#i realized after i finished that maybe the entire plant was supposed to be silver...

[brandnewcountrystar]

have you read Sorcery and Small Magics yet? What are you waiting for!! Please enjoy this Leo and Grimm on their very long walk

[opalesense]

more than friends

kaeya & gn!reader

2k words • ~15 min. read

summary: feeling down in the dumps on a lonely valentine’s day evening, you are met with a pleasant surprise from your close friend, kaeya.

warnings: just pure lovesick fluff!!  shy kaeya my beloved... <3

notes: i defrosted this draft from valentine’s day aahhh hope you like it!! ;^; p.s. shoutout if you can spot his canon voice lines in this hehehe

SITTING WITH MY BACK ON THE FOUNTAIN WALL and watching the rotating blades of the windmills in Mondstadt was not how I expected to spend my evening on Valentine's Day.

   To be honest, Valentine's Day was never that big of a deal to me.  For the past few years, I always considered Valentine's Day to be a day where vendors could get a boost of profit by exploiting the gift-giving aspect of the holiday and selling their wares to cheesy couples who wouldn't know any better.  Why was there a dedicated day to be sweet to your significant other?  Couldn't special gifts be given at any other time of the year?

  Despite my indifference to Valentine's Day, I couldn't help but feel a little lonely this year.  My back purposely faced the couples of Mondstadt who would walk by now and then on their way to their dates and instead I had windmills to accompany me along with a book to pass the time.  I figured my evening stroll outside wouldn't make me feel so disappointed in myself, but I was proven sorely wrong.  I couldn't even look at other people today without feeling sorry for myself.

   "[Y/N]?" a familiar voice drew closer behind me, interrupting my lament and startling me.  "What are you doing here all alone?"

   I turned my head to see my close friend and neighbor Kaeya approaching me, carrying a small leather pack along with his sheathed sword on his waist.  I realized he probably finished his shift at the Knights of Favonius headquarters and was just about to head home.  The sight of him eased some of my worries knowing that despite my usual solitude, at least I would talk to one person today.  "Just reading a book," I held up the cover of my book for him to see.  He gave a small nod to the title as I put it back down into my lap.  "How did you even spot me here?"

   "I can see you from my office," he pointed at a window on the wall of the headquarters, "You chose quite an odd spot for reading, dear friend. You must be uncomfortable on the ground like that.”

   I nervously laughed, not wanting to admit that I sat behind this fountain to avoid looking at how much fun everyone else was having.  My gaze turned to the sky, a vibrant orange that now began fading into a shadow of dark blue sprinkled with stars.  Dusk was approaching. “I suppose it is getting a little late for reading, now that I think about it.  I think I might head home now."

   "Allow me to accompany you on your walk home.  I’m headed that way, after all," he quickly offered as I began to prop myself up to my feet.  He held out his hand to help me on my way up, the sudden physical contact sending a shiver down my spine.  As clearly touch deprived as I was, my hand quickly pulled away once I was standing and dusted off my clothes, which were wrinkled from sitting for so long today.

   "You are too kind, Kaeya," I grinned, earning a grin back from him.  Maybe this is my loneliness speaking for me, but I swear that smile might have made my heart skip a beat.  Although I may have had a crush on Kaeya for the past few months, there was no way I’d ever let those thoughts resurface now.  I've done a good job of repressing the feelings for so long, whether I was around him or not.  At least, I thought I did.

   As we walked, it suddenly dawned on me that the feelings never truly went away.  They were persistent for months, despite being suppressed.  He was my closest friend for quite some time now.  So maybe it was a sign that it was meant to be...

   Chills ran down my spine at this realization.  And once the truth had settled in, the feelings I thought I had managed to stow away suddenly flooded my mind in a storm of emotion.  The more we talked during the walk home, the more eager my heart was to open up and let the thought of him fill the cavernous, lonely void inside.  My eyes nervously turned to our feet, which stepped together in perfect sync.  My attention darted to the hand at his side, which I ached to touch once more.  The more I tried to fight this longing, to forget about it and keep it isolated, the more it fought back in an effort to stay alive.

   "[Y/N]?" his sultry voice snapped me out of my delusion.  Do NOT let your emotions take control of you, I scolded myself.

   "Sorry," I shuffled my feet towards his figure, which had stopped a few meters away.  The world seemed to stop when I was lost in thought, and with each step I took towards him, the world slowly resumed from where I mentally left it.

   "Is something wrong?" he asked, now concerned.  "You know you can talk to me."

   "No, no.  I'm fine," I gripped my book, fighting the urge to break in front of him.  "I'm just a little lost in my thoughts."

   "Well then, what's on your mind?"

   "Kaeya, you won't make fun of me if I’m being honest with you right?" I started to speak without thinking.  No, no, no!  What are you about to say?!

   "What makes you think I would?  C’mon, [Y/N].  We joke around a lot but you know I'm good with secrets."

   What are you doing?!  Don’t fall under pressure like this!

   "Well...  I’ve felt quite lonely today.  A little part in me hurts to see so many people enjoying Valentine's Day, knowing fully well that I live alone and spend most of my days alone...   I guess what I’m trying to say is that it was very kind of you to go out of your way to talk to me today, Kaeya.  It means a lot more to me than you know."

   The silence that followed that regurgitation of thoughts was lethal.  Kaeya didn't even stop.  We just kept walking.  I ignored the instant regret that pounded the walls in my head.

   "So you didn't have any plans today?" he asked, as if he had just ignored everything I told him.

   "Not at all.  I was taking a stroll to find a good reading spot for today but seeing so many couples together...  I guess it was like pouring salt into the wound.  That's why I was sitting turned away from everything, if that answers your question from earlier."

   Now you've just told him too much.  If he didn't already think you were sad and lonely before, he definitely thinks so now.

   "You shouldn't isolate yourself like that, [Y/N].  We could've– forget it, actually," he chuckled and rested his hand on the back of his neck as we finally approached our residential complex.

   "Hey, spit it out!" I nudged him with my elbow, "I poured out my thoughts for you, don't get all shy now.  It's your turn."

   We stopped at my front door, exchanging small chuckles.  The space between us was killing me. If only I could get enveloped by his warm embrace now... No!

   "How about I tell you later?  Meet me here in around ten minutes."

   "What?!" I scoffed, "Now you’re just toying with me."

   "Ten minutes," he gave me one last grin and a short wave before jogging away towards his own house.  I shook my head as I turned the key to my door, feeling the slamming of my heart against my ribs and the sloppy mix of awe, nervousness, and regret boiling in my stomach.  His smile was frozen inside my mind like a photograph capturing a memory. It hurt to like him this much.

   A knock on my door ten minutes later pulled me away from tending to my plants on my balcony.  I set the watering can down and rushed to the door, straightening out my clothes once more before opening it.  Contrary to my expectations, Kaeya stood in the doorway with a shy grin, his hands obviously hiding something behind his back.

   "I thought you were joking when you said ten minutes," I scoffed and crossed my arms, looking up at him to meet a pair of soft eyes.

   "Still don't have plans for tonight?" his eyebrows raised with the question.

   "No.  What, are you about to take me out on a date or something?" I said in jest.  He chuckled and uncrossed his arms behind his back with slight hesitation before revealing a dainty bouquet of calla lilies tied with a silver ribbon.  My jaw dropped slightly in shock with the sight of the charming white petals.

   "I am, actually," his voice was gentler and sweeter than usual.  "These are for you."

   He motioned for me to take the bouquet, which I gladly accepted.  The subtle fragrance reminded me of his own scent, which made me smile.  I secretly wished my entire house would smell like this unforgettable aroma – this unforgettable man.

   "[Y/N]," his words were laced with hesitation, "I have been waiting weeks to tell you this but...  you are constantly on my mind.  Whenever I see you my heart jumps and..."

   He chuckled with nervousness.  That grin never fails to make my chest light up.

   "...and I know you're not going to believe me because you say I smooth talk everyone, but I promise you, [Y/N].  I know you see that I’m nervous right now – that doesn't happen to me with anyone else.  This feeling hasn't gone away for months.”  Instant regret suddenly painted his face, which I quickly took notice of.  I stepped closer to him and lifted my hand to gently cup his warm, blushing cheek.  It was my way of telling him to keep talking without interrupting him.

   "[Y/N]..." he blushed more at the touch and sighed, "you are so special to me and... I’ll get straight to the point. I want to be more than friends. I really mean it.”

   He stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited eagerly for my response.  I was no longer thinking properly.  My heart had taken over my mind, and for once, it was for my benefit.

   "Kaeya," my voice cracked with a million emotions at once, "you have no clue how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.  I am so in love with you it makes me sick," I admitted lightheartedly.

   He laughed with relief, taking another step closer to me and shrinking the space between us.  He lifted his hand to grab mine and intertwined our fingers together.  The mood shifted from nerve wrecking intensity to reassurance and gentleness the instant our palms met.  He caressed my hand with his gloved thumb for reassurance, chasing all my troubles away.  "I promise I will never let you feel alone ever again."

   We stood there staring into each other's eyes for a few moments, exchanging so many mutual emotions in mere seconds.  A blush began to creep up my face as well when he gave my hand a squeeze accompanied with a proud smile.

   "Well, now that we're both blushing messes in love with each other, how about we finally go out tonight?"  Our friendly dynamic finally returned to clear the thickness in the air once he broke the silence.  "I have to admit, I was feeling a little lonely myself and was just going to drink at the tavern with some of the other Knights tonight.”

   "Not anymore, I hope?"

   "Definitely not.  I’d rather spend the evening holding your hand and taking a stroll through the city so everyone knows I’m finally yours."

   This man sure knows how to say the right thing.  I glanced at the bouquet in my arms, partly to hide my reddened face but also to ask, "Could I put these in a vase first?  They're beautiful, by the way. I really love calla lilies.”

   "Oh yes, of course. But they’re not as beautiful as you, cutie," Kaeya said with no reluctance.

 There's the flirty Kaeya that I know.

 I let out a shy laugh as he let go of my hand, the loss of touch making me pout.  As I turned to put the flowers away, he leaned on the doorframe and let out a deep breath.

    "Well, I'll be here.  Don't make me wait too long, now."

[subbykboys]

the bad boy’s secret | chanyeol

↳ pairing : badboy!chanyeol x reader

Genre ➞ bad boy AU, fwb AU, college AU, smut

Warnings ➞ sub!chanyeol, dom!reader, bondage, oral (m. & f. receiving), edging, unprotected sex, riding, mild dirty talk, mild degrading, creampie, face riding, cum eating [ sorry not sorry ], reader is in denial , overuse of the word please

Word Count ➞ 8.2k

chanyeol is a bad boy with a nasty reputation. he’s sexy, mysterious, and entirely untouchable. well... to most people, that is. to you, on the other hand-- he’s something else entirely.

posted ; 6.04.20

there was an angry chill in the air. it bit at your face and hands as you strode to the campus lot where your car was parked. all around you, brightly colored leaves fell to the earth as strong gusts of wind broke them free of the branches they so weakly clung to. they blanketed the ground in shades of vibrant reds, tempting oranges, and dull, blotchy browns. 

it was actually really beautiful. you'd always been a fan of the cool undertones of fall. especially the reds. ugh, red was such a gorgeous color. practically everything you owned was red, or some varying shade of it. it was just so sexy and dangerous and— 

"(y/n)!" you were snapped from your inner thoughts by a barking voice. 

quickly, you averted your eyes from the ground and onto the face of the girl walking beside you. her name is Mina, you're pretty sure. you grimaced at her irritated expression, realizing you must have zoned out again. getting lost in your thoughts at inappropriate times was a pretty frequent occurrence for you. 

"huh?" 

she scoffed in disbelief, eyes narrowing, "where's your head at? i've been talking for a solid five minutes and i'm pretty sure you stopped listening six minutes ago."

you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck as an apologetic smile touched your lips, "sorry. i was just thinking about the leaves." 

"you're so weird." 

you didn't know why she felt comfortable saying that to you. you weren't even friends. at least, not by your standards. maybe acquaintances. maybe. 

and that was only because you happened to have the same afternoon photography class and just so happened to sit next to each other. you supposed in her pea sized brain that was enough to qualify for a friendship. but you had standards. and she was god damn rude. 

regardless, you didn't have the energy or patience to start any sort of altercation. so you shrug, head bobbing lazily in agreement. 

"i know."

that seemed to satisfy her as any remaining glimmer of annoyance was swept off her features with one last eye roll and replaced by a light grin, "whatever. hey, there's this party at my boyfriend's frat house tonight and you should totally come." 

"no thanks." was your swift, concise rejection. but of course, that was not enough to satisfy her. 

"what? why not?" her tone demanded an explanation that you really didn't feel like giving. 

sighing heavily, you kicked a pebble across the sidewalks. "parties aren't my thing." 

that was maybe half the truth. you actually did like parties. just not frat boy parties. they were like beacons for girls with low self esteem and insecure rich boys with superiority complexes. they were loud as fuck and made your head ache. not to mention they reeked. apparently, a lot of guys didn't learn in high school how to put on deodorant. your preference stood with more low key parties, with a more controlled number of attendees and some chill drinking. maybe getting a little baked if you were in that vibe. 

"you can be such a buzzkill," she groaned loudly, head rolling back as she stomped her foot childishly. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. 

"i know." 

"do you ever just let yourself have a good time? like ever? we're in the prime of our lives for god’s sake!" and there she goes again with the 'prime of our lives' bullshit. please. maybe this was the best life would ever be for her, but you had other plans. 

"i have to finish an essay for my business class." no you didn't. 

"but it's friday! you have all weekend to finish it!" why was she trying to argue with you? you'd already said no, so why was she still trying to convince you. spoiler, you weren't about to change your mind anytime soon. 

"i prefer not to put work off until the very last minute." also a lie. 

"(y/n)," she whined, "come on, i personally think it would be pretty healthy for you not to spend another friday night pent up in that little apartment of yours—" 

all at once she was cut off by the distinct roaring of an engine. both your gazes shifted towards the road ahead of you, watching as a flashy red motorcycle came tearing down the street. an excited gasp exploded from your–barely–acquaintance's mouth while a low groan escaped yours. 

fantastic. just what you needed. your daily dose of—

"Yeolie!"

you winced as she squealed his name, waving energetically. you silent prayed he'd just keep going. but of course, he didn't. his bike came to a gradual halt in front of the sidewalk you stood on. it purred as he planted his feet securely on the cement. 

now this next part you could almost see happening in slow motion. 

he reached up with his leather glove clad hands, pulling off his sleek black helmet to reveal a pair of thick, pink lips, a sharp, defined nose, charcoal black eyes, and a head of silver locks. you could practically feel Mina swooning as he swung his head to the side, effectively flipping his hair like some kind of wannabe fetus Justin Bieber. it took less than a moment for those dark eyes to fall on the pair of you, and a slow smirk to crawl across his face. 

Mina immediately rushed up to him (all too energetically for someone who already has a boyfriend, mind you), squeaking out sweet greetings as her touchy hands found purchase on the sleeve of his leather jacket. 

what was up with him and the leather anyway? it was only on shockingly rare occasions that you witnessed him donning something other than his signature black leather outfit, decorated with silver zippers and complimented by a thick chain around his neck and a single silver earring. how much cheesier could he get? 

you'd think after high school, people would be over the whole 'bad boys are so hot' thing. 

apparently not. 

because at your uni, Park Chanyeol was hot shit. every girl and every guy wanted to get their hands on him in one way or another. he was dangerous, sexy, mysterious, hard to get. he rode a blood red motorcycle and smoked blunts behind the main building for god's sake. 

he was the definition of a cliche. but it seemed you were the only person that could see through his whole charade. 

"(y/n), don't be rude! come say hi to Yeolie!" Mina suddenly whipped around, waving you over. 

this bitch— 

the corner of your lip twitched in a subtle sneer, but, ever the pacifist, you obliged, slowly moving to stand at her side. his irritating smirk widened upon your approach, tongue swinging over the corner of his lip as his eyes dropped to do a brief once over. 

"Chanyeol," you grunted with a less than enthusiastic tone. 

"(y/n)," was his swift reply, voice as deep and smooth as ever, "wonderful seeing you again. you look as happy-go-lucky as ever." 

the sarcasm was palpable. 

"yeah well, it seems i just can't contain myself with you around," you bit back with just as much satire, lips curling dryly. 

"i'm flattered," he all but cooed, head tilting downward as his teeth latched onto his bottom lip. 

he stared boldly into your eyes, and you stared right back with just as much fire. 

"um... do you guys, like... know each other?" 

"no."

"yes."

you both responded simultaneously.

confusion plastered itself across her face, eyes jumping back and forth from your face to his. a taunting smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "we actually went to the same high school, isn't that right, (y/n)?" 

you huffed in annoyance, shoulders slumping, "yeah. we did." 

"and you never told me this because…?" 

because you weren't close in the least and you hadn't even told her when your birthday was let alone about your high school life. 

"didn't seem like important information." 

she gaped at you in disbelief, "anything regarding my Yeolie is important information!" 

was she trying to stroke his already colossal ego? if his head got any bigger, it might just explode.

Chanyeol’s grin broadened at her statement, and you silently groaned, knowing exactly what was coming before he even opened his mouth, "yeah, (y/n). anything regarding me is important information. so why didn't you tell her? trying to keep me all for yourself? how greedy of you." 

"please." you scoffed.

Mina glared at you sharply before plastering an innocent smile across her face and twirling a strand of her platinum blonde dyed hair. "ignore her, Yeolie. i was actually wondering if i'd be seeing you at Jake's party tonight?" 

"wasn't planning on it," he admitted, and Mina pouted, lips puckering, over dramatically whining in protest. suddenly, his eyes shifted to you, that stupid smirk touching his features,  "but maybe if a certain buzzkill was attending... i'd be more tempted to make an appearance." 

buzzkill? oh, you. 

"i'm not—"

"of course (y/n)'s coming! wouldn't be a party without her!" Mina rushed to cut you off, throwing an arm over your shoulder and yanking you into her side with a grip tight enough to bruise. you looked at her like she was crazy, brows furrowed, eyes wide, lip raised in a disgusted sneer. but her hold was enough to squeeze the air out of your lungs and steal away your ability to refute. 

Chanyeol’s brows jumped in surprise, an amused grin spreading across his face, "really?"

"wait, no—"

"yes! i was surprised when she agreed, too! but guess she's finally breaking out of her shell!" you were going to kick her ass if she kept cutting you off. 

"well isn't that great to hear." there was a mischievous flicker in his dark eyes, a look you knew all too well. 

"so... you'll come?" she asked hopefully.

"sure." you were annoyed at how easily he agreed. he was still smirking smugly as he began pulling his helmet back down over his head. shooting you a wink and a two fingered wave, he spoke again, "see ya tonight." 

with that final word, he was speeding off down the road, tires kicking up dust and pebbles as they spun. 

as soon as Mina's grip loosened from around you, you were ten feet away, swiftly walking in the direction of your car. "(y/n)! wait!" she cried out, running after you in her five inch heels. you didn't slow down in the least. 

"i'm not going, Mina," you said sternly, not even bothering to look back at her. 

"b–but i told Chanyeol—" 

"no." 

"please?"

"not. happening." 

⋄⋆⋄

you ended up going. 

not because you wanted to, of course. but because Mina decided it was necessary to show up at your apartment and quite literally drag you out. she was surprisingly strong for such a small person, and fiercely persistent. she'd even gone the extra mile of forcefully applying makeup to your eyelids and lips. that's not to say you didn't put up one hell of a fight. but conflict was never your strong suite, and you eventually ended up going pliant under her ministrations. 

unsurprisingly, it was just as you expected it to be. loud. stinky. and filled to the brim with horny bastards looking for a quick fuck. you'd been there for all of ten minutes and you'd already gotten your ass grabbed six times. slimy assholes think it's acceptable to touch someone without permission. all the more reason you didn't want to stick around for long. 

not to mention, Mina had ditched you the minute you walked in the door to suck faces with her fuckboy boyfriend. since then you'd been gravitating from room to room, searching for the best place to sit without being squished by a horny couple practically dry humping against you. 

luckily, you found your solace upstairs in an empty bedroom. the music was muffled the moment you shut the door, the stuffy air that smelled of sweat and marijuana also clearing out. finally, you could breathe. 

you spotted a candle and lighter on the bedside table, and quickly moved to light it. the dull, soothing glow that filled the room, splashing light across the walls made the headache that had begun to swell at your temples ease up. exhaling softly, you fell back onto the neatly made bed, body relaxing into the soft duvet. 

but of course, your moment of tranquility was short lasting. 

because before you could so much as shut your eyes, the door was opening, and a painfully familiar voice was purring, "there you are~ i've been looking all over for you, (y/n), you sly girl." 

"fucking hell," you growled under your breath, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him properly, "what do you want, Chanyeol?" 

he gently nudged the door shut behind him, before walking over to where you lay. "isn't it obvious?" he murmured, leaning forward to press his hands against the mattress on either side of your ankles. 

"spell it out for me." 

he chuckled softly, knees meeting the bedding as he began to crawl upwards, until his face was hovering over yours. even you couldn't deny how beautiful he looked up close, with those big, dark eyes, boyishly grinning lips, smooth, tan skin... 

"i," he began, nose nudging against your cheek, "want," his lips feathered over yours, "you." 

a dark chuckle rolled off your tongue as you met his hooded, lustful gaze. "you we're so greedy last time... and still... you couldn't get enough," you replied smoothly, voice deepening as your desire for him grew. 

"what can i say? i'm insatiable." 

you scoffed, the corners of your lips curling as you lifted your head slightly, leaving only the tiniest of spaces between your mouth, "i don't think you deserve it." your whisper caressed his lips all too temptingly. A chill rolled down his spine, eyes fluttering as he felt himself falter briefly. 

"maybe i don't... but i can earn it..." 

now that caught your interest. 

a smirk touched your features, "and how might you do that?" 

he bit his lip, trying his best to subdue a grin, "by doing whatever you ask of me." 

"you willing to take that risk? after that little stunt earlier? i might just decide not to go easy on you." your voice was taunting, but the challenge and threat were very real. 

"i can handle anything you give me." 

you raised a brow, amused by his naive confidence. then, in the blink of an eye, you had him underneath you, pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head. the action had been so sudden that he could only gasp in shock when his back collided with the bed. you stared down at him with dark eyes, the tip of your tongue sliding over the corner of your mouth. 

"you sure about that, big boy?" 

he inhaled deeply when your head lowered to the curve of his throat, lips just barely grazing over that sensitive spot. "most definitely." he let out breathlessly, eyes fluttering as he tilted his chin back, offering himself to you. something dark alighted in your eyes, a sinister gleam in your smirk as thoughts of how you could absolutely ruin him flooded your mind. 

"you're going to regret saying that." 

you didn’t offer him the opportunity to respond before your lips crashed down on his. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the sudden action, but quickly relaxed beneath you, returning the kiss eagerly. 

see? you much preferred Chanyeol when he wasn’t running that big mouth of his. he was always so much more fun when he was choking on desperate moans and trembling uncontrollably under your touch. 

truth about the infamous Park Chanyeol? he was a bitch. 

in fact... he was your bitch. 

it started back in high school. when you were the chill girl who wasn't too well known by anyone outside of your friend group, and when he was the untouchable bad boy that everyone drooled over. 

to keep it to the point, you'd both attended a mutual friend's party your senior year, got wasted, and hooked up. 

but, it wasn't what you'd expected it to be. no, because you'd expect Chanyeol to be the kind of guy to pin a girl (or guy) down and dominate the fuck out of them. but the moment your voice took on an authoritative pitch, he was putty in your hands, whining and moaning and begging... it stirred something to life inside of you that you had no idea was there. 

and it was good. really good. so good, in fact, he came running back to you within the next week practically begging for more. and shit, you gave it to him. he was one of the first guys you'd dominated like that. it was empowering, controlling a guy as big as Chanyeol was. it was an addictive sensation. 

but you'd made it very clear from the beginning that it was going to be nothing more than sex. it wasn't romantic, you weren't friends, and you had no intention of getting to know him on a deeper level than his body. though, he seemed suspiciously intent on worming his way into your life one way or another. the boy was relentless. luckily, you were equally as stubborn. a match made in hell, aren’t you? what a spectacle. 

you drew away from the kiss at the feeling of his tongue prodding at your lips, a low whine following soon after. you scoffed softly at the sight of his pouting face, “so needy.” 

“you can only blame yourself.” he shot back easily, eyes already hooded and darkened with lust. excitement glimmered within them as you reached down between your bodies, fingers slowly undoing his belt. 

“is that right?” you murmured, not breaking eye contact for a single moment, a lazy smirk resting on your face. he swallowed, trembling pupils jumping noncommittally from your intense stare down to where you were making easy work of his belt buckle. 

“i— yes.” you don’t think he knew what he was saying yes to, his mind already becoming a muddled mess from the promise of what the night had in store for the two of you. his rationality had a nasty habit of hopping out the window whenever you got him in this position. 

“what are you hoping happens tonight, Chanyeol?” you asked softly, slowly pulling his belt from the first loop of his jeans. 

he swallowed thickly, head beginning to swing back and forth is slow swoops. “i– i don’t—” his voice broke off with a strangled whine as you allowed your fingertips to caress ever so gently over the ever growing tent in his pants. 

you raised a brow into a questioning arch, stifling a smirk of amusement at his already flustered state. “it’s a simple question.” 

his cheeks pinkened. “i just… want you.” it almost came out more as a question than a statement, words shy and hesitant. 

“want me to what?” you pressed. 

“to… to kiss me.” his gaze fell onto your lips, his own parting. 

“kiss you?” you repeated, tone on the verge of taunting. “asking for a lot there, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

you were teasing him, but he didn’t seem to mind, blinking slowly as he dragged his tongue over the pink swell of his thick lower lip. “want you to touch me…” his voice lowered an octave, deep, lustful eyes looking up at you intensely. 

“where?” 

“everywhere.” he replied without missing a beat. “anywhere. just— just want your hands. or your mouth. i’ll take anything that you give me… but you already know that.” 

you really loved the sound of his voice when he got like this. it was softer than cotton and smoother than silk, rumbling so deep in his chest that you could almost mistake it for purring. it spilled off his lips like the thickest, sweetest honey, so lush and lovely, dripping with shameless desire. something about it was so soothing. and the sounds he made were even better, his guttural groans and melodic moans were nothing short of symphonies. and you were the conductor. 

chuckling, you smirked down at him. “you’re right. i do already know that.” he gasped as you suddenly yanked his belt completely free. “now be a good little bitch and grab onto the headboard.” 

he eagerly complied, capturing his lip between his teeth as he watched you bind his wrists above his head. his eyes slowly dragged over your face, drifting over the length of your neck, following the smooths swells of your chest beneath your black tank top. a low groan slid from his lips as you pressed your hips forward slightly, just barely grinding against his growing erection. his eyes snapped up at the sound of your soft laughter. 

“my eyes are up here, sweetheart.” you hummed, pulling his belt taught before looping it around one of the vertical wooden bars. 

“and beautiful eyes they are.” he grinned up at you in that boyishly charming way, shooting you a playful wink. you scoffed, hands drifting down to rest on his firm chest before one raised to grip his jaw, tilting his head upward. lowering your own head, you allowed your lips to caress teasingly over his. 

“maybe i should gag you, too. keep that pretty mouth in check,” you mused, dragging your thumb slowly over his full lips, “but unfortunately i think i enjoy the sound of your voice almost as much as you do. especially when you're moaning my name. god it’s so hot.” 

you almost growled as he took your finger into his mouth, moaning softly around it. you swooped down, swiftly replacing your finger with your lips. the kiss was deep, rough, and hungry. distracted by your weaponized tongue, he didn’t process that you were unbuttoning his jeans until they were being pushed down his thighs and your hand was gripping his arousal through his thin black boxers. 

