way.

“Oh hell yeah,” he muttered, already reaching across the console to coax her closer with a gentle hand on the side of her neck. “Think he would approve of what I’m about to do to you?”

Before she could answer, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her in a slow, heated kiss that set her whole body on fire. Her hand gripped his veined forearm tightly as she kissed him back. She hummed quietly when they finally separated, both of them breathing heavily. “How about we leave Mateo out of this from now on?”

“Great idea,” he whispered, diving back in quickly, their happy smiles melding together. He pulled back reluctantly after a minute, nodding at her seatbelt as he sat back and fastened his own with a wink.

“One car this time; I’ll make sure we both get to the right spot, at the same time.”

[ericsonclan]

Silver Bells

Summary: Ruby and Aasim finish up some last minute Christmas shopping for their kids.

Word Count: 1482

Read on AO3:

A burst of cold air blew through the store as Aasim and Ruby hurried inside, shivering despite being bundled up to ward off the cold. As they trudged inside, they paused for a moment to shake off the snow from their boots onto the entrance mats before grabbing a cart and heading down the main aisle. Aasim pushed the cart while Ruby pulled up the shared list they had composed of Christmas gifts for their children. There were only a few items left.

“Where to first?” Aasim asked, loosening the scarf round his neck now that they had entered warmer surroundings.

“Well, the toy aisle should have most if not all of these, so let’s head there first,” Ruby rested her hand on her husband’s arm as they strolled toward the back of the store. “Christmas really snuck up on me this year. What with all the Christmas parties and Secret Santas and White Elephants I plum forgot to finish holiday shopping before break like we usually do. Now look at us, rooting through the aisles just a few days before Christmas. We’ll be lucky if we find everything on the list,”

“We’re not doing that badly,” Aasim gently retorted, smiling in an attempt to cheer up his wife’s glum expression. “Most of the presents are already wrapped and under the tree; there’s no sense beating yourself up for the few we haven’t found yet,”

“Still…” Ruby pouted, unable to shake her guilt. She knew she was being silly, but sometimes her perfectionism got the better of her just like Aasim’s did in matters of work or the children’s’ education.

“I got a shipping notification for the personalized storybook we ordered for Aniyah. It’ll be here day after tomorrow,”

“Thank goodness! I was worried we were cutting it close there,” Ruby smiled at the thought of her youngest opening the gift. It was one of those cloth books with a little plush dolly attached to it that the reader could put on each page to interact with the story. Ruby couldn’t wait to read it to her daughter and guide her tiny hands as she placed the doll in bed or by the breakfast table or waiting for the bus.

Aasim had his own phone open, but his showed the app for the store, providing a directory of the items in stock. “What’s first on our list?”

“One of those Junior Inventors kits for Zachariah. I have a coupon saved for it right…” Ruby leaned forward and tapped her husband’s screen, “There,”

Aasim nodded, switching back to the directory. “Looks like it should be on one of the end displays on the toy aisles. If we just turn down this one it should be on our left,” Aasim abruptly turned the cart, causing Ruby to scurry to keep up. He let out a triumphant hum as they stopped in front of a display full of Junior Inventors kits. “There we go, we have our pick of the litter,”

Ruby examined the options carefully before picking a box without any dents or dings and placing it carefully in the cart. “That’s one down, four to go,”

“We’re on a roll,” Turning round the cart, Aasim headed up the nearest aisle. “When Zachariah opens that, let’s make sure he knows that the experiments are meant to take place at his desk, not the dining room table,” The fire that had been accidentally set off with the contents of the last junior science box, while not burning long enough to singe more than the tablecloth, had been truly terrifying for both parents.

“Oh, he knows. Zach has been very careful with all his equipment since then… though maybe when he’s a bit older we can tell him about some of his father’s youthful exploits with fire,”

“Perish the thought,” Aasim tutted, drawing a giggle from his wife. He paused midway through the aisle; they had reached the toy horse section. “Does Savannah like any breed of horse in particular?”

“Ever since Jesse took her on a ride with Adsila she’s been wild about appaloosas. She keeps finding pictures of them online and printing them out to add to her door. Had to tell her to cut back since she was using up all the colored ink,”

“Perhaps having an appaloosa of her own will quell her obsession, even if it’s just in miniature form,” Searching the shelf, Aasim spotted a brown and white horse that was a good approximation to Jesse’s own. He placed it in the cart then glanced over at his wife’s list to see what else was on it. “Where to next?”

“The toddler aisle should be just a few rows down. We’re looking for the Hello Suzy Talking Telephone,”

The pair reached the end of the aisle and turned right, soon finding the toddler toys and their quarry. The baby pink telephone was bedazzled in plastic diamonds for buttons and its box boasted of all the different talking features the toy possessed. There were only two left. After careful consideration Ruby chose the one on the left. “Hopefully this’ll entertain Aniyah enough to leave the real phone alone. If I have to pick that thing off the floor one more time I’m gonna go stir crazy,”

“It claims to teach the alphabet,” Aasim noted, reading a speech bubble on the back of the box. “I wonder how Education Kids Online rated it,”

“Not every toy has to be about learning, ‘Sim,” Ruby replied, amused by her husband’s musings. “Now let’s head over to the craft aisle. The craft bracelet kits should be there,”

Sure enough, there were a few different bracelet kits to choose from in the craft aisle. Ruby pointed out the Friendship4Ever set on the top shelf. “That’s the best one according to Savannah. Danica got it for her birthday, and it has loads of instructions on all sorts of bracelet styles,”

Aasim reached up to grab the box for his wife and handed it over. “That reminds me, Savannah mentioned a sleepover next Monday. Did she tell you about it?”

“Yeah, it’s happening over at Brody and Mitch’s place. Lark will be there too; Duck’s dropping her off early at our house and we’ll give her a ride over. Brody’s renting 13 Going on 30 for the girls – should be quite the slumber party,”

“Maybe you should be the one to drive her over. You could catch up with Brody, make a girls’ night out of it,” Aasim suggested, guiding the cart forward.

“I do love that movie…” Ruby mused. “But I’d rather watch it with just Brody and me rather than keeping track of the girls while they’re all hyped up on soda and popcorn. Maybe I’ll drop by the next day with some charcuterie and Brody and I can watch it then,”

“And I’ll be stuck with pickup duty?” Aasim replied, playfully quirking an eyebrow.

“You’re the one who put the idea of a ‘girls’ night’ in my head in the first place,” Ruby retorted, the glint in her eyes matching her husband’s. Her attention returned to the shopping list a moment later. “Last item on our list…” she squinted at the words. “Do they sell calligraphy sets here?”

“They do. I checked,” Aasim turned into the next aisle, seeming to know exactly where they were headed. Moments later they stopped near the end of the stationery aisle. Aasim picked out a slim box which read My First Calligraphy Set. “Zachariah enjoyed the pen pal program at school so much I thought he’d enjoy learning how to craft truly artistic penmanship,”

“Like father like son,” Ruby smiled fondly at her husband. “I’m sure he’ll love it,”

Aasim nodded; a proud smile rested on his lips at the thought of passing on his knowledge to his firstborn. “Well, with that our Christmas shopping is completed. Shall we check out?”

“Let’s,” Ruby walked alongside her husband toward the front of the store. “I still have a few things to pick out for you so I’m not quite done yet but those shouldn’t take long,”

“Oh? Should I attempt to guess what you’ve chosen for me?” Aasim teased, already knowing his wife’s reply.

“Absolutely not. You focus on your own gift giving, mister, and leave me to mine,” Having reached the checkout counter, Ruby greeted the cashier then began unloading the cart.

It was a fairly quick checkout. A few minutes later the couple found themselves back out in the snow but only for a few minutes as they hurried to their car, laden with gifts that were sure to brighten their children’s day come Christmas morn. With only a few more sleeps till Christmas, anticipation filled the air as they started up the van, cranked the heat and pulled out of the parking lot, headed home to wrap their newly-bought presents and tuck them snugly under the tree.

[little-ligi]

Febuwhump - No.23

No.23 - “Don’t Look” Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1908 @febuwhump​

Leon dropped his sword with a short yelp as Percival’s blade bit into his arm. A fraction of a second later Percival had dropped his own sword as well and had a firm grip on Leon’s non-injured arm.

“I’m sorry, Leon!”

His face looked stricken and he ever so gently pulled Leon’s arm towards himself to look at the cut.

“No, Percival, it was my fault,” Leon told him, looking down at the blood seeping through his grey shirt.

It was his fault; he’d raised his arm into Percival’s swing, trying to catch the flat of the blade with his elbow and force it away from his face. It was a move he had performed many a time and it worked exceedingly well when his elbow was protected by couter and chainmail.

But today was a rather hot day however, so the knights had been training in just shirts. And where Percival’s sword would have slid off of Leon’s chainmail, without the armour it instead sliced into his bicep.

He hissed as Percival rolled his sleeve up.

Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇

“Oh, it looks deep,” the big knight said in distress.

The others had all noticed now and hurried over. Arthur pulled Leon closer to have a look and Lancelot put a hand under his elbow to support him.

“It’ll need stitches,” Arthur said grimly. “You’ll have to go up to Gaius.”

Leon sighed; he hated stitches. But Arthur was right; it was too deep to leave it untended. Elyan handed over a wad of cloth and Arthur pressed it firmly to the wound.

“I’ll take you to Gaius’s,” Lancelot offered.

“No, I’m fine. I can manage,” Leon protested, not wanting to be fussed over like an invalid. He pulled the cloth from Arthur’s hand and held it himself against his arm. “You all carry on, I’ll be back down as soon as Gaius has sewn me up.” He attempted a grin but it was probably more of a grimace.

“Are you sure, Leon?” Arthur asked sincerely, his blue eyes boring into Leon’s.

“Yes, Sire, I’ll manage. Seriously, Lancelot, I’m fine,” he added when the other knight made to argue. “Thank you, but I’ll be alright.”

Percival didn’t seem to want to let go of his arm but after clapping Leon on the back, Arthur called them back to training. Gwaine threw an arm around Percival’s waist, tugging him into his side.

“Come on, big man, see if we can get through the rest of the day without you mutilating anyone else,” he joked. Percival frowned, watching Leon even as Gwaine dragged him away.

“I’m really sorry,” he said again.

“Don’t worry, Percival, I’m fine.”

“I’ll come up and find you after practice,” Lancelot promised.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Leon huffed and ignored the way Lancelot raised his eyebrow in scepticism.

Lancelot gave his other arm a squeeze then Leon turned and began making his way back up to the palace. Once he was in the courtyard and out of sight of the other knights, he pulled the cloth away from his arm and had a better look at the wound. It was deep, and still bleeding profusely, but the edges were clean and straight and it looked like it would be simple enough to sew.

He staggered a little as he got to the steps up to the physician’s chambers, but just about made it up without falling over. He had to stop and lean against the wall once he was at the top of the stairs, his head swimming. Trying to get control of his feet, even though his dizzy head was not making it any easier, he stumbled towards Gaius’s door and knocked, lifting the latch and wobbling through when he heard a shout of “yeah?” from inside.

Merlin jumped up from the desk where he’d been sitting reading, slamming his book shut and stuffing it underneath a pile of parchment.

“Leon? What happened?”

“I forgot I wasn’t wearing my mail,” he said wryly, swaying slightly and leaning back against the door. “I don’t suppose Gaius is around?”

“He’s tending to the king,” Merlin said with a hopeless sort of twist to his lips.

“Ah…”

He tried to concentrate on the room in front of him, but it seemed to be spinning.

“Whoa, are you alright?” Merlin hurried over, putting a steadying hand on Leon’s back and guiding him over to the little cot Gaius had set up for patients. “I’m surprised Arthur didn’t send someone up with you to make sure you got here without falling flat on your face.”

He pushed him down and Leon sat with a bump, shaking his head to try and rid it of the woozy feeling. Sitting down was certainly helping.

“I didn’t need help; I managed.”

Merlin had obviously been practicing the look he gave Leon; he looked just like Gaius with that one eyebrow raised. And he tutted just like the old physician as well.

“Here, let me look.”

Kneeling beside the cot and taking the cloth from Leon’s hand, Merlin peeled it away from his arm. He hissed when he saw the wound, dabbing carefully at it with the cloth.

“That will need stitching back up,” he said, biting his lip.

“’S’what Arthur said.” Leon nodded.

“Oh,” Merlin said with a chuckle. “He does know some things then.” He bit his lip again. “I can go and fetch Gaius?”

“Not if he is with the king. The king needs him more than I do.” Uther hadn’t been the same since Lady Morgana had turned on them. He hadn’t said anything about what had happened when he’d been chained up in his own dungeons, but Gaius suspected he had been tortured. Tortured so severely his mind had been damaged.

“Can you…?” Leon asked, gesturing to Merlin and then to his wounded arm.

Merlin shrugged, but jumped up and started collecting things from Gaius’s bench.

“I’ve never – Gaius has showed me how and I’ve watched him do it so many times – but I’ve never done it…”

As he spoke he put a needle, silk thread, a pair of scissors, bowl of water, and a clean cloth down on the stool beside the cot. So far, he seemed proficient enough in his knowledge. He also passed Leon a cup of something that smelt rather like rose bathwater, indicating that he drink it, while he washed his hands in a basin by the window.

“I think you would do it well, Merlin,” Leon said, looking up at the servant over the rim of the cup. It tasted very like rose bathwater as well, but the dizziness seemed to ease a little.

“I am quite good at sewing,” Merlin said with a smile, kneeling down again and beginning to thread the needle. “You’ve seen my needlework on Arthur’s shirts! Did you notice there was a mended rip all the way down the side of his shirt today?”

“No?” Leon screwed his eyes up, trying to make his foggy mind remember what Arthur was wearing.

“Aha, that’s because of my fine stitching!” Merlin grinned at him. Leon smiled back, not wanting to tell Merlin that he probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway. “I was taught by the best.”

“Gwen?” Leon guessed, as she was certainly the best seamstress he knew of.

“Exactly.” Merlin dipped the cloth in the water he had brought over, wiping the blood from around the wound on Leon’s arm. “Now, are you sure you don’t want me to get Gaius instead?”

“I trust you.”

Merlin beamed. “Alright. Look away and just try to keep as still as possible.”

Leon gritted his teeth and turned his head away, watching a bunch of lavender that was hanging from the ceiling slowly swaying in the breeze from the window. A sharp stab made him wince and squint down at his arm; Merlin had begun stitching, the needle and thread tugging at the edge of the wound. With a hiss of pain, he looked away again, muttering curses under his breath.

“Sorry,” Merlin whispered, intent on his work.

A few more painful stabs and tugs later, Leon turned to look again. He was impressed with the efficiency of Merlin’s work, the steady care he was taking reminding Leon of a real physician. The stitches were tiny and very neat.

“Leon.” Merlin looked up at him then gently pushed Leon’s cheek to turn his head away. “Don’t look.”

“But –” Leon started to protest, trying to see his arm again but Merlin cut him off with a raised hand.

“No, I can’t concentrate if you’re looking. You’re putting me off my embroidery.” He gave him a silly smile before his face settled back into the determined expression, a little crease between his eyebrows. “Don’t look.”

Leon let his gaze roam over the bookshelf as Merlin continued, resisting the urge to look back every time he felt the slack on the thread as Merlin stopped pulling each stitch. He almost wished he was still dizzy, as at least then he would be focussing all of his attention on trying to stay upright rather than on the stinging aching pain of his arm.

After what felt like hours, but surely hadn’t been, Merlin gave one final tug that made Leon gasp, and snipped the end of the thread off.

“There we are!” Merlin said proudly. “You can look now.”

Leon lifted his elbow to get a better look at the wound. It was closed up with the nicest stitches Leon had ever seen – dare he say even better than Gaius’s.

“Thank you, Merlin.” He gave him a clap on the back before letting his hand catch in Merlin’s hair to ruffle it.

“You’re welcome. Let me just get some honey and I’ll bandage it.”

He got back to his feet, a bounce in his step as he went over to Gaius’s workbench again. He had a satisfied grin on his face, and Leon found himself mirroring it with a proud smile of his own.

There was a knock at the door as Merlin came back over with the honey and then Lancelot poked his head around the door.

“You got here alright, then?” he asked, coming in, followed by Percival who was still looking guilty and sheepish.

“Only just,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. “Nearly fell on his face when he got here.”

Lancelot gave Leon a look, which Leon chose to ignore.

“Is Gaius not here?” Percival asked quietly, worry breaking over his face.

“No, but Merlin stitched it.”

He held his arm up to show off the neat stitches.

“Not too bad, is it?” Merlin said, wiping the edge of the wound with the cloth again, catching a small bead of blood. “I was tempted to embroider my name so everyone would know who stitched him up so beautifully.”

Lancelot laughed. “Save that for when you need to sew up Arthur.”

Merlin grinned wickedly. He spread honey over the top of the stitches then wrapped a bandage around Leon’s bicep, Lancelot holding it so he could tie the ends.

“All done,” he said, patting Leon’s hand.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

Leon stood and was immediately pulled into a tight hug by Percival.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Percival, it happens,” he said after returning the tight hug, his hand coming up to cup the back of Percival’s neck briefly. “And luckily, we’ve got a very talented embroiderer here to take care of us.”

Merlin beamed.

[sincerelyreidburke]

study break

“Take a break, baby.”

Quinn isn’t sure he’s ever been more grateful for a voice of reason. He looks up from his chemistry textbook for the first time in what has to be at least thirty minutes, and Sebastián, just back from his run across campus to the café, is a welcome sight to behold as he approaches. He holds a bag in one hand, and some kind of warm drink in the other. His cheeks are a little flushed, and there are snowflakes in his curls, where they stick out from under his stocking cap.

“I got you a tea,” he adds, with a gentle, handsome smile, and places the cup down like a peace offering onto Quinn’s disaster table. When he sits in the empty spot beside him on the couch, it sinks with his weight, and Quinn tips toward him naturally.

“Thank you,” he manages to get out, and then, as Sebastián wraps his arm around him, he presses into his shoulder to yawn. “What time is it?”

“Four-thirty,” Sebastián replies, which is an atrocity, because it’s entirely dark outside the windows. Quinn has occupied this same spot in the basement of the dorm for nearly the entire afternoon, trying to prepare as much as possible for his Chem 100 exam tomorrow. Exam season is in full swing, as the last days of the semester approach, and Quinn can almost feel the academic stress like a physical weight on his shoulders.

It’s been a busy weekend.

He grumbles, and rests his face against Sebastián’s sweatshirt. “I think I was just reading the same page for ten minutes straight.”

“You should take a break,” Sebastián repeats, rubbing his back. “I got you a grilled cheese.”

“Oh my goodness,” Quinn mumbles, eyeing the bag from the café. This boy is too good to him. “Tea and you bought me dinner?”

“I mean.” Sebastián pauses. “This should count as lunch. Since you forgot about that in your study coma.”

“I’m just— agh.” He squeezes his eyes shut and swats lightly at his chest. This sweatshirt is a nice one, bright Kiersey blue with gold lettering, not something from the hockey team but just from the bookstore. Quinn might want to take it home for winter break, but even that absentminded thought is something he wants to push aside.

Five days from now, he’ll be on a plane bound for six weeks in Michigan, where it’s back to the gray, isolated, artificial life he was living before this lovely first semester of college. Sebastián will be very far away, and they’re fully aware of that fact, ready to face it together, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be any easier to suddenly not have him around when he’s gotten so used to him. And though it’s a big part, it’s not only the distance from his boyfriend he isn’t looking forward to. He’ll be far from his drama friends, from doing the things he enjoys, from any semblance of having a life at all. Winter break comes with a regularly scheduled dose of his grandparents, a basement bedroom, and repression of self to the highest degree.

