#i took a swatch and kept only the writing on the arm

[landgraabbed]

bambi sent niko off to work & got a new tattoo :-) miram was there for emotional support

[renee-writer]

Letters Chapter 5

AO3

She carries them into the great room where she has a folding table and chairs set up. Sitting in one, she lays the letters out. Opening one, she sees it is addressed to,

 

 

“Our coming bairn,

 

My darling, this is yer da. I dinna ken whether ye be a lass or a lad. It matters not. Yer mama assumes I wish for a lad. I dinna think she believes me when I say it doesn’t matter. Truly whatever God gifts us with is fine with me.

I cannae wait to see ye. To see yer mama in ye. She is beautiful. I ken ye will be as well. I cannae wait to take ye riding. A horse man, or lass, ye shall be.

Yer mama believes it will be anytime, yer coming. She is sae brave. Yer da has delivered many a horse and coo. To see a woman be delivered of a child, weel, yer da is glad that I dinna have to witness such. “

 

The next on the pile is wrinkled when she removes it. From long dried tears, she sees as she reads the opening line.

 

“Ye were delivered still, my daughter. Yer Auntie Jenny named ye Faith. Beautiful, as I expected ye to be, fair of skin with my red hair and yer mama ‘s curls. Yer mama…”  There is a break here where a swatch of ink takes the center of the page, “yer mama wished for Julia, after her own mama. We thought it better to wait until a living child. Nae it matters.” Another break. She reads his breaking and shattered heart in the pauses, “They couldn’t stop the bleeding. They tried. Jenny was near covered with it when she came to tell me. I was holding ye, saying goodbye. She took ye and I rushed in, just in time.  She slipped away as I held her hand, begging her to stay.

Ye are both with the angels now. I am alone.”

 

Claire laid the missive aside, reaching for the tissues. She wept for this heartbroken man. This Jamie who feels as near as his writing. After a few minutes, she picks up another one. It is next in the chronological order he wrote them.

 

“My dearest Claire,

 

We laid ye to rest today. Faith lays cradled in your arms. I dinna ken how to go on from here. The life we planned is under the dirt and I only go on out of habit. How am I to keep moving forward without ye? How could death part us sae soon?

I railed against the Almighty. How can His will be thus? I shall find ye again. If it takes all of eternity, I shall find ye! I must.”

 

“What type of love is this?” she asks the room.

 

Shaking, she slides the next one out.

 

“My dearest Claire,

 

Hope! I have hope. How ye could have kept such a thing from me, I cannae fathom. Going through yer things, I found the letter ye penned to me. I understand so much more now. How ye ken’ d what ye did. I would have believed ye. There was always a trust between us. All ye had to do is tell me. Ah, ye have, in ye own way.

As ye made it here once, I ken ye can again. I shall be waiting. As always, yer faithful husband.”

 

“What the hell?” Claire mumbles to herself. Inside the envelope, that the last letter had been in, there is another.  Opening it, she sees, to her shock, her own handwriting. It is recognizable even with the different writing instruments used. Heart pounding, she reads it.

 

“My dearest Jamie,

 

I have a confession. I am not who I seem to be. Yes, I am your wife and shall always be. But, I am more. I am a time traveler. I was born in the year 1915. While in Scotland on holiday, I explored a strange set of standing stones. A touch of the largest transferred me to your time. I woke up disoriented in a time different from my own. Then Murtagh found me. My clothing, that you thought a shift, was actually a dress from my time.

I should have told you straight away but, I never expected to fall so deeply in love with you. I pray soon I get the courage to share this with you. You deserve the truth.

Your love,

Claire.”

 

She sits holding the letter as the clock chimes the hour. It brings her back to herself.  Shaking her head in a futile effort to clear it, she struggles to make sense of it all.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem! Reader Warnings: Talk of parent death Length: 2.1k words Notes: Okay bitches here we go. I’ve got 3 kids doing online schooling, a desk chair that just broke while I was halfway through typing this out, a raging headache, and couldn’t be fucked to edit. I love you al, thank you for sticking with me and this little brain baby of mine. My guidance counselor from high school can suck my dick, “You’re not a creative writer, Cher, you should considering taking Home Ec as an elective instead” I digress....

Series Masterlist

"No." You glared at him and squeezed his hand harder, "You're doing that thing again.

Frankie's head whipped over to stare at you, shocked by your assertive tone.

"You're pulling away. You're stressed, out of your depth, don't know how to deal with it and so you're pulling away again-"

"You don't understand," Frankie interrupted you, shaking his head and trying to pull his hands out of your grasp. This only served to strengthen your resolve, and your grip on him.

"No." You declare again, trying to stay calm and have a mature conversation despite the tension and running emotions. "You told me to give you time to get your thoughts straight and vocalized. I can't do that if I'm not here to hear them. I can't understand your predicament if I leave. So," You moved so you're sitting cross-legged in front of him, making eye contact in an effort to show him he had your full attention. "Why don't you tell me what that phone call was about so we can start figuring it out, together."

The situation was more complex than you ever could have imagined. Frankie's ex-wife, Karla, had died. Her car had been hit by a drunk driver. Annie, thank the gods, hadn't been in the car at the time. Before she'd died at the hospital, Karla had managed to say a few words to the paramedics. At the time they didn't make sense, however, the paramedic had taken the time to write the words down and included the scrap of paper with the patient's chart. This evidence, as it turned out, had been monumental during the resulting legal battle for Annie, all of which took place without Frankie even being notified.

Child services, lawyers, extended family, and even doctors had been involved in the court proceedings. All arguing over the future of the six-year-old girl. All believing that they knew what was best for her, most believing that she should live with them, some having the gall to pretend that they weren't aware of the sizable life insurance payout she was about to receive.

Eight words. Eight simple, beautiful words whispered through the broken, bloody lips of a woman who knew she was about to die. A young girl's future was being held in suspense, and as fate would have it, a wise and sentimental judge was overseeing her case. Eight words were all it took to convince him that Annie's mother knew what was best for her own child.

"Francisco Morales. Trust with her, he's ready now."

From the time Frankie had received the phone call from Karla's family lawyer, the two of you had two days to prepare for Annie's arrival. Frankie worked his magic and erected a wall across the bedroom portion of his loft, allowing for the little girl to have some privacy but not feel like she was being closed in. 

He had fretted for a least twenty five minutes over colour swatches at Hank’s Hardware before coming to the conclusion that he should leave it white and have Annie chose her room colours once she had settled in. He bought himself a new couch, as well, that would convert into a bed and serve as his bedroom for the time being.

The conversation you never had a chance to have with him was still in the back of your mind, but you understood that moving in together as a couple was hard enough. Moving in together with a kid neither of you knew, whose life had just been turned upside down against her will, would be catastrophic. Instead, you focused on being as much of a rock for Frankie as you could.

You made a trip to the city and bought girls bedding, some stuffed animals, and a few little decorations to help Annie feel like the new space was special for her. You also thought to pick up comfort food that a kid might crave, knowing that when you were six the best way to your heart was chocolate. Just before you left the city, a sign caught your attention and had you swerving to change lanes, normally you'd feel slightly bad about your obnoxious driving but today you just waved your middle finger at the rear window in a mock salute.

The flower shop had so many bouquets and you had no idea what kind of flowers the little girl might like. You also had the morbid realization that bouquets might remind her of all the flowers she surely saw at Karla's funeral. Just as you began to second guess yourself, a stand near the back caught your eye and made you smile.

The day of her arrival came quicker than you felt prepared for, never mind how Frankie must be feeling. He hadn't had too much time to worry about how having his daughter would change his life, but once the two of you were standing in his driveway doing nothing but waiting, the nerves had finally settled in. You could see deep, calming breaths he was taking as they condensed into little clouds in the freezing air.

Grabbing his clenched fist, you felt his fingers relax enough to allow your gloved ones to slide through them.

"It's going to be weird for everyone, she's probably nervous too." You weren't sure if the words were reassuring or not but nervous talking seemed to be your forte so you ran with it. "I mean, she's probably sad that she's leaving everything and everyone she's always known, excited about moving to a new place, then feeling bad that she's feeling another emotion besides grief. It can be hard to juggle loss and hope. Just show her how much you love her and be honest about why you couldn't be with her before. Kids are smart and are aware of way more than adults give them credit for."

A few moments later a black sedan slowly crept up the driveway. You wanted to stay, to meet the little girl but had the feeling that Annie and Frankie were going to need time to figure out their relationship without another person in the mix. Suddenly having a new parent was going to be hard enough on the little girl, you were afraid that she might see you as trying to replace her mom and push you away.

Rubbing Frankie's back for one last show of reassurance, you kissed his shoulder then took a few steps back. You figured this was the best way to be there to support him but also staying in the background for the time being. Before the car could fully come to a stop, the rear door was flying open and, in a blur of movement, a little body was flying out of it towards Frankie. You know how people will say that there are times in their lives where important moments fly by so fast they barely have time to enjoy them? Well, this wasn't one of them.

As Annie barreled her way towards Frankie, you saw in slow motion how his handsome face went from being creased with worry, to eyebrow raised shock, to breaking out in a teary smile. He had just begun to crouch down and open his arms in anticipation of holding his little girl when instead she ran right past him and locked herself in one of the sheds.

Time continued to move in slow motion, making it all the more heartbreaking watching your boyfriend's face crumple, the tears of joy turn to tears of pain as he recovered from his initial excitement and realized that his child didn't want to see him.

Tiny, muffled sobs broke the moment and brought time, and the horrible situation, back into focus. The Child Protective Services worker who had accompanied Annie from California was calling apologies to Frankie while running after the little girl, trying not to slip in the snow in her hurry.

You wanted to go to him, to lend him some form of comfort, but you were also aware that some types of grief don't appreciate witnesses. Deciding to stick around and be helpful in the background, you made your way into the loft and started making coffee and sandwiches, foreseeing a longer stay for the caseworker than initially thought.

Nearly forty minutes had passed before you emerged again with food and drinks on a tray and the two adults were still talking to Annie through the cracks in the door. She had stubbornly refused to come out, demanding that she be returned to her home at once and that she hated snow.

Once you had set down the tray and cleared the snow off a picnic table, Frankie thanked you with a kiss to your temple and introduced you to Sharon after he convinced her to take a break from the negotiations. Sharon, who had been with Annie since the day of the accident, began filling Frankie in on what had happened to his daughter in the past month between sips of coffee. He was given a folder with notes from child psychologists, doctors, a letter from her maternal grandparents, and a journal Sharon had kept that described the ways Annie had been processing her grief.

While they talked, you decided to walk over and sit next to the door of the shed, laying a wool blanket down to protect your butt from the cold. You had no idea what to say to the girl but you figured she might like to be reassured she wasn't alone. Settling down, you dug into your own sandwich and hummed quietly to yourself.

You nearly choked on your next bite when you heard a soft voice singing along with the tune you'd chosen.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly. Rosemary Green, if you are king dilly dilly, I'll be your queen."

After you'd repeated the song twice more, you stopped the tune and said softly,

"I've never heard those lyrics before, they're different from how I learned them."

A long pause followed, making you worry that you'd offended the child back into silence.

"How do you sing it?" Came the sweetest little voice, made all the more adorable with the barest hint of a lisp.

"We always sang, 'Lavender green', for one. Which never made any sense to me so I really like how you did it-"

"Yeah, cause lavender is another name for purple," she interrupted you with a matter-of-fact tone, "saying it's green is just weird!"

"Hmmm, it might be different," you conceded, seeing the opportunity for a lesson. "But either way you sing it, it's still a really pretty song, isn't it? Things can be different but it doesn't mean one is only good and one is only bad. Each version just had different good things."

Annie went silent again but this time you didn't worry about it, you knew she was thinking about what you said and needed time to apply it to what was happening right now. You eventually heard the shifting of metal and the creak of wood and had to will yourself to sit still and calm. The way you had let her approach you had worked so far, jumping up out of excitement could possibly erase all the progress you'd made so far.

Your patience was rewarded when Annie stepped out of the shed and lowered herself so that she was sitting on the blanket right next to you. Turning your head just enough to see her in your peripheral, you noticed how dull her eyes looked. Her hair was a mess and her skin looked pale for a kid who had been living under California's sun.

"My mommy is dead."

The way it was stated as a fact, with very little emotion, broke your heart. She was so little, so young, and so unable to fully grasp what kind of future had been ripped away from her.

"I know, I'm sorry that that happened to your mom."

"That man is my daddy." She was pointing at Frankie now, who was still engrossed in his conversation with Sharon.

"He's a pretty lucky guy to have you."

"That's the lady who has been taking care of me, she's been nice."

You were a bit out of your comfort zone with the conversation but there was no way in hell you were going drop it so you cautiously trudged on. Maybe verbalizing relationships and titles was helping her process?

"I'm very happy to hear that you've been staying with someone nice. Your dad is a really nice person, too, ya know? You should see the nice bedroom he's set up for you! I even helped him bake you an apple pie. Do you like apples? Or pie?" Her eyes went wide and a spark of happiness suddenly lit her face, making her appear more childlike than before.

"Is this an apple farm?" She practically squealed. “Like in My Little Pony?!”

Her outburst had finally drawn the attention of the other two adults, who were now only realizing that Annie had exited the shed. Frankie's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his two girls, beaming at each other. The twinge of jealousy from knowing that it had been you to draw her out was quickly squashed by how proud of you he was. He had been a little worried, although he hadn't voiced it, that his kid wouldn't take kindly to having a woman around but those fears were obviously for naught.

Part Fourteen 

[dreamescapeswriting]

Unfinished Business ~ Part Five

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

WARNINGS: Mentions of mafia, strong language, murder, blood

PAIRING: Bang Chan X Reader

DESCRIPTION: Part five of nine of my new Bang Chan series. 

You’re taken hostage but one of Seoul’s leading mafia families Bang Chan but he doesn’t take you because he wants to fake a marriage or make you fall for him in 365 days no…He wants to use you for his own personal gain. To take over another family but when you try to escape things take a turn for the worst and you learn Chan isn’t one to be messed with.(Please I suck at describing stuff)

THEMES: Smut will be included in a later chapter so this is a fic for a mature audience, Chan x Fem!Reader, Self insert

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The last couple of days had passed by without another incident happening, you'd kept yourself in your bedroom singing to the small radio that Chan had brought for you on the one condition that you keep the volume low, you just kept painting the back bedroom wall. It was almost completely covered in sunflowers with small parts of blue paint being able to peek through.

"You look proud of yourself," Chan said as he came into the room, you looked over your shoulder at him and nodded.

"It's pretty good, I think it's finished and then the rest of the walls are going to be white. I don't want to take too much away from your house." He chuckled at you and walked closer to the sunflowers,

"Where did you learn to paint like this?" You took the paintbrushes and paint tray to the sink in your en-suite and put them under the hot water.

"My grandmother, she was a painter." He looked at you as you spoke about her. He'd read a lot about her in the folder he had on you, your head was hung low as you washed up the paintbrushes in the sink.

"Have you eaten anything? Jisung said you didn't have breakfast." You looked at the time,

"No, it's okay. I was on a diet before I came here-"

"Nonsense, what do you want? Felix isn't here and I just sent Minho to lunch but I'm sure I can make something." You stared at him as you put the brushes out to dry on a towel on top of the countertop,

"What can you cook?" You asked, looking as he took off his blazer and laid it on your bed. You looked at his arms as he rolled up the sleeves of his long shirt as he rolled them up. He was never out of the suit and it bothered you for some reason.

"Why do you always wear a suit?" He cocked his head at you and raised an eyebrow,

"Why does it bother you what I wear?" You ignored him since you didn't know the answer to the questions either and followed him down the staircase towards the kitchen.

"I work in an office building, the suit it's my uniform. I can cook omelettes, french toast...yeah that's about it." You stared at the back of his head as he spoke to you about what he couldn't cook and you pushed him out of the way going to the back door, his heart began pumping thinking you were going to walk right out of the door. He was alone, no one but him would be able to stop you and you knew that but all you did was reach for an apron.

"I'll cook, what do you want?" He shrugged his shoulders at you, he normally just ate whatever the boys were making he really didn't have a choice in any of it.

"Right, sit." You sat him down at the table and began going through the cupboards and  the fridge. There was literally nothing inside with the exception of some old tomatoes and a tub of mayonnaise. Felix must have brought his own things whenever he decided to cook for you all.

"You can drive right?"

"Obviously." You looked back into the empty fridge expecting some kind of magic trick to happen when you opened it but it was still empty.

"I'm going to write a list of things you need in this fridge and stuff we need for the night. Will you go and get them?"

"So you can leave while I'm out? I'm not that stupid." You flinched as he raised his voice with his hands clenched into fists by his side.

"No. I told you," Your hand rested on top of his, rubbing your thumb along his bruised knuckles. It was the first time you were noticing the dried blood and scabs that were sitting there, it made you wonder what he'd been doing all day if he was in an office building.

"I was going to stay, I meant it." You hated that you were acting so friendly with him. But it was going to be the only way you could get him to trust you on this, make it easier to slip away.

"You're still coming with me." He knew the more he was seen with you the better, he looked up at the time one of Namjoon's men would be around the edge of town so he could take you to that supermarket, in his care you'd get spotted instantly and Namjoon's men would report back right away.

"We'll go now. Make your list." You stared at him, you had no idea where anything was in this huge mansion so how were you to know where to find the paper and a pen.

"I think Jisung keeps a pen and pad in the top corner cupboard. He thinks if he hides it high enough I won't know what he's doing." You raised an eyebrow wondering what he meant but began climbing onto the kitchen side so you could reach, Chan sprung to his feet and stood behind you. The plan was working afterall, he was going soft on you.

"I'm fine. I won't fall, Chan." He kept his hands out just in case and you pulled down a pad and pen looking it when Chan explained what all the writing was.

"Music, he writes songs." You hummed and jumped down from the side, you stood between Chan and the side. Your face inches from his, your back pressing against the marble countertop. His hand moved to rest on your waist and you swallowed the lump that was in my throat.

"I should write this list." You whispered trying to move away from him, he nodded and moved away from you giving you the space you needed to get away from the counter. He sat back down on the chair beside the table watching you closely. You were being far too nice to him after what had happened a couple of days ago but he was being naive and assuming you were just coming to your senses about being there with him.

"You're going in that?" He asked looking at the jeans you were wearing, they were covered in paint and rolled up at the bottom with swatches of paint on the cuffs.

"Yeah, it's just a supermarket, not a fashion show." You didn't see a problem with what you were wearing, it was something you'd wear a lot if you were on the other side of town.

"But it's covered in paint." He sounded disgusted at the thought. You stared at him and ripped the paper off the pad and began folding it up.

"Can we just go, please? And make sure the boys will be home for dinner." He followed you over to the front door and he put his thumb down on the lock opening the door and taking you out with him.

"We'll take my black Porsche." You followed him over to a black car and got inside shivering a little at how chilly it was outside. It was pitch black despite it being 6 pm, but then again it was autumn.

"Seatbelt." You clicked into place and stared as Chan began to back down the drive without doing his seatbelt up,

"Seatbelt." You quipped back at him and he rolled his eyes ignoring your comment, so you reached across him and pulled it into place smiling in satisfaction when you pulled away and he stared at you.

"What? You have to be safe." He rolled his eyes at you playfully and began driving down the road. You stared out of the window trying to see how far away from society you really were.

"You live pretty far out." You said, trying to bring it up naturally. But you watched his grip tighten on the wheel at the thought of you trying to figure out where you were, his head was filling with thoughts about why you were mentioning it.

"I have to. Stops people from finding me and stops you from running away." He whispered turning onto the main road and continuing to drive in dull silence, it was torture not having some kind of background noise.

"Can we play music? You let me back home." Home. The way you said home instead of his house, prison, torture chamber or hell hole. Home. Like you were saying you liked it there, he liked that.

"Sure. Nothing bad though. I can't stand those romantic songs." He lied, of course, he was a sucker for those songs they were his favourite kind of song to listen to...Or they used to be. Being able to sing them with someone he loved, it was one of the reasons he stopped music in the house. He couldn't stand listening to it without her being there with him. You flicked through the stations and landed on classical and you assumed it would be your best bet for him right now something to keep the peace until you were able to work up to usual music.