“fuck, (y/n),” he groaned deeply into your mouth, arms gently tugging against their restraints. you dragged your lips away from his, face lowering so that you could suck your mark onto the expanse of his neck. he sighed blissfully, hot breath rushing over your ear as he subtly rolled his hips, body temperature rising steadily. you bit down on his collarbone, hands pushing up under his shirt to feel at his toned, well built torso. he was so hard, muscles rigid and protruding, so warm to the touch. 

it was rather amazing. a guy as big as Chanyeol, as strong and as confident, could easily get the upper hand over you if he wanted. he could flip you over and pin you down without so much as breaking a sweat. but he didn’t. he let you pin him down, tie him up, dominate him, mind and body. he allowed himself to submit to you, to be taken by you: slowly, quickly, roughly, gently, he didn’t care, but dammit he enjoyed every second of it. and if that didn’t give you a rush of power, then you don’t know what could. 

goosebumps rose across his honeyed skin as you pushed his shirt up to fully expose his tight body to your ravenous eyes, a chill rolling down his spine when you lowered your mouth to latch onto the smooth swell of his pectoral. he moaned quietly, back arching as you peppered kisses down his abdomen, slowly shifting lower, lower, lower… until your face was level with his bulge. 

a sound of excitement flooded past his lips, his breathing becoming rapid and deep. “really?” he asked hopefully, voice breathless and light. a slow smirk crawled across your lips and you chuckled at the way he jolted with a moan when you pressed a slow kiss to his clothed arousal. 

“really.” you hummed in confirmation. “you said you wanted my mouth, didn’t you?” 

he frantically bobbed his head. “yes. yes, god yes. please.” you almost laughed at his shameless display of desperation. he let out a deep, strained groan as you flicked your tongue over his clothed erection, head falling back. 

“ah ah, eyes on me, baby.” you scolded mildly, squeezing his thighs in warning. he lifted his head without argument, face flushed and glistening with faint perspiration, lip caught in a tight grip between his teeth, brows furrowed. 

from your viewpoint, he looked rather beautiful: arms bound above his head, exposed chest rising and falling dramatically with each deep breath, messy silver hair falling flawlessly over his hooded, lustful eyes. 

and he in turn was also quite taken by how perfect you looked between his legs: smirking lips hovering right over where he needed them most, dark, penetrating gaze making his body tremble with an unspoken need. 

your fingers slipped under the elastic of his boxers, slowly easing them down his thighs until his length sprang free. “there he is,” you murmured, tongue dragging over your lower lip as you admired him, long and thick and swollen, precum spilling over his hot, red tip. he shuddered in delight as you traced your finger over a vein. 

“(y/n)…” his usually deep voice was pleading and airy, hands curling into tight fists above his head, “please.” 

you smiled up at him innocently before delivering a teasing kitten lick to his sensitive tip. he whined softly, hips twitching as his need for you increased tenfold. 

a slightly more sadistic side of you rather enjoyed watching him squirm. perhaps it was that hidden part of you that wanted nothing more than to tease him into oblivion with insubstantial caresses and borderline torturous kisses until he was writhing helplessly and there were tears spilling from those beautiful big brown eyes. 

however, a larger part of you craved the sight of his stunning, fucked out expression. the one where his face glistened with sweat, thick pink lips swollen and red from being ruthlessly and relentlessly attacked by those pearly whites, puppy dog eyes hooded and fluttering, fighting to remain open against his mind's desire to just melt completely into the pleasure coursing like hot lava through his veins. that was the face you wanted to see more than anything. 

a broken moan flooded from his gaping mouth as you fastened your lips around his tip, the taste of his salty precum immediately lathering your tongue. he trembled as you hummed lightly around him, mouth silently forming the words ‘oh god’ as the vibrations sent sparks of pleasure shooting through his body like static shock. 

“feels good, (y/n),” he whined weakly, stomach tensing, “feels so good.” 

your response was to thrust your head down and as much of him into your mouth as possible. he cried out, hips snapping up at the feeling of your gentle sucking. you were quick to pin them back down, a warning glare darkening your gaze. 

“‘m sorry—,” he slurred, panting heavily, “i’m sorry.” he was quick to submit, fighting against the painfully strong urge to fuck himself up into your warm mouth and forcing his quivering body to go pliant beneath your ministrations. satisfied for the time being, you dragged your tongue from his base to his weeping head, tracing slow, taunting circles over his most sensitive place. 

a broken moan was all he could manage as his cock twitched tellingly, precum spilling down his throbbing length. you fixed your lips back around his tip, sucking gently. his thighs trembled at the sensation it sent shooting through his veins, a breathless ‘oh’ pulsing from his pink-bitten lips. 

“(y/n)— (y/n), if you keep doing that—” the warning was clear, but you wanted to see just how close you could bring him to his release before stealing it away last second. it was always fun to watch how hard he came down from his high when he was denied of it. it was delicious, the way he gasped and trembled, shuddering hips desperately seeking out more frictions, but never receiving it. he was so cute when he got like that. 

“you gonna come, baby?” you cooed, replacing your mouth with your hand and shifting upwards so that you could look directly into his eyes. you wanted to be able to see the look in his pretty brown eyes when you stole away his release. he whimpered, head bobbing rapidly as he caught his lower lip between his teeth. 

“please.” 

you only offered a low, contemplative hum before a wicked smirk struck your features. “not yet.” 

a sob broke from his lips as you drew away from his throbbing dick, his high stolen only moments before it could come crashing down over him. his hips bucked, desperately seeking the friction you so cruelly denied him of, but finding nothing but empty air in place of your warm touch. his muscles trembled, broken pleas spilling from his quivering lips. 

“(y-y/n), no— please,” he gasped out, arms tugging against the sturdy binds, fingers aching to touch you, grab onto you, hold you. 

you hushed him with sweet words, pressing a soothing kiss to the cut of his jaw, hands massaging the bulk of his muscular thighs and holding still his stuttering hips. 

“fuck– i hate it when you do that.” he cursed weakly, glassy eyes peering up into yours. 

“no you don’t.” you chuckled softly, brushing his damp bangs out of his face in an unexpectedly tender gesture. 

“you’re right, i don’t.” he relented easily, the corners of his lips curling subtly. 

a sudden silence fell over you, and it took you a moment to realize that he was looking at you with those eyes— the ones you knew all too well. the ones you’d told him plenty of times to drop. because those weren’t the kind of eyes you were supposed to look at a fuck buddy with. those weren’t the kind of eyes that just anybody could be on the receiving end of, most definitely not you. 

“don’t look at me like that.” you warned, hardening your expression. 

“i can’t help it.” he breathed. you felt your stomach twist. damnit. 

“then close ‘em, Park. before I decide to blindfold you, too.” 

it seemed your threat wasn’t very well received, as the smile adorning his features only expanded, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly. 

“that doesn’t sound too bad.” 

a dry laugh burst from your lips. “god, you’re so fucking submissive. how has nobody else untangled your little ruse, hm? acting all big and tough on the outside when all you really want is to be tied up and fucked like a horny little bitch. am i really the only one that’s got you figured out?” you hummed thoughtfully, tracing your fingers down his throat and caressing his collarbone. 

“you’re the only one, (y/n).” 

for some reason… you had a strange feeling that that sentence held more meaning than you were willing to decipher.  

“you tell all your little side fucks that?” you taunted, disguising the slight tremor in your chest with a dangerous smirk. 

he shook his head, gaze not wavering for a moment. “there’s no one else. only you.” 

fuck. you needed him to stop talking. so, you did the one thing that always did the trick: shoving your fingers down his throat. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the unexpected intrusion, a sound that easily melted into a low moan, his tongue immediately getting to work lapping at your digits. 

“you talk too much.” you murmured, taking him off guard and eliciting a low groan from the back of his throat as you ground yourself down on his naked length. “you came to get fucked, didn’t you, sweetheart?” 

he eagerly nodded his head, hips nudging up excitedly against your own. 

“thought so.” you chuckled. 

through wide, glassy eyes, Chanyeol watched you push yourself upright, straddling his thighs. just as he was about to ask what you were doing, you grabbed the hem of your tank top and peeled it off over your head, discarding it onto the floor, your pants fast to follow. 

“fuck. you’re so beautiful.” he groaned deeply, ravenous gaze raking over your nearly naked form. you smirked at him cockily. 

“i know.” 

a surprised laugh erupted from his lips at your blunt reply, eyes glinting with something akin to admiration. “as you should.” 

smiling to yourself, you swiftly climbed back on top of him, not wasting any time before grabbing hold of his throbbing dick. he let out a breath of appreciation at the contact, biting at the inside of his cheek. every muscle in his body tightened as you teasingly traced his tip over your clothed heat, his precum slickening the thin fabric. 

“are you wet?” he asked weakly, voice so airy and strained that you almost missed it. 

grinning devilishly, you toyed with the elastic. “do you wanna find out?” 

“yes,” he all but hissed out, muscular arms straining against their secure restraints, “fuck— yes, please.” 

��mmm, you sound so hot when you're desperate to get fucked.” you groaned softly, nudging your underwear to the side in order to slip his head through your hot arousal. he shuddered at the sensation, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched you tease not only him but yourself as well with fleeting caresses of his needy length against your burning core. 

“(y/n).” his deep voice had become little more than a breathless whimper singed with molten desire. you felt your pulse jump at the very sound of it, your own want for him swelling with every passing second. 

Chanyeol let out a broken gasp as you sunk down on him, cursing weakly as you took him in inch by inch. a low hum vibrated on your lips at the blissful stretch, hot tendrils of pleasure igniting throughout your body. 

“sometimes i forget just how good you feel inside of me.” you breathed out heavily, peering down at his already fucked out expression with a coy smirk. 

“i could never forget.” he moaned, roughly biting his lower lip. a slow, deep grind of your hips had his head of unruly silver locks tossed back into the plush pillows, an unsteady groan of your name filling the hot, heavy air surrounding you. 

“fuck, go faster.” 

he realized his mistake only when your fingers were pressing into the length of his throat, all motion ceased. “is that how you ask for things?” you asked, voice dangerously calm. 

he was quick to shake his head, eager to right his wrong. “please. please go faster.” 

“that’s better.” 

a rough sob is pulled from his flushed throat (which you’re almost certain will be raw tomorrow morning) as you fuck yourself down onto him. the pace was fast, hungry, rough. his back bowing off the mattress, hips pulsing upward, desperate to meet each thrust half way. 

“(y/n),” you almost moaned at the sight of his body rolling beneath yours, muscles flexed and trembling, toned arms straining against the tight hold of his belt, the leather biting pretty red marks into his wrists, “i wanna touch you— please let me touch you. let me feel you, baby. you know i can make you feel good.”

his begging caused a playful grin to draw itself across your face. “should i?” you murmured thoughtfully, rolling your hips in slow, controlled circles. a low, throaty moan vibrated in your chest as he thrust himself up inside of you, just barely brushing over that perfect little spot. 

“i can be so good for you. please… let me be good for you, (y/n).” 

“well when you say it like that…” you sighed, feeling any remaining resolve come crumbling down. 

excitement ignited in his dark eyes, and he watched with bated breath as you reached up, getting to work on freeing him from the binds. 

the very moment the belt fell slack, releasing his hands, they were on your skin, eager and impatient, tugging you down into a heated kiss. it was messy and rough, all biting teeth and lashing tongues. not that you minded much, it was always fun reminding him who was in charge, one way or another. 

his wandering hands eagerly explored the expanse of your body, squeezing, pressing, pulling. and you let him have his fun, let him push the limits, testing your boundaries with every curious prod and trembling caress. 

it was only when you felt his fingers pressing into the swells of your ass and begin guiding your movements that you drew the line. it took all of a few seconds for you to have his wrists pinned down on either side of his head. 

you pulled away from his lips was a disappointed sigh, tongue clicking. “still no restraint, i see? i’m disappointed. i thought you said you’d be good for me, yeolie? was that good?” he all but whimpered, his head, too muddled from pleasure to form coherent words, shaking remorsefully. “no… that was very bad. bad boy, yeolie.” 

his dick throbbed so hard inside of you that you could’ve sworn he’d almost just come. 

a scoff of both amazement and disbelief escaped your lips. “you like being called a bad boy?” 

how ironic. 

color flushed into his cheeks, embarrassment shining in his big, glassy eyes that were now refusing to meet your gaze. 

“look at me.” 

he gasped as you purposely clenched around him, thrusting your hips back until he was balls deep, successfully forcing his attention onto your face. you grabbed his chin securely between your thumb and forefinger, and lowered your head to the point where your lips were just barely brushing over his. his pupils were blown and trembling as they met yours. 

“you wanna be my bad boy, baby?” 

his jaw fell open, a thunderous moan breaking from his chest. 

“yes.” 

“say it.” you all but growled, tone leaving no room for argument. 

at this point, he was too lost in his own desire to feel any real shame. 

“i wanna be your bad boy.” 

a triumphant smirk curled onto your face, and you rewarded him with a gentle kiss to his quivering lips. “you gonna come for me, bad boy?” he was already bobbing his head frantically before you’d even fully gotten the question out. you chuckled sadistically at his unabashed desperation. “should i let you?” 

“(y/n), please— i don’t think i can— fuck.” he panted out, voice shuddering and breaking as you fucked yourself down on him at just the right pace to keep him teetering dangerously on the edge without completely throwing him over. you bit your lip, pleasure exploding like firecrackers in your veins as he thrusted into you. fuck, if he didn’t stop hitting that spot… 

his hands curled into tight fists where they were pinned to the mattress, dull nails biting smooth crescents into his palm. noticing this, you took it upon yourself to weave your fingers through his, holding his hands in an unexpectedly tender display. only because you didn’t want him to accidentally hurt himself… that was all. 

but, perhaps it was a mistake. 

because that look returned to his eyes with vengeance, his features melting into bursting admiration and unspoken emotion. this time, you ignored it, too gone in your own pleasure to spare it a second thought. that’s what you convinced yourself of, anyways. 

he was pulsing intensely against your slick walls, twitching cock threatening to erupt at any given second. you could tell he was fighting to hold himself back, the veins in his throat growing prominent from the strenuous effort. it was admirable in a way, how desperately he wanted to please you, even if it meant denying himself of the greatest pleasure of all. you’d encountered very few men with that kind of will power. so you couldn’t help but to respect it when you saw it in Chanyeol. 

“you look like you’re about to explode.” you taunted breathlessly, lips pulled into a lust hazed smirk. “it’d be cruel of me to tell you to hold it, wouldn’t it?” 

he whimpered helplessly, obviously not sure which answer would satisfy you and which would coax you into further torturing his already wrecked body. 

you offered a rasping chuckled. “you’re lucky that i’m feeling rather generous today.” 

something between a sob and a moan are thrown past his lips as you slam yourself down on him, purposefully squeezing your walls around him. he cries out your name desperately, imploringly. you know he can’t hold back anymore, no matter how hard he tries. his body was going to come whether he liked it or not. you felt in the way he throbbed and twitched inside of you, heard it in the way he groaned and sighed, saw it in the way his eyes rolled, body shuddering uncontrollably. 

“come.” 

and he fucking did. 

his body stalled, back arching off the bad, hips sputtering up in sharp, quick thrusts, the sound of skin on skin contact resonating through the room. you cooed, relishing in the way he quivered and keener beneath you, mouth gaping silently for a few moments before growling moans finally broke through, rumbling so deep in his chest you could have easily mistaken it for thunder. 

you let him fill you up, painting your walls with his release, knowing damn well your intentions once he was finished. 

“that’s it, baby…” you cooed, releasing one of his clenched fists to caress his feverish face, tracing the lower line of his plump lip, swollen and red from his relentless biting. 

“oh! look at that. you made a mess, sweetheart.” you purred, smirking wickedly as you watched his arousal drip out of you and onto his now half hard cock. he moaned at the sight, cursing under his breath. “I think it’s only right if you clean it up.” 

his eyes snapped up to meet yours, excitement immediately burning with his hazy, blown pupils. that was your boy… always eager to clean up after himself. especially if it meant he could put his tongue and lips to proper use. 

“fuck. ride my face. wanna taste you. wanna make you come.” he groaned breathlessly, freed hands reaching down to grip at your thighs, tugging at them impatiently. 

you chuckled at how eager he was, happily obliging. you climbed up, repositioning yourself to hover over his flushed face, caging his head between your thighs. his fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you down and into reach of his greedy tongue. you couldn’t help the sigh that slid from your lips at the first contact, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his tongue dragging hungrily through your come soaked folds. 

“that’s right. eat your come, baby. lick it up.” you breathed out heavily, fingers weaving through his damp silver locks. 

he moaned against you, the vibrations sending chills rolling down your spine. it was like white hot electricity in your veins when he rolled his flattened tongue cover your clit, a sharp moan erupting from your throat. 

“fuck, just like that. right there.” you panted, hips grinding down against his skilled tongue. “you’re so fucking good with your mouth, yeol.” his determination spiked at the praise, lips encircling your clit and sucking purposefully. 

pure euphoria rushed through your veins, head falling back as your grip on his hair tightened. his rapacious hands danced across your body, fingers pressing hotly into your skin, obviously not having learned his lesson the first time around. though, you weren’t too keen on correcting him. especially not with the fire his touch was igniting across your body. 

your hips stuttered as his tongue pressed inside of you, lapping at you hungrily. “tastes… so good…” he groaned brokenly against your arousal, hooded eyes devouring the sight of you falling apart above him. 

if there was one thing Park Chanyeol loved– it was being the cause of your pleasure. 

snagging your lip roughly between your teeth, you meet his searing gaze, your walls clenching around his invading tongue at the almost unbearable intensity of it. 

“you like it?” you moaned, feeling yourself begin to climb your way towards release. he nuzzled against you, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue teased your entrance. 

god… if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was trying to suffocate himself. knowing Chanyeol, he’d probably consider it the perfect way to go. perhaps you would have laughed at the thought had it not been for the molten pleasure numbing your mind and senses.

“i’m gonna come.” 

at your breathless declaration, Chanyeol is quickly replacing his tongue with two of his fingers, fucking them up into you steadily while his mouth gets to work on your clit. it feels so good… you’re numb to pretty much everything else but the feeling of him, the sight of him. 

and you find it’s just that that finally sends you tumbling over that ledge: the sight of those beautiful brown eyes, dark and eager, burning with unspoken emotion, pooling with crimson seduction. he’s breathtaking. 

you shift off of his face carefully, a hazy, satisfied smirk settling across your face. 

“what a filthy boy.” you purr softly, more so to yourself than him, delighting in the sight of his face, glistening from a mixture of both his and your own release. his lips curl upwards at the corners, sinful tongue peeking out to drag over them and savor the lingering taste of you, a low hum of appreciation rumbling deep in his chest.  

his hands don’t leave your hips as you carefully lift yourself off of him, offering some much needed support for your still shaky legs. you flop down on the mattress beside him with a soft ‘oof’ and shut your eyes, taking a moment to catch your breath and gather your scattered wits. a few moments of silence pass, before your brow twitched in irritation. 

“stop staring before i smack you.” even with your eyes closed, you can feel the heat of his gaze on the side of your face. 

he chuckled unabashedly, not all too torn up about being caught. “sorry. i can’t help myself,” he paused, “you’re just so beautiful like this.” 

sighing, you roll your head to the side, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “what’d i say about calling me beautiful?”  

he pouts, looking like a scolded puppy. “not to say it after sex.” 

“that’s right.”

“but it’s the truth!” 

“Chanyeol.” you groan, throwing an arm over your face. 

he huffs in annoyance rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his palm. “what’s so wrong with me saying that you're beautiful?” 

“you know exactly what’s wrong with it.” you grumble, shooting him a pointed glare, one he is quick to return. rolling your eyes, you turn away from him. “i’m too fucked out to try and argue with you right now so can you just drop it?”  

one of his arms snakes over your waist, and you inhaled sharply in surprise as he tugged you into his chest. 

“Chanyeol—”

he was quick to disregard your warning tone, nuzzling his face into your neck. “i like to cuddle.” 

“you know—” you began, scowling as he cut you off a second time. 

“i know what we agreed to but come on… a few minutes won’t kill you.” he grumbled, low voice raspy with exhaustion. 

the slight tightening of his hold around you told you that he had no intention of letting go any time soon. your features twisted into a scowl, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

but your resolve to remain unphased wavered. 

because, for a moment, you let yourself feel the warmth of his body against yours, allowing yourself to melt into it. it was a strange sensation, the comfort it brought you… the security. perhaps it was the aftermath of your orgasm. or maybe the exhaustion from a stressful week. or maybe something else entirely… regardless, you found yourself relaxing into him, into his hold, into his warmth. it wasn’t something you could really control. and even if you could, you weren’t sure if you would do anything different. 

minutes passed. maybe two. maybe five. maybe twenty. you weren’t really sure. you could hear the muffled music still pumping through the speakers somewhere downstairs. dull footsteps and low voices passing outside the door every now and again. the soft glow from the still candle flickered soothingly over the pale walls. 

a strange sense of calm had settled over you at some point. you weren’t sure quite when. all you knew was that if you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the steady beating of Chanyeol’s heart. his breathing had become slow and heavy, warming the side of your face with every exhale. 

“are you…” you swallowed, throat unexpectedly dry, “are you asleep?” 

you were met with silence. 

sucking your lips into your mouth, you slowly turned your head. your heart faltered in your chest. “geez.” you muttered softly, a faint smile touching your lips. 

he was knocked out cold, cheek smooshed up against the pillow, lips parted and puckered out, hair cast across the white pillowcase, a few locks stuck on his eyelashes. you lifted your hand carefully, gently brushing the silver strands out of his face. your fingers lingered on his skin, caressing ever so lightly over his cheek and jaw. 

“beautiful.” 

it took you a moment to realize that that word had just come from your lips. you jerked away like you’d been stung, eyes wide, and heart suddenly racing. 

shit. 

you were so fucked.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Polar (Bakugou x Reader) Birthday Special!

Bakugou Birthday Special!

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Inspo: this fanart by @delusional-lune

Word count: 1,181

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: I wasn’t expecting to do a Baku birthday special, but I saw that art and it was gonna be a drabble, but it’s also my little cousin’s birthday and she loves him, so I got the idea and I turned it into a little special!

I promise I’ll get to my 3 requests after this, I PROMISE! I was gonna do one today, but I did this instead, so I’m sorry!  Please be patient, I’ll finish them all by the end of this week!

"Oi, you plan on getting up anytime soon, idiot?"  Although he's not yelling, I know he's annoyed at me.  "It's past noon already."

I cover my head with my pillow and groan, "Five more minutes, Katsuki."

He tugs the pillow and blanket off my head, forcing me to look at his obviously peeved face.  "You've been saying that for the past hour, get out of bed."

I pout, rubbing my eyes and rolling over.  "I'm tired though, let me sleep."

His weight comes down behind me as he grumbles, "How are we supposed to celebrate our birthday if you won't get up?  I've already been awake since 8 waiting for you, I was gonna make us breakfast."

Katsuki and I are like night and day, which is why I don't believe a single word horoscopes say.  He's an early riser while I'm a night owl.  He's the loudest boy out there and I'm quiet as a mouse.  He can cook while I burn toast.  He always looks effortlessly put together while I'm a hot mess.  I don't know how such different people could have been born on the exact same day.

His arm suddenly envelopes my shoulders and he nuzzles his nose into my neck.  "If I give you your birthday gift now, will you get up?"

I turn over, meeting his mischievous crimson eyes.  "Fine, I'll get up, you don't have to entice me."

He kisses my forehead.  "That's my baby.  Come on, I'll make us brunch I guess, go wash up.  And if I catch you in bed again," he lightly taps my butt with a smirk, "You know what happens."

"G-Gross," I stutter as I push him away harshly.  "I'll be up, okay?  Bully...

Katsuki can't stop snickering at my obvious embarrassment and dumb insult.  "Gosh, I love messing with you.  If you're not down in 20 minutes, I'm coming back to find you."

"Yes, sir," I mumble as he leaves the room.  When I hear his footsteps fade out into the kitchen, I scramble over to the box I hid in a corner of the closet behind some laundry, just an instinct to make sure it's still there for him to open.  I plan to give it to him over our meal just now, maybe he'll wear it out today if he wants to.  I hope he enjoys it, I smile to myself, But I'm not too worried.  I tuck it back away for now and head to the bathroom to wash up.  I look forward to seeing what he's gotten for me.

I tiptoe into the dining room with the taped up box under my arm, sliding it behind a pillow on the couch for now.

Katsuki starts throwing all his dishes and pans into the sink to clean later.  "(Y/n)!" he calls for me, "You better be up already!"

"Right behind you," I sneak up and poke him in the sides, loving the yelp he lets out.

"Finally."  He cranes his neck to kiss my cheek.  "Go set the table, I'll bring the food."

I follow his instructions as he brings out our two meals to the table.  We settle into place across from each other and I quietly thank him for the meal before digging in.  

"It's been a while since we've had breakfast together, we're both busy and you're always sleeping in."  He spoons out some of his homemade red pepper paste into his rice and egg mixture, and then into his soup.

I cringe a tiny bit.  I know my boyfriend loves his spice and all, but it's always bothered me that he even adds spice to his soup that's suppose to be mellow and savory in flavor.

"I know you're looking at me weird, that's just the way I eat," Katsuki pipes up defensively.

"You really do love your spice," I mumble, but I can't help feeling the small bit of affection reach me.  My precious boy is a unique, explosive personality and I wouldn't change him for the world.

At the end of our meal, Katuski puts his bowl down.  "Alright.  It's our special day, we're gonna enjoy it together alone, so what do you wanna do?"

I shrug.  I don't care about all the formalities or going out all that much.  As long as I get to spend time with him, I'll consider it a win.  "Whatever you want."

He levels his neutral stare at me for a moment before shrugging as well.  "Then let's open gifts first."

Both of us rise to our respective gift-hiding spots.  When I return to the table with my long box, I notice that his gift is a small box that's about the size of his hand, and I wonder if I might have gone a bit overboard.

Katuski's eyes widen at my gift.  "I hope you don't mind, but I'm opening that first."

I nod and just hand it over to him.  At least he's eager to open it.  He tears away the tape quickly, making me chuckle at how messily excited he is over it.  The flimsy paper box is no match for Katsuki Bakugou, and he throws the tissue paper aside.  I keep my eyes glued to his face, waiting for him to realize what his gift is.

"Whoa."  His mouth forms a small, cute "o" as he lifts the red bomber jacket out of the box.  I got it embroidered on the back to say "King Explosion Murderer."  A toothy smirk spreads out on his face.  "Yeah!  We're definitely going out so I can wear this, babe!  Thanks!"

Gosh, I know you too well, Katsuki.  I grab the box from his side of the table and open the navy blue lid.  Inside is a shamballa bracelet with emerald green disco beads.  The ends of the drawstring have a dangling silver moon hanging off.

He lifts up the sleeve on his arm.  "It's actually a couple's bracelet."  Instead of green, his beads are red, and there's a Sun hanging off the end.  "I think it's fitting since you're the more mellow one and I'm the loud one."  He rubs the back of his neck.  "Do you like it?  I know it isn't as great as what you got me, I'm not that good at picking gifts."

I give him a gentle smile, the same warmth cascading through me and I slip it on my wrist.  "Of course I do.  What's better than me being your moon and you being my Sun?"  I stand up and sit on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, planting a soft kiss on his nose.  "Thank you, Katsu."

His eyes stare into mine with just as much affection.  "You know, sometimes I wonder how someone so calm like you could've ended up with some big idiot like me."

He's shocked to see me flash him a mischievous smirk.  "Because I secretly like the chaos."

Katsuki blinks before giving me another kiss on my lips and chuckling, his entire body rumbling at the action.  "God, I love you, you're so full of surprises."

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Femslash February (Day 14)

Prompt: Heart Fandom: Winx Club Pair: Icy/Lucy

Summary: Lucy asks Icy on a date. Icy accepts for the sake of humiliating the woman. She doesn't expect to actually enjoy her company.

Today on rarepairs; has anyone actually wrote for Icy/Lucy yet????

A paper bat wing, because hearts are too cliche. She slips it under the door and leaves in haste. She hopes that this time it will be reciprocated or appreciated.

She has a feeling that it won’t be reciprocated even slightly. More likely, she will be mocked and ridiculed again. What a fool she is to try to chase after someone so painfully obviously cold. Someone so far out of her league.

Why is her heart so...misguided? Why can’t it be as dark and warped as Cloud Tower itself. That would be wonderful. That would be easy. It would beat pining over a woman who would rather see her spelled and hexed into oblivion.

Even Mirta isn’t this foolish. Even Mirta isn’t setting herself up for this much humiliation.

And yet, she comes back to her dorm to find a note on the floor. Her hands shake as she opens it. She knows what she is going to find; she just isn’t sure how harsh and humiliating the rejection will be. Icy is mighty creative and her creativity has a razor’s edge.