For now, it’s easier to focus on exams. And the large, lovely boy hugging him close to his chest. “Are you nervous?” Sebastián is asking, somewhere above him.

“Not so much nervous.” Quinn releases him to look out over his schoolwork again. He really should tidy up this table. The poor custodian would have his head on a spit if he could see how many class notes, books, and pens Quinn has scattered over it this afternoon. “More... anticipatory.”

“I know what you mean.” Sebastián is quiet for a second as he leans forward to gather all his chemistry notes into a semi-neat stack. He places them on top of his current page in the textbook, then closes it on them, to save his spot. When he leans back on the couch again, he takes the tea with him, and sniffs before taking a sip. It’s peppermint. Because this boy knows the way to his heart.

“You should eat, though,” Sebastián insists, while he drinks. “I called Remy and Rho to come down here. We can hang out. You can have a little study break.”

Quinn nods. He thinks the version of himself who set out on this chemistry mission a few hours ago would sooner fight Sebastián tooth and nail than take a break, but now, in the dark, snowy quiet of the early afternoon, he’s ready for a break. His head hurts a little from all the reading, and he’s put in a good effort. The exam is at ten tomorrow, and the night is young.

He pulls his grilled cheese from the bag; there’s an order of fries inside, too, and a cookie for good measure. “My dear,” he says, as he’s examining the food. “I’ll owe you a meal.”

“Ehh.” Sebastián shrugs; his curls bounce a little. His smile is self-satisfied and charming. “You can buy me lunch tomorrow after your test.”

Quinn smiles back, and tips up to kiss his cheek. “Deal.”

He sets the takeout container with sandwich and fries in his lap, and leans back into Sebastián’s shoulder, tucking his feet up onto the couch. Sebastián is looking at his phone, and laughs a moment before he announces, “Ben’s on his way. He kidnapped Remy from the library.”

“Oh, goodness,” Quinn mumbles. “Remy may kill him for that.”

“Yeah, I think that’s possible.” Sebastián tucks his phone away. Quinn offers him up a fry, but he pushes it away. “No— you eat first, baby.”

Quinn can do that. He knows that whatever he doesn’t finish, Sebastián will take care of for him, so he enters into grilled cheese euphoria without another thought on the matter. Nobody does a grilled cheese like the grill cook at the Bluegrass Café. Yet another thing about college he’ll miss over break. Oma’s cooking isn’t exactly anything to write home about.

“How’s your studying going?” he asks, as he eats. Sebastián already had one exam, yesterday, but he has three more to go, one of which is for his intro to sociology class, tomorrow afternoon.

“I feel good,” Sebastián says. “I’ll study more in the morning, though. I was doing study prayers earlier. I said one for you.”

“You—” Quinn pauses, with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “You did?”

“Yeah!” The way he says it is so carefree, like he hasn’t just made Quinn’s heart flutter. “I’ve said a couple,” he adds. “I said one before you had that big lab practical last week.”

Quinn wonders if he’s red in the face, as he looks up at him. Logically, of course he knows— has known— that Sebastián is very religious. He wears it on his person, quite literally, with the cross around his neck, and figuratively, too, as he’s spoken openly about faith since Quinn first met and got to know him. But this— this in particular is new information. And it puts something warm and fuzzy in Quinn’s heart.

“What?” Sebastián has noticed now that Quinn is staring at him. He smiles just a little, as he asks, “You okay, cariño?”

He doesn’t exactly mean to blurt it out, but his head is so in the clouds that he doesn’t get the chance to stop himself. “You pray for me?”

Sebastián looks— well, maybe not surprised, exactly, by this question, but at least a little confused. “Of course I do,” he says, without a second’s hesitation. “I pray for you all the time.”

Quinn is most definitely red in the face now. He takes too long to respond, though, because Sebastián speaks again, with a tinge of insecurity in his voice. “Is that— weird?” he asks, then starts to scramble. “If it makes you uncomf—”

“No— no, Sebastián, no. It isn’t weird. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” He hurries to shut down any doubt, and, to his relief, the worry fades from Sebastián’s face as quickly as it showed up. He presses his palm flat to his chest, and looks right into his eyes as he adds, “I just think it’s incredibly sweet.”

“Oh.” Sebastián pauses a second, then smiles, that big, goofy grin that Quinn fell head over heels for barely a month ago. He somehow feels like it’s been a lot longer than that. “Well, yeah, I— I do it. It’s just— like, natural. I couldn’t imagine not doing it. I mean, you’re my—” He shakes his head, pausing again, and then remarks, “I pray for everyone I care about.”

Goodness, Quinn is in so deep with this boy. His cheeks burn as he smiles up at him, and then presses forward to kiss him, a gentle little peck but a sweet thing all the same. “I think that’s so lovely,” he says. “And thank you. For doing that for me.”

“I always will,” Sebastián says, like there’s never been another way.

Quinn is getting used to the idea of always.

He gives him another kiss, to make up for his loss for words, and Sebastián is making like he’s going to pull him into his lap when the rude interruption comes.

“Okay, simp city! Break it up!”

Quinn jolts, and doesn’t even need to look to know who the voice belongs to. At the foot of the basement stairs, and, by the looks of it, fresh from the outdoors, Ben is classically boisterous and disruptive, and has a less-than-impressed Remy in tow. Like Sebastián was when he returned from the café, they’re a little snowy and windblown.

“There’s no PDA in the basement,” Ben adds, tutting at the both of them, as he strolls over to the table. “I’ll snitch you to the RA.”

"That isn’t a real rule, Benjamin,” Quinn mutters, in lieu of a greeting.

“Snitches get stitches,” Sebastián adds, and mimes shooting Ben with a finger-pistol.

“You’re right, but for you two schmoopy fucks? I’d risk it all.” Ben tosses himself onto the couch on the other side of Quinn’s disaster table, and Remy, who still does not look impressed, takes the armchair next to it, since Ben has occupied the couch’s entire real estate via sprawling.

Quinn looks to him, as he digs into his backpack. “How are you, Remy?”

“I have so much vocabulary to memorize,” Remy mumbles, and presses his forehead into his hand before he adds, “Life is bleak.”

“Aw, you can do it, Rem.” Sebastián leans forward to drum on the table, like he’s trying to lift his spirits. “We believe in you!”

“I’m going to need all the belief I can get,” Remy replies, and then pulls a notebook out of his backpack.

“Q, is this your mess?” Ben puts his Vans up on the disaster table. “I expected more organization from Mr. ‘I Can’t Leave The Dorm; These Are My Inside Shoes’.”

“Oh, hush,” Quinn replies. “It’s not my fault I have rules about what constitutes sensible footwear for the snow.”

Ben folds his arms and arches an eyebrow. “And yet you don’t have rules about sensible study strategies?”

Quinn throws a fry across the table at him. Remy snorts, but does not look up from his notebook. “Ooh, delicious,” Ben remarks, even though the fry lands on the ground. “Where’d you get the food?”

He picks up the unfinished half of his grilled cheese, and waves it at Ben. “Sebastián graciously did a Bluegrass run for me.”

“You fucking traitor,” Ben whispers, eyes on Sebastián. “You got food for him and not for me?”

“He’s nice to me,” Sebastián replies.

“Ouch.” Ben puts a hand on his heart, bows his head, and remarks, “Message received. We’ll see who lets you in next time you’re locked out of the room at two AM.”

Sebastián sticks his tongue out at Ben, and Quinn laughs. Tucked under Sebastián’s arm on this couch, with snow falling outside, he has a lot to attend to— and cleaning up his disaster table is just the start of it. It’s going to be a busy week, between exams, packing, and saying goodbyes, but right now, he won’t think that far ahead.

Right now, he’ll give himself permission. Right now, he’ll take a break.

[vinylhazza]

44 Seems so funny 😂

prompt list

44. You fix your hair in the reflection of a window to see them smiling at you through it.

you’re simply panicking. just absolutely not okay. not only were you late for work, the coffee pot had decided to crap shit somewhere between you setting the alarm last night and waking up this morning. you were certain you saw the flashing yellow light before you turned out of the kitchen and trotted back to your room in nothing but a massive t-shirt and your underwear. it had been your dad’s that he gave to you when you were just a sophomore in college, and you’d used it as a pj shirt every since.

you simply couldn’t function without your coffee. but apparently the world had a different plan for your Monday morning. if there was one thing you couldn’t go without in the morning above anything else (yes anything) it was coffee. coffee was essential. if you didn’t have coffee? the headaches that would follow were (for a lack of a better term) unbearable.

your phones sing-song alarm wasn’t with the program either apparently. on any normal day, you were rolling out of the comfort of your weighted comforter and clicking on an alarm that sounded at exactly 7:30. not this morning. no, of course not. by the time your eyelashes fluttered open and your arms raised in a stretch, joints pulling and aches eased in ways that just felt too good to be true, your phones bright white numbers told you, you weren’t just a little late. you were an hour late. an hour late to one of the best jobs you’ve ever had. one that would open so many opportunities in your career path. a job you had to jump through hoops for, use several comnections for. you vowed to never screw it up. and there you were, staring at the phone like a deer in the headlights.

“how the fuck?!” you gasp at the screen, snatching it with a scrunched up face of anguish, unlocking it with aggressive taps against the glass, and swiping right over to the ‘Clock’ icon.

you hadn’t set the damn alarm. you hadn’t even set the fucking alarm. obviously, if the alarm isn’t set, it’s not going to go off. how stupid could you be? how ignorant does one have to be to not set an alarm that they set every day? it had been engraved into your normal everyday routine, but with such a busy weekend under your belt - you were a bit more frazzled than usual. no excuse, but you still used it to at least make your frantic heart hurt a little less. you used that same excuse as motivation to jump from the mattress in a hurry, throwing your closet doors open with a lovely case of bedhead. you couldn’t be bothered to pat the hair down before you tugged at several hangers, deciding for once that there was no time to be picky. pick out a dress and go. you’ve wasted enough time laying in bed like a lump.

you did your best to manage the mess you’d made of yourself in your restless sleep, brushing through the tangles in your mess of hair, brushing your teeth aggressively, slipping on the blush colored dress that falls right above your knees - it’s one of your favorites- and smooth out some wrinkles from the fist you’d balled around the fabric during your haste to the bathroom. you’re throwing on just a minimal amount of makeup and examining yourself in the mirror before you throw your purse over your shoulder and rushed out of the door, texting a quick “on my way! running a little late this morning!” to your boss on your way out the door. without your keys of course. which only caused another hold up on such an important day of work. the sat mocking you on the coffee table and you curse yourself for not putting them on the key ring by the door. the second time you shut your door, it’s a firm slam that shocks the daily lights out of your next door neighbor who also seems a bit flustered - causing yet another tragedy. you just couldn’t win today. the poor older woman sat staring at you with a white button up blazer now scattered with brown coffee stains, her cup half empty in her hand.

“i am so sorry ms. berta! i’m running a little late today and i forgot my keys i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to scare you i just-“ you rambled on, stalking a bit closer to examine the damage you’d caused to the only neighbor that ever even waved in your direction. guess that’s about to end after this.

she holds up a shaky hand to stop you, wrinkled eyes closed in an attempt to calm herself - surely she would be yelling if she didn’t take a breather. the coffee was hot of course. but she understands. she’s a reasonable woman, she’s been around for a long time, and the young face staring at her in absolute horror just softened her right up. she knows how awful the feeling of being late really is. it’s a burst of adrenaline and when you have to go- you have to go. the older woman had no where to be of course, so she would have time to chance. no harm no foul. with a tiny shake of her head she’s shooting you a forced smile and a little wave in the direction of the elevator.

“it’s alright, dear. i didn’t like this shirt very much, anyhow. go on now, it looks like you’re in quite a rush to get to that job,” she tuts, turning to unlock her own apartment door quietly, eyebrows furrowed down in agitation.

with your opening to leave, you’re all but sprinting down the hallway and pressing the down arrow on the elevator rapidly - the orange color only mocking you further- you’re willing the cramped box to arrive at your floor just a little faster.

come on come on come on - ding.

with a huff and roll of your eyes, you’re stepping through the sliding doors and into the elevator, bouncing as much as you could in your heels impatiently, breathing heavy from rushing out of your apartment so fast. you knew your feet were going to hurt like hell when you returned home after such a long day ahead of you. the thought alone had you sighing. thankfully no one else was in the elevator to see how panicked you really looked.

it was...intriguing to say the least, that every single day there is something new to look at in LA. someone new to meet. someone to laugh with, someone to stay away from, the world kept turning, moving fast paced. except on days you were late - time seemed to pass slower than ever. every morning you walked to work - it was easier that way. it was a few blocks away and you had been used to walking around college before you nailed the job, and then before that with high school. you just loved to feel the wind on your face and sun shining down even if it did make your hair a bit frizzy sometimes when the humidity was rising. but today, oh my gosh today would be the day to have a car. you’re clicking against the cement, pushing through rude bystandards that watch you go through the beginning of your psychotic break you’re sure.

and there, your saving grace. your favorite coffee shop. it had been one of the first loves when you moved out to California. first you’d been in a small suburb, then you made the leap of moving into the big city. it was something you were unsure about from the beginning but to get the job you really wanted...you had to have access to bigger and better things. LA was that place for you. but the smaller coffee shop was always your spot to go when you needed a pick-me-up, a treat, or even just a coffee to keep you functioning like today. you debated for a moment whether the stop was worth it just for coffe - and you concluded quickly that yes. yes it was.

without so much as a look across the street, you brave it and follow the crowd across the cross-walk, pace quickening with the mere sight of the sign hanging over the door. a flashing sign you’ve seen a thousand times, but gets you giddy each and every time still. you can almost smell it now, the sweet smell of the shops signature cream that they sneak into your latte, cinnamon right across the top, the coffee beans roasting, the richness of the fresh cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins that always wait for you behind the glass at the front register. you always made sure to grab either one for your boss as well, gotta get on their good side. usually cinnamon rolls for the win. God it was heaven. 

but of course, vanity shines through when you come upon the large windows at the front of the shop, doing a double take at your reflection. you can tell that your cowlick is acting up again, making the hairs near your forehead go up in a strange odd looking shape, like you pushed it back but forgot to pin it and it got stuck that way. you surely couldn’t go to work looking so stupid. but you should have known better. you should have known to not walk right up to the glass, lean in close and try to tame the stupid hairs that never could cooperate. you just wanted to look presentable for your favorite place and for work.

but then a pair of eyes caught you. caught meaning with within the minute you realize that...yes...this is a window...and yes...other people inside can see you pampering yourself in the window. and one of those people happen to have their eyes latched onto your shocked expression through the glass, and has a dashing smile that knocks the air right from your chest. you’ve seen countless people do the very same thing, and it’s been a running joke of the shop ever since you started frequenting the quaint little café. watching people embarrass themselves was something you’ve found yourself laughing at. but this time it was you. and you didn’t like it one bit. this has to be some sort of joke the world was playing on you.

you’re jerking back from the glass with a gasp and turning promptly towards the door when you make out the man in the window, a devilishly handsome face that makes it even more embarassing that you’ve smoothed out your mess of a hair right in front of him. fixing a cowlick definitely isn’t the way to look presentable in front of a man that looked like the one in the window. just from the one look in the window, you can tell he’s sure to break the hearts of many women.

it’s not that bad. sure that was embarassing, but all you have to do is go in, order your coffee like normal. you don’t even have to look around. you don’t have to pay attention to him. just go to the register and start talking like nothing happened. you prep yourself in your head, grasping the brass door handle and pulling open with cheeks that feel like fire.

your favroite barista Julian is already laughing, covering his mouth in an attempt to hide the smile which only makes it more mortifying. you really shouldn’t have stopped.

“i thought we laughed at people that did what you just did, y/n,” he coughs out through the laughter, punching in your order that he knows by heart into the screen in front of him.

“fuck i know, i woke up so late and i could just feel the mess on my head,” you smile bashfully, tucking a strand back behind your ear to emphasize the issue, “guess that’s what i get for not setting an alarm.”

“that’s alright, happens to the best of us.” Julian smiles warmly, turning around to busy himself with your drink.

and then you feel it. the pressure of eyes staring at you. and you know, of course you do. it must be the attractive man staring at you through the glass. he’s probably judging you, laughing at you for being so foolish. and then came the whispering. two voices, hushed and urgent.

“dude, just get the fuck up and go over there,” came one voice, that was much too loud you might add. louder than the person probably wanted it to be. you knew they must have been closer by the door than you thought in your hurry to run away, judging how well you could hear their quiet conversation - only peaking your nerves. you reach down to fix the edges of your dress, smooth out the sleeves while you wait to try and calm yourself down.

“no, she’s already embarassed,” another voice, much quieter and discreet, “and i’m gonna go up there and sound dumb. she obviously wants to be left alone.”

“go now ethan, before i go myself,” the first voice, more urgent and serious this time. the voice had a edge, that resembled a father talking to their son. you knew the two had to be close with how stern he was being.

“jesus christ,” a small whisper this time.

you faintly hear a frustrated huff before the rough sounds of a chair scraping across the wooden floor rang in your ears. and you pray, with all of your might that it isn’t him, that your suspicions aren’t true and he’s not about to come and try and-

“there you are, the usual with a dash of something special,” the barista captures your attention once again, snapping you out of the whirlwind of anxiety in your brain. it propels you forward, the sound of his voice and for your hand to reach out and clasp onto the clue cup he holds out with a smile. it made you feel better, you must admit, “enjoy it while it lasts.”

“thank you, $3.27 right?” you hurry to pull your wallet from your purse, setting down the drink once again and burrying your hand in your bag, shuffling items around like a grandma that stuffs her bag too full. it was rather ridiculous how long you searched through the purse onto to come up empty.

and then you remember. you remember setting your wallet on your bedside table after ordering some new curtains you’d been eyeing for the last couple weeks. you finally gained the courage to splurge on them and when you retrieved your wallet for the debit card number you forgot to put the wallet back into it’s rightful place: the second inside pouch on your purse. and now, you’re paying for it. or well, not paying for it.

“um...i uh-“ you clear your throat, not really knowing what to do in a situation like this, completely embarassed, “i don’t exactly know what i did with my wallet,” you explain bashfully, setting your purse down on the counter to get a better look inside the bag. it’s a dark abyss of things that didn’t settle the severity of the situation. you were late. you were embarassed. and now, you were broke, “let me just look some more i’m sure it’s-“

“i got it.”

And there it is, that same voice you heard in hushed tones only moments ago, now directly behind you. you watch a hand move over your shoulder, handing a card over to Julian that watched you close with a smirk hiding just beneath the surface. he takes the card with a nod, sliding it with a hum.

turning around was, well, one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do - and the other was figuring out what hell to say to someone that looked...well...that attractive. so damn handsome it almost hurt to look at him. he was tall, that was your first observation. the rest followed suit, the dark hair styled neatly atop his head, eyes a hazel honey color staring right down at you, and a kind smile that strung at your heartstrings right away. he was breathtaking to say the least. and he had shown you such kindness, but of course you assumed it was to make you feel better about the incident at the window. a pity pay for the humiliation you’d brought upon yourself.

“you really didn’t have to do that...?” you said an eyebrow in question.

“ethan,” he provides, voice smooth as butter. fuck.

