#i put all the glasses layers together & when you make them invisible he looks even More Baby so perhaps it's simply his face

[kitnita]

even if he was only wearing glasses to record pov footage of him practicing tip-ins, i think we deserve to see wyatt at peak goofy because he shoved some glasses onto his face for a sweaty post-game interview.

[thegreatobsesso]

Personal fandom holiday time!!!

December 27 is the day Callie killed Peter, and the same day 12 years that shit goes down in a fashion that kicks off the final stretch of the whole story. :) :) :)

So in honor of that, here's a bit!

Callie POV

Callie was wearing impractical shoes because she was excited.  Sure, she might break an ankle trudging out into the pitch-black woods in three-inch heels, where roots the size of wolves lurked beneath the ice, but she might not. And she’d sure as hell look good either way.  And that wasn’t all. Just before she left her room she noticed Peter’s sweater in a ball on the floor near the closet, and she giggled. Never even gave it back. What an ingrate.  She slipped it on as an inside joke with herself, because Peter wouldn’t see it under her coat. Wielding Peter’s power wearing Peter’s sweater. Funny.  “When are you gonna tell me what we’re doing out here?”  She clung to his coat, allowing him to support her as the canopy of evergreens began blotting out the grey midnight sky. It began to snow in earnest now, like their globe got shaken.  “I have something I wanna show you, but it’s secret,” she said. “You know there’s layers and layers of detection wards all over the castle, totally invisible, right? What I have here, it might set ‘em off, that’s why we need to be way outside the castle walls.”  She could just imagine what she could barely see - him, shaking his head at her in the darkness. “You’re a lunatic.”  “Yeah, but do you like it?”  Crunch, crunch went his boots. “Jury’s still out,” he said, but she could hear the smile in it. The way he’d put up with anything if she was the one doing the asking.  Maybe he was even excited to break the rules for once: Sweet Peter.  They reached the tiny glade where she’d spent hours this winter practicing for this moment. She didn’t even dare hang lights this time. The moment was too fragile, too momentous for any unnecessary risks. She reached down into her shirt, facing him and his expectant eyes as his warm breath swirled in between them.  She unsheathed the blade.  “I see,” he said. “And I’m guessing this is more than just some knife?”  “It’s an orblex.”  His eyes widened. “Callie, these are illegal.”  “So’s drinking, you’re only twenty. Who cares. Sit down,” she said, making the motion herself without taking her eyes off him. “Gimme your hands.”  “What are you gonna do?”  They sat so close together they formed a little wall with their knees, and she wasn’t deliberately casting anything to see by but all the same, the build-up of her desire was coaxing the orblex open before she even meant to begin. It glowed already, its shifting hues casting Peter’s face in stained-glass light.  “I’m gonna show you what it’s like to fly.” 

✨ tag list ✨

@avrablake​ @adie-dee​ @dontjudgemeimawriter​ @ryorine​ @thelaughingstag​ @winterandwords​ @afoolandathief​ @asomeoneperson​ @cedar-west​ @diphthongsfordays​ @lowslore​ @poetinprose​ @cilly-the-writer​​​​​​​​ @harps-for-days

[theboysfanfic]

Komm Zu Mir | Part 10

Komm Zu Mir VtM AU

Pairing: Ventrue!Homelander x f!Reader

18 + only. This story will contain smut/sex so you have to be over 18 to read it.

Warnings: 18+ only. Sex. Smut. Swearing.

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Sexy times after the reveal. And an invite to Amsterdam.

Credit: Dividers by @firefly-graphics x

Main Masterlist | KMZ Series Masterlist | SpookTober2021 Masterlist

She smells like blackcurrant and smoke to him. And of medicinal tea tree, mixed in under the surface is the smokiness. It unravels in invisible smoky layers the closer she is to him. He had a tiny taste that first night, but not enough to really know. Not to know what it would do to him.

He doesn't know.

The bathwater remains in droplets on her skin as he carries her, presses her against him. He wants to undress so he can feel her naked against him.

When they fall into bed together John lands her into the soft duvet, still holding onto her, his arms wrapped around her now trapped between her and the bed. His face is close to hers and he gazes at her like he's examining a really rare gem. His pause noticeable and lingering.

..

He does that cute thing he is probably unaware of. He tilts his chin down into his chest, his lips looking so cute, his cupids bow all curvy and lips slim. Uneven and gorgeous. I just want his lips. I reach up to his mouth, trace fingers over them. As I touch them, his eyelids slowly flicker up and I see his eyes more clearly. He unravels his arms from under me, hovering over me.

‘I need you naked John.’

His eyes travel over my body lying bare in the sheets, he traces his hands over the sides of my thighs up to my hips really gently, up the contours of my body. He does this lip thing and I grab his face by his jaw in one hand, quickly throwing his face onto mine. His glasses jog and his invisible stubble pricks in a nice way against my face. I immediately push my tongue into his mouth.

With his face tilting he doesn't miss a beat to kiss me back, I open my eyes to see his lids closed and my favorite lashes pointed down. I raise my hands to the sides of his cheekbones, threading my fingers under the arms of his glasses pushing them up. His eyes pull open, and he lets me take the glasses off, his eyes dazed and sexy as we put the glasses away. He turns back to me, gulps and I instantly notice his Adam's apple move in his neck.

The lip thing again that he does.

I lean back on my elbows, admiring him.

He starts to undress. I tease him, pushing my fingers under his belt, pulling my knees up to his hips, gripping him. He takes off his jacket and shirt, and I grind against his suit trousers as I'm lying back on the bed. He starts to undo his belt and I help him by pushing his trousers down with the friction I'm making with the inner side of my knees and lower thighs.

‘Don't even give me that look like you're going to pin me. You asked me to fuck you, so I'm going to do that.’

I pull his trousers down, slowly inching my hand down towards the top of his boxers, tracing over his hips, feeling the skin on his lower stomach, and to where I can no longer keep him modest, where my hand is in his hair. I feel the base of his dick, he's hard and warm. I pull down his black boxers, I push him down. I straddle his hips, sitting on top of him, making small movements. Indulging in working myself up over his hardness while I lean down to kiss him. And I lean slowly, gently, I want to savor the moment. I want to make out with him for as long as possible or until I can't take it anymore.

I lean further down into his ear. ‘John I really liked kissing you earlier, we’re gonna do more of that.’ I kiss the side of his cheekbone. Still making small movements with my hips.

‘Oh, John, you're naked.’ I look down and smile at him. I lean to his ear again.

‘I'm gonna feel all of you and I'm gonna know to enjoy it even more now that I know we're ok.’ I say, then quickly swipe my nose over his. I swipe across his lips, leaning so far forward that I can feel my abs against his, the hair trail on his stomach is fluffing against me. My hands ghost over his chest, shoulders and to his neck, then into his hair past his high cheekbones. I lick his lips, he opens them and I get all of his tongue flat against mine. We kiss for ages and I put a hand between by legs as I'm faux riding him.

He breaks away from our kisses and asks me. ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’

‘Let me take care of everything myself. Why not?’ I say.

He leans his arm on mine, pushing my hand out of the way. ‘You can do that, but you might not need to.’

‘OK then, show me how I won't need to.’

I dive down to kiss him again.

He is looking up at me with his sparkling sexy eyes, then says again. ‘Fuck me.'

I twitch at those words. Flooding, I slide, rubbing myself along him, pressing just a bit more. I lift myself up above his hips, catch the tip of his cock against my entrance, position him right, then slowly sink him into me, sliding and angling him to hit me the way I want, but not bottoming out. I won't let him have that yet.

I place my hands flat over his body. The back of my thighs are squishing along his hipbones and my knees are tucked. I tilt and rock and lean down to his face, slowly getting back into kissing him. He leans up to meet me, I pull back to see his cute lips and square jaw reaching up towards me, his lids closed, I pause because he's beautiful, and he opens his eyes.

‘Do you like this’? I ask.

‘I like you.’ he says.

‘But do you like,’ I grind down at a specific angle, changing rhythm, ‘This.’

He gulps and his chin lifts a bit further. I keep the new rhythm. I watch his eyes and I start to catch myself on a particularly good position, my breathing is getting erratic and I still try to look him in the eye. I see the lip movement he does by default. I trace his upper lip and as he leans into my hand I find my way over his pointed canine teeth.

‘Mmm.’

His tongue presses up to the back of his upper front teeth. And his already pointed baby fangs grow sharper and longer.

‘Oh John! Your teeth!’ I feel him move under me and he watches me through partly open eyes.

‘Why are your fangs such a turn on?’ I say.

His eyes change, the corners crinkle. He doesn’t say anything. He blushes.

‘I need enough blood over here John.’ I say.

I ride him until he stops blushing. Until his eyes close again and his chin is up in the air. I change his breathing pattern.

‘I love being able to control your breathing John.’

He can’t say anything.

‘Joooohn?’ I tease him.

I push down onto his hips holding him there, then increasing the speed of the tilts and movements. I’m losing myself and I start to see colours behind my eyelids. I feel him cumming. I flutter around him with soft moans.

He looks at me. Pulls me to lie down on top of him. Hugging me.

He rolls us onto the bed more comfortably, his arms not leaving me. He pushes his fingers through the hair on the nape of my neck and pulls my head towards him to kiss me, he hesitates, pauses and examines my face, thinking about something.

‘I want you here.’

‘I am here.’ I say. I rest my palms on the sides of his head over his cheekbones.

‘No I want you with me.’

‘I can be with you, I don’t have anything on for a few days.’

He rests his face on mine and plays with my hair as we lie here in his bed. He moves from me, out of me and away from me. He leans on the edges of the bed drawing the shutters, locking them into place. It would be pitch black but there is a soft faint light form a lamp inside the bed and it softens the darkness in here. He gets back in beside me tucking us under the cloudy duvet. I see a sticker still attached to the label on the edge. I notice it hasn’t been washed away. He got it just for me to stay here.

He’s getting a little colder to the touch but I stroke him chest and nestle into him.

‘John. Has anyone ever slept here with you?’

‘No one.’ he says.

He strokes my face and hair, he whispers to me. Some words in German and some in English.

Cheek against where his heartbeat would be, I feel him move a little at the contact of my face against his chest.

I try to get comfy again and he moves, almost flinches.

I turn my face up to look at him. I am seeing discomfort and self consciousness?

‘I’m glad you are here with me too, that you asked me to stay with you here, in your room.’

‘But I also want you to myself. ’ he says.

‘You want to keep me here?’

‘What if I do? What if I want to take you away with me?’

‘Where do you want to take me?’

‘I have a trip coming up and I would love it if you went with me. For the weekend. To Amsterdam.’

‘I’d love to go!’

��I’ll take care of everything, you just get yourself ready.’

..

I wake up. I feel warmth on my face and neck. He’s kissing me. Gently, slowly, over my neck as I’m lying on my side. I’m trying to see in the dark. The soft light has gone out but I can just about see my way around. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed next to me.

‘I’m sorry, I..sorry to wake you.’ he says.

‘John don’t stop kissing me, come here.’ I pull him forward by the back of his neck.

I make sure to kiss him as deeply as I can. He seems to be fighting himself, stopping himself from leaping back onto the bed with me.

‘I’m so tired but I want to kiss you.’ My voice is audibly exhausted.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No don’t be.’ I fight sleep.

John gets into bed with me, even though it’s his daytime.

He promised, he told me.

I feel kisses on the back of my neck and gentle strokes over the delicate skin of my inner thighs. Brushing over and over again. It’s ticklish and soothing.

John’s hands keep gliding over my skin until I can’t keep up with them any longer.

Previous | Next

[burnedbyshoto]

matryoshka doll

— Momo is a modern day princess, so it makes sense as to why every single person she’s asked if they wanted to have sex reject her because they felt unworthy. But she’s a girl with carnal needs and if that means having anonymous sex is the only way to have them met, so be it.

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pairing: yaoyorozu momo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, stuck in a wall, anal fisting (giving), fingering, marking, degradation, daddy kink!reader, princess!momo, praise, pwp, cursing, service top!reader, phat ass!momo

word count: 3,333

a/n: i stayed up until 4 am reading bkdk angst fanfic and im so, so tired...... momo has a phat ass that is full of stretch marks and cellulite and I drool at the thought of it. no I dont take any feedback on that.

kinktober day 9 main kink: anonymous sex | kinktober masterlist

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Momo has a secret.

A deep, dark, twisted secret.

It wasn’t so much that it was horrible, humiliating, or even a nuisance for all of humanity, but it definitely was a secret she was keen on keeping until she was six feet under.

Why was that?

Oh, well, you see, it involved one of the most taboo topics in the world: sex.

Yaoyorozu Momo lived a sheltered, elite life. At the tender age of four, she had managed to create an object by replicating a Matryoshka doll's exact molecular structure. She didn’t need to assume that most individuals couldn't compose the doll's molecular structure regardless of their intellect or education. Yet, with a determined gaze, her person and mind no much older than four years old, she succeeded in producing a single, lone, beautiful Matryoshka doll.

But, because of her natural-born intelligence and near-prodigious level thinking, the wealth that her parents held led her to a life where something such as a peck on the cheek was considered scandalous. 

Kissing on the lips was considered a "marriage only" rule, and sex wasn’t even a word she knew.

Middle school for Yaoyorozu Momo consisted of her and her private tutors within her home. Her education was created just for her, and she had evening outings with her similar circles to ensure she had an appropriate social life. All in all, Momo didn’t know what sex was until she was sixteen, sitting in the common area of the dorm room with all her female friends who casually brought up the idea of what they could potentially be into, of who they would. Momo would quote: fuck, marry, or kill of three randomly generated boys within the class.

Of course, Momo’s eyes fluttered at the word fuck, having already known it as a curse word, and only as such as Bakugou always seemed to be yelling it. She had wrongfully spluttered when Mina had wiggled her eyebrows at Uraraka on why, oh why she had only chosen to ‘fuck Midoriya’ and not marry him. To Momo, who also at the time, was aware of her current blossoming feelings towards the smart but somewhat flutter tongued classmate of theirs, had been rather confused at the results Uraraka gave too.

“Kill… uh, Iida-kun,” Urakaka fidgeted, blushing harder under the intense stares of Mina and Hagakure (who had a mean glare despite not being able to see her). “Fuck Deku-kun, marry Todoroki-kun!”

Momo had assumed she would wish to marry her at the time crush, not choose the option to curse him out!

“Uraraka-san, you wish to cuss out Midoriya-san?” Momo had asked, saving the naturally rosy girl from their pink-skinned and invisible friend. “Why is that?”

“Hold on?” Jirou interrupted immediately, Momo’s undoubtedly closest friend rose from her slouched position next to her, her hand placed on her shoulder. “What was that?!”

“Well, isn’t the, ahem, please excuse my vulgar words, ‘fuck,’ option meaning to curse someone out? As Bakugou-san does to many people when he uses that word?” Momo had asked so innocently, so purely that the girls all almost felt horrible for popping the innocent bubble the modern-day princess was in -- keyword: almost.

For the first time in her life, Yaoyorozu Momo was not the most knowledgable in a subject; her cheeks stained red with embarrassing heat when Tsuyu took charge of explaining the alternate definition to what ‘fuck’ meant. 

“You mean babies don’t come in storks?!” she had cried uncontrollably that night. She was utterly overwhelmed by this new level of information that would send her in a spiral of the need to acquire further details for the sake of education and, well, yes, the science of fucking.

From the moment she was sixteen until she was twenty, Momo’s knowledge of sex went from being the lowest in the class, to as it naturally should have been, the most knowledgable person on it. She knew of things, the different branches of sex, where to experience certain types of kinks, and theoretically, where the human body's best parts to touch when having sex. So, the moment she had turned of consenting legal age to have sex, Momo would be lying if she said she wasn’t ready to have sex. 

But there was something in her way, something that not even years of studying could help her with, or could change the circumstances of which she found herself in. It seemed that though her friends enjoyed her sudden new-found genius towards the art and science behind sex, no one thought of her as a… sexual being.

“I c-can’t have sex with you!” Jirou had flushed red, her eyes scattering to every edge of the room, refusing to look at the wealthy heiress who had asked her best friend over during their last week of high school to do the deed. “You’re the modern-day royalty: Yaoyorozu Momo! I’m not… qualified enough!”

Momo frowned, “Oh?”

.

..

.

“Sex?” Todoroki had echoed, his eyes alarming wide despite his composed, neutral expression. Momo nodded her head, ignoring the small wisp of fire that emitted from his hair. “Oh, well, I don’t think I can do that for you, Yaoyorozu. It’s nothing against you, but I don’t think I’d like to have meaningless sex with you for the first time.”

Momo winced, “Oh, okay.”

“That sounded a lot meaner then intended, I apologize.”

.

..

…

..

.

And that’s how it seemed to go.

Aoyama hadn’t been interested in having sex at all with Momo. Mina said she was severely unworthy. Tsuyu simply rejected her because their relationship wasn’t one that had possibilities of sexual encounters. Iida said it would be irresponsible of him to take something of value of hers. Uraraka cried about how inferior scum like her had no right.

Ojiro apologized, having been in a relationship at the moment and wouldn’t. Kaminari said him sexually touching Momo would give the world every right to skin him where he lay. Kirishima had blushed brighter than his hair and stammered; he couldn’t without a proper relationship between the two of them. Kouda had run off crying. Sato had mumbled about how he enjoyed setting tea and pastries together but couldn’t imagine putting his tea in and on her pastry, or some weird allusion like that.

Shoji had bowed his head in apologies, saying she would regret sleeping with him. Sero had run away, crashing into a glass door explaining he wasn’t good enough. Tokoyami stated they weren’t a fated pair and rejected her kindly -- she thinks. Hagakure was in a relationship and politely declined her. Bakugou scoffed and told her to look elsewhere. Midoriya had stammered and suggested that he wasn’t the best option. Mineta just was never an option for her.

She had asked eighteen people who had all told her they would help her with anything, and the only thing that kept being thrown back into her face regarding something that she didn’t see to be anything that special was that she was royalty in their eyes. It was fine at first; honestly, it was! Momo had nodded her head, merely retreating to her home and creating an arrangement of sex toys most suited for her. And for a while, it had been enough.

But like the Matryoshka dolls, she was so fond of making, so good at making, she had several layers underneath that shouldn’t be ignored. And her sexual pleasures and gains had been a neglected part of her for too long. 

From having the longest, thickest dildo she could make for herself, up her cunt, to the vibrator and fuck machines she should create (because she was not allowed anywhere near a sex shop), she had been blissful. Each orgasm ripping through her pleasantly, causing her sweaty chest to arch off her bed, her legs slamming closed as it burst from inside of her, causing her to bit harshly on her fist just in case. But just as even playing with your favorite game day after day, feeling alone, lonely, and unwanted, Momo found that even her toys weren’t enough.

She needed more.

No one would fuck her because of her status, because of her last name and the wealth that she brought, so she decided that if she was to do this, to gain the human touch she ever so desired and lusted over, she was going to have to erase her identity.

She had found a little place in the back alleys of Tokyo. They were hiring anyone who dared to visit and the only requirement to join was that you were willing to be fucked. Momo had shown up for the interview, face obscured by a hoodie she wore and was hired the moment she walked in with her spandex shorts hugging her tiny waist and fat ass. She had always seen places like this within her porn research but had never actually assumed fuck ho(l)es existed. 

She certainly didn’t expect to be put in a wall where only her ass and cunt hanging out and the cold, wet tip of a sharpie marker to write against her clear virgin skin: FREE HOLE TO FUCK. VIRGIN LITTLE WHORE. She could feel that written on her skin, but she was unaware of the words that surrounded her placement on the wall: “put a tally and a review for every pump of cum you shove in me!”

There was no need for a picture by her whole because the people who frequented this place had no desires of that, and so, Momo found peace even as the starting alarm blared in her ear that customers were finally being let it.

To sum up the experience her first night at this joint, the first time experiencing a hot, living, throbbing cock in both her cunt and ass, Momo would have to blush. Her eyes shifting from yours onto the floor as she smiled. A chuckle on her face as she thought back to the end of that four hour fuck feast and remembered that there were nearly eighty-three tally marks on her bruised and blistered ass, of how her cum and all that cum continued to seep from her clenching holes for two days afterward… she loved it.

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You needed to blow off some steam.

Having just been entirely, horribly dumped by your ex and having precisely zero side pieces on the side to fuck, you went out of your way to secure a quick, easy fuck to get your mind off of things. There was no reason for you to simply not join Tinder and ask the first swipe to come over and fuck, but you didn’t want to see a face. You didn’t even want to know their face. As a matter of fact, you weren’t even so much as interested in your own orgasm at the moment than just making someone else cum. So when a pretty woman handed your glowering face a flyer as you were storming around the streets of Tokyo hoping for a sign from god, you almost cried at what the flyer informed you of.

A local... hole in the wall filled with glory holes and exposed asses, cunts, and cocks alike. 

Was it destiny?

You sure believed so as you found yourself tailing to the obscure address, praying for the establishment to be open and, for the most part, empty because you had no plans on performing shit in front of watching eyes. Handing a thousand yen over to the admissions lady as your fee to the use of their prized cunts, cocks, and asses, you shoved the black ticket into your pocket and brisked in.

As you entered the back room, the tension in you back and pressure on your chest seemed to melt away immediately at the scent of sex, dried cum, and sweat. It was an altogether horrid stench, to be quite honest, but right now, it sent fire to your core, your lips licking at the walls and corners willed with awaiting to be attended to people. Twisted pleasure coursed through your veins as you walked around, your eyes taking note of the graffitied words around the individual holes, taking note of the black sharpie words on bruised and battered skin, and some cunts still dripping with someone else’s cum.

‘Loose cunt’ one person had.

‘Hasn’t been broken in yet,’ said another.

‘Loves it when you ‘accidentally’ fuck their ass,’ scrawled on another.

 You couldn’t help but smile at the twisted humor, moving until finally, you saw one that exposed ass first to the world, eight tallies marked on her skin, and oh, the words painted on her smooth, perfect skin and the surrounding walls pulled you in.

‘Tightest fucking pussy.’ ‘100/10 recommended, been back multiple times for more.’ ‘Slip your fist up her ass, she LOVES it.’ ‘Favorite fucking whore here.’ ‘Would fuck again.’ ‘Slut likes it rough and mean.’ ‘Please fuck me!!!!’

You watched as the shiny slick of her cum slowly seep from her spread cheeks, not quite dripping, but definitely wet with her arousal. Something was calling you to her, your feet stumbling nearly tipsy with this outworld lust and drunkenness as you stopped behind her slapped pink ass. And without much need of thought to wonder where to stop, your hands found themselves grabbing her thick, supple ass and you moaned at the warmth emitting from her skin, of how her skin was so soft, so moveable, so bouncy. It was larger than your hands, your fingernails running against the cellulite, and stretch marks on her ass that made you want to kiss and run your tongue against even more. You couldn’t hear her, you couldn’t possibly know if she had liked the way your fingers dug into her ass, but her ass bounced, teetering with your grip as you could imagine a soft, juicy moan. 

“I wonder if you can hear me?” you asked, most likely to no one, fingers spreading her ass, spanking the used whorish skin of hers so that small, tight, clenching pink asshole was on full display for you. “If you sit there for all these hours and listen to men fuck you with their ugly moaning and pathetic growling.”

Her ass rolled in your hands, and you smiled, taking that as a sign that yes, she heard everything, even you. Raising your hand to the bottle of lube, you saturated your fingers with the cold, transparent liquid, turning your fingers down over her still exposed, flush hole. You watched as the lube dripped down, splattering messily around her tight, rimmed muscle, watching her clench and unclench the muscle in alarming beauty.

“I must apologize, princess,” you sighed, looking at the names scrawled on the walls that this cunt and ass seemed to be most responsive to, and number one on that list was princess. “Your daddy isn’t feeling particularly rough today, so I hope you’ll behave with my softer movements.”

You're not quite sure where the reference to yourself as daddy had come from, but the way the ass muscles clenched between the lone hand that held her cheek made it worth it. 

Your lube coated finger edged the pert opening of her ass, feeling the way the already used muscle expanded for your finger if a little stubbornly.

“Relax, princess, daddy sees you like being fisted, so I’m going to make sure you feel good. 

You pressed your finger in until the knuckle disappeared beneath the muscle, your grin growing into a hazy, lustful gaze when you felt her ass bounce. This moan vibrated all the way to her anal cavity as you wasted no time in adding a second finger. Her ass was tight, the ribbed walls of the cavity bumping and gliding against your moving fingers, and you grinned when she loudly moaned. You didn’t need to be an expert to see that she had never been fucked softly or thoroughly before. She must have been used to the terrible, animalistic rage that the men here possessed when fucking these people behind the walls. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that she lost her virginity here. 

Your fingers curled, stroking and persuading her body to ripple and twitch with your commanding movements, and another finger added in, and another finger added in. Soon enough, you had four fingers in, all save your thumb. The stretch of her ass around your nearly formed ass was incredible; she took you so well, not a sound of agonizing pain was heard through the wall, although you swore you heard sounds of elation. The damn slut did enjoy it.

Your thumb pressed to her cunt, rubbing the slick folds of her pussy, softly fucking the outermost part of her inner walls, much against her approval if the way he ass bounced heavily in need had anything to say about it. 

“Ah, does the princess, not like this?” you asked, your hand that was currently not four fingers into her ass stretching out her cheeks even further as finally you retracted your hand out, made a fist, and sunk back in. Now there was a scream. But the way that it shot curling ravenous fires into your core, you knew it wasn’t one of horror or pain. No. It was one of absolute, slutty pleasure. You moaned at the sound, your arm beginning to thrust into her ass slowly, intentionally, and with burning passion and desire to hear her wail again. She sounded so pretty, sounded so slutty.

Your now free hand moved to her cunt, your mind trying to stimulate her more, trying to ignore the way her ass was hot and deliciously tight around your forearm as your pinched and rolled at her clit. Your thumb stayed on her clit, but your fingers stretched to enter her clenching cunt that seemed to be in synch with her ass. YOu moaned in content at the feeling of her inner walls suctioning against your intruding finger, and you laughed upon feeling your moving arm within her ass against her cunt. And that beautiful, pitchy whine resonated deeply again, and your mind melted.

Your fingers and fist doubled in speed, the growing sharp moans through the walls fueling you to move faster, to be rougher, to make her see stars. No wonder why no one fucked her with love here, you thought as leaned down, teeth tearing against her ass cheek that read: mark me, please. Who could stay composed when this fucking slut was this goddamn loud.

“Such a good fucking princess, so slutty, so nice for your daddy,” you grunted,  against her skin, your hips snapping at air as the heat and wetness in your pants made you uncomfortable -- the need for more biting through your clothes. “You like my fist up your ass? You like everyone’s fist up your ass, don’t do? Doesn’t fucking surprise me with those stupid loud moans you make.”

Your words were hissed, your fingernails scraping against her pulsating, throbbing inner walls, and then it happened.

Her ass and her cunt clenched against your fingers and fist. And your jaw dropped as a rippling effect ran across your arm that was buried in her ass.

Was that a?

Holy fucking shit?!

“Princess, did your ass just orgasm?!”

A confirming, pathetic moan sent your mind to the moon.

Suddenly feeling as if this was too much for you, and with no way to relive yourself in this type of fuck room, you removed your hand quickly from her ass, your dominant hand grabbing the hanging sharpie on the wall and added two more tally marks on the number of times she’s cum.

You race out of there, the fire in between your legs too much to handle. Well, at least not before adding one more, important piece of information on her ass and on the wall: ‘if you fuck my ass like daddy did, maybe my ass will orgasm for you too.”

[ibis-gt]

moooore boxer au, directly following my little drabble from last night. there's good reason boxer cam and boxer laz haven't fought before, cos 6'8 heavyweight cam and 5'6 welterweight laz aren't even close to the same weight class, but laz is confident-leaning-to-arrogant enough that he thinks he can land some solid hits and dodge enough of cam's to at least not suffer a knockout loss in this supposedly-friendly spar.

he is wrong. 3600 words. warnings for a little blood and violence, disclaimer that i literally only know boxing from anime and webcomics so some of this is gonna be Incorrect Terminology

~~~

Laz and Sal step into the gym's arena and see Cam chatting animatedly with a short, curly-haired guy. Cam glances over his shoulder when he hears the door open and somehow lights up even brighter. He waves and calls out to them, then plants a hand on the turnbuckle and vaults over the top rope, easily swinging his 300-some pound bulk in a graceful arc clear. 

Laz's throat tightens and his already racing heart starts working overtime. This guy shouldn't be anywhere near as nimble as all that. He's an aging slugger whose most famous matches involved him sitting still and tanking hits.

He's just showing off, Laz reassures himself. It's an intimidation tactic. Let's see him three rounds into the match when I've given him a couple straights.

"Hey, great to see you!" Cam's voice booms out as he crosses the gym floor. "I'm so glad you took my offer. I've been watching you pretty closely as of late - you've got real skill! But I just had to find out how you are firsthand." He extends his hand for a shake, then pauses as he sees Laz already has his gloves on. Cam laughs, a short, booming sound that seems to shake the room. "Okay, down to business already, huh? That's fine! Let me get changed and I'll join you." 

He settles for slapping Laz on the back, which nearly knocks him over, and offering Sal a fistbump, which Sal returns shakily. Cam ambles off towards a changing room. As he passes by the mat, he holds up a hand, and the curly-haired guy tosses his gloves at him, which he catches deftly. Then he stops on his heel and whirls around, clapping a hand to his forehead.

"Oh! How rude of me. You probably don't know Luther, he's my boyfriend and occasional second.'' 

Luther waves. "That's me! Nice to meet you." Laz nods, and Sal waves back. 

"Lazarus...'' Sal begins, but Laz cuts him off. 

"Don't worry so much. Just a friendly fight, right? That means he'll take it easy, and I'll knock his head off while his guard is down.'' 

Sal can't help but laugh, a high-pitched, almost frantic giggle that explodes out of him without warning. Laz is always so keyed up, like he turned the dial to 11 and snapped it off. He's deadly serious of course, but he’s not bothered by Sal's laughter. He starts to bounce on his toes, swaying side to side a little, then takes a swift step to the left, back to the right, circles an invisible opponent, and - onetwothree, quick jabs in succession that trail down his phantom foe's body, no doubt leaving them stunned.

Cam comes back out of the changing room, now outfitted in a pair of black shorts and classic red gloves. He smacks them against each other a few times and beams at Laz.

They climb up into the ring together. Sal hovers behind one corner, while Luther calls out from the other side.

“We’re goin’ three rounds, one minute between each! Standard ten count, three downs in one round is a TKO. Keep it clean, fellas! And go!” He dings the bell to start the round and leans on the turnbuckle, watching intently.

Laz moves side to side, keeping his eyes on Cam. The larger man has a gentle smile on his face. Well, he’d soon wipe that clear. Laz just needs to wait for an opportunity and slip inside his guard. They’d see how that legendary endurance stacked up against Laz’s counter.

Cam moves forward and closes the distance, leading with a jab. It’s almost offensively lazy, clearly just testing Laz’s reflexes. He dodges around it and lets out a huff. I’m not going in on something that obvious, he thinks to himself. Give me something real, old man, this isn’t kindergarten.

Cam grins as though he can hear Laz’s thoughts. He lets loose with a quick combo, faster than Laz would have expected from a slugger his size. Laz dances around the first hit, blocks the second, and steps in under the third, landing a hit on Cam’s stomach. It’s his first sign that he might be in over his head. It’s like punching a concrete wall. That layer of fat must hide a solid slab of muscle. Cam barely moves, even though Laz put most of his weight behind the blow. Laz dances back out of his reach as quickly as he can, narrowly avoiding a right hook. 

Okay, okay, okay. Your opponent’s bigger and stronger than you, he’s got the longer reach, and he can take what you’re throwing at him. Stay on the defensive, don’t let him get you riled up. Laz tosses his head to get his hair out of his face - how many times had Sal urged him to wear a headband? Well, too late now - and starts circling, trying to get a better angle. Cam turns with him. That smile from earlier has settled in and kicked its feet up now. It’s going to take some doing to wipe it off his face. Laz can feel his temper start to rise. It’s something he’s struggled with his whole life - he just gets so angry sometimes. He’s usually able to channel it into something productive, cool anger instead of burning rage, but something in Cam’s demeanor is starting to set him off. Cam’s guard isn’t fully up. It’s like he’s taunting Laz - you’re so small, your reach is so short, I bet you can’t even hit me up here. Try it. Laz slows his breathing and focuses on Cam’s hands instead of his face. Try and knock his head off and you’ll only prove him right. You’ve got to keep it together now and explode later when it won’t get you clobbered. 

Cam comes at him with a few more jabs, putting on some pressure. Laz slips them each in turn, backing up and watching him whiff. He’s starting to catch on to Cam’s rhythm. It’s pretty simple - two jabs with the left, one with the right. Two left, one right. Two left, one right. Laz is trying to keep the ring in mind and not let himself get backed into a corner, and that’s why Cam’s sudden change in rhythm takes him by surprise. One left, and suddenly a right that catches him just as he’s shifting to anticipate the second left. He blocks it - he’s no rookie, he knows to keep his guard up - but it shudders through his body like a cymbal crash. Jesus - if I'd taken that straight on - but there’s no time to think about the hypotheticals. He’s stuttered in his movements and Cam is closing in on the opening, backing him up against the ropes. Laz ducks left, right, blocks another hit that makes his arms ring with pain, and then ducks right under Cam’s arm and spins around him, dancing away with quick hops. By the time Cam’s turned to face him, Laz is bouncing in the middle of the ring again.

“Good!” Cam calls out, and Laz wants to hit him so bad he could scream. “You’re slippery as all hell. That little trick’s won me a match or two, y’know.”

Laz grits his teeth and resumes his defensive stance.

“More of the strong silent type, huh?” Cam says conversationally. “I like a little chatter myself. Good to touch base every now and then. Anyway!” He makes a sudden lunge forward, winding up for a devastating straight. Laz sees his opening and takes it.

He slips under Cam’s punch, using his short stature to his advantage. Just inside Cam’s guard, he crouches low and explodes upwards, slamming an uppercut into Cam’s chin. Cam stumbles back, head tilted to the ceiling. Laz closes on the opening, landing blow after blow now that his guard is down. He’s about to go for a straight when Cam’s head snaps back up along with his hands. Laz doesn’t have time to slip or dodge, he’s already committed to the punch, and time seems to crawl to a halt as Cam’s right glove speeds towards his face. Red fills his vision and he has time to think: ah, fuck.

He gets up. He does not start swinging just yet, opting to hang back a moment and take stock. Cam looks a little ruffled, a few hairs loose from his immaculate bun, some red marks on his body that will no doubt bloom into bruises later on. He shifts his jaw from side to side and licks his lip, which has split open, letting a trickle of blood down his chin. Laz is much worse for wear in their exchange. Sweat drips down his forehead and nose, and his cheek is throbbing with pain.

Lazarus has been punched in the face many times before; getting your nose broken in practice a few times is how you learn to block your head. Cam’s right couner feels like all those nose-breaking punches joined together Voltron-style to fuck his specific shit up. It connects with his left cheek and eye, which almost immediately begin to swell. Laz staggers backwards, head reeling, trying to keep lucid enough to avoid a follow-up. Cam hangs back and watches, which is almost worse for Laz’s pride than if he’d kept trying to beat Laz into the mat. Cam is breathing hard, though, and clearly he felt some of those blows. Laz leans against the ropes and tries to see through the haze of pain that’s settled over his vision. His head feels like it’s been encased in concrete. God dammit, push through, he growls in his head. You’re not made of glass. Get up and get swinging. Show him why he should take you seriously.

The bell dings. Round one is over.

Cam grins and heads to his corner, where Luther is waiting to give him a kiss and fret over his injuries. Laz slumps back against the ropes again, letting out a heavy sigh. He trudges to his corner, where Sal is biting his thumbnail down to a stub.

“Well, how’m I doing?” Laz asks.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing!” Sal quavers. “It looked like he was going to smash you into dust! I mean, did you see that counter? I could hear the impact from here! And the way you fell back, I thought for sure you were going to hit the canvas. Lazarus, you’ve got to play this safe!”

“Encouraging as always,” Laz grumbles. “I’m not doing that bad, c’mon. He’s only landed the one hit. Y’know, if you don’t count the ones I blocked.”

“Sorry, I just - you know you have the Leeroy match coming up, and he’s no pushover. It’s really important if you’re trying for a shot at the title, and I can’t have you getting injured here. But you’re doing really well at slipping his jabs and you’re clearly the faster and more maneuverable fighter. You just need to know when to quit. I could see him recovering from a mile away, and his core’s really strong. Those gut punches aren’t going to do much good unless you can land a hit on his solar plex, that’ll take anyone out of commission for a moment. The punch to his chin was good, keep an eye out for his slower swings and try to slip inside his guard a few more times. You’re not going to win this by knockout, probably not even by downs, but you can give him something to think about at least.” The longer Sal talked, the calmer he got. The gears had started spinning in his head, grinding the raw anxiety into the grist of innovation. “Frankly, I don’t think you can win this fight,” he said, voice steady and sure now. “I mean, you’re simply outclassed in weight. Best you can do is stall it out and go for a tie. Just as long as you don’t go down, you’ll be fine.”

Laz tilted his head to one side, thinking it over. “Not too optimistic, there.”

“It’s just a friendly,” Sal said weakly. “And he’s several weight classes above you. Don’t take it too seriously? Please?”

“Fine,” Laz sighs, conceding at last. But you mark my words, I’m gonna give him at least one more hit that cleans his clock. He smiles too much.”

“This is exactly what got you in trouble in the Miyata match,” Sal groans.

“No it’s not! It’s nothing like that! And anyway, I’m still proud of that match, I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘trouble’,” Laz lied. “Look, one more good hit. That’s my goal for this round, and then I back off and play defense til the bell rings.”

Sal doesn’t look convinced, but their minute to talk shop is up. The bell rings for round two, and Cam strides forward, smacking his gloves together with a loud thwack. Laz rises to meet him, jaw set. One more good hit. He’ll wait as long as it takes. That anger is back but it’s cold now, no longer the bubbling cauldron in his gut, rather a cool composure settling over his mind. His objective is clear, his goal is right in front of him, and he’s got all the patience in the world.

That is, he had all the patience in the world, right up to the point when Cam winks at him.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Winking? Winking?! Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Well, he’ll be winking permanently when I drill him in the eye so hard it closes up for good.

Cam actually laughs as Laz lunges forward, sharp jabs bouncing off of Cam’s raised gloves. But it’s the laughter that clues Laz in. Cam is toying with him, of course he is. He can’t take the bait, he’ll only play right into Cam’s hands. He has to relax. The angry boil is reduced to a simmer as Laz’s calmer analytic mind takes over. He’s no fool and he won’t rise to the bait. He backs off again, dancing out of range. Come and get me, big guy, he thinks, and when your sloppy footwork betrays you, I’ll nail you between the eyes. 

Cam advances, not willing to let him out of range. He seems a little more cautious now, though - he won’t forget that uppercut in a hurry. They trade careful jabs, each blocking or ducking the other’s strikes, and for a moment it seems like they’re both playing it safe. Then Cam goes for a sneaky gut shot that Laz deflects, and Laz slips in under Cam’s guard and lands another shot on his chin. He slips back out as quick as he can, not wanting to get caught committing again, and Cam presses, shaking his head sharply to clear it. Laz notes with satisfaction that Cam is no longer smiling. He doesn’t look upset, though, merely focused. Good. Take me seriously.

Cam starts up his rhythm again. He’s been pressing a little more aggressively than Laz had expected all match. It makes some sense - a swarmer is a good counter to Laz’s more careful fighting style, and having to fend off constant attacks doesn’t leave him much room for mistakes. But Cam is a slugger, used to ending fights quickly with a few punches, and the strain of keeping up this offense is starting to show. He’s just a little slower, and the blows that land are just a little lighter. A bubble of excitement rises in his gut. If Cam keeps trying to overwhelm him, he could potentially wear him down and win this. He’d agreed to stall, but… 

There it is. Just for a moment, Cam’s guard goes down. Laz steps in and drives a straight right at his nose, but Cam gets a hand up and it glances off. Laz bounces back, dodging a wild swipe, and goes for a body shot while Cam’s still in the followthrough. It lands, and Cam grunts. Laz is starting to sport a grin of his own. Finally, a sound out of the big guy that isn’t snark. He skips forward, aiming jabs at Cam’s head. The relentless pace is really taking the wind out of Cam’s sails; he eats punch after punch before he’s finally able to get his hands up and defend again. He staggers back in a defensive position, and Laz presses hard. He’s not about to let Cam get a second to breathe, if he can keep the pressure on and land some good hits he could actually win -

Too late, he realizes Cam’s game. It happens again. He commits to a straight, just in time to see Cam’s right coming for him. He gets his hit in first, the advantage of his proximity and speed closing the gap before Cam can, but a split second later Cam’s glove knocks into his chin enough to lift him off his feet. He feels one brief moment of weightlessness before he sinks into darkness.