It is frank and to the point, written in elegant cursive. The kind that she thought the ice witch ought to have. ‘Fine. 11:30 at the Broom & Hex Cafe.’ She stares at the silver ink, her hands shake with twice the force.

She has a date. She has a date and yet she can’t quite believe that she does. She knows exactly how this is going to end. Really there’s only one way that it can, realistically speaking. But,  how pathetic she is, she craves the witch so much that she is more than willing to face further humiliation just for a taste of what she craves. Just for a lovely little illusion.

.oOo.

“Oh she’s going to weep.” Stormy chuckles.

“She’s going to do more than weep by the time I’m through.” Icy vows.

“And here I thought that I was the devious, alluring one.” Darcy quirks a brow and runs her fingers through her locks.

“You just keep toying with Riven, I’ll make sure that Lucy doesn’t lurk outside our dorm ever again. I never was a fan of Fae Hearts's day, ladies. But this will be one to remember.”

“But wait!” Stormy bolts upright. “What if she, like, loses it and gets more obsessive and weird?”

“Then we’ll teach her another lesson.” Darcy shrugs.”

All she will have to do is endure one loathsome day. A few hours of false gushing and pseudo sweet talk will pave the way for days of wicked delight.

.oOo.

The cafe is particularly crowded when she arrives, dressed in her favorite ripped plaid dress and a set of matching arm warmers that are at least a size or two too big. She swallows and takes a deep breath as she searches the ice witch out. It only takes one quick sweep to know that she isn’t there--the woman is the sort to stand out rather starkly. But she does a second and third sweep anyhow.

She has to laugh, of course she wouldn’t even show up. That’s the oldest trick in the book. But she had so fervently hoped that Icy would at least pretend to love her for an hour or so.

“You’re early.”

Lucy jerks.

“You showed up?”

Icy quirks a brow. “You’re welcome.” She breezes by. “We’ll sit over there.” She points to the table at the very center of the room. The one that is already occupied. “I always sit there.”

“But that spot is already taken.”

She snaps her fingers and the platters on the table begin to wriggle and crawl. And then they are knocked to the floor as the couple scrambles away. Worms, grubs, and roaches turn back to soup, chili, and gummies. She snaps a second time and the mess is cleaned. “Looks vacant to me.”

“You’re terrible.”

“The vileist.” Icy smirks.

“It’s admirable.”

“Naturally.” She pulls out a chair. “Sit. Tell me about yourself, and make it good, I don’t waste my time on losers.”

“I’m not.”

“Convince me.”

She clears her throat. She hadn’t realized that this was going to be an interview. “I thought that this was a date.” She scoffs. “Not an interrogation.”

Icy crosses her arms and leans back in her chair.

“I can play the guitar.” She caves.

“The guitar? I play myself. What brand and model?”

“I have a SpiderMistress, Cauldron Green. You?”

“SpiderMistress as well. Midnight Hex.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide. “How’d you get that? Those models are super expensive.”

“I won it at a competition a few years back.”

“Maybe we can, I don’t know, have some kind of practice together! Are you, Darcy, and Stormy in a band.”

Icy snickers. “We don’t have time for that. Though I suppose that Stormy is a pretty capable singer and Darcy wouldn’t be terrible on the drums.” She shrugs. “Anyways, it’s a useless hobby.”

“Why do you say that?”

She catches a flicker of something in the woman’s frigid eyes. Something sincere, sad, regretful? It is gone before she can decipher it. Gone so fast that she may have imagined it entirely. “It means nothing compared to higher goals. I have ambitions, real ambitions.”

“And talent.” Lucy declares. “I haven’t heard you play but you’re good at everything else you do.”

“True.” Icy replies. “But I’ve been told that my talents are best invested elsewhere. I think I’d like a bigger following than a handful of groupies.”

The way groupies rolls off of her tongue. That pointed stare… Lucy’s heart sinks. She is pathetic, she knows that she is. Really she isn’t much better than a groupie and Icy isn’t even famous. She pushes it down and tries to play it off. “Yeah. Why settle for less when you can have more?” She wonders if she is settling for less by trying for someone who thinks of her as less.

“Yes, that’s a good question. Why would I settle for less.”

Lucy’s heart sinks further.

“My powers are nice and all but I think that with a touch of dragon fire magic…” she trails off and takes a spoonful of ice cream. “That’ll make a real show, don’t you think?”

Lucy nods vigorously. “I mean your magic is amazing the way it is. You’re the most powerful witch that I know. But how badass would it be to have fire and ice magic?” She is kissing so much ass. Gushing and rambling and making a fool of herself. She wishes that they could just stick to talking about guitars. “What would you do with all of that power?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Icy replies. She holds out her spoon, “have a taste.”

She wants to, desperately, just to taste the witch on her tongue. But how sadly desperate would that look. “After you licked it?” She crinkles her nose.

Icy scoffs. “How do you plan to…” she leans in closer. “Make out if you can’t even share a spoon with me.”

Lucy swallows. “Licking a spoon isn’t as exciting as making out. All or nothing.” She does a lot of big talk for someone with such low confidence.

Icy quirks a brow. “All or nothing.” She shrugs. And with an alarming abruptness, she pulls Lucy in by the collar and plants her lips upon hers. They are as frosty as she had expected and she tastes of spearmint and cigarettes. She smells of it too. She tangles her long blue fingernails in her hair. She is vicious and merciless, it’s exhilarating.

And she pulls back. “Wow, that was the most underwhelming kiss I’ve ever had. Usually they at least try to impress me.”

“I wasn’t ready!”

“Improv, my dear.” She drawls. She leans back once more, draping her hands on the arm rests.

And something snaps. Something that should have snapped ages ago. But it comes as a desire. A desire to shove the chair over if only to see that smug, conceited smirk crack. To shatter the woman’s ego if only for a moment.

“You know what, I don’t know why I tried!” She stands up with a quickness that knocks the chair to the floor. She has to keep her momentum before it vacates. “I think that it’s because I feel bad for you. You’re hollow and shallow and...and…” her lip twitches into a snarl, “you aren’t as amazing as you think you are. Do you even think that you’re amazing?” She isn’t sure how to end her rant so she finishes with the first thing that comes to mind, “you can have the most expensive guitar on the market but that doesn’t mean that you have the talent to play it.”  

And it is gone, that smug, conceited look. Gone and she hadn’t had to even raise a fist. She balls them both and makes her way to the door. She has dignity. She has self-respect.

And she deserves more than a stupid game. All or nothing. All of the nothing in the world is better than letting herself chase after one moment of false love. Her heart isn’t so foolish as she had thought.

.oOo.

It wasn’t supposed to have gone like that. Lucy wasn’t supposed to have left. That was her role. She rubs her hands over her face. She was supposed to be doing the humiliating. Not that she hadn’t been able to save herself the worst of it with a remark about how dramatic witches these days are.

But that isn’t it. That isn’t what keeps itching and clawing at her mind. She lightly raps her fist against her forehead, as though she can knock the deeper, more disturbing implications from her mind.

She wishes that the woman would have just flinched and cried like the rest of them. She wishes that Lucy were as unbearable, cringe-inducing, and repulsive as she had assumed that she would be. She was supposed to have been intolerably embarrassing to be around.

She wasn’t supposed to have talked about guitars or bands or anything that Icy is thoroughly and truly interested in. She wasn’t supposed to have made these things sound so intriguing and worth investing time into. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to have shown any teeth.

Icy doesn’t think that anyone has had the balls to stand up to her so publicly and, God, how intriguing it is. She cringes to herself. Not Lucy. Not loser Lucy. It can’t be her of all people. Especially not after the game she’d tried to play. The game that she’d lost.

Lost and swapped decks. She inhales deeply. She supposes that she will just have to do what she does well, encase her heart in ice much thicker and colder than before. The feeling will pass, it always does. She has just as little time for romance as she does for silly guitar riffs.

She lays back and stares at the ceiling until Darcy and Stormy enter.

.oOo.

She notices Icy lingering. Lingering and, dare she say, lurking. It is almost laughable.  It could be that she is waiting for an opportunity to strike, watching and observing for weaknesses, an opening to take her vengeance. But somehow she senses that this isn’t the case.

No. The witch is exuding the very same energy that she once had.

She thinks that it would be plenty satisfying to march right up to her and let her know that she has been well aware of her presence and watch her stumble over a lie about how she had only been stalking about for the sake of feeling out the enemy.

It would be satisfying twice over to make a scene of it, to deal out the same brand of humiliation that the ice witch had intended for her. If only Lucy didn’t still feel so drawn to her. If only Icy wasn’t  everything she admired in a person; bold, confident, suave, and cool. If only she weren’t so beautiful in a cutting, razorlike way that is all her own.

She can very well toy with the woman, blackmail and mock her, rouse her hatred and contemptment. She can’t help but do so at least a little. “See something you like?” She calls into the hallway. She expects the woman to slink away with a muttered curse or two. Instead she slips out into the open and leans against the frame of the door with her arms folded across her chest as though she had intended to be seen in the first place.

��Perhaps a few things.” She flicks her hair. “We didn’t finish our date, Lucy.”

“I lost interest.”

Icy quirks a brow, “did you?”

She wishes that she had. “Mostly.”

“That’s a shame.” She shrugs. “I admit, you piqued mine. I didn’t realize that you had fight.”

It occurs to her that perhaps the ice witch is very much into that. Into someone who is willing to get in her face and fight back. She can’t imagine that many people would.

“It’s compelling. Keeps things intense.” She continues.

“Well, while you look for fights, I’m going to look for respect.” Now that she has found it she isn’t willing to let it go so easily.

Icy is quiet for a moment. “You have already.”

“Was that a compliment?”

.oOo.

The deeper this conversation goes the less worth she thinks it has. She is going to make a fool of herself, and for what? Love? That isn’t the downfall she has in mind for herself. “Don’t push your luck, Lucy. I still have curses and hexes that will…”

“Make me regret ever setting foot in Cloud Tower? Yeah, I get the gist.”

“Do you?”

“Get to the point. Are you here to hex me or kiss me?”

Really, why not both? “I guess that, that’s up to you.” Though she supposes that she’d much prefer to have another go at the woman’s lips. “Show me what you can do now that you’re prepared.”

Lucy grips the door and Icy is certain that it is about to slam in her face. Instead the woman damn near throws her into the wall. Her kiss is rough, almost savage. Intriguing. She curls her fingers into strands of dark green hair and adds a frosty edge of her own. And then Lucy pulls back as abruptly as she had engaged. Her breathing is still decently ragged. “Improv, my dear.” She says again, “can make or break the moment, do you understand now.”

Lucy nods. “Perfectly.”

“Well then...” Icy trails a finger over the woman’s cheek, content to have taken back at least some control.

“Well then, what?” She puts her hands on her hips.

“Are you interested in a real date?”

“Don’t you have a reputation to uphold?”

Icy rolls her eyes, “I’m the one who decides what’s in and what’s out. Welcome to the in crowd, Lucy.” So long as she keeps up with her newfound confidence she will stay for quite a long time. And with luck Icy won’t have to do any of the work to keep her at the top. “It suits you better, Lucy. This, self-respect thing.”

.oOo.

A second date. A real date. Her heart thrums faster than it has in a while. And the ice witch doesn’t think that she’s pathetic. And when they speak in the halls it feels different, she doesn’t call her a loser this time. She doesn’t dismiss her, doesn’t mock her with Darcy and Stormy when she is just on the fringes of earshot.

It doesn’t take terribly long for the two of them to get used to her stopping by the dorm. They still whisper. She still hears them questioning and pestering Icy. Icy invites her over more. Icy makes a point of slinking as close to her as possible, of getting handsy, of initiating deep kisses. “If they hate what your doing,” she mutters in Lucy’s ear, her voice husky with passion, “do it in front of them, exaggerate it, give them something to really talk about.”

She wonders if Icy has always been so bold or if it is the product of trial and error and one big sweeping success that has driven her to the top.

“You have much more allure when you aren’t copying everything that I do.”

“I’ve found that there isn’t anything worth copying.” Lucy smirks.

Icy gives a haughty sniff, “fuck you, Lucy.” She grabs her by the scruff of her shirt and pulls her onto the bed.

She wishes that she would have found her sense of self worth earlier.

[depressedkakashihatake-fics]

A Bad Day Ends Well

Hatake Kakashi/Tenzo Yamato

2095 words

for: @tenzoyamato​

AU: Shifters Au

Escape had seemed almost impossible a few hours ago. Locked away in a cage with a bleeding Tenzo by his side. Impossible, and undeserved if he didn’t do something to keep Tenzo alive. Though, there wasn’t much he could do. Kakashi had never been great at first aid, and he didn’t really have the equipment necessary to pull a bullet out of the man and seal up his wound.

He had absolutely nothing, in fact. Just the clothes on his back and his teeth.

Which is where the bite had come in. 

If there had been any other way to save Tenzo, Kakashi would have jumped for it. The bite was the last thing he wanted to inflict on anyone, especially when they had been caught by poachers. People hunting shifters for their skins and other sellable parts. 

It was as good as a death sentence in their situation, but Tenzo was already dying. Without anything to stop the bleeding and remove the bullet, Kakashi was certain he was going to have to watch his friend die, and he couldn’t stand the thought of it.

So he did the only thing that he could think of at the moment to save Tenzo.

He bit him. 

Of course, the hunter had been happy about that turn of events when he had come back to see Kakashi sitting in his cage with a Giant bear laying on his lap instead of the human that had been there before. Two shifters for the price of one. 

If there had been any chance that Tenzo could have survived his wound without the bite, Kakashi would have taken it. The last thing he wanted to do was put his friend in even more danger. 

Thankfully it had all worked out for them in the end. Only an hour after Kakashi had bitten Tenzo and changed him, Gai had shown up with the pack and taken Kakuzu and his partner down without much of a hassle. Just in time too, since it looked like Kakuzu was getting ready to pack up and leave.

He had no idea how long it would have taken Gai to save them if Kakuzu had managed to get on the road or if he would have been able to save them at all. That was an outcome that he really didn’t want to think about. Any scenario where him and Tenzo ended up dead was not one he wanted to focus on.

Now though, he was back in his favorite cave watching as Rin checked on Tenzo’s wound to make sure that it was healing properly. His heart throbbed in his chest as he watched her examining the bullet hole, admonishing himself for allowing Kakuzu to have the chance to hurt Tenzo at all. 

If it hadn’t been for him, Tenzo wouldn’t have been shot. Kakuzu wouldn’t have aimed for him just to get to Kakashi in hopes of getting not just him, but his entire pack as well. Tenzo would be safe at home, and wouldn’t currently be laying by his side with his head on his lap while stuck in bear form.

“Stop it,” Rin’s hand reached out and flicked him in the nose even as her eyes stayed focused on the wound in front of her. “I can practically hear what you’re thinking, and it’s not your fault.”

“It is though,” he whispered. “Tenzo was there because of me. He was targeted because Kakuzu saw that I was trying to protect him and used him to get me to stand down. If i hadn’t…”

Another flick to the nose stopped him from finishing that sentence. 

“Tenzo was there to protect you,” She looked at him with a soft smile on her face. “He wanted to make sure nothing bad happened to you. The only person at fault here is Kakuzu, and he’ll be nursing his wounds for weeks thanks to Gai.”

Sighing, Kakashi turned his attention back down to Tenzo, placing a hand on top of his head and gently running his fingers through the short brown fur. “How long until he wakes up?”

“An hour or two,” Apparently satisfied with her examination, Rin placed her hands on her knees and pushed herself up to her feet. “He won’t be able to shift back until the wound is healed though, which will probably be another day at this rate. I’ll come back in 30 minutes to check on the wound again and then i should be able to give you a better estimate.”

“Thanks, Rin.” Feeling a hand coming down on his shoulder, he smiled to himself. He’d have to remind himself to do something nice for her later as a proper thank you. 

For now though, he had to keep watch over Tenzo. If he wasn’t there when Tenzo woke up the ranger might panic and think that something had happened. It was better to just stay where he was and avoid such panic from happening. The others knew where to find him if they needed him for anything.

Returning his attention to Tenzo, he smiled when he saw the bear shifting a little to find a better spot for his head on Kakashi’s lap. It was actually sort of cute, seeing Tenzo like this. In human form the ranger always seemed full of stress, his shoulders strung tight and a look of constant annoyance on his face.

Of course, Kakashi had no doubt that look was partially his fault. He always had a little too much fun bugging Tenzo just to see him get all riled up and ready for a fight.

“I’m sorry,” the apology left his mouth with unfamiliar ease. Usually it would be impossible to get Kakashi to say those two simple words, but today he couldn’t find any better words to explain how he was feeling. “You shouldn’t have been there. I...it’s my fault you were put in danger.”

He knew Tenzo would disagree, but it was true. It was him who had called Tenzo for help when he realized that there were hunters in the area. His concern over Tenzo’s safety had been picked up by Kakuzu and used against him, resulting in Tenzo getting shot.

And that wasn’t even touching on the fact that he had bitten Tenzo. Turned him into a shifter without his consent, in the poor hope that it would be what was needed to save Tenzo from bleeding to death. 

He had been right, but it didn’t excuse his actions in his mind. There was still no telling how Tenzo would react when he finally woke up. How he would handle being a shifter when it had always been his job to protect them. 

“I hope you don’t hate me,” He gave the unconscious bear the best smile that he could, even though deep down inside he felt like the worst person alive. “I hope…I hope you don’t hate me.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. How was he supposed to make this up to Tenzo? Was there really any way to apologize for taking his choice away from him like that? For changing him into something that he might not have wanted to be?

“I guess I won't get that date I was hoping to ask you out on,” he laughed at himself. The ‘hopeless romantic’. That’s what Gai would always call him whenever he’d start gushing about Tenzo. The man who wanted the perfect, happy life.  “It’s too bad. I was looking forward to taking you out.”

Not that they could go many places. Kakashi didn’t do well going too far away from the pack. Not with people like Kakuzu out in the world. Even if he knew that Gai could watch over them.

Heck, if it wasn’t for Gai, him and Tenzo would be on their way to become furs right now. A less than satisfactory end to the life he had lived so far. 

“Do you think...maybe one day,” It was probably a little hopeful of him to think, but he couldn’t help it. Somewhere in his heart he still believed he could have that life. That comfortable happiness his father had always told him about when he was growing up. “Maybe if you ever forgive me.”

Turning his eyes up towards the cave’s ceiling, he smiled to himself. A nice romantic dinner in the park, just the two of them. Perhaps a picnic made with supplies he could gather from the shop that was just twenty minutes down the road. They always went there for some much needed supplies, and the pack had survived without him for that hour and a half that he would be gone for in the past. 

He could see it now. Him and Tenzo watching the sunset up above while they shared a glass of win. Not a worry on his mind for the night as they counted stars together and told each other about their lives.

It was cute.

“Maybe in a dream.” he whispered to himself. 

Feeling movement on his lap again, he glanced back down, unable to keep himself from blushing a little when he saw big black eyes staring back at him. 

“Y-you,” How long had Tenzo been awake for? How much had he heard? “You must think you’re so smooth, huh?”

Feeling the bears head shifting, Kakashi couldn’t help but smile when he saw Tenzo planting his giant paws on the ground under him and carefully standing up by his side. His face now only inches away from Kakashi’s, Tenzo stared straight into his eyes with a smug look. 

“Well, i’m not taking you anywhere in this form,” he huffed, turning his eyes away from the giant bear. “It would just look weird. A giant bear hanging out with a wolf. People would know that something’s up.”

As if agreeing with him, Tenzo leaned in and brushed his nose against Kakashi’s cheek, causing the silver haired man to squirm away from him with laughter. 

“S-stop that,” bringing a hand up, he pushed the bear's face away from him. “That tickles.” Tenzo did not stop. Instead, he continued to get into Kakashi’s space and rub his nose against his face while making a ‘woof’ like sound right beside Kakashi’s ear. “Fine,” pressing his hands into Tenzo’s cheeks, Kakashi leaned back just far enough so he could turn and smile at the giant bear. “If that’s how you’re going to be, you owe me dinner when you heal up and figure out how to shift back. Deal?”

A short nod of the head is the response he gets, and he can’t help but feel a little excited knowing that he was actually going to get a date with Tenzo. Perhaps not the perfect date, but a date nonetheless.

He’d chalk that one up to a win for him.

“I’ll make something that you like,” he smiled, feeling genuinely happy for the first time all day. Placing a hand back on top of Tenzo’s head, he chuckled when he reacted by bumping his nose against his face once more. “Maybe i’ll even be super nice and pick up some chestnuts for you.”

A date. He was actually getting a date with Tenzo. Something that he had been trying to work up the courage for months to ask for, and it had only taken one quick confession and Tenzo not being in human form to get it.

He could almost kick himself for wasting so much time, but he’d have to do it later. He was too happy at this moment to even consider harming himself for something so stupid. 

“I can’t wait,” leaning in close, he pressed a quick kiss against Tenzo’s large wet nose. It wasn’t the perfect circumstances to find himself in, but he was more than willing to take it. “Let’s hope you don’t realize what a giant mistake you’ve made today, agreeing to a date with me.”

Tenzo’s only response was to open his mouth wide for a yawn, ending with a rough grunt as he gave his head a shake, and somehow Kakashi had never heard anything cuter in his life.

He couldn’t help but lean in and press another quick kiss to the bears nose, laughing when Tenzo grunted one more, this time with a more annoyed tone behind it. Even in bear form he wasn’t impressed with Kakashi’s shenanigans it seemed, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

All he could think of was the date he was already planning in his head.

[falseroar]

((Abe, a monster hunter, is distracted from chasing down a particular Colonel when he hears a rumor that he can’t let go without looking into it for himself.

Based on today’s prompt for Trail 5 of the Ten Trails Whump Challenge, “Muzzle”, this sort of went off track. Like I mentioned yesterday, think of this as a sort of in between story, after ITYC but a few years short of the present day.

Warnings: mentions of blood, animal cruelty, and light swearing))

Abe knew he shouldn’t be here. He had his own leads to follow, his own personal monster to hunt down, but he also knew that as soon as he heard the rumor, as soon as he heard that single word, he had no choice but to come and check it out.

Not that he bothered to share why he was so invested, when he came to this little village out in the middle of nowhere. He barely even had to ask any questions, as the people recognized him as a hunter as soon as they saw him and were excited to share what was probably the first interesting thing that had happened here in years. A couple of guys he didn’t bother to learn the names of immediately offered to show and tell him everything.

Everything about the werewolf.

“When did you say they showed up?” Abe asked as they led him deeper into the woods outside of town. The way they jumped at every crack of a twig and hint of a shadow, he guessed the village probably already had its own stories about the place before the recent arrival.

“Not sure exactly, but three days ago is when it came into the village looking for supplies,” one guy, the taller one who walked with a swagger when he wasn’t nervous, said. “Bought normal stuff for a traveler, but the butcher noticed when it came in and put in an order for meat, a lot of meat. More than one person traveling on their own should need.”

“How did you know that they were alone?” Abe asked, ducking under a tree limb and noting that despite the recent signs of multiple people passing this way recently, they weren’t following a normal trail.

The other guy, who had a way of smiling that made Abe check to make sure his gun was within easy reach, shrugged and answered, “Because there wasn’t anyone else with it? Some of us weren’t sure if it even knew how to really talk to people, the way it mumbled and wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. First sign something was off about it.”

Abe took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying hard to rein in his always short temper. He could save what he wanted to say to that until after he didn’t need these two anymore, although he felt his fingers twitch every time they said the word “it.”

“So how did you go from ‘there’s a new stranger in town’ to ‘werewolf’, exactly?” Abe asked, already prepared to learn that this was a wild goose chase that ended with him nursing a drink and hopes so dashed it was a wonder they kept coming back.

Again.

“Well, at first we were thinking it was a witch,” the taller man said. “Because it started asking around about herbs and plants and that night some of the teens spotted it walking outside the village walls at night, picking something in the moonlight.”

The other man smiled again and added, “And then their parents had a lot of questions about what they were doing out at night themselves, like we all didn’t know the answer to that.”

The two snickered, but the noise gradually died away into an awkward silence when the hunter didn’t join in until the taller man continued his story.

“But then old Mercer remembered that a farmer out near Wayforth told him that he’d seen a big beast back at the last full moon, and three of his cows had been killed by something big, and it would have got into Wayforth if their wards hadn’t held. And wouldn’t you know it, there was a full moon coming up the next night.”

The other man looked over his shoulder at Abe and said, “Well, it didn’t take much to put two and two together from there, did it? Us and a bunch of other men in the village talked about it all night and came up with a plan on how to deal with it.

“The butcher’s wife knew where some of those wolfsbane flowers grow, and they came up with a way to sort of test it, you know? Basically, she ground up some powder, and he mixed it into one of the packs of meat it was supposed to come and pick up. Lo and behold, when it came in the next day, it immediately snuffed out something was wrong and asked about that one pack, and when they said it was just some seasoning that must have got mixed in, it wouldn’t take it.”

The two men stopped when they realized Abe wasn’t following them and looked back to find the hunter staring at them in disbelief.

“Wolfsbane is poisonous, and not just to werewolves,” he pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but they planned on switching it out if it wasn’t a werewolf,” was the answer he got. “Sure, it was a waste of meat, but we had to know, didn’t we?”

The taller man added, “It didn’t want to stick around after that, but a group of us were already set up to follow it. We had planned on figuring out where it was holed up and coming back with something to take care of it for good, maybe a fire or something, but it realized we were after it somehow and took off running.”

“Not surprising,” Abe said. “A werewolf can hear your heartbeat and catch your scent long before you have eyes on them.”

He strode ahead of the two men, eyes on the less than subtle markers from yesterday’s chase. “So you tried to chase down someone you believed to be a werewolf. How’d that go for you?”

“Followed them all the way here,” one of the men answered him, just as Abe found where the trail ended.

It was a cave, or more like a tiny hole under a large rock outcropping, that looked like it could have been home to a bear or some other wild animal except most wild animals didn’t leave a store of chopped wood and gathered stones in neat piles outside.

Abe pulled a lighter from one of his many pockets and looked in before ducking under the low stone ceiling. The small light caught the circle of stones around the cold remains of a campfire, a worn pack resting against one earthen wall, various bags of recently bought groceries, and the mounds of wrapped meat hastily thrown to the other side.

“Why would they come back here when they were being chased?” he asked aloud, only to realize that he was alone. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the two guys standing at a distance from the mouth of the cave with their hands in their pockets, slouched as though they were just waiting around and not scared to come in here.

He rolled his eyes and looked back at the meager possessions left behind. He was surprised the food was still here after an entire night, but then he doubted any animal would be brave or desperate enough to come in here while the scent of a werewolf was still hanging around. The herbs they had been so interested in gathering were carefully sorted and bundled together in separate stacks, and after identifying a couple Abe suspected he knew what they had in mind long before he started looking through the pack.

A change of clothes, barely any money, a piece of paper folded and refolded so many times that it was soft to the touch, and at the bottom of the pack, a tiny drawstring bag that was so tightly knotted that it took one of Abe’s knives to get it open.

A single silver ring fell out into the palm of his hand, the letters inside barely legible with just his lighter to see by.

It took Abe so long to come back out that the two men were visibly relieved when the hunter reappeared and leaned heavily against the rock wall. He blinked a couple of times before remember the paper in his hand, which he carefully unfolded and began to read in the sunlight.

“What’s that?” the man with the uncomfortable smile asked.

“A recipe,” Abe said after a second. “Seen it around a few times, it supposedly makes a werewolf docile if taken on the night of a full moon.”

“Really?” the taller man asked. “Never heard of anything like that.”

“Because it doesn’t work,” Abe said. “Trust me, I’ve seen every so-called remedy or cure out there, and every one is concocted by a con artist or someone desperate enough to try anything. I heard of one guy selling a brew that didn’t so much cure a werewolf as leave them too weak to stand for half a month. Would have killed anything else that drank it.”

There was that smile again as that one asked, “Wouldn’t happen to know where we could get some of that, would you?”

“Not anymore,” Abe answered. “Someone else got to him before I did.”

Abe still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. By the time he got there, there was no sign of the crook, and every note and sample of his “cure” had either been destroyed or taken with him. Just as he wasn’t sure what the man’s fate might have been if he had caught up with him first.