“well, ethan...that was very nice of you but you seriously didn’t have to do that. i could’ve lived without it,” you tell him quickly, trying hard to keep the blush at bay. he just kept looking over your face, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“but i wanted to, plus you look like you are in a hurry and needed it- i mean that’s not a bad thing or anything - i just mean- um,” he rambles on, “uh i was the one that saw you in the window and i just came up here to tell you that you look um really good and you shouldn’t worry about it.”

you are lit up with a smile, the cutest he’s ever seen really. he didn’t see anything wrong with your appearance in the first place - his heart stopped right in his chest when you leaned in close to the window, fluffing at your hair with your manicured fingers and tilting your head to check that your makeup hadn’t been smeared. when you had noticed him smiling at you through the window, he thought you might fall over from how hard you jerked yourself away. grayson had given him a punch on his shoulder with a little “she’s cute.” i mean...yeah she was cute but how was he supposed to talk to her after that?

you noticed another man laughing at the table ethan must have come from, and your eyes widen when you realize they look identical- you blink back and forth between the two to make sure you weren’t seeing things. that wouldn’t be surprised with the day you’re having. it’s the laughing that really pissed you off, though. was this some kind of dare or something? like a highschool jock told to talk to the loser nerdy girl at lunch? just to be laughed and mocked by his friends?

“you know what ethan, i’m not really interested in whatever is going on here. if you came over here to embarass me further, then i suggest you return to your table. thanks for the coffee but good on the small talk,” you cross your arms, turning around with a flip of your hair, “i’m having a pretty shitty morning as it is and i don’t need to be mocked.”

“what?!” he rushes out, glaring over at who you assume is his brother because...isn’t it obvious? the man slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes sparkling with tears from laughing at his brother, “no of course not, i wouldn’t mock you,” a huff, “that’s my brother just ignore him. i genuinely didn’t come over here for that. i just um...saw you and thought i should maybe say hello or something. i swear i mean no harm. i’m just stepping outside of my box and talking to a pretty girl.”

you can tell that he lets the last part slip and he wants nothing more to slide the words right back into his mouth. even if he believes it to be true. but that...jesus that makes you smile. you can tell he’s nervous from the way he moves one hand wildly while he talks, the other secured inside of the pocket of his black pants. they fit him well. the white shirt sticks to just the right parts of his chest and you forget that he can see you looking over him, smirking down at you.

“smooth,” you give him, picking up your drink back up from the counter and taking a sip from the straw, looking back to Julian with a thankful nod and a “text me?”, ignoring his suggestive grin and turning on your heel to be on your way, coffee in hand, already so late you’re worried they’ll fire you when you walk in the door.

“wait, wait! where are you going?” ethan steps forward, touching the back of your arm with a worried expression, ignoring grayson absolutely losing his mind at the table, “can i at least get your number?”

“hm...i usually don’t give my numbers out to strangers ethan...” you smirk at him, knowing you’re playing hard to get, something he loves. he’s a big believe in the thrill of the chase, but never stops showing he cares once he’s caught hold.

“well...will i see you here tomorrow? maybe then we can talk some more and then we won’t be strangers,” he reasons, really living on a prayer at this point. you’re sure he’s not used to hitting on girls in coffee shops, judging by the blush spreading lightly across his cheekbones. cute. very cute, “i promise i won’t bring my brother, he can’t behave himself obviously. just you and me. what do ya think?” his eyes are hopeful.

“you bet,” you smile softly, “see you bright and early, wouldn’t be late if i were you!” you sing-song over your shoulder, shooting him a smile before you’re out the door and off to win over your boss, cursing yourself on the way for not getting a cinnamonroll - thoughts filled with shy the boy in the window.

[wellamarke]

It's been raining for 4 days and we're under a flood watch. Has it ever flooded at Fitton Farm?

Do you know, I think it has!

•••

“I’ve found the hole where the rain was coming in,” Arthur called down, voice only just audible on the ground over the rain thundering on - and through - the roof of the barn.

“Found it, or made it?” Douglas yelled back from the foot of the ladder.

“No, it was there before. I’ve just made it — easier to see.”

“Terrific,” Douglas murmured. “Down you come, then. It’s no use – we’ll just have to patch it when the rain’s stopped.”

“If it ever does,” added a bedraggled Martin, who was raking the best of the hay further from the corner of the barn that was more or less underwater. His progress was impeded slightly by Talisker the farm cat, who seemed to think his rake was a lively and interesting toy.

Arthur began the descent from the ladder, hurried along by an odd sort of creaking sound from the direction of the roof (up).

“What’s that?” Martin asked, looking up. Talisker took advantage of the stationary rake and sat down firmly on top of it.

Douglas followed his gaze. “Ah,” he said, with the peculiar kind of calm that came from the acceptance of fate, “Do you know, I do believe that’s the rest of the roof giving way.”

•••

Though he would certainly never admit to having over-exaggerated, Douglas did later concede that it wasn’t quite the rest of the roof that had collapsed, but rather the beam adjoining the one that had already gone, a few slats and the rough bit they’d patched on last summer to cover an existing hole. It amounted to one-third of the barn being laid open to the elements - which were currently pouring down in torrents - and a number of homeless and rather disgruntled animals.

Plus one slightly bruised Douglas, who had used his moment of clarity to twist Arthur’s ladder and push him nicely out of the way, only to fail to move even one step of his own volition.

“Thank goodness for Gerti,” said Arthur, wrapping his arms around the cow’s neck. “Douglas saved me, and she saved Douglas.”

“Yes, and she was the only one with enough presence of mind to not need saving herself,” said Carolyn, in a clipped tone that was undercut slightly by the towel she slung over Douglas’s shoulders.

Martin coughed. “Talisker and I were perfectly fine.”

“Well, but Skip, you two were under the bit where the roof was already gone.”

“True,” Martin allowed. “Good old Gerti.”

She bobbed her head in recognition, at least of her name if not the praise. Douglas grinned, and patted her flank. Truth be told, it was all a bit of a blur, but he gathered that at the crucial moment, as the other animals skittered sensibly to the other end of the barn, Gerti had instead approached and knocked him clean over, sending him sprawling out of reach of most of the debris. Between them, he and Gerti had intercepted one panel, but it was the old rotten one they’d tried to patch, so most of it was water-weight.

Absentmindedly, he removed the towel from his shoulders and used it to rub her down. Carolyn tutted.

“Right. Look alive, boys,” she said. “I’m not leaving anyone in that death trap of a barn overnight. Toby can stable with Hamilton, that ought to at least be entertaining, and some of the more docile girls might as well go in with the sheep. As for the others...”

“I’m sure Brill wouldn’t mind having a sleepover,” Arthur volunteered.

“That demon pony? Certainly not. She kicks.”

“Demon pony?” The wound to Arthur’s heart was evident in his voice. “Mum, she’s not, she’s lovely.”

“She doesn���t mean to kick as much as she does, perhaps,” Martin said mildly.

“Don’t side with Arthur, Martin, it doesn’t become you. Anyway, I’ve thought of a solution. Take the tractor out of its shed and put the other cows there.”

Martin was immediately alarmed. “But the tractor...”

“Can rust merrily in the sun for all I care, if this blasted rain ever stops. Go on, shift the metal monster, will you.”

“I haven’t got my driving gloves.”

“Oh, for— Martin. Go. And. Move. That. Tractor.”

Martin headed for the shed, still not looking pleased at the thought of his beloved tractor languishing in the rainstorm. The others set about dividing the cows into categories of ferociousness, with Arthur still spouting alternative plans.

“We did work it out that all the animals could fit on the ground floor of the house,” was his latest ploy. “Maybe just a couple of cows...”

“I think not. Right, then... Arthur, you wrangle that lot over to the tractor shed and have Martin help you settle them. Snoop and I’ll take mine up to the little barn. Douglas, frankly I’m not sure why you’re still here. Get yourself inside and put the kettle on.”

“I can help,” he protested.

“Yes, thank you. By having tea ready for us when we get in.”

Shivering with the combined effects of being drenched and slightly in shock, Douglas attempted to look dignified and sorely used as he ambled up to the farmhouse. A few of minutes later, from the kitchen window, he watched the three bedraggled figures returning, squelching their way across the thick mud. The kettle sang merrily from the stove, and the rain poured on.

“You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer,” Douglas remarked solemnly to Talisker the cat, who was licking herself dry over by the door. “Because the winds would find it out, and tell your cedar floor. Emily Dickinson, that. She forgot to mention what would happen to the roof.”

[beautifulletdownfics]

‘someday, someday’ :: tumblr edition, #27

In hindsight, given what was happening, I shouldn’t have answered my phone to the unknown number.

The week after we returned from New York was a whirlwind. Harry and I spent our first day back holed up together at his house, snoozing through jet lag and doing our laundry from the trip. I went straight back to rehearsals the day after that, fighting off a tickle in my throat I was adamant wasn’t going to turn into any kind of seasonal head-cold. Harry spent two days in his UK management office, sorting out all the paperwork and legal aspects of him working on his March EP in London with Rodger’s studio before he was straight to work writing and recording.

At some point, I would be joining him in the studio because, as Rod from his management company had alluded to in New York, Harry was hoping to include the song that I helped him with his new releases. He wanted to give me full writer's credit which I was instantly opposed to, but Harry was adamant that without being able to credit my contribution he wouldn't release the song. It was a beautiful song and as much as I was uncomfortable being included, it felt like daylight robbery to have it die because of me.

Alongside that, my dad arrived in town, and in-between my own rehearsals I managed to sneak into his and sit in on him working with the London Symphony. I spent most nights having dinner with him near his hotel and then getting the tube back to my own house because Harry was either out or had already crashed for the night and I didn’t have the heart to disturb his sleep patterns.

Between all this, it was increasingly becoming harder to ignore the chatter that seemed to be following me. I was more and more finding myself ignoring message notification on my phone, avoiding surfing any news sites, and I’d disabled what felt like every possible setting on my social media accounts. Friends from Blackpool and Cambridge were reaching out about Gavin and what he was saying, and more than a few of them were asking questions about Harry. I felt like I was the gatekeeper to some ridiculous secret everyone wanted details on, and what was making me feel sick about it was that, at this stage, the assumption in the gossip mill was simply that I knew Harry. Nobody had run far enough with the whole idea to predict I might be anything other than friends with the famous pop star.

I spent the whole week looking forward to the weekend. Friday night and Saturday were booked doing nothing in particular with Harry. Saturday evening would be spent with Harry, Rodger, Max, Gemma and Ned watching my Dad conduct the London Symphony Orchestra. And Sunday was reserved for spending at Harry’s dealing with whatever hangover resulted from the night before.

So really, answering an unknown caller on Friday just as I was about to text Harry I was on my way and walk into the tube was a stupid move.  It was almost certainly going to be someone that I definitely did not want to talk to; still, there was some part of my brain who thought perhaps it was someone from the orchestra whose number I hadn’t saved yet or a call about an appointment I forgot I made.

“Nina, as I live and breathe,” Gavin’s voice was smooth and precise in my ear, “You really did block me number, huh.”

I stopped walking and turned on my heel, trying to escape but having nowhere to go. I briefly considered hanging up out of sheer panic, but I didn’t like the precedence that set. Before I could figure out what the hell to do, he continued speaking. Holding my trumpet case in one hand and the phone in the other, I ducked into a shop alcove and stared blankly at the passing people in disbelief.

“You’re a tricky woman to get a hold of these days,” He crooned, “Shacking up with a pop star has changed you.”

"Gavin," I said, my voice shaking in a way I couldn't control, "What can I help you with?"

"Straight into assuming I need something from you," Gavin said with a tut, "I was calling to congratulate you. I underestimated you, which isn't something I care to admit."

I tried to give my voice a chipper edge, "That's big of you."

"What I can't figure out though is what he gets out of it," Gavin asked, sounding pleased with himself, "Styles doesn't strike me as needing numbers in the symphonic community."

"You don't know the first thing about Harry," I snapped quickly, immediately regretting it.

"Clearly," Gavin agreed eerily quickly, I'd played right into his hands, "Although no, that's probably not entirely fair to say. On paper, you're a catch. He'd have to have an ego on him, lesser men have fallen into the same trap."

"Gavin," I breathed out, losing my patience with his bating me. My heart was racing, and I turned back into the tube just so I could find somewhere to sit. "Why are you calling?"

"Just checking in," He said defensively, "Been getting loads of questions about you and wanted to speak to the legend herself. Couldn't believe Leon when he saw you at New Years, I was sorry to miss it."

"You're getting questions because you practically begged for the attention," I whispered quickly, suddenly surrounded by other people waiting for the train to pull up.

"Hey," He sneered down the phone, "I can share whatever the fuck I want online, hear me? It's not like Harry fucking Styles is going to sacrifice his perfect little media identity to correct the record for your sorry arse. Not that I technically said anything he needs to get his knickers in a twist about."

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," Gavin all but spat, "What on earth could you possibly have that I would want? It's pathetic to see really, you sucking off The Man to land that interview. Seems I was right, classical music can only get you so far ... You've had to get yourself a famous boyfriend to get anywhere."

"I was in the orchestra before Harry—"

"—Keep telling yourself that, love," He laughed.

"Gavin, just leave me alone, okay? Just ... Don't say shit online about Harry or me. You got the career you wanted, just back off mine, okay?"

"You owe me," He barked, "What on earth makes you think you can tell me how this is going to go?"

Dozens of other conversations with the same tone started layering over in my head, memories from years ago that had taken a long time to write over suddenly crashed through my mind and seized me up inside. He was just the same as always, and having been away from Gavin for so long supplied the harsh reality it—of what he had always been like—that much more jarring. I stopped speaking, which always resulted in Gavin's poison gaining momentum. I found a seat on the tube and pushed myself as far against the glass as I could, adrenalin was making my legs weak, and my eyes star.

"Do you know how embarrassing it was to have my girlfriend go fucking crazy and fall off the deep end?" He continued.

"I'm not crazy," I said weakly, feeling my eyes heat and my throat constrict.

He laughed sarcastically, "Love, you went full One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, we all know it. Jesus Christ, the questions I got when you fucked off. Humiliating is an understatement, I—."

With shaking hands, I held my phone out in front of my face, hearing him continuing to speak but not understanding the words correctly. I pressed the hang-up button and hurrying to go into my call log and block the number. After my phone was safely on aeroplane mode, I slipped it under my thigh and looked out the window at the black tunnel passing by, my own reflection staring back at me.

I looked crazy.

+++

I loved the London underground.

On weekend nights everyone is dressed up and smells terrific, the carriages are dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights, and there’s an air of something intrinsically seductive and winsome. Business people coming home have the relieved look of people who have earned their weekend breaks, and people on their way out have a joyous look of the pending release.

It can be so relaxing, and it's the only place in the world I have ever enjoyed the company of strangers. Because they're non-threatening, and I know they’re not expecting anything from me. I can be invisible, hiding behind anonymity and the simple fact that everyone has somewhere to be, people to meet and life to live.

I distracted myself with these thoughts as I sat on the train, swinging between digesting the call with Gavin and pretending it didn't happen by watching the people of London around me. I hadn't been paying attention to the train I got on and ended up heading in the opposite direction I usually did. I stumbled out of the carriage at some point and changed direction back into the city.

But when the Baker St underground came, I didn’t get off like I should have.

I needed to get on the Hammersmith and City line, but when Baker St came and disappeared again, and I was still firmly planted in my spot in the carriage. I did a quick calculation in my head and figured I could get off at Edgeware Rd, the next stop, and then go back.

But I didn’t.

I completely froze.

The station spun by, and the train breathed with passengers going off and new ones getting on.

Four stops came and went that way. I sat clasping my phone in my lap and trying everything I could to calm my thudding heart enough to allow me to get out at the next stop. I had to get off, I had to call Harry.

Or Max. Or Rodger. My dad. Anyone.

But I was sat on a train on the other side of London to them all. I told Harry I would let him know when my rehearsals finished for the day to see if he was still working with Rodger or if he was already heading home. If he was still with Rodger, we had plans to get dinner nearby before heading to North London where his home was. If Harry was already on his way home, I was going to get the tube to him.

An announcement came over the carriage speakers saying that the next stop, Shepherd’s Bush Market, was the last of the line and all passengers needed to disembark.

Ten minutes later, I found myself standing outside the station, trying to create an idea in my head of what was around this area. It was nearing seven o’clock by this stage, and the only thing I knew would be open was London Westfield, just a short walk away.

I put my phone into my blazer pocket, trying to forget I owned it at all, and followed the crowd into the shopping centre, my instrument case heavy at my side.

Most of the shops were shut, or closing, but the centre stayed open late for the cinema and restaurants dotted throughout.

I walked through numbly, my eyes flitting around all the different exhibits and stores. Most of them were familiar, but there was a level of comfort in the fact there were only a handful of other people I was sharing the space with. I liked being able to hear my heels click on the shiny floors, and the way the music playing through the speakers could be easily deciphered.

I recognised the Ed Sheeran song currently playing, but it was hearing another melody cut over it that halted me in my spot, and I wondered how it had been able to sneak up on me.

‘Romanza’ by Chopin.

A song more familiar to me than any pop song, one that had been familiar for years in a style that was as easy as breathing for me to inhabit.

My steps automatically quickened, and I found myself darting my gaze around, trying to follow the sound. I turned a final corner and hit what Rodger liked to refer to as the ‘Paris End’ of Westfield, where all the high end and designer stores were. The lighting up here was softer, the stores were guarded and underneath an impressive crystal chandelier was a black Bösendorfer grand piano.

There were armchairs arranged in a circle to the side of the piano, and I slowly slipped myself into one, putting my case down and not taking my eyes of the young man playing exquisitely for the whole shopping centre to hear. The acoustics were amazing.

With a small nod and a smile, he acknowledged my arrival but went back to his former state; eyes

closed, back swaying back and forward, and a blissfully serene look on his face. I was jealous of him.

The calmness of the piece eventually overtook me as well, and I rested my head back comfortably and shut my eyes to really hear what was being played. My heartbeat slowed, and the noise in my head disappeared. The scratchiness of my trousers and the damage my simple, black boots had done my feet disintegrated with it.

All that existed was a beautiful piano concerto being played, and my witnessing it.

Halfway through Debussy’s ‘Reflects Dan L’eau’ when I snapped back into the present by the bungle of three completely wrong notes, all in quick succession to each other. My eyes fluttered open and the way the shiny, reflective roof of the shopping centre took several moments to clear from my blurry eyes told me they had been shut for quite a while.

“Thought you’d drifted off, Miss,” he called out through a smile, slowing his playing and speaking over the piano. Something in the glint in his eye told me he knew messing up the notes would be the fastest way of catching my attention. His eyes fell on the instrument case at my feet.

“No,” I mumbled, sitting up straighter and watching as he nodded politely and then went back to concentrate on his playing, “I was just listening ...” I added quietly to myself.

The fact that he didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in why I was there, or why I didn’t appear to be making any move to leave pleased me. He simply went back to his playing, and I didn’t see him look my way again.

7:48pm, my phone screen read and when I turned aeroplane mode off the screen lit up with two missed calls from Harry and a string of texts, along with a missed call from Max.

5:12 Hiya, we're wrapping up now, I can swing by Southbank and pick you up for half-past? x

5:25 Sorry, make that 6. Traffic is shocking.

5:38 You're usually finished by now, everything okay?

6:10 Have I completely forgotten something I shouldn't have? Were you going to see your dad?

6:38 Babe, you're worrying me. Call me back x

He was worried, and I felt sick for it. Watching Harry's regular interactions with me and how he was going about a typical Friday night barely felt real. I didn’t know what I felt about what Gavin had said to me, but I knew that as soon as I pinpointed one emotion, the avalanche of all the rest would ensue. And following that would be an overriding sense of panic.