~~~

“Ten!” someone shouts.

“Whuh,” Laz says, opening his eyes. For some reason, he’s lying down. And his face hurts really bad. Then it all comes flooding back and he sits up, his vision blacking out in protest. “Fuck.”

“Oooh, just missed the count!” Cam says, walking over and holding out a hand. “Good show, though. For a zippy little pipsqueak, you sure can throw a punch! I was seein' stars for a minute there. How’s your jaw?”

“Fuckin’ hurts,” Laz says. “How’s your ribs?”

“Fuckin’ hurt!” Cam laughs. “C’mon, let’s get some ice on that and talk shop.” Laz takes his hand and tries to pull himself upright, but his legs don’t want to take his weight. Cam takes notice and kneels down, getting Laz’s arm around his shoulder.

“Up we get,” he grunts, straightening up. Then he looks down and sees Laz’s feet dangling a good six inches off the ground and bursts out laughing. “You really are tiny,” he guffaws. “Why the hell’d you agree to fight me?”

“Why the hell’d you offer?” Laz grumbles.

“Well, to tell you the truth,” Cam says, walking the two of them towards the corner, where Luther and Sal have stepped onto the mat. “I hate retirement. I miss the ring. I wanna get back into the game somehow, so I figured I’d see how the up-and-coming competitors are doing. And frankly, kid, you’re not half bad.” He unslings Laz’s arm from his shoulders and guides him over to the little chair set up against the turnbuckle. Sal holds a bag of ice to the swelling on his eye and cheek. Cam sighs as though admitting defeat. “So fine, I’ll do it. I’ll train you.”

Sal and Laz gape at him for a moment. Luther clasps his hands to his chest and sighs dreamily.

“I already have a trainer,” Laz sputters. “And there’s nothing I want to learn from you. No offense or anything, but look, you’re not - “

“You’re in shock,” Cam said, nodding solemnly. “I get it. It’s fine, take a few minutes to really let it sink in. Cam Mersharc, five time world champion, agreeing to train you, I mean, it would throw anyone for a loop.”

“Listen, you deluded old man,” Laz starts to growl, but Sal puts a hand on his shoulder.

“What we mean to say is, of course we’re flattered and thrilled by the offer, but there’s a contract, you see, so it’s really legally out of our hands…”

“Oh, sure, no problem. Luther, honey, you still friends with that lawyer?”

“Sure am,” Luther chirps. “I’ll give her a call, schedule a chat, we’ll have you out of that in no time.”

Sal glances at Laz and shrugs. “Could be useful just to see what he has to offer..?”

Laz scowls and glares up at Cam. “Okay, old man, what’re you thinking?”

“Obviously your footwork’s impeccable and your speed is top notch. You’ve got a brain in there, too, I could see it working the whole time. Your strength is okay for someone your size, and your endurance could use some work. You train with me, I’m gonna round you out. Technically and physically,” he says, playfully tapping Laz’s chest. “Put some meat on those bones, tighten your core, bulk up those arms. Don’t give me that look, you won’t move out of your weight class. Just a little extra padding so when someone gives you one of these - “ His fist stops a half inch from plowing right through Laz’s gut. He’d barely seen Cam’s arm move - had he been holding back in the fight? Or was that head injury messing with his vision? “ - you don’t fold like an omelette. Whaddya say?”

Laz weighs his options. It never hurt to round out a little. It almost sounds like Cam’s offering to shift him towards being a boxer-puncher instead of an out fighter.

“Well… can’t hurt. But if I think you’re full of shit, I’ll tell you to your face. Don’t expect me to start fawning and kissing the ground you walk on just ‘cause you beat me.”

Cam laughs and slaps Laz on the back, nearly knocking him to the mat again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pipsqueak! Now, get down and give me twenty.”

“What? Now? I still have my gloves on.”

“Sorry, was I not clear? On the mat. Twenty push-ups. If you’re doing them wrong, I’ll make your friend sit on your back. Go.”

Laz drops to the mat, cursing up a storm. Cam nods as he watches him bob up and down.

“Oh, yes. This is going to be the start of something wonderful.”

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Eleven-Part One)

Summary: Asgard hosts a ball in honor of the visiting Alfheimian delegation, and (Y/N) is conflicted about meeting the Light Elves and the possibility of discovering her mother’s fate.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Eleven (Part I) October 16th, 2015 Asgard (Previous Chapter)

“C’mon, Loki, is that the best you two’ve got?” (Y/N) shouted over the thundering noise of Aurora and Samson’s hooves and glanced sideways at Loki with a teasing grin. After a week’s worth of horseback riding lessons and bonding with her mare, she and Loki were finally able to put their skills to the test in a ‘friendly’ race through the forests of Asgard.

Loki chuckled and leaned closer to Samson’s ear. “You’re not going to take that, old friend, are you?” The stallion neighed and picked up his speed. “That’s it!”

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) gripped her reins tighter and helped Aurora gallop around some shrubbery. “Aurora, I know that we’ve only known each other for a week but do you really want the males to win this race?” Aurora nickered, speeding up and coming in neck-to-neck with Samson. “That’s what I thought!”

“I never pegged you as the competitive type, darling!”

(Y/N) shot Loki a smirk and yelled back, “And I never thought that you would be a sore loser!” With that, Aurora sped past Samson and darted between two yellow-leafed trees, and (Y/N) let out a victorious cheer; tugging lightly on the reigns, she waited until Aurora slowed into a walk to glance back at Loki, who looked miffed while he slowed Samson to walk beside her. “I win!”

Loki frowned as he worked to catch his breath. “It was simply beginner’s luck.”

“Mm-hmm, sure it was, sweetheart,” (Y/N) ginned at the look he gave her as they guided the horses out of the forest. “What? It’s not my fault that Aurora and I bonded quickly!” Loki remained silent, his green eyes staring stubbornly ahead. “Oh, don’t be like that! Would you feel better if I gave some of the credit to Aurora’s trainer?”

“…It depends on how much.”

“How about…twelve percent?” She couldn’t help but giggle as she uttered the words and even Loki couldn’t fight the smile that was spreading on his face as he rolled his eyes in faux exasperation.

For over a week, she and Loki had been making up for lost time; they’d visited the city and all of the different shops it had to offer, they spent an entire day sailing both on the water and through the skies around Asgard and (Y/N) learned the hard way that navigating churning waves didn’t agree with her stomach, and Loki had also been teaching her how to ride a horse. Because she was mastering horseback riding so quickly, she and Loki spent a lot of time out riding with Aurora and Samson and exploring the forests of Asgard; Loki had even taken her to his secret grove to collect flowers for his mother and fruits for the horses. This week’s been a dream come true, she thought with a content smile, and there’s no one I’d rather spend it with than Loki.

“Once you’ve finished gloating, darling, we should head back to the palace for some lunch before we have to prepare for the ball tonight.” Loki glanced at her, his expression becoming a little uncertain as his green eyes filled with concern. “Are you going to be all right meeting the Alfheimians?”

(Y/N) sighed and nodded, looking down at the reigns in her hands. “I thank so. It’ll do me some good to try and learn as much as I can from them while they’re here.”

Ever since she learned that an Alfheimian delegation would be visiting Asgard for their bi-millennial peace treaty negotiation during their stay, she couldn’t decide if their impending arrival excited or worried her. On one hand, she welcomed any opportunity to learn more about her heritage and Alf Seidr but on the other hand, she was a little nervous about the possibility of learning of her mother and father’s fates. For twenty-six years, (Y/N) had assumed that her parents were dead and she eventually got over the fact that she’d never see them again, but when Loki told her all those months ago that her mother was a Light Elf from Alfheim, a small flicker of hope had grown inside her that perhaps her parents were alive. She was afraid that after months of quietly hoping that she might finally be able to meet her parents, she would only discover that they really had been dead for all those years.

I don’t even know how I’d begin to deal with that news, (Y/N) thought to herself before looking back up at Loki. “Whatever happens tonight, we’ll handle it together. I promise.” Deciding to change the subject, she said, “Truth be told, Loki, I think I’m a little more nervous about going to my very first ball. I wouldn’t want to wind up making a fool of myself or anything…”

“Darling, you could never; you’ll fit right in and I’ll be by your side the entire evening, I promise.” Loki held Samson’s reigns in one hand and held the other out for her to take, bringing hers up and pressing a delicate kiss onto her knuckles. “You and I will dance into the stars, my love.” (Y/N) matched his soft smile and a short while later, they reached the stables and were taking care of the horses as they playfully debated which Avenger could last the longest in a fight with Sif when Thor hurried in. “Good, you can settle our debate, brother; who do you think would last longer in battle against Lady Sif, Stark or Romanoff?”

“That’s hardly fair; Lady Natasha would simply befriend Lady Sif and both would team up to defeat Stark together.” Thor grinned as (Y/N) shot Loki a smug look and Loki childishly stuck his tongue out at her. “I came to inform you both that the Alfheimian delegation has arrived and that they seem to have brought their king with them.”

Loki’s brow furrowed as he poured a pail of water into Samson’s trough. “That’s odd, but then again, Alfheimians are known for their unusual actions…” He smiled mischievously at (Y/N), and she only raised her eyebrows imposingly in response to his teasing.

“Father also asked me to inform you that he wishes you to join our negotiations in the council chambers, Loki.”

Loki’s smile fell instantly at the mention of the Allfather. “…Oh, this should be fun; we’re going to spend hours trapped in a room with the Allfather and be forced to once-again listen to his idiotic demands that Alfheim should abandon their non-interventionism in favor of a completely unfair trade agreement that only serves to benefit Asgard.” Loki remarked, his earlier cheerfulness gone and replaced with annoyance and sarcasm. (Y/N) could tell, however, that his adoptive father’s invitation had taken him by surprise.

Thor frowned. “Loki…”

“Save it, Thor, I’m in no mood to hear another lecture about my attitude,” Loki grumbled. He turned to look at (Y/N) and the hard look in his green eyes softened a little. “I’ll see you later tonight at the ball, darling.”

“See you later, Loki.” (Y/N) stood on her tiptoes to plant a brief kiss on his lips before he turned and began walking out of the stables. Thor also wished her well before leaving, but (Y/N) could tell that the Asgardian’s smile was forced. When both brothers left the stables, she turned back to Aurora and leaned against her stall door with a sigh.

After learning about Loki’s entire past, (Y/N) finally understood why he was so angry with his adoptive father; Odin had kept his distance from her throughout their visit, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he thought her beneath him or because he was wary of her. It’s too bad because I’d love nothing more than to give that man a piece of my mind about how he raised Thor and Loki, she thought with an annoyed huff, her mind flashing back to all the heartbreaking memories her boyfriend had shared with her.

“I’ll see you both later!” (Y/N) patted Aurora and Samson on their snouts and smiled. “I have to go get ready for a royal ball…”

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

Several hours later, (Y/N) stood in front of her chamber’s enormous mirror and pressed the button to make her glasses invisible before inspecting her nearly unrecognizable reflection. She wore a stunning beaded emerald-green gown, its neckline cut low and its straps hung off her shoulders. The bodice hugged her chest, and layers upon layers of delicate gold-embroidered fabric flared out from her waist to create a full skirt. She chose to wear a pair of short green heels, applied only a minimal amount of makeup and her (Y/H/C) had been carefully styled with the help of Sif, who had suggested at lunch that they should prepare for the ball together. I feel like Cinderella when she got to go to the ball, she thought, twirling in a circle and giggling in delight as her shimmering skirts swirled around her legs.

“What are you laughing about over there?”

(Y/N) stopped twirling to look over at Sif, who was smiling bemusedly at her as she ran a comb through her freshly-straightened hair by the open window. She wore a gown similar to hers, but it was long-sleeved and silver, and the skirt wasn’t nearly as full. “Oh, I just realized that I feel like Cinderella.” When Sif’s brow furrowed in confusion, she elaborated. “Cinderella is the main character of a very popular fairytale on Midgard; she’s an abused servant in her step-family’s home and with the help of her fairy godmother, she gets to go to a ball and winds up meeting the prince, and then…well, to make a long story short, they fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“I seem to recall a story similar to that from my own childhood, but doesn’t the prince feed the step-family to a rampaging dragon?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Um…I don’t think that I’ve heard that version before but in a different version written by the Grimm Brothers, both stepsisters’ eyes are pecked out by birds.”

Sif looked impressed. “Interesting…well, in any case, you certainly look like a princess. I’m sure that Loki-”

Just then, there was a quiet knock on the chamber’s door. (Y/N) hurried to the door and opened it to reveal Frigga, dressed in a glimmering golden gown complete with a tiara made of diamonds and gold. “Oh no, are we late?”

“Of course not, my dear, we still have time before the ball begins. I’m here with gifts for the two of you.” Frigga gestured to the large box in her hands as she entered the chamber. She set the box down on the table in the center of the room and opened it to reveal sparkling jewelry. “You both already look enchanting, but I figured that you might enjoy some added sparkle.”

In no time, the two of them were decked out in the most beautiful jewelry (Y/N) had ever laid eyes on. Sif chose not to wear a tiara but instead a silver hair clip designed to look like a vine of leaves, and she wore a simple silver and ruby necklace. Since she was accompanying a Prince of Asgard, Frigga insisted that (Y/N) wear a stunning gold and emerald tiara and (Y/N) picked a plain gold necklace to match. As the three of them left her chambers, (Y/N) caught a glance of herself in the mirror and was again awed by her royal appearance.

“Loki said that he’ll meet you here,” Frigga said once they reached the massive golden open doors of the ballroom; inside, faint music was playing while countless people milled about and chatted. (Y/N) nodded once, and the queen placed a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. “Just breathe, my dear. Everything will be perfect, just try and enjoy yourself.” With one last smile, she and Sif entered the ballroom.

(Y/N) fiddled with her hands, her earlier nervousness beginning to return so to distract herself, she thought about her aunt. She’d be treating this like prom if she were here, she thought as she glanced up at the ceiling with an amused chuckle. The mental image of her aunt holding a disposable camera and fawning over her and Loki gave her the comfort she needed, and she felt herself beginning to relax a little.

“You truly are an angel.”

She turned around to see Loki, a look of unabashed awe on his face as he stood several feet away from her. He wore a long-sleeved emerald-green coat with accents of gold thread and black trousers tucked into a pair of black boots. His raven locks were neatly combed back, making his face appear even more angular, and the green of his jacket brought out the stunning color of his eyes. He’s so beautiful, she thought to herself, her heart hammering away in her chest as he neared her.

“I think that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration, Loki.”

“Trust me, darling, from where I’m standing it’s anything but.” Loki stopped right in front of her, cupping her cheek with one hand and resting the other on her waist as he leaned down and captured her lips in a passion-filled kiss. After several moments, they separated and he gently asked, “How do you feel?”

“A little nervous, but ready. And by the way, you look very handsome tonight.” (Y/N)’s fingers traced the embroidery on his chest and she met Loki’s gaze with a growing smile. “You look amazing in green, sweetheart…though I can’t help but wonder how you’d look in purple.”

Loki hummed thoughtfully, his eyes darkening as his lips curved into a crooked grin. “In your color? Darling, does the thought of me wearing your favorite color entice you?” The hand on her face prevented her from ducking her head in embarrassment while the one on her waist tugged her closer to him. “There’s no need to be bashful; I’ll admit that seeing you dressed in my colors makes for a rather…appealing sight.” His fingers gently caressed her face before trailing down the side of her neck to rest on her bare shoulder, his tantalizing touch making (Y/N)’s breath hitch. He leaned down and just as she tilted her head up to kiss him, he placed a halting finger against her lips and grinned. “As tempting as you are, my love, we should head in before they start looking for us.”

“You’re such a tease, Loki!” (Y/N) playfully shoved her boyfriend’s shoulder while he chuckled, taking a moment to smooth out the skirt of her dress and fan her warmed face. “Before you distracted me, I was going to ask you how you’re feeling but you seem to be doing okay; I know that this is your first ball since Thor’s banishment…”

“I feel more at ease than I thought I would and as long as you’re by my side, (Y/N), I know that I’ll be fine.” With a charming smile, Loki bowed and offered her his arm. “My lady, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you this fine evening?”

She couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics as she gave him a small curtsy. “Why, of course, my prince!” They both grinned and she wrapped her arm around his. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that, Loki.”

“I had an inkling of an idea after seeing your impressive Netflix viewing history. Honestly, I’ll bet you’ve seen every single Regency-Era film and movie that the streaming platform has to offer…”

Loki led her into the ballroom and down the staircase, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but gawk as she took in the beauty and grandeur of it all; the room was lit with magnificent chandeliers, the floor shone and the most beautifully dressed men and women mingled and talked as musicians played a melodious tune. There were a handful of nearby Asgardians who examined her curiously as she and Loki made their way down the stairs, but she just raised her chin and continued walking until they reached a familiar face at the bottom.

“You look stunning, Lady (Y/N)!” Thor exclaimed with a bright grin. His long blonde hair was tied back and he wore an outfit similar to Loki’s, except his was dark red instead of green. “Green suits you.”

(Y/N) smiled and bumped him lightly with her shoulder. “Thank you, Thor, you look nice as well!”

“I welcome you, Asgardians!” (Y/N)’s head whipped around as the music stopped to see Odin and Frigga standing arm-in-arm at the top of the grand staircase. The Allfather was dressed in shining gold armor and held an ornate spear in his free hand, and Frigga’s bright smile lit up the room. A little ways away from the pair stood an extremely tall man, dressed in an ornate magenta tunic and a golden crown. He had straight golden-blonde hair, pointed ears and vivid charcoal-grey eyes, and his tanned skin shimmered faintly in the light; although his face was lightly lined, (Y/N) could sense that he still had strength and vitality in him. Her eyes widened a moment later when she realized who he could possibly be. “We are gathered here tonight to honor our guests, King Tarian of Alfheim and his delegation.” The ballroom erupted into applause as he gestured to the man behind him, who gave a small bow. “And we are here to celebrate the renegotiation of our realms’ peace treaty. May our two realms continue to flourish and grow as we support each other on the battlefields and one day, through the trade routes.” Loki rolled his eyes as everyone clapped again.

Frigga’s smile widened as she called out, “The ball shall commence with the first dance, led by Prince Loki and Lady (Y/N).”

(Y/N)’s heart began to race at the Queen of Asgard’s words; Frigga gave her a small wink, which in turn gave her the burst of courage to take Loki’s hand and allow him to lead her through the whispering crowd and onto the massive dance floor. Once they took their place, Loki flashed her a grin as he bowed and (Y/N) couldn’t help but return it with a smile and a wink as she dipped into a curtsy. When she rose, Loki clasped her hand in his and placed the other on her waist, and she clutched a handful of her skirt in her free hand; the musicians began playing a beautiful waltz as Loki started to twirl them around the floor.

“I thought that you always share the first dance with your mother?”

Loki smiled and murmured back, “After the peace treaty negotiations, she told me that she wanted the two of us to share the first dance of your first Asgardian ball and she simply wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

She smirked as he held her hand above her head and twirled her in a circle. “Now I know where you get that stubborn determination from.” By then, other couples had joined them on the dance floor and (Y/N) couldn’t help but marvel at the entrancing sight as she and Loki performed the dance moves that they’d been practicing all week; but while she was enamored with the scene around her, she felt a twinge of foreboding, as if something horrible was about to happen that would shatter the picturesque moment…

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

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk

Chapter Eleven-Part Two

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie1129 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @destructivebliss @outoftheregular​ @itscomplicatedx​ @0-artemis​ @vivloki​

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 8

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 4k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: none!

A/N: sorry it took me so long. The rest of the date will be in chapter 9! 

(Y/n) huffed, crossing her arms across her chest at the mess Twyla had made. Originally, she had thought asking her to help her get ready for her date was a good idea. The two of them hadn’t spent as much time together as she had liked too and she knew how much Twyla adored fashion. But now, as her various designer dresses and shoes were scattered around the floor along with makeup palettes that had been tossed aimlessly, her patience was wearing thin.

“Was this mess really necessary? I hope you know I’m not cleaning this.” she said, causing the girl to turn around. She tossed a dress on the bed beside the girl before continuing to sift through the manmade jungle she had caused.

“I know. Neither am I, that’s what the maids are for!” she turned, watching as her friend bit at her lip nervously, picking with the skin around the bed of her fingernails. “You know for someone going on her first date, I seem more excited than you do!” when she didn’t get a response she looked over at her shoulder giving her a concerned look.

“I-it’s not that I’m not excited! Trust me, I am. I’ve been waiting for this date for over 7 years. It’s just..” she sighed, looking away from her as her cheeks heated up in embarrassment. “What do you even do on a date? O-or say? What am I supposed to wear?!”

“A good date will flow naturally no matter what you’re doing. And you said Nev was taking you to some fancy restaurant but also on a gondola ride, right? Pick out a dress that’s fancy but also gives you flexibility. Hold up, lemme look I think I saw the perfect dress.” Twyla dove back into the pile of clothes, causing her to giggle at the sight. She continued to lift and throw things until she popped up letting out a loud ‘A-ha!’ she watched as the dress was tossed on the bed along with a pretty pair of strappy white sandals and a purse in the same shade of white. Once she picked the items up, Twyla began to shove her towards the bathroom with the items.

(Y/n) looked in the mirror, letting out a shaky breath. She felt beautiful, undeniably so. Twyla had already taken the liberty of styling her hair and doing her makeup. They had gone for a natural but ethereal makeup look. Dewy foundation, subtle but glowly highlight, a thick layer of gloss along with some individual lashes to make her eyes pop. She felt like a fairy, a princess even. Reaching a jittery hand towards the doorknob, she opened it peaking her head out. Twyla looked up smiling before her jaw dropped at the sight of her friend’s full appearance. Squealing she walked up to her, twirling her around to admire the full look. Sure, she had seen her in a dress before, and even makeup. But this outfit, this look, was much more like her. Yet Twyla couldn’t help but feel as though something was missing.

“Hmm.” she trailed, eyes gazing across the room. Her eyes lit up at the sight of what it was. The diamond encrusted crown lay gently on top of a velvet pillow along with the diamond necklace and earrings. She handed the earrings to (Y/n) to put on before placing the crown on top of her head. Turning her around towards the vanity, she unclasped the priceless necklace before placing it around her neck. “Oh my…(Y/n) you look so beautiful! Like a, like a princess.” she felt her ears tingle from her kind words, smiling as she admired her appearance in the mirror.

“Now, let’s talk lingerie.”

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

“Didn’t peg you for the nervous type, boss.” Blaise piped up, chuckling as Neville fiddled with his tie for what seemed like the thousandth time. He glared at the man through the mirror, grumbling under his breath. Blaise wasn’t wrong, he rarely was. The bigger problem at hand was that he was nervous and he didn’t know how to handle it. Neville had punched some of the most powerful men in the face, made people gravel and beg for their lives, hell, he had even killed men and throughout all of that, he had not an ounce of nervousness in his system. But now, when he was taking the little baker girl who he had been madly in love with since they met in school all those years ago, nervous was the main thing he felt. He was excited, sure, plenty, but in actuality he had never been on a real date with someone he had feelings for.

“Do you even know what to do on a date? You were quite the playboy before she came back into your life.” Ron added, mixing around the scotch in his glass, pouring some for Neville who instantly downed it, not even wincing at the taste.

“ ‘S not true!” he said, turning his head some to glare at him. Seamus cackled, wiping the invisible tears in his eyes as he slapped his knee.

“Please boss, you went through more women than George does bullets on a mission, which is a fuck ton.” he said, causing everyone else to agree. The guys had all gathered in the spare room to help him get ready, calming his nerves and even giving him a few pointers. Although a lot of the advice was useless, he was able to make sense out of some of it.

“Okay, well, suppose I am nervous. How should I...what should I do on a date?” he asked, coughing over the last part to cover it up. They all heard loud and clear though, starting to overlap one another before Blaise whistled, causing everyone to silence. Neville gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Well, did you buy her flowers?” Draco asked, breaking the silence. He scoffed at the ridiculous question.

“Of course I got her flowers! Did you really ask me of all people that? I picked and charmed a bouquet for her the other night. Each flower was handpicked from my garden with intention behind every single one of them.” he rolled up one of his sleeves, seeing if he preferred them rolled or down. Pondering it he decided to roll them down.

“Well combine that with what we’ve taught you and you’re all set.” Harry said, shrugging some as he looked up from his newspaper. Neville gawked at the men. Taught? The only thing they had taught him was that he needed better friends!

“Taught me?” he let out an exasperated laugh, walking towards them. “Taught me? You haven’t taught me shit! I’d have half the mind to-” a knock on the door caused his breath to hitch. The boys all gave each other knowing smirks but their jaws dropped as the door opened revealing the (h/c) girl in all her glory.

There she stood, skin glowing in the soft streams of sunlight that came from the evening Italian sun. The soft lace and tulle draped across her skin delicately, bits of sparkles from the fabric shining brightly. What caught his eye the most was the crown on her head. Even though he had saw it on her yesterday, it was having the same effect on him today. 

“Holy shit.” Seamus whispered, forcing his mouth closed. Not a single pair of eyes weren’t on her.

“Listen, if Nev fucks his date up tonight…” Blaise trailed, causing the girl to giggle, looking at the ground shyly. She glanced up at him through thick lashes, watching as he made his way over to her. He bowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles causing her to giggle some. As he looked up at her, a soft barely there smile graced his face.

“I don’t think that’ll be happening.” he said as he stood up, grabbing the bouquet of flowers from behind him before handing them to her. “What are you doing here, petal? I said I’d come get you from the room.”

“Twyla was really adamant about you seeing me as soon as possible.” she smiled at the scene that had taken place a few moments beforehand. “She said that I looked too good to be kept waiting.”

“You know, that girl’s always speaking nonsense but for once I’ve gotta say I agree.” Neville said, stroking her cheek gently as he leaned down, placing a soft peck on her lips. “Ready to go?” he asked. She nodded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his arm, waving before exiting the room with him. Seamus watched as they left before standing up, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Where are you going, Finnigan?” Harry asked, quirking a brow at him. Seamus smiled, winking some.

“Launching operation ‘make sure the date goes well’. You didn’t think I was gonna miss out on this did you?” Draco eyed him suspiciously as the vein in his forehead began to throb.

“Twyla set you up to this, didn’t she?” Seamus turned once he got to the doorway, flashing him a smile.

“ ‘Course she did!”

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

“Woah! I’ve never seen a car like this in person before.” (Y/n) said, in awe as she walked up to the vintage car. Neville smiled some as the driver came over, bowing as he opened up the door. He slid the driver a large bill, thanking him in italian.

“Yeah, you like it?” she nodded, looking back at him as he climbed in the back of the convertible with her. He pulled her into his side, pulling his Dior sunglasses over his eyes to protect from the evening sun. “It’s mine. Should I have it imported back to England?” her eyes widened. Although Neville had a lot of nice things, she never failed to be surprised when he had something new to show her. She leaned into his side, pulling her legs up onto the seat as the car began to move.

“It’s pretty. I think you should leave it here though. You know, as a memory of tonight.” She looked up at him, smiling some. Neville felt his heart race as he looked down at her. He felt breathless. Whatever he had done in the past years to have the angel of his dreams sitting next to him, going on a date, he’d do it all over again just to see the smile she was giving him. He leaned down, capturing her lips into a passionate yet loving kiss. Their lips locked till they were practically breathless, pulling away. (Y/n) let out a breathless giggle. 

Neville pulled out another large bill, leaning forward to hand it to the driver. “Guida piano, sì?” the driver looked at him through the visor mirror, giving him a nod along with a knowing smirk. He sighed to himself as Neville turned back to the girl, laughing at something she had said.

“Ah, giovane amore.”

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

Neville opened the door for the girl, holding her hand as she stepped out of the car. He decided first that they could get dinner. It’d be an easy way to set the tone for tonight and give him another opportunity to spoil her yet again. He made sure to pick the best restaurant money could buy but even then, she deserved more. More than money could buy. He smiled as they reached the reception desk, clearing his throat to catch the attention of the man behind the desk.

“Welcome sir, name?” he asked, looking up at the man cluelessly. A few others in the restaurant were noticeably tense, but continued to work.

“Longbottom.” he stated, watching as the man looked through the reservation book. He sucked on his teeth, giving Neville a fake look of sympathy.

“Sorry, it looks like you’re about 5 minutes late! I’m sure if you come back tommo-”

“Did you hear what I said? You might wanna listen closer this time. I’m Neville Longbotom.” the man behind the desk blinked at him blankly before his eyes shot up in a sudden realization. He began to scramble, trying to form some sort of apology. Neville slammed his fist on the desk, leaning forward as he began to speak through gritted teeth. “Just get me my fucking table, yeah? My lady should never be kept waiting and if she has to stand here for one more god damn-”

“Yes, yes! Right this way sir.” he said, grabbing the menus. At some point he dropped them but continued to walk, leading them to a private table near a large window. (Y/n) gasped, leaning against the window to look at the breathtaking view. Below her was the ocean, the sunlight cascading across it as seagulls flew around freely. While she was distracted, Neville took the opportunity to pour two glasses of wine before tapping her shoulder. She turned around, smiling at him.