The store was practically empty when you and Chan reached it, except for the workers who knew Chan. Instantly they began to hide in the storerooms, but not before snapping some photographs of you and him together for Namjoon. After all, this was his side of town and Chan wasn't one to show his face here. Which was exactly what Chan wanted everyone to see, that he was there and he wasn't alone.

"Chan?" A voice filled the empty aisle as Chan stood behind you. You were bent over, picking out carrots and turned your head to see a man around 5''8 standing there with a smirk on his face.

"Who's this?" A stupid question, he was already running a background check on you to see who you were and why you were with Chan. Chan's hand wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him tightening his grip a little, though it was weird you said nothing, because you knew who Namjoon was. You recognised him from the photos in the paper just like Chan's, not to mention the photos of him and your grandmother together in your folder. You kept your eyes downcast not knowing what to say or do in this situation.

"This is Y/n, Y/n this is Namjoon." Chan wasn't going to give your last name to Namjoon that would be far too easy for him. Namjoon took your hand in his and left a kiss on the top of your skin while holding eye contact with you, lingering for more than Chan liked.

"I didn't know you started seeing someone again. She's pretty." Chan looked at you and turned to kiss your cheek, you stayed still playing along since Namjoon was eyeing you up carefully.

"Go to the back of the store and pick out what meat you want. Don't leave." You nodded at him squeezing his hand as a silent message you weren't going to leave. You could tell that Chan seemed to be scared of Namjoon, or at least annoyed that he'd touched you. All you knew was they had business and fights over certain selling areas with their drugs, but that was all you knew.  

"Nice to meet you." You whispered, putting the bag of carrots down into the trolley. Chan was pushing and walked towards the back of the store.  Chan looked like the real husband type like this and Namjoon wasn't going to let him go off without mentioning it. You kept your head down as you walked, never once turning back to look at the two men, the smell of testosterone filled the air and you wanted to get out. Now would be the perfect chance to make a run for it, but there was a downside to that plan, your ankle was still bummed and you had no idea where you were in this side of town. Not to mention you didn't know who was and wasn't working for Chan, or where to go once you got out of there. Mrs Lu was your home but she was gone now, you were going to wait this out. Play the long game. Even if it meant pretending to like him a little while longer, make him think you loved him and make a break for it when he was vulnerable.

"What can I get for Mr Bang's young lady friend?" The butcher had a scar from the top of his face down to the bottom, he had blonde hair that was hidden under a chefs cap. He grew impatient the longer you stared at the scar along his face.

"It's rude to stare," You shyly looked down at the meat in the fridge he was standing above.

"S-Sorry, just a large chicken please." He nodded and began adding all of the spices while you looked over your shoulder at Chan and Namjoon, who looked like they were in a heated discussion about something.

"Everything okay?" You questioned as Chan came storming up behind you. His face and ears red with anger as he came to you holding onto your waist tightly.

"No. It's fine. Do you have everything you need?" You took his hand in yours and he seemed to lose tension instantly. You smiled softly at him to let him know it was okay for him to tell you if something was wrong.

"You can talk to me." You tried to tell him but he wasn't having any of it.

"No, it's fine."

"I need some other things," You glanced over at Namjoon who was watching you both closely, he wanted to know if what Chan had just told him was true. That you were his new girlfriend now, if it was he was going to have to do some serious digging into you. The longer you stared at Namjoon you remembered Chan telling him you were dating and you were going to have to start playing the part for Chan sooner or later anyway. You stood up on your tiptoes and left a small kiss on his cheek, you thought there would be an involuntary gag but there wasn't one. When your lips touched his skin it was as if there was a static shock running through your entire body, but you pulled away. He stared at you as you began walking away from him and he slowly walked after you, watching as you walked down an aisle and grabbed items you needed.

You'd brought the radio down from your room to play some music while you waited for the food to be prepped, you were attempting to teach Chan how to cook since he only knew basic things.

"You need to cut them into slices, but first peel them." Chan was dressed in a black apron over his usual suit top and tie, his sleeves rolled up to expose his arms. He stared at you while holding the knife, images flashed into your head but you cleared your throat, trying to push the thoughts of that night away. Chan put it down and looked at you once again to check if you were okay.

"How?" You sighed and showed him how to peel a carrot and then chop them up. It was simple enough and you wondered how his wife had dealt with him for all those years.

"Easy enough, just don't catch yourself." You turned away not wanting to see him with the knife again, this was harder than you'd expected it to be. You'd just got the images out of your mind but now you'd seen him with a knife again it brought everything flooding back to you.

"Boy I hear you in my dreams," You sang quietly, as you began cleaning the potatoes and chopping them up. It was one of your favourite songs as a teenager and now it was playing on the radio, you couldn't help but sing along to the words.

"I feel you whisper...across the sea. I keep you with me, in my heart." Chan watched you from behind as you sang along to the song coming from the radio, his eyes trained on your hips as you slowly swayed along to the duet that was playing. Continuing to sway as you moved the pan of chopped potatoes onto the stove and then took the carrots away from Chan and did the same.

"Lucky I'm in love with my best friend." You sang, looking down nervously at Chan as he stared at you. He hadn't said anything for the last two minutes and it was scaring you, but you didn't show him. He got up from the chair and wrapped one arm around your waist and placed his hand on yours dancing you around the floor in time to the beat.

"So I'm sailing through the sea, To an island where we'll meet, You'll hear the music fill the air," He put his hand on your cheek and moved the hair from your face, your pulse quickened as he touched you and your mouth ran dry.

"I'll put a flower in your hair," You stared into his eyes as you felt a tingle go through your body as he touched you and looked at you like that. His eyes were filled with something but you didn't know what it was. The front door chimed and you sprang apart from one another, standing back where you had originally been.

"Felix?" You called out and he popped into the kitchen,

"Can you come and finish the vegetables? I need to shower." All of the boys stared at you and Chan with the sense that something was going on, but you didn't care. You needed an excuse to get away from Chan before he could make your heart skip a beat again.

"You didn't make a run for it today then?" Minho smirked playfully at you. He'd asked you that every day since the day after you ran away from the house, and every time it was the same response from you.

"I'm staying." You said to him as you walked over to the kitchen door.

"I need to shower too. I'll walk you up." They stared at Chan as he walked over to you, both of you keeping your distance as you walked towards the staircase. Awkwardly trying to make it seem like nothing had happened in the kitchen before they walked inside.

"What do you think she's up to?" Minho questioned folding his arms over his chest,

"Keep an eye on her, she could be faking to get close to him," Changbin said, he'd seen enough movies to know what people did. They'd lure their kidnappers into ''love'' only to make a run for it when everything seemed clear enough or they'd made the kidnapper weak enough it was an easy enough plan.

"You know, she could genuinely be falling for him….happened in that Disney movie." Each of them turned to stare at Hyunjin who bit into an apple from the table.

"A Disney movie and it's called Stockholm syndrome, look it up." Jeongin said as he looked at the apple.

"Someone also died from eating an apple...Are you going to take all your advice from kids movies?" Jeongin quipped, taking the apple from him and biting into the fresh side.

"He killed someone she loved less than three days ago. That's not something someone gets over this quick. I'm telling you we watch her closely." Changbin mumbled, not liking the thought of his boss getting hurt again. The boys might be joking about it all but this was serious, Chan couldn't risk getting hurt again. The first time had been rough on them, all but the worst for Changbin, he was Chan's right-hand man. He had to be right there when everything happened and he didn't want to see his close friend at rock bottom once again.

Sitting at the table was weird, it was silent and uncomfortable all of them were watching you closely as you sat beside Chan, wondering what your next move was after their talk with Changbin earlier.

"I didn't poison it." You joked at them, referring back to what they'd said to you when you were in the basement. Felix chuckled as he heard you say it and then started to eat the food, while the others stared at him waiting for him to die but he started moaning about how good it tasted.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?!" Everyone dug in and you smiled doing the same, sticking to the vegetables to start with. A habit you'd had since you were a kid,

"My grandfather. He taught me how to cook when I moved in with him. He used to own a small restaurant." Chan looked at you, it had been included in the report they did on you but he took out why he didn't own it anymore. He thought it would best that part stayed between him, you and the Private investigator he'd hired to work alongside Changbin.

"Used to own?" Jisung questioned, you swallowed the carrot in your mouth and took some water from your glass suddenly getting a dry mouth thinking about your grandfather.

"He had to give it up when my grandmother got sick. Then he erm, then he got sick and-" You couldn't finish the sentence, it was too hard to talk about without crying. Chan's hand overlapped yours on the table, he knew where your grandfather was, that he'd left in the report, but you didn't flinch at the sudden contact from him. It felt oddly nice to have it there. Changbin watched you closely as you didn't react to Chan's touch.

"Is he-" Jisung asked, leading off not wanting to say what they were all wondering if he was dead or not.

"He's in a nursing home. He doesn't remember much these days. I'm just a girl that works...Worked there." Your mind flooded with thoughts of him, sitting alone and playing dominos on his own. You wanted to go to him, you needed to see him again.

"You used to volunteer there and the hospital, right? I remember from your file." Jeongin mentioned and everyone glared in his direction for bringing up the file during this hard topic for you but you didn't mind, you knew they'd all seen it.

"Yeah. I volunteered at the hospital and continued doing so even after my grandmother died and then the nursing home when my grandfather was admitted." Chan was still staring at you as you let silent tears roll down your face, he took a napkin from the table and wiped them away for you not wanting to see you cry like this. The boys could already see that he was falling fast and hard for you, but they still couldn't determine how you felt about him. It was hard to read you.

"I can take you to see him, you can go and see him whenever you want." You nodded along to him and looked at the plate in front of you, not daring to meet his eyes.

"You should all eat. I'm tired and I'm not that hungry." You whispered, getting up from the table. But Chan's hand was lingering on top of yours and he slotted his fingers into yours.

"I promise I'll take you." You hummed, not wanting to believe that he would be willing to do that, if he was willing to take you then that would mean he wasn't as bad as you thought he was. Your head would spin with thoughts about if everything you'd heard about him was true. You left the table followed by Changbin who was taking the first shift for the night, volunteering for it in fact. He followed close behind you until you were right outside your bedroom door, he took your wrist in his hand and pinned it above your head while holding his other hand over your mouth to stop you from making a sound.

"What are you playing at? Huh? What's the angle?" You mumbled against his hand and he roughly pushed you against the wall again,

"If I find out you're planning anything, and I mean anything. Your grandfather and everyone else will be gone. Just like Mrs Lu, remember her? Remember the way Chan slit her neck with ease?!" He forced you to look at the office door and your eyes welled up with tears, he was doing this on purpose trying to make you remember everything Chan had done. All this time you thought Chan had been the evil one but you could see now that it was Changbin.

"I'll make sure that happens to everyone you love if you hurt him. Understood?" You nodded and he pushed open your door waiting for you to go inside,

"Sleep well." He mumbled, shutting the door and taking his place right outside the door for the night, sitting on the chair and waiting for time to pass by. Your legs hit the back of your bed and you landed down on Chan's suit jacket from earlier. You slid it out from underneath you and held it against your chest, maybe he wasn't so bad after all? Maybe he was just doing all of what he did because it was what was expected of him? The boys? Namjoon? Maybe they were the reason he did everything he did. You pushed the jacket away from you hurriedly, what were you thinking?! He killed someone who helped raise you, put a roof over your head and here you were thinking he wasn't so bad? You'd heard the stories, vicious killings, drug runs, weapon cartel, money laundering not all of that could be rumours. He was bad. He had to be bad. He was bad for you, you had to get him to think you'd fallen for him and fast, the sooner you did that the sooner you could be out of there and the sooner you could stop looking at him as a person with hurt feelings rather than the cold-blooded killer he was...Is.

Tagline: @moonprincessdiviniation​ - The wonderful editor who stayed up late to do this for me even though I told her not to!!! @taestannie​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @calling-dips-on-j-hope​ @hugs4chan​ @ncitythoughts​ @inseonqt​ @cloudsgathering​ @atletino​ @mischiefmakerliesmith5​ @freckledquokka 

[kalimagik]

Becoming a Home:  Journey to Hogwarts - Ch. 8

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: Here is the 8th chapter of our series that has been such a joy in my life. I have enjoyed writing this part so much. There is love and fluff and all sorts of cuteness! Huge thanks to @iliveiloveiwrite​, @heloisedaphnebrightmore​, @obsessedwithrandomthings​, and @firewhisky-kisses​ for reading and helping me come up with ideas for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy <3

Series Masterlist

The portal stood open in front of her. Ana had already hugged the other girls goodbye, they were happy to be staying, but going was just for the best. Hermione may have found the citizenship loophole, but she hadn’t seemed to warm up to Ana anymore.

She looked back at the faces that she loved so much. Who knew that a book club could have led to all of this? Even though Des, Kiara, Ellie, and Mel were there, one face wasn’t watching her - Ron. Ana had told him to stay back at the Burrow. She said her goodbyes to the Weasleys there. Only Arthur was with her now.

“Goodbye, Ana,” Ellie spoke again as Ana took a step forward, waving one more time. She could feel the power of the portal and almost see home. It was such a weird feeling. The room across the barrier was home, she should be happy to be going back. Ana hesitated a second longer - was this the right choice? If it was, why wasn’t she smiling?

“ANA! WAIT! Please, don’t go!” Ron bursted into the Ministry room, pushing through those who were seeing Ana off. He was slightly out of breath, signifying that he ran through the entire building to find her. He didn’t stop until Ana’s hands were in his own and he could brush the loose blond hair out of her face.

“What are you doing here, Ron? I told you not to come.” Ana looked past Ron at Hermione, who was in the corner, making sure everything was going smoothly. Her eyes then drifted to her four friends. Despite all being very different people, they were all romantics. They were watching her with wide eyes and pouts on their faces.

“I couldn’t just let you leave,” Ron explained, drawing his attention back to you. “Ana, love, there is such a connection here. I would be a bloody idiot if I let you go. I would never be able to forgive myself.” Ron’s eyes pleaded with her. “Just give me a chance to make your life here amazing - please.”

“I don’t know, Ron. I-I -” Ana tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words. She didn’t want to seem weak in front of him. She was supposed to be a Gryffindor afterall. The portal still spun behind her, Ron unrelenting, looking for some answers. Ana breathed in deeply. “I don’t fit in here, Ron. I’m in the way,” she spoke confidently.

“What are you talking about?” Ron was still completely confused. He thought that everything had been going off perfectly. He was searching her face, trying to find some sort of explanation.

“Ana,” Hermione interjected, stepping forward from where she had been keeping rather quiet. “I know this is Ronald’s moment, but I know that you- uh, heard me a while back - talking to Ginny. I was rather harsh with you, but I can see how happy Ron makes you and you make him.” Hermione looked down at her clasp hands. Ana could tell how hard this was, but could hear how genuine her words were. “You should stay. I’m sorry.”

Ron turned back to Ana instantly. “Please, will you stay?”

“You really want me here?” she had to reiterate more for herself than anyone else. Instead of responding, Ron drew her face to his, pressing his lips firmly against her own. He conveyed everything he couldn’t say with the kiss, not caring that everyone else was watching. “Okay, I’ll stay,” the girl grinned when she pulled away, lips swollen and face lighting up.

-

Ana stood in front of her mirror, clasping a necklace around her neck. She held the pendant tenderly in her fingers, remembering how Ron insisted on showering her with gifts after she decided to stay. Ana made him return the more expensive ones, but he insisted that she kept the little silver necklace with a diamond in the middle of a star. It was now one of her favorite possessions.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” Ron grinned, standing in the doorway of their bedroom, looking at her reflection from behind her. Ana could feel the blush spreading on her cheeks as she looked over her dress one more time. “Everyone will begin arriving soon,” Ron informed her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “This evening is going to be perfect,” he whispered, placing a kiss on Ana’s temple.

The doorbell rang and Ron went to let in the first guests. Ana and Ron had just moved into a small house together right outside of London. It may have only been six months since Ana decided to stay, but when had anything about their relationship been conventional.

As a hoard of Weasleys entered the little house, Ana thought about how nervous Ron was when he asked her to move out of the Burrow and into a house of their own the month prior.

-

“Ana?” Ron timidly entered into Bill’s old room.

“Hiya,” Ana giggled, pecking Ron’s lips. “What’s up?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

Ana groaned playfully before teasing her boyfriend. “I thought I told you no more gifts. I explicitly said that me accepting the necklace meant the end of your gifts,” she giggled.

“Well, it wouldn’t be just a present for you.” Ron pulled out a little square box. Nothing like a ring box, but just a gift box. “Go ahead, open it.” He placed the little black box in Ana’s hands. She slid the lid off and flipped over the bottom half, a little gold key falling into her hand.

Ana looked up at Ron with a confused face. “What’s this?”

“It’s been a little crowded in this house recently and I had been thinking about moving out for a while, but I was wondering if you might want to come with me,” Ron looked at the girl sitting in front of him hopefully. The moment she stepped into his life, she changed everything and this was the one way that he could think of to show her how positive a change that was for him.

“Move in with you?”

“I know that it is really fast and that we’ve barely known each other a year, but everything just feels right with you. I love you.” Her breath hitched in her chest as her heart swelled. I love you, Ana and I’m not afraid of it.”

Ana immediately reached up, wrapping her arms around Ron’s neck and pulling him closer to her. “I love you too, Ron,” she beamed before kissing him.

-

“Ana! Our favorite girl,” Fred grinned devilishly, hugging her tightly.

“Don’t you look lovely, dear!” Molly exclaimed, pulling Ana into a bear hug before hugging her own son. “The place looks amazing! You really do have quite the touch,” Molly smiled, looking around the sitting room.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Ana, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Molly? Oh, George! Put that down! You are going to break it!” she scolded, turning to the younger twin. Ana chuckled to herself as the people that became her family gathered in her home, well her shared home.

Ana escaped to the kitchen for a moment to check on the dinner. She didn’t want her first big event to be ruined by a burnt ham. She was soon joined by Molly Weasley.

“I apologize for my boys. They are like having a troll in an antique shop,” Molly huffed, stirring the vegetables in the pot.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Molly,” Ana interjected, “You’re a guest tonight!”

“Nonsense, dear. I will always be here to help. Living with Ronald won’t be a walk in the park,” she laughed, busying herself.

“I am feeling a little nervous,” Ana admitted. “I’ve mostly lived by myself, not with another person to worry about and care for.”

“Ana, sweetheart, I can already tell that you are going to be a natural. My Ronald is in love with you, I can tell when I look at him. His eyes have always given it away,” Molly smiled sweetly. Ana could feel the blush rising in her cheeks, Molly’s words made her heart swell.

“I hope you’re right, Molly.”

“I’ve raised more than seven children, I know I’m right.” Molly affectionately rubbed Ana’s arms before pulling her into another hug. The plump woman could not have hoped for a better partner for her youngest son. She could tell when the two still lived at the Burrow that they would wind up with each other even if it took them a bit to figure it out themselves.

Ron was talking with Charlie when Ginny and Harry arrived,  Bill, Fleur, and little Victoire following shortly. “Blimey! Who knew that Ron could put together such a place,” Harry teased, hugging his best friend.

“You know that I did none of this, right mate? Between her charms and creative eye, Ana put this place together in the blink of an eye. I barely had time to offer to help.”

“Don’t forget that you picked out the kitchen counter and paint. It’s honestly my favorite part of the house,” Ana giggled, coming up beside him, greeting both Harry and Ginny.

-

“Ron?” Ana called from the kitchen while Ron unpacked in the bedroom. “What do you think of this color?” She held a swatch of possible paint colors up to the wall over the cracked countertop. The blond woman sighed, feeling defeated. The entire kitchen needed to be redone.

“Darling, breathe.” Ron could see the look and worry across her face, so naturally his wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.. “It already looks beautiful and this is the last thing we have to do.”

“That’s exactly why it has to be perfect,” she explained, holding the paint colors back up to the wall.

“I like that one,” Ron pointed to a very soft gray. “It will go with the dark blue cabinets and brings out the color in the counter I chose last week.” Ana eyed the color a bit, thinking about their previous choices before a smile erupted on her face.

“It's brilliant, Ron!” She turned in his arms to hug him, excited at the prospect of their home finally being finished.

“I can have it painted by week’s end before going back to work,” he promised. He would honestly do anything to see the smile that graced her face and as long as he was the one keeping it there, he would be happy.