Panic was coming already though, seeping through the gaps and crevasses, damaging the wall blocking out what I was feeling. Because worrying about fear only brought it on faster, making it stronger. It was that double-edged sword of knowing something was coming but then inadvertently making it occur sooner.

I leant forward with my elbows on my knees and my head resting in my hands, putting all my attention on placing my feet in their black heels as close together and perfectly aligned as I could. My phone screen lit up on my lap, and my eyes were drawn to it before I could make myself ignore it.

Everything in me was screaming to call him but because I didn’t know what I would say to him I hesitated. All my mind could make my body focus on was the music swirling around me. It felt like a small miracle to have found it immediately after my conversation with Gavin, to have ended up on this armchair, under a crystal chandelier in the great hall of London Westfield listening to the greats; to Chopin, and Rachmaninoff, and Debussy, and Tchaikovsky. They were being played by a stranger I had never seen before and would never see again but for the last hour everything he had been telling me—everything he was saying through the notes his fingers were commanding—made sense to me. For the last hour, this had been my language, and he was the only other person in the world speaking it.

I looked back down to my phone on my lap. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t want to. My chest hollowed, blood rushed to my feet, but my thumb was swiping across the glass surface despite the pooling dread.

Harry answered immediately.

“Hey, I've been worried, what's going on?” He urged in a hushed but desperate tone.

“I’m sorry, I'm okay,” I traced the line of my trousers with my thumbnail nervously. I wondered if Harry was at home or not.

I heard him take a deep breath, “You’re okay?” There were a few beats of silence, “Where are you,

Nina?”

“London Westfield,” I said softly.

“London ...” He paused, his voice almost sounding received for a moment like he could conjure a reason why I might have gone there, “Why are you out there?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered pathetically, but it was true. The line was silent for a few painful minutes.

"I'm confused."

"Can I come over?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"Of course," he said quickly, "What's wrong, though? Has something happened?"

"I'm not crazy," I told Harry.

"You're not," Harry said carefully, I clamped my eyes shut knowing I was putting him in a shitty position, "What's happened? I'll come and pick you up."

“Harry, you don't need to—”

“—I'm already in the car," He told me, "Now, tell me what's wrong."

I let out a frustrated sigh and tears slip out despite my telling myself not to, "It's stupid."

"Not if you're this upset by it."

"I spoke to Gavin."

"You spoke to ... What? How? Where was he?"

"Not in person," I corrected Harry, I could hear the sound of his car in the background, "He called on an unknown number, and I was stupid enough to answer. I know I shouldn't have—

“—Nina, what did he say?” Harry said evenly, but the directness of the question hit me square in the chest.

"I don't want to think about it."

"I'm fifteen minutes away. Please tell me, I don't want this fucker getting between us."

Slowly, I recounted the phone conversation to Harry, who quietly listened without interrupting. It was more upsetting the second time around, I found myself unable to believe it happened. To think I had let myself be treated that way at any point was shameful and by the time I finished telling Harry, I very much wished I hadn't started.

"I'm sorry," Harry said through a sigh, "You're not crazy, and you don't owe him a thing. Did he threaten you at all?"

I thought back over it all, "No, but I don't think hanging upon him was a good idea. He'll say more online now."

"And he'll only look like a bigger dickhead," Harry grumbled, "Hanging up was the right thing to do, you don't have to listen to his shit anymore, Nina. I've just parked, where are you?"

I told Harry my location as best I could, not having to wait very long for him to appear in my line of vision behind the piano player. He spotted me almost immediately as well, his face pulled into a frowned, worried one that I felt guilty for creating. Still, there was a lifting inside my chest at seeing him. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, and he was in comfortable clothes. I stayed seated until he was a few steps away, and my name fell from his lips, then I was up on my feet and pressed against his chest within moments.

Harry's arms wound around my back, and he rested his chin on the top of my head, "You are amazing and beautiful and talented and so loved, Nina. What he says doesn't count anymore. We're going to get you a new phone number, and if he starts spurting any more shit online, we'll take things further."

"I feel so stupid," I said quietly. "How did I let Gavin into my life in the first place?"

Harry cupped my face in his hands and bent down to be at my eye level, "We're not torturing ourselves with those kinds of thoughts, Nina. We're going back to celebrating that article because I won't have you shrinking yourself because of anyone else, myself included."

I looked at him for a few moments, seeing nothing but sincerity and belief there.

"I should have called you earlier." A smile teased his lips, "Yeah, but you called me, so that's a win."

"I'm sorry."

Harry placed a soft kiss against my lips, "Not necessary. You hungry? I'll buy you chicken nuggets on the way home."

+++

Royal Festival Hall was completely sold out.

My dad organised incredible floor seats for the six of us. Harry and I met Rodger, Max, Gemma and Ned at a restaurant nearby for dinner beforehand, so by the time, we arrived for the performance we were all well into enjoying each other's company.

As we followed an usher down the aisle to be shown our seats, Harry shuffled up behind me and took my hand in his, "Did I say yet how stunning you are?"

"Yes," I kept my eyes ahead but tilted my mouth his way so I could say it quietly, "You did."

"Phew," He said dramatically, squeezing my fingers. "Just checking."

By some incredible force of nature, Harry managed to pull me from the rut I was sure I was destined for before it happened. We spent the night before, at his house, I had a bath, and we watched 101 Dalmatians afterwards, Harry gently prodding me every so often to measure where I was at. I cried a few more times, Gavin's harsh words ringing in my ears even when I woke up the next morning.

Harry dragged me out of the house early, he went for a run while I walked through the Heath loosely following him. He ran literal laps around me and despite all his best attempts, he wasn't able to convince me to join him for anything more rigorous.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, and it was time to start getting ready for dinner with my flatmates and Gemma and Ned, I felt reassured and nearly entirely back to normal. The ugliness still existed somewhere, but Harry managed to drag me into the present and firmly plant me there. Nothing Gavin had said to me changed Harry or me.

I took a quick photo of the stage from our seats and sent it through to my family group chat. Harry leaned over from his seat next to me and briefly dropped his head on my shoulder. He watched my screen as I sent my brother a rude emoji and then sent my dad a good luck text. I was beside myself with excitement at the prospect of watching him lead this calibre of an orchestra.

"Open your girls chat," Harry rumbled right by my ear. Without thinking I did as I was told, fingers hovering over the screen, waiting to see what Harry would say to me to type. "Tell them to keep the first weekend of February free, I'd like them to come down for my birthday if they'd like to."

"Harry," I turned my head to look at him, "Really?"

"Yeah," He nodded earnestly, "I haven't really planned anything yet, but I'll do something. I'd like them there."

"Not just for my sake?"

"Not just for your sake," Harry reassured, "They're your people, and so they mean a lot to me as well."

Ladies, Harry's birthday is in a few weeks, and he'd love it if you could make it?

"Tell them there'll be free accommodation, food and alcohol," He nudged me, nodding at the iMessage I just sent. "I'll pay for them to fly down if that's easier. They can stay at mine."

"You don't have to do that, Harry, they'll come down on the train."

Harry dropped his palm onto my thigh, "I don't want to put them out. And it's not cheap getting down here, I know."

All expenses covered, so he says. The first weekend in Feb. He's offering tours of his linen cupboard as well. x

Harry laughed as he read over my shoulder, "Good one."

"Thanks," I replied brightly, locking the phone after checking it was on silent and dropping it into Harry's suit pocket between us. "And thank you for inviting them ... You and them getting on is a big deal to me."

"I know."

"I've had to unpack a lot of shame after Gavin, and I've always been wary of what they might think of me seeing someone else, whether they’d trust me again," I told him.

Harry squeezed my thigh, "I'm happy you have them. They're mad about you."

"Mad is right," I rolled my eyes, "You may come to regret inviting them. Once there's an open bar, not a lot can stop Bel and Georgie."

He wriggled his eyebrows at me, "Sounds brilliant."

Just as I was about to reply the house lights dropped and a hush came over the concert hall. Before the announcements started I curled my hand around to the other side of Harry's face and directed it towards me, he had just enough time to blink down at me in the dark before I pulled him closer for a kiss.

"Thank you," I said, pressing my lips against his again, "You're magic."

He gave me a dopey smile and then took my hand in his, resting it on his thigh gently. I stole it back from him briefly a few moments later to join the applause for my dad walking out onto the stage. The suite was Haydn’s ‘An Imaginary Orchestra Journey’ by Sir Simon Rattle, and I knew it was one of his favourites. That was the benefit of being the level my father was, he could walk into the London Symphony Orchestra and tell them what to play.

The orchestra was led through a warm-up, bubbling my chest and had me wriggling in my seat in excitement. Then, my dad turned to face the audience and stepped up to the microphone.

“Good evening,” He said, “My name is Richard Lawrence, and I’m so delighted to be here on holiday with you from my home at the Chamber Orchestra of Europe,” He smiled as the room swelled into applause again, “Thank you. We have a fun one for you tonight, I know! An orchestra having fun what a scandal!” The players chuckled behind him, “We’re bringing you a selection from Franz Joseph Haydn’s best movements, compiled by my good friend Sir Simon Rattle. This is ‘An Imaginary Orchestra Journey’.”

He turned back to his orchestra and raised his arms, waiting for the applause to come to a close before he dramatically dropped his hands and picked them up again, bringing the opening notes of the suite with him.

It wasn’t a suite that I didn’t have committed to memory, so sitting and listening on almost new ears was transformative. The players were fantastic, which I already had insight into having sat in on a few rehearsals throughout the work. Soloists propped the whole body up, and I shivered my way through parts. My dad was right, though, it was a fun suite.

“This is so cool,” Harry whispered into my ear halfway through. I turned to face him, and in the dim light, he watched the tears streaming down my face, Harry’s lips curved up and he scrunched his nose at me. He took my hand in his and turned back to keep watching.

By the end of the performance, I was on my feet applauding dad with hands in the air, and my makeup all cried off. I got a wink and a wave from my dad who searched us out in the audience at final bows. Arrangements were already made about where we needed to go afterwards to meet him, given that there were so many musicians in the greenrooms going backstage was tricky, I was given instructions as to how to get into the conductor's studio.

After giving my name at a fire exit, an assistant led us through greenrooms to a back suite that sat under the stage.

"This is incredible," Harry said, stepping in behind me and taking in the room, "This is definitely one of the best green rooms I've ever been in."

"It's pretty swish," My dad said happily from the other side of the room, his suit jacket draped over the small sofa, "I suppose if I pretended it might feel quite rock and roll."

"You were amazing, dad," I told him, rushing over for a hug, "Your players were incredible, and you kept them together, magnificently."

"Thank you, my sweet," He smiled, graciously accepting repeated congratulations from everyone else. I introduced him to Gemma and Ned, who both thanked him profusely for their tickets. "Now, what are you all up to now?" Dad asked us all, "I'm getting taken out by a few of the board, and I'm sure I could bring a posse such as yourselves?"

"We need to head off, unfortunately," Gemma spoke up first, "Ned is on night shift tomorrow."

Similarly, Rodger and Max both had either early work commitments or a big day ahead of them so didn't want a late night.

"We'll come," Harry offered readily, looking down at me, "Right?"

"If it's really not an issue?" I asked.

"It's absolutely not, my dear," My dad said, "And I dare say taking you both along will impress them enough to have me easily in work for the next decade. If you can just give me fifteen minutes to change and go see my players, I'll meet you in the Foyer."

The group said their farewells and Harry, and I joined them, we stood in the foyer for a while chatting. Gemma gave me a hug with the promise of catching up during the week without the boys. Then, it was just Harry, and I left waiting in a near-empty foyer.

"I stand by my comments months ago about loving seeing you cry over music," Harry told me once we were alone, resting his elbows on the cocktail table we were sitting at, "It's magic. I adore it."

I grinned, "My crying my way through our first date does make for a good story."

"I'm disappointed not to have made you cry myself with my Christmas gig," Harry smirked at me, "I have a right mind to be offended."

"Get an orchestra behind you and I just might," I returned quickly.

+++

Four days later, Harry was standing at the front desk chatting to a receptionist when I arrived at the recording studio. She spotted me immediately, and Harry followed where her attention left him for, an instant smile appearing on his face.

“Hello!” He called out to me, pushing off where he had been comfortably leaning against the desk to take a couple of steps towards me.

“Hi,” I gushed, trumpet case under my arm and a heavy backpack from rehearsals slipping off my arm.

“Let me take that,” Harry took the bag from my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug with his other arm, “Hi,” He kissed my head, and the leant back to look at me, “You get here okay?” I’d been here before to see Rodger, but instead of pointing that out, I smiled and nodded.

“I’ve got your pass,” Harry said, whipping a lanyard out of his pocket and adorning my neck with it before he took my hand and started walking, “Thanks, Jen!” He called back over his shoulder as we left the entrance.

Harry was bringing me in to work on the song that I contributed to all those months ago. I really didn’t know what more I was expected to do, from what Harry told me about his last week or so writing it was the lyrics of the song that he was working on the most. Numerous times I’d told him I didn’t need credit, but he was adamant.

“In here,” Harry directed me to a door, and he dropped my hand to prop it open for me, “After you.”

I walked in and immediately froze, there had to be at least ten or twelve people in the room. Harry nudged me in gently, making a quip about not lurking in doorways. He walked into the left where there was a large sitting area, the studio directly in front.

“Babes,” Rodger was to the right in front of the sound desk, I recognised the tech working with him who also gave me a nod.

“Hey,” I said, siding up to Rodger but throwing a tentative look back over my shoulder where Harry was in the middle of the bulk of the people in the room. “I’m—

A warm hand slipping into mine from behind, “Neens, I want you to meet some people.”

“We’ll start soon,” Rodger told me kindly, watching as I was pulled away.

Three people were working on laptops at a small free-standing table, another two on phones sat on one of the sofas, and then three men standing. They were wearing remnants of business suits they had obviously unassembled as the day went on; cuffs were folded up, ties and jackets had been shed, and collars were undone. I wondered if Harry could feel my hands shaking from the one he was holding onto, but if he did, he didn’t let on. I tried to wear a pleasant smile, but there was a sinking feeling that I was about to find myself well out of my depth.

Harry introduced me to his manager, the head of his record label and his business manager.

I felt sick.

Harry happily went on about how excited he was for today, and how this song was probably his favourite of the bunch they were working on for release. He interrupted to add more detail to my deliberately modest answer about what my schedule was like working in a professional orchestra. I hadn’t wanted to seem like I was showing off about myself in front of these arguably more impressive people, but Harry seemed giddy on the whole exchange happening. They were all lovely to me, I expected nothing less from people had chosen to work so closely with, but still, I was intimidated beyond belief and blind-sighted by them all being there at all.

“Excuse me,” I eventually managed to be courageous enough to say, “I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll—

—I know where it is, Harry,” I squeezed his arm, “I’ll be right back.”

I hurried out the room, and a little way down the hall before stopping at a small bench pushed up against the wall. I sat down slowly and rested my head back against the wall. I completely missed the sound of someone following me until I felt the cushion of the seat expand as Rodger sat down too.

“Really had your skates on getting out there,” He said evenly, “Everything okay?”

I pointed back to the studio a few metres away, “The head of his fucking label is in that room.”

Rodger’s expression softened, “He’s not here to intimidate you, Nina. They’re checking in on how recording is going and Harry wanted them to meet you.”

“Who the hell even has a business manager, Rodger?” I added quickly.

Rodger smiled, “Someone who’s in Harry’s position who cares about his career and the careers of the people who work for him.”

“I really don’t know why I’m here,” I hissed at Rodger. “All I did was change the key and alter a melody, and now I’m supposed to what? Pull a pop song out of my arse in front of a room full of people?”

“You fixed a dying song, Nina,” Rodger didn’t blink at my freak out, “The song is yours as far as Harry is concerned, it would be locked on a hard drive somewhere without you. Just because it feels like breathing to you doesn’t mean it’s not miraculous to the rest of us. I could never have done what you did, and neither could Harry. The song wasn’t going to exist and so if it’s going to it’s only right that you oversee it.”

“I don’t even remember what I did.”

“Liar,” Rodger shot back, “You could play it perfectly with your eyes closed, even if you haven’t thought of it since that day. Don’t bullshit me about forgetting a song, you couldn’t if you tried.”

“I’m just a trumpet player from Blackpool,” I said softly, “What am I doing here?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” He replied, “I understand Harry’s team being here is daunting, but we’re gonna go back in there, you’re going to sit in front of the piano and look super cute in the headphones, and it’ll just be you and me at the desk, got it?”

I shut my eyes and nodded, “Don’t let me look bad.”

“That would be impossible,” Rodger stood up, and when I opened my eyes, he was holding a hand down for me. "C'mon."

I let him pull me to my feet and accepted the hug he held his arms out for, "I need to do a nervous wee."

"Off you go then," Rodger chuckled, "I'll get started setting things up in there."

After using the bathroom, I spent a few moments inspecting myself in the bathroom mirror, and I decided I didn’t look half as frazzled as I felt. An excited but sickening churning in my stomach was somehow disconnected from the thoughts in my head telling me making music with Harry was going to be a good thing, probably even a great thing.

So, taking stumbled steps and breathing in almost too deeply, I fisted my hands and placed one leg in front of the other. By the time I was down the corridor and at the door to the studio, I was breathing evenly, and my stomach felt more settled than it had all day.

I walked straight in, and as I passed Rodger at the sound desk I pointed in at the piano, he nodded without removing his headphones and waved me to go in.

The studio air was fresh, but the unmistakable smell of instruments filled my lungs. I stretched my fingers out as I approached the grand piano over to one side and sat down at the stool, pushing it in further so I could reach the peddles comfortably.

"Hear me?" Rodger asked through the set when I put the headphones over my head.

I held up a thumb his way.

"Brill," He said, "Take a few to get settled, and I'll corral the troops out here."

I stared at the keys for a brief moment before placing my fingers across them, fanning through a quiet set of scales and experimenting with how sensitive the keys were when I built the volume. The sound was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the baby grand at my parent's house. I closed my eyes and played around with a few melodies, humming where I thought a voice might sit above them.

"Rodger," I said, waiting for him to look up through the glass window, "Can I open the cover?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I'll come help, it's heavy."

He shuffled into the room a moment later, flipping a few clasps around the piano and then counting down so we could lift it in time.

"Thanks," I sat back down and played a series of major seventh chords to test out how the sound changed.

"What are you thinking? We going to get into piano bashing?" Rodger asked, crossing his arms over his chest and watching my hands.

"Not quite that extreme," I frowned and leaned forward to reach for the treble strings in front of me, "I think harmonic upper partials would give a raspy, ghosty sound that fits though, right? Like having violins without having to deal with violin players."

Rodger laughed at my dig, and I grinned at him, playing the melody from Harry's song while gently touching the overtone positions on the strings of the corresponding keys. A completely different sound filled the studio.

"That sounds sick," Harry appeared next to Rodger and peered into the piano cavity to see what my hands were doing. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"You are if you're Nina," Rodger hit Harry affectionately on the shoulder and then walked away citing a need to finish setting something up.

I stopped my experimenting and sat back on the piano seat, watching Harry watch me.

"Songs about pianos," He signalled softly.

I smiled at him and quickly found the opening chords of the first song that came into my head, "The piano is not firewood yet, they try to remember but still they forget that the heart beats in threes, just like a waltz and nothing can stop you from dancing."

When I paused and raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge, Harry arched his back to belt out his offering, "It's nine o'clock on a Saturday!"

"Stop! Wait," I laughed, ghosting the piano keys to find where I needed to start, "Let me play you an intro."