“You seem to be enjoying the view. I take it the table choice is fine?” he asked, pulling her chair out for her. He pushed her chair up before taking a seat in the one across from her. 

“It’s beautiful, I haven't seen anything like it. Last time I saw views this beautiful was Hogwarts.” she tensed slightly as he reached across intertwining their fingers, before relaxing. Her heart was racing wildly, a million different thoughts running through her head. Her and Neville had spent many moments together, far more intimate than this. But there was something so nerve wracking about being with him in public where anyone could see them. (Y/n) found herself growing self conscious about the pressure of it all, but decided to push it aside. She had been waiting for this for years and she wasn’t going to ruin it with a few negative thoughts.

“Yeah? If you like this, you’re gonna love what I have planned for after this.” he smiled at her. After this? He had more than this planned for them? Her wonderings of what it was didn’t last long when the bread was brought out, causing her eyes to light up. As soon as the basket was placed on the table she reached for a slice of the expensive bread, layering butter on it.

“Th-they’ve got the good bread! With the butter that’s all smooth.” she muttered with her mouth full. Neville bit his lip to contain his laughter at her childish display. “Y’know what I’m sayin,?”

He smiled at her, grabbing a piece of his own. “Somehow I do.”

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

After 30 minutes of good conversation and 3 bread baskets later, the two were finally ready to order. (Y/n) opened up the menu, gaping at it in confusion. There was so many elaborate names with descriptions even more confusing. Neville noticed this, pulling her menu down to look at her a bit.

“You alright, pretty girl?” he asked, ignoring the impatient waiter that was supposed to take their order. 

“I’m alright it’s just...there’s so much confusion. All I wanted was chicken alfredo and I don’t even see it on the menu.” her eyes continued to scan the menu, becoming more perplexed as the names grew longer. Her eyes followed the tattooed finger as it pointed to a name that she didn’t even wanna think about pronouncing.

“ ‘S right there. Don’t worry dove, I’ll order for you.” her shoulders relaxed some as she gave him an appreciative smile. As he sent the waiter off, a silence fell over them. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it was clear something needed to be said and for once, it wasn’t on Neville’s end. Did she really wanna ask him now? ‘I should at least wait for dessert, that way it won’t be awkward if he says something I don’t wanna hear.’ she thought to herself.

The silence was encroaching, slowly becoming unbearable. It was suffocating, she felt like she was on a rope, dangling above all the words she wanted to say but couldn’t.

“So I-”

“Do you-”

They both looked at each other as they began to laugh. “You can go. I insist.” he encouraged, taking another sip of his wine before she could protest.

“I was just going to ask if you picked the bouquet yourself? It’s far too beautiful to be store bought, the flowers look happy.” she said, smiling down at the bouquet fondly. When the waiter first came, Neville heavily urged them for a vase to put them in. The waiter originally had been hesitant but when Neville’s jaw began to clench he quickly went to look for a vase in the back room. He smiled at her eye to detail, nodding as he cleared his throat placing his glass back on the table.

“Yeah I did.” he secretly snuck his hand across the table, the edges of their fingers brushing against each other. “Do you remember flower code?” she moved her fingers under his, smiling when he tightened his grip on her hand.

“Of course I do. We learned it together during the spring in the astronomy tower together. Best spring of my life.” she sighed fondly at the memory. “Forget-Me-Nots for true and everlasting love, violets for faith and affection, however, the tulips are leaving my mind. I can’t remember what they mean for the life of me.” she huffed, looking off as she tried to recall their meaning. He chuckled, placing a kiss on her knuckles. He trailed his kisses as far up her arm as he could reach from his position at the table.

“Tulips, well, tulips represent perfection and royalty because that’s what you are to me.” their eyes locked in a passionate gaze, (e/c) meeting his own dazzling ones. “My tulip, so perfect. I have every intention to treat you like royalty.” she was left wordless. Was this all real? She had read many fairy tales growing up and now here she sat, experiencing one of her own. Sure, those fairytales never had dangerous tattooed men with hearts of gold, but the way he looked at her, holding her with such delicacy let her know she had found her prince charming.

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

(Y/n) was thankful she had worn a dress because if she had worn jeans? The button would have flown straight off her pants. Her alfredo was delicious, every herb and seasoning used done so perfectly. Not another bite could fit in her. However, when the dessert menu (that featured pictures of each and every dessert) was brought out, she didn’t see why it wasn’t a good idea to get dessert!

“It all looks so good! Like I made it, but better.” she breathed out, eyes scanning the dessert menu eagerly. But when she saw the triple chocolate cake, it was like she was falling in love all over again. “This. We need this Nev or else I might die.” he laughed at her serious expression, rolling his eyes some.

“Alright, love. Un ordine della torta al cioccolato, per favore.” the waiter nodded, writing it down before walking off again. The same silence from before fell over them but this time, she was going to do it. She sighed, grabbing both his hands in one.

“Listen, Nev. There’s been something, or someone, I’ve been meaning to ask you abou-” her eye began to twitch as a familiar figure stood next to their table. She gave her a bone chilling smile before turning to Neville who was much to her surprise, even more upset than she was.

“Ah, Neville! What a pleasure it is to see you here!” she said, holding out her hand for him to kiss. However he glared at it, leaning back in his seat.

“Can I help you Gisele? Actually even if I can, I don’t want to. Get lost.” he said, waving his hand for her to go away. But as expected, she didn’t budge. She leaned forward onto the table, gripping the edge with her red manicured hands. Her cleavage was on display as a fake pout graced her face. “I’m on a date and I’d rather not see you.”

She gasped, placing a hand on her chest in surprise. “A date? Oh my, is that what this is? Gosh I am so sorry! When I met, er what was it? Ah, (Y/n), over here the other day she said you weren’t together!” he raised a brow at this, looking between the two. 

“You two met? Why didn’t you tell me, love?” he asked, turning his attention to the girl. She gave Gisele a disgusted one over before looking back at him.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant meeting.” she pushed out, looking at him. He rubbed at his chin a bit as he hummed.

“Really? Do you recall what she said to you?” he asked, knowing it couldn’t have been good. Gisele’s expression gave it all away. Although she feigned being unbothered, her expression was slowly cracking.

“You know as a matter of fact, I do! She said I was a knock off version of her and that you were using me as a replacement for the original!” she said, giving Gisele a wide tooth grinned. Gisele’s lips were parted as she searched for the words to say, mind blanking.

Neville looked between the two girls as he took a sip of his wine. “Now that you mention it, you two do look alike. I never really noticed though, I didn't spend much of any time looking at her face. But now that I am…” he trailed off, eyes tracing Gisele’s features, “You’re definitely not a knock off of her. I think it’d be an insult to you to even insinuate that she’s a knock off of you!” Now it was her turn to be surprised. Had he really not noticed their semblance to one another? It was clear now that not only was it a coincidence, but Gisele’s whole story was a lie.

“You- I- you ruined everything!” she shrilled, stomping her foot angrily. “That should be me in your seat, me on this..” she tuned her out as she looked at her own glass of wine. It would be a shame if the wine was to somehow end up on her ugly little polka dot dress. She squinted her (e/c) eyes, watching as the wine splashed all over the girl’s dress. Gisele paused mid sentence, gawking at her dress. Neville began to cackle, eyeing his date suspiciously. His thoughts were confirmed when she sent him a wink.

“My dress! Look what you did to me!” she wailed, motioning to the giant red stain on her dress. A few people turned to look at them all, whispering as they pointed at the girl.

“Me? I didn’t lift a finger.” she said, shrugging as she gave her an innocent look. “I suppose that’s what happens when you meddle in people’s business.”

“Is there a problem ma’am? Sir?” the voice sounded familiar, but an octave deeper. Turning her head her eyes widened at the sight of both Twyla and Seamus. Both of them were in costumes, fake beards and mustaches on their face along with wigs. She went to say something but when the blonde put a finger to her lip, she quickly decided against it.

“Yeah we got a complaint from the head chef. You’re to be escorted out of here immediately. Come along now.” Twyla said, dragging Gisele along with her. Seamus went to follow but was stopped by Neville. He pulled him close, leaning near his ear.

“Next time if you’re gonna spy on your boss, make it a bit less obvious.” he pat his shoulder, tightening his grip. “Although I’m glad you were able to handle this, I’m gonna ask that you leave. It’s not a suggestion but an order from your boss. I’m a big man, I can handle my date on my own.”

Seamus nodded, tipping his hat to them both. “Boss, mini boss.” and with that, he was gone. Neville turned to her, thanking the waiter once the cake was sat down in front of them, two golden forks on the plate.

“Let’s have dessert, shall we?”

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[a-wayne-at-heart-too]

Ask: The 27th of April, the Last (and Long) Part

Bonus Ask:

[Stately Wayne Manor]

Jason: *helping Alfred clear out the dinner table* You think we should’ve asked Harley to stay for dinner? 

Alfred: If you wished to see Master Bruce’s hair turn to grey as you ate dessert, I don’t see why not.

Jason: *burps loudly and fans his breath away* Whoops. Sorry, Alf. Just my way of complimenting your cooking.

Alfred: *carrying the dishes to the kitchen* Then perhaps you should come here more often, Master Jason.

Jason: *following Alfred* I'd rather not cause any trouble.

Alfred: *stops in his tracks and turns to face Jason with a stern expression* And you don't think it troubles me that you feel unwelcome here?

Jason: *takes the dishes from Alfred’s hands, sets them on the kitchen island, and pulls him in for a hug* Alf, hey... I didn’t mean it like that. I know you guys care about me, it’s just...

Alfred: *sobbing into Jason's shirt* We've already lost you once... Once is enough, Jason...

Jason: *tightens the hug and gently plants a kiss on top of Alfred’s head* I know, I know... I'm back, Alf. I'm back.

>>> *** <<<

Dick and Barbara: *sitting on the carpeted floor in the study, enjoying the heat from the fireplace in front of them, going through a stack of photo albums*

Dick: *smiling fondly* Wow, these are old-old.... I should probably scan them before they crumble to pieces.

Dick: *stops at a page and points at a picture of Bruce and Jason on a boat, smiling, and holding up a tuna* Check this out, Babs... Aw, I love this one. I had a few days off from work, decided to spend it here. Somehow Jason convinced Bruce to take break from himself and go fishing.  

Dick: *talking animatedly* So, there we are on Bruce’s huge fishing boat, the Bat-2-Sea -- And Jason’s starting to get seasick because he’s been hanging out by the edge, waiting for a bite for hours -- The persistence on that kid! --  And he finally gets one! A big one, Babs -- *spreads his arms* -- and it was pulling down hard like you wouldn’t believe, but Jason just wouldn’t let go! -- So Bruce drops the glass of wine he’s holding and runs to grab him --

Barbara: What were you doing?

Dick: Who do you think took the picture? As I was saying -- Bruce, he -- he -- *starts to laugh so hard that he tears up* trips over Jason’s line somehow and falls into the ocean! *slapping-the-floor laughing* The World’s Greatest Detective, in his Batwaders, drenched like a wet bird... *sighs happily* You should’ve seen his face!

Barbara: *turns the page* Oh, I can see it now. Still stone-faced, but wet.

Barbara: *stops at a page and giggles* Aw... Will you look at that?

Dick: *looks at the photo Babs is pointing at and chuckles softly* That’s adorable. 

Barbara: Those scaly leotards fit him better than they ever did you, Boy Wonder.

Dick: *smirks* Whatever. But I have to admit, he did look great. He looked really... happy. I wish... I wish I saw more of him in action, you know? *voice breaking* I could’ve maybe trained him the way I did Tim and Damian --

Barbara: *rubs his back comfortingly* Dick...

Jason: *walks into the study* Dickie, I took some of your --

Dick: *clears his throat and wipes his eyes haphazardly* Hey, Little Wing!

Jason: Wait, are those our old family photos?

Barbara: *pats the empty spot beside her* C'mere.

Jason: *sits down and rubs his hands together* Where’s the one where Bruce goes kersplat in the ocean?

Jason: *flips through the pages and grimaces at his photos as Robin* You're not gonna use these to blackmail me, are you?

>>> *** <<<

Duke: *watches as his RPG character explodes for the fifth time in a row and shakes his head* You beat me again! You're so good at this game, man.

Jason: *snorts and puts his controller down* Dude, you weren't even trying. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were letting me win.

Duke: What? Naaaah... That's... Come on, why would I do that?

Jason: *gets up and shrugs, grinning knowingly* I dunno... 'Cause you like seeing me alive?

Duke: Yeah. It’s pretty awesome, actually.

Jason: *offers to bump fists* I gotta pack up. Good game, though. See you around, bro.

Duke: *exploding-fist-bumps with Jason* You too, bro.

Jason: *pats Ace the Bathound’s head as he exits the game room*

>>> *** <<<

Steph: *examining Jason’s face* You look really pale.

Cass: *pointing at various spots on his face* And you have a lot of... scars.

Jason: *sitting on a stool in front of Cass’s vanity dresser, staring at himself in the mirror and absentmindedly running a finger over the shirt-covered scar on his chest* Yeah? That bad, huh?

Steph: *grins* Nothing a little makeup can’t fix.

Jason: *rubbing his chin* You think so? I mean, I just came here to borrow a few weapons from Cass, but if you think I need a makeover...

Steph and Cass: *look at each other and squeal in delight*

>>> *** <<<

Tim: And this *holding up a minuscule gadget between his fingers for Jason to see* generates a force field over your entire body. The more the impact, the greater the energy generated. Schway, huh?

Jason: *nodding his head appreciatively as he takes the gadget and sticks it on the lapel of his leather jacket* Schway.

Tim: *proudly shows Jason a Bat-shaped breastplate * Now, this -- You're gonna love this -- It can turn you invisible to the naked eye for roughly 34.5 seconds, giving you time to do all kinds of offensive or defensive stuff. They won’t know what hit them, Jay. You’re basically gonna be invincible and Joker... Joker, he’s... he’s not... not gonna... *drops the breastplate unceremoniously* 

Jason: *places a hand on Tim’s shoulder* Thank you, Timbo. Really. But I'll be fine out there. You don't have to worry about me.

Tim: Yeah? Can you promise me that? Because I don’t think I can live through another one of Bruce's meltdowns.

Jason: *chuckles softly* Aren't they the best?

>>> *** <<<

Jason: *staring at an empty grave layered with concrete in the backyard*

Jason: *rolls his eyes* I know you're there.

Bruce: *comes out of the shadows and stands next to Jason*

Jason: Why'd you keep it?

Bruce: Because I'm a sentimental old fool.

Jason: This is just... creepy. Even for you.

Bruce and Jason: *stare at the empty grave in silence*

Jason: I've forgiven you.

Bruce: *glances at Jason, who could’ve sworn his adoptive father’s eyes were bloodshot* 

Jason: You know that, don’t you? I mean, I know we’re always going to disagree about Jok-- about him, and a few other things, but... You’ll always be family, Bruce. My family. 

Bruce: *looks at Jason, smiling wearily*

Jason: *grinning back at Bruce*

Bruce: *puts an arm around Jason’s shoulder* Thank you... Son.

Jason: *pulls Bruce in for a tight hug*

Bruce and Jason: ... 

Jason: Hey, remember that time you went kersplat in the ocean?

>>> *** <<<

Damian: *knocks softly on Jason's bedroom door* Todd.

Jason: *stuffing a duffel bag with clothes, homemade snacks, and weapons* Hey, kid, come in. I’m just getting my stuff ready --

Damian: These came from Mother. *drops a pile of books on Jason’s old desk*

Jason: *picking one after the other up excitedly* Tolstoy, Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, Shakespeare, Marx... No way... 

Damian: They’ve been with me for a while. But since you rarely come over, they’ve been collecting dust and taking up valuable space in my room. -Tt-

Jason: *wiping the dust off with his shirt and hugging each one* She kept them... These were my friends back when I was in the League... 

Damian: I didn’t realize we had more in common than just being my Father’s sons.

Jason: Wow. I have no idea how I’m supposed to bring all of these home. I mean, I got here on roller blades, for Bat’s sake -- 

Damian: *thrusts a piece of paper into Jason’s chest* This is for you.

Jason: *gingerly uncrumples it, revealing a painting of him and Damian*

Jason: *reading the writing in calligraphy underneath* “The Second Chance Robins”... *looks at Damian, feeling the tears well up in his eyes* You made this?

Damian: *looking down at his feet* When it’s my day... M-my d-day... Will you come over, too?

Jason: *gets down on bended knee to be at eye level with his little brother* Hey, buddy, look at me. Damian, look at me. Of course. Listen, we’ll do whatever you want. We’ll, um... We’ll take bad guys down together! Pull pranks on Tim! You name it, I got you.

Damian: Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Todd.

Jason: I promise that I’ll do my best, okay?

Damian: You could stay the night, you know. You’re home anyway.

Jason: *ruffles Damian’s hair and grins* I'd like that. As long as you hang out here with me. And I promise I won't tell anybody because it'll ruin our reputation.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

If truth be told, @wingedskyes​ , Jason makes himself available on his Death Day. Because even if neither he nor his family and friends mention it, he knows that they need him just as much as he needs them.

Thank you for this Ask. It was both fun and just a tad bit heartbreaking to write. 

And thank you, @warrior-of-the-blue-moon​ , for the nice addition. 

See: Part 1, Part 2

[bnhavibes]

Yay requests! I was wondering if you could do something like y/n giving Bakugou a back massage after a long day of training? ^^

Yo this turned out soooo much thirstier than I meant! It was supposed to be a cute fluffy thing, but nah. Part 2 is nsfw, link at the bottom. Enjoy!!

-Brit, @slut-zawa

Ao3

Rating: mature, heavy petting? Just a bit hornee     ~3.7k words

Want to go to my room? || Katsuki Bakugou PART 1

Ding!

The smooth metallic sliding of the elevator doors opening rings out in the vast common room of the third floor of the U.A. dorms. The new architecture has surprisingly high-quality acoustics; any sounds echoing slightly against the plain walls and ceiling.

“Out of my way. Damn nerd.” The signature insult and strained voice of Bakugou makes you look up from your place on the couch. He stares down your freckled classmate, waiting for the smaller man to move aside. It’s definitely Bakugou’s voice, but something is...missing. Horrifying aggression (that was very unbecoming of a hero-in-training)? Murderous intent? Explosive competitiveness? It lacked its usual venomous bite. In fact, it was nearly devoid of all emotion. 

Still, it prompts your poor, unfortunate green-haired classmate to stutter out an apology as he stumbles aside and makes his way past the blonde into the elevator. You can see Izuku’s ashamed blush all the way from where you’re sitting across the room. However, instead of the usual victimized expression in his eyes, he narrows them, worriedly looking Bakugou over. It’s a relief to know Izuku isn’t actually taking it personally. People always do that and it annoys you. 

He’s noticed the same thing you have, and he’s assessing what could have happened, looking concerned. But he certainly can’t do anything about it. Not like you can. 

You and Kirishima are the closest Bakugou has to actual friends. Having become significantly closer in recent weeks, you could actually say you were the blonde’s best friend. It was strange at first, seeing a more—dare you say it—vulnerable side to the blonde. You weren’t sure what that meant, and others would poke fun at him, jokingly calling you his “girlfriend.” That thought had certainly crossed your mind. It’s unlike Bakugou to be soft or even slightly friendly to anyone, and he did occasionally let his apathetic facade crumble just a trace around you.

It pissed you off that people would make fun of their own classmate for being human. Everyone needs a best friend, or someone they can be completely themselves with. It thrills you that you can be that person for Bakugou. That he trusts you more than he has ever trusted anyone. Maybe even his own family. Before all the students were made to live in the dorms, you had been his next door neighbor. 

There was no way to ignore the incessant rageful scream-arguments coming from that house. You had met his mother a number of times. It broke your heart that she was always aggressive with him, never really acknowledging his emotions. No wonder he turned out so angry. No wonder he’s so afraid to show vulnerability to anyone. But, as much as Bakugou likes to pretend he doesn’t need people, you can see it in the way he has been seeking you out the past few weeks. 

It started off as him asking small favors, as he would call it, never admitting to asking for help. 

“Show me how you got that damn answer!” You had been sitting peacefully at your desk in math class when you saw a shadow come over your notebook where you were hastily scribbling down the next problem. Incredibly startled, you looked up to see a stern Bakugou pointing at his own math problem that was crossed out with a plethora of large ‘x’s. The other students shook their heads as they interpreted his question as accusing you of doing the problem incorrectly. At this point, you felt like you could speak his language, and saw that demand for what it was. He needed your help with that problem.

Of course, you never called him out on it, lest he yell some unsavory things. You wondered if it was some strange compulsion for Bakugou to call everyone in the class derogatory nicknames. As time went on and you two interacted more, he eventually broke and called you by your given name. You would even go as far to say that he enjoyed your presence, as much as he may have tried to hide it. 

The two of you didn’t necessarily do anything together, the man would just seek out the quiet companionship you offered him. A number of times, he had knocked on your dorm room with a gentle “hey. Open up.” When he stepped in, he would silently hold up his textbooks, plop down on your bed next to you and just study. Only a few words would be exchanged here or there, and you supposed it was a somewhat strange friendship, but you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Well, you certainly could, but you can’t let your feelings get in the way of the only safe friendship Bakugou has. It seems so obvious that you make him soft, but the man is so cut off from anything romantic, you always end up doubting his feelings for you. He would probably say he has to make it to the top first. Can’t bother with such trivial things before he is the number one hero.

You minutely shake your head to clear it, to focus on the matter at hand, as Bakugou practically trips over his own feet on his way towards the couch. It’s a far cry from his usual swagger, each step carefully planned, confident, without a trace of doubt.

He looks positively beat, and as he approaches you see the red scratches, sanguine beaded up and coagulated in approximated lines all over his exposed forearms. The soot layering his hands and face from being within the explosion radius of his own quirk. You watch as a drop of sweat rolls down his forehead, nose, down to his mouth, causing him to spit and make some sort of enraged noise. He’s back! 

To your disappointment (that you would never admit to anyone), the anger ebbs away from his face, taking the crease out of his brow as he flops down next to you on the couch. Seeing your friend’s rapid chestrises, you gather that he is still catching his breath. Must have been one hell of a training session. 

You regard him curiously for a moment, but don’t dare ask a question about what happened. You know him better than that. His stark change in demeanor tells you all you need to know.

He doesn’t even have the energy to make some sardonic remark about you staring at him. His head lolls back against the couch to gaze blankly at the ceiling. Trailing your gaze down the long line of his neck, you wrench your eyes away from the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, gulping. Focus.

“Need anything in particular?” You try your luck at asking a question. The moment of vulnerability feels so fragile, you’re sure that a single word will shatter it, rain down like shards of glass. But it doesn’t. 

Bakugou just makes a low noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and stays put. Suddenly, you feel so lucky that you are his safe place. You never have to say anything to each other, one look and there’s a tacit understanding of everything going on with the other. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk; he just needs your silent support and gentle presence.

Bakugou looks so tense, and you find your hands on his shoulders before you can stop yourself. Before even he can stop you. Your fingers gently dig circles into his taut muscle through his jumper. If you weren’t staring at him like you are, you may have missed the way he turns his torso slowly away from you with each knead of your hands until you can reach both shoulders comfortably. Luckily, he still leans into your touch. You could have—and probably would have—taken it as a rejection if he wasn’t still so relaxed against you. He even heaves a deep sigh of what must be relief.

However, it’s still difficult to access his skin or see where you’re touching with the cursed turtleneck portion of the blue gym uniform. The normally explosive man has been receiving everything well so far, and you can tell he needs this, so you feel safe to continue. Your quaking hands cautiously, so slowly, reach around front to unzip the jumpsuit. You’ve never been undressed around each other before, and you’re afraid how he will interpret you doing this to him. Is this what friends do?

You kind of expect him to stop you when you roll the material mostly off his shoulders. Anyone can walk in and get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be the wrong idea as far as you’re concerned. You understand your feelings are a little complicated but it can be easily boiled down to this: you like him. A lot. How can you not? He’s just so complex and beautiful. 

A surge of affection washes over you and spurs your hands to run gently over the hard muscle of his shoulders. He’s so warm. He’s so warm it gives you pleasant chills that race across your arms, cascade down your spine, raising your goosebumps. You knew Bakugou had a lot of muscle mass,—you’ve been fortunate enough to see him train in that blessed black tank top—but seeing it up close is….entirely different. All you can think is wow. 

Watching his large pectorals peek out the top of the zipper, you notice the rolling beads of sweat across his chest. Focus.

He actually closes his vermillion eyes, brow melting into a relaxed position, tension falling away from his jaw as your hands draw invisible swirling patterns over his skin. Noticing how the pads of your fingers drag uncomfortably over his shoulders, you are thankful you have lotion in your purse that is lying slightly smashed between you two on the couch.

One hand continues warming up his shoulders, while grabbing the lotion with the other. You smile as you read the label: “Sunflower Cherry body butter.” Whatever the hell that means, it’s girly and surely he doesn’t want it. But his eyes don’t open back up, and he is clearly far too exhausted at this point to care. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to yell at Izuku. That says a lot. Sunflower cherry it is.

The other hand reluctantly pulls off the tired man for a moment to warm up the lotion, lathering it over your palms. The floral scent wafts to your nose, and you sigh contentedly. Your hands spread the pastel pink lotion over his shoulders and neck, using more pressure now that your hands glide smoothly over his skin. 

Your eyebrows knit in worry at the knots of muscle he has all over. Bakugou does have a habit of pushing himself too far, but you had never thought of the physical repercussions of that. Certainly he hadn’t either before that training session. 

Letting your thumbs do the work at first, you cup his shoulder with your fingers, running deep circles into the hardest areas of muscle. Starting out gentle and gradually increasing the pressure, he... groans? when you move your thumb over to a sensitive spot on his shoulder. 

Bakugou. Made a noise. Acknowledging that he feels good from your massage. Oh my god, is this really happening? You try to keep it together.

You giggle gently in acknowledgment, hoping your voice doesn’t break or betray your pleasurable giddiness when you ask, “there?” The blonde nods once and you continue to rub at the tense spot, motivated by his soft sighs. Sighs. You might be hyperventilating by now, unbelieving that he is reacting to you this way.

He isn’t usually this vulnerable around you and it gives you such deep satisfaction that he trusts you enough for this. There’s a low heat churning in your abdomen, deriving a possessive delectation from the fact that you’re the only one who gets to see him this way.

Minutes pass by as you slowly rub the tension from the blonde’s shoulders, muscle knots melting away. Red splotches bloom up on his skin from the repetitive friction of your fingers. You move your thumbs to either side of his spine at his shoulder blades and, using deep pressure, run all the way up to his neck. 

The movement is infinitesimal, but you are certain he shivers at that. So you repeat the motion, rewarded with a hitch of breath. You smile gingerly as your thumbs ease circles into the muscles on either side of his cervical spine. With light pressure, you drag your other fingers comfortingly over his neck.  

You pull the lump of muscle away from his spine as you have seen in swedish massage videos. You have genuinely no idea what it’s supposed to do, but you assume it feels nice. After working on his neck for a few minutes, reveling in the gentle groans he gives, your hands travel up to rub circles into the blonde’s scalp. You spread your fingers, covering most of the sides of his head, relishing the feel of the chaotic spikes of his hair being surprisingly soft at the roots. He lets out a shaky sigh as you scrape your nails lightly along sensitive flesh, drawing circular, yet angular patterns. Like a kaleidoscope. 

It’s rewarding to give Bakugou such relaxation, but he keeps letting his head fall back, becoming a part of the couch behind him in a way that makes it nearly impossible to reach anything. Also, in this position you have to constantly tear your wandering eyes from the absolutely sinful way he subtly arches his back. He’s definitely trying to suppress it, but you’re stripping away at his layers so that he can’t anymore. You want to run your tongue along the column of his spine.

Throwing your purse on the floor, you turn the blonde and bring him back so his head is resting in your lap. To your surprise, he is compliant. He’s more than compliant; he’s absolute putty in your hands. Here you can access every part of his scalp. 

Your fingers ghost over the spot behind his ear, running back up to scratch lines into his scalp, earning another small moan from the male. You try desperately to ignore how Bakugou’s new position sends the vibrations all throughout your lap. It’s just enough to make your eyes flutter shut. Biting your lip, you try to keep your breaths even, lest he hear and judge you for getting turned on at something like this. What if he doesn’t return your feelings? 

Another soft noise from the man in your lap brings you out of your mind, and back to the room. Glancing down at his now-slack features, you admire the harsh curve of his striking jawline, how the tip of his nose curls up at the end. He looks so peaceful and even a bit younger without anger and frustration wrinkling his face. It’s not often that you get the chance to just look at Bakugou, so you are sure to take your time to memorize every little detail. 

Peering down at the male, you begin to notice his little tells when you do something particularly nice. His eyebrows twitch and raise, and his head tips up slightly into your touch. His lips dip open, jaw dropping minutely. It’s cute. And really hot. At the same time. It’s desperately arousing watching him lose his composure, and your mind can’t help but wonder how his face will contort during other activities. Eyes widening as your heart begins to pound, you’re certain Bakugou can probably feel it.

Your fingers curl along his hairline to distract yourself, gingerly raking your nails in and pulling the hair back up as if he was wearing a headband. You giggle when his hair flops back down. He lets out a relaxed, yet shaky exhale. At this point it’s safe to assume he has never had a massage before. He’s never been taken care of.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper jokingly, a lopsided smile adorning your face. Bakugou’s eyebrows twitch, pulling together, and he just grunts. 

Another several minutes are spent with your fingers idly carding through his hair, when you notice the blonde’s breathing coming slowly and evenly. The poor guy fell asleep. At least that gives you a chance to ease some of the tension that had been building up in your abdomen. Your fingers continue mussing up his hair, and you feel safe to openly stare at him again. You hope that isn’t creepy, but who can resist drinking in the appearance of Bakugou when he is calm? It’s so rare that you feel obligated to take full advantage of this moment.

Other people may see Bakugou as a hot head and though you can’t deny that, what you see is so much more. An incredibly driven, dedicated man who knows what he wants and stops at nothing to get there. Every wrinkle on his brow maps out a victory or a time when he overcame great adversity. He doesn’t care how other people perceive his personality, he just wants to make sure they know he is unequivocally the best. You admire him greatly for that, where other people criticize him.

Unsure what compels you to do it, you find your head dipping down to plant a chaste kiss on his temple. When you pull back and open your eyes, you’re met with wide crimson orbs. Oh shit.

“Why did you do that?” He sits up as he asks the question, chest hovering close to yours, hot breath puffing down onto your face. Oh god. You brace yourself for the rejection of a lifetime. You can’t help but feel guilty that the only best friend Bakugou has is about to ruin a precious friendship that he probably needs. Your breathing coming quick, you stare back at him, analyzing his expression. 

To your utter relief, there is no overt disgust written on his face, but the blonde is staring at you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyebrows are knitted together in bewildered confusion. He must see your nervousness, because he tries to reassure you. He never reassures anyone. 

“I’m not mad. Jus’ wanna know.” Even now the man isn’t fully awake enough to not slur his words. Unfortunately that does nothing to ease your nerves as he continues to stare you down. You exhale deeply, mouth forming an “O” as you steel yourself and try to keep your shaky breaths under control. Though gazing into the deep burgundy of his eyes terrifies you to no end, you can’t look away.

“I.” You gulp, mouth dry. “I have-....I think I like you.” Now you can’t meet his gaze. You only hear a hitch of breath before a rough hand is on your chin, turning it gently to face him. Bakugou wears an unreadable expression before he pushes his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, enjoying the closeness. You both are just panting into each other's slightly ajar mouths. Breathing the same hot, charged air. You can hear the soft smile in his voice when he asks,

“Can I?” In lieu of an answer, you surge forward to seal your plush lips over his. He sighs into the kiss, deepening it immediately. Tilting his head, he brings another large hand to the back of your neck to pull you into him. His tongue darts out to run along your bottom lip and you open up for him. You moan as his tongue slips into your mouth, licking along every surface he can. It’s like he’s been waiting forever to do this, and he lays his desperation out in the open for you to see.

The heat in your core is back in full force, sending scorching waves through your body as the hand on your neck comes to the small of your back. His hands are scouring over every bit of you, greedily squeezing and kneading and stroking. You arch your body into him, frustrated that you can’t get the friction you need, but breath hitching at how you can feel his ab muscles contracting against you. Your hands are stroking down his arms and chest, appreciating the way his muscles pull taut under your touch.

He breaks away first, trying to catch his breath, but wastes no time in trailing sloppy kisses down your jawline and neck. He sucks on a spot at the base as one calloused hand comes to stroke up your thigh. Widening your legs, you gasp and whine as your hands dig into the roots of his spiky locks and pull. You delight at the full-bodied groan that earns you, and he pulls away from your neck with a searing gaze. 

“Want to go to my room?” His deep voice rasps. You do. You very much do.

Part 2

[blankdblank]

Ash Pt 3

Uses Paper Crowns by Alec Benjamin, song this series was inspired by. 

...

Where the library once was your chosen bed back again you went to your new apartment and closed the door behind you for a private tour of the place. Each room was checked again until you paused at the sight of a servant who had come in to light your fires after having lit the King’s and Lord Glorfindel’s. They nodded their head to you and slipped out once they were through to move onto their next stop in this wing.

Once completely alone to your kitchen you went to find it empty of any supplies. From your side you lifted your bag and opened the top from where in a wiggle of your fingers above it all the pots, pans and dishes you had been using in your former prison flew out to their new homes. Next around each room in each of the empty candle holders you eased long thin fire crystals that with a gentle blow on the tip ignited with orbs of light to cast gentle glow into the apartment. All far more reasonable than wax candles that would eventually burn out, each able to last centuries without any wear if used properly. The study, once empty with what seemed to be a hundred shelves was filled with the books you had been reading and rereading, not all of the hundreds of thousands trapped inside the bag but as many as could fit that you would rotate out seasonally or however you would choose to.

The closet was next. Like a geyser the almost endless sea of colored clothes you had along with dress shoes and boots alike were arranged and sorted with care until at the end your hand landed on the warm white and grey fur blanket your mother had given you with black spots. In your fist it was pulled out and to your chest clung to in your body’s drop to fold around it to the start of the start of your tears. They couldn’t have known that was his plan you kept repeating to yourself. She couldn’t have wished that fate for you no matter the price. And now they would hear, if they were still alive, that your supposed kingdom was drowned and gone and their only child with it. That was, if you were their only child. She was still young and it wouldn’t have been impossible to have conceived that son he wanted, especially when there were ample funds to have afforded fertility potions if that was the reasoning as to why you were their one and only child.