-

The bell rang again and Ron went to answer because Victoire had rushed Ana, begging her to play dolls with her. The little blond had taken a liking to Ana after the first time they met and Ana created an entire world of make believe with the little girl.

“Ana,” Ron called, “Your friends are here! And Remus and Tonks of course!” Five couples noisily piled into the home, each commenting on the layout and greeting the entire Weasley family.

“Merlin!” Mel exclaimed, “it’s been too long, Ana.”

“You really should have stayed in London,” Ellie followed, pouting playfully.

“I don’t know you guys, it’s really great out here. It’s quiet, plus, I think you all are forgetting that we can apparate now. I can see you all seconds after I receive your owls,” she laughed, catching Ron’s eye from across the room. “Can I get you guys anything to drink?”

Kiara clung onto Neville’s arm. “I’ll pass on that,” she shrugged. “Maybe just a coca cola?”

“KIARA JONES? Are you turning down alcohol? I am shocked!” Ana feigned surprise.

“Bugger off,” Kaira chuckled, clinging on to Neville’s arm.

“I guess wanting a coca cola is acceptable,” Ana teased the dark haired girl, “Anyone else?”

“You know I will take one,” Des grinned widely. “Why don’t Sirius and I actually get those for everyone? It seems that you have another guest.” Des pointed to the door. Before Ana turned around to greet her last guest, she looked at all of her friends again - the friends she came to this amazing world with. They all looked so happy, each with someone they loved dearly and Ana could just see it on their faces.

Des and Sirius laughed at the bar, pouring drinks for the room. Ellie leaned into Blaise while she spoke with Tonks and Remus. Draco had his arm draped over Mel’s shoulder while speaking with the twins. She was laughing so hard at whatever the three boys had said. And Kiara and Neville were just wrapped up in each other. Thank Merlin he had given into her.

“Ana?” a soft voice spoke from the doorway.

“Hermione,” Ana smiled widely, immediately hugging the brunette. “I’m so happy that you could make it!” She held Hermione at an arm’s length, looking her up and down to make sure she looked okay. “You haven’t been working too hard, have you?” she chuckled.

“No, I actually went on holiday,” Hermione beamed. “It was wonderful.”

“Good, I’m glad. Everyone is inside, let me get you a drink,” Ana spoke, leading Hermione to where Ginny and Harry were standing. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Ana. Truly,” Hermione spoke quietly before Ana walked to get more drinks.

Friendship hadn’t come instantly, but over the last few months, Ana was really making an effort with Hermione and now they were much closer than they had been. When Ana showed interest in having a housewarming party, she instantly added Hermione to her guest list. Ron couldn’t be happier than his childhood best friend was now friends with the love of his life.

“Need some help over here, darling,” Ron asked, placing his hand on Ana’s lower back and a kiss against her temple.

“If you could take around some of the entreés, that would be brilliant. Thank you, love,” Ana grinned, handing a tray to Ron.

“I’d do anything for you,” Ron winked, taking the food around to all the chatting groups. Des popped by, handing Ana her drink before sliding her arm around Sirius’ waist, joining Ellie, Blaise, Tonks, and Remus.

Ana took in the sight of all the people she loved so much around her. There was life, happiness, and conversation filling her new home. It was exactly how she wanted it to feel all the time. It filled her heart with warmth.

“Auntie Ana?” Victoire tugged on Ana’s dress.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not you aunt,” Ana tried to explain, bending down to be on the little girl’s level, her navy dress falling over her bent knees.

“Why not? You live with Uncle Ron?” Victoire’s innocence was precious. Ana couldn’t keep herself from smiling at the idea even though she knew that was not coming anytime soon.

Instead of arguing with the little girl, Ana just continued the conversation. “What do you need, love?”

“Do you have any cookies?”

“Mhmmmm, let me think,” Ana pretended to ponder what was in her kitchen. “You know what? I do! But, you have to make sure you eat all your dinner before you can have any, okay? Cookies don’t taste nearly as good if you don’t eat anything healthy before.” Ana laughed loudly at the disgust that appeared on Victoire’s face. “But don’t worry,” she reassured her, “I put a special batch aside for you!”

Victoire’s face brightened as she wrapped her tiny arms as far around Ana as she could before running back to her father and climbing up on his lap. It was adorable. “Someone seems to like you,” Ron cooed in Ana’s ear, wrapping his arms around her waist as if they belonged there.

“Yeah, so much so that she called me auntie,” Ana chuckled, turning in his arms so that she was facing him.

“Mhm, auntie, you say? Maybe we can make that happen one day,” Ron whispered, peppering kisses across Ana’s face, causing her to giggle.

“Not just yet,” she said over her laughter, “Let’s just enjoy this right now.” Ron nodded, kissing her forehead, then her nose, and then her lips.

“I guess I can do that,” Ron rolled his eyes, not wanting to let Ana go.

“Ronald,” she giggled, “we have guests, we should probably get back to them, and-” Ana sniffed, “I think dinner is ready!” Ana pulled away from Ron quickly and he just watched lovingly as she shuffled around the kitchen. Luckily, he was nearby because she nearly dropped the ham after pulling it out of the oven.

Ron placed many tables in a row earlier in order to fit everyone at the dining room table. It was cozy, but no one seemed to mind. Ron hit his knife against his glass after everyone had food on their plates. “How about a toast?”

“Here! Here!” George called, lifting his glass up.

Ron laughed before starting to speak, “I want to thank you all for warming Ana and I’s new home. It’s amazing to see so many people in here. You are all always welcomed like Mum opened the Burrow for everyone, I know Ana would love it,” he paused, looking at his girlfriend, “And, here is to all of the girls that turned our lives upside down when they fell into Hogwarts. I think I speak for all the lads when I say that it is the greatest chaos to ever enter our lives. Cheers!”

Glasses clinked around the table, chattering and eating beginning as Ron sat in his designated seat next to Ana. “That was beautiful,” Ana smiled, nudging Ron a bit with her shoulder.

“I meant every word of it. I love you, Ana,” Ron spoke softly, placing a gentle kiss on Ana’s lips, knowing that he would do that at least once a day for the rest of his life.

-

taglist: @jenniweaslee​​​ @just-an-outstanding-auror​​​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​​​ @ravenclaw-member​​​  @accio-slytherout​

[starship-squidlet]

 “I’m going to pogo stick my way out of here”

Ahhh I’m sorry it took me so long to write this!!! I set it in the Theatre AU, so I hope that’s okay, and I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt from this list

Word count: 1,075

“Ugh,” Elaine groaned, heaving a misshapen plastic bin stuffed full of fabric up onto the cutting room table. “This is my least favorite thing.”

“I thought you said you liked inventory,” Sarah laughed, already marking off a new section on the sheet of scrap paper in front of her. “What’s this one?”

“Uh… Polar fleece, bin two of three.”

“Two of three?”

“Yeah, but… Where are the other two?”

On the floor on the other side of the room, Crutchie laughed. He was surrounded by piles of jewelry that he was sorting, reorganizing, and inventorying for the updated costume storage binder that the three of them were working on. They had quickly discovered that very little of the organizational “system” in the cutting room—or costume storage in general, which was also spread over the sewing and receiving rooms on the third floor, as well as most of the basement two floors down—made any sense, and was horribly out of date, as things had been thrown out and added to storage without being logged in the inventory lists. Fabric storage was possibly the worst off, and Elaine and Sarah had been slogging through the wall full of storage bins for almost the entire week, pulling out, measuring, logging, and refolding fabric cuts, swatches, and scraps, while Crutchie sorted through endless drawers, smaller bins, and other storage containers full of things like pocket squares, jewelry, socks, undershirts, and much more.

In the rest of the theatre, the boys on the crew were doing similar work. Jack and Albert had been pulled by Weisel for props organizing, and were up to their elbows in dust and dirt in the storage hole above stage left. Jack pulled a plastic bin off of a shelf and began to sputter and cough as a cascade of dust and a handful of dead bugs poured off down onto his head. “Gross,” he groaned, trying to brush it off, onto the floor instead of the other props around him.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Albert made a face as he ran a finger across the top of a toy drum, leaving a streak in the layer of dirt there.

“Why do we keep some of this stuff?” Jack asked, opening the offending bin to reveal that it was stuffed full of cheerleader’s pom-poms.

“Christmas stuff needs to be saved because shows are recycled, and you never know what you might need for them when they get redesigned anyways,” Albert droned, repeating the line that they heard regularly from Weisel and the other authority figures around them when similar questions were posed. “And other stuff is really the same thing: you never know when you might need it again.”

“How often do we really need cheerleading pom-poms?” Jack asked, holding one up and shaking it, the plastic rustling.

“Well, we did just use some for Ovation, last summer,” Albert mused. “None of those, obviously.” Both boys laughed, Jack shoved the pom back into the bin, and placed it on their pile of “things to ask Weisel if we can please throw away”.

.*.*.*.*.*.

That afternoon, as the crew was wandering out of the theatre into the brisk winter air—not cold enough to need anything more than a light jacket, and a few of the boys weren’t even wearing those—they were chattering cheerfully amongst themselves, happy to be out in the bright sun and fresh air.

“Hey, Laine, Crutchie,” Jack grinned, appearing between his roommates and slinging his arms around their shoulders as they headed for the front of the building to walk home. “You guys find anything cool today?”

“Check it out!” Elaine said, holding up a misshapen white tophat, the tags still attached. “Brand new. They couldn’t use it for the show they bought it for, ‘cause it was so messed up, so Weisel said I could keep it. It was going to get thrown out otherwise, because of the way the brim is warped and stuff. Perfectly good—well, not good, but useable—and brand new.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Jack asked.

“I dunno,” Elaine shrugged. “But it’s cool.”

Jack laughed.

“What about you?” Crutchie asked. “You guys find anything cool or weird or whatever?”

“Oh, yeah; check it out.” Jack pointed across the parking lot, towards Finch, Elmer, JoJo, Albert, and Race clustered together near their cars, laughing about something. As they watched, Albert’s head popped up over everyone else’s, bobbed up and down a few times, and then Race and JoJo lunged to catch him as he fell.

“What is that?” Elaine laughed.

“Come on,” Jack grinned, steering the other two towards the group.

As they got closer, the object Albert was holding became visible: a pogo stick.

“Where did you find that?” Crutchie asked as Albert started to climb back up onto the device, JoJo hovering worriedly behind him in case he fell again.

“Props hole, over stage left,” Albert grunted as he took a test hop forward. When he didn’t immediately fall over, he kept going, making it almost a full six feet before losing his balance and starting to fall.

“Albert,” Elaine groaned. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Or at least break something,” Finch grumbled.

“No, I’m not,” Albert grunted as he untangled himself from the pogo stick. “I’m going to pogo stick my way out of here.”

“Pogo stick your way to death, more like,” Race laughed.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” Albert retorted.

“I’m literally watching you right now. I have the appropriate amount of faith.” ”I’m getting better,” Albert protested.

“That’s what everyone says,” said Finch, “right before they fall and break their face.”

“I feel doubted,” said Albert.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” said Finch. “The only thing I don’t doubt right now is that you’re going to get hurt.”

Albert stuck his tongue out and started to climb back up onto the pogo stick, only to immediately start to fall towards the asphalt, a look of horror frozen on his face. JoJo scrambled to try and catch him, the others lunging uselessly forward with no way to cross the distance in time to help, but he managed to get a foot down to partially catch himself to avoid slamming into the pavement.

“You okay?” JoJo asked, helping Albert once again untangle himself from the pogo stick.

“Yeah,” Albert laughed sheepishly. “Maybe you guys are onto something. There’s a slight possibility I should get some pads before I try and master this thing.”

[twinkle-320]

The Climb

This is my submission for the Quote me on this challenge.  The quote I was given appears in the mood board below and is bolded in the fic.

This is my first fic on tumblr so I am a little nervous.  I tried really hard to keep it to 1000 words but admittedly went a bit over (1490ish 😬).

Since my writing is new you can Meet my MC here.

Song for this Drabble:  “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus

Warning: light language and suggestion of lemon

Tag list for Quote me on this:

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Drake woke to the sun streaming in through the windows of the master suite in Valtoria. Blinking to adjust to the harsh light, he noticed the drapes had been pulled open and a breeze flowed in through the French doors that had been left a jar. When he turned to reach for his wife, instead of her warm, soft skin, he found a ball of fur where their corgi Fletcher lay sleeping in Riley’s spot. Pulling on the pajama bottoms he had left folded at the bottom of the bed, Drake slowly made his way to the balcony, stretching the sleep from his body.

Outside, as he suspected, he found Riley already dressed for the day, curled up on the comfy outdoor sectional with her usual chai in hand. What he hadn’t expected to see was the chaos she was surrounded by.

In her lap sat a textbook and a notebook in which she was furiously writing notes. On either side of her where multiple binders with color coded tabs, bursting at the seams with papers spilling out. An empty mug, presumably from an earlier chai, sat on the table surrounded by dozens of post-it notes, fabric swatches, and paint samples.

Leaning down to clear himself a spot, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before she even looked up and realized he was there. Drake laughed as she jumped in surprise. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, Marshmallow,” she replied, finally looking up and giving him a smile. 

“You’re up early.”

Riley sat down her pen and mug, and ran a gentle hand over her growing belly. “Bean decided to start kicking practice at the crack of dawn. I have so much to do, I figured I’d take advantage of the quiet.”

Drake lovingly placed his hand over hers and leaned down next to her belly. “You’re supposed to let Mommy sleep, Bean.”

Riley rolled her eyes playfully and ran her free hand affectionately through Drake’s hair as he kissed her belly. Drake had softened even more when they found out about the baby and it made Riley’s heart swell.

“So what’s all this?” he asked, sitting up gesturing to her organized chaos.

“Well...this,” she said patting the book in her lap, “is case study. I have a predictive memo due next week for my legal writing class. These binders are for duchy work...one is all the research for my tourism proposal that I have to get to Liam in the next day or so and the other is plans for the lantern festival that’s coming up.”

“And that mess?” he asked pointing to the table.

Riley laughed. “Random thoughts I’ve written down so I don’t forget...appointments, calls I need to make, baby names, nursery themes, plus some ideas for paint colors and design.”

“Hmmm, well, you are notoriously forgetful Nevin.”

 “I blame the baby.”

“Shhhh, don’t listen to her Bean,” he said leaning back to her belly. “She was plenty forgetful before you came along.”

Riley playfully nudged Drake away. “Baby brain is a real thing, Drake!” 

“Okay, okay...I believe you,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“So...is there any chance you can help me with some of this? Maybe look over my tourism proposal or weigh in on nursery stuff. I’m starting to wish we knew if this little one was a he or she. I could design a kick-ass nursery in no time if I knew.”

“It’s not too late to find out, Nevin.”

“You know we can’t Drake. I’m sure Liam wouldn’t care but Bertrand...ugh, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard him say ‘One must follow all Royal protocol when one is carrying the Royal heir’. I almost recorded him to set it as my ringtone when he calls.”

“I don’t know how my sister puts up with him,” Drake said, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’ll help however I can when I get home but I have to head to the capitol. One of the mares at the palace stable is due to give birth and I have to be there as part of my clinical rotation.”

Riley sighed. “Who’s bright idea was it for both of us to go back to school while running a duchy and having a baby?”

“I believe it was your idea, Your Grace,” Drake jested as he stood up and bowed. 

Riley swatted him on the ass. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Correction...I know I’m funny.” Drake leaned down and grabbed her pen and a stack of post- it’s, scribbling a quick note. “I’ve gotta go. But here is your top priority for the day.”

“Draaaakkke,” she whined, “I already have too much.”

“This will make it better.” Drake placed the note in her outstretched hand.

“Ask for help,” she read. “Drake, you know...”

“Yes...I know...I know you like to do everything yourself but you have Gladys and Hana here. Delegate and don’t try to be super woman; promise me.”

“Fine, I promise.”

After a quick shower, Drake threw on his scrubs and headed to the kitchen for coffee and a light breakfast to-go. Gladys was there conferring with one of the chefs and Drake took the opportunity to ask for her help with Riley’s to do list. Gladys was more than happy to offer assistance. With his coffee in hand, Drake grabbed his nap sack, tossed in an apple and one of the protein bars that Riley insisted were filling and waved on his way out the door. ——————————— Hours passed while Drake waited on the arrival of the foal. When he realized he wouldn’t be home for dinner, he had sent Riley a text. Judging by her brief reply, he was positive she was hard at work.

It was after 10 PM when he arrived home to find Gladys still in the kitchen. “Everything okay, Gladys? Shouldn’t you be off for the weekend by now?”

“I’m headed out now, sir. Just making some final notes on the lantern festival ball for the chefs.”

“So Riley let you help?”

Glady looked timidly toward the ground. “Well, sir...if by help you mean follow her around while she made plans and then handed me this completed binder, then yes...she let me help. I’m sorry, sir. I tried.”

“Don’t apologize. Where is she now?”

“She took supper in her study and has been there since.”

Drake thanked Gladys and saw her out before walking upstairs in search of his wife. Passing the nursery, he saw a soft glow of light and peeked inside. There were large bolts of fabrics all over the floor and 2x2 squares of 10 paint colors on the wall. Clearly Riley had been busy.

When he reached the study, he knocked and received no response; only the sound of her ‘thinking music’ playlist. He gently opened the door and saw Riley sound asleep with her head on the keyboard of her laptop. On her desk sat both her completed proposal and predictive memo. On the screen, there appeared to be a new proposal, half written before she nodded off. Drake rubbed gentle circles on her back and spoke softly not wanting to startle her; she was not pleasant to wake up.

“Mmm, Drake,” she groaned. “You’re home.”

“I am. Sorry it’s so late. So...should I even ask if you kept your promise?” Riley looked away without a word.  “I figured as much.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t over do it, I promise. I just...I guess I nodded off because I’m a little stressed.”

“I have the cure for that,” Drake said with a seductive smile.

Riley grinned at him. “You think that’s the cure for everything.”

“Am I wrong?”

“When it comes to that?...no. You certainly know how to make me forget my troubles.”

“So let’s go...I’ll relieve that stress and pleasure you till you forget all about to do lists.”

“I want to...I do, just...let me finish this proposal I started and...”

Drake pressed his lips to hers, interrupting her excuses. “Nevin...this is too much, you’re gonna burn yourself out. When are you gonna stop trying to do it all?”

“Don’t stop until you’re proud,” she replied, noticing the look of confusion on Drake’s face. “That’s what my mom used to say to me and Drew; don’t stop until you’re proud. She knew we’d feel better from accomplishing something than we ever would from giving up.”

“Asking for help is not the same as giving up, Nevin. It’s just a shared accomplishment.”

“I know, but...”

“No buts,” he said, reaching around her to close the laptop. “This will all be here tomorrow.” Drake swept her into his arms with ease and carried her toward their room. “Right now, I’m gonna ravish you till you’re screaming my name and forget your own, because that makes me proud.  I promise it will be much more satisfying than any proposal.”

[littlemissyina]

Priorities

Hello I’m back from the dead

Finally have gotten out of my angsty rut and have fallen (back) into another fandom! When I first started playing this game, there wasn’t many people I socialized with at the time that were into it, so I lost interest. Recently, and also a part of helping out of my current situation, my precious waifu @otome-cauldron pushed me in and now I can’t get out.

And now I’m here thirsting over a hot office worker/gamer. What is my life.

Real talk - A3! is an amazing game and the story is a fucking rollercoaster, please play and laugh and cry and yell and scream with us XD

Also introducing a new OC specifically for this fandom, hope to write more for her soon :) Enjoy! Priorities A3! - Itaru Chigasaki, OC (Megumi) Warnings - angry gamer smut; biting; long nails; makeup is everywhere; the eyeliner doesn’t want to dry

It was a quiet night, Itaru returning to his room early, walking straight to his computer and turning it on, waiting for his team to sign on for their nightly raid. 

Two soft knocks faintly registered to him before he saw movement in his peripherals, Megumi sitting on his bed and dumping all her makeup samples in front of her. No words were said between them, but knowing they both were near each other was enough for them. 

“What the fuck was that Banri?” Itaru said into his mic, chuckling as Banri began yelling into his ear. 

Megumi snorted softly, wondering if he got distracted by someone. She tapped her chin as she picked out one of her samples, an eyeshadow palette, slicing the seal open with her nails and looking at the colors with excited eyes. 