So, one dud recipe to keep a werewolf calm during a full moon, enough meat to keep the wolf occupied for a while, and, judging by the stones piled up nearby, a plan to temporarily seal the entrance to the cave. They were setting up to weather a full moon, and instead these stupid wannabe vigilantes had chased them off.

By the time he was finished swearing, the other two were standing at a distance and looking ready to run themselves.

“Which way did they go?” Abe asked, stepping forward as they took another step back. “What did they look like?”

The two shared a look before the taller man said, “You mean you don’t know?”

Abe led the way back to the village, not outright running but apparently walking fast enough to leave the other two breathless and barely able to point him in the direction of the blacksmith’s workshop. The blacksmith saw him coming and had enough of a sense of self preservation to unlock the door and get out of the way long before the hunter reached him.

Abe slammed the door open and immediately regretted it when he saw the creature on the other side of the room flinch and cower away. The clink of iron chains didn’t quite drown out a weak whimper from the massive wolf that tried, and failed, to stand up as he moved closer. The full moon was gone, but it was possible they either didn’t have the strength or the will to change back.

The hunter stopped short halfway across the room when his eyes adjusted to the light, the crashing disappointment of realizing that the shade of the wolf’s coat and its eyes weren’t the one he desperately, stupidly hoped to see twisting and tangling itself up in the twin ache of seeing the muzzle wrapped around the wolf’s snout and head, the straps so tight after they changed that they were cutting into the skin in some places.

Funny, how quickly those feelings could turn into barely restrained rage.

Without turning around or looking behind him, Abe gathered enough control of his voice to say, “You put a muzzle. On a werewolf.”

The men seemed oblivious to the tone in his voice, but the werewolf’s ears twitched and one tired, bloodshot eye opened to look at him.

“Great, isn’t it?” He could hear the smile in the other man’s voice as he continued, “It was my idea for Blake to grind down some silver into dust, we coated the muzzles and chains in the stuff. Still thought it might escape when it went all hairy on us, but it worked!”

Silver dust. Abe could hear the labored breathing, see the short spasms as each of the wolf’s breaths brought in a fresh dose of poison. There were broken handcuffs on the werewolf’s front legs, below the heavy leg irons that must have been added afterwards to match the pair on their hind legs, both sets clearly old, but what he had mistaken for rust before was actually dried blood. A thick chain connected the leg irons to a ring on the wall which looked one or two more pulls away from being torn off. If not for the silver, they would have been able to escape easily, and under the influence of the full moon slaughtered who knows how many in the village.

He tried to keep that in mind, he really did, but then the man kept talking.

“Silver’s really the only stuff that works on these monsters, isn’t it? We tried all kinds of stuff last night, but nothing stuck. Probably a good thing though, since Mercer talked to his farmer friend and found out the Bronsons will pay out in exchange for a monster their institute can practice on. We just didn’t expect you to get here so fast, or I would have had a little more fun. Although if you want to give it a go, that fire poker over there—”

The crack of Abe’s fist against that stupid smile stung, but it felt good to see the guy crumple to the ground and finally stop talking.

He looked up at the guy’s buddy who was too shocked to do anything and said, “We have a strict policy against...you know what, just generally being an asshole.”

“Uh…”

Before the taller guy could catch up, Abe flashed his hunter’s badge with the assurance that no one in town would know the difference between him and the institute’s employees and started talking quickly. “Right, lucky for the institute I was already in the area. You got the keys that go to these cuffs and locks?”

“They’re on the anvil, but don’t you have a cage or something you need to bring in first?” the guy asked.

“Don’t need it,” Abe said, reaching into another pocket and pulling out a small drawstring bag. “You can’t cure a werewolf, but with the right stuff a good hunter can keep it under control.”

He made a show of holding the bag near the werewolf’s snout, who looked from him to the clearly visible outline of the ring inside the fabric and then back again. This close, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or hope in their eyes, but he knew that they could hear the words just under his breath that failed to reach the other man in the room. They didn’t have a lot of time before Smiles McGee over there woke up, and more importantly before the hunters who actually worked for the institute showed up, but at least he could give them a head start.

“Play along, and don’t make me regret this. Please.”

((Thanks for reading! I do plan on picking up the Traces of Silver series, and I’ve been working on the next story that I am dangerously tempted to title “Dog Days.” Please, someone, anyone, talk me out of this.

Also, it’s been so long I forgot to add a taglist. Oops.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Swallow The Moon

(Read Katherine as Jodie!Katherine)

Remember back to when Aimie, Millie, and Maiya left SIX and everyone was writing fics about them disappearing and then being reincarnated again in their new bodies? Well, this is like an AU where instead of Sophie!Kat coming back after Aimie!Kat disappears, it’s Jodie!Kat. And yes, this is still West End, so everyone else is the same, aside from Courtney!Anne and whatever the new Cathy’s name is! Although they never make an appearance in this. But yeah!

Word count: 4329

——————

Past Katherine would never ever in a billion years turn up on her “rival’s” doorstep with a platter of brownies. Past Katherine would have downright refused to go, and if she was forced to, she would have made sure the brownies were made with an entire carton of salt and spoiled milk and expired eggs. Past Katherine would have dressed the front door with glitter that would never wash out, just to attract even more unwanted attention to the one who always tried to steal her mother away.

But Present Katherine didn’t want to do any of those things. In fact, she was a little repulsed that she ever thought about trying to give a lonely girl food poisoning.

It’s strange, she thinks, that all it took to change her morals was temporary death. Ever since her second reincarnation, she felt different. She looks different, too, now in the body of an adult (and very muscular, mind you) version of herself. She swore she was even older than Jane; it appeared to be the body she never got to live in. And, with it came a really, REALLY matured brain. She realized she didn’t even need Jane anymore, she attended therapy on her own, she wasn’t that afraid of men anymore because she knew her rock-like fists could knock their teeth in if they tried anything (don’t quote her on that—she was just hoping they were as strong as they looked). And she no longer thought about wanting to tear down the musical’s music director just for kicks and giggles. Guilt was left in the absence of the devilish mischief.

And so, that’s why she was on the doorstep of her ex-rival (God did she really consider this girl her rival? How terrible was she?). In a rainstorm. Holding a platter of brownies. She told the universe that the storm really didn’t help, but, honestly, it was kind of what she deserved.

Katherine perked up when she heard the lock click. The door soon opened, Joan took one look at her, then slammed it shut in her face.

Well. She kinda deserved that, too.

“Joan!” Katherine called desperately.

“Go away!” Joan shouted.

“Please, I just want to talk!”

The door flew open midknock and Katherine nearly rapped on Joan’s nose.

Before her stood an irritated, although quite small music director. Has Joan always been that short? And scrawny? Or was it just because Katherine was just now so much more muscular and tall and-

Joan growled, as if she could hear Katherine’s ego inflating and nitpicking her own body.

“I wanna talk.” Katherine said again. “Please?”

Joan looked her up and down.

“You can frisk me if you’d like.”

Joan wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted face. She shook her head, muttered something about something else being ‘just great’, then turned around and stomped into the apartment. Katherine followed.

As much as she hated to admit it, Katherine was startled at how beautiful the flat was. The past version of her always assumed the music director’s home would be completely covered in pictures of Jane, but she didn’t see a hint of the silver queen anywhere. Instead, there were wooden carvings and colorful pottery, thriving potted plants and original paintings, polished deer antlers and clever little sculptures. The only light on in the place was an ocean driftwood scented candle and a lamp on the round table next to the couch. It was cozy in there, although a little lonely. Katherine wondered if all the carvings and statues were supposed to be poor replacements for real people.

“Well?” Joan crossed her arms and glared at Katherine. Her glare was never really all that threatening, but now that she was in a new body, Katherine found that it was completely ineffective. “Have you come to gloat about how much prettier you are than me? How much more people will like you now? How much Jane loves you even more?”

Startled, Katherine quickly said, “No. Not at all.”

Joan looked her up and down again, and Katherine took the chance to observe her, too.

Have you ever wondered what would come out if you were to throw every color of paint into a wood chipper? Well, Joan was that outcome. Her pale skin was covered in some kind of dust and there’s splinters and wood chips caught in her hair and in between her fingers and embedded under her fingernails. Red and yellow and orange paint was splattered across her face and torso, as if someone had melted the sunset in a cauldron and flung it all over her. Her eyes are like the moon over a frozen ocean- murky and scuffed, but still glittering in the light.

“I told you, I just want to talk.” Katherine said gently. “I made brownies.” She squinted at Joan and noticed a flush of dark pink beneath all the dirt and paint on her face. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Fine.” Joan grit, although she looked supremely uncomfortable with Katherine being in her house with her. “Put your brownies on the counter. But don’t expect me to eat them. Who knows what you put in them...”

Katherine wondered for a moment if she knew about her past self’s food poisoning plot. She winced and quickly set the tray down before going into the living room where Joan was. There was a half-finished painting of what seemed to be a flurry of moths sitting on the easel.

“It’s good.” She commented.

Joan looked over her shoulder at her, then immediately glanced away. She said something to herself again and retrieved a second easel, two blank canvases, and some more paintbrushes from a room next to the guest bathroom. She set the easel up and gave the canvas to Katherine.

“I like when my guests paint things,” She said gruffly, swapping her half-finished canvas out with the new one. “It’s like a game, I guess. You come over for the first time, you paint something.” She shrugged and swiped a blob of pink paint with a thin brush, making sure her easel was angled so that Katherine couldn’t see what she was making.

“That’s really cool!” Katherine said. “How many people have made stuff?”

Joan was silent for a moment.

“You’ll be the first.”

Katherine frowned. “Oh...”

They painted in silence for a long time. Katherine wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it gave her time to rehearse everything she wanted to say to Joan. And, good lord, there was so much. She hoped the girl would let her get it all out before she was told to leave.

“Joan—”

Joan suddenly came sidling around her easel to see what Katherine had been painting. She took one look at the (badly painted) cats cuddling, snorted, then grabbed her own canvas and threw it at Katherine’s feet.

“This,” She pointed at it. “This is why I will NEVER be liked like you are.”

Katherine grimaced as she looked at the painting of a pale blue and moon silver screaming dragon getting its jaw horribly broken by a rusty jaw trap. Despite how gratuitous and gory it was, she had to admit that it was quite amazing. Joan really was a skilled artist.

Katherine carefully picked up the painting and set it on its easel to dry as Joan stormed into her kitchen. She didn’t go after the girl, knowing how unsettled and uneasy she was at the moment, and didn’t want to make that worse. So, she waited in front of her dripping cats—she knew she shouldn’t have painted them to be silver and pink. Even though she didn’t really view Jane as a mother anymore, it seemed that some parts of her still held onto that bond they shared.

She heard a noise from the kitchen—a cough and then what sounded like a sniffle. Some kind of instinct flared to life within her—something maternal, she realized. She had Motherly Senses?! Oh, that was SO COOL! She always wanted to be the caretaker for once...or maybe she didn’t and she just wanted to now. Either way, she didn’t care! She’s always wondered what it was like to have Mum Instincts—

There was another cough from the kitchen, this one much more watery and weak. The instincts flare again—THAT’S what it felt like. Worried and concerned and making her feel like she had to hold whatever was in distress.

“Joan?” She called out. “Is everything okay in there, hun?”

Did she just use a pet name on someone? Ohhh, she LOVED THIS BODY!!

“Yes,” Joan replied hoarsely. She came bustling out a moment later holding two cups of a steaming liquid. She set one on the dining table and then scurried to sit on the opposite side. Katherine quickly joins her at the table.

“I wanted to apologize.” Katherine said after a tense moment of silence between her and the girl. “For how I treated you before.”

Joan looked down at her cup with an unreadable expression- Anger? Guilt? Relief? Pain?

“It was awful of me to do to you, Joan.” Katherine went on. “I was immature and stupid and mean. I never should have treated you like that.”

“You called me a ‘weird little diamond’.” Joan pointed out grimly.

“Oh. Right. That.”

“And Moon Eyes.” Joan added. She ducked her head, as if she were trying to hide her eyes from sight. “That’s not really easy to forgive when it’s said enough...”

Katherine grimaced. She remembered when she had made up that nickname: It was a bad day, but for a stupid reason. She got mad when Joan gave Jane yet another painting and loudly referred to her with that title instead of her regular name. She apparently thought Joan’s eyes were too grey and too creepy and too much like a twin pair of stolen moons to be real. Or human.

“Oh god,” Katherine muttered. “That was- Oh, Joan, that was so terrible of me to do to you. It must have been awful...”

“It STILL IS awful.” Joan growled. “Can you even imagine being bullied for your eye color? You made me want to gouge my own eyes out!” She slammed her fists on the table and suddenly looked like she wanted to lunge across it and strangle Katherine.

Katherine gasped softly at that revelation. She gripped tightly at her heart with one hand, while the other remained flat on the table. Guilt was eating away at her like thousands of starving ants.

“I’m so sorry.” She said. “Really, I am.”

“So it really took dying again and switching bodies to realize what you did was wrong?” Joan asked. She wasn’t being accusatory, rather just curious.

“Unfortunately.” Katherine sighed. “I don’t know why I did it. Jealousy, maybe?”

Joan’s head snapped up. “Jealousy?” She echoed. “What do YOU have to be jealous about? You have EVERYTHING!”

Katherine nodded grimly. “I know.” She said, and she swore she heard the remnants of her past self screaming in her ears, telling her not to say that and not to give in to this little gnat. “I have a family and fame and friends and money and—”

“And Jane.” Joan murmured.

Katherine looked at her sadly. “And Jane.” She echoed. “That’s right.”

Silence settled between the two of them. Joan had her eyes closed and she was breathing deeply through her nose, like she was trying to keep herself calm from an oncoming panic attack. The flush beneath all the dirt suddenly looked a lot darker.

“I,” Katherine started, and she saw Joan open one moon eye to look at her.. “I just had to apologize. I want things to change. I want to make things okay.”

Joan nodded softly. She reached up a hand to scrub her eyes, and Katherine realized with a wrench of guilt that she seemed to be on the verge of tears.

“It’s just— I was so lonely.” She whispered. “You took Jane away from me. And I knew—still know—that you needed her more than me, you have PTSD, you have a tragic backstory, you have to relive your trauma every night, but—” She put her head in her hands and shook it. “It didn’t change anything. I needed her, too. A-and I know she loved me—would love me—still loves me—if I just got a chance with her.”

Katherine frowned.

Jane never loved this moonborn creep and you know it. Her past self whispered. Her voice is higher pitched and younger like it used to be. Hearing it set her on edge. It was like the shell of the body she used to be in was right behind her, murmuring in her ears.

Shut up. She growled.

You know it’s true. Past Katherine merely said again. We’ve both heard Jane mutter about how much of a nuisance Moon Eyes is. You KNOW she’s never liked her.

Katherine desperately wants that to be false, but she knows it’s true. She remembered how Jane would call Joan an “annoying little weasel” under her breath and how she would toss all the gifts she got into her closet to rot, and god forbid Katherine would LAUGH when she did so. She laughed like the horrible, horrible person she was.

We’re not horrible. Past Katherine said indignantly, and Katherine could already picture the way she used to ruffle herself up when being stubborn and brat. We’re right. And I’m NOT a brat by the way. And even if I was, which I’m not, that would make you one, too. So HAHA!!

I’m not you. Katherine said. Not anymore.

She ignored whatever her past self responded with and focused her eyes on Joan. The girl was looking down at her cup with a pitiful expression. When Katherine didn’t answer her, she must have thought she had gotten bored of her already.

“I’m sorry,” Was all Katherine could think to say at the moment. Joan looked up at her with her great big eyes and she swore she felt her past self shudder somewhere within her mind.

“Doesn’t matter now.” Joan muttered, gripping her cup tightly. She had to scrunch her eyes shut and take a few more breaths through her nose before she could speak up again. “I-I mean— You’re older. Jane—she doesn’t need to care for you anymore. She- maybe I can be-”

For a moment, she looks hopeful, but then the sadness takes over again. It replaces all her anger, too, until it was the only emotion she seemed to have.

Poor girl, Katherine thought.

Don’t pity her. Past Katherine said.

Stay out of my head.

OUR head. Past Katherine stated. I am you, no matter how hard you try to think otherwise.

“Joan—”

“I wanted to hurt you, you know.”

Katherine tensed at those words. She looked at Joan, who seemed as ashamed and as guilty as she was.

“I just wanted to—hurt you.” She said again, her voice tight with pain and resentment. “I wanted you to know what it was like to be left alone and picked last and be unwanted by everyone you’ve ever known. I wanted you to Know what it felt like to have everything taken from you. I wanted for me to have everything for you to have nothing.” She looked up at Katherine and her eyes were like a dark lunar eclipse reflecting on fractured ice. “I wanted you to feel in your soul what you’ve done to me.”

But we HAVE! Past Katherine cried. We’ve endured more than this moon-eyed freak ever has in both of her lives combined! We know what it’s like to suffer. She doesn’t.

Suffering comes in many ways. Katherine growled, impatient with her past self.

Yeah, but I think being raped and abused by four adult men several times takes the cake. Past Katherine said bitterly, and she seemed to be rolling her eyes wherever she was in Katherine’s head.

“I’m sorry you felt that way.” Katherine said softly after a moment.

Joan whimpered pitifully. “And you say you’re awful.” She propped her elbows on the table and clutched her head. “If you heard the thoughts I have about you, you’d be running for the hills.”

It’s my fault. Katherine thought sadly. I did this to her. I broke this poor, innocent girl.

No, Past Katherine said. We didn’t do anything. We aren’t some monster, SHE is. You heard what she said. And, besides, we can’t be a bad person. We went through hell, we’re allowed to be—

You think that’s an excuse? Katherine scoffed. Just because we were abused and taken advantage of, doesn’t mean we can’t be a bitch. Victims of trauma can still be assholes, idiot. And, news flash, we were one.

Past Katherine merely huffed and probably rolled her eyes again.

Doesn’t matter now. The damage is done. She’s broken, as you said. She can’t be fixed. She said. Look at her, she’s already falling to pieces.

What?

Katherine looked up sharply to see Joan bracing both hands on the table and swaying slightly. The flush on her cheeks was now much darker than the dust and paint.

All it took was a cough to rattle her frame and make her fall.

Katherine was out of her chair before she even knew what she was really doing, controlled by those new motherly instincts. She ran over to Joan, who now laid dazed on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling. She propped her up in her arms; her face was so hot when she touched it. And her eyes—oh, her eyes...

“Moon Eyes! Moon Eyes! Moon Eyes!” The chant she used to yell when Joan passed by echoed in her head, but she couldn’t help it because when she gazed down at those twin pits of molten silver, all she saw was a pale creature of night in her arms. Its eyes were pieces of the moon it stole from the sky and shoved into the deep hollows in their face, hoping to make them more human, but it didn’t. It never did. The moonborn white alien remained outlandish and otherworldly.

Joan shuddered in her hold. She tried to blink even faster to ward off apparent dizziness, but it did little to help her.

“You’re running a fever.” Katherine told her. “Joan, you’re burning up.”

“Why do you care?” Joan choked out.

“I’m worried about you, honey.”

“But why?” Joan sobbed, tears now cascading down her cheeks, like the moons glowing in her eye sockets were melting from the heat of her fever. “You don’t care about me! Nobody cares about me!”

That’s true. Past Katherine put in helpfully, but Katherine shoves her voice into the darker reaches of her mind.

“People do care about you.” Katherine assured the weeping girl. “I promise. I promise they do.”

Joan gazed up at her before the fever consumed her. She went limp in the queen’s arms and, for a moment, Katherine saw something paler than her moons—the whites of her eyes when they rolled back in her skull.

—

You really shouldn’t touch her. Past Katherine chided as Katherine was feeling Joan’s forehead again. It was wet with sweat again, despite her already wiping it off two times in that hour.

Shut up. Katherine growled.

She looked down at Joan, who she had carried into the master bedroom and tucked into the bed. The girl was breathing harshly through her mouth, soft whimpers and murmurs falling from her pale lips every once and awhile. Katherine had done her best to make her comfortable, but she was still quite new to the whole caretaker thing, even with the memories of watching Jane tend to her so many times before.

Those were the days, Past Katherine sighed wistfully.

I thought I told you to shut up.

You don’t tell me what to do. I can do and say whatever I want.

You can’t control me.

For now.

Katherine shuddered. She hated how ominous that sounded.

She got up from where she was perched on the side of the bed and looked around the room for pajamas. She hated snooping in Joan’s clothes of all things (when she accidentally opened the undergarment drawer, she slammed it shut with so much force she was surprised the whole thing didn’t explode into tiny wood shavings), but the poor girl was probably sweating through what she was wearing right down and that wouldn’t be too comfortable.

After a bit of searching, she eventually found a fresh shirt and some shorts, but it wasn’t the only thing she dug out. In a drawer near the ground, beneath a thin blanketing of folding T-shirts, there were papers and canvases and notebooks. Without really wanting to, she began to look through them.

Oh my god, Past Katherine muttered in her brain.

They were drawings of her. Her from the past. Not all of them, but—there were just so many.

Paintings of her bloody or dead or drawn to look like a succubus, paintings too smeared with red to see what had been originally displayed upon the surface, paintings that were ripped on her face, as if Joan had taken a knife to the canvases and cut it to shreds. There were half finished paintings with tear stains and marks where the paint bled with the droplets and paintings that had horrible things scribbled around an abstract headshot of her face. There was even a painting of a dead cat with a hot pink rhinestone collar.

And then there were paintings of Joan crying, Joan bleeding pink blood, Joan dying or already dead, Joan hanging from a noose and Joan cutting her wrists and cutting her throat and cutting every inch of her body until she had scraped off every shred of unwanted and unliked flesh—until she was more like Katherine was.

There was a painting of a ram with red paint that Katherine was sure wasn’t actually red paint.

And, underneath all the canvas carnage, there was one larger than the rest. A painting of a hideous, skeletal creature as pale as snow, but with eyes that were somehow even paler. They were too big, too. Its stomach was so sunken—she could see every rib poking out from the bleached flesh. The fingers were too long and tipped with short black claws. There were cuts engraved all over its body that wept blue blood.

Somehow, Katherine knew exactly what this was supposed to depict.

Moon Eyes. Past Katherine said bitterly.

Katherine screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of a plan she once had to spread the cruel joke on social media. She gripped the edges of the canvas tightly.

What have I done? She thought. This poor girl... I ruined her.

You didn’t do anything. Past Katherine said, miffed. And neither did I. Some people just get subjected to bad things. Like we did in back then. Not that this is anything like that. That was a real problem, this is just a little schoolyard teasing. She broke herself by losing her mind over this. I mean, look at these paintings. She’s insane.

You’re terrible. Katherine growled. Will you grow up? I’ve accepted what we did, why can’t you?

Because she doesn’t deserve your pity. Past Katherine responded distastefully. She’s a nobody, and you know that. Nobody even knows WHY she came back. There are hundreds of more important people that could have been reincarnated, our sister, for example, but NO. We got this moonborn, moon-eyed, night owl, pale FREAK.

SHUT UP! Katherine roared. With a blast of blazing fury, she forcibly threw her past self into the darkest reaches of her mind.

Blackness soon filled her head like inky bile. Silence.

Katherine put all the canvases back into the drawer and closed it. She stood up quietly and crept back over to the bed. She picked up the rag lying in the bowl of water she had brought in and began to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on Joan’s face.

You did this to her, She whispered to herself, this time with her own voice, not her creaking past one’s. You ruined her. Broke her. She’s messed up, now, because of you.

She put the rag back into the bowl, then watched Joan sleep. Her face was scrunched up, as if she was in pain even in her sleep.

She doesn’t know pain. The hiss of her past self bubbled in her ears. If you want to pity her so badly, then give her a reason to be in pain. Hurt her more than we were hurt. Scar her until even Jane will have to feel bad for her. If that’s truly what you want. Because nobody will believe she’s hurt until you make it visible.

And so, Katherine peeled back Joan’s eyelids and dug her fingers into her eye sockets. She scooped up the pale orbs and pulled them out of their black cavities. She held the moons in her hands. She rolled them around in her palms, feeling their smoothness and squishiness and warmth against her skin, and then they lolled around and blinked up at her.

Joan jerked awake with an anguished wail. The moons lodged in her face are so wide and so pale and so very lonely, like they longed to be back in the sky. Katherine’s fingers twitched; she thought she could feel the webs of blood dripping through them.

You could always put her out of her misery. Past Katherine said. Nobody would miss her. Nobody would even look for her.

But Katherine silenced her voice before she could project another horrendous vision in her brain. When she reached out to Joan, she didn’t go for her eyes, but rather her cheeks, and she cupped them tenderly, like she was trying to hold Joan together while she was about to shatter.

“Shh, shh,” She hushed the weeping girl. “It’s okay, sweetie. It was just a dream. You’re alright. I’m not going to let anything hurt you. I promise.”

It’s the least she could do, seeing as she was the one who stole the moons and put them in her head in the first place.

[anne-markus]

Does bimboification count as tf/corruption? I have an insatiable weakness for cute twink-y boys getting turned helplessly dumb and slutty. Hope you're having a nice day! - 💗

"You there, fiend! I am Archibald IV, grandmaster arcanist, and I have come to- WOAH!" The boy's entire world went upside down. Or, more accurately, he did as his ankle was snagged by a vine that hoisted him up into the air, at the behest of his supposed quarry. The dryad woman, who'd simply stood there with a smirk as he started his spiel, chuckled, taking long, deliberate steps toward him. "D-Don't come any closer! I am an adept of fire magic, and you shall- wait, no, that's my staff! I need that!" Easily plucked away from his hands by another leafy apendage. He was now dangling from the air, unarmed and, for all intents and purposes, helpless in the monster's clutches. and he'd have made a damn racket about it too, if the woman didn't place a hand around his face, squeezing it tight.

"Well aren't you just the cutest little thing~? It is so nice of that adventurer's guild to think of sending me a gift! My, how to play with it first..." Weak fists thumped against the bark-like skin the dryad wore like armor, eliciting no reaction but a quiet giggle. "My, an active little one, aren't you? I supose we'll have to fix that... wouldn't want you hurting yourself, would we now? No, that just wouldn't do." And the monster crouched down, face to face with her victim, who looked positively enraged. Not that he could do much about it, really. "Close your eyes, now~"

Before he could even begin to formulate a retort, the woman had alright presented her palm upward, blowing on it and stirring tiny bits of pollen from her skin, flying in a small cloud, straight into his face, and into his nose. "Wh-What manner of foul conco- aah... aah-CHOO!" He sneezed, whole body rocking back and forth as it dangled from his branch. If he stayed like this too long, the blood would rush to his head. He had to think of a way to esc- aah-CHOO! To es... es... what was he just thinking about? He blinked, focusing back his foggy gaze on the dryad. Right! He had to defeat this monster and- and- aah-CHOO! And... wait, what came before the and? He was pretty sure stuff usually came before it... right? Anyway, where was he? And why was this pretty lady with hard skin taking off his robes? Something about that seemed somewhat concerning to Archibald. Maybe he should- aah-CHOO!

"There, there, much better now, no? You humans overthink things far too much, honestly. I already think for all the plants in my domain, so I don't mind thinking for you as well, okay Archie?" He was on the ground now, though the woman didn't think he realized it yet. Maybe she'd been a bit heavy-handed on the dosage. Already she could see the side-effects starting to act up, after all. The young mage wasn't at all bad looking, for a human, anyhow. The cutest little cheeks, an adorable pout as he kept sneezing his worries out, and, for as weak as he had been, his body wasn't entirely without tone, beneath the clothes she'd done away with. And for all his talk of needing his staff, the one he did have was more than respectable. Maybe. She wasn't too familiar with human standards. Regardless, it was that last point she'd need to focus on.