I played the intro to the iconic Billy Joel song once through and nodded Harry in when he needed to sing, he was smiling the whole time and miming having a harmonica up to his mouth. I stopped after the chorus and pulled my hands away from the key, wondering if this was how his time with Rodger usually went. I didn't like the thought I could be inserting myself as a silly distraction.

"Nerves flushed out?" Harry asked, showing more astuteness to where my head was at than I had given him credit for.

"Tell me where you're at with the song," I prompted him quietly, shuffling to one side of my seat and opening a space for him to join me.

"Well," Harry started, his thigh nestling warmly against mine, "I've completely rewritten the second verse and bridge—

—Tell me about it in terms of the music," I nudged my elbow into his side, "I don't do lyrics."

"Oh," He parroted, and then laughed at himself, "Right. Of course, well ... I'd like it to sound ... Hopeful?"

"So, we'll do a build," I suggested. "You're a guitar man, so I guess you'd—

—I think I want to just have the piano?"

"Just piano?" I questioned.

"Maybe not just piano," Harry swallowed slowly, "But just not be guitar-heavy. I'd like to include some ... Other instruments, I think."

"Other instruments?" I asked, amused by how hesitant he was with the term, his cheeks reddened when he realised I was mildly teasing him for his apprehension. "You don't have to do that because I'm here."

"Play it where we left it last time," Harry nodded at my hands, he cleared his throat and hummed for half a second before singing along with what I had started playing.

He sang in his chest voice, low and sweet with chilling resonance. It was truly beautiful, and I smiled at the way each line of the lyrics played perfectly into the next. Harry closed his eyes as I played into a pre-chorus of sorts, barely reaching to effortlessly switch up to his head voice for the end of each line. I watched him, so I knew when to extend the phrase or move to match his pitch, but Harry kept his eyes closed while he sang.

It wasn't until he fumbled over two lines in a row that he stopped and gave me a bashful smile, "I don't think what I rewrote fits. Let me go get my notebook and—Hey!"

I looked up toward the window to see who had earned Harry's light whine. There was a line of people at the window watching Harry and me at the piano. His manager gave Harry two thumbs up, but Harry flipped them all the bird as he joined them in the room to collect what he needed to continue.

"That sounded great," Rodger walked over to me and then launched into a whole bunch of the technical aspects of what we were about to start doing. A lot of it made sense, and I had been exposed to before, but I had questions about specific parts that he was patient in answering.

When Harry came back, he settled himself off to my left, where the recording mic was set up. He left the room again and returned with a pitcher of water and two glasses, placing it on the floor between us without saying a word. I watched him take a sip and then stepped up to the mic and slip on his own set of headphones.

"Okay, Nina," Rodger said to us through the glass again, "I've got the automatic transcription program on you, so we'll be getting the melodies down in real-time. I know," He assured me before I could protest, "You'll be able to manually edit things after. On the dark side, we're more about the recording than having a perfect transcription, yeah?"

"I didn't say a thing," I mumbled, embarrassed.

"Harry, mate," Rodger addressed him, "Let's go right through once, doesn't matter if we miss bits. Just give Nina the chance to play it out, and by the second take she'll be set."

"That's annoyingly impressive," Harry told him, adjusting where his headphones sat, "Is there a support group you can recommend?"

"I can hear you both."

"I'll get Max to put you on the mailing list," Rodger promised Harry, setting up a click track to guide our timing but then turning it right down so I could only just hear it.

Harry continued to banter with Rodger as the sound was tested, "Good, I'm going to need maximum support," he spoke into the microphone. "Test, this is a test. I am testing the microphone."

Rodger gave Harry a thumbs up and told me to play something on the piano so he could alter the levels on the boom mics positioned over the open cover. To spite them both, I started tapping out the basic tune of Ode to Joy, not looking at either of them as I did so.

I heard Rodger laugh through the headset, and Harry clapped beside me, "Genius at work."

While they both still were laughing, I switched to Mozart's Sonata No. 17, which shut them up very quickly. I looked over at Harry and gave him a smug smile as I played without hesitation or missing a note. He tried to hold my gaze, but his eyes zeroed in on my hands and were transfixed by their movements. I stopped playing abruptly, and he playfully narrowed his eyes at me.

"Yes?" I asked him sweetly.

"Put him in his place, he's a shit, Nina," Another voice spoke up.

Harry and I looked up to find his manager at the glass with a headset on, "You've never spoken wearing that before!"

"I've never felt the need to," was the reply to Harry's exclamation. "You usually behave yourself."

+++

Two and a half hours later, we had a song.

"It's beautiful," I wound my arms around Harry's waist where he had me tucked under his arm. My fingers played with the cords of our headphones where we stood together, listening to a rough cut of just Harry's isolated vocals.

"Give me a second," Rodger said, distracted by trying to layer the piano and backing vocals over Harry's track."Everyone ready?"

Most of Harry's team left throughout the afternoon, the people on phones and laptops had gone as well as the label head. Harry's manager, business manager and a videographer remained. His manager stood and came over to the desk, but the other two stayed seated on the sofa.

"Okay," Rodger decided he was sorted, clicking on his screen back to the start and pressing play.

Harry tugged the ends of my hair, ghosting his fingers up and down my neck as the opening notes filled our ears. We stood together behind Rodger sitting at the sound desk, the song playing out where we had grown used to hearing sections cut up and altered what felt like a hundred times over.

In the end, Harry hadn't entirely stayed true to his 'piano only' idea, I had managed to convince him to add in some strings which were computerised for now but would be live recorded down the track. We also ended up with bass drums to help with the build to the bridge. Throughout the afternoon, the piano part had been stripped back because I refused to let Harry's gorgeous lyrics drown in a sea of complicated notes and melodies.

The end result was a haunting but euphoric song that took Harry out of his comfort zone and showcased the raspiness and dimension of his voice. It was hopeful like he hoped earlier it would be, but it also gave voice to a vulnerable side of him. It wasn't a song with a strong personal narrative, he had written on the universal truth of life and love and the simplicity behind humanity that we rarely pay mind to.

The song ended, and Rodger slowly turned back to us, his face immediately lit up, "Look at you both!"

"What?" I sniffed, bringing the sleeve of my jumper up to my face, I craned my neck to look at Harry who had his hand covering his mouth.

When he looked down at me, Harry's eyes were wet, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. We both took in each other's faces and then started laughing. I hadn't seen Harry have such an emotional reaction to music, but I knew exactly what he was thinking about mine.

"I see tears, I've done it!" Harry did a little fist punch with his free arm.

"Excuse me," I cried out, "I cry all the damn time if anything I'm the one who's 'done it'. Look at you, you're a mess!"

"It's catching," Harry replied simply, leaning down to press one kiss on my cheek, "Thank you," he said to just me.

"The song is gorgeous," I told him.

"It sure is," He confirmed with an edge of wonder in his voice.

FEEDBACK MAKES ME NOT REGRET WRITING 8K WORDS FOR YOU

[angst-fairygodmother]

From the Nonsexual acts of Intimacy prompts: Can I please request Jaskier x female reader with “♖: Having their hair washed by the other” please? Thanks so much!! 💕

A/N: What a fun, quick write. Thank you :) Although, even on a drabble I can’t resist a bit of setting the scene. Word Count: 671

“You look terrible love,” he sighed, rising to meet you as you stumbled into the inn, dirt and grime caked to you like a second skin.

You sighed, too tired to fight him, or even make some snarky reply, and sagged against him as he pulled you into a hug, not caring that he was getting the same unpleasantness on himself.

“Let me have someone get you a bath.”

Bath. The word was like magic to your ears, and you nodded eagerly. The day had been long and stressful, and while you had saved the trapped village girl, you had paid for it and would ache for quite a while. A good soak now might, if you were lucky, stave off the worst of it.

A surprisingly few minutes later, you sank into the hot, lightly citrus-scented water with a grateful sigh. And then the next thing you knew, there was a soft knock on the door and the steaming water was close to tepid.

“Y/N? Love? Are you alright?” Jaskier called through the wooden barrier.

“What? I…um…I think I dozed off,” you admitted sheepishly, cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment.

“May I come in?” he asked, voice light with laughter. “It is so much easier to talk without half a tree between us. I promise I will avert my gaze and honor your virtue.”

“I don’t think the door is that thick,” you joked back. “But yes, come in. I am plenty protected by the water for any dignity I have left.”

He slipped in, rounding the half-opened door and closing it quickly as if there might be people lingering outside to catch a glimpse of you if he acted with any less haste. He looked over at you and tutted, hands on his hips and head shaken teasingly.

“W…wh…what are you giving me that look for?” you asked, confusion painting your face in one of his favorite, crinkled expressions.

“You didn’t even wash before you took your nap. Your hair looks worse than Geralt’s when he’s fought a selkimore.”

“Oh,” you sighed. “You’re right. I mean, I think I got the rest of me. It’s just sort of the…head area I forgot.”

You reached out for the bar of soap and winced, pain already settling in to your muscles and making them burn with the effort. Jaskier’s face softened with concern when he noticed and he quickly moved to your side.

“Here, let me get that for you,” he offered, taking the bar and starting to pass it, before withdrawing his hand as a thought occurred to him.

“If you’re in too much discomfort to reach for the soap, I can’t imagine you’ll be able to reach over yourself to do this. Let me take care of those filthy tresses for you, love?”

You hesitated. It was meant in the most harmless of ways, just a friend offering to help another out with a task currently difficult. He had helped Geralt to wash like this a number of times. And yet, it felt like crossing a line, like a gesture so sanctified and personal that there would be no turning back and you must understand what lay beneath it so you can fully appreciate the consequences.

“I…” you trailed off. How did one even broach such a fragile and delicate subject?

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I retract the offer. But know that I have no untoward intentions.”

You nod, neck crackling at even the minute movement. “Okay, I…I think I’d like that.”

Why did you say like and not simply appreciate? What will he read into it?

He smiles and pulls up a stool. He says nothing as he lathers the smooth ivory bar between his hands and then begins to gently work sudsy fingers into the tangles. As he presses into your scalp, nails scraping just slightly, you sigh.

Perhaps questions of meaning and intent will come later, but for now, you relax into his touch and enjoy it, silence and lemon and comfort filling the little room.

[thescorpioracesfestival]

Challenges I to IV

My debut into the festival, starring the tourist Elisabeth and the rider, Jem.

Part 1: Elisabeth Bradbury-Stuart

Chapter I

The island existed only in stories. There was a single photograph that her mother had shown Elisabeth while she was young, and even that didn’t really show it. It was of herself as a young girl, taken in the late 1890s. Elisabeth’s mother was small and slight and happy, nestled into the side of her stern-faced mother.

Elisabeth had thought of that picture often, especially as she got older. She couldn’t help thinking about the unknowingness of those young eyes. No idea that in less than a decade she would leave that island and never return.

But here Elisabeth stood, feet planted on a ferry that bobbed back the way her mother had come all those years ago. Sea spray in her eyes, she lifted one of the last Marlboros she’d brought with her, lighting it.

“Oy, missy!” called a voice, and she turned to see a man looking like two hundred years of wave had been carved into his face. “Don’t you be standing so close to the edge or you’ll find yourself in a capaill uisce’s breakfast.”

Right, it was only breakfast. Elisabeth hadn’t paid attention to the time, having spent all of early morning on the prow.

Elisabeth smiled at him, but only took another step towards the edge, her fingers curling around the railing.

She had been on ferries before while perusing the archaeology of Greece, but this was different. Back there, the air had been hot and balmy; the waves quiet and blue like the petals of bluebells. This ocean, however, was dark like the bottom of a saucepan, the crests of foam like suds of greasy liquid.

The boat made a dip over a rise, and she gripped the railing tightly, suddenly conscious of dress fabric that would hardly help her swim.

The man from before was laughing at her. “I warned ye!” Elisabeth ignored him, going inside and making her way to her cabin. She ignored the sound of her roommate whimpering into a bucket. Instead she tugged out a small bible and focusing on the small pinpricks of letters.

It was a good few hours before the roommate set down the bucket and finally spoke to Elisabeth.

“You going for the races?” she asked, her voice raspy. Elisabeth had never once felt seasick; possibly a side effect of her mother’s island upbringing. Elisabeth raised an eyebrow and the girl stammered. She was a slight blonde waif of a thing, crawled out of a Bronte novel. She looked to be about fifteen, with a tiny upturned nose. “My nan says she saw them once. She said a man died on the beach and everything- You know, I saw a dead body once. When little Marianne got the whooping cough.”

Elisabeth watched the girl, tucking the bible back into its draw. She smiled. “I suppose. My family lives on the island.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Where are your parents?”

“Oh, my mam’s back at home. I’m supposed to be staying with my mam’s old friend to learn how to be a proper lady, since I’m not so good at listening to her.” To prove her point, she sniffed and pulled out a small note. “It’s because Thomas Walley says he’s going to marry me, but nobody believes me. But he told me his own self, and I know Thomas Walley better than any of those girls.”

The talkative girl spoke quickly, forcing Elisabeth to keep up. Elisabeth smiled, in a way reminded of her own sister. This girl was about the same age as Lucy anyway. “What is your name, sorry?” she said, interrupting the girl mid-sentence. The girl’s eyes widened, apparently having forgot the subject altogether.

“My name’s Francine but everyone calls me Dorothy. It’s cause I look just like my cousin. What’s your name-” And then, stuck clumsily to the end of her tongue, “Ma’am.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dorothy. I’m Elisabeth, but everyone calls me Lisabet. Because my mother was Elisabeth, too.” She lit a cigarette, leaning back against the bed and letting smoke fill the tiny room; clinging to the shitty. She felt Dorothy watching her closely, possibly trying to will a cigarette into her own mouth. She seemed like the kind of girl with a sailor for a father.

Elisabeth didn’t know when she fell asleep, because she didn’t know she had until the ferry whistled the signal for land. She had slept through lunch and dinner, and she was suddenly terrifyingly aware of the cavern in her stomach. She reached down, grabbing her belongings and making her way to join the long queue of people leaving the boat. Different emotions spilled over everywhere, and Elisabeth tried to block them out.

But what Elisabeth felt was numbness, as she stepped out onto the only dock on the entire island. It was not the only beach, but it was supposedly the only place where the water horses didn’t breach; the railing covered with rusted iron.

It was beautiful, though. Turning her head, she could see the beach, mostly empty except for a few people still trying their hand at catching a horse to train for next year. Elisabeth paused, watching as sunlight spilled over not-quite-equine flanks. There were a few yells from the men, as well as those around her, but all she could wonder was How could her mother have left this?

“Oy, get a move on,” grunted someone behind her, and Elisabeth rushed to take her place on the land; away from the gruff men and their never-satisfied faces. Some vendors carted tourist trap souvenirs, but the only souvenir Elisabeth intended on taking were the Thisby-red locks her mother had given her.

And answers. Elisabeth was hoping for some answers. She reached into her suitcase for her wallet, and paused when she felt it missing. She remembered that teenager, Dorothy’s, wildly glinting eyes. Elisabeth felt for it one last time before letting out a wild, “Fuck!”, something quickly met by horrified gasps. But she didn’t care, for the young girl had already gone.

The evening didn’t improve. Crackling telephone exchange had told her that her uncle would be there by seven, but it was currently 10 and Elisabeth knew that this island was not that large.

It was strangely quiet in this town, especially after the day she’d had. When night time fell, it truly fell, as the people turned their lights down in order to not be noticed. The only sound that existed was her breathing, as well as the rush of waves in the distance.

No one was coming for her. Elisabeth figured this out and stood up, grabbing her briefcase and making her way through the town.

Her mother had never said a word of her life here. What little she knew came from her father, Earl Ebenezer Bradbury-Stuart. She knew that he’d met her mother at these races when she was 18, that she had jumped at the chance to leave her island home behind and never interact it again, save for bits of money that she sent back to her family for Christmas.

Elisabeth had felt no panic, because her mother had decades to tell her… or she was supposed to have decades.

Biting down on bile, she was suddenly jerked to attention by the sensation of being watched. Horses, Elisabeth thought with a panic, but found that she couldn’t move. Her knees were locked into place by the tension of attention.

She had just mustered up the self-control for a breath when a low voice spilled out over the cobblestones. “If I’d been a horse, you’d be dead already.” Elisabeth shivered, making eye contact with the silhouette of a man leaning against a number of boxes. She couldn’t say anything, because she didn’t know this island, and she certainly didn’t know these animals.

“Are they really horses?” she forced, wincing at the way her voice sounded like a squeaking gate. The man chuckled, the glow of a cigarette humming a few inches from his mouth. “Don’t step any closer; I keep a knife.” A tactic she’d had to learn while surrounded by men in Rome.

“A knife is nothing against a capaill uisce. You’re a tourist, right? It’s not safe at night, here. No place to go?”

She shook her head, crossing her arms. “Someone stole my wallet.”

The man tutted, but then started walking down the street away for her. He stopped, turning to look behind himself. “Are you daft? I know somewhere you can say.”

A million and one reasons bubbled up inside Elisabeth’s mind. Murder, rape, the list went on. But she didn’t really have any other options, and so she ran up the street to follow him.

They didn’t stop until he halted at the foot of a two-storey fixture that looked dangerously close to teetering onto the street. He knocked hard on the door, humming something to himself until the door was cracked open by a young woman looking to be around Elisabeth’s age. The island had worn her older though, her hands appearing cracked and dry below the tassels of her shawl. Still, youth spilled out of her as she pulled the man into a hug. “Jem, what on earth has you up at such an hour? And who’s this?”

The man’s demeanour had changed around the woman, allowing him to crack an awkward smile. He cast a glance at Elisabeth, and for the second time that day found herself saying the name ‘Lisabet.’ “Had a tussle with the Bolley Brothers at the pub, found her wandering the streets in what is hardly appropriate wear.” He gestured to the hem that ended mid-calf. Elisabeth had hardly noticed the weather. “Says she lost her money to a pickpocket on the ferry.”

“Oh dear!” the lady grinned, pulling Elisabeth into a surprising hug. “Don’t you worry, dear, there’ll be no kelpie feasts under my roof. I suppose I can’t be too mad at your drunken antics for once, but for God’s sake, Jem.”

‘Jem’ chuckled again, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, Madeline, it won’t happen again.” He glanced at Elisabeth once more and cleared his throat. “Would it be a problem if I stayed the night as well? They say Stu Dorricky saw hoofprints on the sand.”

A few minutes later and Elisabeth was sitting at the table with a bowl of stew. She didn’t know what it was, but in her hungered state it felt like bliss. Madeline was holding a swaddled infant to her shoulder, patting its back as she tried to pay attention. “So, what leads you to Thisby? Just another tourist?” “My mother was from Thisby,” Elisabeth swallowed, “Left here when she was 18 to marry my father, but I never heard anything about it. Until her death, when her childhood best friend ended up talking about Thisbean rituals and whatnot at the funeral.” Elisabeth smiled unsteadily. “Bertha Parton?”

“I know of the Partons,” said Madeline. Jem was sipping stew as well. Elisabeth had filled in the gaps that they were probably brother and sister. “Not personally, but their names get tossed here and there. They’re real old Thisby folk, from right before the Christians came.”

Even this was more than Elisabeth had ever heard, and she felt a wide smile grace her cheeks. Before she could thank her hosts, Madeline was handing off the child to Jem and standing. “Dear Lord, you must be exhausted. Let me set up a bed for you. Jem, please can you handle Tilda.” Then Madeline was gone, leaving Elisabeth and Jem alone.

Elisabeth shifted uncomfortably. “Cute kid,” she mumbled at the same time he said, “Sorry about your mother.” Elisabeth nodded her thanks.