A distant gong of a bell however snapped you from the pit of despair. And to your new bed you went in a sniffling half tear blind mess. To fling the blanket across the bed and to add your own pillow, a pair of handmade sock dog dolls and a stuffed crochet tan goat that you had been given by your grandmother before she had been forced out of the house for reasons you were never allowed to know. From your simple dress you changed into a pair of knee length pants and a loose tunic with hair braided back for a simple ease into the first actual bed you had slept on since before you were taken. That is if a pull down cot from a panel in the wall could be called a bed compared to this four poster canopied wonder. You never anticipated being a Queen, and what you had gotten was far from what you had been promised for.

Beyond soft this cloud of a bed melded around the body that sank into it and only lured out more tears to your plummet back into the constant pain the daily tasks had distracted you from wallowing in. The silence let it shriek and scream and berate you for your idiocy and failure to somehow not being enough to have not been treated that way. Somehow you made yourself a target and had gotten yourself locked away to that demon and now were living off the pity of a King and his people until you could earn your keep and place here. Beaten and bloody you woke again to the invisible scars and open wounds of that pain with glass lined eyelids opened to find this new place at least was not a dream. With a final stubborn tear to plummet over and from your nose to roll over the frozen trails its siblings had left on their way to make a wet spot on the pillow you had left nail marks in once again last night. Remorsefully over each tear your fingertips slid with golden glimmers stitching each one back together without a trace of the wound you had inflicted upon the lifeless thing.

“It has to end,” you muttered to yourself, every book you read and every world suffering thrived it always there was an end for its victims. Splashes of warm water were smoothed over your face with some salve from a small vial that you smoothed across your face to refresh your skin and eyelids to reduce puffiness and blotchiness to seem at least that you hadn’t spent the night weeping into your pillow. You had heard again that Dale would be open again for another Elven visit and had woken up accordingly to the earliest public meal available beforehand.

Without the folded skirt as the rest of those you had were lace over your black pants and the bottom of your sky blue tunic was a navy and black layered knee length skirt of overlaid embroidered strips that would help to disguise the wider hips and more pronounced backside and shape of your thighs that seemed to be more toned than the Elleths here. The obvious curvature of your bust could not be disguised but could be squished down a bit with your black vest with silver accents to keep from any possible risk of an unplanned reveal. Another way you stuck out almost making you wish that you had arrived more closer to the Dwarves in height as they were properly plump with most having thick voluminous hair closer in texture to yours. But comparisons aside even not common in shape to these tall silent people who had kindly taken you in seemed to simply accept you for your differences, or at least not let it be known to your face that they didn’t.

Over your necklace and rings you paused at your nightstand with bangs easing from behind your left ear across your face. You didn’t want to put them on again but would regret leaving them behind, so you simply closed your eyes and lifted them to secure it around your neck. In a shake of your head on your heel you turned and made for the front door collecting your bag as you went you shouldered to make your way out into the hall. Where across the closing door you eyed the new symbols etched into the wood underneath the panels of swans in a lake that were there at your tour. Later on you’d figure out what those symbols meant and two blind steps afterwards a chest was what stopped you. Half asleep the now stopped Prince with a sudden snap of wide eyes caught your flinch of a grin and apology filled step around the grass and tree scented body you had bumped into. Just a moment he lingered there then continued on to his apartment beside his father’s to bathe and sleep while you focused to not slam into anyone of the other silent giants in this kingdom on the way to your meal.

.

A paper crown

And a heart made of glass

A tattered gown

And her kingdom of ash

She walks alone

She can never look back

The story of a queen whose castle has fallen to the sea

.

Back and forth from shop to customer deliveries were taken with a few spare deliveries by nearby shops added on along the way to add to your purse. Queen or not the focus of the new citizen while Dwarves especially while not raising you to the level of public reverence as when Thror would join them yet not a one skimped on even a simple show of respect for your title in passing and upon accepting deliveries. No one questioned your work ethic and in each pass through the winding streets of Dale you crossed off a good deal of the city now to grow a map of sorts for it inside your mind. Strangers however from the Men in town had taken in tries to place themselves upon those pathways to stir up a sort of conversation. None more than the nameless to you Lord of Dale himself who to the amusement of those watching had been thwarted in convincing you to join them for lunch as you had accepted Grunnd’s offer to eat with him and his spouse and their children.

.

She'll make it out

But she's never the same

She's lookin' down

At the scars that remain

But you hold your ground

Though your kingdoms in flames

'Cause it's the story of a queen who's castle has fallen to the sea

Knowing there's no one who will be

A king that will come and save his queen

.

Small friendships. Tiny smiles. Friendly encounters. None of that did anything to hide the pain still in your eyes and the occasional caught brushes of fingers along the necklace or rings as good as a brand from the dead prison warden of a husband that stung more than one in passing deeply. No one could bear the lost distant gaze off to the ground that would come over you in moments of pause that spoke so loudly for them on the raging sea hidden in plain sight. And on the evenings you now traded deliveries to work in the Smith’s shop again each smoky sight of you paired to those distant gazes had people swear they could hear the sounds of those screams and flames that had torn through your now sunken home.

.

When all she needs

And all she wants

When all she finds

When all she is, and ever was

Is compromised

'Cause there's no one to love her when

You built your walls

Too high

And there's no one to love you when you build

Your walls

Too high

.

Right out of your daydreams the sight of the Prince snapped your mind in his place to the side of the Captain of the Guard who had headed the transport again silently beckoned you over to him and returned your respectful nod, “Your Majesty.”

Legolas responded, “Prince Legolas is an acceptable trade of names between us outside of friendship bonds both formally and cordially.”

“Right,” you said softly and his eyes scanned over your face.

“I came to ask how you are finding Greenwood as your home.”

“It is a very lovely kingdom. Thank you for-,”

A bit softer he stated in a try to be less formal sensing he was being misunderstood, “I was not seeking a reiteration of any gratitude upon your part. Merely, how are you finding your employment here rather? Do you find deliveries and errands a sustainable career for yourself so far? As we have an endless supply of fields open for you to explore, even our own guards should you wish it we would be grateful to train you to know our forest and how to defend it and yourself.”

“Oh, well, my parents were tradesmen, and I delivered things and did errands.” Gaining a nod from the Prince and Captain you glanced between, “I never knew anything else, for now it pays, I am not certain if it pays well, compared to others but it is what I know.”

Tauriel nodded her head and stated, “Should you ever become curious of a new profession you are free to ask at any time, there will always be someone available to train you personally as long as interest prevails it is how we live, a great many of us try at so many professions before we find our paths.”

Legolas chuckled and said, “We had a great many fires before Tauriel traded a blade for baking against her uncle’s trade.”

She grinned and held back his countless tries to find his own way and simply said, “And had our Prince pursued painting as he wished in childhood our palace walls would be a great deal more colorful. Though less tolerable for guests to stomach in regards to his preferred color palate.” That had you chuckle to yourself and glance away for a few others in passing to see an elusive smile full on that retracted when you caught their gaze and she said, “There is time.” At that they bowed their heads and turned to leave you to head off to bathe and ready for supper.

.

She's looking out

From the war that's inside

She's screaming out

'Cause no one survived

But when you're all alone

You wait and you hide

'Cause it's the story of a queen whose castle has fallen to the sea

Knowing, there's no one who will be

A king who will come and save his queen

.

A roll of thunder had your eyes raise from the pillow you woke up staring at in a tear from your nightmare on all fours. Hard pants left your lips and to another growl like roll of thunder you leapt from bed and raced out of your apartment through the halls past confused guards on watch until to a wall of rain across from the stables you halted and tried to catch your breath. Wide eyed the sight of the line of horses filing into the large building from the storm you had misinterpreted as a dragon attack each breath brought you back down to earth. However dripping wet from the rain Lord Glorfindel came into view with a cloak draped around his shoulders and chest completely aware of the lingering fear in your eyes that to the sight of the King in blackened ooze stained armor echoing pings to every rain drop that collided with it darted away in a sharp turn back to your room.

Two hallways later however Lord Glorfindel alongside the King both came into your path with eyes in search over your face for what the problem could be, both the source of the trail of water droplets from their former place in the rain. However the foot that came out from underneath the cloak had you point and say, “You have a foot,”

Lord Glorfindel answered, “Yes, Prince Estel, ward of Lord Elrond, has arrived with the young Lords Elladan and Elohrir from a visit to their grandfather Lord Celeborn in Lothlorien.”

King Thranduil however asked the burning question they yearned to know as the source of those tears that had broken free down your face to the drip of water from his head to his toe that his skin felt each one in their cold departure from where they had it him down to his feet. “Are you unwell?”

Haltingly you shook your head and raised your hands to the feel of the tears to wipe your cheeks, “Rain. Over a thousand years, no rain. Just, forgot, how loud it can be.”

You didn’t mention the dragon, but the both of them could see that there was more you weren’t saying. “There you are,” The voice turned your head and the soaking wet twins who looked you over nodded their heads in response to yours.

King Thranduil spoke the answer to their unasked question, “Boys, allow me to introduce Queen Jaqiearae.” To you he named the pair, “Princes Elladan and Ellohrir.”

Elladan, “Ah, Ada will be pleased to know you have discovered a title to go with such a stunning new arrival.”

“Ada?” you asked Thranduil whose eyes were still fixed upon you that almost made your breath hitch in notice of that.

Thranduil, “Ada means father.”

“Ah, interesting.” After another nod of your head you said to the King, “I am interrupting. Mind your puddle.” You said then walked around the King who bit the inside of his lip to keep from shouting at you to stop and merely turned when you were a good ten feet ahead to follow behind and ensure you made it back to your apartment on the way to his. An act that had the curious twins behind him in wonder for just what their father’s friend had expected from said curious stranger.

It wasn’t until you had gotten to the door of your apartment you had seen they had followed you and Thranduil in a few steps closer spoke again to steal another chance to say anything to ease any worries from the storm. “During rains like this we do not travel to Dale. Next week will be our next scheduled trip to Dale lest we risk wounding our horses or damaging our wagons.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Lord Glorfindel in a glance between you said to break the silence spoke up, “Sleep well Your Highness.”

“Good night,” you said after a sweeping glance over the group then through the door you opened behind you they watched you walk and close it behind you unable to think of what else to say to the puddle spreading King who simply turned for his apartment at the seal of the doors. In his absence the curiously smirking twins glanced between one another and the dripping Lord who carried the sleeping Prince to his nursery before heading for a bath and to change for the night.

.

When all she needs

When all she wants

And all she finds

When all she is, and ever was

Is compromised

'Cause there's no one to love her when

You built your walls

Too high

And there's no one to love you when you build

Your walls

Too high

.

Breakfasts came with more offers for work including more nonsensically cluttered rooms that fortunately for you the tasks took up a good chunk of your days that left your evenings post bath to simply relax. Most often you relaxed on a lounge that looked over a garden with a view of some Elk roaming through the trees in the light drizzle that to each distant rumble of thunder you stretched your tense legs, arms and back. Hints of soreness from the hard work named the following day as your day off to rest. A voice on your left however had you jump and look up to the apologetic messenger who bowed his head and stepped closer with the letter extended in hand. “Your Highness,” after a glance at the letter you accepted hold of it and he said, “A letter arrived for you by hawk.”

“Oh, thank you.” You said with a grin that he took as the sign to turn and return to his own rounds of delivering the arrived mail. When alone your eyes lowered to the letter with those same sigil from your apartment door with more across the flap above the wax seal on the back of the envelope with a symbol you had seen often in Dale but couldn’t name. Under the flap your nail eased to help break the seal to bring out the folded pages coated in a language you couldn’t understand. In a sigh you muttered, “Great…mystery letter…”

Onto your aching feet you stood and bit back the tension in your back and legs and strolled back into the Palace and curiously wandered the halls until you spotted the familiar face of Tauriel in the halls speaking to another guard. Softly in what seemed to be their move to break apart to move on about their days you approached and said, “Um, excuse me.”

With lips parted she took notice of you in the head bow of the other guard and bowed her head asking, “Yes, Your Highness?”

“I, got this letter, that I can’t read. Um, can you, read this language?”

In the pass off of the letter the guard said, “I will pass on your orders, Tauriel,” and slipped away with another bow of his head you returned with another flash of a grin as Tauriel accepted the letter she merely glanced at then returned to you parting your lips.

“I apologize, this is Dalion. King Thranduil would know what this says, few of our people read this tongue, usually those in Dale write in Silvan or Westron for our ease.”

You shifted the letter in your grip and turned with a shift of your outer sheer layer of your skirt on your dress that hung lower than the thick velvet sash accented layer to not trip on its shift to settle around your beaded slippers that matched the beaded off the shoulder top many an Elf stole glimpses of. Including the Seamstresses who went out of their way to get a glimpse of the new styles to draw inspiration from. Upon notice of your means to follow behind her Tauriel slowed to have you catch her pace and asked, “Is this your first letter?”

“Yes,” you said in a glance up at her. “Most I have received is a few slips of paper with addresses in Dale. Do you get a lot of letters from Dale?” her eyes shifted to meet yours, “Or is this a bad sign to get mail from Dale?”

That had the corner of her mouth quirk up, “I do not travel to Dale outside of wagon duties. However I do receive ample letters from my cousins who guard Lothlorien’s borders and a distant third cousin in Rivendell. Many from those who work in Dale receive letters from friends and co-workers. Were it bad news most often King Thranduil would receive that notice not you.”

“Right, then he would dish out punishments no doubt.”

Tauriel couldn’t help but chuckle, “Most likely were the subject about you there would be no punishments. A King cannot justly inflict punishment upon a Queen amongst our people. She must relent that she is in the wrong and pursue mediation herself with the King as a middle man of sorts until peace in jointly claimed.”

At the end of a winding path through the Palace you came to a stunning Throne Room where Thranduil was lounged in his throne sideways with his ankle propped on one knee listening to a series of Lords in a half circle taking note of his final orders on the issues they had brought to him including Lord Glorfindel and the twin brothers. The snap of the King’s eyes and his inch up at the sight of your approach with his hands moved from their taps together atop his lap to the arms of his throne. “Queen Jaqiearae, Tauriel, is something the matter?”

Tauriel once upon your arrival and stop a few feet from Lord Glorfindel’s side she joined the dispersing Lords in exiting the Throne Room that had his eyes scan over your gown as the remaining trio did to the shimmer of firelight off the beading work on it. After you stole a glance to her back on the way out you flashed him a grin and said, “Nothing is wrong, I got a letter, and Tauriel says it’s in, Dalion? And that you could translate it for me?”

Right out of his Throne in the slide of his foot off his knee he rose and strode down the steps with ease straight to the bottom with hand extended for the letter you offered to him. Light as possible he accepted the weight of the letter that on his palms with a thumb was unfolded with his eyes widening upon the opening scrawled upon the top of the page to a quickening of his breath. By the second stanza of what seemed to be a lengthy poem addressed to you his eyes flinched from the page to yours then down again in a clear of his throat. “To My Star Draped Madame,” The words had your brow tick up and he continued to read in a fight against his body’s urge to have his chest heave in frustration he couldn’t explain as the outpouring of adoration was being read aloud by himself.

Though in his intense focus to simply read the letter in its entirety the three Lords caught your own change of breath in the wave of your hands in a loss for words to make him stop. And it took the hop from you onto the second to last step and grip on his elbow to lean around his side to reach for the letter. The contact and fall of your hair onto his arm had him stop and mouth left open to look from you to the letter you folded the top page down asking, “All of it? All of it is this, poem? Who wrote this?!”

Thranduil shifted the pages to the back of the final page and read, “Lord Girion of Dale.”

“Who?” You asked that had his eyes fall on you again in a sharp inhale at the realization that you had no clue even who had written this or why they would have written it to begin with.

Lord Glorfindel stated, “Lord Girion is married with a grown son and a child on the way. How could he write this to Queen Jaqiearae?”

When you straightened up Thranduil’s body turned to face you partially in the drop of your hand off his arm, “Is there a response you wish to send to this?”

“Yes,” you said and from his stack Elohrir brought over a blank piece of parchment that Thranduil accepted with the writing plaque and quill filled for him that he readied to copy your words exactly. “Lord, whoever you said,” the words already had the corner of his mouth tick up in his dictation, “While I should find such,” your head tilted slightly in thought of words that had Glorfindel ease his fingers across his lips to hide the grin trying to split across his lips to Elladan’s clear chortle. “Flattery, complimentary, having received them from a married man with multiple children to whom I have no acquaintance with only will be met with questioning of character and distrust of intent of said flattery. I thank you for this insight upon your person and highly encourage you to direct those attentions upon the selfless woman who has bourn your children and is in dire need of such affections while time is precious and sleep is plentiful and free from the cries of an infant.” Thranduil lifted his gaze at your fingers tapping your forehead, “May your stanzas never outnumber precious moments and sentiments for the Esteemed Lady of Dale to whom you have sworn yourself upon your honor and good name.”

Thranduil chuckled to himself and he stated, “The Lady of Dale is very esteemed.”

That had you let out a breathe, “Oh that’s good, I thought beloved might be a stretch. No one said anything about any Lady of Dale in all my time there,” you said moving closer to watch him write the same runes for your title and name that in an offer of the quill you signed, ‘Q J.P.Pear’ in a style and unknown runes that had the King eyeing in apparent awe. Between the twins an envelope was fashioned and addressed to Lord Girion that was folded around the letter they used a nearby torch to heat the wax Thranduil used his own seal he drew from his pocket that bird from the branches above swooped down to carry off to Dale.

“Thank you,” you said in a sheepish glance to the King whose eyes scanned over you with a hint of a smirk on his lips for how you had responded to this issue. “I don’t know if he does this often, or if I did something,”

Lord Glorfindel spoke, “You did nothing. Even Lady Luthien had admirers but none would have dared to dishonor their spouse who is with child or had birthed their children. He is wrong in this you share no blame.”

You nodded and stepped down the steps and said, “Well, I will leave you to your business.”

To your back he replied, “Upon your consideration of your own crest,” he said and you turned to look back at him, “Our Smiths will craft you your own seal.”

“This was my first letter,”

“All the same,” he replied, “A seal is required as a Noble for a great many reasons.” You nodded and he returned the nod the others parroted and gained one from you in the turn to head back to your room to go put the letter away and lay down at the headache brewing from this nonsensical letter.

You had no clue who this Lord was. Why he had imagined to have been just in sending the letter at all. All of this weighed on the past with your former husband’s words that convinced your parents to ship you off to spike into the forefront of your conscious again.

.

There is no one

Who is strong enough

To save your love

There's no fairytale

There's no fairytale

.

“Rabbit door, turtle door, badger door,” you had strolled past your own apartment doors and turned down the given hall and were in search of the apartment you had been asked to clean for the day. Elves had been shuffling the task around as the usual maid was still recovering from her birth and bonding with her baby boy that you barely could see a toe on in the flow of Elves that took turns to greet and swoon over the first child born in what you were told was centuries since Tauriel’s younger cousins a few years younger than her had been birthed.

“Ah,” you said upon reaching the doors and let yourself in having been told that it would be empty at this time of day. “Agh,” you muttered to the first boot by the door in what seemed to be a trail of clothes and belongings and crumpled up balls of parchment between shredded squares of scribble coated parchment silenced with their secrets unless pieced back together again. Swipes of your fingers gathered the paper and boots that hovered behind your hunched self in the task of gathering wraps, long robes and shawls upon your bent arm to pin to your chest. You didn’t expect this and had worn a dress at the promise that you wouldn’t need to scrub the floors merely to tidy up a bit. Now with the material pinned to your thighs small kicks helped to keep your skirt and the lengthy clothes from tripping you.

A pass beyond the kitchen had the scrub brush lift up to begin washing the dishes left there itself and towards the bedroom you went. “What?” You squeaked in eying the giant hot spring in the middle of the flower like apartment kept warm by that and the lit fires in a few of the rooms you had passed. Against the edge of it a pile of clothes laid that you wagged a finger and they floated behind you.

A bedroom was found, though not the one you had expected, across a massive fur coated bed there was a lump from a little boy slept mostly hidden except for half his face by a nap conquered game of hide and seek. “Hell of a nursery,” you murmured and walked on towards the open closet where the largest pile of clothes was found yet. The job was clear, tidy up and set any clothing that seemed to be damaged or stained in the bins you had brought along the wall outside the front door when you were done and the laundry staff on duty today would pick them up on their rounds.

From the jumble in your arms each piece was hovered and inspected with sleeves raising themselves and the robes to turn around them flew off to where you sent them. Wraps elegantly folded themselves again to line the shelves they were meant for and pants from the pile yet to be worn folded and hung themselves back up on their usual hangars. Robes went this way and that with a few tongue clicking missing buttons to spoil a few garments explained now as to why they had been cast on the floor. Quite easily the task was done and boots bounced themselves home again for a grin at mastering the defiant mess.

A study came next with papers all over the floor that to the mess of runes you couldn’t decipher you simply organized the piles a bit so at least someone could stroll between what seemed to be a floor based filing system of nonsense without knocking them over. A splash however turned your head and your heart race spiked in wonder if the child had gone for a swim unsupervised. Over the papers while the books on the shelves straightened their toppled selves you hopped and strode into the bedroom with skirt in hand.

Wide eyed however the naked man exiting the hot spring with towel bunched to ruffle through telling dripping white locks that had you turn and call the clothes bins to you. The motion wasn’t missed by the stunned King who lowered the towel to hang in front of his chest and down to his upper thigh at enough to hide the family jewels but little else of his silhouette that watched a body with a bin on a shoulder to block sight of him on its way to the door. Unable to help it a smirk eased out across his lips in recognition of the telling unique style to the gown the Queen amongst his people who was gone with the click of a distant door and not a word of parting thanks to the bin between you.

.

When all she needs

When all she wants

When all she finds

When all she is, and ever was

Is compromised

'Cause there's no one to love her

You built your walls too high

And there's no one to love you when you trap yourself inside

Pt 4

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

x Ash - @fandomsstolemylife00​, @lilith15000,  @devilishminx328

[iamakiller]

owl always love you

Wordcount: 2000

Notes & Warnings:  It has been far too long since I shared any of my fiction with you, hasn’t it?  Well, how about five unhappy memories of Valentines past, and one that went perfectly to plan (... or did it?)

As for warnings, there is no sex at all, but there is an unfortunate accident, and a hint of murder. Hmm, I must be going soft in my old age ... 

Five unhappy memories ...

1.

Charlie is four.

Today feels like a very special day.  There were flowers and a card on the kitchen table this morning, and no arguments over breakfast.  It was almost like last night’s fight didn’t happen.

At preschool, the classroom has been decorated with red and pink hearts because it’s Valentine’s Day. The teacher reads the class a picture book about an owl who was looking for love, and then they all do a craft based on the story.  The teacher has drawn the owl’s face and body on card for everyone, but they have to color it in and try to write a message on the owl’s tummy.  Charlie writes “Owl always love you Mommy” in purple crayon – his mother’s favorite color.

The next part of the craft is very hard.  They have to trace the outline of their hands onto card, color it in, and then cut it out. They stick the hands onto the owl with glue, and fold them over, and it looks kind of like wings.  Charlie is very proud of himself, because he did it without any help, and unlike the boy who sits next to him, he didn’t try to eat any of the glue.

At going home time, he presents the card to his mother.  She glances at it, and puts it in her handbag.

“Do you like it, Mommy?” Charlie asks, but she doesn’t say anything.  Maybe she didn’t hear him.

The next morning, he finds it in the trash.  

Oh.

Well, it wasn’t very good, he realizes.  His coloring wasn’t neat enough, and one of the thumbs was missing because of a mishap he had when he was cutting it out.  Maybe if he’d tried harder, she would have liked it.

Maybe if he tries harder, she’ll like him ...

2.

Charlie is eight.  

Valentine’s Day has been the main topic of conversation on the playground ever since the beginning of February. It’s not like anybody ever talks to Charlie, but there are some advantages to being invisible.  He hears everything.  He knows exactly who is getting a Valentine, and – most crucially – who isn’t.

On the night of February thirteenth, he stays up very late.  It isn’t like anyone is checking what time he goes to bed anyway, so he pulls together the materials he’s “borrowed” from his teacher over the past few days, and works until the early hours of the morning.

The next day, everyone in the class has at least one little handmade card on their desk by the end of the day.  

… except Charlie.

And that’s one of the disadvantages of being invisible.

Nobody knows he exists ...

3.

Charlie is thirteen.

According to his research, it is puberty that has turned the majority of his classmates into mindless, giggling idiots.  Thankfully, he seems to be immune to this plague, and the hours he spends staring at the long, golden hair of the girl who sits in front of him in class is perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Melissa is the prettiest girl in the class by far.  Charlie thinks she looks just like an elven queen ... if Galadriel had a Midwestern accent and a mother who was the head of the PTA.  She is also constantly accompanied by a group of four uglier girls, who all stare at Charlie as he makes his approach, the poem he wrote for her clutched in a hand that seems to be permanently sweaty these days.

She accepts the token of his affection with the carelessness of one who is accustomed to such things, and doesn’t even say thank you.  At lunchtime, Charlie overhears her reading excerpts of it to her gaggle of friends.  She tosses her lovely, blonde hair back, and laughs scornfully, before tearing it up into tiny pieces and leaving it on her lunch tray for the cafeteria staff to clear away.  

And suddenly, Charlie realizes how ugly she is.

At the end of February, poor Melissa has a terrible accident.  One of the teachers finds her unconscious at the bottom of the stairwell hours after school has finished for the day.  She must have tripped and fallen down the stairs somehow.

She makes a full recovery, but she never remembers what happened that day ...

4.

Charlie is seventeen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the dance?” asks cousin Pat from where he’s leaning in the doorway of Charlie’s bedroom.  He’s dressed to impress, and Charlie can smell the terrible cologne he’s wearing from all the way on the other side of the room.  “I can wait for you to get changed, I don’t mind.”

“I’m too busy,” says Charlie, staring up at the ceiling.  Soon, it will be time for him to turn over and stare at the wall.  “And I don’t like parties.”

“I don’t like parties either,” Pat reminds him, fidgeting with the cuffs of his blue button-down.  “But you’ll never meet someone special if you don’t leave your room.”

Charlie responds by making a noise like someone being sick, and turns over to show Pat his back.  “Bye.  Have fun at the shitty Valentine’s dance.”  He can feel his cousin’s gaze on the back of his head – can picture the annoying look of concern on his face – but he doesn’t move or say anything, and finally he hears the door close, and then Pat’s footsteps lumbering down the stairs.

Fuck Valentine’s Day, Charlie thinks.  Fuck parties, and fuck ever finding someone special.

5.

Charlie is 27.

This might be his first ever Valentine’s Day in a relationship, but he’s done his research into What Women Want, and blown a small fortune on trying to make the day special.  A hundred red roses, delivered to Nicole on set.  Reservations at the hottest restaurant in town.  A pair of Chanel earrings, so expensive he actually choked on his own saliva when they told him the price, and had to be brought a glass of water to help him recover.

At the restaurant, Nicole opens the earrings, and stares at them for a long time.  Her expression is completely unreadable, which is usually the case with her.  They have been dating for two and a half months, and with every day that passes, Charlie feels like he knows less about her, which should surely be impossible.

“Don’t you like them?” Charlie asks, after the silence has gone on for so long that even the people at the next table have glanced over to see what’s going on. 

Nicole closes the lid of the box with a snap, and looks up at him.  “So you aren’t going to propose to me, then?”

Charlie blinks.  “I – Wait, what?”

And then it all goes south very quickly from there.

The next day, there’s a blind item online about it:

Which C-list celebrity currently filming a procedural drama in New York was seen arguing with an unknown male at a local celeb hotspot last night?  With a string of broken engagements already behind her, it looks like this feisty young starlet is single once more after dousing her hapless companion in Veuve Clicquot!

Unknown? Hapless?  How rude!

He complains at length about the injustice of it all to the cocktail waitress he brought home last night, after he had sloped off to a bar to drown his sorrows and soothe the burn of his humiliation.  Naturally, she has nothing to add to the conversation – having passed away six hours or so ago – but he appreciates her presence nevertheless.  So much so that before he prepares her for disposal, he takes out her fake diamond earrings, and replaces them with the Chanel ones.

“I know I’m a day late,” he tells her.  “But … happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s the thought that counts, anyway ...

And then ...

Charlie is 37.

He is awakened at 5:30 a.m. on Valentine’s Day morning by his son barging in to the master bedroom.  Without saying anything, Henry climbs onto the bed next to him, and falls asleep almost instantly.  Charlie throws an arm over him, in the hopes of stopping him from tossing and turning like he often does.

Behind him, there’s a rustle of sheets  “What’s happening?” Kitten asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“We have our usual Sunday morning visitor,” Charlie mumbles. “It’s still early, go back to sleep.”

A leg hooks over his, an arm curls around his middle, and Kitten lets out a happy sigh before falling asleep again.

Charlie closes his eyes, but it barely seems like a moment has passed before he’s being shaken awake by a very excited Henry.  “Dad.  DAD! Can we give Britt the card now?”

The digital display on the clock says eight, still an ungodly hour to be awake on a Sunday, but when Charlie rolls over, Kitten is already sitting up against the headboard, with her phone out.  “A card?” she says, feigning surprise, as though she wasn’t banned from the kitchen for four hours the previous day, and hadn’t noticed the layer of glitter Henry was covered in when he emerged, which necessitated a dreaded bath.

“If we must,” grumbles Charlie, astonished at the speed with which Henry scrambles out of bed and sprints out of the room.  He thunders downstairs, in search of the spot where they left their work of art to dry out after its completion.

Charlie rolls over onto his back, and stares up at Kitten.  “Remember last year, when we stayed in bed all day?” he asks, mournfully.  “That was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

“Mm, same.”  Kitten leans down to kiss him, probably intending it to be just a peck on the lips.  But Charlie wraps his hand around the back of her head to keep her there, deepening the kiss until a gagging sound from the doorway interrupts them and they break apart to find Henry watching them from the doorway, looking slightly green.

“You guys are gross!” he scolds them, in a tone not dissimilar to Sandra when she is upset about something.  

Charlie sits up, and scowls. “That’s not in keeping with the spirit of the day.”

“The spirit of the day is chocolate,” says Henry, approaching Kitten’s side of the bed, with one hand behind his back.  “Ta-daaaaa!” he shouts, and pulls out the card, waving it in her face.  A hefty sprinkle of glitter falls on the sheets, and Charlie winces.

“This looks very impressive,” says Kitten, glancing sideways at Charlie to check his reaction to the glitter, and stifling a smile.  “Can I take a closer look?”

On closer inspection, the card is very large, and is a rather well-drawn and extremely glittery looking owl which looks to be a combination of about three different species.  Its wings – which look suspiciously like the outline of Charlie’s hands – are wrapped around itself.

“Open it, open it,” says Henry, climbing onto the bed, and bouncing slightly, causing more glitter to be dislodged.

When Kitten carefully opens the wings, she finds another, smaller pair of hand-shaped wings underneath.  “Yours?” she asks Henry, who nods vigorously.  When she opens those, there is a ridiculously tiny pair of hands underneath. One has been colored blue, and the other pink.  

“Little B,” says Henry.  “We looked up online how small their hands would be.  I drew them, and Dad cut them out.  He said we should do one hand in each color since we don’t know whether Little b is a boy or a girl yet.  And wait, there’s a message.  Read the message!”

“Owl always love you,” Kitten reads, her voice trembling slightly.  “From Charlie, Henry and Little B. Oh Henry, thank you!  The owl, the hands, the sweet message.  It’s perfect!”

She pulls Henry into a hug, which he tolerates for a moment or two before asking, “Can I go watch cartoons now?” with all the tact typical of an eight year-old boy.

“It was all Henry’s idea, of course,” says Charlie, once the young man in question has bounced out of the room.  He tries to brush some of the glitter off the bed, and succeeds only in getting it stuck all over his hand.  “I was but an unwitting accomplice to this madness.”

“Is that so?” asks Kitten, with a smile.  She sets the card on the nightstand so she can see it, and curls against Charlie, who wraps an arm around her shoulder, and rests his other hand on her stomach.  “You know, it reminds me of this book I read when I was little. About an owl who was searching for love.  It was a really cute story.”

“Never heard of it,” says Charlie, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  “But it sounds like a real hoot.”

“Oh god, not the owl puns.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” says Charlie, but somehow he finds himself lapsing into silence instead of releasing the string of dreadful jokes that are on the tip of his tongue.  “Do you -” he begins, and then sighs, and runs his hand through his hair, inadvertently spreading multi-colored glitter quite liberally through it.  He chews on the inside of his cheek before continuing.  “Do you really like it?”

Is it good enough?

Am I trying hard enough?

Do you like me?

A gentle hand against his cheek brings him back to the present.  “I don’t just like it, I love it,” Kitten reassures him.  “And I love you very much, too.  I know it’s a little rough at the moment with me working from home, but I’m still feeling very lucky.  Who would have thought six months ago that we would be here?  We’ve come so far, Charlie.  I’m so proud of us.  I’m so proud of you.  Especially now you’re back in therapy again.”

Charlie holds her a little more tightly, and she tucks her head under his chin and settles her hand on his chest, over his heart, which is beating too quickly for his liking.  “I’m trying, my love,” he says softly, taking slow, deep breaths to try to control the speed of his heart.  “I never want to let you down again ...”

He closes his eyes, breathes in Kitten’s familiar, comforting scent, and tells himself that he’s just holding her, not clinging to her.  I’m okay, he tells himself, over and over again.  We’re okay.

I just have to try harder, and it will all be okay ...

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 9: take me instead

still here, still doing this! ‘twas nice to take a break for the last 6 months but i think i’m ready to come back.

summary: set after titans s2. jericho’s spent years as a mind without a body--enough to think he’s not in real danger from the villains the titans fight on a regular basis. it isn’t until dick puts himself on the line to save him that he realises how wrong he’s been.

warnings: SPOILERS for s2. serious body horror including gore and mutilation. a whole scene of this is inspired straight from a nightmare i had, so please be cautious as the descriptions are graphic. 

take me instead

Leave him alone! I can… I can give what you want, and more. I’ve seen and done things you couldn’t even imagine.

Take me instead.

It’s the last thing Jericho remembers for a while.

-

When Jericho is next aware, he’s sitting at a familiar workbench next to his father. Slade is taking apart and putting together guns of increasing complexity at a steady pace, not looking at Jericho once, but the silence is familiar and almost… comfortable. There’s none of the cloying dread or desperation that he felt while spending six years trapped in Slade’s head; the guns might as well be fishing rods or model airplanes to the curl of warmth in Jericho’s chest.

“I want you to be ready,” Slade says in the manner of someone already in the middle of a conversation, “for this next mission. I know that it’s on short notice, but there’s something in the next room that should help you.” He finally turns to look at Jericho, and he realises with a jolt that Slade’s actually smiling. For a long, dumbfounded moment, Jericho stares at his father, at the beaming smile, the crinkle of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Go on, then,” Slade says, tilting his head at a door that Jericho didn’t notice before. A part of Jericho is pulsing with anxiety (remembers that endlessly white prison, dead-but-not) but it’s smothered by a haze of contentment and a ready, easy trust that has him get up, open the door, and step through.