"Poor thing, my magic's got you all worked up, huh? It's not my fault your bodies are engineered so oddly... ah well, we should get that dealt with, shouldn't we, dear?" Archibald was, by now, only vaguely aware of the woman speaking. His mind was mostly a floating haze, and... something at the back of it told him this was bad, but he couldn't figure out why. It was... pleasant, like this. He could feel his shoulders relaxing for the first time in... in... some time. He didn't remember exactly. Really, as far as he could think of, he'd ALWAYS been tense. Now, he felt like was swinging through the air... oh. He was. Finally, he remembered that there was a world outside his own addled mind, and he checked up with his own senses just in time to realize that he was now suspended upright, by both wrists, and there was a mouth on his. Well, mouth. The lips were velvety-smooth, like petals, while the tongue that slowly danced with his had a rough, leaf-like quality to it. It was hard to focus on that when he could feel something else entirely down below... and... OH~

It felt amazing. That was just her hand, right? He didn't think hands were supposed to feel so... so... gnh, already? Already he was reaching a state he remembered well, even now, but never... never so INTENSE! The dryad parted their kiss, smiling down on him fondly as she kept pumping on his cock, a slow, steady rhythm to it with just the right amount o squeeze... of course, the way her own fluids interacted with humans, she knew anything he was feeling would be turned up to eleven. It wouldn't do to overwhelm the poor boy... yet. Oh, he was close, she could tell. Just a little push...

Archie was melting. He had to be. His body just felt so HOT, and he was on the edge of that peak of pleasure for... it felt like so long, but he knew it'd only been a few seconds at best. Every tiny tug on his cock sent another jolt through him, and all he could hope to do was even his breathing to stop himself from going lightheaded. And then, just when he knew he was about to finish... "Come on now, dear. You can do it~" The honeyed words seeped into his mind, absorbed by the spongey mush that was his brain at that moment. And he blanked out in bliss.

...

“More, dear?” The boy nodded frantically, breathing ragged and chest heaving up and down. The lazy smile now ever-present on his plush lips was once more parted by the vine that plunged into his throat, companion to the cup milking his cock relentlessly, though that one rarely left its spot. The dryad chuckled, gently stroking the boy’s hair as she watched him enjoy himself. If only all humans realized how good letting go might feel...

“You there, fiend! Release that boy this instant!” A tall woman, clad in shining silver armor and with a spear pointed at the monster, stood at the entrance to the clearing. The dryad simply smirked.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Three, “If It Kills Me”

A story about what happens when she can’t be just his assistant anymore, and he can no longer be only her boss. Now, can they be happy with being just friends?

Read this story from the beginning here! :-) 

Inspo tag here!

*NEW* Spotify playlist in the works can be found here, songs that inspire me for the story and have significance in the story c: 

Warnings: one brief mention of vomiting, and some mild language.

                                   SNEAKY PEEEEEEEEEEEK

“And Becky’s face consumes my thoughts, much like it’s been captivating my conscience as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly. 

There it remains for days, much like it has been. It follows me through the air as I stare out the window, floating above the clouds. It crops into my conversations, leeching any enjoyment gathered from them. I even see it in a crowd of people inside the walls of the courtroom before I deliver my closing statement. When I look a second time, I’m disappointed to find the eyes of a stranger. 

I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. I miss all of it.”

Song Inspiration: If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz (click to listen)

            “It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh electricity, you know?” - Steve Harrington, Stranger Things 

The warm rays hit my cheeks as my sandals pound on the pavement. I wonder how I could ever be unhappy given the May sun shining down on me, and walking from my favorite restaurant. Without fail, the blissful idea is stolen away by a swarm of thoughts dosed in reality. And a particular one that reminds me of what I need to do, despite the dread I’ve been feeling. Not even the former respite of Asher’s hug after our shared lunch can keep them away. 

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I swipe through my apps until I find the right one. Stopping in front of my gray car, I lean against the door with a huff. My thumbs hover across the screen nervously, followed by a curse under my breath. Quickly, they flit across the screen composing words in front of my eyes. Sliding into my driver seat, I stare at the screen for a moment longer before hitting send. 

I wait for the chime to come, telling me I have a new message, from him. Nervousness coats my limbs and only grows worse as the minutes tick by driving home. Waiting. But when I check my phone after walking in the door, my lock screen showing my dad and I’s smiling faces is blank. 

No new messages. 

Sliding off my black sandals, I pad through the shared living room and kitchen area before reaching my bedroom. My laptop beckons for me across the room on my desk, and I sit down before it. I hope that maybe if I don’t procrastinate this specific thing, maybe things will turn out a little better. But as I’m opening a study guide for Family Law’s final exam, I’m proven wrong. 

The chime grabs my attention immediately, making my fingers still on the keyboard. Flitting my eyes to the lavender Speck phone case, I grow antsy at wondering who the text is from. And what it says. Inhaling nervously, I pick it up and wake up the screen. The few words of a preview I see of the text cues a sour anxiousness to grow in my stomach. Bringing my knees up onto my chair, I pull them against my chest as I open the text. 

Me

Hey I’m so sorry I’ve been terrible at texting back, finals these next two weeks are getting to me. Speaking of that I realized that I have to take a final at the time we’re supposed to get lunch in a few days. I’m really sorry but can we reschedule . . . again? I was thinking in two weeks when I’m finally free from the clutches of uni????? :( 

Harry 

sorry cant love. im in edinburgh all that week for a case. lets talk about it when im back. good luck w finals xx

Sighing, I type up a short response, agreeing to that. With guilt casting a shadow over me, I return my attention to the lengthy study guide. The gross feeling in my stomach remains, and with its arrival, my excitement for our lunch date is replaced with disappointment. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks since we rescheduled it the first time, due to me messing up the dates, again. Peeking my eyes at my phone, I turn away and slump against my chair. 

It’s been a month since I saw him last, and although we’ve sent a handful of texts, they haven’t been enough for me. Skye, of course, told me that there’s nothing stopping me from showing up at his office door, but she’s wrong. I don’t know his schedule anymore, and for all I know, I’d be waiting around for him. Plus, my appearance would just yell ‘desperate!’ Sometimes, I wonder what little world Skye is tucked away into that’s far simpler, not realizing I still have to work during the day, especially more so this summer. 

But as the days drag on with chemo and radiation appointments, and lectures upon lectures, I think maybe Skye has the right idea being so optimistic. Maybe. 

+

Over the next few weeks, I see him at almost every corner I turn, and it hurts more than it should after all these weeks. The ignored texts shouldn’t feel like a fresh stab wound when I see that Scrabble box in the family room, get on that very same lift, or walk past the nurse’s station I found him leaning against that morning. Nothing compares to the piano and the pang I feel in my chest at the sight of it. It comes every time I walk through those doors and am reminded of the intimacy held on those keys. No, it didn’t get easier after the first time being back there with my dad, or the fifth time. Avoiding that gray sofa like the plague only reminded me of the texts I sent him that went unanswered. I can’t blame him though, because like a bitch, I took a week sometimes to reply to him. 

The tight feeling in my chest only feels heavier as I sit on the plaid couch in my childhood living room. I can’t even enjoy watching FRIENDS like I used to be able to, as their faces bring forth the sound of his laugh. It pains me to turn down their voices as I dig my phone out from under the cushions. I try not to let it get to me when I, once again, find no new text messages. My attempt is futile and it only causes me to take longer to open the phone app. By now, I know his number by heart, but my shaky hands cause me to mess up a few times. 

Pressing the phone to my ear, all I can hear is its ringing and the pounding of my heart. As the seconds drag on, I’m almost certain I’ll hear the voicemail next. But then I’m pleasantly surprised, although the bitterness in my stomach blossoms. 

“Hullo?” His gravelly voice pulls my lips into an instant smile. Rubbing the back of my neck anxiously, the words fall from my lips hurriedly. 

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” he responds curtly, a clattering noise heard in the background before he mutters a ‘shit.’

“I’m sorry, did I call at a bad time?” I ask quickly, regret filling my veins. 

“No, yer fine. ‘m jus’ makin’ dinna.”

“Oh um, nice. What are you cooking?” I inquire, twirling the braided silver ring on my pointer finger. Swallowing, I wait to hear his molasses drawl again, like music to my ears. 

“Jus’ a stir fry. So . . . why’d ya ring?” Harry responds, a coolness hugging his voice. 

“Um, I haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” he hums awkwardly, followed by the sound of a door closing. Squeezing my eyes shut, uneasiness falls over me in a wave. Oddly, I wonder if all of a sudden I can’t call to say hi. “Ya, we’ve both been busy. Cases fer me, an’ prolly uni an’ yer dad’s treatments fer you.”

“Yeah,” I agree aloud, my chin falling to rest in my palm. But it leaves a second later to lose my fingers in my hair. “I wanted to tell you that I finished my finals last week, so now I just have clinical left in the fall. Oh, and my dad got to ring the bell today. He’s all done with chemo and radiation after his scans all looked good. It’s hard to believe that he’s cancer-free. His doctors will, of course, have to keep an eye on him in the future to make sure it doesn’t come back, but I couldn’t be happier.” 

“Tha’s wonderful, love,” Harry coos into my ear, the first notes of happiness heard in his voice. It begins to put me at ease, and cause me to think maybe something isn’t off after all. “‘m really glad t’ hear that- well both o’ those things.”

Unbeknownst to me, I find myself nodding along with his words as if I needed his confirmation. But his words stop there, and the sickening feeling that something is wrong settles back in. A small ‘yeah’ stumbles off my lips as my fingers form into a fist in my lap, debating what to say next. Or if I should ask what I’ve been wanting to say the entire time. 

“We weren’t able to get ahold of each other a few weeks ago to reschedule lunch. Would you still like to?” Going out on a limb, I let the words fly. 

I watch for them apprehensively, uncertain if they’ll take flight. The loud sound from his side, the subsequent shuffling, and a voice saying his name shoots them down hastily. 

“‘m sorry, I gotta go. ‘ll text ya ‘bout gettin’ lunch,” Harry remarks, his words stringing together swiftly. I barely have the chance to say an ‘okay’ before he abruptly hangs up, sewing together an unwanted thought for me. 

Tossing my phone to the other end of the couch, I fall back against the cushions. Turning up the volume of the telly, I avert my gaze back to the make-believe world I’ve always taken comfort in. As the phone call gnaws away at my insides, planting insecurities every few steps, I let the characters whisk me away. Even if their faces and familiar jokes will now never stop reminding me of him, and something I let go of that I didn’t know I had. I only feel worse when I realize that I knew then that he’d never send that text, and I think he knew that, too.

+

“Staring at it isn’t going to make it ring, y’know,” somebody states, pulling me from my webs of thoughts. 

Lifting my attention away from the black screen in my hand, I catch Myles looking at me impatiently. 

“Wha- ‘m sorry. I was listenin’.”

“Then what’d I just say?” he requests, the hand propped against his chin rising in a silent question. 

My lips fall apart to welcome my voice, but nothing comes out. Shrugging, he receives his answer and replies with a disapproving glare. 

“Hare, this is important stuff. We’re leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow for the case, it’s a huge one.”

“I know, My. Jus’ repeat what ya said, please,” I huff, batting a hand at him. His eyes roll into the back of his head when he leans back in his leather chair. 

“I swear to God, Harry, I-.”

“Stop,” I retort, growing annoyed. 

He plays with the point of his quiffed blonde hair before clearing his throat. Although I try to listen the second time around, my gaze is lulled back to my laptop screen. My fingers itch to touch the keys and type up words, and when Myles begrudgingly answers his ringing phone, I find my chance. Sliding my silent phone into my pocket, I click on the blue thought bubble, only to be met with disappointment. Brushing it away, my fingers fly across the keys and my words are sent with a soft hum. Soon, Myles hangs up the phone with a perturbed sigh and resumes the conversation we were having. Again, I try to return to the bubble we share and the words that occupy it, but my mind is consumed with the anticipation of that coveted ding. And with Becky’s face, much like it’s been captivating my thoughts as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly. 

There it remains for days, much like it has been. It follows me through the air as I stare out the window, floating above the clouds. It crops into my conversations, leeching any enjoyment gathered from them. I even see it in a crowd of people inside the walls of the courtroom before I deliver my closing statement. When I look a second time, I’m disappointed to find the eyes of a stranger. 

It crowds my mind when I wait for the boarding call, tapping my fingers along the screen and watching the words be sent off. I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. All of it. I miss all of it. It gnawed away at me slowly, and terribly, burying doubts beneath my defenses. They sprang up when I least expected them, and when I thought about sending just one more text. A few words wouldn’t hurt anything, I thought, but at the same time, I distrust the ultimate impact they could have. 

The pounding jars me from my reverie, bringing me to my feet slowly. Padding past the television and kitchen area, a yawn jumps from my lips. Another pound lands on the door, dragging my brow into a knot. 

“Oh, shuddup!” I exclaim in disbelief, wrapping my fingers around the smooth metal of the door. Yanking it open, I find the grinning bearded face of my mate standing on my stoop. “‘m not goin’, Rore, I already told ya this.”

“C’mon, Harry, I’ll look like a right idiot being there all alone,” Rory responds, his steps telling me he’s following me inside once I turn around. “Help a mate out here.” 

“Ya, ‘coz ya were so helpful tha otha day when I asked ya t’ consult with me fer the Starkey case.” Scoffing, his words pause between his lips as I fill a glass of water from the attachment on the fridge. “Why’re ya goin’ anyways, since it sounds like sumthin’ yer dreadin’? And since when d’ya even go t’ these sorta things? Last place I thought ‘d see you at, Rore.”

“I don’t, but it’s for me sister’s showing. I can’t miss it, she’s me baby sister. I’d hear about it from me mum for weeks.”

Snorting, I have to pull the glass of water away from my lips. 

“Hope ya bloody choke on that water, mate,” Rory scoffs, only making me laugh harder. Water flies from my lips as I’ve forgotten the glass on the marbled countertop. “Are ya coming or not, Harry? Ya know it’s a good place to pick up chicks, too. They blooming love these art gallery places.”

Recovering from my fit of giggles, I turn my head to find Rory waiting with the question in his eyes. He huffs and riffles a hand through his tousled blonde hair a few shades lighter than that which covers his face. Shaking his head, he wiggles his head at me. 

“I’ll consult with you on the next case, or even give ya first pick,” he whines, folding his hands together under his chin, as if he’s praying. 

“‘m yer bloody boss, I always get first picks,” I murmur, a smile cracking at the end of my words. 

“Oh, fuck off, would you?” he spits, pushing at a chair in front of the seated bar attached to the kitchen island. Clucking his tongue, he messes with the collar of his navy blue blazer thrown over a bloody Zeppelin shirt. Yeah, you sure look artsy there, Rore. But with the next words that fly from his sailor’s mouth, he pins me down. “What’re ya gonna do here anyways, sit and watch the bleeding telly all in your lonesome when ya could be with me getting damn a date?”

Biting my lip, my house slippers come into my view and when Rory’s eyes find them, a laugh explodes from his lips. “Go hurry up and bloody change before you’re too far gone, mate. I’ll be in the car,” he titters before his voice falls with a delighted sigh. Delight found in my pain. 

“Two cases, Rore. Any two cases I want, ya consult with me on. Ya got it?” I argue, following on his footsteps. 

“Whatever makes ya feel better, mate. I know you'll be thanking me later tonight.” 

“Doubt it,” I mutter, watching him open the door, sure there’s a sly grin covering his face. 

I turn to jog up the stairs until I arrive in my bedroom. Quickly, I toss on skinny jeans, a Keith Haring shirt, and a mustard button up smattered with faded white flowers. I look rather artsy, I reckon, I decide as I look at myself in my bathroom mirror. It’s an easy feat when you’re standing next to wannabe Rory over there, though. After taming my hair and finding a pair of shoes, I pad down the stairs. 

“Alexa, turn off all o’ my lights,” I announce, slipping my wallet and phone into my pocket as my hous darkens around me. 

“Take fucking long enough?” Rory groans when I slide into the passenger seat of his silver Sentra. 

“Shuddup and drive, will you? So we can get this ova with.”

“If you’re gonna be an ass tonight, then just go back inside,” he almost laughs, beginning to back away from the towering walls of my house. 

“Talking ‘bout yerself, are ya now?” I quip, bringing my phone from my tight pockets, tapping in my passcode. 

“I’ve noticed, y’know,” he mumbles, barely loud enough for me to hear him. Looking up from the bright screen, his eyes don’t stray from the road. “There’s a girl, isn’t there? Or there was?” he continues, a man I’ve come to love over the last three years he’s worked with me. And somehow I thought I had fooled him, but it turns out, I haven’t. I can’t even fool myself.

“Sumthin’ like that,” I whisper, my attention straying back to the conversation lit on my screen. Another day of the ball being in her court, and she just leaves it in the bloody corner, neglecting it. “I see why ya wanted me t’ come now . . . jus’ don’ try t’ set me up with yer bloody sista. She’s like twenty.”

His hearty chuckle fills the space around us, the words of a song from Death Cab for Cutie lurking in the background. “I won’t, but y’know she’s not gonna let ya out of her sight, mate. She’s had the hots for you from day one.”

“Oh God, Rore, what’d I let ya drag me into here?” I joke, my lips curling into a nervous smile. But the smile feels good, and it feels even better when her name disappears from my screen, and I forget my phone in my pocket. 

+

“What happened to making me dinner?” I whine from the couch, crossing my left leg over the other under the comfort of my blanket. 

“That was when you were busy, and well, the other day when I was feeling generous. Not today, missy,” Skye scoffs, the sound of the fridge shutting marking her words. Something lands in my lap with a plop, startling me. 

“Wow, how gourmet. Why thank you, I definitely don’t need to make dinner now,” I joke, picking up the wrapped piece of string cheese. 

“I know you’re still going to eat it. Just eat cereal or something, you hobo. I’m going to bed at a decent time, unlike somebody.”

“Hey, it’s a Friday!” I argue, pressing the page down button on the remote, waiting for something to catch my eye on Netflix. 

“Yeah, and some of us still have a job on Saturdays!” she calls from her journey down the hall. 

“Party pooper!” 

She remains silent on the defensive line, and so does the list of boring content on the television screen. Relenting, I click over to My Stuff and press play on the next episode of FRIENDS. Relaxing into the cushions, I unwrap the cheese and slowly eat it in strings. Giggles flow from my lips watching the scene unravel in front of me, and some eye-rolls because of Ross or Monica. After a while, my legs stray to the fridge, and I return to the tan sectional with a bowl of Cheerios. The milk threatens to spill over the side when I sit up suddenly, almost yelping in laughter at the scene when Monica and Rachel lose their apartment to Chandler and Joey. The sugary Cheerios soon disappear, and the milk follows them as the episode nears the end. 

Placing my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, I hurry back to the sofa to catch a Phoebe scene. My cheeks warm with a smile, but they soon grow cold when my thoughts have to interrupt with a memory of his face. That god awfully sweet smile adorned with his cherry lips and precious dimples. Without knowing what I’m doing, the cartoon looking app appears under my nose, and pictures fill my feed. I take a second look at a few of them that catch my attention, the angry voices of Rachel and Monica tickling at my ears. 

Soon, the search bar materializes and although it feels wrong, I type in letter after letter to create his name. I can’t remember the last time I glanced at his profile, just to catch a hint of him. Finding the profile I’ve become familiar with, I tap on his picture and wait for his profile to load. Glancing away, the tv captures my attention once more as I scratch at an itch on my leg. Yawning, I rub at my eye before it falls back to the blindingly bright screen. Blinking hard to clear the haze from my vision, I scroll down to see what new pictures he’s posted, although they’re usually few and far between. 

I find the most recent picture I recognize and tap through them. Picturesque shots from high in the clouds. His unbelievably adorable niece. Food-grams. A picture of a homemade pizza is making my mouth water and is still stuck in my mind when I happen upon the next photo, and the most recent one. The moisture in my mouth is wicked away, suddenly bone dry when the image in front of my eyes slowly registers with me. But I can’t believe it, even though I’m seeing it. I don’t want to see it, or believe it. The moisture reappears in the corners of my eyes quickly as a sourness quickly knits together in my gut. The image shakes in my hands and then blurs in my eyes, accented by the thrashing of my heart inside of my chest. 

“Skye!” I shout, the words leaping from my lips with little success. 

My lip wobbles and I feel my entire face collapse from pain, disbelief, the whole shebang. The sob screaming from my lips is muffled by my fingers coming to my mouth. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter, inhaling fast and feeling the tears in my throat. Because I can feel it everywhere in my body - the pain. In my eyes, my stomach, my hands, and my chest. The sight of Harry’s lips touching that of another girl’s sends knives into my heart, and my stomach roiling. “T-this can’t . . . ,” but my words escape me, because the multitudes of feelings punished with anguish and despair course through me. 

“Skye!” I yell again, not realizing that I’ve gotten to my feet. I stumble at first, feeling the weakness reach my legs. Her name leaves my lips wet with tears as I run past the kitchen and down the hall. 

Pushing open her door, darkness meets my eyes, and I swear in that moment it swallowed me. Hitting me, I grab the doorframe and feel my forehead fall against it. Leaning there for support, the sobs roll through me, the very reason still clutched in my hand. 

“Whaaaaat?” she groans tiredly from her bed across the room. 

But I only reply with a sob of her name, hiccups havocking my chest. My hands claw at the wall, darkness coating my eyelids. 

“Ree?” Skye asks groggily, the click of her lamp following her words. “What happened? Are you alright?” she hurries, the pillowy patting of her covers being thrown back meeting my ears. 

Her arms wrapping around me are almost numbing, and do nothing. And feel like nothing. But when I feel my head meet her chest, the slowed-down world I lived in for those few seconds vanishes. 

“Skye, I-. . . ,” I attempt, once again falling up short as tears suffocate my voice, much like they’re making me feel. Shakily, I press my phone into her hand as I try to find safety in her arms. 

I wait and then am rewarded with her intake of breath followed by a sigh. “Holy fuck,” she whispers, and retaliates by pulling me closer against her. “Come here, Ree.”

She walks me over to her bed and helps me under the covers until I’m surrounded by them, and her arms. 

“Who i-is she?” I demand sloppily, searching for something to hold onto and to anchor myself with. I’m compensated with the smooth fabric of her shirt that I cling to the back of, my head falling into her hair. The mundane scent of strawberries wafting from her body tries to relax me, but to no avail. 

“Ree-,” she begins, but I don’t let her start, let alone finish. 

“I want to kn- I need to know,” I respond, sniffling against the warm expanse of her neck. There’s shuffling next to me before she sighs, and I sense the light of my phone. Tapping prods at my hearing as I try to form coherent thoughts. 

I’m met with images of him. Harry. His dark curls, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and the high-pitched giggle that accompanied my tickling as well as his own. The intruding memories rack my body with shaking sobs, pressing my lips together as new tears gush over them. My belly contracts with each sob, and I don’t even register the cramping in my hands from holding on so tightly. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Skye hums warily from above, pulling my head into her neck, leaving her arm there to shield me from her words. Or the image that I can’t remove from my mind even if I tried. It’s burned there indefinitely now. 

His arms in a blue button-up surrounding her and his lips enveloping hers. A smile creasing his cheeks with happiness, and spreading to those of her dark cheeks. Her curvy body pressed against his, flowing ebony curls tickling her chocolate skin. 

“Tell me.”

“Okay,” Skye caves, the tips of her fingers running marathons along my back, in attempts to calm me down. But I don’t know if the tried and true will work this time, although it has for every other, even when my dad’s life was painted with the C-Word. “She’s a London based artist, does some sculpting and gallery work locally. According to her Instagram account, anyways.”

“I asked . . who is she?” I repeat, my voice wavering under the dominance of the tears. 

“Her name’s Bailee Taylor.”

“W-what does her page look . . . like?” I request, exhaustion blanketing me, and only adding another feeling to the rest. Blinking away the tears, I try to take in a deep breath, but my memories hit me with the safety I felt in his arms. Unwaveringly. 

“It looks like they’re . . dating,” Skye announces quietly, squeezing me around the middle. The confirmation I didn’t know I’d been searching for hits me like a train, knocking the air out of me again. And all of a sudden, hatred pulses through me, asking me where to lay it. Where to feel it. “There’s a few pictures of them on her feed, looks like they met maybe a few weeks ago.” 

“Why?” jumps from my lips finally, taking a nosedive to join a sea of unanswered questions. The word shakes the second it leapt from my tongue, and somehow it hurts more than all of the rest. “I h-hate him,” I cry, my nose smushing against her skin when I try to hold onto her tighter than I already am. 

“No, you don’t,” she coos, raking her fingers through my hair slowly, and carefully. 

“I know, b-but I wish I could,” I answer, the memories dancing through my head at hyper speed. Falling asleep in his arms, and waking up in them. The tickling fight. The almost kiss. The Scrabble game. Waking up to find him waiting there in the doorway. Him coming back even after the way I treated him. Finding him standing there at the front of the lecture hall. The reprieve of being in his arms again after so long spent away from them. And then, like a wall, my mind runs into the strings of unanswered texts. The canceled lunch dates. The both of us ignoring the other’s texts, but then at the end, it was him. It was him who was awkward during the last phone call. He hung up on me abruptly, and I heard somebody else was there. Was it her? It’s possible they would have already been together by then. He said he’d text me to set up lunch, and he never did. 

“It won’t make you feel better,” she murmurs, cupping my head with her palm. The sound of tears edging at her words only makes mine come harder, and the feeling in my gut grows louder. 

“Then what will?” I beg, wondering if I’ll ever forget the taste of the salty tears. A taste I thought I could forget just late last month when my dad was cured. News that I told him, and had been impatiently waiting to do all day. “I thought I was just feeling okay again, Skye.”

“I know, Ree, I’m so sorry,” she returns, placing her cheek against mine, the first tear peeking through in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

I unpeel myself from her anxiously, kicking away the blankets before my feet land on the floor. 

“Where are you going?” she almost demands, the sound of her following me far away. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” I confess, rushing down the hall before falling to my knees in front of the toilet. The Cheerios and milk from earlier make a reappearance, along with the string cheese, and mushy contents of my other meals. 

Running a cold cloth along my face, Skye kneels in front of me, her face painted in sadness.

“How can it hurt so much, Skye, when he wasn’t even mine?” I croak, focusing on the lone tile in our bathroom that doesn’t match the rest of the flooring. 

“I think you’re wrong, he was yours, Ree.”

“I was so close. I fucked up, again,” I weep, my lips collapsing with yet another sob. 

“Don’t say that, don’t,” she insists, tucking her hair behind her studded ear when it goes every which way with the shaking of her head. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is. She’s so pretty . . Of course she is,” I remember aloud, breathing in quickly before the tears take hold of me once more. Closing my eyes, I reach out for her and let my head rest against her shoulder. 

“She really isn’t, Ree. A big pair of tits doesn’t make you pretty, and anyways, you’re far prettier. He could do much better, like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” I confess, trying to swallow, but my throat has tied itself into knots with the thoughts of him. And when that word falls out of bed inside of my head, I find that it can hurt worse. “I was his Becks, Skye, I thought it was right there. That it was gonna happen for us.”

“Oh, Ree,” she cries, sniffling against my hair when she pulls me against her. “I know, I’m so sorry . . so sorry.”

Nodding into her chest, it feels right as her necklace digs into my wet cheek. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and so does every other part of my body in some way. Somehow I let her bring me back to her bed, and hide me away in her arms. My head swims with questions, then fleeting hatred for him, and inconsolable longing the very next. I shed a tear for his smell, his contagious smile, that Scrabble game we’ll never finish, the churros I’ll never be able to eat again without him ruining them for me, the color of his eyes I could never forget, and the lost feeling of his lips I never got to kiss. The list miles long of things I never got to say to him, or do with him, or make him feel. Because now she does, and she isn’t me. 

“I-I thought . . that he felt the same way about me, and that somehow he knew that I loved him.” 

A whimper escapes Skye’s lips as my tears fall into her neck, adding to the puddle I’ve shed there. 

“What does she have that I don’t? Am I not interesting? Does she have a nicer body than I do? Am I not pretty enough? Was I not nice enough or appreciative of him?” I weep, the questions flowing off my lips from the recesses of my mind. My name greets my ears firmly, but I ignore it. “I was trying to answer his texts when I could, but things got so busy with uni and my dad. All the driving, the tests in both places, and I couldn’t keep dates right in my head. Maybe if I’d texted him back sooner that one time, or made the lunch date on the right day the first time-.”

“Becky, don’t do the ‘ifs’ thing,” Skye urges, pulling the covers further up our shoulders before returning to combing my hair back again and again. 

“But I can’t stop thinking about what went wrong, a-and how much I miss him, Skye. I miss him a hundred times more after seeing that picture,” I reveal, falling into her, my lips meeting her shoulder. My teeth dig into my skin and I let them, numb to the pain as the same word is too busy with my mind. “I don’t know if I ever wanna see him again.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to, I’ll always want to. Like something inside of me will always want him.” 