“Our mother’s still alive but barely. Well- our birth mother died having Madeline, so my aunt’s our mother now.”

“I’m sorry,” Elisabeth hummed.

“So, is your mother’s death the only reason you came here? To try and reconnect with her, or whatever?”

Elisabeth shook her head. “I’m an anthropologist by trade, graduated from Wellesley College in America. This place fascinates me. All the age of it,” she trailed her finger along a splinter of wood that clung for dear life to the kitchen table.

“Most wouldn’t,” Jem was watching her hand, “Be fascinated by it, I mean. I imagine there aren’t many who would choose to keep this place in their body. It isn’t exactly Paris.”

At that moment Madeline called Elisabeth’s name, more of a whisper than a call. She said goodnight to Jem and followed the voice to the guest bedroom; a small wallpapered place that teetered gingerly on its side. When at last she was in bed, Jem’s words nagged at her mind. It isn’t exactly Paris. Well, Elisabeth had seen Paris in all its glory, had seen the Eiffel Tower and the Champs Elysees. And she didn’t want it.

  Chapter II. Challenge 4.

Jem Martin.

Jem wasn’t going to buy a horse. He was standing on the strand, sand caked into his boots as he observed the competition with something likened to paranoia. But paranoia was the only rational response to the capaill uisce, especially with a beach that bubbled with the beasts. In the distance a bay was twisting snake-like around her master’s hand, foam telling of the man’s approaching doom.

He already had a horse, bought two years before from a dud auction. Like that interaction with Lisabet, it had been built on a rash decision. He had seen the creature, not quite full-blood but some fucked-up creature that craved the ocean more than anything. Her hocks were thick, forelegs showing hints of feathers, but her neck still held the serpentine anger of the water-horses, her nose quivering at the scent of the ocean.

The hypothesis was that the mixed blood came not from her water horse parents but from a few years back, some Frankenstein’s creature of a Percheron and his mate. As such, she now sported her fair share of brute strength and scars that dotted the length of her body. Some had been made from iron, others from teeth, and one side of her face held no eye but a gaping cavern of a socket. She made up for it with rigid awareness and scent that could mark one out a mile away.

“Hello, Jem, what’re you doing down here? Don’t you have that murder machine back home?” came the barking laugh of Tom Crawley. He was holding his own horse, a thing that appeared more calm than most but that did not deceive Jem. A water horse was still a water horse, a carnivore, a monster that was currently paying slightly too close attention to the side of Tom’s neck.

“I’m seeing who has what.” He lit his cigarette, glancing at the horse as it gave a cautious look to the flame. “What’s its name.”

“Her name is Great Jack. I thought that if I put the part Great in there it would do me good.”

“Why Jack?”

“Because it’s a beautiful fucking name, isn’t that right, Jem?” Tom smacked the mare’s chestnut neck; making her flinch and move her hindquarters away. Her left ear flicked towards the man who held her lead tight enough for his knuckles to pale.

After a few minutes, Tom moved back to the main throng. Time wore on, and Jem was about to pack in for the day when a dreadful scream filled the beach. Every person on Thisby knew that sound, whether they followed the races or not. Jem turned his head in just the right angle to see Tom’s mare, Great Jack, turning and biting a black stallion on the side of the face. The stallion seemed intent on breeding, but the mare was having none of it, and clearly had the upper hand.

Tom tried to get her attention and the chestnut kicked out, her hooves meeting Tom’s face and knocking him into the sand. She shrieked again, her lead ripped out from her ‘owner’s’ hand as she ran to fight the stallion.

Jem just turned and walked quietly away from the agon, not stopping until he reached Madeline’s house.

When he opened the door, Lisabet was with Madeline in the kitchen. She was not particularly talented, asking Madeline for as many hints as possible.

“Uncle Jimmy!” came the cry of a toddler, and he turned around to see his oldest niece, Joyce, tearing up the floor towards him. He let out a whoop of delight as he hoisted the two-year-old into his arms, resting her on his hip.

“Hey there, Joyce. You been behaving well for your mother?”

“No…” she pouted, and Madeline laughed in the background. “I didn’t be quiet when she told me to, and I didn’t go to sleep for a long time last night.”

“That’s not very nice of you, is it?” Jem smiled, pushing a blonde lock of hair behind the prominent ear she had inherited from her father; a sailor who had disappeared in the middle of the night. They’d held a funeral for the fellow, but the truth was that no one really knew if he’d died or gone to the mainland. Either way, it wasn’t much of a loss, but Jem knew when to keep quiet. He knew it too well.

“No, Uncle Jimmy. I’m sorry.”

“Say sorry to your mother and Lisabet.”

“Sorry, Mummy and Lisabet!” He let her down and she ran off again, probably to play with her younger sister.

Jem crossed the room towards the women, before resting his shoulders on the counter. He snuck a carrot off the counter. “I think Tom Crawley died today.”

Madeline stopped mid-smile. She took a deep breath before continuing chopping. Lisabet turned to swipe the carrot back out of his hand, giving him a reproachful glare.

He stole a beer instead, cracking off the lid and taking a swig. “His mare kicked him in the face but I didn’t hang around. But if he bled, then he’s fucked. Broken bones? That’s fine, but god save you if your blood carries on the wind.”

Quiet settled on the house. He knew what Madeline was thinking about- she was thinking about the grey-black mare that was currently nickering for meat in the stable down by his house. If she didn’t get it, she would hardly struggle to get past the gates capped with iron.

“I’d better get back,” he said, and left.

When he got home, he grabbed a bucket of meat. A favour from the butcher, he sloshed it onto the floor of the stall and watched as Angel bowed her head, tearing at it while using her hooves to apply tension. Her ear was flicked towards him, watching him carefully.

“How you doing, Mutt?” he hummed affectionately, reaching out a slow hand to rub her neck. She snorted, blood bubbling along her muzzle. “Nice dinner?”

She didn’t respond, barely acknowledged him until she lifted her head and let him touch her jaw. With him came the one piece of draft horse temperament that had probably ever existed in her at all.

After she was done, he grabbed her halter- a ragtag piece made to match her face of traumas and lackings- and slipped it over her ears. He led her out to the round yard and finally got to work on sliding the blanket and saddle into their proper position.

Then he was on her, easily 18 hands high, but not the biggest horse he’d ever seen. She quivered under his touch, turning her good eye towards him. Her nostrils flared to catch his scent.

Finally he urged her to move. And move she did.

It took a single touch for her to burst into a gallop, bucking as she took off along the grass path down towards the Lachlan household. “Whoaaa,” Jem called, feeling his heart buck out of his chest along with the angry mare’s movements.

But then she was soaring over the partition, and bucking right after. Jem felt his body lift from the saddle and he dropped the reins, his body slamming into the hard dirt of a wheat field. A loud ‘oof’ left his body, and he braced for death. But then he opened his eyes and his mare was looking at him; as though curious.

Movement sounded on the property, however, and she twisted her head in the direction of the Lachlan house.

“Hey!” called Mr Lachlan, one of his children pressing gingerly into his side. “Get that thing off our property before it ruins not just our bodies but our livelihood too!”

“Sorry, Mr Lachlan!” Jem called and turned around. But he needed to figure out how to get over this fence, first.

[izzy-b-hands]

Occasionally my brain tries to give me a break, during the Sad Times. Usually with a good dream or two.

That said, I really wish I could have somehow recorded the one from last night, where for no exact reason I was working with the entirety of Queen (plus Jim and all of the cats because-well, just because where else would they be I suppose) and the Bohrap cast at this delightful manor house. What were we working on? I shit you not, a podcast and a new album. Why did that require a huge probably haunted manor house in the English countryside? Not a clue but it sure was pretty looking.

Now, the key to the best part of this dream is that the entrance to the long driveway that took you to the front door of the house was a very fancy code locked electronic gate with fairly tall ridged fencing on either side of it going all around the property. Naturally, after going out for a night on the...well, I'm not sure where we went honestly, my brain didn't give me that bit. But anyway, point is no one could recall the entrance code. The code if you were on the other side, wanting to open the gate for someone outside it which of course was a different code for some reason? Everyone could recall that one, but not the one we needed to get back thru the gate.

I've no idea if my brain got everyone's reactions right, but it felt fairly close to probably accurate: Freddie and Roger were ready to just call up someone to drive us elsewhere with a hotel, and deal with the problem in the morning (it being like, midnight by the time we'd gotten to our temporary home.) Jim had attempted to see if there was a fail safe option, or a way to crack into it (there wasn't but it was really sweet of him to try.) Brian was just-not like freaking out, but unsure of what to do and not liking that, so just kind of tutting and wandering about, muttering sarcastically how we ought to have just stayed out later and gotten more drunk so we could really focus on forgetting the code. John just... accepted it? Like sat down on the dirt road, leaned up against the gate, pulled off his jacket to use as a blanket and napped. Probably the best reaction out of everyone in the moment. Lucy and Gwilym had joined on with Fred and Rog, Ben had joined John in laying down (literally laying on the road, and putting his head in John's lap, it was adorable), but Rami and Joe were with me on my idea, which Jim also later supported as a 'well why not try it I guess' option.

And that was to try and hop the gate, and open it from the other side with the code we could remember. No one is dressed for gate hopping (but then is anyone ever, really? Unless maybe you're about to burgle some place I guess, idk) but between being wonderfully tipsy and overtired it seems like the best option.

This next part was honestly just my brain giving me a show, and it was great. A shot of Rami, not even halfways over it, ass wiggling as he tries and fails to wriggle over the gate. Joe, for reasons he never did say, taking his shirt off before running at and smacking into the gate when his drunk ass forgot to jump up on it, and requiring a bit of coddling and nursing (since it was a big fucking metal gate he'd just smashed himself into) before I could try. Impossibly, I make it, probably only because of a very long running start, then scrabbling up it like a panicking cat climbing up the half open drawers of a too tall dresser, while Joe and Rami 'help' by attempting to push me over by my ass. I mean, their dream versions meant well, I'm sure, it just that it didn't actually help at all.

The entire time that this is going on, everyone else is helplessly cackling at the sight. I don't blame them at all, but it's hard to focus on climbing with Freddie 'contagious smile and laugh' Mercury laughing hard while he watches you flail about. But I make it and then, because my brain is dumb and loves Drama-

I can't remember the code.

So cut to me telling one of them to text it to me or just shout it or something but quick because (of course) this creepy old place has a few modern things, like a motion activated set of security points that send the police if a gate code isn't entered to open the gate properly and show that it is the person currently owning/renting the place trying to get in, and not a burglar.

No one can recall the fucking code for a hot minute, until bless him, Jim remembers it and screams it to me across the way. The gate opens, everyone walks in, we've saved the day, wonderful job all-

Until Roger mentions that the gate also has a remote, and isn't it funny he forgot that remote was in his pocket?

I don't know if real Brian would be so impulsive, but he ended the dream by taking that remote and throwing it so hard and high arched into the empty fields around the house that it may have actually achieved orbit instead, and he could claim his role as the first person in history to put a thing in space via anger and frustration.

This is like the third dream I've had about this whole manor house situation thing, and I hope I get more. Are they dumb? A bit, but so are a lot of dreams. But they cheer me up something fierce, and they're so damn vivid compared to some of my other dreams.

I know this is a long post and I do apologize for that, but I feel like if I don't start recording these dreams somewhere I'll forget them ☹️

[hamilton-one-shots]

How bout a thaurens au in which john starts sleeping with thomas to help alex's career (I've seen a great art by @f-kotik-y ) but then slowly falls in love with him? With prompt 38, 57 and any of sexual ones? Pretty please?

(38: “Isn’t this amazing?” 57: “Is that my shirt?” 177: “You’re so beautiful.”)

John Laurens had one wish. But there was no way it was coming true anytime soon. All he wished was that the guy that he woke up with every morning actually loved him back. He sighed and moved a strand of curly hair from Thomas’ face, enjoying his peaceful expression for a few minutes before getting up and going downstairs to make breakfast. After a few minutes, someone joined him, strong arms wrapping around his waist.

“Good morning, sunshine. You know you don’t have to do that.”

John shrugged. “Yeah, but I want to.”

“Thanks.” He kissed his cheek. “Is that my shirt?”

“Yeah. I can’t exactly wear mine anymore…” Thomas had gotten a little rough.

He chuckled at the memory. “Sorry.”

Now, this wasn’t what most people would first think. This wasn’t a failed marriage or a stale relationship. This was a lot more… Taboo… Than that, to say the least. And it all began because John’s friend, Alexander, had gotten himself in another mess and, once again, John had to be the hero and save his skin.

“Alex? What are you doing home so early?” he asked his best friend and roommate.

“I… Uh… I kind of got fired…”

John groaned and dropped his bag. “Again?! Really, Alex?”

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault this time! Jefferson’s pissed because I said that people who have maids and stuff who don’t pay them support a family are hypocrites who are trying to simulate slavery.”

“… And you thought that was a good idea because?..”

Alexander tutted. “I should be able to say what I think in my writing. This is censorship!”

“Chill out. I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning.”

The next morning, John made his way to the newspaper where Alexander worked and went up to his boss’ office. He hated sharing a name with his father, but it had its perks.

“John. Nice to see you in my office again.” This was far from the first time that Alexander had jeopardize his job.

“Nice to be here again.”

“Maybe we’ll be able to meet up for reasons other than your boyfriend’s stupidity once day.”

“Not my boyfriend, but I agree.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow and smirked. “He’s not? Tell me, then: why is someone of your status always in here begging me to give him his job back?”

John shrugged and crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair. “Because you enjoy paintings of yourself as payment and I have to live with him. He may not be my boyfriend, but he is my best friend.”

“I see.” Thomas nodded and crossed his arms. “Well, I’m getting tired of firing your friend. Paintings just aren’t cutting it for me anymore.”

“I knew this day would come.” John rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the chance.” He glanced up and saw the way Thomas was looking at him. It was probably the same way he was looking back at him at times- with lust and want in his eyes.

“Maybe we can arrange something else…”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?”

“The same thing you do.” John smirked.

Of course, Thomas understood right away. Still, he had a reputation to maintain, making him a bit hesitant. “How do I know this isn’t an attempt at getting some blackmail?”

“Please. My reputation is just as on the line as yours if we do this, not to mention my family name. I have no reason to spill. If we do this, we both win and Alexander keeps his job.”

Thomas seemed to think for a minute. “My only hesitation is the part where Hamilton keeps his job.” John raised an eyebrow and Thomas chuckled. “Kidding.” He scribbled something down on a sheet of paper and slid it to John. “Meet me here at eight tonight.”

John looked at the address and nodded. “Done.”

That night, John did exactly as he said, going over to Thomas’ mansion and being let inside immediately by the Virginian himself.

“It’s nice to see you again, Laurens.”

“Just John is fine.” He stepped inside. “So, where are we going to do this?”

Thomas tutted and wrapped his arm around John’s waist. “Saying it like that makes this sound dirty. At least more so than it is. And my bedroom’s upstairs.” He led the smaller man upstairs.

John imagined that Thomas was going to have a lush bed or something over the top, but he didn’t expect it just to be in the middle of a hallway. Granted, that hallway was in a room, but still. The placement alone made it strange. John didn’t say a word about it, though. He began to strip, pulling his shirt off, but Thomas stopped him. “This isn’t a regular hookup, sugar. Let’s take our time with this.”

That was something that John certainly wasn’t expecting. He assumed that Thomas only wanted sex, not anything passionate. But he wasn’t about to argue. Thomas was an attractive guy and he wanted to enjoy every second of it.

Thomas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around John, leaning down as he pulled him into a kiss. John sighed contently and placed his hands on Thomas’ chest as they kissed, letting him move them back towards the bed as he pleased and only breaking the kiss when they got to it. Thomas started trailing kisses from John’s lips down his neck and pulled his shirt off, putting his hands on John’s hips and smiling. “Just as I imagined… You’re so beautiful…”

John couldn’t help but blush darky at that. Nobody had ever called him beautiful…

(Sex scene below the line. It’ll be italicized and it ends above another line.)

Thomas ran his hands down John’s hips and hooked his fingers in the belt loops in John’s pants, looking up at him for permission.

John nodded and lifted his hips, making it easier for Thomas as he pulled off his pants. He watched as the other moved down the bed to do so, tossing his pants and his shoes aside, just as he had with his shirt, before taking off his own clothes. Somehow, Thomas managed to get even more attractive than before, his abs making for quite a view from where John was laying.

Thomas leaned back down and kissed John again for a few seconds, then pulled away to sit up again, this time reaching for his nightstand and pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. He slowly pulled down John’s boxers, giving him the chance to protest that he didn’t need. He tossed his boxers down with the rest of their clothes and ate up the sight, committing every curve and every inch of John’s skin to memory. Once he had it down, he poured some of the lube onto his fingers and lifted John’s legs, the other helping him carry his weight as he pushed one of his digits in.

John let out a low moan and let himself relax. It had been a while, too long in his opinion, but he wasn’t a one night stand person. He couldn’t help but wince a bit as he felt the second and third fingers, but the pain quickly subsided both times, pleasure replacing it. By the time that Thomas scissored his fingers in him and stretched him out to prep him, John was in heaven, moaning and writhing in pleasure.

Thomas chuckled. “We haven’t even gotten to the main event yet, sugar.” Still, he enjoyed seeing John react so well when they hadn’t gotten quite that far yet. “I think you’re ready.” Thomas pulled out his fingers and took a moment to put on the condom, John sitting up and watching eagerly. “Be patient, chickadee.” He kissed his forehead and pushed him back down against the bed. “Tell me if it’s too much for you.” He didn’t continue until John nodded. He pulled his legs over his shoulders and positioned himself at John’s entrance before gently pushing in, watching the other’s face for any signs of discomfort. There weren’t any. Just those of pleasure. Thomas smiled and started moving slowly inside of him, eliciting sweet moans and mewls. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he agreed to the arrangement, but this was much better. He slowly sped up until he set a good pace, groaning and panting softly at the feeling.

To say that John was in heaven was an understatement. He never felt pleasure like that before and he wanted it to last. At the same time, he wanted to get the most of however long that lasted and, for all he knew, Thomas was the type to finish and assume that John could finish himself off if he hadn’t. So, he started stroking himself and moaning louder, the pleasure unlike anything he’d ever felt before. John’s mind went blank and he forgot about everything else, simply enjoying the time as Thomas gave him the most mind-blowing sex of his life. It was maybe a half hour, but it felt like days before it was finally over. By then, John had orgasmed twice, a sticky mess covering his chest, and Thomas groaned loudly as he finished himself, cursing as he felt himself filling the condom.

“Wow… Isn’t this amazing?” he hummed as he looked down at John’s blissful expression. “You know, if all I have to do to look at this is deal with Hamilton, I’ll consider giving him a promotion.” Thomas chuckled as he pulled out of John. “I’ll be right back.” He kissed John’s forehead and pulled on his boxers before leaving the room for a minute. When he came back, John was already asleep, tired out from the intimate night. Thomas smiled and sat beside him, putting his boxers back on him and cleaning his chest with a warm washcloth before laying down with him and falling asleep.

That was the first night of John’s biggest mistake.

Six months later and John was in way too deep, emotionally speaking. Six months of waking up to Thomas’ arms wrapped around him and beautiful compliments coming from his sweet lips as they shared night after intimate night together led to John falling in love. It wasn’t supposed to be that way… It was supposed to be no strings attached sex to help John’s friend keep his job. He couldn’t just cut things off, not without any explanation. And he couldn’t tell this to Thomas. So, the only solution was for John to keep shoving his feelings down and just enjoy the sex.