“These might go well for Summer’s play,” she mumbled, beginning to swatch the palette over her forearm. 

An hour had passed and Megumi was almost done going through her samples, her forearms now multi-colored and several spots of concealer and foundation were scattered across her cheeks and neck. The eyeliner and mascara were left for last. Itaru has yet to move from his chair, his and Banri’s teammate, Hikaru, now yelling into the chat for some noob to get their shit together, and why did they have to look for one extra person when they could have been fine on their own. 

She took the cap off of the liquid eyeliner, setting her mirror in front of her and bending over slightly. She didn’t realize how close her hand was to her face, and ended up poking the side of her eye with the tip of the eye liner.

“Fucking shit!” she yelled, dropping the eyeliner and rubbing her eye, the still wet liquid now smearing all over her eyelid and hand. 

She was loud enough for Itaru to hear through his headphones, making him jump slightly and losing focus. In a matter of seconds, he watched his character die, and Banri and Hikaru began to ask him what happened. 

He quickly flicked his microphone to mute before glaring over at Megumi. “What the fuck was that for?”

She shot an equal glare back, her one black eye seeming to get darker. “I just poked my eye, give me a break.” 

“I just died because you screamed so loud! And we were just at the raid boss! Now we have to do it all over again!” 

“Sorry I almost gouged my eye out!” she said, standing up from his bed and stomping over to his chair, looking down at him. “Maybe you should get better headphones, or maybe I shouldn’t come over anymore!” she said, poking him in the chest. 

He smacked her hand away, scoffing. “My headphones are fine, you need to be more quiet! You just cost me an extra two hours!”

She poked him in the chest again, harder this time. “Then you better start over, so you don’t eat up more of your precious time,” she said through gritted teeth, leaning in closer with every word. 

He smacked her hand away again, letting out a low growl. “Are you challenging me? I’m not Banri, you know.”

Megumi scoffed, turning around to pick up the lipstick that had fell to the floor when she got up. “Not a challenge, just showing you where your priorities are at.”

Itaru furrowed his brow, knowing she only made these jabs when she was legitimately hurt by something. “What the fuck was that supposed to mean?!”

“Exactly what it means, Itaru!” she whipped back, running her hands down her face, some of the eyeliner smearing down her cheek now.

Itaru finally got up from his chair, walking over to her. “You take that back,” he said, looking at her, his gaze lingering on her blackened eye. 

“No,” she said, tilting her chin up defiantly. 

He growled again. “Priorities, huh?” He reached behind her and swept his arm over his bed, all her makeup samples tumbling to the floor.

“Itaru!” she yelped, watching as they all fell to the ground.

“I’ll show you where my priorities are right now,” he said in a low voice, pushing her back onto the bed. 

Before she could even get another word out, he crawled on top of her, caging her in as he kissed her hard, her hands grabbing at his shirt and pulling him closer. He used his knee to nudge her legs apart, settling himself in between them as he cupped her breasts through her tank top, swallowing her moans. 

“Itaru,” she breathed his name when their lips finally parted, her eyes seemingly glowing with lust.

“Priorities, I wonder what my priority is right now?” he teased, grinding his clothed length against her shorts, smirking as he watched her bite her lip.

“I-I’m surprised you’re not back at your chair,” she said, trying to hide the trembling in her voice. 

“But I’m not, I’m right here,” he responded, sliding the straps of her tank top off to reveal her breasts, bending over and planting kisses over them, his teeth grazing her skin, leaving small red marks in his wake.

“Itaru!” she moaned suddenly, her hands flying into his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. 

He almost sounded feral at that moment, the feeling of her nails making him bite a little harder, licking over the bite mark and placing a kiss over it. 

She hissed at the feeling, arching into him as she tried to roll her hips. “I’m going to waste concealer because of you!”

“I’m going to have pissed teammates because of you,” he shot back, sucking on one of her nipples sharply, eliciting a whimper from her lips.

“Ah, fuck! Just-“ she groaned, clawing at his shirt. 

He chuckled, sitting up briefly to take it off and tossing it off the bed. He dove back in for another kiss, grinding against her again as she dragged her nails along his back, knowing there would be red lines on his skin the next morning. 

“Megumi,” he said, biting down on her bottom lip and tugging on it, making her whimper again. “Where are my priorities now?”

She puffed her cheeks out at him, refusing to answer. 

‘Checkmate,’ he thought, bringing a hand up to cup her face, his thumb gently brushing over the black eye.

“Still need convincing I see.” He shuffled back to shimmy her shorts off, then taking off his own. “Maybe this will show you where they’re at.”

He held onto her shins and bent her legs, folding them over her torso before teasing the tip of his length with her wet folds, smirking as he saw her hands fist into the blanket. 

“Itaru,” she whined.

“Hold on, I have a priority I need to take care of,” he said with a smug grin, pushing his hips forward as he began to fill her slowly. 

“Fuck! Itaru!” Megumi groaned, exhaling through her nose. She looked up at him as her thighs became flush with her torso, her hips angled up slightly as he started a relentless pace, her head thrown back as her hands seeked purchase on his back again. 

He hissed as he felt her nails dig into his skin, thrusting even harder. “You.. you are my priority,” he growled, pressing their foreheads together.

“I-Itaru!” she moaned, her walls tightening around him, her heart skipping a beat at his words. 

“Don’t ever think I would push you aside,” he said, each word punctuated with a hard and full thrust into her. 

Words were beginning to fail her, and all she could do was nod.

He smirked again, kissing her lips softly, a stark contrast to the snap of his hips. “Good girl.” 

Her toes began to curl as he draped her legs over his shoulders, angling her hips even more, hitting even deeper than before. She finally let go of his back, threading her fingers through his hair and bringing him down for a passionate kiss, muffling the scream that would have escaped her throat. 

“Itaru, please…” she managed to squeak, her face flush with need.

“Please what?” he asked, his voice seeming to deepen. 

“Please, more,” she begged, tugging on his hair. 

“More?” He chuckled, the sound of their hips meeting growing even louder in the room. He groaned as he tried to hold off his own release, the look on her face almost sending him over the edge. “Go on, I know you won’t last much longer,” he teased, almost at himself as well. 

“Itaru!” she said, lifting her head slightly to press her lips against his, moaning into their kiss as the coil inside of her finally snapped, her legs trembling as waves of pleasure slammed into her, squeezing him tightly as he kept his pace. 

His eyes shot open as he felt her tighten around him, a guttural moan escaping him as he seemed to lose control. His hips sputtered before slamming into her one last time, pressing his hips against her as he felt his release course through him. He rocked against her as he felt his length throb inside of her, filling her fully as he fisted the sheets, trying to gain his composure. Her name left his lips like a prayer, his saving grace and the only thing on his mind as he opened his eyes, looking at her lovingly. 

A few minutes of heavy breathing passed before either of them moved, Itaru being the first, lifting himself up to look at her. “Is your eye feeling better now?” 

Megumi scoffed and smacked his chest. “Obviously,” she said rolling her eyes. 

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, chuckling as he slowly pulled out, groaning. 

She pouted at how empty she felt, but sat up and looked at him with a raised brow. “I can still see, what do you mean?” 

“What I mean is…” He bent over to pick up her mirror, then held it up so she could see.

“For fucks sake… I looked like this the whole time?!” she said, her eyes growing wide.

He laughed, handing her the mirror as he picked up his clothes. “It was kind of cute, seeing you all angry with all that makeup on you.”

She pouted, placing the mirror on the bed. “You should look at yourself then,” she said, pointing to his mirror. 

He walked over, his own eyes growing wide. “You didn’t tell me I had this all over?!” Eye shadow had rubbed onto his arms and shoulders, his hair had streaks of black (did the eyeliner ever dry?!), his lips a shade of purple that reminded him of grapes. 

She snorted as she walked over to him. “It was kind of cute, seeing you all angry with makeup on you,” she teased right back, using his own words against him. 

He bit his lip to keep his words at bay, opting to ruffle her hair before slipping on his clothes. She quickly cleaned both of them up, giggling as he pouted his lips when she wiped the lipstick off of him. 

It became a quiet night again, Megumi sitting on his lap as she played around with her samples more while he got back into his raid with Banri and Hikaru.

“Where did you go?! Did you DC or somethin’?” Banri asked, sending Itaru the invite into their group. 

“I have priorities,” he said, silently placing a kiss on Megumi’s shoulder. 

[hwasasgoblin]

^^Hi, I really wanted to do a request bc almost nobody writes about VAV and I’m glad you do! <3 I’m thinking about Lou trying to help choosing a nice outfit for a wedding and maybe asking for help back when picking a suit? 👀♥️

Thaaaaaanks ♥️♥️^^

Heyyyy, I feel you, it made me sad when I couldn’t actually find a lot of stuff about VAV and I think it was one of the lots of things that motivated me to finally get on this train.

So this is my first request of this kind and I really hope I did it justice. I’m sorry it took so long but I really wanted it to be perfect so I hope I at least met your expectations.

Dress code

Requested by @haachiiee

Pairing: Lou x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff(?) I think, not really sure how this genre thing works.

Warnings: I think none although I may have used some swear words.

Words: 3.5k

“Come on Y/n this is the twentieth outfit you’ve tried on” Lou’s voice resonated through the changing room.

You were at the department store looking for outfits for the wedding of one of your cousins. “I’m sorry I swear this is the last one” You answered. “You’ve been saying that since ten outfits ago.” He replied giving an apologetic smile to the store employee that had been assisting you.

“Could you please remind me again why are you going? You don’t even like him, and you like his fiancée even less” He said annoyed. “I know I don’t like him, but I already told you my grandma would never let me hear the end of it if I don’t go” “And what does that have to do with me, I don’t really know your cousin…” He replied.

“First of all, be glad you don’t know my cousin. Second, you’re coming as my plus one because I might as well throw myself in front of a bus if I have to go there alone…” I said dramatically. “Besides, your cute little ass looks hot as hell on a suit” I said walking out of the changing room winking at him. “Well, How do I look?” I asked while twirling around.

Full look ^^

I glanced at Lou and noticed his face getting red by the second to the point where even his ears were red. I wasn’t sure if it was about my outfit or my comment. We’ve been friends for two years and a half. I’ve always been very bold so this kind of comments are not rare between us and he usually plays along. But Lou just kept staring at me without uttering a word. “Mister, your girlfriend is talking to you” The store employee whispered while nudging him. “Ahem…No, no, she’s not… We’re not… a couple…” You decided to have a little fun with him and grab his arm. “Lou, what do you keep babbling about? Do you like my outfit? Is it too pure? Should I show more skin?” I said looking at Lou “Do you have a pair of high waisted shorts in white?” I said to the girl that’s been assisting us and winked at her to check if she would play along. “I think I have what you’re looking for plus with those legs you’re going to be the one getting married next” The employee said playing along and going back to look for them.

“Here, would you like to try them on?” She asked. I nodded and got into the changing room once again, I put on the shorts and got out. “Well, please tell me this is better because I really like them” I said giving Lou my best pout and puppy eyes. In that moment a school friend walked next to you “Y/n?” “Jay? Oh My God! How are you?” I said surprised, Jay is an old high school friend. I thought I had messed everything up when I confessed to him. We didn’t see each other after that. “I’m great Y/n. You look great on those by the way, I always liked your legs” Said Jay casually while I was a blushing mess. I can’t believe my high school crush is complimenting me. I rushed back into the changing room to put my clothes back on and hide the fact that I was blushing. “Hmph” Lou grunted and an awkward silence filled the place. “Miss, should I get you another size? Another color?” Asked the store employee trying to fill out the silence. I was about to answer but got interrupted by Lou. “No thanks, we won’t take those, we’ll take the pants, the top and the shoes.” He said really annoyed. “Are you done there baby? Remember we need to go pick my suit too”

Oh my god what’s going on? Why does Lou sound so annoyed? Is it because of Jay’s comment? It can’t be, can it? “Coming” I said as I exited the changing room. “Oh Jay, you’re still here” I gave the clothes to the store employee and Lou followed her. “Yes, I was wondering if we could go get lunch or maybe coffee?” I giggled because I was really nervous and in that moment Lou called my name. “Y/N, are you paying with cash or card?” He seemed really serious. “So he’s not paying? You know Y/N if you were dating me I’d always pay for you” Said Jay with a huge smile which made me want to punch his face.

Oh My God! Did he really just went there? What a douche! I noticed Lou getting angrier and grabbed his arm “Baby, I’ll pay with card, can you handle it? I’ve got a few things to say to Jay here” I said handing him my credit card. “ It’s ok, I’m not leaving you alone with this douche” I just nodded and prepared to rant on Jay.

“Listen here dear Jay. First of all he’s just my friend so he has no obligation to pay for my things whatsoever. Second, even if we were dating he’d still have no obligation and there’d be no need. I’ve got my own money and I can pay for my fucking things ok?. Third, If this is the real you then I’m really glad nothing happened between us in high school. Oh and one more thing, you know as a word of advice to my dear friend. Stop bragging about your money because we all know it’s your father’s.” I grabbed Lou’s hand, paid for the clothes, thanked the employee and left the store.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!!!!” Lou had to shout because I wasn’t listening. “WHAT!” I shouted back. “Where are we going?” He asked a bit confused as we kept walking aimlessly. “What?” I replied noticing my hand holding his and his confused face. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m just so mad. I can’t believe I liked him. He’s such a jerk. Are you ok?” I kept rambling. “Y/n, calm down, I’m ok.” He said holding my shoulders trying to calm me down. “Are you hungry? Let’s go get some lunch.” “Yes, I’m starving.” We walked over to the food court and had lunch, while we were eating I told Lou about what happened with Jay in high school.

We had finished eating. “Now let’s go get you a suit.” We walked into a huge store that specializes on tailored suits. “Good afternoon, how may we assist you today?” One of the store employees greeted Lou a little too excited ignoring me completely. She kept fixing her hair and smiling at Lou, looking all pretty and she was starting to get on my nerves. “Yes, please we’re looking for a suit for a wedding, it’s in the afternoon and it’s on the countryside.” Said Lou and it bothered me that he was always so kind and gentlemanly. “Sure, we can pick the silhouette and after that I can show you the different fabrics and colors” We walked around the store checking the different silhouettes they offered. I chose three different ones for the jacket and ended up choosing two options for the pants. Now Lou has to try them on so we can pick the best fit.

While Lou was getting dressed I was about to approach the store employee to ask for the swatches as I heard her talking to another employee. “Oh My God! That guy’s so hot” Said the other one. “I know right, I don’t know what a guy like that is doing with a girl like that. I mean she’s not ugly, but I’m a much better match for him.”

I felt enraged and I just wanted to pull her hair and fight her. Am I angry because she thinks she’s better than me or am I jealous? Dear Lord save me or rather save her from me because this I’m feeling is pure and raw jealousy. I cleared my throat to let them know I was there. “Hi, again. Could you please let me look at the fabric and color swatches. I’ll pick a few while he’s trying the suits on.” She was as pale as the snow. “S-sure, anything else? Would you like some water or some coffee?” “Can you get me some tea? Thanks, I’ll be sitting right there” I said pointing to the couch that was in front of the changing rooms.

“How do I look?” Asked Lou opening the door of the changing room. “Can you turn around?” He did as told “Nope, I don’t like it, please try it with the other pair of pants. Next.” He went back to change and came out again. He had put on the other pair of pants as I asked and tried a double breasted jacket this time. “Can you take the jacket off?” As he did I saw out of the corner of my eye the employee coming back with the swatches so I told him to turn around. “Baby, could you please turn around?” Dear Lord, why do you hate me so much? Why is he so handsome and why does that ass look so good on those pants? I don’t know how but in a matter of seconds my brain had decided it was a good idea to get up and smack his ass. When I sat back down I didn’t know whose face was redder, Lou’s or mine. He got back into the changing room as fast as he could. I just sank on the couch trying to hide myself unsuccesfully. I noticed the store employee was back with the swatches and my tea, and had seen everything. I buried myself into the swatch books and asked Lou to try the next jacket with the same pair of pants.

I was drinking my tea and I almost spit it out when I saw Lou come out of the changing room wearing the last outfit. “Well, how do I look?” I took a deep breath and asked the mighty Lord why he kept on testing me. Then answered switching back to bold me. “Lord forgive me for I have sinned thinking about all the things I could do to him” I said while looking dramatically to the roof before breaking into laughter. “Don’t mess with me Y/n” He said trying to sound serious so his deep voice mode was on getting me weak on the knees. If only he knew my comment wasn’t a joke. “Would you like to check the fabrics and colors so you can pick one?” She said while batting her eyelashes and grabbing Lou’s hand before handing him the books. Oh my god she’s flirting with him! OMFG! This is war. “Babe, I already picked a fabric and a color, they match with my clothes and I know that color suits you very well.” “You should have other options to choose from.” Said the employee playing innocent. I swear the nerve of this girl is making me furious. “There’s no need to, I trust Y/n” Said Lou looking dead serious at the employee and then turning to give me a little smile. “I see… So which fabric in which color? As soon as you tell us we’ll bring it out so you can confirm it’s what you want.” “We’ll have the cotton silk blend in Prussian Blue” She just nodded and went to get the fabric.

”What on earth is Prussian Blue?” Asked Lou. “Oh, it’s this beautiful shade of blue. Don’t worry it will look great on you, it’s going to make your skin tone pop.” I said confident in my choice. “By the way, who did you tell your family you’re going with?” He asked with worried eyes. “Oh I told them I was going with my boyfriend” “Oh, okay” He said while scratching the back of his neck. Then it dawned on him. “Wait, what?” He asked, shock written all over his face. “Yes, they asked who I was going with and I told them I was going with my boy friend. You know my friend who happens to be a boy.” I said trying not to laugh at his reaction. “I swear I’m going to kill you Y/n, how could you do that to me?” He said and I noticed he wasn’t joking. “Wow, I’m sorry I didn’t know the idea dating me was such a horrible thing. God” I said kind of sad because I didn’t know the idea of dating me would bother him so much. “Here it is” Said the employee who was back with the fabric. “Excuse me, this is not what we asked for.” I said completely annoyed this time. “Yes it is. You asked for the cotton silk blend in blue.” She said talking back to me and I wasn’t about to accept that.

“So not only have you been flirting with my friend, your CLIENT, since we arrived. But because of it, you failed to pay attention to me when I asked for a particular shade of blue. And on top of that you dare talk back to me as if it is my fault.” In that moment I was completely out of myself. I wasn’t controlling my breathing, and I was starting to hyperventilate which wasn’t good at all. “Y/n, Y/n, look at me.” Said Lou while grabbing my hands. He had never seen me like this. He obviously didn’t know what to do, so I kind of had to guide him through calming me. I kept struggling to breathe and he was just like a lost puppy who didn’t have a clue on how to help me. “Lou…” I managed to say. “What? Y/n, talk to me. What can I do?” He asked worried. “J-just keep talking to me… Y-your voice… It soothes me…” Great, so now I wasn’t just hyperventilating but I was also blushing. “M-my v-voice? Why does my voice…” “It just does!” I said and I started to struggle to breath again. “Ok, ok, Y/n look at me… Remember when we first met? What did you say to me?” “That… that you were…” I said struggling to get the words out of my mouth.

“That I was your new friend, right? You didn’t even let me have a say in the matter, it was like when you’re in your first day of kindergarten and you just pick another kid, say this is my new friend and suddenly you’re friends without knowing anything about each other at all. At first I was baffled, I couldn’t conceive a full grown adult picking a friend like a little kid.” I was starting to calm down and let out a little laugh. “But then after I had spent sometime getting to know you I discovered that you not only act like a kid but you’re actually a kid, just older and taller.” He noticed I had calmed down so he asked for some water and the fabric in the correct shade of blue. “Let’s order the suit and get out of here, okay?” He said as he handed me the bottle of water. He got up to go pay and I grabbed his hand again. He looked at me, helped me get up and guided me to the the cashier. We ordered the suit, now in the right shade, and got out of the store. We kept walking in silence for a moment. “So… Can I ask why on earth does my voice soothe you?” Lou blurted out, speaking so fast that I almost don’t get what he was talking about. “Oh, come on, you already knew that I liked it.” I said shyly. “I know you LOVE my voice, because I mean who doesn’t.” He said confidently. “But you loving it and it soothing you are two different things and I want to know why.” “Well, your voice is so deep and calm it gives me calmness too. Now, if we’re done with the questions I’d like some ice cream please.”