+

The sunlight streaming in through the windows is the first thing I see when I awake. Ducking my head back under the covers, I pull them over me with a groan. The blissful ignorance of the first few minutes after waking up follows me, until it all comes crashing back. 

“Are you awake?” a voice murmurs, sleep clinging to it. 

“Unfortunately,” I whisper, staring into the muted light underneath the gray covers. 

“I can stay home if you want me to, I was just making some breakfast,” Skye responds, the tapping of her feet along the floor following. 

“No, don’t cancel your hair appointments because of me. I’ll be . . I’ll be fine,” I tell her, but then the tears greet me good morning. 

“Oh, Ree, I’ll cancel and we can watch movies all day, or FRIENDS. Whatever you want,” she announces. The bed falls to one side when she sits on the edge, and I feel her hand find my back. 

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d say that,” I return, turning around and sitting up to dive into her arms. “I was hoping I had dreamt it all and it was just a bad dream. But my life is the bad dream.”

“Oh, Ree,” she coos, surrounding me with her arms. “I know this is cliche and it doesn’t feel like it, but it’ll get better.”

“I don’t know about that. My life is a running joke lately because it feels like it’ll get better, and then it just gets worse.”

+

“Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it, Becky?” somebody asks. Looking up from my cupcake, I find the face of Sophie. 

“Yeah, end of next week,” I answer, picking an orange sprinkle from the white frosting to eat.

“Do you have any big plans?” my boss asks as she places her lunch in the microwave. 

“My brother and I hang out every year, we’re twins.”

“Oh, how fun! I remember meeting him once when he brought you lunch one day,” she smiles, turning to face me as she waits in front of the humming microwave. 

I just nod and dip my finger into the frosting, feeling it melt on my tongue a second later. 

“Everything alright, love?”

“Yep, just tired is all,” I fib, taking a bite of the carrot cupcake, although I’m not wrong when I think about it. Skye has been a lifesaver for the last two weeks helping me get back on my feet. Thinking back on it and all of the tears leaves a funny taste in my mouth, but I try to brush it away with a forced smile. 

“How old will you be this year, Becky?” Sophie asks, pulling out a rolling chair to sit to my right at the long table. 

“Good old 26.”

“Wow, still a spring chicken, I’d say,” she comments, bringing a quirky smile to my lips. I almost follow her laugh with mine. “Well you know what, an early birthday present from me is you can have the rest of the day off. You always do a great job, Becky, and so you deserve it.”

“Sophie, I-,” I begin, my jaw falling to the floor. 

“I mean it, go. Get out of here. Go do something that makes you happy, love, it looks like you need to,” she smiles, squeezing my arm from across the table. Standing to my feet, profuse ‘thank yous’ leave my lips before I leave the break room. 

I drive around with my windows down, unsure of where to go instead of home. Before I know it, I find myself walking into my favorite little coffee shop. I’ve always loved to hang out here with a cup, reading a book, doing homework, or just relaxing on one of their sofas. 

Soon, I sit down with a Cubano sandwich and an iced cinnamon roll coffee, my very favorite. Pulling a book out of my work bag, I crack it open to the first page, unable to remember when I last had the time to read a book for fun. The words of Ruth Ware stare back at me, slowly drawing me into a made-up world, and away from the desolate one trying to swallow me. 

Quickly, I’m grateful for the respite from the thoughts mucking up my mind. Instead I lose myself in the sentences that spin a scary story, thanking my old self for stashing something besides a romance in my bag. That’s the last thing I could even think about indulging in right now. For some reason, the mystery entices me, a genre I’ve always had a love for. I think, especially now, it’s the aspect of being able to solve a mystery, and to fix a problem. If only I could do that now, I wish silently with a spiteful snort. 

Placing my empty plate on the return area by the cash register, I return to my cozy spot on the couch and to my book. Losing my fingers in my hair, I prop my head up and open the book to where I had left off. Soft indie music trickles from the speakers as conversations float around me. Several more sofas are dotted around the large room and booths, as well as tables varying in sizes. Friends play board games borrowed from the shelf by the fireplace, and others do schoolwork or actual work. A laugh from behind the counter echos through the room, right as the bell on the front door jingles. Although across the room, I can hear the voices floating in from the sidewalk. Cars honking and birds chirping. The sounds make me itch to leave the air-conditioned room, and bring my reading outside into the June sunshine. 

The words covering the pages root me to the spot, but they can’t protect me from what I hear. It’s a voice that I know inside and out, from the shortened words to the often used words. My vocal cords soon begin to tangle into knots in my throat at the mere noise. Beneath my baby blue blouse, there’s a clobbering in my chest as the voice grows near and then stops. Instinctively, hair falls through my fingers as I lower my head, wishing to remain unseen. Unknown. 

I can’t stop myself, and there I am looking up to see that crinkly-eyed smile through wrenching tears. 

Harry. 

[fallinfor-youreyes]

holiday prompts - drunk coworker confession -- rosvolio please!

“we’re co workers who hate each other but you had too much to drink at the staff christmas party and admitted your love for me i don’t know how to act around you now“ on Ao3

The napkin hits her smack in the face. She can’t see her assailant, but she has a pretty good guess.

“What the fuck, Montague!” She rips the napkin off her face, ready to tear him to shreds, but he’s not glaring at her. Or smirking. Or doing anything remotely infuriating.

Instead, he’s holding out the bottle of rum, his other hand up in surrender.

“It was the closest thing I could find to a white flag on short notice.”

Rosaline glances between the bottle of rum and the very clearly cream napkin. Then she rolls her eyes. Which is about as close to an okay he knows he’ll get so he nods, and passes her the bottle to her before situating himself next to her.

“How did you find my hiding spot?” She asks, taking sip of the rum as Benvolio attempts to fold his legs in some sort of fashion that he’s not touching her or sticking out in a way that someone else will find them.

“I was your partner for like two months. You are a bit predictable.”

Rosaline scoffs. “I will kick you out of my hiding spot and keep your rum, do not test me Montague. The fact that I am even speaking to you is already pushing it.”

He nods seriously and reaches for the rum. “I also find criminals for a living.”

Rosaline sticks her arm out taking the bottle out of his reach, raising a single eyebrow.

His lip quirks up into his stupid smirk, and he places his hand on his knee, reaching across her for the rum.

“I might have watched you escape as our beloved commissioner made his way into the room,” he says, pausing less than an inch away from her face. “You’re not as invisible as you think, Capulet.”

She narrows her eyes at him and slowly brings the alcohol back down so he can grab it. He plants a kiss on her cheeks and then is instantly back to his spot, her knee still warm from where his hand was.

“So, you followed me?”

Benvolio shrugs, and pulls another napkin out of his pocket, this time revealing a handful of the fancy appetizers that were lined up elegantly on the other side of the ballroom. “You might be the only person who I will be able to handle tonight, if I’m being honest.”

“Must be bad since we hate each other.” She says, taking one of the snacks from him.

“I don’t hate you, Capulet.”

It takes her by surprise, if she’s being honest.

The Montague/Capulet rivalry had been so deeply entrenched in the Verona police department, that at this point, the fact that Rosaline and Benvolio were in the same precinct was enough to send both their uncles into a frenzy.

It was Escalus’s way of trying to create a truce between the two families, stopping the fighting that had been going on since both their grandfathers had been chiefs of rival precincts. An argument over who had actually caught the Verona Slasher was still disputed in some circles, and Livia had even sent Rosaline a link to podcast about it.

The fact that Rosaline and Benvolio had been partnered was still hotly debated as one of Escalus’s biggest mistakes as a rookie commissioner. The fact that he kept them in the same precinct after they were given new partners was still being questioned.

She doesn’t hate him, not really, but he says it so quickly that she’s not entirely sure how to handle the fact that he doesn’t hate her either.

“We were partners for two months, and I’m pretty sure there was at least three times we tried to arrest each other. And the second the new crop of kids came in, they separated us in fear that one of us would actually shoot each other.” She realizes she sounds little defensive, but she’s also has 2 glasses of champagne and she’s good at being defensive. Especially around him

Benvolio shrugs and passes the rum back to her. “This a truce. We are supposed to be nice each other.”

“I’m always nice.”

He grins at that, and for some reason, it’s a little infectious. Rosaline takes a sip of the alcohol, and slumps back against the wall.

“We couldn’t have been all that bad together. We are winning an award for the sheer amount of cases solved in that two month span.” Benvolio says, and Rosaline groans.

“I had just managed to forget about that, thanks for bringing it up.”

“Ahh,” Benvolio pokes her shoulder. “Is that why you are hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You literally called it a hiding spot.”

Rosaline stuffs another appetizer in her mouth so she doesn’t have to answer him right away. She’s not hiding. Not really. Just taking extra precautions.

“I’m being careful.”

Benvolio’s eyebrows twist into a question, and she chews on her food, trying to come up with something to say that won’t make her sound like a crazy person.

“My ex-boyfriend/boss is going to give us an award for being good at our jobs, in front of all of our very drunk coworkers, and literally, the last thing I want is for Escalus to look at me in any way at all, especially in front of anyone, so I’m trying to avoid that for as long as I can.”

Benvolio nods and opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off.

“Plus, I was going to have to deal with you, But since you’ve decided to take care of that…” she trails off and he rolls his eyes at her, but it’s more teasing than annoyed.

“I brought you rum. And a truce.”

“You did.”

Rosaline sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest. They can see the entire ballroom from their hiding spot, and she’s pretty sure she can already pinpoint where at least 3 arguments are going to break out. The Verona Police Holiday Party has been a disaster literally every year since she was a rookie beat cop, but no matter what goes down, it happens every year.

All the Christmas Hallmark movies she had been binge watching thee past few weeks had lied. There was nothing magical about holiday parties.  No prince charmings or handsome love interests in sight. Just drunk coworkers, and ex boyfriends, and at least one person getting slapped in the face.

And usually, she could get through it. Because she would have Escalus. And they would bet on who would start the fights and what detective was going to make a fool of themselves in their speech, and he would kiss her under the mistletoe and then, at the end of the night, they would go home together, and kiss in her hallway, and she could wake up with a raging hang over, but  his arm around her waist, and it would be something sort of magical.

But that was before he broke up with her 3 weeks before Christmas.

“Think it will be Diaz and White or Medici and Romano?” Benvolio asks, after several minutes of silence and passing the rum back and forth.

“Hmm?” Rosaline says, shaking herself out of her head and back into the reality of the moment. She’s sitting next to her ex partner and they are not fighting, and it might just be its own sort of Christmas miracle.

“Who do you think is going to start fighting first?”

Rosaline scans the crowd, surprised that Benvolio’s guesses matched with hers.

“Both are options, but I think Mantua and Silver are looking a little more heated than the other two.”

“Ohh. I didn’t even see them, good eye, Capulet.” Benvolio’s shoulder bumps against hers, and it might be the rum, but she doesn’t push him away.

She feels warm and a little drunk, and Benvolio’s leg pressed against hers is warm and the fabric of his dress pants are soft against her bare legs, and for the first time, she feels like maybe him finding her hiding spot isn’t the worst thing the world.

He passes the bottle back to her, and she goes take a sip, but nothing comes out. “Why’s all the rum gone?”

“Pirate,” he whispers, and she can’t help the smile from cracking her face.

“You do have the face for it.”

“You’re the pirate in this situation.”

“I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure you stole the rum in the first place, and you took the last sip. So I think you’re the pirate.”

He rolls his eyes, and something warm cracks in her chest. This might be the longest they’ve ever gone being civil with each other, and it feels almost nice.

“What are you thinking about, Capulet?”

“I’m thinking that you weren’t the worst partner in the entire world.” She says, and it most definitely is the rum talking, but, if she pushes past all the terrible arguments and screaming matches in the middle of the precinct, she can remember the late nights over terrible Chinese food, and bouncing ideas off each other productively over stale coffee, and the smile on his face when they closed their biggest case, the wink he gave her over the cheap champagne that Isabella brought out in order to celebrate.

If she lets herself think about it for too long, she realizes maybe she doesn’t dislike Benvolio Montague as much as she thought.

“Was that a compliment?”

“I didn’t say you were a good partner, Montague, don’t let it get to your head.”

Benvolio laughs, and grabs the empty bottle from her. “I don’t know how you do it, Capulet,” he says, pushing himself off the ground.

“Where are you going? And do what?”

“They are going to start the awards soon, and I think us wandering out from our hiding spot might be a bit suspicious.” He holds up a hand and pulls her up, and she tries her best not to stumble into him, but they did just finish half a bottle of rum.

“I guess you’re correct.” She says, and they are standing close enough that she can see the way his eyes drop to her lips for a split second before he steps away from her.

He nods, and goes to turn, but she grabs his sleeve. “Wait, you didn’t answer my second question.”

Benvolio spins back to her, and smiles, bright and happy. “I don’t know how you can be so completely and utterly infuriating, but still manage to make me fall in love with you.”

Rosaline stumbles, catching herself on the back of the closest chair as Benvolio disappears around the corner.

She must have misheard him. Had to have misheard him. There’s no way Benvolio Montague just said what she thinks he just said.

Benvolio’s head pops around the corner. “You coming?”

“Just a second.”

He nods and then he’s gone again, and Rosaline presses her head in to the wall and takes a deep breath.

It will fine, she tells herself. She’s had enough to drink that hopefully, she would forget this by the time she wakes up tomorrow. Or be able to chalk it up to an over active imagination and a ridiculous amount of hours spent watching Hallmark Christmas movies.

All she has to do is get through the rest of the night, and then she can sleep this off and it will be like it never happened. 

xXx

She remembers everything. She remembers Benvolio finding her hiding spot and actually being tolerable, and his smile. God, she remembers his smile.

And she remember his confession, and the awkwardness of standing next to him and Escalus on the stage, and Escalus attempting to wish her Merry Christmas as she grabbed her jacket, and she remembers Benvolio looking at her like he wanted to say something before she got in her Uber, and she remembers, she remembers, she remembers.

The precinct in usually quiet, even if it is Christmas Eve. Isabella had taken the day off and some of the other detective were working from home, or had taken a half day.

But Benvolio Montague is still here. Just a few turns and a couple of desks away from her.

She remembers. And Rosaline does not know how to act around him. They’ve never really talked to each other, not since they got new partners, but it’s Christmas, and they are one of the few people around, and the amount of times she’s almost run into him in the break room is frankly ridiculous.

She’s ridiculous. She was completely fine just tensely ignoring him or glaring at him when he said something particularly annoying in meetings, but now, she can’t even look him in the eye without hearing him saying her may be falling in love with her. Which is dumb, because they were both drunk, and he most definitely did not mean it, but she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since the Christmas party, and it’s starting to drive her insane.

She’s glaring at her computer screen when something hits her smack in the face.

The shirt falls into her hands, and Benvolio is standing in front of her, lips pressed tight together.

“You know, you can just say, hey I want to talk, instead of throwing off-white things at my face.”

Benvolio collapses into the chair across from her desk. “Finding truce flags is much harder than you would expect it to be.”

Rosaline starts folding the shirt so she doesn’t have to look at him. Which shows just how crazy she has gone over this. “I didn’t know our last truce was broken.”

He wipes his hand down his face, before crossing his arms on her desk, staring at the perfectly folded shirt between them.

“I don’t remember what I said,” he says, almost too quiet for her to hear him.

“What?” There’s a sense of relief in the moment, but it almost makes it worse. Because she’s the only who remembers it, and that means he’s probably not freaking out about it. Which means she is probably is coming off as extra terrible, which is the last thing she wants. Because, she realized, maybe if they stopped fighting with each other about nothing, they could actually be friends.

She doesn’t hate that thought as much a she once did. In fact, it almost feels like it could be nice.

“I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what I said to make you hate me again, and I cannot figure it out, so please tell me so I can apologize. If I don’t know what I said, then the apology won’t mean anything.”

Rosaline blinks. Runs her hand over the shirt to smooth out the non existent wrinkles. “You’ve never apologized before.”

She’s not watching his face, but she can see his hands clench into a fist, and can hear him blow a long breath through his nose. “I’ve never said anything terrible enough that you won’t even look at me.”

Her eyes flicker from his hands to his face, and the muscle in his jaw jumps, and his eyes are open, and clear, and they’ve fought, dozens of times, but she’s not sure she’s ever actually seen him upset.

“What about that time you called me a harpy?”

He flinches, just slightly, and she wants to run away. Or glue her mouth shut.

“I got you a muffin the next morning. You might have realized, I’m not good at this apology thing.”

“That was you?” Rosaline asks. “I thought that was Bella.”

Benvolio laughs, and drops his head to the table. “See, I’m bad at this. But I’m trying to be better. So please, tell me what I said.”

“You didn’t say anything terrible.”

“Capulet, you literally sprinted from the break room when I came in for coffee an hour ago.”

Rosaline sighs, and closes her eyes, before reaching out and placing her hand over his. “You were as close to a perfect gentleman as you could have been, seeing as you crashed my hiding spot and finished the rum.”

His eyes land on hers, and her heart stutters in a stupid rhythm, and it’s so stupid. This whole thing is stupid. She’s seen him as nothing but a thorn in her side since they were paired together, and all it took was a single night, some alcohol, and a stupid off-white napkin for her to realize he’s not so terrible. And that maybe, she’s been focusing on all of the bad things about him because if she didn’t, she’d have to admit that a Montague of all people wasn’t so bad.

Juliet had been telling her that for months now, ever since she stumbled into Romeo Montague at a party and they had very recklessly fallen in love. She doesn’t want to have to admit it herself though, let alone anyone else.

“Look, I’m dealing with a lot. Isabella has the next few days off, and this one case is literally eating all of my brain capacity, and it’s Christmas. The last thing I want to be doing is looking over how someone was strangled with a Christmas decoration.” She says, because if he doesn’t remember, then she can get over this. They were drunk, and he probably didn’t mean it, so she can suck it up and get over it.

“Why didn’t you take off?” He asks, and Rosaline pulls her hand away from his. He’s dropping it. Maybe they can try this whole being civil to each other thing.

“Bella let me have Thanksgiving, so I gave her Christmas. Why didn’t you? I thought I saw Stella here earlier.”

Benvolio slumps back into the chair, shoulder’s relaxing into the Benvolio she knows.

“Anything I can do to avoid Christmas eve dinner with my Uncle, I will.”

“Gotcha,” she says, and instantly wants to smash her head into her desk. She smooths her hands over the shirt again, and she picks it up so she can pass it to him. “Let’s say this truce lasts, so you don’t have to throw something at my head next time you want to talk.”

He takes it, his fingers brushing over hers gently. And her heart does that stupid stuttering thing again. “You sure I don’t have anything to apologize for?”

“I would tell you if you did.”

“Okay, good. Let me know if you want a new set of eyes on that case.” He pushes himself up from the seat, and she smiles at him. They can do this. Have a truce and be civil, and smile at each other like normal people who work together.

Benvolio smile back, bright and happy, and all too similar to how he did at the Christmas party, and she opens her mouth before she can stop herself.

“Wait, what are you doing tonight?”

He turns back to her, and shrugs. “I’m going to get some Chinese food and watch the Grinch with my dog, why?” He asks.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she says like that should be enough of an explanation for her question.

“Yes, I know.”

Rosaline sighs, and scribbles her address down on a sticky note. “Look, I’m pretty sure Romeo is coming over, so you should just come with him. Livia and Juliet and I go out for hibachi, and then watch the claymation Christmas movies, and no one should be alone on Christmas.”

She places the sticky note on top of the shirt, and watches his face goes through too many emotions for her to process. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing if you’re invited.”

He stares down at the sticky note, and then his eyes find hers and he smiles. “Okay.”

It shouldn’t make her cheeks heat up, but it does. But it’s Christmas, so she’s going to blame it on that.

xXx

The door swings open, and the next thing she knows Romeo is scooping her into a hug and spinning her around the room.

“Merry Christmas!”

He gently places her back on the ground, and kisses her cheek before Juliet launches herself at him, and Rosaline has to jump out of the way lest she be tackled.

Her eyes fall on Benvolio, and he’s staring at their cousins like he’d rather be anywhere else. He’s wearing jeans, and a festive sweater, and it’s the most causal she’s ever seen him, and she finds it almost unfair how good he looks. He tears his eyes away from their cousins, and thrusts a box into her hands. “I brought cookies.”

“Thank you,” she says, wrapping her hands around the box. But he doesn’t let go.

“I remember, what I said,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in any way, and I need to learn to keep my stupid mouth shut and-“

“Ben,” she tugs the cookies away from him, and smiles. “I said you had nothing to apologize for.”

He pushes the beanie off his head and runs his hands through his hair, and she can see the tension in his shoulders. “You thought I hated you.”

Her heart is pounding so fast she’s not sure how she’s still standing there. He remembers. He remembers what he says, and he regrets it. It makes her stressed and confused and upset all at once, but she’s still smiling, hands wrapped tightly around the box of cookies.

“I can be a little dramatic.”

Benvolio shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry, really.”

“You’re sorry that I know you don’t hate me?”

“No, shit.” He shakes his head again, and he’s not looking at her, and she’s not sure exactly what emotion she feels currently, but it feels like too many at once. “I’m sorry that I’m so terrible at expressing how I feel that I made you think I hated you. And that my drunken brain decided the best way to be like, hey, I don’t hate you, was to be like, yeah, I might be in love with you, and fuck.” He stops and blinks several times, and Rosaline herself cannot think of anything to say.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, again, I’m going leave. I’m sorry.”

And then he walks out the door, and she’s just staring at the spot where he was a moment ago, a box of cookies in her hands, and Benvolio Montague was not drunk and just told her he was in love with her. Again.

The cookies drop to the floor.

He’s halfway down the hallway and she breaks into a run because she forgot her coat and does not want him to get outside before she can stop him.

“Montague, wait!”

He stops and turns just as she collides into him, and they stumble, both of them almost falling to the floor as he wraps his arms around her to steady them.

“You didn’t give me a moment to respond.” She’s out of breath from running so fast, and he’s looking at her like she might be a little crazy.

“The only response to that is that I’m a fucking idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut.”

Rosaline shakes her. “No, you dumbass, it’s stop talking for a moment to let a girl process.”

“Capulet, I-“

Rosaline rolls her eyes and surges forward to press her lips against his. It’s not the most logical response. It’s not even the most practical response, but the raging storm of emotions in her head stop the second she does.

And all that’s left is happiness.

It’s Christmas, and she may have been watching Hallmark movies since she came home, and Benvolio slowly comes to life under her lips, his hands tightening around her waist as he pulls her closer.

“I think I’m confused,” he says when she pulls back. She’s out of breath for a different reason now.

“Why don’t you come back inside. And come out to eat with us, and watch old Christmas movies and then maybe we can talk about this, without you running away.” She bumps her nose against his, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Talk about what?”

“Truces and feelings and the fact that might have been the best kiss I’ve ever had. And that I don’t want to go back to us pretending to hate each other because we don’t know how to move past family grudges and our inability to talk about how we feel.”

Benvolio’s eye scan her face, and then he nods. “Okay. I think I can do that.”

“Okay.” She nods, and kisses him again, because it’s Christmas, because she wants to, because in this moment, it feels right.

And then he smiles at her, bright, and happy, and full, and the Christmas lights from outside dance along his cheeks, and she’s not sure exactly how this is going to go, or what is going to come out of it, but she wants to find out.

And if she’s learned anything from Hallmark Christmas movies, it could be something great.

[seoulnotes]

Luce in altis    |    iv. The King and His Crown

S Y N O P S I S | Passed down from centuries worth of history, the remnants of a hatred between two kings reside in a small village that serves as a border between their two feuding kingdoms. y/n lives in that village and must seek aid from one of the kings. Her trust is tested when she learns of the king that is truly wicked.

C H A R A C T E R S | Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, reader (y/n) ; (mentions of other members)

G E N R E | fantasy, romance, drama — royalty au

W A R N I N G S (chapter specific) | none

W O R D C O U N T | 4.1k

All parts here

⇠ prev. (iii)   |   next (v) ⇢

I never considered myself to be brave for crossing the forest into the Dark Kingdom, but rather, dumb and reckless. Honestly, after being imprisoned and awaiting my possible death sentence for the past twelve hours, I did not feel one ounce of bravery.

Why had this been my plan A? Why did I choose to come here out of all places? I could have gone to Hemera; maybe they were nicer.

Right. Because there was no plan B. Because everyone I knew had been captured by the Kingdom or possibly dead. Because Taehyung was here.

I hadn’t even known it was sunrise and time for the guard to retrieve me from my cell until, in a whirlwind of black, he appeared out of thin air with a metal tray on the other side of my cell.

The guard slid the tray under the metal bars and my stomach growled at the sight of food. On the tray was a piece of bread and upon picking it up with my hands, I knew it was stale. In a bowl next to the bread was a single servings worth of porridge, although not looking the least bit appetizing, my mouth watered slightly at the sight of something hot and edible.

“You have five minutes. The king will be here soon, and you must be in the throne room by then.” Although the guard had done his duty, he spoke with an unexpected tone; he didn’t have the sinister tone I expected. There wasn’t that distinct roughness in his voice, wasn’t everyone in Erebus supposed to be evil?

I ate in silence as the guard stood by the cell. No doubt it hadn’t been five minutes when I was finished, and he knew because the sound of keys jingling was followed by the creaking of the gate as I quickly stuffed the last of the bread into my mouth. The guard lifted the tray in one hand while his other hand wrapped around my forearm lifting me from the stone ground.

“Time’s up.”

When I glanced at his other arm again, the tray had disappeared, magic taking it away to wherever.

From the darkness of the underground prison, I was led to the throne room, the same room from yesterday. I was still not chained. At some point, the grip on my arm had tightened and I had found myself at the foot of those dark looming doors again.

We entered.

Today was different because, along the center aisle, people were awaiting their king. The man who seemed to have authority yesterday lost it in the presence of their almighty king who had yet to be sitting upon the throne. That man had now been standing at the side of the throne, talking amongst the crowd. He glanced at the throne, a side look.

The king was late today.

Upon my entrance, those standing along the side stared as the guard pulled me along, some with a glare and others with sinister smiles. They looked on as if I was an exhibit and the man hadn’t lied, today under the torture of their king, I would be for sure.

The guard shoved me lightly, making sure I was on my knees and I caught myself, hands planted on the ground. The perfect position to beg for mercy from their king.

“The king awaits,” the man smiled, lifting his wine glass as if toasting a happy holiday.

A few minutes had passed, silence crept in as the people began to whisper, covering their mouths as if I couldn’t tell they were talking of me. Their eyes gave them away as they flitted from me to their companions.

Footsteps, a clack of the slight heel on a men’s loafers hit the polished marble floors. It was as apparent as thunder sounding with the tranquil midnight sky.

The first footstep sounded and the guests along the center aisle were silent immediately. The room silenced and the footsteps grew louder as they approached closer to the shut doors. Almost immediately, the air grew cold and I felt a chill shoot down my back and throughout my body, hitting deep in every limb.

It wasn’t a temperature change, but rather a change in the atmosphere. The people in the room a moment ago were talking and within hearing the first footstep grew into quiet obedient subjects as they got onto a knee and bowed their heads down.

Something about their king frightened them and from that fact alone, my own fear heightened. This man was definitely the epitome of power.

In the silence of the room, the footsteps sounded from behind me.

One step.

Then another.

“Get down,” a hiss from the guard as his hand pushed my back with harsh force.

I fell forward again but didn’t attempt to get up. My arms tremble slightly as they supported my weight with my knees.

Another, and I felt another chill run down my spine. He was no more than a foot's worth away. My breathing became shallow and I pushed my stare into the slight shimmer and the nearly noticeable swirl of whites in the marble.

“Well, well, well, what’s this?” It was more of a statement than a question. He spoke with a hint of playfulness as if the surprise was a delight. Even without seeing his face, his voice gave enough for me to want to run and hide. He was like a wolf, and I became the young deer he was about to hunt.

The sound of his shoes hitting the marble floor as he stopped in front of me followed by the rustling of fabric on fabric.

No one dared to answer his question.

I didn’t dare lift my head; I felt sick. From my focus on the marble tiles, I saw his knee on the floor, a hand next to him as he knelt down. “Who are you, my darling?”