But taking this route wasn’t all bad.

After all, John wouldn’t have been nearly as surprised when Thomas asked him out later that morning.

[soprana-snap]

Magnolia Seven-Seven

Chapter Two: The Secret Tuesday Society

Summary: Magnolia is like every other city, full of traffic jams and hoards of people. When Captain Gajeel and Detectives Gray and Natsu get involved with a shady crime boss that seems to have the whole crime ring in his back pocket, they need a little more backup to bring him down: i.e ADA Lucy Heartfilia, Evidence Technician Levy McGarden, and Caffeinator Juvia Lockster.

Rating: M for adult situations and language

A/N: I finally did it. I wrote a thing. 15 pages. It took forever and I’m tired of looking at it. I also figured out why I hated it for the longest time: I accidentally wrote most of it in present tense!

Previous Chapters: One

“At it still?”

Lucy jerked, nearly knocking over her mug of gel pens with her wayward elbow. An unladylike snort escaped her, her hand still hovering over the stack of papers as she blinked to remove the tunnel vision.

From the doorway, she watched Levy grin with something akin to jest in her face. As if that would make her regret squinting at the fine print of every document and looking like her face was to meld with the paper.

“Justice never sleeps.” Lucy replied easily, glancing at her watch and grimacing. She missed her projected bed time...again. So long, eight hours of restful sleep. At least she planned on taking care of herself, even if she never really got around to it. The thought always counts.

Her friend huffed a dry laugh. “Okay, Batgirl. Justice sleeps, but you don’t.” She stepped into the office, leaving the door open and wordlessly reminding Lucy of how late the hour was with the empty cubicles out in plain sight. Or, since Levy looked fresh and ready for a day of work, maybe the hour was early.

“Lu, don’t tell me you pulled an all-nighter. The law offices downstairs have not even opened for the day. It’s just you and the custodial staff now.” Levy informed breezily, walking forward and snagging a handful of Skittles from the glass candy dish on the desk. Taking her spoils, she then plopped into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, taking her time selecting the first to eat.

“Did I even invite you in?” Lucy mused, taking on a teasing tone as she too helped herself to candy. Sometimes, she even forgot they were there until someone just helped themselves. Her desk, while roomy and having plenty of filing space, was cluttered with folders and framed pictures of her life. It was an old piece of furniture, so heavy that nobody bothered to move it out once the building remodeled into a county office. Lucy loved it, all the way down to the mothball smell in the drawers.

Levy grinned cheekily. “Lu, we were roommates in college. You should know by now that I do as I please.”

Lucy sighed. Well, she had a point.

“So, you didn’t have a date last night since you are here, but told me you did.” Levy cast a look to the garbage can beside the desk, taking in the folded takeout boxes. “Thai again?”

Lucy, having turned back to her paperwork, shrugged. “The guy text me asking for a sample of what he was going to get after the date.”

Levy rose a brow, chewing slowly. “Ah, flirting. And? What’d you say?”

Lucy shrugged again, setting down her pen and plucking a pink highlighter from the utensil mug and carefully outlined a sentence. “Well, I would have probably flirted back...but he sent me a picture along with the text.”

“A picture? What- oh. Oh. Was it-?”

Lucy hummed, sliding a sheet of paper from one stack to another. “The whole thing with a winking emoji filter. So I replied with, ‘She gave you the wrong number, bro’. Haven’t got a text back since.”

Levy tutted, reaching for another handful of treats. “Sorry Lucy. Maybe you should try dating within our social circle?”

“Maybe I should stop trying to date at all. I’m just too busy.”

Levy pursed her lips at that answer, but let it drop when Lucy huffed and shoved a stack of papers across the desk.

“None of this is adding up! The evidence keeps cutting off just at the point where this person can be convicted!” She dragged fingers through her blonde hair, resting her elbows on the wood. “It’s like the puzzle is missing all the pieces!”

It was at that moment that Levy got a good look at Lucy’s face, her skin pale next to the dew covered window behind her. It was the same in college. Lucy put her whole being into things, never halfway. It kinda reminded her of someone else they both knew.

He was also looking beat down as of late.

“You need sleep.” Levy said softly, pointedly looking the ADA in the eyes. “You look like shit, and I say that lovingly.”

That earned her a playful glare and pursed lips.

“You can’t get them all.”

That earned her a full fledged scowl. Well, far be it from Levy to feel guilt about the truth. She ignored the look in favor of taking in the many shelves of law textbooks that Lucy obviously saved from school.

Lucy didn’t break the silent stalemate either. She never had to.

It took weeks for them to meet on common ground when they met in undergrad study. They had the same clubs, the same honors classes, the same morning routines. They bickered mostly, Levy’s idea of clean a far fetch from Lucy’s and Lucy’s love of body mists drove Levy mad. Still, they worked it out, and the silences were always comfortable, even after an argument.

Plus, Lucy knew if Levy ever found out where she got this evidence, there would be hell to pay.

ADA’s were not permitted in the evidence lockers without supervision. That was a rule. Well...she had friends in high places, so she had her own key made: without anyone knowing. ADA’s were also not permitted to do detective work. That was also a rule. Well, she had to have all the puzzle pieces to fully close a case, or her mind would not let her rest.

So, thus began her double life of snooping around crime scenes and gathering her own evidence. Levy, as well as every one of her other friends would absolutely maim her if they knew.

There was a reason she was the best. Nobody questioned it. That was how she wanted it to stay: a smoke and veil.

Her thoughts, wayward in nature, stuttered to a stop when Levy sighed and stood, bobbing on her feet. “Come to the apartment this afternoon! I have a surprise that may just brighten your mood!”

Now that got Lucy recoiling. “Last time you ‘had a surprise’ it ended up being a double blind date where I got the creepy one.” Her stomach gave a revolted clench. That was the night she made sure to have plenty of garlic and payed for it days later.

Wrinkling her nose and brushing a hand past her face, Levy laughed rather awkwardly. “I said I was sorry, anyway it’ll be a sweet surprise. You’ll love it!” She sounded even less convincing than before with her forced, light laughing.

“I feel even less enthused for this ‘surprise’” Lucy deadpanned,  dragging yet another stack towards her with a hook of her wrist.

“Be there or I’ll get Erza involved.”

The threat was unmistakable, even for Levy’s cheery peep.

Erza was by far the one person Lucy never wanted to cross, lest it be her deathbed. Not that her friend would hurt her, but Erza could be very forcefully convincing if need be. Lucy could recall the time that Gray and Natsu nearly fainted in the courts when Erza had to manhandle a suspect into submission after a conviction riot. That man would never again be able to turn his neck like he used to.

“Why pull out your highest trump card to play?” She asked absently, looking to her desk again and refusing to admit that Levy had beaten her this argument.

Her friend beamed, not quite gloating but Lucy still felt it all the same. “Because I’m your friend.”

‘Because I’m your friend’. Lucy smiled slightly, making sure the burn in her eyes didn’t turn into tears. There were few things that they said to each other during college that would really mean as much as those words.

When Levy had a final in Italian III, Lucy stayed up all night helping quiz her. When Levy asked why, Lucy answered, ‘because I’m your friend. French is similar to Italian anyway’.

When Lucy got lost after an interview in the next town over, Levy came to get her and take her to a restaurant to celebrate. When thanked, Levy just shrugged and said, ‘I will always come to get you, because I’m your friend.’

The silence stretched on in which Lucy hovered her pen over printed words and Levy picked at her cuticles. Lucy read over once sentence, then the next, forgot the last sentence so she went back to read it again. The process repeated over when she didn’t gather anything from the re-read sentence.

“Well-” Levy groaned suddenly, standing and wincing at the creak of her knees, “-I best be going. Sensei Gildarts hates it when his students are late.”

Lucy managed to glance up and smile. “Well, don’t be late then!”

That earned her a playful scowl as Levy shouldered her purse and stepped to the door. “Who are you to talk about not being late? I know about your theatrical late entrances at the courts.”

“I stopped doing that...mostly-”

“Uh huh, just don’t be late coming over tonight. I won’t forgive you.” Levy said, giving the ‘I got my eyes on you’ gesture before she slipped away. Lucy listened as her footsteps faded down the hall before releasing a sigh. Well that was something that wouldn’t go away if she ignored it.

That was exactly why Levy dropped by the office. Lucy was sure of it now. It wasn’t a text, so Lucy couldn’t pretend she didn’t get it or forgot to open it.

They had their trials and tribulations in college and now they knew each other like open books.

It wasn’t like Lucy actively avoided hanging out with her friends. It was just work demanded her full attention, and with her extra curricular evidence gathering the hours of the day dwindled to the minutes.

It took a lot of effort to not get caught at crime scenes, or while she raided the evidence lockers of the precincts. It also helped that she was friends with almost all the chiefs...or was a fierce fight for the rest.

Lucy Heartfilia always got her case and Lucy Heartfilia always got her desired ruling.

Someone opened the door to the law office, the creaking of the aged brass a sign that the work day had begun for a few. Chatter echoed through the once silent rooms and Lucy found that her peace and quiet was now over.

With a sigh, she deposited the pen back into the cup, gathering her papers like so many times before and shoving them into her briefcase. How could she get any work done when there was gossiping going around and her body feeling like it was going to drop like a fly?

.

.

.

Magnolia had some nice buildings and Magnolia had some pretty decrepit ones. The latter was becoming few and far between since the recently elected mayor decided that historic didn’t mean the old stays old. Renovations were going on all over town, construction companies never having so many jobs like they did now.

Her dojo, however, was one of the least important renovations, being in an older, less populated part of Magnolia. No tourists dared come this way unless they were lost, so this wasn’t of importance.

But, to Levy, it was one of the most important.

The windows were cracked or poorly patched, the wood holding them in rotting away with years of water damage. Concrete stairs were stained and chipped, a rusted handrail on its last legs alongside it. What really stood out to Levy though was the ancient sign board hovering over the entrance, discolored but still proudly displaying the black letters spelling ‘Clive Doj0’.

Honestly, it would cost him .69 jewel, a screwdriver, and a quick trip on a ladder to fix that last letter. Yet, he always bragged that it added character.

As if setting up a dojo in an abandoned ballet school didn’t add enough character.

As her fingers trailed up the railing, not close enough to scrape her palms along it but close to feel the iron chill, Levy recalled climbing the stairs when she was twelve, her legs barely long enough to stretch over the stairs. This was back when her parents mistook this for a real ballet school and had dropped her off with a check to cover a few lessons.

Lost in her memories with a wistful smile, Levy shouldered the door open, wrinkling her nose at the stench of must that greeted her. The first floor was boarded up, a pitiful wall of flimsy lumber haphazardly nailed up to form a wall over the hallway that was once dressing rooms. Before it rested a battered table, a tacky water fountain bubbling away atop it with vases of lucky bamboo.

Nailed to the wall were picture frames, so many memories of Sensei Clive and his pilgrimage across the world on display. That man had to have seen everything the world offered, yet he stayed in Magnolia now. She hadn’t a clue why.

Levy took the wooden stairs two at a time, regulating her breathing as she reached the second floor and turned to the first door on her right. Through the frosted glass, she saw figures moving beyond.

Ah, so she was just in time.

Careful not to make a disturbance, she wiggled the door open, peeking in on the early morning lesson Sensei Clive liked to host before kids went off to school. Backpacks littered the walls, new and old articles of clothing abandoned temporarily as a mass of kids in gi worked through their exercises.

Before them, garbed in a white gi, stood Sensei Clive, walking them through every step of the way with a beam on his face. That man seriously loved to teach, no matter the hour of the day. It was astonishing.

Smiling to herself, Levy walked all the way to the windows looking out on the street below. In the corner, a little nook rested. Once an old janitor’s closet before the door was removed and the walls replaced, now six tan and rusted lockers resided. Levy used to count the dents and chips in the metal, back when she was younger and watching older students train felt awkward to her. 5 dents the size of fists, 21 the size of coins, and so many scratches that she never had a hope to calculate.

Gildarts had to have gotten them from a school, for there were signs of abuse and graffiti etched in...some from students of the dojo. The words ‘Gajeel sux’ were carved into the farthest locker. Below it, a dragon magnet. Below that, ‘Gray sux even more’.

Oh, that Natsu.

Her fingers reached for her locker, the third, with a little purple combination lock. It was the same lock she used from high school, the combination as familiar to her as her own birthday. With three twists, she had it unlocked, the locker open to reveal her gray gi and sash.

By the time she slid into it, she heard Gildart’s dismissal, the shuffling of feet as the class moved to gather their things and move to the bathrooms to change. In about five minutes, her lesson would begin.

She stepped out of the cove, bare feet chilled on the mats after she took her socks off. Seeing some stragglers talking with Sensei, Levy rolled her shoulders and selected a corner to start stretching, keeping an eye on the clock in the front of the room. Her lessons varied in times but today she could only stay for 45 minutes before heading out to work.

As if she projected her thoughts, Gildarts glanced her way, flashed a smile, and started ushering the last of the class out before shutting the door. Then he turned to her, hands on his hips.

“Well then. You ready to show me how much you’ve been practicing?” He laughed as he said it, excited as ever to share his knowledge with others. He shifted into a sparring pose, hands up and eyes bright.

Levy smiled, shaking her arms before stepping up onto the mats and mirroring his pose. “I’ll show you, Sensei. I’ll throttle you.”

He blinked. Then he threw his head back and laughed. It was a full belly laugh, one of pure amusement. He followed it with a shake of his head. “You are 30 years too young to be smack talking, missy.” He shifted his knees apart, an attack position. Levy only had a few seconds before he advanced, eyeing her for an opening.

The lesson lasted 40 minutes. Levy made sure to thank her sensei before rushing out and taking the stairs two at a time despite her burning muscles. He had thoroughly kicked her ass, making her meet the mats face first or on her back. She still had a lot to learn.

But her right hook has improved. He gave her that.

.

.

.

Lucy didn’t get past the main hall of her building before her phone buzzed and chimed. With a sigh of Levy’s name, she paused and dug into her purse for the device, pulling it out. To her surprise, it was Natsu, not Levy, that had text her so early in the morning. Didn’t he know it was rude to text before 8am?

“Hey lucy, gray was supposed to get coffee today but he’s being an ass and not    answering. Since I knoow you pulled an allnighter at your office (btw you shouldn’t do that) can you go by d&d and get coffee for dajeel, erza, and most importantly me? I’ll owe you big time. Plzzzzzzzzz?”

Well...shit. Lucy sighed, feeling fatigued already now that she was out of the office. But, her friends needed caffeine for whatever can of whoop-ass they were opening today. She knew for a fact that Erza was twice as prickly before her first cup. Gajeel and Natsu were going to end up dead if she didn’t get any. Gray, unfortunately for him if she found out he ditched, would be dead soon.

Lucy knew what to do. Besides criticize her friend’s awful texting.

“K. What do ya’ll want...besides a dictionary?”

She secured her purse strap, keeping the phone in her free hand and her briefcase in the other. Her morning just got a heck of a lot  longer, as well as her daily commute. Taking her time down the stone stairs that lead to the sidewalk, Lucy rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, careful of her makeup.

Time to start walking.

“Awww don’t be liek that. Expressino for gajeel and caramel macchiato for erza. For me, coffee as black as my soul and made of nightmares.”

Her left eye twitched. Her lips pursed. That idiot. She sighed and her fingers automatically moved before she thought.

“So a coconut latte with extra cream and half shot of espresso. Got it.”

It took a second for him to reply.

“ :D <3 “

Idiot. He was never able to stomach black coffee ever since he drank that day old pot of coffee at the precinct. Nobody was sure if he was going to die from it or die because of it. He was excitable one moment and vomiting all over himself the next. Erza nearly committed murder that day. Lucy had to let him curl up in her office, moaning and whining that Erza was going to find him and gut him like a fish. Not too far off from the truth since the redhead was texting her asking if she had seen him that day.

“I guess I’m getting coffee too.” Lucy said to herself, turning and walking down the street away from her direction of home. She had a few blocks to walk to the shop, and then more to the east for the precinct.

As she walked, she watched the shops slowly start to open. The smell of doughnuts and exhaust filled the air.

Speaking of, she had some leftover doughnuts waiting for her at home. She wondered if they were still good and if she would feel like eating them once she made it home. They were glazed so she had to warm them up first. Ohhh, hot, melty, doughnuts.

She loved hot doughnuts. It was something she got from her mother. On Saturdays, they both got up early and pretended to be ninjas and sneak out as to not wake up her father. As a child, it was thrilling secrecy. Something to share with her mother and her alone. They would take the car, trying to contain giggles as they escaped. Then, they went to the local doughnut shop right as it opened and buy the freshest doughnuts. Sometimes they got a dozen and others just three or four. If it was the latter, they always ate the evidence before getting home. A little secret covered in gooey glaze.

Of course her father always knew, but pretended to be in the dark about it.

The tradition died with her mother as did her father’s sense of indulgence in childish dreams. A lot of traditions died that day.

Sewing on rainy Sundays stopped, all of her Mama’s supplies put away. The tea set that was a wedding present from her late grandparents that was the pinnacle of their tea parties was something she saved and had in storage. Her Papa tried to shatter them. He got one of the saucers, so now she had a tea cup on her desk that had long lost its companion.

She missed a lot of things of the past. But, she thought as she smiled at the flower shop owner that was setting out peonies, she was happy with the life she has now. She had many friends, an exciting career, a roof over her head too.

If only her Papa could find what she had.

Happiness? Content? He sorely needed humility.

Lucy paused at the final crosswalk, the only one that always seemed to be red for pedestrians. Across the street, she could see the coffee shop nestled between a laundromat and a thai restaurant.

Drip Drop Cafe and Bakery, or D&D for short.

Small. Quaint. Cheap rent.  Lucy could relate.

Once the light turned red and her walk signal illuminated, Lucy quickly made her way across the street, casting one passing glance into the corner laundromat and spying one little old lady folding her sheets.

D&D was identifiable by the tiny hanging sign with blue painted words, the glass tinted so one could not really see in the shop until the door opened. Lucy recalled when it first opened and the rising sun blinded everyone in the early morning hours. She had to remember to pack her sunglasses just to stop by for a coffee and a doughnut until Laki donated some tint for the windows. Having the owner of a contracting company as a customer had its perks for D&D.

As she placed her hand on the door, fixing her wayward hair as the wind picked up, Lucy figured she would go for a cinnamon bun frap.

She pushed open the door, listening to the bell chime with a smile and a greeting on the tip of her tongue. Then she paused, witnessing Juvia, the owner, flush vibrant red as she slapped her hands over her mouth. Leaning across the counter and nearly nose-to-nose with her, was Gray Fullbuster. His hand was frozen in the action of pushing hair behind Juvia’s ear, looking much like a deer caught in the leadlights.

It was hard to miss exactly what she walked into on this fine Tuesday morning, with the precinct ordering coffee through her because Gray ‘disappeared’. Plus, wooing from Gray involved secrecy from his housemates and awkward proximity. He was so putting on the moves...and Lucy had the pure, intoxicating power of submerging him in shit creek for it.

However, she was a lady and ladies took the high road to any blackmail opportunity. Just this once. So, with all the strength and dignity she could muster, she slowly starts to back out of the door. “Uh, I’m just gonna-”

“Wait! Don’t go Lucy!” Juvia called, reaching out as if she could hold her arm and stop her. “Juvia needs your money!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, horror struck her paling face as she clasped her hands over her mouth a second time. “That sounded bad! Please buy some coffee and fund Juvia’s business!”