“I still have some questions… Why did you smack my ass and said that it looks hot on suits?” I had to go back into bold mode to avoid blushing at the questions. “Are you for real? I mean what I said it’s pretty self explanatory isn’t it? Like it literally means your ass looks hot in a suit, and the smacking thing, well it’s because your ass looked so good in those pants I couldn’t resist it.” I said acting like it was nothing out of the ordinary. “Since you’ve asked me three questions already I should get three as well, right? Why did you blush when I made the comment about your ass? One would think you’re already used to my boldness and out of place comments.” “Can you ask the other two questions before I answer?” “Alrighty then. Why where you so annoyed by me wearing the pair of shorts? And would it be really that bad to date me? I mean you looked completely horrified by the idea.” I said looking down trying to hide the sadness in my eyes. “Oh fuck, is that what you think it was? I wasn’t horrified. Well I was but not because it would be bad to date you, much less if it’s pretending. I was just scared because even if it was pretend you’d still introduce me to your family as your boyfriend and your brother kind of scares me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. “You, Lou, 187cm, 24 years, are scared of my baby brother who’s 3 years younger?” “Have you seen him? I mean of course you have. Yes, he’s as tall as me, but he’s huge. It’s as if Ziu was the same height as me. And he might be your baby brother but we both know that regarding you he takes his position as your guardian very seriously. So yes, he scares me, a lot.” “Okay, he’s a ball of fluff. Like a chihuahua, all bark and no bite, but fair enough. Now answer my other questions.” “I wasn’t annoyed by you…” He said. “Igotannoyedbecauseofwhatyourfriendwassayingandhowhewasstaringatyou” He finished and I had a really hard time trying to understand him because he didn’t even breathe while saying that. “Geez, breathe, would you? I don’t want you to die. Can I change my first question?” “Nope, I’ll answer it and then ask you some more questions. So no, I’m still not completely used to your out of place comments, much less when they involve my assets you know. Now the next one is not so much a question but an affirmation. You’re wearing my white blazer over that outfit of yours, I don’t want to have to handle drunk acquaintances all over you and we need to comply with the dress code.” “Can I fold the sleeves and take it off during the ceremony and for the pics?” Lou nodded. “Deal, what else?” I grunted.

“Why were you so mad at the store employee?” “Did you seriously not notice how she was flirting with you? She was all over you, batting her eyelashes and touching your hand. Oh and she also had the nerve to say that I’m not ugly but that she’s a much better match for you. So yeah I was kinda mad you know! Besides she can’t tell Prussian and Aegean Blue apart.” Shit! I kinda admitted that I was jealous, I hope Lou didn’t notice. “Done? Can I ask now?” As he didn’t say a thing I took that as a yes. “Do you seriously think I’m a kid?” Lou was deep in thought obviously thinking carefully of an answer. “Would a kid do this?” I asked before kissing him impulsively. At first he didn’t kiss me back but then I felt his lips moving carefully. We separated and as I wasn’t ready to face him I hugged him. “You know, since we already comply with the dress code, and even got matching couple outfits and everything… Would you mind going as a real couple?” I whispered the last part. Lou broke the hug to look me in the eyes. “I wouldn’t” He said and kissed me once again.

[19mrs-barnes17]

As Long As I Can Get - Chapter Three: Welcome to Brightbarrow

Summary: Welcome to the town of Brightbarrow, its small and quaint aesthetic draws in many to settle into the comfort it provides. Home to a select group of kind souls.

Part: 3/5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (AU)

Warnings: mentions of abandonment, some sad themes, a little drinking

Word count: 3,198

A/N: Thanks again to @wxntersoldiers​ for beta reading! Hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

~

The first place to open in the mornings is the Diner, the Barnes family waking before most of the town to set up and ready for the early rising crowd. A few shop owners, medical staff, and construction crew filter in gradually as the town begins to wake.

Slowly but surely shops begin flipping their signs, a yawn escaping as they stretch out their sluggish and sleepy limbs. Hours pass by and the town comes alive with a steady flow of people off to work or wandering about the shops, the occasional tourist stopping in for directions or a trinket. Everyone had a routine.

It was late afternoon when Y/N finally got time to begin looking into a project for her apartment, stopping by the shop where Steve worked after her shift let off early. 

She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight before her, Denise and Hilda sat on the wooden bench outside the tool and craft shop gazing in the big display window and gabbing about the men inside. She shook her head at the women before approaching.

“What are you two mischief makers up to?” Both women stayed exactly as they were, unaffected by being caught by an onlooker.

“Come sit with us Y/N dear, there are two very fine gentlemen waltzing about the shop.” Y/N reluctantly accepted the invitation, eyes drifted inside the building where Steve and Bucky stood comparing items and having a passive discussion. Neither seemed aware of the three women watching their every move through the front window.

“How often are you two out here?”

“Oh every day love.” Hilda smiled softly at her before sending a wink and returning her attention back to the guys. “Lately we’ve been getting double the beef and muscle.”

“That Barnes boy has grown into such a handsome young gentleman, very blessed in the genetics department.” Denise giggled, Hilda swatting her playfully as they turned their gazes to Y/N and arched a brow expectantly.

“What?” 

“Please tell me you’re making the most of his being back home? You two always have been the cutest thing.” If Y/N had been taking a drink this moment would be the perfect moment for a spit take.

“We’re not a couple.”

“And what a terrible shame that has always been. He’s a lovely specimen.” Denise winked at her before glancing back inside and smiling. 

“I don’t know, I’d say that poor Steven is quite the eye candy. Though it is nice to see a new, but familiar, face around here.”

“You two are shameless.” Hilda and Denis burst out laughing, clutching one another as their smiles stretched across their faces.

“Best way to be sweetheart.” Hilda paused for a moment, glancing over Y/N before getting that mischievous sparkle in her eyes once more. “”Give it a go.”

Y/N shook her head but the two women kept insisting. Gazing through the glass her mind fumbled for something to say that wouldn’t be too much.

“He does have nice eyes.”

“Which one dear?”

“James. I mean Bucky.” Her heart skipped a beat as those very crystal blue irises turned her way, eyes locking onto hers. 

“Ah, that he does. And they’re looking right at you dear, in a very flirtatious manner.” Hilda and Denise sent little waves at Bucky before nudging her.

Y/N mumbled in response her mind elsewhere as she watched Bucky through the window, a smile tugging at his lips. He sent a small wave, which she slowly reciprocated, before turning back to Steve. She stood from the bench and tore her gaze away from the window.

“Oh, god I still need to go inside.”

“Ooh, how unfortunate. Let us know how that goes.” 

“You two are pure chaos.”

“Guilty.” In sync they speak and smirk up at her before turning back to the window.

Entering the store she did her best to keep her gaze away from the two men, focusing on finding the paint color she wanted. Her eyes scanned the swatches for a light purple for her bedroom, eventually a project she wanted to get to when she had an open weekend. Her mind was unable to focus as she overheard the discussion an aisle or two over.

Shaking her head she pulled her focus to the colors in front of her, forcing herself to make a decision. In line she was behind Bucky who leaned against the counter waiting for Steve to return from the back, his arms crossed and eyes closed.

“Long day?” She couldn’t stand there silently waiting for Steve to return, his eyes would have opened and been startled by her lurking form. He was startled nonetheless, but she felt compelled to be polite and not ignore him. Even despite his past mistakes.

“Always is.” 

“Tell me about it. What are you building?” She pointed to the drill set on the counter as his eyes took note of the paint swatches in her hand.

“Bed frame.” Her brow furrowed and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Haven’t gotten around to actually setting it up yet, easier to move when we are painting. Speaking of which…”

“My room. Paint is chipping and my landlord gave me the greenlight to paint over it.” 

“Purple.” She simply nodded in response, eyes trailing to locate Steve in the back. “Well, if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, but I have no idea when I’m going to actually have time to get to it.” He nods solemnly and she feels a prick of guilt in her heart.  “But I’ll give you a call when I know.”

“We can order Toni’s like we used to.” His sweet smile had her nodding along in agreement and entirely missing Steve’s emergence from the back office. “Guess I’ll see you around Fairfield.”

“Keep out of trouble Barnes.” He chuckled and shook his head muttering something about no promises before walking out the door. 

“I swear if you two waltz around the topic you will forever be in the obnoxiously polite conversation stage.” Steve shook his head, marking down her order and writing up a receipt. “And I’m not sure how much of that I can take.”

~

Bucky lay upon his stomach, arms buried beneath the pillow he smushed to his face as he slept. His body sore from the previous week's worth of labor, taking advantage of his day off by sleeping in past breakfast time. Somehow he had actually gotten a decent night’s rest, whether that was from the exhaustion or his reconciliation with Y/N was anybody’s guess. 

He had missed how close they used to be, hating how he had listened to the fear and completely cut her from his life. She was his raft and without her he had been sinking, deeper and deeper until he hit the bottom. He knew full well they could never be anything more, but he hated himself for not allowing a friendship at least. It would have helped him through so much.

In the past few weeks he continuously ran into her at the diner, sharing more meals with her than he ever had before and getting to know her again. The reconnection quelled some of the worries that usually kept his mind awake. His mind was more at ease.

Unfortunately, a knock at his door disturbed his late morning rest and had him shuffling to the door in only sweats. As he opened the door he was hit by a yawn, the chuckle from the otherside of the threshold snapping him out of his daze. Y/N stood awkwardly shifted weight on the balls of her feet, eyes refusing to meet his which made him take notice of her flushed cheeks. He smiled softly down at her.

“Good morning.” She cleared her throat and shook her head as if his voice had shaken her from her discomfort and held an envelope out to him. “What’s this?”

“Your pay, I think. Becca said Thomas dropped it off at the Diner cause he had a busy day out of town and didn’t have time to stop by. She’s working a double today and asked if I could deliver it. So, there you go. Sorry to wake you on your day off.” She spoke fast and he was barely awake enough to keep up, running a hand through his hair and nodding along.

“Thank you. But Becca could have given it to me at dinner tonight.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his, her features painted with shock. 

“Oh.” Her voice was small as she remained frozen in place, unsure how to make a polite exit without just walking away. “Well, um, you’re welcome I guess. I’m gonna go now… see you around…” 

Bucky didn’t even formulate a response before she had already made her way down the sidewalk with one final glance back at him from over her shoulder. Something about their relationship was different, and not just because he had cut her out of his life. It was more about the way she tiptoed around looking at him, and how she avoided eye contact if he was in a tank or less. This hadn’t been the first time she had blushed at the sight of him.

A few days ago Becca had brought Y/N, on her day off, to bring the workers some lunch that his mother had made. When she approached he wasn’t paying much attention and had gone to wipe some of the sweat from his face onto his tank top, exposing his midriff which resulted in a blushing Y/N holding out his portion of the food at a distance. 

Ever since Y/N had been awkward during the first couple of minutes of conversation they had whenever they ran into one another in town. He was baffled, Steve was not.

“Oh, come on you cannot seriously be that thick.” 

“How kind of you to notice. Mind explaining what I’m missing?” Steve sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Listen, you are not an ugly guy alright?”

“Gee thanks buddy, care to elaborate?” Steve was beginning to look as though he wanted to smack Bucky upside the head and be done with it all. 

“She all flustered because you’re an attractive guy constantly showing off your body in front of her.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.” Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “And we both know why that can’t happen.”

“Buck, I don’t want to have that old argument again so can we slow the roll on the girl problems and get to what you need for the house?”

“Alright, alright.”

He paced the floor of his bedroom deep in thought, adrenaline jump starting his anxiety and sending him into panic. The few nights of dreamless sleep had ended in an intense nightmare in which he relived the death of his best friend. They had served together for so long, becoming brothers somewhere in the process. Both moving to New York and sharing an apartment for a while before he was killed in a hit and run. 

Will had pushed him out of the way before the car struck, he was killed on impact. Bucky could still see his lifeless body lying on the asphalt. 

The images flashed in his mind even after waking in a cold sweat, his heart still pounding as he struggled to calm himself. He was panicking and losing all rationality. His fingers dialed the number before his mind could stop him and he saw her racing across the street at a record speed. 

After opening the door he pulled her in and shoved the door shut, his arms wrapping around her torso tightly as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She was in shock for a few moments before she lowered her arms to rest on his bare shoulders and ran a hand up into his hair. Her fingers gently ran through his hair as she whispered comfort in his ear. 

“Hey.” She pulled away from him, hands on the sides of his face and eyes gazing into his fearlessly. “Let’s get you to the couch, yeah?”

Slowly she moved him to where his head lay in her lap, her finger still running through his hair and putting him at ease. When his breathing began to regulate she had him drink a glass of water and watched him nervously. He could tell she was on edge about this, scared for him. And he already regretted bringing her into it.

But she had been the one to comfort his nightmares the first month after his dad died, staying at his house every night. She had been his greatest comfort, and he had repaid her kindness with a knife in the back. It was his greatest regret.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She spoke softly, tone hesitant as she scooted closer to him on the couch. “I think it will help.”

He desperately wanted to avoid the conversation, but he knew it would come up later whether she meant to bring it up or not. Because it was the very reason that New York had lost its charm and he had packed for home. And he wanted her to trust him, to feel like she could call him should she ever need comfort or help. If he didn’t show her that rebuilding was possible she would never trust that they could.

“When I was overseas…” Once he started he couldn’t stop, it had been months of silence and pushing down his pain. Bucky had been hiding his loss from any who didn’t know about Will, even Steve didn’t know the exact context of why he returned.

Though he only spoke one of the secrets he had been keeping, the release of the words felt cathartic. She pulled him into a hug and he immediately knew he had made the right decision. It had been so long since they had talked about anything deeper than small talk or light catch up, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. Missed her.

“I’m sorry. I never should have pushed you away.”

“Buck-”

“I know I said it before, but I need you to know I meant it. I have missed you so much, almost gone to call you a billion times before realizing I didn’t have your number.” A tear slid down her cheek and she was quick to wipe it away, sniffling.

“I always thought you just left me behind because I wasn’t good enough.” His chest tightened, heart hurting at the thought of her believing that.

“No.” He shook his head, eyes tearing away from her because if he kept looking he would tell the full truth and she would never want to see him again. “I let the fear and pain I was drowning in sweep me away. I never should have closed off from you, the one person who could have helped me.”

“I’m here now.” She placed a hand over his heart, sincerity in her eyes before she recoiled with crimson in her cheeks. “Now would you please put on a shirt before answering the door you heathen.” 

He smiled before picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder and spinning around. She squealed, hand smacking his back lightly as she began to laugh like a mad woman. 

“Who’s a heathen now?”

“Still you, ya brute.” He dropped her onto the couch and the two fell into a fit of laughter, eyes sharing a look of nostalgia. “But a brute I will invite to my birthday party.”

“Party, eh? They still throwing you big parties in that old barn?” She nodded, rolling her eyes with a small shrug.

“I’m turning 27, I don’t think I need a big party full of people. Not really my scene.” 

“How ‘bout this then. We go to that party, say hello to everyone, do at least one dance after cake, and afterwards we can do something just the two of us. Something more laid back.” She held out her hand and they shook on it, smiles bright.

“Wanna go paint my room?” Y/N stood with her hands on her hips and a brow arched, smiling mischievously. 

Bucky stood and began to make his way to the door when Y/N stopped him in his tracks and gestured to his bare chest.

“Right, shirt. Give me a second.” She shook her head, waiting at the front step for him to catch up. He crossed the street in a few swift steps and followed her up to her apartment.

“You’re gonna want your hair out the way, sit.” He complied, rolling his eyes as she pulled strands of his hair back into a small feather duster of a ponytail. A few shorter strands fell down and framed his face. She shrugged and muttered a good enough.

They moved her mattress and bed frame from the room, emptying all the contents into the small living room. Covering the floor, taping over the trim, and getting the paint and brushes out they were ready to begin.

Hours later they had paint splatters on their jeans and Bucky’s white tank top now had a purple print painted on. Purple covered the walls and a few drops made their way onto their faces, a stripe across the bridge of her nose and a smudge along his cheek. Y/N refused to let him wash up before getting a photo on her camera. The two looked like a hot mess, her piggy backing and resting her cheek against his. 

“Why does this look so familiar?” She held the camera in her hands and her brow furrowed. “Oh my god.”

Y/N ran into the living room without another word and Bucky followed, perplexed by her behavior. She began searching through her things until finally producing a shoe box with his name on it. 

“Um. What’s that.” She pulled him over to her breakfast bar and sat on one of the stools before opening up the box. His eyes scanned the photos inside, saddened that there were so few but comforted by the fact that she still had the pictures at all.

“This is our box, Becca and I have one. And that other one is for our trio.” He chuckled softly as she began to sift through the  pictures until she found what she was looking for. The very photo that he had seen in his mother’s house, the one hanging amongst the photos of his family. “We did an accidental recreation.”

The two photos side by side were uncanny, apart from the ridiculous amount of purple paint in one of them. The same pose, and he was looking at her instead of the camera again. 

“I gotta get this printed, for here and your mom’s.” Bucky stood behind her, eyes flickering between the two photos.

“She’d like that.” Y/N glanced over her shoulder at him and he was suddenly acutely aware of how close their faces were and how fast his heart was racing. 

And he was terrified.

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @cantnkrusshedevil​ @gstran18​ @just-trying-to-survive-marvel

[thetorturerwrites]

Puer Deus: Proof

This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @faestae-writes​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

***

Captured / Hurricane / Sustenance / Liar / Scars

Summary:  Of Gods and slaves

A/N:  18+ only.  Physical violence; sadism; references to abuse; smut

Word Count: 5.1k

Day Six

It was the sound of his voice that stirred you, nudging into your gray matter and beckoning you back from bleak emptiness.  Your brow creased, and you exhaled, uneven and apprehensive. You flexed aching fingers and toes, forcing the stiff joints to cooperate.

“Find them,” he ordered, his voice strong but low, “I don’t care how. Find them.”

Red-rimmed, puffy eyes broke open, and you squinted, the glare of the light cycle offensive and irritating. You grumbled at the very idea of bright light and struggled to sit up. As your brain kicked into gear, you took stock of your situation.

This was the same torture chamber, that was your blood staining the floor, and it was your filth in the sheets. Licking your chapped lower lip, you worked to put puzzle pieces together.  Your Knight guard had brought you to these chambers yesterday, Ren’s chambers.

You’d slept in Ren’s bed.

Had he? Your breath caught on the idea that he had stayed with you.  If he had stayed, what did it mean that he was still here? If he hadn’t, why had he let you sleep here?

Shaking off the unnecessary, relentless pondering of your brain, you rubbed at your eyes and hunched forward.  Every part of you ached as though you’d been ejected into space, compressed and redistributed in the wrong order.  You grimaced and shifted, slowly dragging your legs off the side of the bed, mentally preparing yourself to bear weight.

Drawing in a rough breath, you shifted your survey from surroundings to immediate.  The state of your body evenly matched the state of this room. You were caked in dried blood, painted with hand prints, droplets, and innumerable streaks and smudges.  Ren had cut open every one of your scars; he’d left nothing unclaimed.

Sometime in the night, though, your wounds had been tended, and you were now decorated in patches of surgical tape.

The memory of his hands, his scalpel, propelled you forward, scooted you to the edge of the bed.  If you kept moving, kept working to survive, maybe you’d be able to outrun the repeated, vibrant images of his relentless torment and your body’s exuberant rejoinder.  You couldn’t escape Ren; but perhaps, you could escape the memory of his effect upon you.

Pushing against the mattress, you bit firmly into your lip, thinking this endeavor was every bit as torturous as Ren’s blade.  Your legs burned and wobbled like it was your first time to stand. The soles of your feet throbbed, but you made little, shuffling steps. Tears tumbled down to wash tracks into the blood staining your cheeks, and you pinched your eyes tight together.

For a long moment, you just stood there, willing your body to be strong, begging your stupid eyes to dry.

The door slid shut, and you could hear him moving back into the room, but you were trying too hard not to fall to give him much attention.  It was taking all of your effort to stand and squeeze your fists together, too far away from the bed to sink back into its support but uncertain that your legs would hold you much longer. The idea of crumpling into a mess on the floor was less than appealing, but it was unavoidable, you decided.