“A girl from the Village. She was following royal soldiers coming from Inverary, Your Majesty.” The way the word ‘village’ was uttered from his mouth as if we were dirt to them. We probably were, powerless, poor, and most of all, magicless.

“I didn’t ask you, Yoongi,” he spoke with a bitter tone and two cold fingers were placed under my chin, forcing my head to lift and my eyes to meet his.

He spoke as my head began rising, “Now, what’s your name darling?” There was a glimmer of a sinister type of happy in his eyes before our stare met.

The moment our eyes met, I saw a certain shock flicker in his eyes before they shifted pitch-black locking whatever emotion he’d just felt previously away. My own heart had sunk.

I know you. The thought flashed in my head before I answered his question.

“y/n,” it came out quietly. I didn’t know why I had answered, maybe I answered because the shock was the only thing running through my mind. My eyes were wide from the realization. His fingers dropped from my chin, a cat-like smirk on his lips as he registered the cold look onto his face again.

“What a lovely name,” he commented with that wicked smile. He stood on his feet before strolling casually to the throne and sitting on what was truly his and with the way he lounged on it, everyone should know better than to try and take what was his.

And Yoongi knew when he had bowed along with everyone else in the room.

“Rise.”

Everyone moved as one, not a single one had been slower or quicker as they rose to their feet from their previous bow.

It was at this moment that I took a hard glance at the clothes he had worn on this occasion. A black tunic, shining with the finest silk, and black trousers. Entirely black, something seemingly to match the wickedness of his kingdom, yet it was held elegancy with the way the clothes had fitted perfectly on his body.

Most importantly, a silver crown adorned with diamonds atop his head and a simple crescent moon at the center. Erebus, the kingdom of the dark, represented by the night and the moon, when it is most dark.

“You can speak now.”

The statement meant for Yoongi.

“What should we do about this thing, Your Majesty?” Yoongi spoke and I only heard his malicious intents of torture. I was the ‘thing’, not ‘girl’, just a useless meaningless object. The way he had spoken with a sneer; he would find joy in my suffering.

“I’m tired from travels, just lock her away,” he waved his hand and the guard was at my side once more, a dismissal. The gathered crowd seemed to have released a disappointed sigh into the atmosphere although it was silent. And their king with a slight smile added on, “For now.” As he spoke, a muscle feathered in his jaw, he was clenching his teeth.

The moment the guard had grasped my arm, my mind went blank and I called out to my friend to help me, “Taehyung! Please!”

The room from its previous silence had gone deadly silent as Yoongi who occupied the king’s side took a step forward, pointing a finger. “You dare call His Majesty by his name!” His palm opened.

But everything went slow as I truly felt the magic being emitted from him. It was directed towards me and a voice spoke in my head.

Don’t let him touch you.

Do not let his magic touch you.

Save yourself.

As if reaching out to the power, I raised my hand and held it in front of me as if it could block whatever power was aimed towards me. I must’ve looked stupid, that was until I stood and wasn’t affected as I should have been. My feet planted firmly on the ground; I wasn’t wavered even the slightest bit by the power that came from him. Even the guard had released me for that quick second.

Standing shocked, I haven’t even had the time to register what had happened before a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and chains had finally locked my wrists. My eyes were still wide as I allowed myself to be shackled.

‘I could repel his magic’ was all that ran through my mind.

“So we have a little Villager witch,” Yoongi said, the tone of his voice was cold and bitter. Yeah, a supposed-to-be villager had some of that power that brewed in their veins. It was supposed to be theirs. I suddenly felt sick from the joy he found in this.

Taehyung still sitting on the throne nonchalant, examining his hands as a smile played on his lips. There was a certain indecipherable feather in the muscle of his jaw as if the smile was an act to hide whatever he had been feeling. “It seems we do, how interesting. This might actually be fun,” he hummed, amusement in his smile.

“What do we do, Your Majesty?”

At this, Taehyung sat up on his throne and I saw his hands clutch onto the armrests. “Keep her chained up and put her away. Do not under any circumstances are those chains to be removed by anyone aside from me or by my orders.” His face was still, I couldn’t even read it as he stood slowly and strolled to the doors. Just as he was about to step over the threshold, he turned his head ever so slightly towards us, towards Yoongi.

“Oh, and this is to be kept silent.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Yoongi swiftly got onto a knee and bowed his head once again as did everyone else. The guard grabbed the back of my head and roughly pushed my head down into a bow.  As the footsteps against the marble grew quiet, disappearing down the hall and the doors shut, my hair was grabbed pulling my head up from the bow. I seethed through my teeth.

Whirlwinds of black swirled all around as subjects began to disappear from my sight.

“Take her to the cell as His Majesty said,” Yoongi ordered, his eyes trained beyond the doors. He didn’t like his king, but he obeyed. He did not have a choice but to be a subject. There was a hierarchy that he couldn’t breach, no matter how much he wanted it.

I kept my stare on him as the guard tugged onto my arm, pulling me away.

No doubt there was jealousy and hunger for power hidden behind those dark eyes.

—

Clink, clink, clink.

For the tenth time, I was throwing my chained wrists into the rigid stone wall. No matter the pain of hitting the metal around my wrists against hard stone, there was no comparison to the disgusting feeling the chains on my wrists produced.

The fucking chains feel like hell.

They emitted a low blue glow and it made me feel sick in the pit of my stomach. I felt nauseous, but it wasn’t a simple nausea from eating something wrong or seasickness. No, the nausea loomed like no tomorrow. Honestly, I began to feel the room spin.

I raised my hand to throw the metal against the stone again when I stopped, a wave of nausea hit.

My hands grasped my stomach.

This nausea was hell.

I paced to the corner and my hands were on the wall as I bent and whatever they had given me for breakfast ended up on the ground.

A pair of hands wrapped around my arms, gently pulling me to the ground. Then they wrapped around the chains on my wrist. In a second, the nausea was gone and I felt fine like nothing had ever happened.

Was I hallucinating at this point?

The chains loosened. I shook my hands, finally released of the chains and when I had registered that, my hand became in contact with skin.

“Okay, I deserved that,” his right hand clutched his cheek, his eyes on the corner that was the result of this nausea. Before I had continued, his hand waved towards my dirty shirt and the mess had been gone although the feeling of dirt was still there. My clothes were back to its original state, clean and unripped.

“How dare you?” —lie to me. There must have been so much hatred radiating from me because he had slid back a few feet for distance. Suddenly, a sarcastic laugh escaped from me. I wondered for a second if some of the evilness in the kingdom had slipped into me. “Kim Taehyung, that makes sense. The Great King of Darkness.” My head shook as the forced laughter erupted from me. You have got to be kidding me.

“It must have been so fun playing around with a village girl for a week,” I didn’t feel an ounce of regret as harsh words left my mouth. Deep down, my heart didn’t feel so confident in my chest; it felt rather hurt, a bit broken. Did I feel betrayed?

He took notice of the now dulling blue glow of the chains on the stone floor and mumbled quietly, “the chains were supposed to suppress your powers.” He paused. “That’s why you were nauseous.”

“I don’t have powers,” I stared at the ground. “I don’t.”

“You can make yourself believe whatever you want, but what you did back in the throne room was magic,” he said pointedly. Yet, there was a slight smirk on his face and you want to wipe it off. “I knew you were different.”

“I can’t have magic. I’m a commoner from the Village!” My frustration grew and my voice rose with every word, ending with a frustrated scream.

I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want any of this.

“Hey, hey,” his hand placed onto my arm. When I brought my harsh gaze to it, his hand dropped to his side. “Look, it’s possible.” Then his gaze fell from my eyes to the floor and his voice grew quiet, “Some of it ended up in the Village when the Great War ended.”

“But none of my family has it,” I mumbled.

“Perhaps it has manifested inside of you itself,” his eyes focused on the stone below his feet.

“The faster I get away from the place, the faster my ‘powers’ will go away.” I spat out bitterly. My tone was beyond harsh, but I couldn’t help the anger that fueled inside my chest. It felt like heat from molten lava. It was the betrayal.

“You cannot leave now that you’ve stepped foot into my kingdom. They would never let you leave this palace alive.” His eyes stared behind me and in those eyes, burned something dark and empty, a brewing apology.

“Why? You’re king, you can do whatever you want,” even though it was just a statement, I couldn’t help the bitterness that was laced in my voice.

“Even if I bear the crown a king wears, I am not the true ruler here. Not anymore,” he lowered his voice. Indeed as his eyes met mine, there was a dying fire in them. It was like something was drowning him, it was killing him on the inside.

And, for reasons of it, I couldn’t hold the bitterness. It wasn’t an act, yet the anger had slipped from me slightly, draining from the heated part in my chest. Although I still held onto some, that scene from the throne room wouldn’t be replaced. I slid closer to him and released a sigh from my lips.

“What do we do then? I stay here?” My tone had grown slightly more gentle, but there was still an edge. There was no way I could pretend I was fine.

“They’ll try to hurt you.” A muscle feathered in his jaw, he was holding his anger and I wondered momentarily that the idea of my harm would cause such a reaction. His eyes flickered onto the stone below my feet and his brows furrowed.

“I’ll try to get you out of this place,” there was determination behind his words. For a second, his gaze remained distant before he bent down to pick up the unclasped chains. “You have to put these back on,” his eyes took hold of mine and there was a flash of guilt in them. Things would be worse if you don’t have them on when they come back.

I forced myself to trust his words and reluctantly extended my two hands, clenched shut ready to take the nausea that would ensue.

“I’ll get rid of the nausea, I promise.” The cuffs were shut and I felt the sickness resume. His hand rose to the back of my head and another hand on my forehead. A calming darkness came to me and called for me to fall into its arms. It wasn’t like the bitter cold that stormed my home every year during winter. I felt myself reaching for it.

“Sleep and forget the sickness,” Taehyung whispered gently. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

Before I leaped into darkness’s arms, I was laid onto the floor and my eyes half-closed as I watched Taehyung disappear into a whirlwind of black, a grimace on his face.

Now, this encounter felt like a dream. Would I remember this in the morning?

—

When I awoke, I was no longer on the cold stone floor, but in a large bed. Underneath me was sheets made of silk I couldn’t have even dreamt of having. I slowly sat up, caution still streaming through me, and took in the room I had been moved to.

My hands were no longer bound in the chains that emitted a blue glow, this time just plain iron chains were on my wrists.

The room was dimly lit with similar globes of light along the walls and a few on the nightstand beside the bed.

I slowly turned and stood from the bed and walked towards the door. As I approached, there was someone behind it speaking.

“‘I told you to keep the human alive so she could be tortured, and I find her passed out from nausea?’” A voice, undoubtedly Yoongi’s, mocked behind the grand wooden door. “Better give us a good show, Your Majesty.”

The moment I had registered a few words, I quickly paced back to the bed and laid myself in it, closing my eyes. A moment later, the door swung open and Yoongi sauntered in, two female servants behind him.

“Get her into some clean clothes, His Majesty wants her presentable in the throne room. Thirty minutes,” there was a certain dismiss in his tone as his hand waved towards the room without a second glance.

The servants, voiceless, bowed as he spun around and left the room. They gently grabbed my arm and led me towards the washroom.

In thirty minutes, the servants had drawn large tubs of warm water, stripped me down, and washed me with towels damp with water and soap. I was told to sit at the edge of the bath basin and water was poured into my hair. There wasn’t enough time to bathe; this would have to do.

I complied silently. Was there another choice? As I was being dried, one of them left the washroom. The remaining girl ran a brush through my hair allowing it to dry better as well as taking a simple pin with a dark pearl at the end and pinning a strand of hair back.

She handed me undergarments and waited as I put them on. She, then, stood and guided me back to the bedroom.

The other girl held a dress.

I reluctantly stepped into the dress they had prepared. It was of different fashion than the ones that were worn in my more modest village. The dress was black, hanging down to my feet and cinched at the waist. The small train was silk. Although, the modesty was lost at the neckline which hung terribly low. Transparent lace adorned the top of the dress, only a band of black covered my chest. Everything else was left for eyes to roam beneath the sheer lace.

I was given a pair of black slippers. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and my mind went blank at the girl that looked back at me.

This was not me.

Not the girl who stared back with the sunken eyes and dark rings around her eyes even though a layer of powder had been swiped onto her face to try and cover that. Not the girl who had just been basically groomed that still showed how scared she was; that her bravery had shriveled away into nothingness. Definitely not this girl.

Without a given warning, the door opened. Yoongi had a bitter look on his face as he walked towards me and grabbed my arm much harsher. “I said to make her presentable, not dress her for a goddamn ball.” He mumbled as he tugged me out the door.

“You’ll thank His Majesty for the kindness he offered for you human.” His grip was stiff on my arm as he pulled me forward causing me to walk quickly to keep up with his pace. “Walk faster,” he said through clenched teeth.

Taehyung was lounging on the throne when the two grand doors had been opened. His crown slightly tilted on his head.

“Your Majesty,” Yoongi got onto a knee and bowed after tugging me to the marble floor. I reluctantly followed.

“There’s no need to put on such a show. Only the servants are here,” Taehyung smirked, he controlled Yoongi like he was a servant himself. “You can rise.”

“Thank His Majesty for his kindness,” Yoongi’s grip tightened on my arm.

I only gawked slightly, and my mouth opened ajar before, “Taehyung.”

“His Majesty,” Yoongi corrected, his tone bitter, hand tightening around my arm. He gave me a look and it took all I had to shove that lingering thought of rolling my eyes and spitting something nasty as a response.

I had no idea what had coursed through my veins at that very moment, but my next response hadn’t been favorable towards Yoongi.

“Your Majesty,” I bowed in mockery, hands grasped onto the skirt of my dress. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Immediately, Yoongi raised his hand; however, Taehyung spoke before he could use his magic.

“No, Yoongi, please don’t lay a finger on my beautiful y/n. She is to be my betrothed after all,” and he said that with the wicked smile he trained himself to hold so well. “Now loosen that terrible grip you have on her. Don’t want anything to get bruised, right?”

My heart dropped and the room fell into silence —worse than the one that had been when Taehyung first walked into the throne room this morning.

a/n

to this day, the moment of taehyung walking into the throne room still gives me chills i swear. it is the most favorite scene i’ve ever written. for those of you who have read the previous version, the ride really begins now!

yours truly, Selene ♡

Copyright © 2020 Seoulnotes

feedback <3

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

A Twist of Fate ch.31 -In Plain Sight

The Elementalists au

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

Words: 2512

Warnings: NSFW

Series Master List

Complete Master List

This AU is set after everyone graduates Penderghast, and Beckett and Oriana were never friends. Fate, however, may have a different plan for them.

  Beckett was officially at the lowest point in his life. He had cried himself to sleep on his couch the previous night. He couldn’t bring himself to go into the bedroom he’d shared with Oriana. In fact, now that she was gone, all he wanted to do was move out. He didn’t want to be reminded every second of every day of what he lost. He knows what he lost, and he knows he’ll never have it with anyone else.

He didn’t move the entire day. He didn’t sleep more, he didn’t eat, he didn’t drink anything. He ignored his friends’ texts. He tried calling Oriana’s phone again, and this time he received an automated message that her number was no longer in service. He hated himself for not being able to stop her darkness. He hated himself for letting her go. And he hated himself for waiting until it was too late to use the locator spell. All he’d done was respect her wishes, but now he was alone, with no hope at all.

He stared blankly at the tv, which wasn’t even on because he couldn’t stop his thoughts. He didn’t even want to. They were soulmates, they were connected in ways that couldn’t be explained. He could feel her love for him, could feel the way she longed for him. But she won’t go to him. She’s too afraid of hurting him again. If only she’d believe him when he says he’s not afraid of her. All he wants to do is be with her, and he’d do anything to get that back. He kept waiting for sleep, waiting for his own world to go dark…but sleep never came.

It was the same the following day. He hadn’t moved except to use the bathroom. As Sunday night rolled around, he let out a deep sigh, realizing he was supposed to work tomorrow. He wasn’t sure if he was actually going to go, he didn’t want to face anyone. But just in case…

I’m at least going to shower. Everything is always better after getting clean. My life may be a mess, but damn it, this I can control.

Stepping into the warm shower, his mind moved to how many times he’d made love to her in here, how many times he lathered soap suds all over her body and shampoo in her hair. He felt a stray tear slip down his face, and he washed it away angrily.

How could she do this? How could she do this to me? To herself? To us?

Feeling angry now, he finished up and stepped out of the shower, quickly towel drying himself and getting a good look at himself in the mirror. He’d lost weight, there were dark circles under his red rimmed eyes…He looked exactly the way he felt. The only thing missing from view was the giant hole where his heart had been, and where it had been ripped out by the love of his life.

He shook his head. Pull yourself together. You’re Beckett Harrington. You can handle this. You’ve never taken a sick day in your life, and you’re not going to start now.

Finally entering his bedroom, he tried to ignore the overwhelming loneliness of the quiet house. Not bothering with any clothing, he crawled into his bed, immediately rolling to Oriana’s side and smushing his face into her pillow to breathe in what was left of her scent. What he got though, was something hard and pointy.

What the hell??

He pulled back and finally saw it. He saw the one thing of Oriana’s that she’d left behind. He gingerly picked up the sparkling engagement ring, his heart thundering.

How didn’t I see this before?

He thought back to when he’d been searching for Oriana’s things…he’d searched the closets, dressers, the laundry, and under the bed…but he’d never looked at the bed. The ring wasn’t in a box, it had just been sitting on the pillow, blending in with the silver satin sheets. He hadn’t turned the lights on, nor had he slept in this room.

I’m such an idiot! I can’t believe it!! My answer has been right here, in plain sight, this whole time!!!

He was kicking himself for not being more thorough. Any other man would be devastated if their fiancé left her engagement band behind…but not Beckett. This is how he’ll find her. The ring was made specifically for her, ever since he went into the jewelry store, it had always belonged to her. This was better than any of her clothing or other jewelry. This ring was something that should have connected them for the rest of their lives. And it still could. He quickly said the spell…and immediately saw flashes of scenery! He was both crying and laughing at the same time as he hurriedly threw on whatever clothes were closest to him, ran down the stairs, out the door, and into his car. He drove slowly as to allow himself to feel the directions the ring was pulling him in…and finally arrived at a plain looking hotel. His heart beating frantically, the ring led him straight to a door. Beckett took a deep breath…and knocked. A minute later, the door slowly opened.

Oriana stood in the doorway, gaping at the man in front of her. “Beckett? What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“Can I come in?” He asked, his heart pounding.

She hesitated, then gave a slight nod, opening the door for him to slip through. He looked around the small space. “This is where you’ve been this whole time?”

“Why are you here?” She repeated, her face giving nothing away.

He turned back to face the girl he loves more than life itself. “I’m here for you. I’d like to bring you home.”

She stared at him a moment. “No…”

“Oriana, I love you. I love you so much. You are my sun, my moon, my stars, my entire universe. I love you. I don’t want to live without you. We belong together, you know we do. Stop shutting me out.”

She swallowed, hard. “I hurt you. I’m a danger to you.” She whispered.

Beckett shook his head vehemently. “That’s not true. I understand you’re scared. I understand you think you don’t deserve anything good, but you’re wrong.”

He took a step closer to her. She didn’t move. “Ori…I think you need me as much as I need you. I think you love me as much as I love you.” He paused a moment, shutting his eyes a brief second before reopening them and smiling warmly at her.

“I don’t think. I know you feel this way. I know you love me. I know you want to be with me.” He took another step.

“I feel you.” He added. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean something. I thought you were gone forever until…” He showed her the engagement ring. “You left this behind. But it’s yours, it’s always been yours. The connection of this ring? It’s stronger than anything. It led me straight to you.”

He could see the tears welling in her eyes, watched her take a shuddery breath. “You weren’t supposed to use the locator spell.” She whispered.

He was about to speak again when he heard something. A fast bumping sound. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What’s that noise?”

She looked at him in confusion. “What noise?”

“That thumping. You don’t hear that? It’s muffled, but it’s there.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t hear anything.”

He stood perfectly still a minute but didn’t hear anything more. Maybe he imagined it…but then a small wave of nausea rolled over him. Realization dawned on him. His widened eyes dropped to her stomach. “You haven’t been feeling well.”

“No, I have this weird stomach bug I can’t seem to shake. It’s really sucked all my energy out. I’ve never felt so…weak and tired.” She grimaced. “But you’ve been sick too, we probably both caught it at the same time.”

Beckett shook his head. “No…no, I’m…I’m not sick, Ori, but…neither are you. Wow, it never occurred to me that…” He swallowed hard.

“You’re not weak.” He murmured, closing the distance and placing one hand on her stomach and the other around her waist.

She frowned. “What, are you trying to cure me? I’m fine.”

He looked back into her eyes. She doesn’t even know. How can I tell if she can’t?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked.

Beckett answered by kissing her, wrapping her fully in his arms. She stiffened at first…but then melted into it. Their lips and tongues danced, and he picked her up, carrying her to the bed. Setting her down, he quickly pulled off her shirt, noticing for the first time it was actually his shirt. She unzipped his maroon hoodie, pushing it off his shoulders before grabbing the hem of his grey t-shirt and pulling it off. His breath caught in his throat as she unbuckled his belt, sliding his jeans and briefs down over his hips, kissing him like she needed his kisses to survive.

He worked his pants off before removing hers as she pulled him on top of her. “I missed you.” He gasped, already completely breathless. Oriana didn’t say a word, just positioned him so his tip was pressing against her hole, giving a nod before he went any further, He pressed slowly inside her tightness, basking in the warm silkiness of her wrapped around his cock.

“Oh, god, Ori…you feel incredible. Oh god, I missed this so much.” He grunted as picked up the pace, thrusting inside her again and again, trailing kisses along her neck, jaw, and lips, watching her intently as she bucked her hips to meet his rhythm, the pressure building between them until they finally exploded together, her slick juices coating his cock as his hot seed spread in her abdomen. The biggest turn on of his life was knowing that at some point, he’d already impregnated her. She had his baby in her stomach, and he couldn’t wait to meet the newest addition to their family, even just by ultrasound. They panted, coming down from their joined high, Beckett planting more kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her nose, her forehead…then moved south, kissing her chest, her breasts, the space between her breasts, and she moaned quietly as he did. But he’d finally arrived at his destination…her stomach. His kissed her skin there so tenderly before pressing his cheek against it, wanting desperately to feel their child, but knowing it was far too soon. He had no idea how he’d heard that heartbeat for just that second…but a second was all it took.

“Beckett.” Oriana said softly. “You’re amazing, and I miss you, and this was incredible but…” She trailed off uncertainly.

He pulled himself back up, so he could meet her eyes again. “Ori, I didn’t come here to make love to you. I came here because I love you. And I’m not leaving unless you come with me. If you want to stay here, then I’m staying too. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. Besides, you should know that you’re what’s best for me. I came here because I’m going to put your engagement ring back on your finger.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, cutting her off. “When you opened that door, I fell in love with you all over again, and as we talked I realized why you’ve been so sick.”

She gave him a strange look, and he bit his lip, trying to figure out how to word it that wouldn’t make her run.

“You really don’t know why?” He asked slowly, testing the waters.

“I assumed it was you.” She responded. “It comes and goes, I figured it was just the connection wavering at times…” She paused, thinking, before a small gasp escaped her. “Oh, my god. No, that…no that can’t be, I’m on birth control, there’s no way you could’ve…could you? Could I be…?”

Oriana’s hand flew to her mouth in shock, her other one moving to her belly.

“We’re pregnant.” Beckett whispered with a grin. He was hoping for a smile back, but instead she frowned, pushing him away and sitting up.

“You want me back because you think I’m pregnant.” She stated, her expression turning hard. “You would stay here because you think this child is yours and it will bring us together? It’s not because you love me. You love this…this thing inside me. If it’s even there! I’ve been under a lot of stress, Beckett, I’m sure I’m not actually pregnant. I made myself think I was pregnant before and it was the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

Beckett tried to cup her face in his hands, but she shook out of them angrily. “That’s why you wanted to find me. You think I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened. “What? How can you even say that? First of all, I don’t think, I know. But I didn’t know until I was already here. It had never occurred to me that’s why I was feeling randomly ill!”

She rolled her eyes, turning away, but Beckett grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. “Oriana…you know that isn’t true. You can feel my love for you. This past week has been hell on earth, and this? My heart? It’s broken without you.”

He brought her hand back down, taking the other one in his other hand, turning them both lightly over and rubbing her wrists with his thumbs.

“You used to have scars here. They disappeared when I kissed them that night, the first night we made love. You said only pure and true love could do that, you made it that way because you thought no one ever loved you. You said I must have loved you a long time if I was able to do that.”

A tear trickled down her face as she looked away.

“So do you see Ori, why your accusation that I’m only here for the baby doesn’t quite make sense.” He gently wiped her tears away.

“I want you and I love you. But I want and love this child too. Our child. The child we made out of unconditional love. You’re going to be the best mother, and I’m honestly so excited to witness it.”

He could feel her resolve to be angry and distant break as Oriana sniffled and laughed lightly. “God, you’re such a sap.”

He grinned. “But I’m your sap.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, you are my sap.”

“Come home.” He urged.

Oriana took a shuddery breath. “On one condition. You put that ring back on my finger.”

Beckett grabbed the diamond ring from where he’d set it down, then sank to his knees in front of her. “Oriana Miller, will you still marry me?”

“We’re naked.”

“Ori!” He laughed.

She shrugged, her eyes watery, her face lit up and eyes golden. “Absolutely.”

  @annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816 @alesana45 @mfackenthal

@xo-endlessmayhem-xo @endlessly-searching-for-you @rissah @damienswhore @giulia2372 @nerdynstoned @wickedgypsymoon @the-writerly-night-owl  

@aworldoffandoms @cordoniasmost @syltti78

@feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @the-soot-sprite @paisleylovergirl @dottie-minerva-mikas @emichelle @kendrasgue @pbmychoices @flyawayboo @divergentofhogwarts @sonsie0613 @brightpinkpeppercorn @symonde

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Ch 9: Oh, how does it go again? That “O” moment?

Chapter 9- Oh, how does it go again? That ‘O’ moment?

It goes like this:

"How?" Crowley looked disbelievingly at the dead plant and Aziraphale nearly picked it back up to shield it defensively against himself. He didn't though, because as bad as he felt about it he could tell at this point Crowley wasn't really mocking him. Even if she had to fight the corners of her mouth from turning up in some kind of morbid delight. Aziraphale sniffed in an air of offense, "really dear, no need to make such a production out of it. I really feel quite bad enough as it is. Crowley looked up from her fluttering around the pot, her head still tilted down but her eyes peering up over the edges of her damnable persistent sunglasses, an eyebrow cooked challengingly. Aziraphale, for all that he had discreetly tried and hoped to see them, hadn't yet. So he was caught off guard by the brilliant shade of light brown almost honey yellow that they were and the unique almost dripping of her pupils. He was mesmerized. Crowley scoffed, rolled her eyes, then stood straight up, fixing her glasses as she went. Aziraphale, himself, smothered the burst of disappointment that had flared when those golden eyes had been shuttered away again. "So. What happened with this one then." Aziraphale hesitated, unconsciously reached for his ring and then twisted it back and forth as he worried the words in his mouth. "Well, you see, I had to leave town for a week and I thought what with it only needing watering once a week that it would be fine. So I watered it and left but when I came back it was rather... well, rather like this, I suppose." Crowley laughed. That short bark of a laugh, delight reading in every line of her body and oh how Aziraphale wished he could see how Crowley's eyes lit up in laughter too. Did they sparkle with mischief, did the edges crinkle in delight, did- "Maybe it's not you, maybe your shop is cursed and it was never you killing them all along!" He startled, “now don't you insult my shop, dear girl! I'll have you know it's a very lovely shop and not at all, not at all cursed!" Aziraphale hardly recognized that he was the very picture of affront. Hands on his hips, a disparaging frown mingled with a pout taking over his face, and eyebrows downturned. He hardly realized this because he was too busy being struck silent by this brand new smile blooming on Crowley's face. It seemed to have an edge of self satisfaction, of delight, but overwhelmingly it seemed, and Aziraphale could hardly believe he was thinking this, heart fluttering and all, but overwhelmingly it seemed fond. Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat, feeling a tad odd in his chest, as a returning smile burst through his annoyance and giving in to it with a huff he said, "alright, alright," a pause as he debated before relenting again, how could he not with that strange and new smile on Crowley's face, "I might... have forgotten to water it before I left." He was rewarded with another short laugh, the edges a bit softer for the interference of that new smile still on her face, before Crowley turned around to pick up a pot from behind the front counter. Like she'd picked it out ahead of time for Aziraphale. Like she'd placed it aside, saved it. Like it was put behind the counter so there was no chance anyone else could mistakenly buy it. For him.