There’s a long metal table with a body on it. The reason it’s a body and not a person is because it’s covered with a long white sheet and the shapes underneath the sheet are… unnatural. The angles too sharp, the girth too thin, everything too still to be anything that’s alive. Jericho’s not sure why Slade thinks a corpse would help him with anything, but he moves ahead as though compelled, again, and lifts the sheet away.

The body is on its back, naked, limbs splayed awkwardly. It’s emaciated to a degree that the skin is worn down to the bone in some places: the fingers are literally skeletal, and so are the jutting crescents of the hips. There are enormous festering wounds on one thigh and one arm, excavated through layers of skin, fat and muscle like craters filled with… slough, and pus, and other disgusting things, and still bleeding--

--still bleeding--

Jericho’s been avoiding looking at the face until now, and there is a slow, sad sort of resignation in his chest as he lifts his gaze to see skin cleaving to the skull, eyes huge and watering in nearly abyssal sockets. The body’s lipless mouth moves.

“Jericho,” Dick says.

There’s no moment where Jericho’s jolted back to reality; just a dawning horror. There are a thousand questions crowding in his throat but the one he asks is: “Did… did Slade do this to you?”

“No, he--Jer--” Dick coughs, and Jericho watches with sick fascination as his ribs glide underneath his skin. “You have to get away from here. Now.”

“Not without--” you, I can’t leave without you “--knowing what he did to you, how could this even--”

There’s a chill in the air, so sudden and fierce that it slices through his skin and numbs his lips. The room he’s in--that he’s hardly paid any attention to so far--warps and twists, the edges where the walls meet the ceiling blackening like it’s a photograph that someone’s taken a flame to. Dick twitches on the table, trying to move, and bloodied spittle sprays his chin as he says, “Leave! Now!”

“I don’t--”

I SEE YOU.

The voice, female, is both a whisper in his ear and a roar that echoes inside the collapsing room. Dick lets out a scream that frankly Jericho would’ve never guessed he had the strength for and an invisible force pushes Jericho to the door that he just came from. Jericho tries to fight back, twist and get back to Dick, but before he knows it, he’s stumbling through the door, falling to his hands and knees. He jumps to his feet, unaccountably angry at Slade, the world, and mostly Dick--who, despite having far less experience with this slippery, in-between world than Jericho, just tossed him aside like it was nothing at all.

Overachieving bastard.

He whirls around to confront his father, but Slade has disappeared, and so has his workroom, and any semblance of a place at all. Instead, Jericho stands in the middle of ever-extending blackness that might be a cavern, given the way his footsteps echo eerily and the weak light that filters in every few metres. Dust motes float lazily in those little beams, and their presence makes the whole place somehow creepier than the complete absence of light.

“Dick?” Jericho’s voice is small, uncertain, but the word echoes nonetheless, making him flinch. Once the echoes die, however, there is only silence.

He picks a direction and keeps walking, because, honestly, what else is he going to do? It doesn’t take long for a human shape to materialise in one of the pools of watery light, and Jericho isn’t entirely surprised to see that it’s Dick. This Dick looks… whole, though, strong and broad and dressed in his Nightwing suit sans mask. He’s got his escrima sticks out as though anticipating an attack, and he’s not really looking at Jericho.

Jericho’s about to call out to him when a shape swoops in from the darkness straight to Dick. It’s moving with incredible speed, claws extended and glinting in the light, but Dick is faster. He swings his sticks around and knocks it to the ground, only to bring them up again to block the next attack. 

Soon Dick is at the centre of a storm of black, punctuated by the rustle of cloth and the screams of the creatures dying as his sticks turn into swords. He’s barely finished skewering one creature before he’s lifting the sword--still dripping with gore--and plunging it into the heart of another creature. Jericho watches, open-mouthed, as Dick fights with a frightening combination of grace and force, his body twirling and leaping like he’s dancing but his thrusts sharp and brutal, driven by pure anger. Jericho can hardly countenance this… force of nature with the man who melted in his arms when he gave him an unexpected hug, or the one that came to seek absolution from his mother, half-wrecked by guilt and anguish. 

He could’ve kept watching forever (Dick could’ve kept fighting forever) when he feels a bony hand like icicles rest on his shoulder and hears I’VE FOUND YOU, LITTLE ONE

“No! Jericho!” Dick stops for the second it takes him to shout Jericho’s name, and Jericho realises why Dick had been such a storm of movement: it takes only a fraction of that second for the shadow-creatures to overcome his defences and… tear at him. Blood and gore spray in a messy arc as his arm is torn clean off his body but Dick’s still standing, staring at him, shouting--

Jericho’s knees shake and his stomach’s turned to water but he shakes off the hand on his shoulder and runs--away from whatever it was that spoke to him, away from Dick, whose shouts have died and been replaced by the sickening, wet sounds of ripping flesh. 

He runs, but there’s Dick again, younger now, crushed between two panes of glass like an insect in a display case--

YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER.

--turns a corner, and Dick’s on a rack, an actual rack, and at each corner there’s somebody turning the pulley and stretching his limbs until his shoulders and knees pop out of their sockets, and, and, is Batman one of them? And one of the others, his face is half-shrouded in scar tissue--

ALTHOUGH, and now there’s a hint of amused menace, THAT MIGHT BE FUN, TOO.

Jericho sets off again, heart thundering in his chest and pulsing in his neck, panic scraping his breath through his throat and nose. It’s been so long since he’s had a body to call his own, but his mind can’t forget what it feels like to be truly afraid, to look at a threat and think: that’s going to really hurt, or i’m going to die, or both.

Along the way he feels little nudges from Dick, helping him pour on the speed. When these nudges stop, and he’s run out of corners to turn and reached one where he can only huddle, he turns.

There’s a woman standing there: tall, almost statuesque. Her skin is grey and her hair hangs limp past her shoulders. But her eyes are luminescent: pools of algae on water that reflects a coal-black night. There is naked hunger in the way she looks at him, in her smile full of mossy, pointed teeth.

HE’S RIGHT IN A WAY, she says. HE BURNS SO BRIGHT, AND HIS PAIN SO EXQUISITE. BUT HE IS ALREADY BURNING OUT. YOU… she steps closer, YOU WILL LAST FOREVER.

Jericho feels frozen as she reaches a bony hand towards him. HIS SACRIFICE WILL HAVE BEEN IN VAIN--HOW DELICIOUS.

He feels a familiar ice-cold pain along his throat, razor-thin, and a deeper, hotter pain that’s boring into his stomach. If he closes his eyes he can imagine that it’s Slade on the other end of a sword, eyes wide in horror and--and betrayal--

“No.” The pain in his stomach stops, and Jericho opens his eyes to see Dick’s back in front of him, the pointed end of an icicle emerging from his middle and dripping blood on Jericho’s feet. 

And Dick still--

“While I’m still here, in my head,” Dick growls, “you don’t get to touch him.”

The woman screams--it’s a horrible sound, full of  rage that buries itself like needlepoints in his eardrums--but Jericho has no time to linger as he feels the hardest push he’s gotten from Dick yet, and a sensation like someone’s reached into him and pulled his stomach clear out of his body, and then--

then--

he’s out.

For a long, surreal second, he is just a mind floating without a body, threatening to vanish into the ether if he can’t ground himself in somebody else’s head. He casts frantically for the nearest person and enters--and to his relief, it’s Rose. She must know something of what’s going on, because she immediately steps back and lets Jericho take over her body.

They’re in the Titans Tower, and he can see Kory, Rachel and Gar crowded around something--well, somebody--on the floor. At his choked, “Dick,” they immediately part, and there’s Dick on the floor, curled around nothing, ashen, eyes open and unseeing. He’s shaking minutely, but besides that there’s nothing to indicate that right now, inside his head, he’s being torn apart over and over and over again--

“He won’t let me help him,” Rachel says, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her face. “She wants you. He says he won’t let that happen.”

Jericho crashes to his knees next to Dick. He gathers his head onto his lap--tries to ignore how cold he feels and banishes all memories of his wasted body on that cold table--and kisses his forehead. “Please,” he says, tears spilling to land on Dick’s face and slide down to his ears. “Just--please.”

He’s not sure what he’s asking for. But he thinks Dick will find a way to give it to him anyway.

[kaylathekittykat225]

Tears in the Heart // Steve Harrington X Wheeler!Reader

Warning/s: language, angst, fluff? Flufting? Flirting? I don’t know man. I just went into a frenzy writing.

Word Count: Y’all it keeps getting going, I need to be stopped; 25k. I am sorry, I got excited

Guys, y’all are egging me on to write angst, and angst is my love somehow, don’t stop. And it’s all fine that angst is how I write, that and slow burrrrrrrrrn! Okay go onto reading.

This one was requested by gwenandtheunfortunatename

Hey!! I just love your writing and long fics!!! Can u do one where the reader is a female!Wheeler reader and feels invisible with her family but actually has a few friends in school? Nancy and Steve are dating but then he slowly starts to notice how she doesn’t treat her sister well (maybe the reader is missing from school one day?) or doesn’t pay attention so it becomes a concern for him or someth??

Here’s my Masterlist.

Enjoy.

—–

Watching paint dry was always the most infuriating thing, especially for you as someone who was so excited for the first layer of paint to dry so that you could start applying the next layer or just wanting your beautiful art piece to be done so you could feel accomplished with what you just did. Watching paint dry was an infuriating task, and yet here you were, dancing around your room to the music your radio was blasting for you while you continued to wait for the first layer of what you were painting to dry enough so as not to smudge.

Some great artists prefer to work even through the wet paint: Monte used it to blend two colors together seamlessly, Van Gogh used it to have the colors stand out more when he used the globs of paint to add dimension to the canvas, Bob Ross used the wet paint to ring out the true beauty of the world and showing how colors don’t stand out, but truly blend in together. 

You worked differently than those guys, for one thing you weren’t a famous painter like they were. But you couldn’t stand mixing colors together from different layers. The composition looked messy when you tried doing it, so you knew you felt more comfortable with layering and drying paint on top of itself. Just was not the thing for you.

The song changed and a grin grew on your face as you heard the guitar riff opening and felt a rush of energy surging through you. Your paint brush was held in your mouth between your teeth and your dancing started back up again as you cranked the volume up a little louder to get the entire room shaking. The music was so loud, and you were so in the zone of mixing up your next shade of reddish pink that you didn’t hear someone screaming at you about the volume of your radio. They noticed when your volume went up and that you weren’t noticing their calling your name. 

You didn’t notice them until they turned off your radio entirely and tried calling your name again. “Y/N.” Your name was called again, this time it startled you to the point that you let out a small scream that let you drop your paint brush from your mouth and strike the ground. Spinning to face your radio, you saw your mother staring at you with a look on her face that you often received when you did something wrong. “It’s almost midnight, Y/N. Holly and Michael are in bed, where you should be, and your sister is trying to study for an exam tomorrow. Now is not the time for you to let the entire neighborhood hear what you are listening to.”

“Sorry, mom.” You grabbed your paint brush off the ground and looked back up to see your mother had been replaced by your older sister. “Sorry I disturbed your studying. What class is it for?” While you asked your question, you worked on moving your easel from the middle of your room to one of the corners while also chucking your paints into a box along with your brushes. 

When your sister didn’t answer, you looked up at her to see her just staring at you from the door. She had this little smile on her face, one that didn’t show any emotion though. “Oh, it’s not like you care about my test. All you worry about is your art and painting. Next time, at least put on some better music, not your shitty trash.” And with that, she shut the door behind her with a flick of her hair over her shoulder as she left. 

You finished cleaning up after your paint dance, not giving too much thought to what she said to you as you pulled your sweater over your head and changed into your pajamas. Comments like that have been a common back and forth between the two of you ever since you entered high school with Nancy. 

Maybe it was something to remind you that you were a year younger and she knew her way around the school better than you did. Honestly why she was doing this was unknown to you, so you just rolled with it. She never said anything mean or anything like that, just…

You shook your head as you pushed your covers back and slid into bed, getting ready to pull your lamp cord when there was a loud thud coming from your window. Instinct told you to ignore it and just go to sleep leaving whatever outside your window outside, it was most likely a squirrel who ran into the glass of your window while trying to get back onto its nest. 

And you tried. You did click your lamp off and pulled your covers up to your chin, letting your eyes fall shut as you worked on falling asleep for tomorrow's day. As soon as your eyes were closed however, another tap rattled your window, and something was making noises outside the glass. “Just ignore it.” That was your mantra for the time being as you did so, pretending the sound wasn’t there and that you could just. Fall. Asleep. 

Tap tap tap. “Dammit.” You groaned while throwing the blankets off you, following your intuition through the dark room to where your window should be, having forgotten to send the light back through the room as your annoyed self walked closer to the window. “I’m going to kill this fucking squirrel and eats its nu-” Your rant to yourself was interrupted as soon as you forced your blinds open and you saw a face staring back at you in the darkness outside. 

A shriek left your mouth as you took a step backwards, stumbling away from the horrifying sight of someone staring back at you in the night. The face itself jumped back ever so slightly from where it was pressed against your window when it saw you too. 

The two of you stared at each other for a few more seconds before you recognized who the hell was staring into your bedroom window. It was your sister’s boyfriend, Steve Fricking Harrington. Why the hell was he staring into your window?

Pulling open your window, you looked over at your clock and saw that it was midnight, stating this to the boy who was hanging from your window frame, his fingertips turning red from holding on. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, Snow White. I’m sorry I didn’t want to fall to my death.” His voice came out strained as he moved to pull himself into your window. 

“Whoa! I didn’t say you could come in! What are you doing on my windowsill? Stop climbing in my window!” Your voice was a whisper that also counted as yelling as you tried stopping him from entering your room, not to much avail though. “Harrington, what what are you doing here?!” 

“Shut up, Wheeler.” Steve finished coming through the window, somehow finding a way to trip as his foot finished coming through, falling into you and sending the two of you down to the floor. “Jesus, Wheeler, sorry to say, but I do have a girlfriend. You are being very forward though.” From where you were laying on the floor with him kneeling over you on all fours, Harrington had this shit eating grin on his face which caused a slight anger to boil inside you.

Instead of answering him, you shoved your hand into his face and pushed him away, telling him to get off you with a mutter. “Wh-what are you doing here, Harrington? It’s midnight and you are in my room. What the hell is going on?” Standing to your feet, you watched him also pull himself up while shifting his hair around to make sure it stood where he wanted it to be.

“Funny story there, Wheeler. But that is a story for another time.” He spoke to you as though his being in your room was not a pressing matter. “What I do need to know, Wheeler, is how pissed your dad would be about finding me here?” Steve craned his neck to look out your window, apparently trying hard not to be spotted as he was looking for most likely your father. 

Scoffing, you sat back down in your bed, staring at him from where you sat. “Honestly, it’s not my dad you should be worried about.” He sighed at your response in relief. “My mom on the other hand…” You made a face that got the message across, because your dad was an amazing man, but your mother had her own mind that definitely got in the way of a lot of things your sister and even yourself sometimes when Karen Wheeler brought her mind to a stop. And Nancy seemingly sneaking her boyfriend into her room next to yours was definitely not something your mom would be fine with.

You heard a quiet ‘shit’ and felt a small feeling of smugness rush through you as quickly as the cold overtook your room. “If you’re gonna sneak in and out of Nancy’s room, honestly it would be quieter just to go from my room to the shed on the other side of the room.” Steve stared at you curiously at this suggestion, even you yourself were shocked at your offering, but you really couldn’t take that back after he quietly inched his way closer to the window at the other end of your room. 

Standing up, you made your way over to be next to him as he pulled your curtains away from the window, revealing that your window had easier access to get to the ground than your sister and the garage. “Plus, I have direct access to the woods, so my parents won’t notice your car around if you park it behind that big tree back there.” While pointing all these features out, you noticed that he was staring at you with a look that read extreme confusion. 

“Why...why are you helping me sneak into your sister’s room?” You both were wondering that, but he didn’t have to voice it like that. Your face grew warmer as you fumbled for words about why you did this, because you didn’t really know why except for the excuse of not wanting them to get caught and then the entire family being forced not to ever leave again. That was a good excuse, it did the trick though. 

Because you couldn’t explain why you would stick your neck out like that, for Nancy and Harrington. Nothing against the two of them, but you were too impartial to the two of them to risk anything. 

So you scoffed and gave him the lame excuse you thought of and worked on shooing him out of your room. “Okay, okay. Jeez, Wheeler, I’m leaving. Sorry to whoever has to deal with sleep deprived you for the rest of their lives.” He shimmed himself out of the window, forgetting completely to close your other window, forcing you to get back out of bed and shut it before shutting the window he just dropped down from.

You watched him sneak his way to the front of the house and hopefully make an uneventful exit before you pulled the curtains in front of your window shut, bringing your world around you into darkness that you found oddly uncomfortable while standing in the middle of the room. 

Sleep didn’t come as easily as you wanted it to; it never really took you over, leaving you to sleep more restlessly than normal and thus a sleep deprived Y/N took to the world. Your first few periods floated past you honestly like a dream, nothing happened, just the teacher murmuring on about their respective subjects. Nothing interesting to you really.

Your mother frequently got on your case to pay more attention in these classes, because every year, like clockwork, during parent teachers week, your teachers would comment on how you needed to remember to turn in your homework, or if you do turn in your homework, to not doodle across half of it. It was always commenting about your behavior in classes and school, how you looked like you would rather be somewhere else than cooped up there all day. Your mother always told you to do better. Why did you have to be interested in painting? Why not a sport or be good at school like your sister because brains could get you a good husband and an easy life. 

Your father never spoke up during these meetings, sitting there because he was the man of the family and should be an example for his daughter to marry. He never took your side, but he also never defended your mother and her beliefs of how you should follow in your sister’s footsteps. It was never a secret, but your dad gifted you various paints, brushes, new pencils. When you were running out of a specific paint, or needed a new book or canvas, you found one more always tucked away in your closet, where you thought you checked, but there it was anyway. 

There were few things in the world you knew for certain, you loved painting and how it freed your soul, how excited you were to graduate and head to California to get away from this damned town, but one thing you were certain on, was that you were not unloved by your father. You never doubted his love even if it wasn’t on his sleeve like your mother’s love of Nancy. 

Speaking of Nancy, honestly after last nights...odd interaction between Harrington and yourself, you didn’t know how to look him or your sister in the eye. You had nothing to be ashamed of, it's not like you kissed him or anything, just the thought alone made you shudder, so why were you unable to look at them throughout the school day? 

“Ugh!” You groaned at these stupid thoughts that were plaguing your thoughts and slammed your head down onto your notebook on the lunch table you were sitting at. Your sudden noise and head banging caused the other occupants of your table to look up; Matt and Clare had been giving each other looks all lunch with how you were acting today.

On any given day you were still quiet and almost always doodling away in the margins of your notebooks or going so far as to pulling your full sketchbook out just to get a bigger picture going. But you didn’t have a book open in front of you or a pencil in your hand, instead your fingers were rapping against the hard table and your leg was shaking so bad that you were shaking the table. 

You were so out of it that you couldn’t hear your own name being called. “Y/N...Y/N.” Matt had been repeatedly calling your name the last five minutes after he finished up his own lunch and was eyeing your Cheetos that hadn’t been touched. Clare told him to leave you alone, but your ginger friend was ever persistent in stealing your food. “What if I just take the bag from her?” He directed the question towards Clare next to him while staring at your bag of snacks. 

“I mean she’s out of it enough that I kind of want to see what happens.” Clare was watching you just as intently, your head was still down on the table. “She may have died; I haven’t seen her move since her head fell down.” Clare said Y/N and died and Matt let out the loudest gasp the cafeteria ever heard; she didn’t honestly know which one to be more embarrassed about, the fact that heads turned or that not enough heads turned for this to be the first time for him to be this obnoxious in the school lunchroom. 

While Matt was busy slapping a bruise excitedly on Clare’s arm, you raised your head up and roughly rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands. “I’m not dead, Matt. I just...I can’t figure out this drawing.” 

“No, no, no, no. But wait.” Matt decided to ignore your distress and Clare’s slapping his hand away and kept talking. “But think about it! The perfect way to murder someone! What if Nancy wanted to kill Y/N and what she’s been doing is poisoning her food slowly over time and it’s finally kicking in! Nancy Wheeler is mur-” Your best friend was screaming at this point before your other best friend slammed her hand over his mouth with a dark blush over her face.

“Matthew Schafer listen to me hard and clear. Shut. Up. Now is not the time for one of your theories, especially one about a certain someone’s sister.” Clare growled that last piece out while tilting her head towards you. The two of them looked over to you as they saw you doodling away on a napkin you had picked up from the lunch line, your chin resting on your hand and your other, dominant hand, held the pencil you were drawing with. 

Your entire body was shaking from your leg, causing the picture you were drawing to be scratchy, which, maybe that’s how you wanted it to be. “Why is she shaking so much?” Matt mumbled against Clare’s hand; their eyes fixed harshly on you as they just watched. Watch their best friend unravel before their eyes, watch her get frustrated at the drawing in pen on a napkin, watch her groan in frustration and let your head fall back on the table. 

Clare let go of Matt’s mouth slowly and reached over the table to grab your arm, moving slowly to not scare you. As her hand grabbed onto you, she realized how much you were letting your leg bounce, she could feel it through your body, making her own arm gently shake. You didn’t respond right away to her hand, leading her to rub her thumb up and down your arm and giving you a gentle squeeze. “Y/N?” 

In the six years of knowing you for Clare, she had been there for your lowest and highest, she had seen you through late night anxiety, posttest highs, first time putting your art up for others to see. She hadn’t been there for everything, but she had been there for enough to help you through the rough times. Clare looked at you, just waiting for you to lift your head up. 

“Y/N, look at me.” Whether listening to her or not, you did lift your head up and met her eyes. “Are you okay?” there was no doubt that her words were filled with earnest worry, you could tell that and that she was worried about you, along with Matt who you also had you fixed in his eyes. 

The quiet moment was shattered as the school bell screamed that there was four minutes for you to get to your next class. You followed the crowd around your friend group in packing up your pencil case and collecting your trash to toss while walking by the trash can. “Yeah, just frustrated at this drawing I can’t figure out.” And with that you walked out of the cafeteria and towards the one place that could calm you down, with Matt and Clare following close behind you until they were side by side with you. 

They dropped your lunchtime behavior and Matt quickly filled the silence with his complaining about his Statistics teacher giving him homework to do over this next weekend after they just turned in a big packet not days ago. Clare filled in how her AP Chemistry teacher totally screwed her over with the test today and how he told the class that there would be no Nuclear Chemistry on the exam and yet two of the math twelve point questions were all nuclear that she couldn’t bullshit her way through and just did random math to get some sort of partial credit. 

And you listened, adding in your thoughts here and there, stating how it was unfair to add homework after just finishing one, how shitty of a teacher it was to go against his word on what was gonna be on the test. The trio of you sat down in the art class you all have together with your respective easels in front of all of you with paints also at the ready on the table next to the canvas. 

Class began, with your teacher talking about your assignment for the day, (what kind of inspiration was something you see every day?) and letting you go free and let your artistry be free. And this was when you felt something from the back of your head that you had been wrestling with all, maybe you could get this off your mind officially and be able to think of anything else other than this random nose. 

It’s honestly stupid to be banging your head over something as simple as a nose, but this was driving you insane. Honestly batshit insane because usually you thought of something and you moved quickly to draw it since your brain was already working on some details that you needed the basic features to draw first. 

And yet today was the day that you could finally say a human nose took the best of you. Matt worked on another Pokémon, last week you laughed to yourself as he got more and more excited with the orange and reds in his Charmander drawing. This week, yellow and blacks seemed to be the color he was reaching for; this will be interesting to watch from behind him. And Clare pulled out a polaroid picture from her backpack and taped it to the upper corner of the canvas, showing you the still shot of the main road running through downtown. 

You also began your own work, grabbing hold of your pencil before reaching for the easel and you let your hand draw instinctively. You started with the structure of the face, a face you couldn’t think of but felt the need to draw a face structure; maybe this face structure would help you through the nose and drawing the rest of the face may be able to get you done with this face.

Faces and portraits weren’t your forte, they weren’t what you went for. You enjoyed drawing abstract pieces, things that spoke to you, because painting people wasn’t what you wanted others to see, you wanted to paint things that meant something to you, that could mean something to others if they saw your artwork. Art for you was emotion, drawing from the human soul, passion, and you felt like you couldn’t do that by painting someone’s face onto a canvas. 

And all this nose was doing for you was driving you insane and getting your angrier by the second. This wasn’t something you felt comfortable just throwing paint at; penciling was stupid in your mind because this puts a lot of stress on the artist to be perfect, to not allow changes to be made midway through the project. So why were you penciling?

With a frustrated groan, you tossed the pencil onto the table next to you and stared at the white board in front of you, the blank one with some pencil scratches through the middle. Looking around the edge of your own canvas, you took a look at Matt and Clare, seeing them both working away at their own respective paintings, the orange and yellow of Charizard and the browns and reds of the town picture Clare was replicating. 

Your eyes went back over to Matt, watching his face scrunch up in focus as he worked on getting the roaring face of the dinosaur looking creature just right, and his nose was all wrinkled as he dipped the brush back into the paint he was using. His nose.

“Matt.” The ginger turned to you, revealing that he had a second paint brush between his teeth, looking at you with a blocked ‘huh?’ “Can you just sit there for a second, I need to draw something really quick.”

His eyes brows perked up as you picked up one of your smaller tipped paint brushes and proceeded in dipping into the black and looked to Matt’s nose for inspiration as to how to begin to shape the nose. “Are you painting me like one of your French girls? Ow! What the hell was that for?” His head changed directions as he turned to glare at Clare who just chucked a paint brush straight at his head. 

“That’s for-” 

“Mr. Schaefer, don’t make me call your father down here for spouting profanity.” The art teacher called from the front of the classroom without looking up from her grading papers. 

Matt muttered to himself as he turned around and rubbed the spot he was hit in the back of the head. “What do you need, Y/N?”

“I just need you to sit there so I can draw your nose.” Without looking at him too much, you quickly drew the shape of his nose, noting the subtle differences between Matt’s and whatever nose you keep thinking about. Things you could change when you moved on to shading and coloring the skin tone around the nose and over the black, a color you didn’t like to use for line work made things too neat. Shading differentiates the shadows from the highlights and the normal skin tone, there was no reason for you to use black to do this.

Matt made some comments about the weird request and started bragging to Clare about how his nose was ‘Y/N painting worthy’. The two of them began bickering about their noses and which ones of them had a better looking one, but you left them to bicker as you pulled pink and yellow together, pulling a little white and red into play as you mixed a skin tonish color together. Or, at least you think it looked kinda like skin tone, it wasn’t exact, but you figured it would do. 

The rest of the period, you worked hard to get this nose right, shading here and there, adding brown to the skin tone shade you make it seamlessly flow together with a speck of white to the tip of the nose. Overall, it was a pretty good-looking nose.

So why did you still feel bugged about this? You finished the painting that you had in your mind, but why didn’t you feel the accomplishment of finishing one of your paintings? There was always a sense of greatness that you feel when completing a project, and it wasn’t here. You felt nowhere near close enough to feeling that. 

The period bell rang, pulling you out of your mind and frustration as you were forced to work on it tomorrow, hopefully you can get whatever your mind is stuck on. Breaking down your easel, you put your paint and everything away before meeting Matt and Clare outside the door. “How’d my nose picture go, Y/N? I may wanna see that.”

The three of you chuckled on your way out the door, happily in your own world as you passed your sister on the way down the hall. Nancy didn’t bother giving you a glance as she smiled at her boyfriend walking over to her. “Hey babe.” She giggled as he reached down and pressed a quick peck to her lips before they walked off to her next class. 

“Hey, beautiful, how was your chem test?”

“Well I would have had time to study more of my nuclear notes had someone not been interrupting me.” She fluttered her eyes at him before bouncing into explaining how she thinks she got at least a 91% based upon how many questions she thinks she got wrong. Steve Harrington chuckled at her angry comments on her teacher and told him that she can’t be anywhere near him when AP study time comes around. 

“Babe, I know every way of sneaking into your room. I’ll always be there for you, for moral support or for a distraction. Besides, you don’t have to start studying until later next week, so relax.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. 

Nancy scoffed and looked up at him through her thick lashes. “And I don’t have time to not stud, Steve, I need to keep up.” His face visibly dropped at the mention of it already being that time of year. “Hey, I promise I’ll see you every day.” He commented on how he would hope so and the two of them made a run for their next classes as the bell was about to ring. 

-----

Through the drive home, from the passenger seat of your sister’s car, you had your sketchbook on your lap with a pencil lazily being pushed and pulled across the paper in no specific way right now. You hated pencil, as seen with the nose painting, but it was still a basic art form that helps you start on something, getting an idea for what to doodle possibly as a full piece or just something to do in an evening. 

Horribly so, after a few pencil strokes, you noticed something come forth in the picture. “Damnit.” You curse under your breath and shut the book before sliding it into your backpack. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Nancy asked as she continued driving the three of you home, with Mike in the backseat doing some math homework he should have done this morning. 

Glancing at her, you knew she wasn’t interested in why you were frustrated yet again, a mutual understanding the two of you had as she would often talk about Steve and her school work on the way home while you just let her rattle on. She was just sick of your groaning next to her, no doubt. “Not that you care but a drawing has been bugging me all day.” She hummed in response, proving your point and how she wasn’t listening. 

“Hey Y/N?” Mike chirped up from the back of the car as he leaned forward to perch his head onto the middle seat between you and Nancy. “Can you draw me a picture of my paladin if I describe him to you?” 

A smile grew on your face. “Sure, thing bud. Can I do it tomorrow?” He nodded with a big grin on his face as he leaned back into his seat as Nancy pulled into the driveway and parked next to your father’s car. 

“You’re the best, Y/N!” Your little brother called out as he pedaled away on his bike, also screaming about how he would be back before dark from...Dustin’s house? You couldn’t hear him at the point of where he was turning out of the driveway. That kid brought a larger smile to your face as you made your way into the house with Nancy close behind you. 

“Y/N? Is that you?” Not even two steps into the house and your mother was calling you for helping in chores. 

Following the voice of your mother, you found her in the kitchen with Holly on her hip and working over the stove at what you can assume to be dinner for tonight. “What do ya need mom?” 

“Take Holly while I finish dinner. Oh, Nancy, how was your test?” Your baby sister was passed on to you while your older sister sat with your mom and talked about her day. 

You looked down at Holly and filled your cheeks with air to make your face appear to be a frog as you walked the two of you out of the kitchen. “Come on, Ms. Holly, should we go paint a picture for mom and daddy?” 

“Yeah!” Holly cheered at you mentioning her being able to play with paint. Your mom may have had a good grip on Nancy and made sure she had her bright future ahead and she kept her sweet baby Holly close, but Holly ran to you every time. You “tricked” Holly into liking you because you had paints and paper she could color on and give her arts to different peoples of the family. 

The two of you make your way up to your room as you asked her about her day and she told you about how in preschool, Danny Cincade was pulling her pigtails during lunch and he wouldn’t stop until one of the teachers saw him do that to her. “Well, next time he does that to you, tell him that it hurts your hair and it hurts your feelings. If he doesn’t listen to you…” You paused before thinking about what you were going to say next as you set her down in the chair at your desk and pulled the paper out for her to begin her project on. “Well I will say that you decide what you should do when he’s pulling your hair, whether that’s pull his hair or call him a mean name like he’s a poop head, then I say you can make that choice, Holly-bell. But make sure you ask him to stop.”

Your little sister gave a surprising amount of thought to this before she nodded. “Can I have paint now? I wanna draw daddy a big and spiky porkipine!” 

You did a “surprised” gasp. “A porcupine? Now why would you want to give dad a porcupine picture?”

“Cause he was extra spikey today with his hair, and he was grumpy today when he drives me to school.” Holly grabbed one of your old paint brushes you no longer used and dipped it heavily into the brown paint that you pulled out for her before splattering it on the paper in front of her. You loved watching her paint, seeing the sparkle in her eyes, her little tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth while her nose scrunched up in total concentration at her little piece of art she wanted to work on. 

It was amazing to see, truly it was, to see someone so enthralled in their own work that they have no other cares in the world besides what is in front of her. Maybe that’s how you looked to the outside world. Because that’s how you feel when you paint, just you, your brush in the paint, the colors, and your imagination; that’s honestly all you needed for yourself to feel what you created. 

You smiled to yourself while you grabbed hold of your own art supplies and set the tripod easel in its usual spot, at this point the three legs having their own divets in the carpet from where it spends its time. Staring at the canvas, you thought to yourself for a few minutes of where you should continue going; on the canvas was a dark red background overall with a much lighter center that was meant to draw you in closer, get a good look at everything. 

In the middle sat a heart, not one that any five-year-old could draw, but an anatomical heart, you had the shape down and blank canvas towards the main junctions of the heart, with various plans of flowers in your head to put on top and within the heart. 

A heart is the garden of the body, where everything is felt, consoled, thought through. The brain is the rudder of the body, but the heart is its center, the guiding force, the heart stops the brain from going into autopilot and gives you something to do and work for. The heart harbors so many emotions that flourish and grow into beautiful flowers, flowers you were working on painting right here. Flowers you wanted others to see and appreciate. But the flowers would have to wait because you needed to work on the soil of the flowers right now and finish shading in the features of the heart and its musculature. 

 “Y/N!” You had barely started mixing paints when you heard your mother call your name. “Holly! It’s time for dinner!” A sigh mixed with a groan from your desk. 

“But I’m almost finished.” Holly whined, her slouched shoulders giving away her sadness and wanton to finish the rest of the painting. “I just need to finish daddy’s spikes.”

Stepping over to her, you looked over her shoulder and felt her smile come back onto your face at the sight in front of you. “You can finish painting, Holly-bell. Mommy and them can wait a few moments.” And she went back to painting, with a quickness behind her paintbrush while you stood over her, waiting for the inevitable second call to be heard. 

She was almost done. “Y/N. Get down here and eat.” And there it was, with your mother doing her normal drawing out the last word to warn you she was not in a playing mood tonight. 

“One second, mom!” You called down the stairs before looking at your little sister again. “Hurry it on up, Holly.” 

“I’m almost there. Just two more spikes.” You followed her paint brush, noting more than two strokes as she worked to finish up. “Done!” 

“Y/N Wheeler, get down here, now!”

You picked Holly up while she gingerly held the painting so that no one smudged it up and set her on your hip. “And that means that mommy is hungry, so we better get going, little miss Holly-bell.” The pair of you exited your bedroom and headed down stairs, where you whisper to Holly to be ready to fight mommy’s angry wrath, leaving her giggling as you set her down at her spot at the table next to your father. 

Dinner was uneventful, it was meatloaf night so the group of you naturally began arguing how ketchup was a necessity for topping off your dinner. Currently it was only you and Mike fighting hard for ketchup while the rest of your family was arguing for either no topping or barbeque sauce, but no one else understood what you meant when you said that it made the meatloaf so much better. 