At that, Gray clenched his eyes closed as a look of pain came over him. Ah, looks like ol’ Romeo remembered why he was supposed to be here in the first place, not necking the barista. Necking the barista that was Gajeel’s cousin. Not necking Gajeel’s cousin and instead getting Gajeel’s coffee. Whoops.

Screw being a lady. Lucy laughed, sidling in the door feeling like a cat that got the cream. Watching Gray scowl and pull away from the counter, she sauntered up to the glass case of scones, leaning her weight on her elbow.

“Gajeel wanted an espresso, caramel macchiato for Erza, coconut latte with extra cream and half shot of espresso for Natsu… Do you still have that monthly special cinnamon bun frap?”

When Juvia nodded with a smile, already knowing the orders by heart and was already halfway finishing Gajeel’s, Lucy grinned back. “I’ll have that.”

As Juvia moved away to quickly make the orders, Lucy felt the weight of Gray’s glare on her. “Not a word.” he hisses, avoiding her eyes with a flush as she turned to look at him.

She smirked. “Never. Snitches get stitches.”

Gray had the mind to look horrified.

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “It’s a saying, Gray. Relax. My lips are sealed. But for real, Gajeel will grind your bones to dust and use it as flour if you upset her. Hell, if he finds out you had pervy thoughts about her-!”

Gray shushed her quickly, cringing. “I would never, but I don’t need you to remind me of my imminent and painful future demise, thanks.”

“More like disembowelment and castration.” She supplied helpfully.

He winced more. “Thank you. Not making it better.”

“Espresso, caramel macchiato, coconut latte with all the fixin’s, and a cinnamon bun frap.” Juvia called lightly, approaching the counter with the full drink carrier. But, it was Gray who held out a card for payment, smiling easily at both girl’s surprised expression.

“It was me that was originally sent for coffee. At least let me pay.” he reasoned lightly, winking at Juvia and making her squeak and avert her eyes.

Lucy grimaced, but took the coffee anyway and turned way as fast as her body and the hot liquids would allow. “Ugh, just remember to come up for air, kiddos.”

She ignored Gray’s sputters, but Juvia’s embarrassed giggles and the, “Have a great day, Love Rival” was something she couldn’t ignore.

“Juvia, it's been like five years since I met Gray and I still have negative one hundred percent wish to date him, at all.”

The wicked teasing gleam still shone in the barista’s eyes. “So negative equals a positive?”

Gray groaned and Lucy wished she could facepalm but she needed her free hand to hold the door open for a couple trying to enter the shop. “That’s still not how it works!”

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What on Earth would be a perfect Tuesday night for Lucy? Well, there was sitting at home in her pajamas, snuggled in her couch with nothing but movies to watch and snacks to eat. There was also sitting at home and working on her novel.

Mostly, she wanted to stay home.

Yet, here she was, still groggy from the nap on the couch while still in her work clothes. It wasn’t surprising to her that she never made it to her bed before crashing but she was still bitter on the fact that she never got her shoes off in the process.

Anyway, here she was, dressed up and loathing the fact that Levy had the brass balls to threaten her with Erza. Any sort of surprise that required the threat of Erza was fishy. Any surprise from Levy was to be taken with caution.

The blind date Levy had set her up with had, by far, been one of the worst in her dating history. A shiver caressed Lucy’s spine.

All dressed up and standing before Levy’s apartment door, Lucy could hear noises beyond the wood. Just what did her friend have in store tonight? She glanced at her phone once more, reading the text ‘Don’t be late or I’ll send Erza over’.

She was a witch. A conniving, wicked witch with the apartment that was smelling more and more like...blueberries?

Lucy took a deeper sniff, blinking at the fact that yes, the air was filled with the smell of berries galore. What kind of evil plot involved blueberries? Lucy didn’t have the chance to think on it.

The door swung open, the brightness inside contrasting with the dim hallway lamps and making her squint. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t see, however. The shortness of the figure before her gave her a clue.

“Right on time! We’ve been waiting.” Levy greeted lightly, ushering Lucy in with more force than needed and taking the time to suspiciously glance around the hall before slamming the door hard enough to make Lucy nearly bite her tongue.

Lucy staggered inside, barely able to kick her shoes off before Levy was pushing her deeper inside, past the sitting room and all the way into the kitchen.

It was at that moment that Lucy knew she probably fell into a wormhole somewhere enroute to the apartment. That or literally walked her way into the Twilight Zone without paying attention.

“Welcome!” Erza greeted regaly with a knife and fork in her hands, a plate full of syrup and fruit piled before her. “I feared that I would have to fetch you if you took much longer to get here.”

She had a napkin tucked into her shirt, a second one neatly folded on her lap. But Lucy saw it: The hunger in the woman’s eyes as she turned to the plate before her. “Now we can begin.”

Levy brushed past her, taking her own seat next to Erza and tucking a napkin on her lap as well before dragging a bowl of melted fudge closer.

The part that really set this strange occurance apart was the sight of the man with wild black hair tamed into a ponytail leaning over a skillet with a spatula, his eyes narrowed at her as if she personally offended him by her presence.

Gajeel, wearing a red ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, was slaving over Levy’s stove with a powdered sugar handprint right on his-

Lucy nearly peed herself laughing, clutching the door frame in a desperate attempt to stay upright. Tears came to her eyes, air so hard to breathe in because Gajeel was wearing an apron and had a very small and defined handprint on his ass. Gajeel was cooking.

“Oi, dont choke.” he said in his gruff manner, flipping what appeared to be really flat pancakes on the cast iron. “You breathe one word of this to the morons and I’ll have to arrest you.”

“Gaj-” Lucy inhaled and immediately broke into giggles again. “He-” More giggles came and she couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard. She missed it.

“You are now a part of Crepe Tuesdays.” Levy said, scooping a heap of crepes onto her plate before reaching for peaches.

“Secrecy is required.” Erza added, nibbling on a strawberry. “Nobody else but us know of Gajeel’s secret gift.”

“Gift?” Gajeel barked, picking up the skillet and dumping out three fresh crepes onto a plate. “Cooking ain’t a gift. It’s a life skill.”

“I think Erza was referring to your ‘crepe magic’, Gajeel.” Levy piped up with a snicker.

At last, Lucy found her voice. “Well, I like crepes better than creeps.” She took Gajeel’s offered plate, humming at the warm smell of vanilla.

“That was one time!” Levy said hotly, stabbing her fork down with a little too much force. “I said I was sorry!”

“Honestly I wanna hear this story from bunny girl’s perspective. You have a way of telling things to your favor.” Gajeel interrupted as he poured more batter out.

“Shut up!” She flung a blueberry at the back of his head.

“I do have one question.” Lucy said, sitting down an spooning some apples onto her plate. “Why crepe Tuesdays?”

Crepes are a Tuesday thing, duh.” Levy answered simply, taking a bite of her concoction and humming. “So accept your fate and eat crepes!”

Of course, silly her. It wasn’t wise to escape now, not when she had fresh crepes to eat.

Being inducted into a crepe eating society on a Tuesday evening wasn’t something Lucy ever planned on in her life, but she would never look a gift horse in the mouth. Taking her fork up, Lucy dug into her crepe, not questioning it again. She always liked a good fate story after all.

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Natsu’s arm trembled as he lifted it to block a well placed kick at his head. There was intense power behind it, enough to give him a concussion if he had failed to block in time. The shin struck between the pads, making contact with his skin and jolting a flash of pain through his mind.

Air breezed past his lips, his back muscles tensing for a second before he reacted. Grasping the ankle, Natsu flashed a cocky grin before he lifted the leg above his head with intent to unbalance his opponent.

Unfortunately, his opponent had about 15 years more experience than he.

With a bark of laughter, the man shifted, kicking out with his other leg as he warped backwards. He landed on his hands just as his foot was inches from Natsu’s face. There was no choice. Natsu let go of the ankle to block what could be a painful broken nose.

His sensei grunted as he balanced in a handstand before coiling to land on his feet. His normally slicked back coppery hair was out of place and frazzled, eyes glittering with delight as he smirked.

Natsu tensed in alarm, forgetting almost everything he was supposed to be doing as his sensei lunged quicker than a tiger on the hunt.

I’m open. Natsu thought as he stayed frozen, watching as if having an out of body experience, He sees a weakness!

It was too late. With a viper-quick swipe of a leg to his knees, Natsu was flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Everything burned but the mat was cold on his bare, heated back.

Damn you, Gildarts! I almost had you!

Gildarts snorted, clearly knowing his student’s thoughts as he leaned over to ruffle Natsu’s hair. “Time out, runt. You gotta hydrate.” he teased before offering his hand.

Pride dented, Natsu accepted the help up off the mat, cracking his neck as they both moved to the bench where their water bottles waited. Both men settled down on the old wooden bench, leaning back and sipping slowly. Gildarts draped a towel around his shoulders, occasionally swiping sweat that beaded on his face.

The silence spoke the most, ever since Natsu was a teen. It was the understanding between them, the calm acceptance that he had no time for outside the dojo.

“You’ve gotten flabby. Natsu, are you skipping your morning exercises?” Gildarts asked after a long yawn.

Natsu, halfway in the process of gulping down water, choked and dribbled water down his front and out of his nose. With a grimace, he accepted the second towel Gildarts offered. Of course he caught on. Today’s sparring was lackluster. It always did when Natsu had too much on his mind. It took fists and pain to bring everything together.

“You know, the man that is out of practice, takes the losses.” Gildarts said, setting down his bottle and resting his elbows on the back of the bench.

Natsu rolled his eyes, dropping the white towel on his lap. Another one of his old sayings again? “Where did you get that philosophy? A fortune cookie?” he said with no real heat behind it.

Gildarts laughed. A deep, throaty laugh that warmed Natsu just a little.

“You’re witty when you wanna be, boy.” He snorted again, glancing to Natsu out of the corner of his eye. “So, where did the Shakespeare quote book come from?” he asked slyly.

Natsu’s spine snapped taunt, all thoughts freezing as his eyes shoot to his bag and the spine of the book that traitorously peeked out of the zipper. Aw shit. “I-uh-”.

Gildart slapped him on the back, eyes glittering again with that feral look. There was blood in the water now and he was on the hunt. He watched Natsu’s shoulders tense as the younger man looked for a way out of the impending interrogation, and Gildarts lived for it. He grinned lecherously, “Is it a girl?”

The flash of panic in Natsu’s expression, only lasting half a second, but it was a clear answer.

“So it is a girl! Haha ‘bout time!”

Carefully, Natsu closed his eyes and exhaled, measuring his next inhale just as carefully. Find the zen. Erza’s weird seminars on CD’s played in his mind, the voices of faceless life coaches telling him to find peace and face this head on. It wasn’t like he actively listened to them like Erza, but after hearing them constantly in the office, he had disk one thru five memorized.

“I’m working on it, but yes.” he answered thinly.

Gildarts hummed, turning his head in interest. “Oh? Who is she? Can she handle you? Is she aware that you sleep talk? Can she wrangle you when you get hot blooded? Does she got a nice bod?” He motioned both hands at his chest with a wink and a dirty cackle.

Natsu slugged him, perhaps more messily than intended but he had to make a point.

Gildarts caught his fist easily, his perverted grin widening. “She dooo.” he drawls.

It pressed all the right buttons. Natsu bound to his feet, fist clenched and eyes sparking like flint on steel. “Alright pervy old man! You’re asking for it!”

Laughing brightly, Gildarts shed his towel and stood, walking slowly to the mat again as he watched Natsu bobbing on his feet now. Ah, he thought as he prepared to start the spar again, that is more like the little runt I know.

Natsu didn’t wait for him to count down. He lurched forward, and Gildarts dodged a punch with ease.His pupil went in for another, and Gildarts dodged that too..At first, Gildarts really thought Natsu wanted to clock him, but then Natsu opened his mouth.

“Her name’s Lucy. She’s the new ADA here.” Natsu swung wide and Gildarts seized the chance to prod at unprotected muscle. Natsu wheezed as the strike robbed him of the air in his lungs, stepping away to catch it again.

“S-She’s...amazing. Real smart and able to put puzzles together in the courtroom. She smiles real pretty too.”

Gildarts kicked out, Natsu ducking as if he saw it coming.

“When she laughs, I feel like I ate too much. But, I can tell she’s been hurt. It’s in her eyes, you know? That’s why. The quotes make her smile, even just a little.”

Gildarts stared, blinking stupidly at the boy that always clammed up on his tender emotions in the past. Now, he saw raw passion for this ‘Lucy’. Passion that he was trying to hide most of the time.

“Kiss her then.” Gildarts suggested, blocking another strike.

Natsu’s face turned crimson. “H-Hell no! She’d floor me!”

“Tell her then.” He tried again.

Natsu puckered his face like he sucked a lemon. “No way. I don’t do that mushy confession shit Gildarts.”

“Then you’re a pansy.” Gildarts teased, dodging the violent series of hits Natsu responded with. “A paaansy~”.

This earned him a few aggressive punches to the block pads but otherwise, Gildarts thanked his lucky stars that Natsu let him get away with the teasing. The runt really had grown up.

“So, you staying out of trouble?” He changed the subject, knowing Natsu didn’t want to brag about his unrequited beau t a pervert like him the whole time. Plus, it wasn’t what was bothering him.

Natsu snorted, catching a kick and shoving the leg away in the next second. His bangs clung to his forehead, his breathing leveled as he prowled around in a circle, looking for a break in defense.

“I’m not that same kid from juvie anymore.” he reasoned quietly, pouting slightly when Gildarts showed no break in his guard. “The straight and narrow, or else I got a lot of people in line to kick my ass.”

At that, the older man smiled slightly.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He truly was. The kid deserved so much more than the hell he was dragged out of. He straightened, making a show of looking to the clock. “Well, I think I’m gonna call it for tonight. I wanna go home and dot on my darling daughter.”

Natsu relaxed too, but his nose wrinkled. “Oh yeah, Cana is just darling, isn’t she?”

Gildarts ignored the sarcasm, stepping off the mat to grasp his towel again. “Same time next week?”

His pupil didn’t stop shuffling through his bag for a clean shirt. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Turning to watch, Gildarts payed attention to the still present stiffness of Natsu’s shoulders, the shadow of fatigue lingering over him. The man wasn’t sleeping right. It was present in the way he moved, the way his eyes glazed, and the way he was his less chipper self.

When he met Natsu some years ago, there was that darkness lurking in the boy. The anger, the regret, and mostly the loneliness had mulched up much of what the boy could have been. The world showed him no mercy in the hand he was dealt, and it forged the jaded diamond of a kid that was in and out of juvie.

Honestly, at first Gildarts wanted nothing to do with him. He was to bring nothing but trouble to him and his daughter. When Makarov approached him with a favor to take the boy as a foster, he turned him down flat. The kid was too much trouble.

Then, old Makarov went to Igneel.

It was a below the belt hit to go to his boxing rival, but Gildarts didn’t blame the old coot. Igneel turned out to be a far better influence than he ever could. Natsu’s transformation was almost like magic. He laughed more, smiled more, played pranks and even grew to love those around him. The angry little boy became a man that always had a trick up his sleeves.

When Igneel adopted Natsu, Gildarts was sure that everything would be alright, that happiness had been achieved. They even came to the dojo for regular matches, Igneel teaching the kid boxing and martial arts.

Until, Igneel had that accident when Natsu was eighteen.

Igneel was out on his bike and it was dark. Some drunk driver came around and-

The loss still was heavy, Gildarts could tell. If he felt it, God knows Natsu shouldered it too.

And then there was-

Ah.

“It’s been three months.”

Natsu stiffened, pausing as he unwrapped his hands. His face remained impassive, his emotions carefully packed down again. After a second, he continued, packing his bag a little quicker than before. He pulled on a shirt and quickly shoved his boxing gloves in the bag, not looking up from his task.

“Natsu.” Gildarts tried softly.

Natsu whirled around sharply, eyes betraying every feeling he was trying to hide. “If you think I’m grieving or something, you are wrong. We weren’t close. We just survived together.” he snapped, turning back and zipping his bag closed.

Gildarts sighed tiredly, already regretting bringing the subject up but knowing it was too late to back out and leave it alone. “You were biological brothers. His death must of had some impact-?”

Natsu had none of it. He shouldered the bag strap, cracking his shoulders and glaring at the floor with all the bottled up anger. “He was arrested when I was seven. He got life in prison for what he did: to me and the others. If I felt something, it would be justice.”

But, to Gildarts surprise, Natsu let out a long sigh before meeting his gaze and smiling in exhaustion. “Anyway, I gotta catch up on The Arrow so I’ll see you next time, Pops.” He turned with a wave, walking for the exit just as quickly as he packed.

There was sorrow as Gildarts watched the door close and heard the footsteps down the creaky stairs. Already, the warmth of that kid’s presence was fading. He really was Igneel’s boy, bringing the same energy anywhere he went.

With a shake of his head, Gildarts moved to close up, muttering “That kid’s gonna pop at the wrong moment one of these days.”

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Natsu kept his brisk pace down the sidewalk, pulling up his hood and adjusting his headphones over his ears. His mind buzzed, the little voice of his conscience pestering him with every step he took.

Gildarts was only trying to help. Every one of his friends were. Gajeel and Gray, they gave him space when he needed it. Laxus made sure he wasn’t going space cadet at his desk. Lucy kept his mind on the future, reminding him that whatever he was in the past wasn’t who he was now.

A face flashed across his mind, raven hair and a sad smile stained his thoughts. Natsu grit his teeth, barely holding back a snarl of irritation. Zeref, his older brother, someone who was supposed to be family.

He hadn’t seen him since that day he was convicted, sentenced to a life in Plutogrim Penitentiary. He had watched numbly as they cuffed him and dragged him out of the courtroom, his voice calm as he yelled, “No matter where you go, I will always be able to find you, precious brother.’

It scared Natsu at seven, and it scared him as a full grown adult.

Everytime a letter addressed to him in that sickenly familiar script appeared in the mail, Natsu took great pleasure in setting it ablaze. To watch the words burn made him feel powerful, like he was in charge of his life now. Sometimes there were photographs and he loved to watch them burn too.

Then, that one letter arrived three months ago, his name stamped on the envelope, not written. He recalled how his fingers trembled as he opened the letter, numb as he read the contents.

Zeref...was dead. Killed in a cell block riot.

He didn’t remember crying, or screaming. Gray and Gajeel came in just in time to see him put his hand through the wall.

It took one look at the letter for them to understand.

Now, the hole was fixed, a decent sized punching bag in the garage for all three of them to vent on. Fighting was part of their lives, so it payed to stay fit.

He didn’t know why he lost it that day. Maybe it was rage that he never fully paid for his crimes? Maybe it was sorrow for the last connection with his biological family. Maybe he even still loved his brother after all the hell he was put through.

It never erased the wrongness of their crimes. The Dragneel brothers. They started at burglary...and grew into arson and everything else on the wrong side of the law.

His nails dug into his palm. Once Zeref was removed, his life turned around. It all turned around. Even after Igneel passed, Natsu still had family in his friends.

So...why did it still hurt?

Natsu knew he still felt spite at his older sibling, the chance to prove that Zeref was always wrong about him. He wanted his brother to know he wasn’t a waste, or a monster, and that he could be something great. Now, he’d never have that since Zeref was gone. Maybe that was all there was.

He turned down the one way street to his shared house, noticing the kitchen and living room lights on. Two cars sat in the driveway, a blue Ford Focus and a silver Nissan Titan.

So both of them were home already. Natsu breathes in.

He stepped up onto the porch, thankful that one of them remembered to leave the light on so he could see the keyholes. With an exhale, Natsu felt the relief of being home settle in his chest, and his hand fell to the doorknob.