Crowley turned and settled a, surely beautiful but Aziraphale was too distracted by Crowley's face so he wasn't sure, couldn't be sure, beautiful plant on the counter between them.

Aziraphale’s heart seemed a bit light.

-

It goes like this:

They’re arguing over plant care and the apparent lack thereof.

“Really. You ought to just set an alarm at this point to remind you to water them.”

“I’d never hear it all the way in the shop.”

“Er. What?”

“My alarm clock. It’s all the way in the bedroom so I don’t know how you expect me to be able to hear it out in the shop.”

“No. No! The alarms on your phone Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale blinked. “My phone? Oh!” And as he pulls his phone from his pocket, the linty mostly forgotten thing that it is, Crowley starts making the most amusing if confusing noises.

“Is… Is that a- a- oh my God it’s not even the smart version is it? I didn’t even know they still made those!”

And Crowley’s face is so delightedly surprised, such a charming thing, that Aziraphale can hardly put together the affront at his incredulous tone of voice. He, with some difficulty, pursed his lips and haughtily flipped open his cellular phone. “I find,” he started, trying terribly hard not to crack into a grin at Crowley’s antics, “that it works just fine, thank you. It’s plenty smart as it is.”

And then Aziraphale couldn’t hold the laugh back any longer because Crowley’s face broke into the largest grin as he threw his head back, cackling with delight.

-

It goes like this:

Aziraphale pursed his lips in what was decidedly not a pout, as that would be terribly childish, and primly said "there's really no need for all that." Crowley only grinned, eyebrow cooked, and drawled "no, no, I really rather think there is." Aziraphale huffed. Crowley's grin grew as he gestured widely with his hands at the poor thing on the counter that Aziraphale had brought in, "I mean, it's practically an anniversary. The tenth dead plant." "Oh really Crowley, must you? Really?" Crowley practically glowed with delight, his grin bright and sparkling with fiendish delight. "Really."

-

It goes like this:

Crowley’s got his sleeves rolled up, hands deep in the dark soil, a broken sort of humming coming from under his breath, and his hair pulled back in a low tail while fine wisps of fire red strands stick to his forehead and fall forward into his face.

There’s a twist of his hand and Aziraphale, who can’t quite remember when he came in to the shop, spies the airbrush soft edges of a colorful tattoo on the inside of that wrist. It looks like smudges of blues and purples but really he only got the faintest glimpse of it before Crowley turned his hand away again, long boney fingers exactingly gentle with curling roots and green stems.

He’s so interested in seeing the rest of that tattoo, so distracted by bared forearms and wisps of escaped hair, that Aziraphale quite forgot what he had come in to say.

He doesn’t remember when Crowley catches sight of him and turns his head to grin at him, in fact, he feels as though it’s even worse. He’s forgotten the entire day. Instead it’s filled with that smile and those forearms and the wonders about a tattoo that Crowley’s already rolling his sleeves over as he comes to greet Aziraphale.

His chest is tight and light and he’s just realized that at some point a silly smile had stolen across his face without hardly a say-so.

-

It goes like this:

It was a perfectly normal day. Not blindingly cheerful and not dreadfully stormy. The kind of weather that no one commented on and that was terrible for those bad conversation starters about the weather.

Aziraphale himself was having a normal, neutral, day. It wasn’t grand but it wasn’t terrible either. It simply was. He was a bit excited, but that was normal too, afterall, he was on his way to Garden’s Edge to see Crowley for his lunch break. He’d found after too many days hunched over his desk, his eyesight blurring and his steady hand beginning to shake from all the fine repair detail, that getting out once in a while was beneficial on many fronts. For one, it helped to look at things further away than two feet, for another, bantering with Crowley often led to snips and laughter.

The point was, the point was (dolphins) that it was a perfectly normal day and thus Aziraphale wasn’t expecting anything other than a normal day to continue to happen.

It happens like this:

Aziraphale’s distracted by thoughts of crepes when he arrives at the shop. He enters in, distracted, still thinking of what bakery might be best to inquire about some sweet crepes when he heard Crowley’s new motion sensor do a doorbell chime sound. (He still has no idea what was so inadequate about the normal kind attached to a door but when he asked Crowley had only given him an odd look before changing the subject. A sore spot, clearly. Though of what was a mystery.)

The sound was a bright chime and at it Crowley’s head popped up from where he was looking down at a plant with a customer. At the sight of Aziraphale, a bright smile bloomed across his face, and he sounded so downright joyful when he called out Aziraphale’s name in greeting that his heart skipped.

“H-hello dear.”

“One sec, I just gotta-” he turned back to the quietly bemused customer and finished up their order. The customer looked between the two of them a few times, not that oblivious Crowley noticed what with his ducking behind the counter for something, before giving a grin and a wink to Aziraphale who’s insides trilled oddly. Then the customer’s gone and Crowley’s popping back up from behind the counter with a triumphant “a Ha!” and a squarish object wrapped in brown paper.

Hopping over the counter, instead of walking around it like a sensible person, Crowley trotted up to Aziraphale, practically thrumming with nerves. He rocked on his heels, jiggled his knee, and his smile kept twitching larger.

“Look what I just found!”

And with that he shoved the parcel, clearly a book- Aziraphale would know the heft and weight of a book anywhere-, into Aziraphale’s hands and impatiently gestured for him to tear into it.

“For me?”

“No one else here, is there?”

“Oh hush you.” but his heart was soaring. A gift, a book, for him. Goodness.

He carefully peeled back the paper and then froze. Staring up at him, impossibly, was a leather bound, silver edged copy of Elbaffeni by Lien Nemiag.

“You… found this?” Reverently he traced his finger across the engraved title.

“Yeah, yup, sure did. Found it in my attic.”

Which is absolutely a lie because 1. Crowley doesn’t have an attic, and 2. Good Lord this book was hard to find. It was hardly expensive, not many collected it, but it was the third book in the series his grandmother had read to him as a child. He’d been looking for this one, it was the only one he was still missing from his collection, and Crowley must have heard him complaining about it one day. Must have heard him say he was missing it, and then went and looked for it.

His chest tightened and his eyes felt a bit hot. He eased open the cover, eyes taking in the patterned end-covers before carefully turning to the copyright page. A third edition. Good Lord this man.

“Do you… not like it? ‘Cause I could get- I mean find- I mean-”

He looked up at Crowley, sweet Crowley who was chewing on his lip, anxiously peering at him, hands shoved deep in his pockets to stop their fidgeting, and subtly rocking back and forth on his heels. And oh, his heart just thrummed in his chest like a humming bird, light and quick, and utterly in-

Oh.

Oh.

Before he could think it through he was pulling Crowley, sweet thoughtful Crowley, into a hug. “Oh my dear boy, I love it. Thank you ever so much for finding this for me.”

Crowley went stiff at first before practically melting into the hug, long arms wrapping carefully around Aziraphale as if disbelieving of the contact. And oh perhaps Crowley was more of a tactile person than he had originally thought. He seemed to melt into this like a long awaited reward. His breath tickled Aziraphale’s skin when he said “’course, glad you like it. Was hoping I remembered the right one.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow with a slow growing grin, “oh? I thought you said you found it in your attic?”

Crowley stiffened, “Uh.” and wasn’t he just as lovely when he sounded a touch panicked.

“Perhaps I should take a look around your attic,” Aziraphale mused relentlessly as Crowley started to stutter out excuses, “see what other gems you have hidden away and forgotten about.”

“I- it, nghhh it’s, uhhh-under construction.”

Both eyebrows raised at that and it was hard to keep the laugh from his voice when he repeated, “construction?”

“I mean- renovation!”

“Your attic’s under renovation.”

“...yes. Yeah. Yup. Sure is. Just, uhhh, started the other day. That’s when I found the book.”

“Hm. Well, perhaps I could help you with it.”

Crowley choked, “help me?”

“Yes, two pairs of hands make the quick work and all that. I can help with your renovations.”

“I- guh- that’s, uh, very niccce of you but, I don’t really, I mean, the attic’sss-”

Aziraphale pulled back, a fond smile taking over his whole face at Crowley’s lisp slipping out and at the poor boy’s stutterings. “I’m teasing dear.”

Crowley stopped, looked up at him, and expressed his displeasure at this with what he would call a glare and what Aziraphale called a pout. “Basstard...” But it was fond and secretly pleased.

Aziraphale’s new revelation nearly tripped his tongue into saying ‘your bastard’ but he caught it just in time. Oh dear. A new set of problems to keep an eye out for. Of which, would Crowley even-

Stop. Think about that later, first-

“Let’s grab lunch.”

“Yeah, sure, just let me close up shop.”

Aziraphale waited until he had done so and, as Crowley was locking up, said, “as thanks, lunch is on me.”

Crowley’s hand slipped and the key fell from the lock to clatter to the ground. He dove for it with a curse before saying “you don’t have to do that Aziraphale, like I said I just found it-”

Oh dear. Simply couldn’t be seen doing a nice thing just for the sake of doing it still.

“-yes yes, in the attic. But that you gave it to me at all is still a gift and thus, lunch is on me.”

“But-”

“No buts dear!” well, except perhaps his since it was ever so lovely and oh my, moving on! “I shan’t hear of it!”

Crowley stared at him before locking the door with a disbelieving echo of “shan’t” before turning and giving in, “oh fine. I can’t believe you use the word shan’t in normal conversation. You sound like a relic.”

“Or a history professor.”

“Heard that one before, eh?”

Aziraphale smiled as they made their way down to Knead to Know. “Oh, only all the time.”

Crowley hummed, hands shoved into his pockets, hips doing that strange sway they always did when he walked, and said, “well. I’ll just have to come up with some new ones.”

Aziraphale exaggerated a sigh. “From gifts to insults, whatever shall I do with you?”

Crowley grinned at him.

[justanoutlawfic]

Coming Home: Chapt. 5

Summary: 23 years ago, lies were told. Now, part of the truth can finally be revealed. But will Emma listen to it?

Also on AO3/FF

August 10th, 1989

 Snow stormed the mayor’s office. She could feel a white heat boiling over her entire body. Her eyes locked on Regina, her memories mixing. She looked so different than she had the day the curse was cast. Her hair was shorter and she dressed relaxed. Then again, everything in Storybrooke seemed relaxed to how things were in the Enchanted Forest. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of her husband bleeding out on the ground, not waking up no matter how many times her lips grazed his. The wardrobe being thrown open and her daughter being gone.

 Her daughter.

 Snow thought of the little girl that was currently being babysat by Ruby. Mary Margaret had been fostering her for the past 8 months. They had plans to adopt her. Emma was the savior, she was supposed to break the curse. Yet, no matter how many kisses on the cheek or goodnight cuddles, the town was still cursed. Even David wasn’t awake. Snow would still be her cursed self had she not noticed the blossoming flowers in the yard.

 They didn’t look like anything she had planted over the years. No, they were bright pink, resembling a rose but her years of gardening told her they weren’t. They had been there since winter, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. They didn’t weed like the others. It took until summer for Mary Margaret to finally decide to pick a bouquet for the front hall.

 The moment she grasped one, some glitter fell into her hand and her entire body shifted. Mixing in with Mary Margaret’s foggy memories of finishing college, marrying David and everything that came before Emma’s arrival were replaced by the reality: her life as Snow White. The day she met Regina. The moment she became a bandit. Falling in love with David. Finding out that one day they would have a child.

 Most importantly: the day her baby was born. The curse enveloping them. The last thing she ever saw being Regina’s sick smile.

 “You,” Snow seethed.

 Regina looked up, confusion written across those big brown eyes. Then it must have clicked. She slowly stood up, folding her arms over her chest.

 “Snow White.” She took a step closer. “You’re awake.”

“No thanks to you.”

“This shouldn’t be happening. You…”

“Were supposed to be miserable for 28 years?” A bitter laugh escaped Snow’s mouth. “I’m surprised you even know it’s me.”

“Mary Margaret never looked at me like this.”

“Mary Margaret didn’t know what you had done.”

Regina tilted her head. “So, what’s your plan here? I’m assuming you’re the only one awake or else I’d have a mob outside my door.”

 Snow thought of Gold, no Rumpelstiltskin. He had been extra helpful to Mary Margaret and David when it came to trying to adopt Emma. There is no way that the Mr. Gold that had been asleep would be so willing. Rumple was the one obsessed with their daughter. She was the key to the curse. He had to be awake.

 She wasn’t about to out that. No, that would put more people in danger.

 “I don’t know how it happened either, but I won’t be alone for long. Emma is here. She’ll break the curse.”

“Your foster daughter?” Regina laughed. “What does she have to do with anything?”

 Snow continued staring at her, until it seemed to click in her mind.

 “She’s more than just your foster daughter, isn’t she?”

“Surprise.”

“How…I don’t…” Regina clenched her desk. “It makes sense how she made the way over the town line.”

“Your plan has failed.”

“And what’s your plan once your precious little girl brings magic to this town?” Regina cocked an eyebrow. “You think I won’t find a way to defeat you? You couldn’t stop me last time. Maybe my knights will actually succeed in killing your precious family this time.”

 Snow didn’t know what she was doing until her fist was throbbing and Regina had her face covered. Blood dripped to the marble tile. It was both of theirs. Regina gasped, her hand over her nose. Her eyes narrowed.

 “You’re going to regret that.”

“You stay away from my family or you’ll be the one that has regrets. This may be your town, Regina, but I know you. And I will not let you win. Not again.”

 She stormed out of the office, shaking out her hand. Dammit. This was going to bruise. There was a cut from where her emerald ring had pierced Regina. It was all worth it. As she got out of the office and onto the street, she ran into someone. The tumble of a cane into her shin made her realize who it was.

 “Rumple.”

He fixed her with a look. “You’re awake.”

“And I know you’ve been for awhile now. How?”

“Let’s just say Regina’s not the only one who can work things into a curse.” He looked down at her throbbing fist. “I take it you paid Miss Mills a visit.”

“The Queen isn’t going to win this time. How can we get Emma to break the curse?”

Gold sighed. “Snow, I told you before. It can only be broken after her 28th birthday. That’s when she was fated to return to you and your husband.”

“But she’s here now! There has to be another way.”

“I’m afraid not. Somehow, she ended up in your care again, but magic is specific. This town cannot have its curse lifted for another 23 years. And now that Miss Mills knows you’re awake, you’re all in danger.”

 Arrogance had always been Snow’s downfall. If only she knew what she was setting herself up for. But she didn’t want to think about that. No, she could find a way. Rumpelstiltskin had to be wrong.

 “I won’t let her hurt my child again. And I don’t need your help to break the curse. I’ll figure it out.”

 She began to walk away and could hear Rumpelstiltskin let out a long sigh.

“Why don’t we go back to my shop and have a spot of tea?” He offered. “We can work this out together.”

 October 26th, 2011

Rumpelstiltskin knew that Mr. Gold never had a customer. Over the past 28 years, only three people had ever entered his shop: Regina Mills and the Charmings. Gold had never minded it; the shop was hardly his only source of income. Ever since Miss Swan returned to town, however, and the clock started moving, there had been the nosy customer every so often, suddenly interested in purchasing things or trying to get money for something else. Miss Boyd paid him a visit quite often, trying to get him to reverse her contract.

 Oh, the irony that Mr. Gold had struck one up with her as well.

 As he polished silver that was already shiny, he heard the bell above the door open. He looked up to find Emma heading towards him. The file he had gifted her was tucked under her arm, ripped open at the top. Her eyes were tear stained. Rumpelstiltskin kept up appearances and didn’t smile, nor frown.

 “Miss Swan,” he said. “I take it you’ve read the information I gave you?”

She slammed the file onto the glass case in front of him. “Is this real?”

“Real?”

“Did Mary Margaret and David pay you to put this together?”

Rumpelstiltskin finally allowed himself to smile. “Miss Swan, they have no clue I even spoke to you.”

She let out a shaky breath. “So…it’s true.”

“Yes. Miss Blanchard, then Mrs. Nolan, assaulted the mayor when she threatened to have you taken away from her. Madam Mayor reported this to social services, who deemed that Mr. and Mrs. Nolan were not the right fit for you.”

 Of course, social services knew nothing of the curse or the fact that Regina had been punched for threatening to kill Emma and David. There was no proof of it. It was information that not even Mary Margaret could remember. Rumpelstiltskin had forgotten it for 23 years himself. Now, it replayed in his mind as if it were warm water.

 Snow White sitting at a table in the back of his shop. He fixed them a cup of tea, finding the one bit of magic that had made it through the curse. He had written it in that way. It wasn’t much, but enough to make sure that if anyone ever woke up before it was time-himself included-they’d fall back asleep. There was only one vial, enough for two people. Magic couldn’t exist in Storybrooke, not yet.

 He had watched her sip the tea. The fierceness in her eyes melted away. Her shoulder slouched. As she dropped the teacup to the saucer, that annoyingly adorable confusion that made her beloved by the kingdom fell over her face. She had looked around the backroom, blinking.

 “What am I doing here?”

“Don’t you remember, Mrs. Nolan, you wanted to discuss Emma’s adoption. I told you there were some hurdles, but I’m working on it.”

She had blinked again. “Oh, yes.”

 Once she left, Rumpelstiltskin waited. He hadn’t expected for Regina to call social services or for Emma to be taken. Had he known, maybe he wouldn’t have done what he did. There was no way Snow White would have let Emma slip away. But Mary Margaret and David didn’t know the claim they held on their daughter. They fell against the law.

 Alas, it was too late. Emma was gone. He had to trust she’d find her way back. He used the rest of the memory potion to wipe away his memories of the 8 months she had spent in town. His mind had become a blur once more.

 Until he walked into the bed and breakfast, where an adult Emma stood.

He couldn’t tell her any of that, though. Instead, he watched the woman’s mind reel at the information.

 “They didn’t want to lose me,” she whispered.

“They fought for you. There was just nothing they could’ve done. Even my powers as attorney were not enough. Social services didn’t deem them objective enough to foster you.”

 A single tear fell down Emma’s face. He reached into his breast pocket, extending a handkerchief that she refused.

“My whole life, I thought they had given up on me. But they wanted me.” Emma’s voice cracked. “Why wouldn’t they tell me this?”

“Social services removed you from school without their knowledge. By the time they found out you were gone, it was too late.”

“But even now…”

“Have you given them a chance?”

 That shut her up. Emma stared at the file, another tear falling. She wiped at her face furiously, knocking her hand into the swan keychain that hung around her neck. Rumpelstiltskin was not sure why he felt the need to stare at it. Finally, he broke his eyes away to look back at her. She sniffled, trying to compose herself.

 “If this is all true….I don’t know what to do with this,” Emma rambled.

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “Well, I’d at least say you owe them a conversation.”

 Emma simply nodded. She picked the file back up and began to head out of the office. Suddenly, he remembered something.

 “Oh, and Miss Swan?” She turned back to face him. “Since I helped you with something, I assume you’d be more than willing to get me out of a jam if needed.”

Emma blinked several times, before regaining composure. “What are you going to want?”

“Just as I said. If I need help, you’ll give it.”

Emma looked even more confused, but finally nodded. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

 Rumpelstiltskin waited until she exited his shop to smile gleefully to himself.

*x*

It didn’t take long to find Mary Margaret’s new loft. She was a bail bondsman; her job was to find people. After conversing with a few people, she found herself in a dimly lit hallway. A number 3 hung on the green door. The file was back in her bug, but the contents replayed in her mind.

 She finally allowed her hand to rap on the door. When it opened, David stood on the other side.

 “What are you doing here?” She blurted out. “Isn’t this Mary Margaret’s place?”

David suddenly looked defensive. “She asked me over to talk about…well, to talk about you.” He stared at her for a moment and it made her feel uncomfortable. “I still can’t believe you’re 28.”

“I need to talk to both of you.” She pushed past him, wanting nothing to do with his nostalgia.

Mary Margaret moved from the kitchen. “Emma…” She took in her face. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Did you really punch Regina Mills?”

Mary Margaret bit her lip. “She was threatening to take you away from us. I still don’t remember it that clearly…but…” She looked over at David, who was staring at the wall. “I shouldn’t have done it. We would’ve been able to keep you.”

“You defended me. You wanted to keep me.”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows knitted together. “Of course we did.”

Emma’s voice caught. “You didn’t want to give me away. You…it….”

 She tried to keep herself steady. It was bad enough she had cried in front of Gold, she couldn’t do it in front of them too. David moved closer to Mary Margaret, but neither said anything.

 “My whole life, I thought you two just gave up on me,” she finally managed to get out. “But you fought for me.”

“Emma, we love you. So much.” David’s eyes were sincere and she hated it. “We never wanted to let you go. If we could’ve stopped it or at the very least explained it to you, we would’ve.”

“But they didn’t even tell us that they were taking you until Helen had already gone to get you from school,” Mary Margaret continued. “They said we couldn’t see you again, that it wouldn’t be healthy.”

 She took a step closer to Emma, reaching out to touch her face. Emma didn’t pull away, despite her better instincts. Mary Margaret’s hands were always warm. Comforting. She had missed this. She had missed them. She had spent nights crying herself to sleep, just wishing she could be back in their arms.

 Now there they were.

 Her eyes burned with tears.

 Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re gonna look stupid if you cry, one voice told her. But it was overshadowed by a memory from when she had lived with them. Mary Margaret caught her crying one night and she had been embarrassed.

“Big girls don’t cry,” Emma told her foster mom.

“Oh sweetie, that’s just a dumb myth. Big girls and boys definitely do cry.”’

 The floodgates opened and Emma allowed herself to cry. The tears hit Mary Margaret’s hand, but her former foster mother didn’t seem to care. She simply moved to wrap both of her arms around Emma. A hug. It had been 23 years since the last hug she received from her. She still smelt the same, of cinnamon and red pen. David wrapped one arm around her and then used the over to cradle the back of her head. Just as he had when she was little.

 It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was home.

[rheyninwrites]

The Photographer’s Assistant Part 6

This is it folks, we’ve reached the end. I hope it lives up to your expectations!

You walk through the garden, slowly, heading to the bench Albert had put beneath the single tree he had in his yard. You’d ask him to put it there, so you could be reminded of the time you had gotten to spend with Arthur. After falling so hard for him, you knew there was no way you’d be able to go back to days filled with a string of people who could never compare, and you knew your mother wouldn’t give up until she saw you married, so you’d asked Albert if you could move in with him. Of course, he’d said you were more than welcome.

It had been months since you’d last heard from Arthur, a short note he’d left on your bed after you’d spent the night together. You’d confessed your love, and, in the note, he’d said he returned your feelings, but that he had things he had to take care of. Though he’d promised he would write, you’d heard nothing from him since then. You had hung around Saint Denis for as long as you could, but eventually Albert couldn’t come up with any more excuses, and here you were, missing him so much you felt like you could barely breathe. In the darkest parts of the night, sometimes you wondered if you would ever see him again, or if he would be nothing but a sweet memory, kept in your heart. Though you hated to admit it to yourself, you knew it was a very real possibility. He was an outlaw, a wanted man, after all.

You sighed, picking up your sketchbook again and sorting through the reference photos Albert had left with you. While he was out hunting his “crowning glory” photo, it was your job to create the detailed drawings of plants and scenery that would accompany his photos. You enjoyed it, and it provided you with something to fill the days, as well as a tidy sum that would keep you fed and clothed for some time. Still, you often wondered what your cousin was up to. During the course of your adventures with him, he’d managed to get himself into all sorts of troubles, often only surviving thanks to Arthur. This time, supposedly, there was “no risk whatsoever” because he was only photographing eagles nesting, but you’d certainly heard that before, only to find yourself nearly eaten.

“You wanna be careful up here, the land is real treacherous.”

Albert jumped back from his camera, startled. He’d been taking photos all day, not a soul in sight, so the last thing he expect was for someone to sneak up on him. Finding out who it was startled him even more.

“Mr Morgan!” Albert ran over to greet him, shaking him warmly by the hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Funny the way things turn out, isn’t it? It’s never quite how you’d expect.” Arthur chuckled a bit.

“No, I don’t suppose it is.”Albert thought of his cousin, pining away for the man who stood in front of him. He took a step back, readying himself to ask Arthur what he intended for you, when Arthur stepped forward quickly, shooting his arm out.

“Please,” he said, “Mr Mason, would you step away from the cliff’s edge?” He’d spent enough time around Albert to know that danger had a tendency to find him, despite his best intentions. “Eagles are beautiful, but, unlike you, they can fly.”

“Oh, you must think I’m really a buffoon.” Albert said, mindlessly stepping farther back as he spoke. “As if I’m going to just step-“

With that, he disappeared over the edge of the cliff, Arthur cursing and leaping forward, peering down. Suddenly a small voice caught his attention.

“Apparently I am that much of a buffoon.”

He reached down, pulling a shaking Albert back up over the edge of the cliff. Immediately, Albert started packing his camera away.

“Bugger the eagles. I’m going home!” He shoved his things into his bag and began to stomp off towards his horse. As Arthur realized what was happening, he rushed to catch up with him.

“Mr Mason! Albert!” Albert stopped, turning to look at him. “Please. Do you know where I can find your cousin?”

A wide smile spread across Albert’s face. “As a matter of fact . . . .” He gave him a quick rundown of the events, Arthur’s hand tapping impatiently against his thigh as he waited. When he finally got the directions to his house out of Albert, he leapt onto his horse, tearing away in a cloud of dust, while Albert smiled.

For you, it was just another day in the garden, thinking about the man you’d begun to realize you would never have. Everything the two of you had shared, every touch, every tender kiss, replayed itself inside of your head again and again. It was as if you’d lost a part of your soul, a piece of yourself you’d never known was missing until you’d met him. You ached inside with the missing of him, and you knew there would never be anyone else for you, that no other person could possibly compare. The tears were falling thick and fast into your lap when you heard the hoof beats. As they grew louder, you stood, searching the horizon where they seemed to be coming from as you wiped your eyes. Albert wasn’t due home for another few days, but if he was back early, the last thing you wanted him to see was you crying yourself silly over Arthur.

When the rider finally came into view, you could swear your heart stopped. You’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your entire life. As you collapsed onto the ground, Arthur was off of his horse, not even waiting for it to stop. Seconds later, you were in his arms, crying tears of joy, tears of relief, as his warm voice murmured sweet words on your ear. He held you closely as he kissed away every tear you cried, stroking your hair. When you had both finally settled down and finished kissing each other breathless, he stood, pulling you up after him and sitting you down on the bench. He kneeled in front of you, cupping your face in his hands.

You shook your head at him, still astounded that he was finally here, in front of you again.

“ I thought you weren’t coming back. I thought I would never see you again.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, smiling.

“Darlin’, you’re the sweetest, most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. You let me be who I am, and ain’t never asked me for anything you know I can’t give you. Not only did you accept who I was, you went and fell in love with me, knowing it. I ain’t walking away from that. Not ever.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver band with a small white stone in the center.

“I told you I had things that had to be done, and I did ‘em. Now I’m here, and I’m all yours. It’s all I want, and I hope you feel the same way. So now, if you’ll have me, I’d like to be your husband.”

There are no words to describe the tender vulnerability you see in his eyes. He’s laid his soul bare for you, showing you the one thing he wants more than anything else in his life, and, by some miracle, it’s you. There’s only one answer you could possibly give him. Tears well in your eyes as you notice the hand that’s holding the ring up to you is shaking slightly. You press your mouth to his, hard, for just one moment. Then . . .

“Yes.”

He grabs you, lifting you in his arms and spinning you around in his arms like he’s the happiest person in the world. Maybe he is, or at least, maybe it’s tied, because you know you’d be in the running too, the way you feel right now. It’s like, suddenly, the whole world makes sense, and every flower that’s ever bloomed, every ray of sunshine, every laugh has brought you this moment. This is not your happy ending, no, because this is only the beginning. You’re going to marry the most amazing man in the world, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. It’s only going to get better from here.

And, of course, when the wedding comes, Albert is the best man