You could feel him behind you, but you couldn’t look.  He was a looming dark planet, the center of your universe now, and you could feel how fast you were hurtling through the Galaxy. Heat danced along your skin, and you shook your head, trying to clear away the flashes of his eyes, twin comets burning a bright swath of destruction in their wake.

You’d been so willing to let him end your life, but he hadn’t, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

You'd given him your ultimate prayer, your whole body supplication, and he had decided it wasn't good enough. He hadn't granted you the absolution you'd sought.

Ren didn’t move; and as always, it unnerved you so much that you turned your head to look at him.  The pity you felt for yourself abated instantly. He was also still painted with your offering, ruddy constellations mingling with vast swatches and trails.  His dark tresses were clumped together, matted with congealed blood.  

The sight of it was jarring. 

Why would he spend the night in your blood? Why hadn’t he washed away your filth and gore? Was it a war prize, some malicious badge of honor to mark your breaking? Did that mean the war for your body was over?

You were filled with too many questions and only one answer. Your blood on his body looked magnificent. 

He was wild, feral, a savage, dogged creature they would tell stories about for millennia to come.  The great monster in the dark.

The varying shades of crimson and obsidian framed his face and his body as though he had been carved directly from the middle of a volcano, white hot in the center bleeding outwards to ruddy and then midnight black.

But it was his eyes that captivated you, as always.  His greedy gaze slid over you, roving around bruised curves and raised scratches.  He lingered on the bloody palm print on your breast, and it tightened for him obediently. His eyes raked down to your thighs, and you stopped breathing.

You were trapped by the promise of brutality and lust you saw there.

Ashamed of the way you'd reacted to him, the way you were still reacting to him, you shied away from his stare, dizzy and struggling to stay upright. Your insides were twisted, your equilibrium was thrown off as though you’d been pushed too far out of his gravitational field.  You were tumbling into anxious awareness, your brain firing off question after question.

What could you offer that hunger in return when what you'd already given hadn’t been enough?  What else were you expected to produce when the sum total of everything you were had been rejected, discarded?

Broken and battered, you were nothing short of empt--

"Beautiful," he cut off your thought.

It was soft, nearly under his breath. You snorted louder than you intended and shook your head, completely disbelieving. Beautiful? Riddled with bruises and scars? You looked down at yourself, tracked with dried blood and surgical tape.  Certainly not.

He was on you in a second, covering the distance in two long strides. His demanding hands took hold of your body, turning you and pulling you flush against him. His left hand slid around your throat, tightening and shifting your face to look up at him; his right hand dropped down to cup your backside, rubbing and squeezing the shapely mass.

"My bruises," he murmured, " my scars."

His voice was husky, ravenous, and he dropped his face down to nudge your jaw with his nose.  What could you say in response to that? They were his bruises and scars now. You'd never think of them in any other way.

You swallowed nervously, pressing against his chest where your hands were trapped, fingers splaying.  Your body, injured though it was, flooded with his nearness. Sweat dampened your brow, and a blush crept up your cheeks.  Your thighs quivered, and you pressed them together to staunch the familiar twinge. Wanting pooled low in your belly, and your lips parted on a stuttered breath.

Your clearing eyes focused on the expanse of skin under your fingers, and you realized that this was the first time you’d touched him.  He'd had his hands on you for days, but you’d never been granted the return opportunity. Stunned, you pressed the palms of your hands into his pecs, feeling his heartbeat.  The existence of his pulse awed you.

Your Child God truly was a man, but he was such a man as you had never seen.  He was marble, chiseled by the hand of war and kept sharp by a ceaselessly demanding master. There was no softness here, no gentleness, and there would never be mercy.

You grimaced, huffed out a breath, and let your gaze travel further to take in more of his alabaster skin and alluring, dark beauty marks.  How unnecessary to decorate an already magnificent work of art, you thought, but how utterly perfect they looked upon him.

But something was wrong.

Your eyebrows drew together, worry playing over your face.  Yesterday, he was pure and nearly flawless, his only injury being the wound traversing his face.  Yesterday, he had been wholly transcendent in his perfection.

Today, his body was marred, corrupted by lines and lesions that should not be there.  Beneath the russet stains, he was bearing the wounds of a different sort of battle, an impossible struggle.

Eyes blown wide with the memory of yesterday's accusation, you jerked backwards in his embrace, pushing his arms away so you could examine more of his body.  Your trembling fingers ran over arms, ribs, shoulders, lingering on all of the pink and red scratches that now danced with brown freckles.

No…

You recognized the pattern you saw on his flesh.  You’d been mapping that exact calligraphy for years.  You were too horrified to cry, to be ashamed or apologetic.  You reached up and swept anxious fingers at the hollow of his throat, tracing the too-familiar jagged lines.

And he let you.  Ren held you loosely, one hand splayed across your back while the other continued to stroke your ass and hip. He watched you, dark eyes trained to your face, keeping his silence as you discovered not just his body but the effect he wanted you to believe you'd had upon it.

You...

“No,” he tipped your chin up, “I told you yesterday.  You did this.”

You shook your head, pushed against him, and tried to step back, emphatically disagreeing with his crazy assertion.  Ducking down swiftly, Ren lifted you over his shoulder, affording you the view of his newly scratched-up back, and carted you into the bathroom.

You flinched from the automatic light, instinctively burying your face against his shoulder as the false blue flooded the room to hurt your eyes.  Ren outstretched his hand at the fixture, blew out half of the little halogen bulbs, and cast the bathroom in a less harsh glow. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief and pushed at his back, wiggling in his grip.

Ren set you on still hurting feet and turned you before a large, floor-to-ceiling mirror built against one of the walls.  You tried to step away, not wanting to see the results of his ravaging, but he pushed you back into place, turning your head and forcing you to face your reflection.

As before, you were shocked by the woman you saw there.  She was as feral as Ren, savage and shameless. There were dark circles under her eyes from overuse, and she was painted an astonishing array of colors that amplified every curve, accentuated every muscle.

That woman, you thought, was not surviving.  She was thriving.

You still didn’t know what it meant that she was you, and you were too exhausted for much more.

When Ren stepped behind you, you choked and gaped at him in the mirror.  He’d shucked his pants and pressed into your backside, wrapping a long arm around your middle, his forearm nestled beneath your breasts. He tipped your head to one side and cleared away your hair so that he could drop his face into that crook. 

Your brow knit at the familiarity of it, recalling the way he’d positioned you exactly like this in the shower. He’d tucked the length of his erection at the crest of your ass, and he’d kept you flush against the long column of his body.  Being fully inside his orbit produced an immediate, visceral reaction, and you shook inside his embrace.

You stared at the picture in the mirror.  His wide shoulders and strong arms caged you, hulking in the background. His dark halo was dipped down, his face buried into your neck.  The devil wrapped around you, come to claim his prize.

He drew in a deep, satisfied breath, and you couldn’t help but think you smelled like a barn.  Hardly a fit sacrifice for such a demanding, devoted demon. He smirked against your skin, and your eyes widened impossibly further. You were so wrapped up in concern, you hadn't noticed.

He’d done it.  He’d broken into the stronghold, and he could hear you.

Ignoring your shock, Ren stroked your stomach gently, slowly. His middle finger rubbed over your belly button, and it felt so incredibly good that you visibly shuddered. When he started speaking, you felt the vibration of it at your throat, understanding why he liked it so much. It was a subtle gesture, but it was powerfully seductive.

“There are as many ways to use the Force,” he said, “as there are species in the Galaxy.”

He raked thick fingers down your arm and encircled your wrist.  Turning the inside of your arm upwards, he tracked the bruise he’d left there with his thumb before turning his arm up to show you his matching bruise in the same spot, and you stopped breathing.

“It is everywhere” he continued, “even when you don’t know it.”

He curled your arm up against your chest, and you took the opportunity to hug yourself, eyes watering as he kept on.   Nuzzling into your hair, he pressed his lips at the very back of your neck while nimble fingers danced down the lengthy scar at your thigh, pinching at the surgical tape.

"And it is accessible to everyone, anyone if they can feel it." 

Pulling you closer by one large hand at your hip, he snuggled his growing erection between your buttocks on a satisfied hum.  His arm slithered up your torso, sliding against your sternum and between your breasts until long fingers wrapped around your neck to squeeze.  You couldn’t look away as he shifted so that his leg slid against yours, the discordant but matching line peeking through his dark leg hair.

"Like you." 

You were stunned into utter stillness; you couldn’t even breathe.  The things he was saying couldn’t possibly be true. You were nobody from nowhere. You’d been sold into slavery as a child, and you’d spent your life just trying to survive.  There was no Force sensitivity here.

“My grandfather was a slave,” he murmured against your temple, “and he was the most powerful Force-user in the Galaxy.”

I’m not your grandfather…

“Do you need more proof, puppet? There's plenty."

His hand dropped to palm at the tape stretching across your abdomen, squeezing the swell of your belly in his broad hand. He was goading you into turning around to see if he had a matching one, but you knew he did.  

Ren hadn’t ever lied.  If he said that you did this, you were going to have to believe that you did.  Unlike the day before, he’d been with you in this room the entire time, and you’d woken to a flushing lattice covering his body.

You shook your head to his question, hoping instead he would explain how you’d been able to accomplish this miraculous feat when you were just a weaponer from the desert.

How...

“You used to scream into the desert,” he offered, settling his chin on top of your head and talking to you in the mirror.

“The only time you would let your guard down was then, and you would unleash all of your rage, your pain.  You taught yourself to unburden all of that anger and hurt by pushing it out into the stars.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sound of his voice rather than his words because they were nauseating; this could not be real.  Everything he said was true, though; and worse, him knowing those things meant that he’d truly been in your head, diving into your thoughts, memories, history.  

"When that wall comes down," he murmured, fingers stroking the supple side of your breast, "you communicate the only way you can. They took your voice, but your body found a way. You found a way."

At some point during his instruction, you'd latched your fingers onto his thick arm and were holding it as though he would save you from this. The tears he had been building spilled over, clamoring down your trembling chin.

"You can make whomever might be around you feel what you're feeling."

The weight of what he was telling you settled; his words rang in your ears.  You thought about the last two days and how your wall had been fractured on the first day, resulting in the bruises on his arms.  And then, you replayed yesterday when it was all but obliterated and you had pushed out all of your outrage and suffering as you readied yourself to die.

Ren was telling you that you were Force-sensitive, and he was offering his body as proof to that fact. 

For a second, you wondered why he was telling you this, why he was being nice.  Wouldn’t it be better to keep someone who could literally wound you with their feelings in the dark about something like this? Ignorance made for better prisoners, you knew that for a fact.

Opening your eyes, you met his stare in the mirror. It surprised you that he was being so open, and you had so many questions.

Ren...

“Kylo,” he said simply, and you blinked, bewildered.

“My name is Kylo.  Ren was…,” he paused, seeming to search for a proper description, “...a different man.”

Curiosity having been forgotten with this kernel of information, you let your gaze wander your reflection. You studied each line of black tape, each scratch you assumed was closed with a cautery pen. You lingered over bloody fingerprints, long tracks running down your legs, the pool of crimson at the juncture of your thighs.

He held you like that for a long time, quiet and still, fingers barely grazing different bits of your skin, giving you time to assimilate the information. Often, your eyes would stray to him, this package of tightrope composure and bombast.

This man was a monster.  He delighted in torturing you, making you suffer and cry. You’d never seen a person so fully alive as he was covered in your blood and carving up your flesh. He lived up to every inch of his reputation.

And you had survived his wrath, the explosion of his violence.

Twice.

An appreciative hum vibrated against your back, and his face dipped down against your ear.  He stroked the soft skin where thigh met groin, keeping you tucked against him with an arm around your stomach. He rocked his hips into you, pushing his swollen dick between your buttocks. Your lips parted on an eager gasp, and you couldn’t help yourself from leaning your head back against him, pressing your ass into his thrusts.

“You did,” his tone was low, “And you will.”

The absolute certainty in his voice chilled you, and nervousness trickled in.  He still meant to keep you, the war for your body was not over, and this was not a tender moment.  

You thought back to the floor he’d pinned you to when he learned you’d stopped eating.  This reprieve, this cease-fire of suffering, was not a result of kindness. He was simply ensuring you wouldn’t be broken beyond repair so that the misery could continue tomorrow.

“Smart girl,” he whispered in your ear before standing upright and unwinding from around you.

A frown flitted across your face because him being able to hear your thoughts was disabling, intimidating, but you swallowed it down because you were simply too flabbergasted, too weak, and too starved to fortify yourself against it. Maybe you’d be able to work on it tomorrow; but tonight, you just needed to recover.

Ren ushered you through a hot shower, washing away the remnants of last night’s bloody agony.  The hot water and steam lulled you into a spacey relaxation, and you put up absolutely no resistance when his fingers stopped washing and began to play your body like an instrument. You told yourself it certainly wasn't because you craved his touch.

He let the lie slide.

He plucked and tugged at your nipples until they throbbed to attention. He dipped his fingers between your ass cheeks and rubbed at the tender opening until you arched and gasped, breathless.  He slid his fingers between your labia and rubbed soapy circles into your clit until you danced up onto your toes, and he pumped two deft fingers into your cunt just long enough to have you shuddering before lifting his hand to the water, washing away the bits of blood he’d fucked up into you yesterday.

And then he sat you on the shower floor, dissatisfied and scooted out of the way like furniture, while he bathed himself. You bristled for a moment, but it dissolved as you watched. You marveled at him, watching his impressive hands move quickly over thick arms and legs, coloring the water pink with every pass.

Ren towered over you, and he was nothing short of spectacular. Every inch of him was immense, battle-forged, and the scars that now decorated his body, your scars, only amplified the cords of muscle working beneath the skin. You found yourself wondering if he trained for all of those muscles or if he’d just killed enough people that they were natural now.

He tipped his head back into the water, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob.  You let your gaze travel over him without reservation, and you followed each of his ribs and the dark line of fuzz that led down from his belly button to the thick patch at his pelvis. You were watching the way his cock was lengthening when you caught yourself, flushed at what you’d been doing, and looked away.

Your eyes caught on his thigh, though, and you blinked.  He’d gone to great lengths to prove to you that he was wearing all of your bruises, but the memory of those at your thighs had escaped you entirely.  Recalling the way his mouth had claimed your skin, you grazed at your thigh, poking your fingernail into the flourishing purple.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and brushed your fingertips against the discoloration on his skin, thinking it was so out of place.

Ren had stopped washing, hands folded behind his neck, and was staring down at you. His abdomen was clenched tight, his skin was flushing a lovely shade of pink, and his nose was red from the hot water. Something you couldn’t name punched up through your lungs leaving you breathless.  

You weren’t sorry. How could you be sorry when you hadn’t known it was you?

But seeing something of you, this intimate mark of yours, on this man’s body stirred something primal and moved you to act. The rational part of you screamed that you should stop, but the part of you hungering for this beast propelled you onto your knees before him, wanting some part of the bruise to actually be yours.

Your eyes weren’t drawn to his cock, swollen with arousal and standing proud inches from your face. Instead, your stare fixed upon his thigh, fingers tracing it again lightly.

You looked up at him, the question unnecessary because he certainly already knew what was in your mind.  He nodded once, barely perceptible, giving you the permission you sought. Licking your lips, you readied and focused upon your target.

He hissed when your quivering lips connected with his leg, your nose rubbing into the softer, upper thigh hair. You trembled, thinking surely you had gone insane, but you licked at the soapy skin anyways, roaming the circumference of his bite mark with your tongue tip. You glanced up at him to find him watching you intently, his stare delicious and wanting.

Ren nudged your knees apart with his foot, spreading your thighs further so he could look down at the bites he’d left you with, evidence of his viciousness.  He was pleased with himself, with his handiwork, and it rumbled up through his chest.

When you followed his eyes, faltering in your task, he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and pulled your mouth back to his thigh. In your periphery, you could see him wrap his big hand around his fat, neglected cock and stroke slowly. You burned at the idea that he was fucking himself millimetres away from your hot mouth and sucked at his bruise.

He hummed when your teeth nipped at the skin, and you reveled in the sound. It amazed you that you could make that happen.

With a lusty growl, his pace picked up, and you could hear his fist insistently working his cock, the slaps echoing off the tile. He anchored you to his thigh, fingers tight at your neck, and you purred against the skin. His breath was coming shorter now, and you lifted your eyes up to look at his face, salivating at the sight.

He was breathtaking, flushed with desire, dark hair shining onyx from the water, eyes heavy-lidded as he pleasured himself.  

Emboldened, you inched nearer, slid your arm beneath his leg, and lifted him onto your shoulder, mirroring the very way he’d held you the night before.  The same heat that flooded you beneath his lightsaber returned, and you wrapped your suddenly brave hands around his hips, tilting them towards your mouth.

Opening wide, you sunk your teeth into the meat of his thigh, drawing the falsely-bruised skin deep into your mouth.

“Fuck!”

He barked it out and tangled fingers in your hair, holding you exactly there while you sucked and bathed his skin with your tongue.  His tempo was hurried now, skipping, and you growled against him, knowing he liked to feel your chest, your mouth vibrate. 

Remembering all of the ways he’d tormented you, you opened your jaw wider to draw more of him in, bit down again, and turned your head from side to side, yanking and tearing at the, now appropriately, discolored flesh.

On a snarl, he yanked your head back from his thigh and slid his leg from your shoulder. You licked your puffy lips but didn’t dare look at him fisting his cock; you couldn't be certain you wouldn't beg for it. Rather you looked up at his face the way he’d forced you to look up at him that first day, suppliant and worshipful.

You were the hungry beast now, eyes wild and wanting, skin flushed and tight. He affected you in ways no person ever had, but he couldn't pretend you didn't affect him, too. It was a heady, heady thing.

“Open.”

His harsh grip tipped your head back, and you sunk your weight into your knees. You knew it was an inviting picture, your thighs spread wide, breasts pushed together between your arms, swollen lips parted and ready. You knew he loved seeing himself all over your body, and you wallowed in it, groveling for the way he looked at you.

Like property.

But you knew you were unlike any he'd had before or would in the future.

The sounds he made were sinful, incredible, and you yearned for them, desire dribbling hot onto the tiles beneath your cunt. His breath was choppy, and he was staring down at you so fiercely you thought you might burst into flames. 

Ren’s hulking shoulders hunched forward, his torso curving in as he neared orgasm, and you moaned at the sight, the raspy sound swallowed by the rush of the shower and the pained groans spilling from above. Lost to the carnality, you reached out to wrap your hand around his calf, needing the contact.

That was all it took, the last bit of what he needed.

You saw the moment his body loosened, the flash of it across his face, and his shoulders eased back, hips pushing forward.  For a second, he was trapped between anxious build-up and explosive relief, and he held his breath. His grip on his cock tightened, his strokes changing from fast and loose to slow and tight.

He erupted into a breathy groan as the first salty drops hit your tongue, and you squirmed on an impatient whimper, the taste of him overpowering your senses. He was salty, spicy, tart, and it flooded your tongue, sliding down into your throat.

Ren held his cock right above your face as he came, the inflamed, red-purple head barely resting on your lower lip. He squeezed and milked all of his release into your waiting mouth, chasing the last bits of release with low, gravelly moans.  

When he finally released his grip on his dick, readying to pull away, your pearly tongue shot up to curl against the very end, lips closing around the sensitive tip and kissing away that last drop before swallowing down his taste.

It was bold, stupid, reckless, and so fucking worth it.

His eyes darkened impossibly further, and he snatched your face between harsh fingers, bent forward, and kissed you before you could clear his cum fully away. His tongue pushed past your teeth and invaded the cavern of your mouth, sliding through the salty mix on a satisfied sigh.

You'd tasted him twice in as many minutes, and you were sure you'd never be the same. It was magnetic, delirious, obscene, and you were scorched in the wake of it.

Gathering you into his arms, Ren reached back to turn off the shower and herded you back into the bathroom proper.  In minutes, he had you dried and back in the bed, a tray of food at your side. You watched him pull on clothes, uncertain of why you felt the way you did, empty and confused, satisfied and pleased, defeated and victorious.

When he was fully dressed, he stepped back around to the side of the bed, wrapped his fingers around your throat, and squeezed until you looked up at him, as though you could look anywhere else when he was so near.