-----

You found yourself standing in front of your work, only an hour or so after dinner had ended, and Holly just came in to tell you goodnight and that ‘daddy really liked his porcupine. Now that her painting for the day was done, you could relax and do your own work for the day on your work you commissioned yourself to do a little over a week ago. Tonight, you wanted to finally work on getting the flowers painted and going in on details around the actual heart itself, showing the roots of the flowers making their way down the face of the heart. 

And that is what you did for the next hour or so of your night, dancing to your music, mixing paints, and applying layers of the colors onto the canvas, covering what little white was left and finally felt accomplished that everything was covered even if there was at least another week's worth of painting to go, but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t continue working at it and making the sweet ending ever closer. 

However, you did need to wait a few more minutes before adding more touches since paint is not an instantaneous drier, thank God you didn’t ever find joy in oil painting, you would have gone mad trying to wait for that to dry enough for you to move on to the next piece of work. So, while waiting, you saw the clock and decided that it was time to switch into your pajamas and get comfy. 

From across the hall, you heard the shower start up and figured that Nancy was in for her shower, since Mike was a morning showerer type of person and your parents had their own bathroom, Nancy was the only person you could think of to be showering right now. Your pants had already been switched out with pajama bottoms and you were tugging your shirt off when you heard something thump behind you. Turning around with the enlarged sleep shirt in your hands as you worked on flipping it right side out when you made eye contact with someone in your room.

“Shit!” The word left your mouth before you could think of anything other than use the shirt to cover yourself up. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Harrington stood in front of you with wide eyes. “Give a guy warning next time you undress, not that I’m complaining, but I am dating your sister and all so...” He gave a little shrug of the shoulder before you huffed and threw the shirt you were holding at him in a lump.

The cloth didn’t do much when it hit his head except giving him full access to seeing you in only a pair of pants and your bra. “Why the hell are you in my room?”

“You’re the one who gave me permission to use your room to sneak into Nancy’s.” Harrington said as matter-of-factly as he could while tossing the shirt back at you, which you gladly took and threw over your head. 

“We need to work on the timing then. You can come in when…” Looking around the room, you saw a stuffed ladybug that had been sitting on the top shelf of your dresser for ages now. “When this bug is in the window, feel free to come in. Nothing before dinner here otherwise you’ll be way too early, and my parents might see you.” You slammed the stuffed bug down before walking back over to your paint corner and staring at the canvas. Now that he was in the room, you didn’t want to deal with him or anything. 

“Thanks, I’ll just head over to Nancy’s room now.” You hummed, not really listening until you saw him out of the corner of your eye, until you heard the shower going.

“Wait!” Leaping forward, you grabbed his wrist and stopped him from opening the door. “She’s in the shower, you can’t go in her room.”

“Showering? I’ll just join her.” At the mention of that, you looked over at him in disgust and shuddered at the thought. “What? Never seen a guy shower before?” When you didn’t answer him right away, Harrington stepped away from your door and came closer to you, a cocky little grin in his face when he came into view. “Have you ever seen...a guy naked before?” 

You tried so hard to cover the blush on your face as you tried working out an excuse. “Of course, I have, I’m not a person who lives under a rock. I’ve seen a guy before.” 

“No, no, no. I didn’t ask that. I asked if you have ever seen a guy naked. As in have you ever slept with a guy?” No response. “Oh ho ho. This is very interesting. You are more a virgin than I thought you were.”

“Shut up.” You growled and shoved him out of your face, moving to grab onto your brush and palette and made a dark line on the piece of pink flesh on the heart. The dark worked as a shadow you were gonna use to emphasize the green that would be used in the next layer, making it look like the roots would be interwoven into the flesh of the heart. 

Harrington chuckled as he walked over to your bed and let himself fall backwards into your bed. You didn’t turn around and worked on pulling more life from the heart using small strokes that made them less noticeable. 

Up close you could see all of the colors and of course you could see the colors, but even with just the base layers down, you could feel pride bubbling inside of you as you concentrated on keeping your hand steady. “Is this yours?” A voice spoke softly behind you, causing you to jump and a streak of green crossed the right ventricle and cutting through a flower. 

A noise of annoyance left your mouth and you let your head fall forward with your brush dropping onto the table next to you. Turning, you saw Harrington hanging over your shoulder with his eyes fixated on what was in front of him. “Yes, Harrington. This is mine.” With a heavy sigh you resigned yourself for the night, not too satisfied with your progress. But keeping a certain guest in your room wasn’t helping you. 

Nancy get out of the shower please.

“That’s amazing.” For the second time that night, Harrington caused you to blush. “I haven’t seen anything like this before.” He reaches his hand out to touch it when you grabbed his wrist and pushed it away. 

“It’s still wet.” Your words weren’t meant to be harsh, but he didn’t seem to notice as he slowly nodded his head while keeping his eyes fixated on the painting. Noticing that he seemed to enjoy your painting, you pulled the brush back out and dipped it back into the pink. “You can watch if you would like.” You mentioned quietly while keeping your eyes on what you were doing and your back turned to Harrington as he sat back down on the bed.

The moment was kind of serene, odd honestly was the best word, odd to have someone watching you, something you checked every few moments to see if you could ease the tension in your shoulders but he still sat there watching. You’ve had Clare and Matt in the room with you while you paint, but neither of them ever went out of their way to watch your every move and twist of the brush. Even if you were in your environment of comfort and what you wanted to be doing, you didn’t know how you felt about this. 

Next door, you finally heard your sister’s door close, signally to you that she was out of the shower, and knowing her, she was already dressed and relaxing on her bed. “You...can climb through to her window now. Or you can go through the hall if you really want to.” Turning slightly, you didn’t look at him other than to see him still watching you before walking over to your backpack and retrieving your sketchbook from it along with some pencils and sat down on your bed, tucking your feet under your body.

Nodding, Steve stood up and thought for a second. “I think I’ll go through the window for now, since Nancy doesn’t know about me coming through here.” You parroted that that was a good idea while you opened your sketchbook and stared at it rather than at Harrington as he climbed his way through the window next to Nancy and left you alone again. 

Sighing in relief, you found peace again and let your pencil glide across the paper. The piece didn’t last if you hoped it would as you quickly realized what was forming. “Shit, not again.” The nose was back. 

Thinking about it, you didn’t really want to go back to our painting and decided just to deal with the damn nose...again. Until you eventually dozed off, you drew this nose over and over again, working this time only with shading and line work as you took different angles and lighting and perfecting this nose if you could say so. 

This nose haunted you until you slipped into your dreams.

-----

Today felt like any other day, started out the same, kept going the same, even lunch was the same, with Matt and Clare arguing and with a new habit that seemed to be forming you bent over your sketchbook while continuing to draw a part of the body. However, you think you out nosed yourself last night, since you had three pages full of this nose. That didn’t stop you from watching as your paper quickly filled with the form of human lips. 

“Oh, does Y/N over here want to practice kissing with these lips?” Matt chuckled to himself when he stood up and looked over the top of your easel. “If you really wanted someone to kiss, you coulda just asked, Y/N.” 

Clare hopped over to your side of the painting, leaving her own for a second to see what exactly Matt was teasing you about. “Matt, as if any girl would want to kiss you.” 

“Cause you keep stealing all the girls.” He winked at her as a rosy blush traveled up her neck before he turned his attention back to you. “Uh, Y/N, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you know that the nose is usually not that close to the mouth, right? Not like right underneath it?” 

Matt did point out the simple feature that you had all the knowledge that you were doing. You don’t know what it was, but you just wanted to put the lips there. You didn’t know why, but it was the same reason that led you to agonizing over a nose and a pair of lips these past couple of days. Just to see what happens. Besides there is no perfect face who’s to say this isn’t how this face looks. 

“That’s not where the mouth goes.”

“Picasso didn’t follow the lines of society so there’s no reason I have to.” You smiled up at him as you worked more pink into the lips without making it look like the lips had lipstick on. “Besides, I can just...see them there. This is my painting not yours.” Matt gives you a quiet ‘whoa’ as he thinks on what you just said while Clare congratulates you on managing to break your best friend’s mind and gives her a small time of quiet to finish her own piece of work before the bell rings in the next couple of minutes. 

Not much silence followed for you when you heard the intercom system activate overhead. “Y/N Wheeler, please report to the front office. Y/N Wheeler to the front office.” Everyone’s head in the room turned to look at you, giving you a look as you slowly stood up, a dark blush running over your face as you quickly as quietly as possible walked out the door and following the hallway to the front office. 

In your three years at this school, never had you been called to the front office, and seeing your mother there made you nervous to your stomach. “Mom?” You quietly called her name as you entered the main office and saw her standing there, waiting for you. Looking at her, you knew this wasn’t a happy calling, something confirmed by both her stern look on her face and seeing a shy looking Holly standing behind her leg. 

“Y/N, so nice to see you. I’m taking you home.” Her smile looked friendly to any other bystander, but that smile had been shown to you plenty of times when you had to explain your grades, or where you were later at night. This smile meant she was here to deal with business, and you were about to be interrogated until wanting to curl up in bed and just die. 

Your mind raced as to why this was happening. Nancy wasn’t here, neither was Mike, so this was only you. Get out. Get out. Run. Get away. You tried figuring out what to do, how to get out of this and the only thing you could think to do was sputter out “Bu-but I need my backpack.” Trying to get away from here, that’s all you could think about. 

“Nancy will get your stuff. Now let’s go. Holly still needs to eat lunch and we need to get home, don’t we Holly?” The youngest Wheeler looked up at your mom and gave a small nod, still not moving out from behind her leg. 

“I...but mom-” You spoke, but she interrupted.

“Y/N Wheeler, now.” This shut you down, her almost growl and the definite glare she sent at you gave you the opportunity to only respond with a quiet yes ma’am as you followed her out the door.

Matt had told you that being pulled from school early was always a bragging right as it meant skipping classes for the rest of the day. This wasn’t exciting and something you were relishing and going to tell your friends about. You feared what your mother’s temper would say. She never hurt you not physically, but she didn’t hold back with her words. 

The car ride back home was absolute hell. Not a word was spoken, even Holly was silent during the ride. You noted how you were riding in your dad’s car, given your family only had two cars and Nancy currently had one at home. Your dad would be home. Maybe he would help you in keeping your mom calm. 

“Um, mom?” You asked, trying to alleviate the tension but she wasn’t having any of it.

“Don’t. Say anything until we get home.” Shrinking into the seat, all you can think of doing was melting away, jumping out of the car. Because you have never seen your mother so quiet, she was so quiet that she was lethal; this happened before with our dad, he had done something when you were younger and your mother quietly called your father upstairs to their room before you heard her speaking. 

Your mother wasn't screaming, she was a woman who cut down her opponents with her words. Her words were sharper than any weapon, any sword, and that’s what scared you because you were at the receiving end of her words.

And make you wait she did. Holly, your mother, and you walked into the house, completely quiet without Mike downstairs with his friends and Nancy upstairs talking with her friends or Harrington on the phone. And silence made you uncomfortable. 

You followed your mom to the kitchen where she rounded the island and planted her hands firmly on the tile countertop. “I got a call from Holly’s school today.” This came out of nowhere, but you couldn’t move or do anything other than stand under your mother’s stare. Holly was sitting at the table with a sandwich in her hand and happily eating her lunch. 

Her nails began to tap rhythmically on the countertop. “Her teacher told me that she pushed a little boy off the playground today. I get to the school and they tell me the same thing, and here I am thinking, my sweet little Holly? Why would she do that? Where would she get an idea like that? So, I ask her this exact question. Do you know what she tells me, Y/N?” 

The pit in your stomach was a boulder now, you understood what was going on. And your mother wasn’t going to be happy with what you had to say. Slowly you nodded your head, giving her a response with what you knew. “Holly, your little sister Holly, told me that you, her older sister, told her to push that boy off the playset.” Her voice had stayed very level, but her eyes grew Angier and fiery with every word this mother dragon blew from her mouth. 

“Mom, I didn’t tell her to push him. She told me he was pulling-” She didn’t let you finish as she slammed her hand down on the counter, causing you to flinch and take a step back. 

“You don’t get to justify what you did. You aren’t the one who has to call this little boy’s mother and tell him why your sister pushed him. You aren’t the one who has to tell all her friends that my high school daughter is rebelling against me so much that she is trying to get her little sister in trouble. You, Y/N, are the one that did this, and I have to deal with the consequences of what you’ve done.” Her words rolled off her tongue and stung you, each and everyone. 

“But mom, I didn’t mean for that. Holly told ne-” 

“Don’t turn this on your sister because you don’t want to get in trouble. I am tired of your behavior recently, Y/N. I am not dealing with this anymore, where is your sketchbook, I’m taking it away from you until I deem it okay for you to get this back.” As she spoke, your heart rate elevated and you began to freak out.

“What? Wait no mom no! It’s a week until the art show! What am I supposed to do for the next week?!” 

You could feel our eyes widening as you gestured around the counter, trying to argue with her. Your mom doesn’t do well with people arguing with her. “You can spend time with your family, Y/N. Not lock yourself in your room all day.”

“Then make Nancy do that too! Don’t single me out, mom!” 

“Don’t bring your sister into this. Just because you are jealous of her doesn’t mean you can-”

“No mom! I’m not jealous of Nancy! You pretend in your mind that we are the same person, I just happen to be the less pretty, less academically amazing, less perfect daughter! That is not my fault that you put these stupid expectations on me that I never asked for! You can’t single me out in this family just because they are the least successful of your children! That is not fair!” 

At this point it was a screaming match between the two of you, words you were holding back were starting to come out of your mouth, but it was like you were drunk and had no filter and no idea when to stop but it was all coming out. Your screaming attracted the attention of your father from his shower upstairs, the raised voices of two women of his household worried the man. 

Coming down the stairs, your dad looked into the kitchen and saw Holly sitting in her grilled cheese with her sandwich half eaten while watching you and your mother. Looking further into the kitchen, he found the source of the shouting and quickly worked on diffusing his wife and daughter from murdering each other. “Whoa! Karen, Y/N, what is going on? You two need to calm down.”

“Stay out of this, Ted. Y/N and I are talking.” Your mom growled the last part of that phrase out without breaking eye contact with you. Ted Wheeler was looking between the two of you, he had obviously seen his wife blow up like this, but he had never seen you feed into your mother’s rage. He didn’t know which one had started and he didn’t know which “side” to take, because either way it would not work out well. 

“Karen.” He took his wife’s hand and gently squeezed it. “Stop.” He stood his ground, shocking his daughter and wife alike. “Y/N go up to your room. Your mother and I will talk about this.” 

“Ted Wheeler.”

“Yes dear?” Your father responded to your mom’s anger and responded with his usual soft and neutral voice. This was your que to leave, to go hide in your room and get away from this horrible place. AS soon as you stepped in, the first thing you thought to do was hide you paint supplies. 

Your mom threatened you with taking your art away, but not if you hide it from her. Grabbing hold of your paints, you grabbed six or seven major colors, one that you can make other colors from these along with a few of our brushes. You couldn’t hide everything because your mom would figure out that not everything is there, but if you grab only a few of everything, you would be fine.

Heart pounding, pulse racing, short breaths, you worked as quietly and quickly as you could without alerting your parents of what you were doing.

Footsteps made their way up the stairs, warning you that someone was about to walk into the room. Panicking, you shoved the bucket of few paint supplies up into a corner of your closet and you sat down at the edge of your bed, settling yourself down before your bedroom door opened and your dad stepped in, causing you to look over at him with a sad look on your face. “How mad is she?” You were afraid to ask.

“Well, you said some pretty choice words to your mother, Y/N. So pretty mad.” Groaning, you hid your face in your hands. “She was threatening just to lock you in your room with nothing in here but your bed...but I was able to calm her down enough to just keep you in your room except for meals.” 

“So, no art supplies?” He nodded at your question, to which you replied with a sigh. “How long?” 

Sitting down next to you, you dad bumped your shoulder with a soft smile on his face. “I told her we can split the idea and make you suffer until Sunday night rolled around.” Sunday was like three days away. That meant those days you didn’t get to work on any of your projects that you had. “Don’t worry, squirt. You can survive this.” The two of you sat together on the bed for a little while longer before he finally stood up and helped you grab your pencils and paints and markers as well as a small stab with taking your work in progress heart away. 

Looking at the room now, you felt emptier than the room, there was nothing in the room and that left you feel nothing inside. You saved some of your paints, but without even just the easel in the corner of your room it’s so empty and sad to look at your room. The walls had very few pictures on them, especially the one next to your window that was next to your sister’s room. Staring at the blank wall made your blood boil, boil so much that you blindly grabbed a paintbrush and stepped up to the wall as a butcher walked towards a new body of meat ready to be sectioned off into eatable pieces. Your brush worked as nimble as any scalpel, working with speed at the wall, your mind wasn’t thinking, your body was moving on its own at this point. 

And there was no stopping it.

-----

It was only Saturday afternoon and you had two small panic attacks just thinking about the art show coming up. Just because opening night was in like two weeks doesn’t mean that you could turn it in the night the show opened, everything was due this Tuesday, completed, dry and everything. Would you be able to do that by then? Your art teacher had reached out to you and asked you to enter a piece, making you now feeling obligated to enter something. And that something happened to be locked in your parent’s room for the weekend. 

Usually when you were antsy or nervous, you would draw or paint, and here you were still. A few colors and pencils but no paper. And lined paper did not agree with you doodling style of drawing erasing and then redrawing, you wore simple paper out too easily. You needed something heavier. And you couldn’t go at the walls again like last night; waking up this morning, you were shocked to see just what you did, quickly pushing your curtains around to hide that part of the wall, leaving your window open to let natural light fill the room you would be spending the next couple of days isolated to. 

A light knock at the door, causing you to perk up to thinking hopefully your dad would come in and tell you that your mother slept well, and she was giving you back all your stuff. Not that you were upset or angry at your brother when he walked in, but when you looked at the dark headed boy who stuck half his body through the door, your hope fell away. “Hey Mikey, what’s up buddy?” You gestured him to come fully into the room with you where he plopped down into your desk chair across from your bed. 

“Well, um, I wanted to know if you...you could still draw my DnD character? I was just figuring that since you don’t have your big piece to work on right now and I just wanted to see if you could do it now because you’re not busy and you said you would do it in the car a few days ago and I just think you could do a really cool job drawing him and it would be great and my friends might also want you to draw their too and that’s all up to you but if you could at least do mine that would be great and you would be an amazing sister.” His words jumbled out of his in one mess, something he does whenever he gets nervous or excited about something.

You let him ramble a bit through what he wanted, his excitement bringing a smile to your face as you saw just how much he wanted this done, even if he stumbled over his request. He had nothing to worry about in the world. Mike sat there after his long request, finally giving your room to speak. “You done talking, Mike?” You quipped, not meaning it in a mean way as you watch him cough for air. “Of course, I’ll do it for you, buddy. Can I just request something from ya?” His head nodded up and down, his eyes sparkling with excitement at your acceptance. “Get me some paper I can draw on.” He was already out the door when you said paper.

Chuckling to yourself, you went over to your closet and grabbed hold of the box of pencils you kept just in case; staring down at the bright colored Crayola that you weren’t favoring to use, but, it was for your brother and you loved Mikey enough to use these. You heard him scrambling back up the stairs before Mike rushed into your room, gasping for air as he held out some paper, he grabbed from the printer downstairs to you. You took the paper from him and laid it on top of one of your schoolbooks.

Pencils out next to you, paper at the ready, a semi sturdy workspace, you were ready. “Alright, Mike, what does this paladin of yours look like?” 

The two of you sat there for a long period of time, which honestly slipped away from you as you did your best to draw a person, since you still haven’t gotten any better at it since your fascination with the nose and lips, but you still did your best as he animatedly told you about how Elias the Esteemed stood, how he was a lawful good paladin who only did what was just even when the other characters in the party would be annoyed by his upright behaviors. 

While you were drawing, you asked him to tell you stories about his friends adventures, and he so happily did; he told you about how they spent almost twelve hours fighting to save a princess and the others thought his character was being stupid for trusting an evil goblin when a fairy offered to help them until it turned out that the fairy was evil and was the one trying to kill the princess to get enteral youth. Just from watching your little brother speak, you could tell that he absolutely adores what he and his friends do every weekend. 

There was something that just brought joy to you when you saw someone radiate passion about something they love. And you saw this in your little brother as he told you story upon story of the renegades his friend group was. 

Passion speaks louder than simple descriptions or words. These stories gave an idea of how the paladin held himself, why he swung left handed and not right, stupid little things than made you draw Mike’s character in such a way that to you, it would make him feel more alive and ready to jump off the page, ready to fight for the sake of any princess in need. 

It was getting near dinner time when you finished, though you had been done for a bit of time, instead keeping this time to yourself. In this family, quality time was few and far between, and being with your brother brought happiness to your...rough weekend. And it was quickly shattered into pieces when you heard the call for dinner. Mike quickly stopped talking and looked towards your door before glancing back at you.

“Let’s get going then, Sir Eliad the Esteemed. Let us go feast after this glorious victory.” You turned the portrait over to him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders as the two of you headed down the stairs to join the rest of your family. 

You kept to yourself for the rest of the evening, but really it was the rest of your family that didn’t come to see you. Your mother and you weren’t really on speaking terms, Holly wasn’t allowed near you after you “told her to push a boy off the playground”, and your father was passed out in front of the TV. Nancy had asked your mom if she could run up to the store and buy some ice cream, leaving the whole upper level of the house to yourself and there was nothing for you to do with it all. 

So here you were again, staring at your ceiling as you twirled one of the pencils you still had out around your finger in complete and utter boredom. How could anyone live like this? You have been left alone with yourself and your thoughts for a full day and you were already ready to kill yourself. Looking around, you found yourself staring at the small stuffed ladybug sitting in your window, something to which you looked at curiously. 

It was the weekend and you hadn’t seen Steve try and climb through your weekend since Thursday evening. Granted it was only a day ago, but you were curious as to why your sister and her boyfriend didn’t take this time to be theirs and spend time together. Hmm. At least he wasn’t walking in while you were changing into your pajamas again. 

Speaking of pajamas, might as well get them on since you obviously weren’t going to be going anywhere tonight that would require proper clothing, so you pulled your pants off from the day and pulled on your pajamas bottoms before tugging your shirt off and over your head. 

“Wheeler, we might wanna consider buying ladder.” A voice spoke up behind you, cause you to scream and drop the shirt you were holding onto the ground before turning around. 

“What the hell, Harrington?!” You shouted at him, thanking the lord that you were alone on this level otherwise your mother would have stormed in here before you could say the boy’s name.

The brunette looked at you with a look on his face that you couldn’t read but you could have sworn you saw a quick blush appear on his cheeks before you remembered that you were in fact putting on your pajamas and he yet again came barging in on you. “Okay, this was your fault. I checked and the ladybug is there, so I thought I could come in.” 

You stumbled over a few words before you gave up ad scoffed at him before putting your shirt over your head. “I thought you had just died because you weren’t here last night, so I assumed I was free of you sneaking into my window. Forgive me for being hopeful.”

“Aw, come on Wheeler, you know you would miss me if I just left you behind.” He smiled at you and sat down next to you on your bed, bouncing you up and down ever so slightly with his weight being added to the bed. 

You muttered to yourself as you pushed your pencils away, “You have no idea.” And there you sat, the two of you in quiet silence, where you stared out the window at the trees next to your house, fireflies were beginning to emerge, lighting up the yard.

“Did you finish that painting?” Harrington asked you, to which you replied with a hum. “Your heart and flower painting that you had over there? Did you finish it?” 

“Oh, um…” You pulled your lips between your teeth, because he had no right to really know about it, but he was asking, but why did you want to tell him? You ignored the questions and just rolled with it. “My mom...more or less grounded me for the weekend and took my stuff away from me, so I’m stuck here without anything to work on.” He gave you a look that you only responded to with a shrug.

He scoffed. “Wow, take a painter away from her painting.” Looking over, he saw your pencils tossed onto your desk. “You any good with pencils?”

“I mean yeah, paint is what I want to work with, but as long as I can put it to paper, I can use it.” When you answered his question, he nodded before he pulled something from his backpack that you didn’t notice he had until now. “What are you doing?” Your brows were quirked as you watched him bring back out a notebook. A sketchbook actually. 

Your face had a look of shock on it, bringing him to smile at you. “Calm down, Wheeler. I can see the boredness in your eyes and I have this book. Mess around with it, I’m sure as hell not using it.” Your words caught in your throat as you stared down at the notebook that was now in your lap. 

“Um...thanks, Harrington.” You stood up and grabbed the pencils you had honestly not really knowing what to do with this newly given gift. “Do you...want me to draw you anything?” You asked.

Harrington looked up at you, a look deep in thought on his face before he turned to you and asked, “I want you to draw me like a cartoon character.” Hearing this, you were surprised at his request, even voicing this confusion yourself. “You know like Fred from Scooby Doo? Draw me something like him. All attractive and suave.” He grinned up at you, his dark eyes twinkling as he waited for your answer to his request. 

“I...don’t really do animation. I’m more of an emotion led artists and this isn’t really-”

He interrupted you. “Well then I guess I’ll be having my notebook back.” He held his hand out to you, but you held the book to your own chest shaking your head. “Thought so, now get drawing, Wheeler.” You were honestly taken aback by him sitting here and demanding things from you. 

Almost stupidly, you sat down in the chair sitting in front of him and grabbed a pencil, the black one, one that you were using in his outline. Animation was more your style, even if it wasn’t what you wanted to be drawing right now, you found that drawing Harrington animatedly was easier than real life but there was still a learning curve for you. 

You drew his face in very simple lines. His jaw came down into a subtle, but he did have a square face overall, deciding to accentuate the shape of his face while adding a slight chin to make sure he didn’t have just a square for his head. His ears were pretty flush to his head, so you didn’t bother and just hid them behind his hair. 

Oh, the hair. You grabbed the brown pencil and moved to try and find a way to translate the Hairs hair onto paper and it wasn’t working that well. There is a reason Harrington was known for his long and fluffy hair, and boy was it hard to find a way to get the curls and the wisps onto the paper without making it seem like stray pencil marks. 

You needed to tell your sister to tame her boyfriend’s eyebrows because they needed help, he was a few hairs away from unibrow. One had a sort of arch with some stray hairs underneath it and the other looked like a caterpillar. So, you decided to fix them on paper, and you gave him some damn good-looking eyebrows if you do say so yourself. Moving on, you stared at his eyes, and you finally noticed that he was staring back at you just as intently as you were, only he didn’t have a reason to be watching you. Maybe it was because he was staying still for you, but his gaze was a little unnerving. So instead of wanting to put focus on the small flecks of individual colors that made of his warm brown eyes, you grabbed the brown pencil again and just quickly drew a brown blob at the center of each eye and called it that. 

His nose was in two sweet and small motions, choosing to ignore drawing the slight crook midway down his nose. It was a simple nose, given that you knew almost every turn by now after drawing it multiple times. 

Your head shot up with your eyes wide at this, the pencil in your hand had stopped as you stared at Harrington’s nose. It was there, the nose. The one you had been drawing all week. There it was. The tweak at the top of the nose, the small button at the tip, the small and light freckles that lined the bridge of his nose. They were all there in front of you and you had no clue what to do with this new information. 

It couldn’t be. Why the hell would you be drawing Harrington’s nose? There was no reason you had ever looked at him for more than five minutes total since the time he and Nancy started dating. 

But there were the lips. The lips too. They were right there. Staring at you with all the swings and curves and pink tone with reds in it that you had been trying to copy since yesterday morning. The two of them were staring right at you. The face they belonged to was sitting in front of you and you didn’t know how to feel about it. 

A hand snaps in front of your face, one of its fingers striking your nose gently. “Wheeler? You still in there?” You shook your head, clearing your brain of the fog that took you over. 

“Yeah, sorry.” Quickly pulling the sketchy book closer to your face, you hid your warm face from where he could see you and quickly drew his lips in, completely ignoring your racing mind as you drew the outline and colored in his clothes on the way down, noting his denim jacket, T-shirt and a pair of jeans. On top of a pair of sneakers that you had never really seen him not wear before. 

From the face you took time to get the feeling of Harrington into the drawing, you quickly rushed through the rest of him, producing a finished product in less than five minutes and handing it over to him. “Here you go. Sorry if it’s not like Fred enough for you, but I’m not really an animator or anything.” 

Harrington looked over the paper you handed him; his face blank as he took in everything from the sheet of paper. The anticipation in your stomach grew every second he just stared at what you produced, wanting to be affirmed in what you had done, the ever challenging part of being like you, was that you didn’t know it but you needed the affirmation of how well you did. And for some reason, especially right now. 

“Wow, Wheeler, you could open one of those street drawing stand things and have people pay you for these.” He gave you a quick smile before tucking the paper into his backpack between some of his school books. Looking at his books, you quickly remembered where you were and what he was doing here. 

“Why aren’t you with Nancy right now?” You questioned and he quickly muttered to himself. 

He fiddled with his zipper before turning back to you, fiddling didn't fit his persona. “I just assumed she was taking a shower again since you didn’t kick me out.” 

You quirked an eyebrow at his response. “If I remember last time, you were half out the door ready to join my sister. I didn’t think you needed my permission to go see your own girlfriend. Much less have sex with her if you want to.” He scoffed at your remark, you bringing a smile to his face. 

“Good to know I have Nancy’s little sister’s permission to sleep with her next door to you.” He slings his backpack back onto his back as he makes this comment. 

“Whoa whoa, I didn’t mean that wait-Harrington I didn’t mean that!” He was already out the window by the time your confused brain caught up to you. “Great, now all I’m gonna hear is them having sex.” You muttered angrily to yourself as you slammed the window closed behind him. 

Because what else would you want to hear besides your sister and her boyfriend screaming in pleasure at each other. 

Looking around the room, you saw the sketchbook sitting on your desk. The sketchbook that Harrington gave you. 

Steve Harrington. “Oh God.” You gasped out as it all fell around you. You fell back against the wall behind you, slipping down until you were seated, your brain finally caught up to you and the panic settled in. “Holy crap, holy crap. What have I done?” 

His nose. That was it. He had your nose that you had been drawing. You found the face. And you didn’t like this at all. 

You have been drawing your sister’s boyfriend's nose obsessively. And you couldn’t explain why. 

Your heart rate increased. 

Breathing became short, curt, and rapid. 

Your vision was getting a little fuzzy around the edges as you tried rapidly blinking. 

Chest was heaving, but no air was getting in.

You were having a fucking panic attack and there was no one here to help you. 

You have to remember how to breathe on your own.

How do you even breathe?

You were alone, and your body couldn’t remember how to breathe.

You were alone and you couldn’t breathe

You couldn’t alone and you were breathe.

Alothe. 

Brone.

Your panic took you over and you fell over onto your carpeted floor, passed out and afraid of what you now know. 

-----

Monday morning finally came, to your mother coming into your room and calling you awake. Last night you finally got all of your supplies back and you were doing everything you could to make up for the lost weekend you had planned to use for painting. You stayed up until 3am, until your body was shutting itself down. You had seen Harrington come through your room and go, not giving him much to talk about this time around. You couldn’t let yourself get distracted with how little time you had left. 

And when that three am mark rolled around, your brain couldn’t tell what was pink from green and you almost painted a giant line through the heart. So, you slept, for three hours your body rested and reset itself. 

And it was rudely interrupted by your mom telling you it was Monday and you had to go to school. As you got dressed, you thought through how long it would take you to finish. All the colors were on the page, no white remained thankfully, but the flowers still needed life, they needed depth so that they were not 2D. 

You could take the picture with you to school. But when would you work on it? And you wanted to keep this all a big reveal. Your teachers sure as hell wouldn’t allow you to work on it instead of their own class. 

You could stay home. But how the hell was that supposed to work? Knowing your mother, you sure couldn’t get her to allow you to stay home for a reason as stupid as a painting. 

But what if she didn’t know you were home?

An idea formed in your mind as you threw your hair up in a ponytail and walked over to your sister’s door before knocking on it. She called you in. “Y/N?” Nancy was confused when you walked in. “What do you want?”

“Nancy, I have a huge favor to ask of you. Can you please leave me here at home? I need to stay back and finish working on my painting and I don’t have enough time tonight. I promise I will do whatever you want, I will do your chores, your homework, I don’t know but please, Nancy, I really need this.” You pleased with her, throwing all your sincerity as you can into your words. 

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, her eyes darting back and forth between yours, looking for something, though you don’t really know what. “You owe me if I do this.” You gasped in relief at her words and surged forward, throwing your arms around your sister’s shoulders. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you so much Nancy. Oh my gosh I owe you so much right now. Thank you.” You held her tight in a hug, ignoring how she didn’t return the hug, but you were just too elated at this moment to care. “Okay, I’ll like get in the car with you and at the stop sign at the end of the road, I’ll just jump out and run home.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care.” She wiggles slightly as she wants you to release her, making you let go and rush out of her room. 

You did as you said. Wished your parents goodbye after breakfast, got into the car for a short time before telling Mike to keep quiet and you ran home. 

That was the easy part. What Harrington didn’t tell you was that climbing up the wall of the house wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and you ate dirt twice before you finally made it up to your window. You thanked your past self for leaving the window open, not knowing how you would have managed it to try and get that window open from the outside. 

But you were inside now, and all you had to do for the rest of the day before your sister got back was be quieter than a mouse. And with painting, that wasn’t too hard for you: standing on your feet without moving was something you got used to. But this time, you couldn’t just tune the world out, you had to make sure that your mother didn’t walk in to find you here and not at school. 

So, you went in painting, pulling out your paint palette and container of paints, you began working. Mixing, painting, brushing, applying the paint, you stood for hours, ignoring your stomach as it called for food around lunch time. Moving only one, and that was because you dropped a paint brush and needed to step forward a little bit. The other time was when you heard your mother coming up the stairs. 

Your first urge was to scream when you heard her. It was almost like a horror movie with the murderer coming closer to the victim and the victim had nowhere to go. Where to go, what do you hide in? Would she even come in here? Of course, she would, she’s your mother! Looking around, the best you could think of with the footsteps getting slowly closer was under your bed, because you were basic and asking to be killed. 

You dove and as quietly as you could, you shoved yourself under the bed, not realizing how cramped it would be down there, it wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be but you still were able to get yourself underneath before you watched the door swing open. Her heeled feet walked in, followed closely by the vacuum behind her, which she plugged in and quickly went to work. 

All you could do was sit there, waiting, watching as the vacuum came closer, going away, closer, away. So on and so forth, but you would hear the occasional mutter from your mom about how filthy you kept this room, and how you need to put your paints away and not leave it lying out all day. From where you were lying, you could see her jostling things around above you, but nothing seemed to give away your still being home. 

Looking around the room, you took inventory of what a bug must feel like, seeing everything so big and far away. Your dresser, bookshelves, even your backpack was massive from where you were. Crap. Your eyes widened as your mother grabbed your backpack from the ground. You were supposed to have your backpack at school right now, and it was sitting on your floor for your mother to see. 