The gesture felt almost intimate now, his way of centering you always back to him. 

“Eat. Sleep. There’s a guard outside.  I trust you understand the consequences if you try to escape again."

You’re going to beat me no matter what; so, does it matter? 

Your eyebrow perched up high, daring him to argue or prove you wrong.  

Ren's luscious lips turned up at the corners, his amusement obvious, and he slid his indecently-long index finger into your mouth.  Pushing past your hard palette, he hooked that finger and caught the ridge separating the roof of your mouth from the soft of your throat, sending you into a sputter. He pulled you closer by this crude latch and looked into your watering eyes.

“Indeed, I am.”

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 6

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated…

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence in future chapters)

Also available on AO3

---

That evening the skin of her calf tingled, remembering his touch. She tuned out Gaston's hunting story as she replayed the caress in her mind.

Her attention snapped back when she heard her name.

“Belle, how are the lessons going?”

She gave a cautious nod. This was new. Gaston never asked questions. At dinner, he always spoke about his accomplishments and abilities. In excruciating detail. He sometimes reminded her of an overgrown little boy trying to impress his friends. When he spoke of the Maori it took all her effort to not roll her eyes. “How do they even know the land belongs to them?” was a popular refrain. It was better, though, than the stories of fights and brawls that showcased his quick temper.

“So you're getting along all right? Gold can be downright unpleasant sometimes.”

Belle smiled this time and nodded again. Having a conversation instead of being just an audience for his stories was a welcome change. Although Mr. Gold had not been unpleasant. Far from it.

“Aunt Cora told me to tell you and Tilly about the mission Christmas play. They have one every year at the beginning of December.”

“A play?” Tilly's face lit up.

“Yes. Reverend Hopper and my Aunt are in charge of it. Would you like to be an angel?”

“I would! Mama, please, may I?”

Belle signaled her affirmation. It would be good for Tilly to become part of the community. She knew she needed to make more of an effort. Especially with Gaston. He worked hard, spending more time out of the house than in it. And he hadn't tried to pressure her into his bed. Some men would have.

“It's settled then. Take her to my aunt's house tomorrow afternoon. It's next to the mission, you can't miss it. She can meet the other children and be fitted for her costume while you're at Gold's for a lesson.”

After the dishes were washed, Tilly bounced up and down, refusing to go to sleep. The excitement of the play and the gift of the cat had her wide awake. Gaston had gone to bed, and she did not want to disturb him, so Belle suggested shadow puppets.

“I'll be quiet as a mouse for a shadow puppet story!”

Belle set up the oil lamp while Tilly climbed into bed. She continued the story she'd begun on Mr. Gold's porch.

Her nimble hands created characters on the opposite wall to illustrate her tale. The sorcerer, besides enchanting his castle to look like a cottage, would transform himself into a black cat. Everyone chased the cat away, saying it was bad luck, except for one little girl who made friends with the cat by being kind.

A soft snore interrupted her. She kissed Tilly and snuggled in beside her.

---

The next morning Tilly twirled and danced all the way to the village. Belle didn't know where she got her energy.

“Do you think they'll be other girls there? Do you think I'll get wings?”

“Yes, and maybe,” Belle responded.

Cora's home looked very European compared to its surroundings. Belle rapped on the heavy wooden door with an ornate brass handle. To her pleasant surprise, Reverend Hopper answered.

“Belle, Tilly! How nice to see you again! Come in and meet everyone.”

Women and several children filled the large parlor. The buzz of conversation stopped when they entered. Tilly's damp hand squeezed hers when all eyes turned to them.

“I'd like to introduce Mrs. Legume and her daughter Tilly.”

Belle gave a brief nod and signed to the group.

“Mama says, 'Pleased to meet you all' and that you should call her Belle.”

A few murmured hellos greeted them.

“What's your mother doing with her hands? Why doesn't she talk?” asked a little blond girl, her voice ringing loud across the hush of the room.

“Emma!” An attractive dark-haired woman ran over, flustered. “I'm so sorry.”

Belle smiled and patted the woman's arm. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. Children asked questions; it was natural.

“My Mama talks with her hands. And she says most people speak rubbish anyway, and it's not worth it to listen.”

The woman let out a surprised laugh. “I suppose you know all about outspoken little girls, Belle. My name is Mary Margaret Nolan, and this is my daughter Emma.”

The two children sized each other up. Satisfied with what they saw, they started chattering, well on their way to being friends. The activity in the room resumed.

“Come sit by me,” said Mary Margaret. “May I get you some tea?”

“She says, 'Yes,'” replied Tilly, her answer for her mother second nature.

Belle sat down in the chair. The floral cushions were trimmed with rich red brocade. The two girls plopped to the floor in front of her.

Mary Margaret returned with the tea in cups even more ostentatious than the ones she had at home. They had gold trim, elaborately swirled handles, and roses of every hue. She compared them to Mr. Gold's blue and white tea set, elegant in its simplicity.

“Reverend Hopper is going around giving the children their lines, and Regina is measuring the girls in the other room and letting them pick out fabric. She is such a talented seamstress.”

Tilly pulled the wooden cat from her pocket to show Emma. “Look what I have.”

“Can I see?” asked Emma.

Tilly handed it to her. “Mr. Gold made it for me. He has a cat, Ebony. He let me name her.” Pride at this honor was clear in her voice. “Choosing a name is a tremendous responsibility.”

Belle stifled a laugh at the serious tone Tilly used when she spoke. She sounded almost like Mr. Gold.

Mary Margaret heard the interchange between the girls. “May I see your cat, Tilly?”

She examined it. “This is lovely.” Belle had to agree. It was well formed, the little eyes and whiskers charming.

“I didn't know Mr. Gold could carve. He made this for Tilly?”

Belle nodded.

“Are you.... friends with him?”

Belle wasn't sure how to answer. Were they friends?

Tilly saved her from having to respond.

“Mama is teaching him to play the piano.”

Thunderstruck, Mary Margaret leaned toward her. “My husband, David, told me he heard Gaston say that Mr. Gold traded 50 acres for a piano, but I didn't believe it. Is it true?”

Belle opened the little notebook she kept on a chain. She wrote, “Yes, it's true. Gaston traded my books and piano for the land.” Her mouth thinned as she remembered the 'discussion' they'd had about it.

“That is completely out of character. I would have never thought Mr. Gold would be interested in music. Or books. It makes no sense.”

Cora entered the parlor. “Tilly, Belle? Regina is ready for you.”

Regina was fast with the tape measure. She whipped it around, taking measurements and writing them down on a piece of paper. Finished with her notations, she asked Tilly, “Would you like to pick a fabric?”

Tilly considered them, stroking each one and holding the swatches up to the light. Regina didn't rush her. “May I have the blue, please?”

“I think that would be appropriate for an angel. Excellent choice.” She turned to Belle. “We're bending wire forms to make wings. We'll cover the forms with fabric and you'll attach feathers from an old feather bed. I trust you will be capable of doing that.”

Belle gave a sign of assent.

“Mother, please send the next child in.”

Cora led them out. “You can leave now, don't let us keep you.”

How did this woman infuse so much disapproval into simple words? Belle told herself it wasn't her, she would have found anyone lacking when it came to her precious nephew.

She waved goodbye to Mary Margaret.

“Are you leaving so soon?”

“Mr. Gold is expecting us,” answered Tilly.

“If it's all right with you, Tilly could stay here with Emma and I. After everyone's been measured and gotten their lines, we're going to practice.”

“May I? Please, Mama?”

“It’d be no trouble, really.”

Belle told Tilly that it was fine, she would return after Mr. Gold's lesson, and to thank Mrs. Nolan.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nolan. Goodbye! Pet Ebony for me!”

Thus dismissed, she left, pleased Tilly had made a friend. And she might have made one as well.

---

Mr. Gold was waiting in the doorway when she arrived. “No Tilly today?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He did not make eye contact and appeared ill at ease. She felt powerful. Desired. She never had that effect on anyone before.

After she drank her tea, she played, finding her voice through her music.

“Please take the top part of your dress off.”

The abrupt request resulted in a jangled chord. She stopped but made no move to comply. Did she want to do this?

“I want to see if your arms are as beautiful as I've imagined.”

She blushed. He'd imagined her arms?

“It would be worth two keys. You could earn your piano back faster.”

There were two options. She could refuse, and their arrangement would proceed along the same path. Or she could accept, the piano returned to her in half the time. Yes, she would do it. For the piano. Not because she was curious to see if Mr. Gold would touch her bare skin, and if it would be as electrifying as a touch through a layer of stockings.

Belle unbuttoned the top of her dress. Underneath she wore a thin white bodice with short sleeves above her corset. She resumed her playing.

Gold circled the piano to look at her from every angle. The backs of her hands and neck were the only parts of her browned by the sun. The rest of her delicate skin was pale, like the finest porcelain. He could almost see her nipples through her bodice. His cock stirred and took notice.

He stopped his prowling directly behind her. He let his fingertips just skim over her shoulders and down her arms, tracing the same path over and over, appreciating the softness. His tanned hands contrasted against the whiteness of her skin. It was a privilege to glimpse such beauty, to be close to it. He must be careful to do no more than this, lest he frighten her away.

His gliding fingers sent sparks dancing across her. Heat blossomed, the trail of flames he kindled consumed her. She was unused to the strange, dizzying sensations that rose through her body.

She could not concentrate on the melody, and it became mechanical. The ache he was building was the focus of all her attention. Her nipples tightened, and she could not catch her breath.

Overwhelmed, her fingers stopped. The desire advancing through her was too much. Belle stood up, re-buttoning her dress. Mr. Gold said nothing, only handed her a book.

On her walk back to get Tilly, her thoughts whirled. He wanted her, it was obvious. He touched her in such a reverent manner, like she was precious, like he didn't deserve to. She supposed he didn't. He wasn't her husband, after all. Mr. Gold made her feel alive and important. Her reactions to him were disconcerting but intoxicating. Her confused emotions followed her to Cora’s door, and all the way home.

[simplyclockwork]

I wrote a thing

Kept thinking about John’s comment that Sherlock taught him how to dance the waltz for the wedding, and had to write this little fic.

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Toe to Toe

Sherlock had always enjoyed dancing. In fact, he loved it.

So, when John exclaimed—with absolute panic in his face—that he had no idea what to do about his and Mary’s first dance, Sherlock found himself struck by an idea.

It did, however, take a bit of convincing for John to play along.

The first time he broached the topic— “John, why don’t I teach you to dance?” — the casual suggestion was met with head shakes, frantically waved hands, and a quickly sputtered. “No! No. No, thanks.”

Sherlock pouted, but was not deterred. If anything, his resolve firmed, and he was determined that John say yes to him.

He told himself this was so very important to him simply because John was his friend, and as the best man, it was his duty to see to it that John did not trample on Mary’s feet during their first dance and make a complete idiot of himself.

He began by asking John if he knew any dances.

“The tango?” He asked one day, casually. John was sitting in the living room and Sherlock was in the kitchen, bent over his latest experiment.

“What?” John snapped, confusion edging his voice. Sherlock cleared his throat; readjusted a beaker and elaborated.

“Do you know how to tango, John?”

An annoyed groan from the living room was his only reply. Sherlock shrugged and re-evaluated his approach.

See the full ficlet under the see more or read it on Ao3 here

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Three days later, as John stared helplessly at 5 shades of very similar purple, Mary seated beside him and explaining the difference—a difference John obviously didn’t see, going by the pained look on his face—Sherlock flicked his fingers, trying to get his attention. When John looked up, Sherlock mouthed:

“Fox-trot?”

John frowned, not understanding, and Sherlock slowly and deliberately mouthed the word silently across the table.

John’s frown deepened to a scowl and he tilted his head in a “so help me, god” expression that Sherlock knew meant he should stop talking. So he did, instead pointing at the lavender swatch.

“This one.” He insisted, and Mary nodded, pleased. John just sighed and covered his face with his hands.

“You’ll both be the death of me.” He declared.

The next time Sherlock tried to convince John, he knocked on the bathroom door, behind which John snarled at him.

“Quickstep?”

“Go away!” Came the angry reply, and Sherlock quickly moved off down the hall.

During a case, as Sherlock leaned over the stiff body of a young man, laying on his side with a ligature around his neck, John crouched beside him, Sherlock whispered:

“Cha-cha?”

John looked up, brows knitting together. “What?” He hissed. Behind them, Lestrade turned his head.

“Do you at least know how to do the cha-cha?” Sherlock pressed. Sitting up, John stared at him.

“You’re asking that—now?” He demanded, voice irritated. Sherlock shrugged.

“It seemed as good a time to ask as any.” He replied.  

John threw up his hands, getting to his feet. “Bloody hell, Sherlock—let it go.” He’d stalked away, and Lestrade quirked a brow at Sherlock, who shook his head and rolled his eyes at John’s stubbornness.

In a second-to-last ditch effort, Sherlock cornered John when he came by to work on a case. When the other man walked out of the kitchen with a mug of tea, Sherlock moved right into his personal space; strode forward until John’s back hit the wall. Clutching the mug like a shield, he stared up at the detective, wariness in his eyes.

“Sherlock, what—” He fell silent when Sherlock planted a hand on the wall beside his head with a whack. John looked at him nervously as Sherlock leaned down, their faces very close together.

“John.” Sherlock began, grey-green eyes boring into blue. “I need you to tell me something. It’s very important, so I need you to be completely honest.” His voice was low and fervent; intense. “Do you understand?”

“Sherlock?” John questioned, clearly apprehensive. At Sherlock’s heavy stare, he quickly nodded. “Yes, okay. I understand.” He frowned, concern crossing his face. “Wait—is everything okay? Is there something wrong?” His hand rose, hesitating just before Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective rolled his eyes and batted the hand away.

“Yes, John, I’m fine. This is very important, so make sure you answer honestly.” In his fervor, he drifted closer, until their faces were hardly an inch apart. John swallowed, an audible click in his throat. His eyes shifted; settled on Sherlock’s mouth. His tongue flicked out, running along his own bottom lip.

“Yes, okay Sherlock. What is it?”

Sherlock ducked his head; sucked in a deep breath and seeming to gather his resolve. When he raised his head again, his eyes bored into John’s, and the doctor felt his heart racing. He found himself staring at Sherlock’s lips again, so close to his own with the detective’s breath hot on his face and couldn’t quite make himself look away.

“John. I need to know.” Sherlock’s voice was low and forceful, and John shivered at the severity of his tone.

“Yes?” John prompted, mouth dry and heart erratic in his chest.

Sherlock took another deep breath; closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

“Do you at least know how to samba?” The words shot out in a rush, and John froze, shock rippling through him.

“Wh—what?” He demanded, the words emerging as an incredulous yelp. Sherlock stepped away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as John’s head reared forward in agitation. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?” He waved an arm, spilling tea from the mug clutched in one hand, evidently forgotten and cold. “With the wall and the personal space invasion, and that voice?” His face was red, eyes wide and blazing. “If I could do the samba?”

Sherlock looked at him with consternation, brows drawn down in oblivious confusion.

“Ye-es?” He said slowly, drawing the word out. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Wait—what did you think I was going to ask?”

John turned away, sputtering, his face deeply red. “Nothing, Sherlock.” He snapped. “Absolutely nothing.”

Sherlock’s hand shot out; grabbed John’s arm and gripped with vice-like strength. “Wait, John—do you?”

John paused, looking up with wide eyes. Expectation and apprehension scrolled over his features and he sucked in a breath, holding it. “Do I what?” He asked, breathless.

Sherlock frowned; moved closer and squinted at John as if he thought he might have a concussion. “Do you know how to samba?”

John slapped a hand across his eyes, pulling in an exasperated breath.

“Sherlock,” he said, slowly and with feeling. “Shut up.” Falling into his chair, he settled into a thunderous silence, refusing to speak any further on the matter. Frustrated, Sherlock returned to staring at case files.

But he wasn’t deterred.

Just under a month until the wedding, he tried again. As John pulled on his coat in preparation to leave, Sherlock stepped forward, dropping a heavy hand on John’s shoulder.

“John.” He said, earnest, and the other man turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“What?” He snapped, and Sherlock sighed, letting his hand drop.

“John, the wedding is in three weeks, and you have not made a single effort to learn to dance— haven’t attended a single class.” He planted hands on his hips and frowned down at the other man. “Are you planning on swaying with Mary on the dance floor as if you were two teenagers at their high school prom?”

John sputtered, denial in his noises, and Sherlock stared at him until he sagged.

“Fine!” He shouted, throwing his hands into the air. “Fine, Sherlock. Bloody hell, fine then. Teach me how to sodding dance, you complete wanker.”

Victorious and smug, Sherlock sprang into action, clearing away papers from the floor and pushing furniture against the walls. John watched, overwhelmed and resigned, but with a strange quiver of excitement in the way he shifted his feet. Finally, queuing up a stately waltz song, Sherlock stepped over and stood in front of him, face expectant.

“Okay, but if we’re going to do this—” John moved to the windows, drawing the curtains with an aggressive jerking motion. Returning to his earlier place, he shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the sofa. Clearing his throat, he looked anywhere but at the man in front of him. Sherlock moved closer, making John look up again, mouth set in a thin, hard line. As Sherlock gazed down at him, he snapped: “Well—get on with it, then!”

Sherlock snorted. “Come now, John. It takes two.” He held out a hand. When John hesitated, Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. “John.”

“Fine.” John snapped, taking Sherlock’s hand and letting himself be pulled close to the other man’s body. “What now?” He demanded, staring resolutely over Sherlock’s shoulder, his face red.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.” John did so, and Sherlock nodded. “Yes, like that. Good.” He placed his hand high up on John’s side, lightly gripping John’s shoulder blade. Fingers laced together, he raised their right hands. “Now—I’ll lead the first few times, and then, once I feel you’ve got it, you will lead, since you will be doing so when you dance with Mary.”

“First few times?” John sputtered, and Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

“Yes, John. Obviously. You will need to rehearse many times before the wedding, as I doubt you are a secret dance prodigy, and practice is integral to mastering a skill.”

John subsided, but he refused to look Sherlock in the face.

“Okay,” Sherlock continued, once John had stopped protesting. “When I step forward, you step back—yes, good John, very good. Now, step back and parallel your feet—no, John, not that one. The other foot. Yes, like that. Here, let’s try it again.” Sherlock moved them back to the starting position, John frowning at his feet as he tried to repeat the motions Sherlock detailed for him. “Foot back, then step with the other, yes, good. Bring them together. Okay, bend your knee, bring this leg forward—oh, but keep your balance John, you don’t want to fall on Mary.” Sherlock’s hand moved down to grip John’s waist, helping him regain his footing, and John’s face burned.

“This is ridiculous.” John muttered, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“How so, John?”

John looked up, finding pale eyes laser-focused on his face, and quickly looked away. “Nothing.” He replied, narrowing his eyes. The music ended, and Sherlock stepped away to restart the playlist. When he turned back, sweeping into John’s space and sliding his hand up his back, beneath his arm again, John trembled. Sherlock frowned.

“Everything okay, John?”

“Yes. Now shut up and teach me how to dance, dammit.”

Sherlock smiled, but did not reply, simply falling into the motions with the man in his arms. They practiced for several hours, John clumsy and slow; Sherlock sure-footed, graceful, and elegant.

When it came time for the underarm turn and the dip, John balked, steadfast refusal, until Sherlock coaxed him with gentle reminders of dancing in front of everyone for the first time; of how impressed Mary would be.

Grumbling, John subsided, letting Sherlock lead him again. John mixed up his steps in the turn several times, often moving the wrong way and bumping hard into Sherlock’s side. He almost brought them both to the floor when he tripped and stepped on Sherlock’s feet. Face red and set, he had soldiered on, tilting his chin with a determined light in his eyes.

As the weeks passed, John’s movements became surer and more confident. However, when they finally made it to the dip, the end of the dance, John kept leaning too far back, and Sherlock almost dropped him several times.

“John!” He eventually snapped. “If you keep pulling back like that, I will drop you, and it will be your fault, not mine! How am I supposed to teach you if you insist on doing your best impression of a wooden plank!” John had given in at that, face almost permanently flushed and mouth set in a hard line.