Shit shit shit shit shit! You screamed in your head with your hand clamped over your mouth as you waited for your mom to find you, catch you, and never let you see the light of day again. Something bounced off your bed. “Y/N needs to stop leaving her backpack home and start taking it with her.” Those were the last things you heard your mom say before she turned and dragged the vacuum behind her out the door, shutting it behind her before moving down the hall to your brother’s room. 

A heavy sigh left your body as you felt relief rush over you knowing that you were safe from getting caught. And with that, you pulled yourself out from under the bed, squeezing a little bit at the hips, but finding yourself free from dust. You didn’t have much more of a thought to yourself other than getting more of the painting done before you could call it a day and finally finish it all off with a quick signature at the bottom. 

A few more hours of you working passed before you heard your sister come back home. Just in time too. You had the biggest smile on your face as you painted the last brush stroke at the bottom. “Y/N Wheeler.” You were finished. Finally! Mike cried out that he was home and then promptly called how he was heading over to Dustin’s house. Opening your door, you wanted to make your way over to Nancy to thank her again, wanting to know what she wanted in return. 

Opening your door, you saw Nancy had beaten you to it and was standing outside your door. “Nancy! I just wanted to say than-” Your smile and happiness quickly went away when Nancy shoved past you, cutting you off. 

“Why was Steve asking about you?” Her question confused you, which you voiced, asking her what she was talking about. “Steve! My boyfriend! All he could do was ask me about you and why you weren’t at school and how you were enjoying your new notebook and then he went on to show me the cartoon you drew of him. When did you draw him? Why are you hanging around my boyfriend?!”

“Whoa, Nancy, I wasn’t hanging around him. I haven’t done anything. I don’t even talk to Harrington.” 

“Then why does he have this drawing?” And to prove it to you, she pulled the silly drawing out you did a few nights ago, where Harrington asked you to draw him like Fred. 

Looking at the paper, there was honestly nothing you could think of wrong with the situation. “Nancy, for like the past week, he has been using my window to sneak in and out of the house because he was almost caught by mom. I offered to let him use my room to slip through. You were busy or something like two nights ago and he was sitting in here waiting for you to finish and he told me to draw him like Fred from Scooby-Doo.” 

“He’s been sneaking through your room?! You suggested this? Y/N what the hell have you been doing with my boyfriend in my room?” Nancy was screaming at you at this point, alerting your mother that the two of you were home when she called up the stairs for you two to stop yelling. 

You were getting frustrated at this point, “Nancy! No! I haven’t been doing anything with your boyfriend! I’m not even interested in the asshole!”

“Then why did I find you drawing his face in your notebook?!” Once again trying to prove you were in the wrong, she showed you more papers, the ones from your sketchy book that were in fact of Harrington’s face that you found out the other night. 

“Where did you get those? Nancy, that's from my notebook, where did you get that?” Your failed attempt to grab the papers from her led to her getting all in your face. 

“And why were they in there?! Why! Y/N why are you hitting on my boyfriend?! Is nothing sacred for me?! All you do is walk around this house, painting, and drawing and being a goody little two shoes! You are a complete bitch Y/N! I work my ass off for my grades, to be great in school, to have an amazing boyfriend! And you are trying to steal him from me!” She kept getting louder and louder, screaming at you and stomping her feet and making more and more accusations towards you that you didn’t understand. 

“Nancy, I know how it looks but I was just-”

She walked dangerously close to your painting, her flailing arms almost hitting it right off the easel. “You were what, Y/N?” 

“Please be careful, Nancy, the paint is still wet.” Reaching out, you grazed her hand, hoping to calm her down but she ripped it away from you. 

“Oh, is this what you care about? Let me show you what you’ve done to me, Y/N. What happens if I do this?!” Before you could react, her hand flew and shot its way through the canvas, punching a huge hole into the painting you just finished not moments ago. 

“No!” You screamed in horror, staring at the hole she hit through the flowers atop and intertwined amongst the heart. Your own heart broke and your body had no idea what to do besides just scream.

Footfalls stormed up the stairs and Karen Wheeler charged into the room. “Y/N Wheeler, what are you screaming about, that is completely uncalled for!”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked to your mother for help. “Mom, Nancy she...look mom!”

“Mom! Y/N has been flirting with my boyfriend and cheating with him behind my back! And she skipped school today!” Nancy’s face had rage written all over it, nothing compared to the absolute shattered feeling you felt. 

“Mom wait no please. I-” you tried explaining, but your mother had heard enough, and she spun on you. 

“I can’t believe I ever raised a daughter like you, Y/N. I am completely disappointed in you. Steve is your sister’s boyfriend. And I’m talking to your father when he gets home about you missing school. Apologize to your sister right now.” Your mom was angry, you could tell, but you were hoping you could argue with her. “Don’t argue with me, Y/N! I guess locking you in your room isn’t enough for you to learn your lesson anymore. Your father will be hearing about this, young lady, you can be sure of that.” 

She was gone, your mother left you in the room with your sister, going downstairs and angrily muttering to herself. Looking over to your sister, she saw she was still angry on her face, with a sickening smirk on her face. “What...have I ever done to you, Nancy? All I have ever done is try to be your little sister. All I want is for my big sister to guide me, be a role model. I just want you to love me, Nancy.” Tear tracks raced their way down your face as you stared at your sister, if you could even call her that anymore. Not after what she did to what she knew you loved doing and had worked so hard on. 

“Why would I ever love the sister that made my parents split their love up?” Nancy’s voice came out as a growl and followed your mother, slamming your door behind her. 

Your body finally gave out and you fell to your knees before curling up and letting our sobs ring through the room, screaming at one point all the pain out of your chest. Your mother yelled at you again, but you didn’t listen, you kept crying at the pain in your chest, the same pain that showed through the tear in the still wet painting. 

------

“Karen, we should talk to her before we keep punishing her. She is going to hate us if we keep doing this.” Ted Wheeler was trying to talk some sense to his wife while walking up the stairs to his daughter’s room. 

“Ted, I think it’s time we discipline her my way. You have been going too easy on her these last few years and she’s fighting back. I don’t like people fighting against me, Ted.” Karen Wheeler gave her husband a look that told him to be quiet while she did the talking, he was there to be a point of authority and trick you into listening to your mother. 

Nodding, your father grabbed the door handle into your room and pushed the door open. “Y/N, sweetie. We wanted to talk to you.” The husband and wife opened the door and expected to find you sitting on your bed or standing in front of your painting that the two of them have known you have been working on endlessly lately. 

But the room was empty. You were nowhere to be seen. “Y/N?” Karen took a step into the room, checking behind the door to see if you were standing there. “Y/N, I don’t want to deal with your games right now. Get out here young lady.” The woman checks under the bed, in the closet, but you weren’t in either of those places. “Ted, I don’t see-” Turning around, Karen Wheeler saw her husband standing in front of what looked to be the artwork you were working on. She stepped closer, looking around her husband's shoulder and her eyes widened when she saw what was before her.

It was a beautiful painting. The dark background may look black for one second, but when looking deeper at it, there were the light colors of white and grey in the background, creating an open ribcage around what is the centerpiece of the painting: a red heart. The heart had amazing detail, veins and fat tissue where you would suppose it would go. Green things ran along the heart as well, but it wasn’t as easy as it was before to tell that there was a bouquet of flowers emerging from the main openings of the heart because where the flowers once were was now a giant hole ripped through the canvas. 

Karen Wheeler was rarely shocked at being speechless, yet here she was with her hand pressed to her mouth in awe at what she was looking at. It was beautiful but broken. While she stared at this, Ted had gone to the door and called somebody’s name down the hall. “Is this what she has been working on?” Her words came out breathless and airy. “It’s so beautiful.”

Ted nodded as he looked around the room, waiting for who he called before something caught his eye behind the curtain that was being blown around the open window. “Did you call me, dad?” Nancy stepped into the door confused. 

“Nancy, do you know what happened to your sister’s painting?” Karen turned to her eldest daughter, her pride and joy, before her husband could, who had pushed a curtain away to see more of what he was looking at. 

Looking over, Nancy shrugged. “She deserved it. I told you mom, she was che-”

“Nancy, I’m not asking for what she did to you. Did you do this to her painting?” Nancy looked around the room, not wanting to look at her mother, but giving a slight nod. “Nancy Wheeler! You know what painting means to your sister!” 

“But mom, she doesn’t-” 

“No Nancy! You aren’t in the right here. Y/N could have hit on your boyfriend, which I want to verify with your boyfriend, but that does not give you the right to destroy what Y/N has spent weeks working on.” 

“Karen.” Ted called over to his wife. 

“Nancy Wheeler, you are in a big deal of trouble right now and I don’t want to see you. You have severely hurt your sister and I am extremely upset with you.” Nancy looked away from Karen, her face flushed with red as she left the room, not feeling too hot that she had been turned on by her parents. 

“Karen,” Ted called again, to which she finally turned back to him. “Look.”

Written on the wall, in black paint was line after line of your handwriting. “Failure. Stupid. Y/N Wheeler is useless. Not pretty like Nancy. Not smart like Mike. Not loveable like Holly. Matt is friendlier than Y/N. Clare is emotionally stable. Stupid. Failure. Shit. Y/N Wheeler is shit. The world won’t stop. Nobody here. Noone wants me. Unwanted. Unloved. No difference. No change without. Gone. She is gone. Y/N Wheeler isn’t wanted. She isn’t going to want. “

“Oh my god.” Karen gasped again, tears prickling at her eyes as she turned away, not wanting to see anymore as she looked around the room. “Y/N? Sweetheart please!” She looked at the closet again and saw your shoes were gone. Your shoes and one of your jackets were missing. “Ted. Ted! She’s gone! Y/N’s gone! Our little girl is gone, she's gone.” Her words sputtered out of her mouth as she fell into her husband’s arms, her face and cries falling into his shoulders as he led her over to where your phone sat on your desk. 

“Hawkin’s police department.” Flo’s voice asked through the phone, she sounded bored rightly so since nothing happens in this small town. 

“Flo, this is Ted Wheeler.” He held the phone to his other ear so that his wife wasn’t crying near it. “Pass me through to Chief Hopper. Our daughter is missing.”

-----

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N Wheeler!” 

“How many Y/N’s do you know, Lucas?” Mike looked over to his friend; the three of them had been out for the last two, maybe three hours, calling out your name, much to Dustin’s chargin when his voice started cracking and hurt from screaming. 

“Well I’m sorry I just wanted to say something other than your sister’s name.” Lucas called back to the only male child of the Wheeler family. “Mike, we’ve rode back and forth across this damn road so many times, I can count how many pedals it takes to get from one side to the other.” 

Mike ignored his friends' complaints as he kept calling out your name, hoping that as they kept doing this loop that you would call back out to him. Come running out of the woods. Just come home. “Y/N!”

Across town, your parents were looking just as hard as your little brother. Your mother had removed her heels and stockings and skirt for a pair of sleep pants your father had and some sneakers she found in your room that would fit. Never in your wildest dreams could you imagine that your mother would be trekking through the muddy, dirty woods, especially for the likes of you. “Y/N!” Your mother called out, moving the flashlight back and forth as she tried seeing any sign of you in the woods near your house. 

“Karen, sweetheart. We won’t be able to find her out here, it’s nearly midnight. It’s too dark for us to make a difference in the search.” Ted reached forward and gently grabbed his wife’s elbow, hoping he could guide her home. He had been out here with her, calling your name and looking at every possible place you could be hiding. 

Karen looked back at her husband and in the glare of the flashlight off him, he could see her eyes filled with worry, shame, frustration. “Ted, I’m the reason she is out here. And I want to be here when we find her.”

Mr. Wheeler nodded his head, tugging a little harder on her elbow before she let herself be pulled into her husband’s embrace. The two of them stood in the middle of the woods, a mile or so away from your house, holding each other as they worried for their lost daughter. “Come on, dear. I’m sure we can look a little longer. Maybe she’s just a little farther ahead.” She nodded her head at Ted and the two of them continued forward. “Y/N!”

Back at home, Nancy was sitting in the living room with Holly drawing in front of her while she went over flashcards for her AP exam coming up. “Nancy?” At hearing her name, the young girl looked up. “Where’s Y/N? I didn’t get to paint with her today.”

She scoffed. “What is with this family and Y/N? She’s not here, Holly.” The last part, Nancy spoke louder so that the youngest Wheeler would hear her. 

“Where is she? I miss her.” Holly said it so nonchalantly as she kept drawing on her little page. Nancy glowered down at the little girl before she stood up, ordering Holly to stay there and that she would be right back. Walking into the kitchen, she picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number. 

“Hello?” Her boyfriend's voice came through the receiver and she felt like she could smile for the first time since she got home that day. 

“Hey, Stevie. Wanna come over? My parents aren’t home and thought that we could get some alone time in.” She leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, getting a look to see that Holly hadn’t moved an inch. 

Steve took a second to respond. “Sure, babe why are they out of the house. They just had a date night.” 

“Oh, Y/N up and ran off and they’re off looking for her like a manic. She’ll be home soon I’m sure. It’s what she gets.” Nancy rolled her eyes at her own statement. “So, you wanna come over?”

She heard a release of breath on the other end. “God, Nancy. Your sister is missing, and you want me to come over? Please tell me you are calling me to help your family look for her.”

“Steve Harrington. What are you talking about? Steve Harrington you are my boyfriend, not my sister’s boyfriend or best friend.” Nancy growled into the phone ready to go off on the phone to her ear, but he cut her off. 

“No, Nancy. I am not someone who dates a girl who ignores her sister, who hurts her sister on a daily basis by not even looking or caring about her.” His words caught her off guard, truly they did because here it was again, her little sister coming back to claim what is originally Nancy’s. “Nancy unless you tell me this is some sick joke, I’m sorry but we are done.” 

Nancy Wheeler had nothing to say and was even more in shock when she heard the dial tone ringing in her ear. “Steve? Steve? Hello?” Nancy stood at the phone and tried ringing him back up, with no answer. In the living room, Holly hummed to herself as she continued moving her marker back and forth across the paper, so excited for mommy to get home and to give her a new painting of the family. 

“Y/N!” It had been hours since the sun had fully gone down and at least five hours since Hopper got the initial call. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in Hawkins, never has before Will went missing a couple years back. “Y/N Wheeler!” Hopper called again into the night, shining his flashlight around the exterior of the fence of Hawkins lab, trying to see if anything would connect another strange event from the Upside Down to you. 

The lab has been quiet for a while, so it didn’t connect why you would have gone missing. And it sounded like it wasn’t a missing persons case and instead was a kid running away from home. His eyes were barely hanging open at this point and he had used up his last cigarette over an hour ago, so he needed a kick to get him going that he didn’t have.

He didn’t want to, but Chief Hopper knew when to quit and now was the time. Grabbing his radio, he called out to Powell and Callahan on his radio. “Yeah boss?”

“I’m calling it for tonight. We will keep searching for the girl tomorrow when we get some shut eye and the sun is up.” Hopper mumbled into his radio as he did one last sweep of the area around him before he turned back around and headed for his truck. 

“Will do boss.” Something clicked in Hopper’s mind before he signed off for the evening. “You say something else, boss?” 

“Yeah, make sure Ted and Karen get home safe, I don’t need more civilians out getting lost.” The three police officers finished their pleasantries and signed off until the morning when they promised the three of them would be back out at eight am on the dot. This left Hopper to wander the woods alone with his own thoughts and the quiet around him back to his car and head back home to Eleven and some Eggos waffles fresh outta the toaster. 

Hopper gripped his steering wheel with one hand while the other he used to rub his face of the stress this evening has caused. He enjoys his work, he really does. Helping the community and everything, but the max he wants to worry about is thieves from the local pharmacy because the local teenagers wanted to get high on Nyquil. No missing kids who run away from home. No monsters. No kids who have been experimented on their entire lives. 

First Joyce’s kid, now one of the Wheeler’s daughters too. Whatever happened to kids listening to their parents and staying home? “I swear, if Eleven even thinks about disappearing like that on me, I’ll turn this state topside.” With a slam of the door, Hopper looked up to his little cabin, something he found when he was a young stupid kid and later in life would convert into a home for himself away from the life of Hawkins. Now it was his permanent home for him and his new daughter. 

“El, I’m home.” Hopper ducked his head into the door frame, looking over to the coat rack that he placed his hat upon the coat rack before making his way into the kitchen right next to the door. “I hope you didn’t eat all of the waffles while I was gone.” He quipped with a smile on his face; he didn’t hear her respond, which he was glad about since she should be in bed, like he wanted to be. But Jim needed something in his belly. 

He hummed to himself a little tune he heard on the radio on his way over, not knowing what the song was, but it was here in his head and it didn’t seem to appear to be leaving any time soon. This ditty stuck with him as Jim Hopper pressed a little extra butter into the crevices of the waffle and smothering it in syrup, the best way to eat waffles honestly. Grabbing his plate, Hopper decided in his head which channel he was going to watch tonight before he turned in only to get up at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow. 

Stepping into his living room, Hopper jumped in surprise when he saw Eleven staring at him with a straight face. “Jesus, El, you should have said something while I was in the kitchen, I thought you were asleep by now.” Eleven kept her gaze upon her father figure as he rounded the couch and saw another thing he was not expecting. 

El was sitting on the couch in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, but she wasn’t alone. Hopper nearly dropped his waffles when he saw you, passed out on his couch, your head laying on El’s lap as she ran her fingers through your hair, which was sopping wet, as were your clothes. “Eleven. How did she get here?” Jim fell into his armchair, his plate of waffles laying on his lap and his jaw dropped down nearly as far. 

“She knocked.” El stated curtly, her eyes looking to Hopper a second more before she turned her head to look back down at you. “She’s Mike’s sister.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the Wheeler’s daughters. I’ve been looking for her all night. When did she get here?” Hopper moved his body forward to see more of her surrogate daughter and you.

“At 9-4-9. Why is she so sad, Hopper?” She completely disregarded his own questions and comments and began pegging her own at him. “I can see her thoughts. She’s so sad. Why? She has Mike. I can’t have Mike but I’m not sad.” 

Hopper sighed after hearing this, he never poked into other people’s affairs, but he had a feeling he might have to talk to your family when he got you home. “I...I don’t know El.” The young teen nodded her head, her hand still running over your hair.

The group of three sat there in quiet silence, El stroking your hair as you slept on while Hopper sat deep in thought of what he should do next. He was thinking, but he could not stopwatch his daughter and how she acted around you. He saw that you were still wet, though it did seem like you were slowly drying off, hopefully you wouldn’t get sick because of this. 

Placing the now empty plate down, Hopper stood up with his mind made on what he was going to do. “Come on, El. It’s past your bedtime, bud.” 

“But I want to stay-” With a raise of his hand, Hopper stopped the young girl from speaking. 

“I’ll stay with her, El. Don’t worry.” The chief walked over and gave her shoulder a gentle pat on the shoulder as he helped guide her out from under your head. “Be careful with her, I’m sure she’s had a rough night.”

Going into her room Hopper gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, to which she gave the customary comment “scratchy” with a smile on her face as she commented on his beard against her skin. With a chuckle, Hopper shut the door behind him with El flicking the lights off herself, leaving him in the main room of the cabin. The man signed deeply as he ran his hands over his face roughly, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes and wake himself up just a bit. 

He took a rather ungracefully seat next to your head, hoping his jostling of the couch would wake you up, but you only shifted at his added weight. Jim Hopper sighed again and moved his hand over to your shoulder, gently shaking it. “Come on, kid. I need you to wake up for me.” His already gruff voice as gruffer and deeper from exhaustion as well as how quiet he was being. “Kid, you gotta get up.”

You finally started to move, letting out a groan at being woken up, your body shivering under his warm hand. The groan quickly moved into a gasp as you shot upright with your eyes wide like an animal Hopper has seen hunting before. You quickly pulled away from his hand, almost like he had burned you and pressed yourself against the armrest of the couch as your eyes greedily took in the room you were in.

“Hey, hey kid, calm down. It’s me Hopper.” He watched as your eyes came to focus on him, your eyes rapidly moving, and your chest was heaving. “Calm down, kid. You’re safe. It’s Chief Hopper. You’re safe.” His hands were in front of him, a simple signal of peace between the two of you as you slowed your breathing down and started blinking, your eyes rapidly seeming to come back into focus. 

“Ch-chief Hopper?” Your voice came out a little hoarse, surprising you at the weakness behind your own voice. “Wh-what...where am I?” 

“You’re in my cabin, kid. Bout twenty miles from any form of civilization.” Hopper kept his place on the couch, letting you settle yourself into a cross legged position that seemed more comfortable, though not fully at ease. “Wanna tell me how you ended up over here? And why you’re sopping wet?”

His comment caused you to look down at yourself, just now noticing that you were in fact wet. “I...I don’t really remember. I just was running through the woods out by my house, and I guess I just...wait, I think I fell into a creek or something before I found this place. Yeah, I fell into some creek, and it was freezing water, so I...don’t remember much after that…” You looked down as you tried remembering just how you got here.

“Well kid, you somehow made it from one end of Hawkins to the other. You’re almost outside of the city limits.”

“What? Wait what time is it?” Your eyes widened again, and you quickly jumped off the couch, making a move towards the door. 

“Hold up, kid.” Hopper grabbed your forearm as you moved past him, stopping you and reversing your path to lead you back down to sitting next to him, this time placing you closer to him. “You know you caused a lot of trouble around town.” Your shoulders sank when he mentioned this, followed by a quiet apology that he waved away. “I don’t care, you’re fine, I know where you are. Now, wanna explain this to me?” Feeling around his pockets, Hopper produced a polaroid picture that he handed over to you. 

You took the picture from him and felt yourself deflate once you saw your wall. “I forgot I did that.” Your words were quiet mutters as you looked at the words you painted nights ago when you were in a rage. ��I...I didn’t-” 

“Don’t tell me it didn’t mean anything. The words are there.” Hopper had his gaze fixed on you, his body leaning towards you as he waited for a response. “Y/N,” You looked back up at him from hiding from the photo. “Are there problems at home?”

He barely suggested this, and you shook your head. “No, there’s nothing like that, Chief Hopper, sir. It’s just...it’s…” Hopper watched as you worked on your words; whether it was appropriate or not, he placed his hand on your knee in solidarity. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just...it’s hard sometimes, cause I’m just stuck in the middle. Mikey’s the only boy in the family and he’s always at his friends house. Holly is adorable and she’s the baby and she’s cute. And Nancy…” You paused again, focusing your gaze onto your finger tracing the fabric on the couch. “Things aren’t good with her and me. I got into high school and she just...because very mean. Bitchy honestly. My parents care about me...but they don’t side with me and it isn't good sometimes. Or a lot of the times. But things are like bad at home, times just get rough sometimes.”

“I think you just described a bad household, kid.” 

“No, no, no. It’s not bad. I didn’t mean…” Your voice cracked and you moved to quickly wipe your eyes. “I didn’t…” You tried again, but you couldn’t get yourself to talk. 

Hopper sighed at watching you. He didn’t want to have this conversation, it was an uncomfortable feeling already, but if he wanted to sleep again, he needed to know. “Don’t tell me if you meant it or not. Can you tell me why you wrote all of this? I’m just here to help you, Y/N.” 

You finally looked up at him, for the first time really since you woke up, feeling your eyes starting to sting. “Damnit.” You whined into your hands as you hid your face from Hopper just as quickly as you looked up at him. Trying, you tried so hard to stop yourself from crying, because this wasn’t something you did. Y/N Wheeler didn’t break down and cry. You didn’t do that kinda thing. 

Hopper watched, he was never this good when his wife got emotional, he was barely there for his own little girl. With El, she was even stranger of a case and had no clue what to do with you. You were a practically random sixteen/seventeen-year-old sitting on his couch, crying, and he was lost. He went against his own instincts and did something that made him uncomfortable but would hopefully help you. 

“Come here kid.” As gently as possible, Hopper wrapped his arm around your shoulder and led you to cry on his own shoulder, much to his uncomfort. “Talk when you want to. I’m here all night.” As much as he didn’t want to be awake for the evening, he had a feeling he may have needed to say this. 

And you took his suggestion quickly. “I don’t always feel like that, I just-I just-I just...it gets hard when my mom wants me to be like Nancy and I can’t because I’m not smart enough, or pretty enough, or perfect enough. And I was angry and tired and...I do hate home. I hate it so much. But I have nowhere to go. I can’t just leave.”

You had no one to listen to you, not before this, but Hopper did. Hopper listened to you until you slowly cried yourself to sleep. Chief heard your voice quiet down as you kept talking until you went completely silent and your breathing evened out to where you were sleeping. He glanced over to the clock and groaned at how late it was, or early. It was way too close to when he needs to be awake for his liking.

“Guess I should sleep myself.” Muttering to himself, Hopper leaned his head against the back of his couch and worked on getting himself to sleep, feeling you shift closer to his shoulder just before he fell asleep for the night. 

-----

El let her leg jump against yours in the front seat of Hopper truck. Early this morning, you woke up to Hopper talking to someone through the phone, it sounded like he was talking to his police workers, telling them something about staying in the office and not being able to show up till later in the morning. After the phone call, he corralled you and El into his work truck after giving you a change of her clothes that looked like they should fit. 

Plus, it gave her an excuse to see your little brother, who apparently has a little girlfriend that you didn’t know about. She was smiling in her seat next to you, still not having said too much to you other than she was excited to see Mike. 

She was sandwiched between you and Hopper, allowing you to stare out the window as the scenery around you changed, watching as the scenery changed from heavily wooded forest to dirt roads to suburbs. All the while, you wondered what would happen when you got home. Because there obviously wasn’t anywhere else you would be going besides back home. How will you walk in? Will you go up to your room? Will your mom care? Chief Hopper said they were out searching for you, but you had a pit growing in your stomach where you thought how this could be a lie. 

This question was going to be answered much faster than you anticipated as you saw your house and driveway come into view in the front window of the car. El’s jumpiness intensified at the sight of the house while you tried sinking further into your chair. “Alright, you two, let’s get to the door before this rain picks up again. I don’t wanna go into work soaked.” He warned as he got out of the car with El following past him and ran for the front door. 

But you didn’t move a muscle. 

You watched as Hopper went up to the door that El was already knocking on and it opened before the Chief even got up there. Your mother had opened the door and you inhaled sharply when you saw her with her hair pulled back into a mess that you wouldn’t even call a bun anymore and it looked like she was in a pair of your father’s pants and a grungy t-shirt. 

Her eyes looked over Chief Hopper and El, who had pushed past her to where you assumed would be hugging Mike, before back to the Chief who pointed at the truck, causing her to look in your direction. The moment you two made eye contact, she began running to you, across the grass with no shoes on her feet. Rain was still coming down in a constant drizzle, but that didn’t slow your mom down.

Seeing her pursuit towards you, you pushed the door open and fell out into the rain yourself before moving towards your house and mom. You two met and her nearly tackled you to the ground as she wrapped you in one of the tightest hugs you ever received. Her face pressed into your shoulder and she held you so tightly to her chest, and you returned this by slipping your arms under your mother’s and held onto her waist. “Mom.” You whimpered into her chest, sealing your eyes shut as you fought back tears you never thought you would have shed. 

The rain ran down your head and under your clothes, but you didn’t want to think about anything but your mom’s hug right now. “Y/N, oh my…” You heard your dad’s voice before you felt him hug you from behind, taking both you and your mom up in an embrace you hadn’t felt in a long time. Opening your eyes, you saw the front of your house, the door opens to your house with Chief Hopper standing on the porch still, his arms crossed over his chest with a neutral look on his face. In the doorway, you saw someone standing at the threshold of the house: Nancy. She looked at you, no emotion to her face, just watching. You wanted to feel uncomfortable under that gaze, but you shut your eyes and came back to enjoy the safe and warm embrace of your parents around you. 

It was eventually the rain that pushed you three inside, and where your strings of apologies began. On your couch, with your dad sitting next to you and your mom kneeling in front, you started apologizing for running away, apologizing for making your parents and family and other people worried, apologizing for seeing your sister’s boyfriend. “Y/N,” You were interrupted by your mom. “Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. You shouldn’t have been sneaking Steve into the house at all, but you were helping him see your sister.” She ran her thumb against your cheek, affection you weren’t used to yet or at all.

Your gaze went over to Chief Hopper, who was leaning against the junction between your living room and kitchen. He gave you a small smile and nod, almost having to tell you that it was okay for your mother to be treating you like this. ‘If you ever feel uncomfortable at home, or if you ever need anything kid, drop by the office. My door will be open if you need it’. He told you this morning while he offered your waffles for breakfast before hitting the road, the both of you remembering your admittance early this morning to him.

“Okay.” A quiet whisper came from your lips as you looked back at your mom and gave her a small smile. You just hoped in the back of your head that things would somehow go back to what you knew as normal.

-----

You concluded that you had no clue what normal was. 

Tuesday your mom and dad kept you home from school with your father running out to work for a few hours before coming back. She never let you out of her sight throughout the day, calling your name every time you left the room for more than five minutes. And every time she called your name, you knew that it was your fault, you were the reason she was skittish about you leaving the house. 

Eventually you were able to convince her that you were just going upstairs to sleep for a little bit, promising her that you wouldn’t leave or slip out the window...again. Stepping into the room, you sighed at the feeling of being able to breathe again. Sliding down against the door, you never realized how...overwhelming having attention on you was. But your room was your sanctuary and you looked around, your eyes stopping when you saw the wall next to your window, it was blank. The words you wrote had been painted over like they never were even there. 

You gulped and forced yourself to look away from the negative space and felt the wind leave your body at the sight of an empty easel stand. “M-Mom?” She came up the stairs a few seconds after you called her. “Where’s my painting?” 

At your question, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Sweetie, your dad took care of it.” Her news scared you, but what else had you expected when the canvas was destroyed, you could try and paste it together, but then it wouldn’t look the same. “He told me he was going out to get you another canvas sweetie, so you can paint it again when he gets back.” Nodding your head, you sighed before smiling up at her.

“Thanks mom. I’m tired, so I think I’m gonna take a nap or something.” She returned your smile before kissing your forehead and shutting the door behind you. Once you were alone, you took one final look at the empty corner before you turned to your bed and tucked yourself in for now.

Wednesday passed by with Clare and Matt tackling you as you stepped out of the car, both of them screaming at you for being missing for two days without telling them and making them worried when they heard about you actually going missing. And all you could do was apologize for making them worry. Every time anyone reminds you about how worried they were, you feel another wave of guilt in your decision. 

At least your teachers didn’t bring it up, leaving you to figure out what you missed from the past two days on your own and your school day went on as normal, with a happy break during art class until you remembered your canvas. Seeing the face that you had started, you stared at it for a second, thinking, waiting, waiting on what is a good question, but your small burst of waiting ended when you picked up a paint brush and dipped the tip into black and began the outline of a face. 

You didn’t give a fuck right now. You wanted to paint, and this face is what you were going to paint. That art period was one of the fastest ones you remember attending but still one of your most productive ones with you being able to get the shape of the face done and drew the base color of the hair down in the shape you would work with tomorrow. 

And when Thursday art class came, you were already painting before the bell rang, not waiting for teacher’s permission to get started. Colors blended seamlessly, every strand of hair stood out in a cohesive way, the skin tone was becoming less white and more colored with a light blush on the cheek to give life. The lips and nose were already done, and this left you with the eyes. 

You realized you hadn’t seen Harrington since...was it Saturday? Not that you cared, you didn’t need Nancy breathing down your neck again for supposedly cheating behind her back. But you wanted to keep this painting going, wanted to finish something that Nancy couldn’t destroy. Something you wish you could turn into the art show for your school. 

You pushed away the thought of the art show you worked so hard to put a piece in, but that’s all your teacher talked about was the show today in Indianapolis. She advertised it on Wednesday and Thursday in class and told everyone to go if they were interested in seeing different schools and their projects they had worked on. You had been planning on going all year since you heard about this opportunity back in August. And now, your plans are completely up-ended for having your own art presented there.

Instead of focusing on the now missed opportunity of the painting, you looked to what was before you and pulled your paintbrush to begin the eyes. Harrington’s warm and welcoming eyes. 

Time slowly ticked by until you had the body of the eye colored out and everything except for the eye color itself. The pupils were completely, and the iris was outlined, but you left the coloring for last. You knew the color, but not the depth. Like his hair. His hair was brown, but there were small shines of gold hidden throughout, and as his hair got to his tips, they muted down to almost an auburn color. Nothing was just a single color; depth came from marking out the darker exterior iris and getting lighter as it gets closer to the pupil before darkening again. 

This was something you stopped yourself from doing; you could stare at Harrington’s skin or hair all day and he wouldn’t notice. Trying to see his eyes, that was harder than you called for. So, you couldn’t know the report layers of his eyes, not without doing it in the next couple of days when he jumped through your window. 

“What time is it?” You muttered very quietly to yourself as you turned in your seat to look at the clock hanging in the back of the church. With only ten minutes left in class, you were about to turn around when someone caught your eye. And you didn’t stop your staring gaze at Harrington sitting in the back row of class. 

How long he had been in this class, you had no clue, but you couldn’t take your eyes of the teenager in the back of your class who had a paintbrush pinched between his fingers and working on the canvas he had in front of him. He must have felt your stare because he looked up at you and met your gaze.

You didn’t turn away yet, allowing the two of you to dumpling watch each other. From here you couldn’t see the colors you had been needing, but you could see the small smile he sent your way and a wave. You returned the gesture and turned back towards your own drawing, a warm blush rising to your cheeks as you dm cursed yourself for not noticing that he was in your class and painting obviously his face in front of him. 

In the next ten minutes, you cut yourself off early and worked on cleaning up the paint brushes and paint palettes. You didn’t get much quiet cleaning done when you found someone standing next to you in the adjoining sink. “You've been missing the past couple of days, Wheeler.” 

Harrington was washing his own equipment next to you. “Yeah...I wasn’t feeling well these past few days.” Not everyone in school knew you needed to know what happened between you and your family. 

He hummed at your response not responding for a time until he was finished washing the brushes. “What are you doing tonight, Wheeler?” 

You looked at him in confusion in his direction. “Why?”

“I was...there’s a new movie out and I was curious about if you wanted to come watch it with me.” His question caused you to scoff as the bell rang around you, forcing you to put your brushes away while answering over your shoulder.

“You should be asking my sister, not me. Besides, I’m busy in Indianapolis.” Yes. You were still going to the show, your mom and dad told you it would be a good way for you to show them what you enjoyed doing, even if nothing was there for you to show. You tried arguing this morning, but neither of them would change their minds. 

Matt and Clare had you sandwiches between the two as they asked about your painting since you should be almost done, but you still weren’t focused on that. “How long has Harrington been in our art class?” 

“I would say...he’s been there the whole time, hasn't he, Clare?” Matt asked over your head.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. He’s always been tucked away in the back. Very quiet for Harrington.” Clare commented herself in his “odd” and quiet behavior. You nodded in sort of understanding, but you threw a look over your shoulder again, still curious as to why Harrington was asking you about seeing a movie. 

-----

“Mom, we really don’t need to do this. We can just go home and have a movie night or something.” This had been your comment the entire ride from Hawkins to the capital in your state. But they hadn’t listened to you and kept driving.

And with you now standing in front of the building that was advertising the show, you tried even harder to not have to go inside and they pushed ever more for you to go in. “Come on, even if you don't have anything to actually present, we want to see what gets you excited to paint.” Your mom spoke rather whimsically as she wrapped her hand under your dad’s arm and he escorted her into the building, you were trailing behind them. As much as you didn’t want to go inside, your mother always found a way of getting you places you didn’t want to be. 

Stepping into the door, you were welcomed to the warm environment of overhead lighting of candelabras, a cinnamony smell, and wooden floors that made the place feel homey and welcoming. A place you would gladly spend your Saturdays wandering between the lone pillars that held small statues, paintings on walls, different mediums of art you have never dabbled in but could appreciate.

“Come on, Y/N. Give us the tour of the place, what is everything?” Your dad looked to you with a smile. With a small huff, you looked around the room, to the other families of students whose art was on display, their art, and not your own, before you smiled back and started walking around with them. 

They asked questions about what everything they saw, what it meant, how did it look like that, why did they do this kind of medium instead of that. It was fun for you to see them so interested in what you enjoyed. Some of the questions they asked were out of your realm, like why they used more black than red in this painting, why were the flowers sculpted this way. “That’s just what the person wanted to do. Everybody puts their own spin on what they do.” 

The three of you were standing in front of a painting of what looked to be the Chicago skyline, with multi colors showing the sunset and stars beginning to appear in the sky. Really pretty painting, very simple but it caught the moment the sun disappeared behind the city. 

You enjoyed standing in front of the painting for several minutes, analyzing it, acknowledging the simplicity of the painting and its colors while also admiring this person’s work with blending paints to make three colors appear to be a rainbow. You had never been to Chicago yourself, but this painting brought you there. To your left you watched your parents move down to another display, but you kept yourself happy enjoying others work. 

“Beautiful.” Someone spoke next to you, the only other person who was standing in front of the painting with you; you looked over at the person and scoffed at seeing him. 

“You following me now, Harrington?” As much as you wanted to move away from him, you didn’t want his presence interrupting your enjoyment of a small thing you loved. “How’d you even find me?”

“I’m not following you; I just happen to enjoy looking at art. Or do I come off as too much of a douchebag for this kinda stuff?” Looking back over to Harrington, all you did was look at him. Watch him. He never answered how he found you and you really didn’t want to have him around you more than sneaking in and out of your room to get to Nancy.

“Still doesn’t explain how you got to this one.” You mumble to yourself as you found the painting now not as appealing as before and turned to follow after your parents, seeing a big group of people gathering around a small stand. 

“Wheeler, hey I wanted to talk to you about something.” Harrington was by your side again and walking over with you. His tall height allowed him to see over most of the people in front of the exhibit; once he saw what was on the other side of a sea of people, his eyes widened before a small smirk perked at his lips. “Wow.” He muttered before turning back to you. 

“Whatever you want Harrington, no. And...stop talking to me. Please.” Your heart was starting to pick up pace as you moved around the crowd, still away from him and a little closer to where your parents were at the center of this grouping.

He followed; it was getting annoying. “Come on, Y/N. I just wanted to talk to you. I mis-” You spun around, your hair and dress you were wearing flaring out around you as you turned back to look at him. 

“Don’t say that, Harrington. Me talking to you is the reason I am in this whole mess. So, stay away from me.” Something ran through you, you couldn’t tell if it was fury or anger, but a heavy emotion coursed through your veins as you stared at him. Your hands were fisted by your side and you hoped your glare would tell him to back off. “I don’t need Nancy hating me already more than she does. Just leave me alone.” Everything around you hurt, and nothing made sense. The art exhibits around you no longer were appealing; you were confused, and you didn’t know why. 

“Y/N, that’s what I need to say, if you would let me talk.” Harrington stepped towards you with his hand extended out to grab hold of your wrist and bring your hand forward. “Nancy and I are-”

“I know, you and Nancy are dating, that’s why I can’t talk to you.” As you spoke you tried pulling your hand away, but Harrington had a stronger hold than your weak pull could break. And after feeling his hand almost holding yours, you almost broke and let yourself enjoy this small moment. 

When you made the mistake of not pulling away harder, Harrington took a step closer to you, your feet were almost touching and he was so close you could smell his deodorant, or cologne, or whatever he used. Whatever it was, it smelt better than your little brother most days. “Y/N, if you would let me talk, I can tell you that Nancy and I are-”

“Why do you keep saying my name? You’ve always called me Wheeler and I’ve called you Harrington.” You took a step closer, even if it was small, and pressed your finger against his chest pokingly. “I call you Harrington because if I call you Steve, that makes me want to date you more. I want to be selfish and be the one that dates you. But I can’t because you are my sister’s boyfriend and she may hate me, but I respect her enough to not try and get with you. So please, just leave me alone.” You were practically begging him at this point, and you stepped away from him, moving to turn back to find your parents.

Forgetting that he was still holding on your hand, you groaned as he tugged you back around. Your beginning argument was cut short when you felt him press a kiss to your forehead. He left his lips against your rapidly heating up skin for a few seconds longer before he pulled away with a smile on his face. “Nancy and I aren’t dating anymore. I called it off after she…” He looked around for a second before he coughed and spoke again. “Let’s just say after I saw some true colors shining through.” 

You stared at him confused, watching him, waiting to see if there was anything you could tell you that he was lying to you, that this was all a ploy for him and Nancy to see that you are trying to steal him from her. “How...what?”

Before he could answer, you heard your name being called. “Y/N sweetheart.” You turned your head towards where you heard your mom’s voice before you looked back at Harrington. 

“I…I gotta go.” Taking a tentative step backwards, you kept your eyes on him as you slowly pulled your hand away from his. Once your hand was free from his grasp, you slowly turned away, letting the smile finally grow on your face. 

“Wheeler?” 

“Yes? Steve?” You tested out saying his name as you spun around quickly and looked at him. The feeling left you breathless and lightheaded. 

“When are you free this weekend? I wanted to see if you could draw me another picture.” His smile hadn’t left his face and neither had yours. 

Honestly you were feeling bashful at the attention and you couldn’t look at him without your heart skipping a little and the feeling that your smile wanted to get even bigger, so you looked at your feet as you answered. “I’m free this Saturday if you...wanna pick me up?”

Although you already knew the answer, you were excited to actually hear him say it; looking back up, he nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll come to your window to get you.” Your name was called again, breaking the small moment and you gave him a small wave before you turned around. 

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that you were here today. 

The crowd around that one piece had dissipated with your parents still at the front of it, both blocking it from our view as you mom looked at you with a smile. “Y/N. Can you tell me why this person painted these flowers with a…” Her words faded away as you came around her and saw what everyone had been staring at.

There it was. But how? Staring at it, you knew, you knew it was yours.

The dark red background, the faded white outlines of the ribcage, the heart, the beautiful red and pink muscles and veins running across the structure. It was all there. Even the big rip in the center was there. But it wasn’t as noticeable with the gorgeous bouquet of roses sticking through the hole, making the original painting of flowers look 3D now. Your jaw dropped at the sight of it being here, and just as gorgeous as you imagined it when you began working on it. 

“How did this get here?” Stepping past your parents, you went up to the stand it was sitting on and read the plaque next to it. Your name was there! “I thought you threw it out?” 

You felt your dad’s hand on your shoulder. “Now why would I throw something so beautiful and emotional away? You worked so hard on it that I wanted to add my own spin to it.” He did this.

“You...you did this, dad?” He gave you a nod, and you felt your mom’s hand on your opposite shoulder, you between the two of them as you three looked at your art piece. The piece you had been planning and working on for months now and was here, in the biggest student art gallery in Indiana. After Nancy, you never thought you could have gotten to see this. 

Tears quickly filled your eyes and started running down your face, but you didn’t move to wipe them away and instead moved to wrap your father in a tight hug. “Thank you.” You whisper to him, staring at what was before you as your mother enveloped you on your otherwise. “Thank you so much.” 

The moment to others just seemed to be a family enjoying this piece of work, a sweet moment. And it was, but to you, you have never felt so loved before. This wasn’t going to fix everything that ever happened to you in the past with your parents and your family, but this was a good start to changing thin. You didn’t need to forgive them for everything from before, but you knew that one day, just one day all the tears in your heart could be mended and your heart be as full as the painting before you. 

[burninglilys]

run till the end of time

my hand kinda slipped and then i couldn’t stop writing. i have taken some creative liberty in making it so that their exams are pushed back because this entire ordeal has been a whole lot traumatic for the kids. 

Here's the irrevocable truth: 

They've won. They've actually, veritably won. 

Their sweat and blood, and sometimes nothing but phantom desperation and determination has shaped itself into a completely intangible thing called 'victory' and has permeated into every nook and crevice of the world around them. 

They've won. 

Here's the truth that is extremely hard for Pang to fathom that he has been existing in for over a few days now: 

They've won. 

There's a voice inside his head telling him that all of this is a mere illusion; his actual reality is still muddled in layers of inequality instead of the palpable reality that he is currently living in. 

There is no need for him to look over his shoulder every step of the way, no need for him to drown in nights where sleep always seems a blink away, no need for him to think twice before he lets joy consume him whole. 

There is no need for any of that. 

They've won and Pang feels as though this is a simulation where nothing is as it is, as he has known, and that the Director is up there, superimposing his present, past, and his future, laughing at what a fool he was to have ever believed that he's won. 

But they have, is the thing. 

He's reminded that they have by the way Wave smiles, looking more relaxed than Pang has ever seen him, by how Ohm's eyes twinkle, the way they always did before all this, by how all his friends -- his family, really -- find their way to each other, their way around each other, a bond created by the constraints of dictatorial power -- something so strong that nothing could've been able to get through it. 

None of it explains why Pang feels this hollow chamber inside his chest where that fire of changing something used to be. 

Someone knocks against his shoulders, snapping him out of the syrupy reverie he finds himself in on most days. 

"You can't believe it, huh?" 

Pang blinks slowly, taking a deep breath before putting on a smile and turning towards P'Chanon. 

"How did you know?" Pang asks, ignoring the loud cry that Ohm gives out as Namtarn smears the icing on his face. 

P'Chanon shrugs. "I can't believe it either," he says.

Pang presses his lips together, swallowing. 

"Everything we fought for is over," Pang replies. 

"It is," P'Chanon says, leaning against the table. 

"I didn't have a purpose before this," Pang says. "And then there was this. And now there's nothing." 

Pang never did think of a future for himself, he realises. It's as though he lived his life with a neon sticker on his forehead, relaying to everyone who he was and moulded exactly to fit that. First, there was the stupid kid, then there was the stupid kid who was smart enough to get into Rithda, then there was the stupid Class 8 kid, then there was the lucky Class 8 Gifted kid, then it was Class 8 Kid but as a leader, after which he became the kid who was completely idealistic, and then the kid who finally succumbed to the Director. 

The reality of this has ripped the neon sign off his forehead, leaving him floundering for a person to be. 

"Oh, Pang," P'Chanon says, his voice incredibly gentle. "Pang, I know exactly what you mean. You feel lost again." 

"I am nothing without this," Pang says, even though a voice in his head that sounds a little too much like Wave disagrees. "I don't-- what am I supposed to do?" His voice comes out broken around the edges, firmed only with the number of times he's asked his reflection. 

"Pang," P'Chanon says, bumping their shoulders together again. "You find a new purpose." 

"You say as though it's easy." 

"It's not," P'Chanon says, his voice firm. "It really is not. I have been in your position before, Pang. I am in your position now." 

Pang turns to look at P'Chanon, who looks straight ahead, his jaw clenched. 

"I didn't know who I was," he says in a whisper. "For the longest time, I was a shadow of who I wanted to be. And then I remembered. So there was my purpose again-- defeating Supot. And then I was mind-controlled, of course. So there was my purpose again-- defeating Pom. And then there was nothing. Just a void in front of me."

"How did you find your purpose again?" Pang whispers. 

P'Chanon nods his head -- that is when Pang realises that P'Chanon had been looking at Khu Pom all along -- and he hears P'Chanon give out a sigh. "I had some help," he says. 

"And now?" Pang asks. 

P'Chanon nods at Khu Pom again, who is currently doing his absolute best to stop Jack and Joe from fighting over something. 

"I'll figure it out," he says with a small smile. "As will you, Pang," P'Chanon pats his shoulder. "We have all the time in the world." 

"I'm so exhausted," Pang whispers. 

P'Chanon's face turns soft. "You've fought for the generations before you and the generations that will follow. Rest now, Pang. You will find a purpose again."

P'Chanon looks ahead, and this time, Khu Pom looks back, smiling at P'Chanon. 

Pang feels as though he's intruding on something extremely personal. "I know that I've found mine," P'Chanon says. 

"Khu Pom?" Pang asks before he can stop himself. 

P'Chanon shakes his head. "Doing right by the ones I love."

"You're going to be okay, Pang," P'Chanon says,  giving him a final pat on the back and walks towards where Khu Pom stands with a smile Pang has never seen on him. 

Pang stands there, warmed by P'Chanon's words and uncertain, just the same. 

***

It was so sudden, is the thing. 

Pang had been fully prepared to work for the Director in case it all failed. He always assumed that he would die trying to rid the clutches he held everyone in. 

But one moment, there was all hope lost and the next, the Director was gone for good and the world resumed turning around its axis with everyone in tow. 

Everyone but Pang. 

It is a mere ten minutes after Pang reaches his dorm again when he hears frantic knocking on his door and for one horrible, horrible moment, he thinks that it's the Director. 

His stomach swoops at the sight of Wave on the other side of it. 

"Here," Wave says, holding out a bag. "You didn't eat much." 

Pang looks at Wave in awe. "You brought food for me?" 

"Don't make it weird," Wave mumbles. "Just eat something, okay?" 

Pang takes the bag out of his hands, warmth blooming at where their fingers touch. "Do you want to come in?" 

"Obviously," Wave says and pushes past him to stride inside the room. 

"You didn't have to bring me food," Pang says, pulling the chair out for Wave to sit in. 

He is about to bring them both a plate when Wave tugs at his wrist. "Sit."

"Wave…"

"Sit," Wave says. "Just sit, okay? You look like you're going to fall dead at any moment." 

Pang stands there, flummoxed when Wave moves around his room as though it's his own. He brings out two plates and two glasses and starts serving him the noodles, swatting at Pang's attempt to help. 

"Do you think that you're invisible somehow?" Wave mutters. "I see you, Pang. Do you think that I haven't noticed the change in you?" 

"What change?" Pang asks, digging into his noodles. 

"You really think I'm stupid, huh?" 

Pang looks up, not knowing how to reply to that. Wave sighs, pushing forward his plate to serve him more noodles. "I care for you," he grits out. "I care for you," he repeats, gentler this time. "You were so full of hope before the final video," Wave says. "And then, you came out of the room as though you'd lost a war. And today, at the party, you didn't talk to anyone." 

Guilt curdles in Pang's stomach. "I'm sorry--"

"No!" Wave exclaims. "None of that, Pang. I am just letting you know that I see you and that I-- that I'm here for you, whenever you want. In any form you want me."

Pang looks up, startled. In his yellow-hued room, Wave looks a whole lot pink. "Not in that way," Wave says hurriedly. "But I'm here for you. So just-- yeah." 

"I care for you too," Pang says, carefully putting his hand over Wave's. "And thank you, I appreciate you." 

Wave looks at him once before looking back at his noodles again and makes no move to remove his hand from under Pang's. "Good," he says, his voice hoarse. 

"Good," Pang replies, feeling lighter than he had all week. 

***

Here is the truth, no matter how Pang sees it: 

Pang is in love with Wave. 

He does not really know when exactly the process of falling in love happened. He just knows that one day he woke up and all of a sudden, his eyes involuntarily found Wave's. The world slowed down whenever Wave was in his vicinity and for some unfathomable reason, Wave was suddenly in everything he saw and did. 

Claire had once snickered when she'd found him staring at Wave and that's when he realised what the clamminess of his palms and the fastening of his heart beat meant. 

He is in love with Wave. 

This absolute truth is the one thing he does not find himself bending around, no matter what. The truth only glows brighter every day he spends with Wave, tinting all his surroundings with the pink that doesn't leave him even when Wave isn't around. 

There is no-one who understands him the way Wave does. 

Case in point: the reality unfolding itself in the way Wave lies beside him, holding one earbud out for Pang as he loads up a meticulously curated playlist. 

Pang gingerly takes the earbud from him and settles easily on the cold floor underneath them. 

"You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?" Wave says, somewhere in the middle of the fifth song. 

I love you, Pang thinks. "I know," Pang says. 

"I don't know what's bothering you and I want to be there for you," Wave says. 

I love you so much, Pang thinks. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do after this," Pang says. 

He feels Wave moving closer to him. "What do you mean?" Wave frowns. 

"I don't know what I wanted before this and I don't know what I want now," Pang admits. 

"You're Pang," Wave says, as the music shuts down. "You'll figure it out." 

The lull of the darkness around him makes it safer for him to say, "I don't know who I am supposed to be now." 

"You don't need to be anybody," Wave says, causing Pang to turn towards him. Always turning towards him. "You're Pang," Wave says, his voice a whisper. 

Who is that person, Pang wants to ask. There's a certain kind of surety behind Wave's words. The surety whose entire weight Pang doesn't think he can carry. 

"You're Pang," Wave whispers. "That's all you need to be," he says. 

I'm Pang, Pang thinks, and lets the golden of the words settle beneath his skin, as though merely being Pang is enough. 

He looks at the dead-set certainty veiled behind Wave's eyes and thinks that perhaps it is. 

"Why did you go against the Director?" Wave asks. 

"You know why," Pang replies, resigned. 

"No, say it." 

"Because he was harming everyone."

"And what made you want to stop him?"

"Because it wasn't fair."

"Why did you care?"

"Because I wanted to make this world a better place!" Pang exclaims, unbidden and then breathes a sigh of relief. "I want to make this world a better place," he whispers. 

The corner of Wave's mouth lifts up. "There you go."

I love you, Pang thinks. 

"I hope you have a seat beside you as you make your way in this world," Wave says, a bit hesitant. 

"For you, Wave? Always." 

Wave looks at him in surprise. 

Pang reaches across to cup their hands together, again. "We're going to find our way in this world together, I think."

"Together," Wave repeats, still wide-eyed. 

"Together," Pang confirms, feeling hope bloom behind his ribs. 

***

It takes some getting used to, but Pang gets there. 

The hallways of Rithda feel painted over, without the lingering anxiety of being surveilled by the Director all the time. There are bad days, and there are the exceptionally good ones, but the words, "We've won, we've won, we've won, we've won," keep ringing all the same. 

The hollow chamber in Pang's chest blooms with every possibility he can ever think of once it sinks into him that they are, in fact, free. Pang thinks of his life beyond this point in the present and thinks of a world waiting for him, in all the ways he's ever dreamt of. 

The lingering days of Rithda are moulded carefully by the smiles on his friends' face, by how Wave's hand slots so perfectly into Pang's, by the promise of never parting even after they've graduated, by Pang saying I love you out loud to Wave on their rooftop and Wave's equally dumb-struck declaration of reciprocated love, by the sturdy purpose of wanting to do good around him, and by the hope of a better future in his chest so bright that it spills through the gaps between his fingers. 

The future will unfold itself the way it has to. For now, Pang looks over the room full of his favourite people and feels nothing short of home. 

[urlocalbunny]

Headcanons of what would be the children of boys with MC ???

Aaron:

Probably more than two, but they'd have a gap in between. Two sets of twins. And in full moon Aaron would be apprehensive.

Three boys and one girl, maybe? He is a very present father and the kids absolutely adore him! But they wonder where daddy goes in full moon... You tell them the truth, but hey, they're worried!

One day, however, Aaron turns and goes for his usual hunt in the forest, but then he hears something faintly familiar in the woods. Yelling.

"Aaron! Aaron!" He sort of knows who this is. It's his mate. He is wary, but stays put until you're in sight... With two cubs. His eyes widen comically and he snorts, jumping in surprise. He sniffs the air wildly and realizes those are his cubs. He accepts them, nodding at you and turning his back to you. You sigh in relief, knowing you can count on him, but god... They're going to eat the shoes.

You thought the other two were normal children, until Ivan yells your name into the distance and when you run to see them, well. There are four little holes on Ivan's hand while he holds a diaper. You can only sigh. Good luck, mc.

The third boy and the girl are the little bats. The boy is a little weird but that's how Aaron likes it. Hehe. Like, he's just so cute! One time he'll be right here in daddy's arms, and in the other... Huh? WhERES MY BABY? HE TELEPORTED.

And the girl! Oh, she's so sweet! Once Aaron danced for her and when she swung her fat little arms, she created a shockwave that made him fall on his bum! That's it, daddy's little warrior!!!!

He's a great dad and he'll train his kids from the beginning. He's gentle yet strict, and your kids seem to love training with him. He also likes reading with his kids and teaching them about nature and how to hunt in their human forms. (The kids like it bc the actual rewards are fruit for the cubs and frozen bunny blood popsicle for the vampires.)

Raphael:

Just a little boy.

He's tiny, and no talk him bc he angy. Yes, he's got some bite to him. He likes wearing big hats and he paints. Biggest garden assistance for Vlad. (He likes Aaron more. He has a plan of owning the garden when Vladimir dies, but he doesn't know yet... ToT)

He's very educated and supportive of people with disabilities and he learned to paint with different textures and layers so his daddy can feel his work!!!! Raphael cries every time.

Raphael is comprehensive and tends to pay his head way too much every time he does some "oopsie". He also supports his kid and teaches him how to do stuff without seeing because he thinks of the day his kid will have to fend for himself and walking at night in the dark wasn't good when he first started.

Raph trusts his kid with the boys, but Aaron and Vlad are his go-to if he can't spend some time with his kid because he knows they'd only do what they think it's best for the kid. He also eggs his son on when it comes to exploring and running around. No sun though!

(You often catch him walking around during daytime. Y'all just Do. Not. Know. How y'all can't see where he is hiding until you realize this kid can literally conceal himself anywhere. Also he's very good at not burning himself so you stop worrying at some point and he'll just start sleeping during day)

Was he doing that just to scare Raph? Oh, he'll see what's scary. No kisses tonight >| |(

He's also extremely protective of his kid even though he tries to get him to see the world. A minute late and he'll be lectured severely, so please step in sometimes or they'll fight and raph tends to cry. It's gonna take him time to realize his kid can handle himself because he's fragile in your vampire's eyes.

Beliath:

You can see her ANYWHERE. She has two beautiful curled horns and an extremely ravishing purple hair full of curls. She isn't stoppable. She's confident, smart, social, a business woman! She's five! she's not only Beliath's daughter. She is fashion itself.

Beliath is her number one fan, supporter and manager. He'll spend the rest of his life moisturizing washing combing and zipping things up and down if that means his daughter is the most ravishing kid in this city.

One day you'll wake up panting to your kid sitting in bed looking at you as if she was a psycho though. You were dreaming just now of your kid waving at you. Yep, she's got her daddy's powers. A few months later, she's going to be itching her back like crazy. Beliath is going to be jealous because hey! He had no wings! >:(

One day he'll wake up with her appearance all twisted and then she'll create the sickest illusions like a goose head and a penguin wearing glasses. You'll have a lot to teach.

Beliath scolds her A LOT and she gets grounded A LOT because she's him but smaller and they fight a lot over how she should learn how to be humble and try her best instead of just thinking she's the best but she won't listen bc... She's the best?

She's the greatest performer ever. Knows how to dance and that's what she does the most. Another party animal for you. Now turn them Barney songs on!

For some reason, she absolutely LOVES Raphael. I think it's because he's got shiny outfits and he's chill so she can brush his hair however she likes AND read her books for him. Lives rent free on the library reading princess stories and complaining about the princes.

Vladimir:

A boy. He's shy, sweet and super articulated. His hair is blonde and he loves to wear nice clothes. Another one who'll bicker with his dad like he's talking to a kid his age.

Also he can hipnotize others in a specific way that turns him invisible when he wants and he can be persuasive, but it's hard to develop your powers when your dad is always complaining about the millions of cars you left on the floor and you're grumpy so every time you hide on the walls and turn invisible he complains and you go "tch, old hack" and he hears you. Tough life, grrr.

Even though they fight SOMETIMES, all they talk about when they're together is cuddles, studying and gardening. Vladimir is the actual mom if you wanted to be addressed to as the mom, just forget it lol, if not it's fine, you have a mom for your son.

He grounds your kid and talks it out calmly because even if they fight, your kid is a very good listener and he knows when words are well-meaning.

They sleep together a lot like two old grandpas and you have the advantage of Vladimir not knowing about modern cameras. Have fun!!!

Your kid ends up growing up to be an ABSOLUTE gentleman. He's funny, smart, handsome and really educated. Momma owl Daddy is proud!!!

Ethan:

IT'S A BOY AND A GIRL. BEWARE. HELPAJDHIAJDIAJD

They're trouble. Trouble.

Ethan yells, rips his hairs off, jumps and rolls on the floor but these kids, they're absolute raccoons! The girl literally can control minds Neil style and the boy is a tracker just like his father.

Honestly they're smart, but they just like to use it to make his dad go crazy!

They love each other tho, they rarely get in trouble and they behave when you say so. They're scared *laughs evil laugh*

Ethan teaches them many things and since he can't fight so much, he sends them to train with whoever they like. The girl usually hangs into Beliath's sleeve and they get along super well. He teaches her hand in hand and the boy goes with Aaron because his tracking skills are developing. Sometimes he takes both of them and teaches them knife combat and how to be a good medical support because again, being a vampire is tough.

The boy likes embroidery and Ethan thinks he's weird because he makes some sick Dinosaurs but he tells him to go off. He likes how well made they are.

The girl enjoys violence fighting more so she trains extra hard.

Ivan:

This is the sweetest kid of the bunch. Your little girl. Is the shy baby you see clinging to their companion's shirt/pants in the street. She likes gardening herself, not with anyone else. She plants some flowers in a space Vladimir didn't use and she shoos everyone off, but gently bc babygirl is never mean... Until she finds out she has fangs

She's going to run to you crying and pull her lips up and squint as if struggling and then BAM, fangs are out! You'll have to explain with Ivan what's going on. She understands *sniff*.

Ivan is head over heels for her. They read together, they play board games and she's extremely skilled at every single one. She loves to pursue education on her favorite themes and she likes fiction.

Little girl also loves fashion and she wants someone to teach her how to sew. If you don't know it's okay, she'll put extra effort in learning to teach you!! "You'll see, we'll be sewing in no time, I'll teach you too!"

Sometimes you wonder if you're being a parent right because she just doesn't get grounded. You speak once, she never does it again. Is she really Ivan's daughter? "Hey!" "Shut up, go back in the hole or I'll use the stick!" "Ouch, stop!"

She turns very aggressive when she fights though, to the point where you're worried about the others when they teach her, because she fights like her life depends on it and she doesn't hold back until she overexerts herself. Turns out your daughter can use some sort of gravitational field and if you don't stop her, she might send one flying or pull them right into her clutches, so be careful.

Overall 100/10 great kid. Ends up designing hundreds of clothes and lives her life peacefully.

[watchtower-feed]

Platonic or Three

Anon: ... the reader who usually wears baggy clothes, just because they’re comfy (who is dating both older!Jaime and older!Bart) is actually wearing a black bikini... Notes: I love love love OT3s. I can’t believe I’ve only written one now. Words: 1,561

     You joined the team near the end of Autumn when the biting cold was fast approaching and your body is ill-equipped for such weather. So when you walked through the Zeta tube, your teammates thought you looked like a burrito.

     But they’re a great group of young heroes and you quickly adjust and fit in seamlessly. The first month was even filled with you deftly avoiding Bart’s advances. The moment you first laughed out loud at one of his jokes, he fell for you on the spot. He never knew someone in your line of work could be so carefree and in the moment, even when you’re knee-deep in Clayface sludge and sinking inch by inch.

     Bart tried the upfront approach and you definitely gave him a run for his money. You’re just new. You know relationships can make or break friendship groups and you don’t even want to know what it could do to the team.

     So he goes to his best friend Jaime, whining and asking for help. Telling him about you and how the littlest things he sees you do makes his heart skip. Even the way you slice pizza and place it on a napkin before you eat it, has his heart thundering.

     Jaime rolls his eyes and lets the scarab have a field day on insulting Bart. But because of stupid Bart, halfway through Winter Jaime starts seeing you too. He can’t help but turn to you at the sign of the smallest movement. The more he watches you, the more his heart is sinking into the same pit.

     “This is all your fault, amigo!”

     “Me? I didn’t tell you to start liking my girlfriend!”

     Jaime chuckles mockingly, “First of all, Y/N is not your girlfriend. Second,” he glares at Bart and yells at him, “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t keep talking to me about her!”

     The yelling is so loud. As you cover your ears with your hands, you wonder if they’ve forgotten that they’re fighting in the sparring room during actual training hours. Team training hours.

     Dick mutes them and he and Artemis turn to you while grinning. After constantly refusing their invitations into the League and the rest of their batch members have moved on, they’ve been handling the team a few years before you joined.

     “What?” you ask wearily, scared of whatever they may say next.

     “So,” Artemis starts, “Who’s it going to be?”

     You stare at them dumbfounded. You turn to your teammates for help but you’re met with similar grins and curiously raised brows. “What do you mean?”

     Dick chuckles as he walks over to you and places an arm around your shoulder. “Who are you going to choose?”

     “Bart or Jaime?”

     “Because this has to stop.”

     You stare through the glass where Jaime is shooting lasers at Bart who keeps appearing and disappearing in random spots, more like teleporting than speeding around. You can still feel the curious gazes around you and honestly, this has gone on for too long.

     Bart was obvious and Jaime is terrible at hiding the fact that he stares at you. You knew you’d have to choose one of these days, you just hope they’ll agree with you and you won’t regret this.

     You push away Dick’s arm and go through your teammates to enter the sparring room. You can already tell how closely they’re peering in from the other side of the glass.

     Bart and Jaime immediately stop when they see you. You keep walking straight ahead, toward Bart. You grab his collar and kiss him on the lips. His face goes red in an instant and you can hear the electricity on his skin.

     You pull away and turn to Jaime who’s frowning at the floor. You cup his face and tilt his head up to kiss him on the lips. Jaime’s eyes widen but he quickly melts into the shape of your mouth. When you pull away, he has a dreamy look on his face.

     Just as suddenly, he shakes his head and stares at Bart’s stunned expression. Before they could say anything, your declaration has to be made. “Either we make this work, the three of us, or we stay friends, and you have to stop with the advances,” you point at Bart, then at Jaime, “and the staring.”

     “I can deal with that,” Bart quickly answers, surprising you and Jaime.

     Jaime proved to be a lot harder to convince. He grew up in a more traditional household and Bart is… well, he’s from the future. He’s seen more than the two of you and to him. This is a straightforward arrangement.

     Bart tries to reason with him, “It’s an easy equation, amigo--”

     “Don’t say that.”

     “Platonic relationships or a relationship of three,” Jaime still won’t look at him so Bart speeds to his left, putting his arm over his shoulder, “Let me simplify this for you, either you want Y/N or not at all.”

     Jaime glares at Bart and the speedster only raises his eyebrows at him. “How does this come easy for you?” 

     “I like Y/N. It’s as simple as that.” Bart shrugs. “You’re also my best friend. If I ever had to share my girl with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.” Jaime gives it some thought and almost sighs in resignation but Bart leans in and smirks at him, “Plus, she kissed me first.”

     Scarab instinctively powers up and Jaime starts shooting lasers after Bart.

     “Hey!” Dick yells out fruitlessly.

     Artemis jumps down from the second floor and lands expertly on where Bart was going to speed to next. She then throws an escrima stick at Jaime’s laser. “You’re already working off one window. Don’t make it two!”

     You chuckle from the second floor as you watch in amusement and fondness.

     Springtime came and you’re happy to finally lose some layers. T-shirts twice your size and baggy pants were definitely the way to go. They’re even more comfortable when your legs are draped over Jaime’s lap and he massages your thighs.

     “Seriously, Y/N. You have powers. You don’t need to push yourself so hard when working out. You’re going to pull something, princesa.”

     You hate it when he calls you that because Jaime thinks you’ve been spoiled. And truth be told you have. Once Jaime was on board, you’ve been getting more attention than you can handle from both of them.

     The first few weeks were full of honeymoon bliss but it was a nightmare on the mission. The three of you were having a hard time prioritizing orders over your gut feeling to stick together. In the end, Dick and Artemis kept the three of you on different teams just to force you to get used to it.

     This only intensified all the touching, kissing, and moaning when you got back to base. You lock yourselves up in your room, the neutral zone, and Bart and Jaime fight for every patch of your skin.

     There was a time when they tried it, kissing each other. It was awkward and weird and they immediately regretted it. Instead, they focused all their attention on you. You, their spoiled princesa.

     Bart suddenly appears in front of you, holding two DVDs, “So which one’s it going to be? ‘Easy A’ or ‘She’s the Man’?” Jaime groans as you excitedly point at She’s the Man. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He leans down and gives you a peck on your cheek before he sets up the TV.

     Yep. Definitely spoiled.

     Summer is finally here and you can finally bask under the sun with as little clothing as possible. Your powers let you manipulate the light around you, rendering you and others invisible or eye-blindingly illuminated. But your powers feed on your body heat so you suffer through layers upon layers of clothing to conserve it.

     But Summer is all about the natural heat. The sun. The beaches. 

     Young Justice has an annual party to commemorate the team’s anniversary. Near the old cave, there’s a private beach where everyone can feel safe in their own skin. And Bart and Jaime are about to find out that applies to you more than anyone.

     Everyone’s already hitting the water and splashing each other when you’ve finished lathering your body in sunscreen, and there’s a lot to cover. The moment you step out of the bioship and under the sun, you let out some of your body heat and illuminate yourself.

     If that wasn’t enough, then the matte black bikini hugging your curves definitely stole Bart and Jaime’s attention and made their jaws drop to the sand. Some of the team members wolf-whistled as you swayed your hips in glee, finally free from the layers.

     The boys didn’t even bother glaring at them. Before Bart could react, the scarab zaps his foot and Jaime jogs toward you, reaching you first.

     “Y/N, you-- you look--!”

     “Hot! Ha! I said it first!”

     They glare at each other but quickly look back at you because they couldn’t stop staring at all the skin. Sure they’ve seen every inch of it in the privacy of your room but seeing it now, bright, illuminated, under the sun, it’s mesmerizing. It’s--

     “Beautiful,” Bart and Jaime say at the same time.

     You giggle and loop your arms through theirs. “Let’s make this summer a great one!”

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