As they moved through the steps again, John managing not to cock-up the turn, and Sherlock shifted forward; arm moving up to cradle John’s upper back, he slowly, expertly dipped him. With their faces inches apart, eyes locked, John found breathing suddenly impossible. His mouth went dry and his heart thundered in his ears.

“Sherlock,” he began, voice low and thick. “Sherlock, I—”

The door swung open and Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room, hands flying up in surprise as she took in the scene. “Oh!” She exclaimed, and John went rigid, before he flailed until Sherlock nearly dropped him onto the floor.

“Mrs. Hudson!” John gasped, regaining his balance and stepping quickly away from Sherlock, who only looked bemused. “He’s—we were—Sherlock is just teaching me the waltz!” His eyes widened. “For—for Mary! For my first dance with Mary!”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled, moving in to take a tray of empty teacups from the kitchen table. “Well, I can see that, dear.” She replied, smiling warmly at them both. “How lovely of Sherlock to teach you.”

John’s face burned as she left the flat, closing the door with a firm click behind her. He rounded on Sherlock, who was queuing up a new song. “We have to be more careful!” He snapped, pointing an accusing finger at the detective. Sherlock looked bewildered.

“Careful?” He repeated, tilting his head. His eyes were wide with genuine confusion. “With what? The dip? It’s your fault you almost fell, John. Really, you flailing like that was none of my doing.”

John just shook his head. “Never mind.”

Days before the wedding, John was finally leading, moving Sherlock about the flat with light touches of his hands and practiced steps. He wasn’t exactly graceful, but he danced with the efficiency of a man who more or less knew what he was doing, even if he was rather rigid in the way he shifted his hips. Sherlock allowed himself to be led, following John with sure feet and a relaxed form, hand solidly placed upon John’s shoulder. They had attempted the dip a few times, but with Sherlock’s longer height, it had been rather awkward. This time, the last time, John was determined; insistent.

“You’re sure?” Sherlock asked, looking wary at the thought of being dumped onto the floor, as had happened the first time, when John had leaned too far forward and abruptly released his arms, tipping Sherlock onto the hardwood.

“Yes. I can do it.” John said through gritted teeth. Sherlock had smiled amiably, shrugging to indicate his agreement.

They executed the turn, Sherlock rotating in an elegant circle beneath John’s guiding hands. When they came back together, John stared hard into Sherlock’s face, eyes meeting, and clenched his jaw when Sherlock nodded. Sucking in a breath, he gripped Sherlock’s shoulders; tightened their interlaced hands together, and carefully bent Sherlock back, making sure his arm was locked across Sherlock’s upper body.

Sherlock dipped, John leaning with him on planted feet, and then they were straightened up again, John almost panting with focus and Sherlock looking pleased.

“Good, John—very good.” He offered, and the other man flushed with pleasure.

At the wedding, as he played the waltz he had written for the occasion, Sherlock watched Mary and John move slowly together among the circle of onlookers. John moved with careful steps, and they gazed at one another with the weight of worlds between them.

And later, in times after the wedding, even without John in his arms, Sherlock would turn the waltz, using his vivid memory to imagine John’s hand in his as he moved about the small flat in the parody of partnered dance.

Sherlock had always enjoyed dancing. In fact, he loved it.

[in-the-name-of-the-manga]

Burning Bridges, Building Confidence Chapter 1: A New-Old Face

Special thanks to @bigcheeseyboi for being my beta reader on this!

Also AO3 link if you want to follow it there.

A few days later, Marinette moved up the stairs of the school, far before anyone else had even arrived. Dark bags were barely concealed by second day foundation as she walked into the classroom, taking her seat in the far back. She felt Tikki roll in her sleep inside her purse; it had been a hard night for both of them, a stubborn akuma combined with Chat’s constant flirting caused them to spend the entire night fighting the akuma. They got back just in time for a twenty minute power nap before they had to get ready.

The Chinese-French girl yawned, curling up on the bench for an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep, using the pushed in bench to get some dark and quiet space. She hoped that no one would mess with her, she’d even taken to putting locks on her bags, hiding the keys on a piece of twine in her purse next to Tikki. Less chance for Lila to steal something and/or plant evidence to frame her because the designer wouldn’t put it past that vile liar to do just that.

Marinette wasn’t sure when she drifted off, but either way she awoke to a large amount of noise and someone gently tapping on her shoulder. She turned over on the bench to see someone leaning over her.

“It is time to wake up, the class will start soon.” The person was speaking in awkwardly pronounced French, with a twangy hint and strong ‘r’ sound that Marinette remembered was an American accent. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, somehow missing the desktop. With her vision clearing, she turned to the new person.

She was easily taller than most of the class, save for maybe Ivan, with skin that was slightly tanned, likely by the sun. Her hair was a caramel colored mess that obscured her right side of her face, leaving her vivid green left eye to peek out. Marinette blinked for a second before breaking into a smile.

“Right.” She sat up, scooting over and patting the bench on her right side. The girl sat down, pulling out a notebook and pencil from a cool looking backpack. She then pulled a cord from the side and wrapping it around, snapping a lock shut once it was wrapped securely around the backpack. Marinette rubbed her eyes again and stole a glance around the room, noting her classmates crowding around Lila, throwing glares and stares at the two girls every once in a while.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, alerting Marinette to a message. She pulled the phone, now with a tough case and screen protector, and unlocked it. There was a Discord message.

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : u ok?

She turned to the girl next to her, eyebrows in a ‘really?’ face before turning back to her phone.

Stitches-and-Swatches : v little sleep

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : want sum o my coffee?

Marinette nodded wearily, the girl slid a tall travel mug over to her. The heroine sighed in relief and took a huge swig of the warm liquid. The caffeine rushed through her system and within a few moments she was more alert.

Stitches-and-Swatches : thank u

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : np. surprised 2 c me?

Stitches-and-Swatches : maybeso.gif

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : i was planning on picking u up and walking here together but ur mom said you left early :(

Before Marinette could reply, Mme. Bustier walked in. She placed her stack of papers on the desk before surveying the class, noting the two distinct groups. Most of the class around Lila, while the two girls up top and Chloé were the other group.

“Class, time to start,” Mme. Bustier announced. The class wandered to their seats. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have a new student. Please introduce yourself.”

The girl next to Marinette, surveyed the class with a bored glare. “My name is Collette Sullivan.”

Mme. Bustier’s mouth set in a frown, “Won’t you tell the class a little about yourself? Are you sure you’ll be alright back there? You had mentioned your ”

“There is not much to tell. I am from America. I hate nicknames from strangers. That is all.”

Mme Bustier sighed before starting the lecture, this one on Shakespearean play Hamlet . About halfway through, Collette perked up. She nudged Marinette, who had begun to doze off again.

“She knows she’s recalling Othello, right?” Collette said in english. Marinette paused for a moment before nodding.

“I stopped listening once she mentioned Gertrude being in love with Claudius and called ‘Romeo and Juliet’ a love story.”

“Marinette, Collette,” Mme Bustier called. “Do you have something you’d like to share with the class?”

Collette glared back. “Yes. You do realize that you have been quoting Othello for the past fifteen minutes right? And Hamlet isn’t simply crazy, there’s been centuries of debate on that. I think you need to fix your notes a bit, you must’ve mixed something up.”

Mme Bustier blinked for a few moments, as did the rest of the class. No one had ever spoken to her or any teacher like that.

“So it seems I have,” Mme. Bustier noted, looking at her notes. “Well, give me a few minutes class while I go get a full copy from the library.” The teacher spun on her feet and walked out of the room.

In an instant all eyes were on the new girl.

“What?” She asked as deadpan as can be, giving each of them a bored gaze.

“You can’t just talk to teachers like that!” Alya exclaimed.

“She asked if I had something to share so I did. Got a problem with that?” Instantly there was an uproar, Rose and Mylene were wondering how she could be so mean and insult Romeo and Juliet like that; Lila was lying (something about meeting a student who she had to save after talking back to the teacher or something stupid like that); Max was reiterating the statistics of how likely she was to get in trouble for talking back like that and Kim and Ivan were simply glaring at her. Nino was saying how much of a buzzkill she was while Alya began yelling again.

Cole noticed that the only ones who weren’t crowding around her were a blonde girl a few seats over with earbuds and music playing, a boy with red hair in his face, and a blond down in front. So complacency with the latter two, great.

Mme. Bustier came in a few moments later with a proper copy of Hamlet and a relieved smile across her face, which quickly turned to a frown when she saw her class ganging up on the new girl and said new girl moments away from murder.

“Back in your seats class,” her voice held all the class needed to return to their seats, giving one last glare to the new girl. Class went on as well as it could have until the lunch bell rang. As she strode down with Marinette close behind her, Cole leveled a glare at each student, stepping over Kim’s purposefully outstretched leg and signalling Marinette that it was there.

They weren’t anything but sheep, and what was a herd of sheep to a human being?

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

Chloé wasn’t sure what to think of the new girl. When she walked into the class and gave zero indication of anyone else in the class, even her, Chloé was intrigued.

If the new girl’s tousled hair, vivid green eye, cropped jacket, fingerless gloves, multiple ear piercings and ripped jeans set her cheeks alight, then it was no one else’s business but hers.

As she watched Dupain-Cheng, no Marinette , lead Collette around, Chloé followed at a distance. Sabrina had long since ditched her for Lila’s flock of sheep, so she had no one to worry about following her.

"No way Nettie," The new girl teased in english. The duo ran past the rest of the class who, like the sheep they’d become, surrounded Lila to hear her garbage fire of lies. Chloé ignored the arrogant Italian and followed the two girls.

“I’m telling you Lettie,” Marinette replied. They passed the glaring sheep and went out the door. Marinette had long since stopped staying at school for lunch, opting to go home for lunch instead. “There’s this really cute cafe two streets over, you’ll love it!”

Cole’s laugh, twangy and loud, echoed down the hall. Chloé easily caught sight of the new girl’s backpack, with a wrap around cord and a lock surrounding it, it was a dull gray and black contrasted by her cropped leather jacket, brightly colored bandana, silver earrings (with an ear cuff that just kept distracting Chloé during class), or the mess of hair that was likely styled to be a bit sharper and oh no she’s rambling .

“Really?”

“Yeah, they have that spicy chicken you like,” Marinette gave a cheeky grin to the girl. “Even if it pales in comparison to a nice pastry.”

The taller girl gives her an edgeless glare, before giving a theatrical laugh. “As if! Your sweet and flaky pastries are weak against the fires of my spicy chicken! Does your friend back there want to come?”

Chloé jolted as she realized she’d been caught. She steps out from behind the pilliar she’d ducked behind.

“Chloé?” Marinette asks. “I thought you’d be in the cafeteria already.”

Chloé tsks and and looks affronted. “And be assaulted by the lowering IQ of our class and the attention whore that is Rossi? No thank you.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Cole replied, her French no longer stilted and formal. “It takes all I have to not just toss her out the window into the dumpster where she belongs. Oh where are my manners,” she holds out a hand. “The name’s Collette Sullivan.”

“Chloé Bourgeois,” The blonde replies, shaking the taller girl’s hand. They shook briefly before Marinette spoke again.

“Chloé, do you want to join us for lunch?”

“If you’re extending the invitation, sure.” Cole smiled as the three walked out. To Marinette’s surprise, Chloé didn’t call for her car, opting to just walk with them.

They found there way to the cafe about seven minutes later, the hostess seating them kindly. They ordered their drinks, latte for Chloé, cherry soda for Marinette, and water for Cole. As they sipped their beverages, Cole pulled out a notebook, writing things down as her left arm bumping against the wall of the booth.

“You’ve got guts Collette, I’ll give you that.” Chloé said out of the blue. “No one would ever talk to Bustier like that, let alone call her out, even if she’s wrong.”

Cole looked up from her notebook, and ran a hand through her bangs. “Thanks I guess. I just really like Shakespeare and I hate when people don’t give it the thought it deserves. Especially the Romeo and Juliet thing. It always drove me up the wall.”

Marinette smiled, looking to Chloé. “She takes her Shakespeare very seriously.” She turned to Cole. “Didn’t you play Hamlet at one point?”

“I memorized his soliloquy, yes,” Cole took a big sip of her water. “Shame the only time I can remember performing it was in class standing on a rolling chair and wearing a recycling bin on my head.” Chloé let out an unladylike snort of laughter, the two other girls looked to her.

“Do you happen to have video of that,” Chloé laughed. “I’d love to see it.”

For a moment Marinette feared that Chloé was reverting to her old ways, but Cole lit up, pulling out her phone and unlocking it at lighting speed. It was a few taps later that Cole passed Chloé the phone, offering her the earbuds. After a few moments Chloé began to snicker. She burst out laughing a few minutes later. She put the phone down and took a few moments to collect herself.

“That’s...amazing,” Chloé gasped out, still recovering from her laughter. “You definitely put a lot of work into that.”

“Thanks.” The waitress came back and the three girls ordered their food. “I was running on about two hours of sleep when I did that, I’m surprised that I got it right.”

“Just as Shakespeare intended,” Marinette joked. Cole nodded and laughed aloud.

“Shakespeare was crazy,” the brunette replied. “And you can add so many spins to the stories when you’re performing.”

The waitress came back in near record time, dropping off Cole’s spicy chicken, Marinette’s croissant sandwich, and Chloé’s sushi. The three girls began to eat their lunch when Chloé asked a question,

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Mme Bustier mentioned a vision problem you had, but you refused to move up front. Why?”

Cole looked uncomfortable for a moment before replying. “It’s nothing that affects how I see out of this eye,” She pointed to the visible green eye, before pulling back her bangs and clipping them back. “This eye however is a bit...MIA I should say.”

“Whoa,” Chloé gasped. She took a moment to look at the eyepatch that covered Cole’s eye socket. It was black, with embroidered begonias, rhododendron, and mint leaves on it, while beneath it, some medical gauze and padding peeked out from behind it.

“How does the eyepatch fit?” Marinette asked. “Does it hurt?”

“The eyepatch is fine Mari,” Cole replied. She put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Thanks for embroidering it for me. You’re the best cousin ever.”

“Wait,” Chloé interrupted. “You two are related? No wonder you got along so quickly.”

The two cousins nodded in unison, before bursting out laughing. Cole added, “Yeah, my mom and her dad are siblings. But I lived in America for a long while. I’m glad to be here though, I missed being with my family.”

Chloé looked between the two, the resemblance was there, faintly. The same freckles, same ears, similar noses too. And from what she remembered of Gina Dupain, her eyes matched her granddaughter’s, the hairstyle and clothing was also an indicator.

“Well I hope you have a good time in Paris,” Chloé replied. “And if you ever want to hang out, well, you know where to find me.”

“I’d be glad to hang out with you if you want. And Chloé?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Cole if you want to.” Chloé nodded, feeling quite warm inside. She remembered Cole’s introduction earlier that day ‘I hate nicknames from strangers.’ Chloé must not be a stranger anymore then. Marinette’s smile seemed to confirm it.

They paid for their lunch and began to walk back to the school. As they got there, they heard a commotion from the cafeteria.

“MARINETTE!” Alya’s screech rang out. The blogger came storming down the stairs and right up to the designer. “How dare you! Bullying Lila when she went to the bathroom! Threatening to take away her friends! How could you be so selfish!? And you!” She spun to Cole. “Lila knows what you did! She heard about you faking a vision problem to try and get attention! You should be ashamed!”

Before Marinette could say anything, Alya was backpedalling, followed closely by Cole, whose aura had changed to be downright threatening.

“I’m sorry,” Cole’s voice was as sharp as a knife, sending chills up the spine of all three other girls, and the students hiding in the doorway. “I don’t recall asking the opinions of sheep and shower scum. If you just want to bitch, go somewhere else. But when you have a quality source, come talk to me. Because even with a vision problem, I can see this situation clearer than you could ever hope to. Now run along, you sheep. We have class to get to.”

Chloé and Marinette quickly followed the taller girl, who used her height and threatening aura to part the crowd like the Red Sea. She sent Mylene scampering behind Ivan, while Rose and Juleka peered around his other side. Kim gave her a glare, only to back pedal when she leveled her glare on him. As she passed Lila, clinging to Adrien like a lame sloth, she stated,

“And Rossi, if you have problems with someone with an actual disability, maybe you should shut your mouth. After all, you seem to stick your foot in it every time you open it.”

She leveled a glare at the Italian, who seemed genuinely scared, but more infuriated than scared. What a fool.

“You’re just mad I outed you.”

“Foot, meet mouth.” She pulled her cousin along, Chloé following not far behind. The three girls walked by and went to the classroom with little struggle, settling in the back. Chloé sat down, she noticed Cole tapping away on her phone before pocketing said device, turning to her cousin with a wink.

Class passed by with a tense air, whenever Cole spoke in class, Lila began to put on a show of waterworks. The rest of the class, sans Marinette and Chloé, would glare at her. As class was dismissed, the trio made plans to walk home together, she heard M. Damocles call out her name.

“Great,” She turned to Chloé and Marinette. “You guys go on ahead. Head wherever, just text me when you get home safe.” She handed Chloé a folded piece of paper, which when unfolded, had a phone number on it. “I’ll see ya later.” She headed up the stairs to the principal’s office. The two girls waved goodbye to the third. As she disappeared, Chloé turned to Marinette.

“We should get going, I don’t know about you, but I’m losing IQ points just standing here.”

“Sure,” Marinette replied. They made it down the stairs before anyone else could catch up to them, and as they walked into the bakery Sabine looked up from the counter.

“Hello sweetie, hello Chloé,” Sabine smiled. Marinette had told her how much progress Chloé had made since she decided to be a better person. It made the woman proud. “How’d you like your surprise at school Marinette?”

Marinette smiled sweetly. “I loved it! I’m so glad Lettie is here. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Is Nonna coming by anytime soon? They haven’t seen each other in years. ”

“She mentioned during her last phone call that she’d be back from Spain in a few days,” Sabine replied. “Why don’t you two girls head up? And take some snacks with you.”

“As much as I’d love to,” Chloé replied. “I have to go, my mother is headed out on a business trip and I want to see her off.”

Sabine and Marinette looked sadly at the girl. Despite accepting that she’d never get it, Chloé still held a bit of hope for her mother’s approval.

“Alright, but take these for the road,” Sabine replied, handing the blonde a box of honey and lemon flavored treats. “And text let us know when you get home safe.”

“I will, bye Ms Cheng, bye Marinette!” She waved to the two Chinese women as she gladly took the box and left the bakery.

“She’s come a long way these past few months,” Sabine observed.

“Yeah, even if she still has her moments,” Marinette replied, she joined her mother behind the counter, hugging her. Her mom smelled like the bakery, warm baked pastries and hints of butter and fruit.

“How did class go for you and Cole today?” Marinette frowned, even as she felt Tikki nudge her in her purse.

“It was decent,” She admitted. “Lettie didn’t make a good impression with the class, but I don’t think she cares.”

“She never was one to care, what was that thing she used to say?”

“‘Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind’,” Marinette recited. Sabine hugged her daughter again. After a truly rough day, Marinette had admitted how her classmates were changing, and it wasn’t for the better. Sabine had been livid, and her daughter just managed to calm her down. She trusted her daughter to come to her if there was anything she could do, and Marinette admitted she had one idea. Transfer classes at the beginning of the next school year.

“Are you alright though?” Sabine asked, looking her daughter in the eye. “I know you used to really care about the class.”

“I still do to an extent,” Marinette admitted, tracing patterns in the flour on the counter. “But I’ve been wronged so much by them these past few months, that I don’t think I can ever return to the way things used to be.”

“And I’m glad you’ve come to that decision,” Sabine pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “You’ve listened to your emotions, and made the decision for yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

Marinette wanted to cry. She loved her mom so much, Sabine had been a lot like Marinette when she was younger, a people-pleaser, overworking herself, changing herself to fit others’ demands, it was when she met Tom that she finally began to work past those issues. Sabine knew a little bit of what Marinette was feeling, but Marinette wished she could tell her more. About Ladybug.

“I know Mom,” Marinette replied. She broke the hug reluctantly. “I’ve got to go get my homework out of the way.”

“Alright sweetie,” Sabine handed her a plate of croissants and cookies to eat. “Don’t forget to take a break or two.”

“Okay Mom.” she took the plate and went upstairs to her room.

As she climbed up to her room, Tikki flew out of her purse. “Cole seems nice.”

“Yeah Tikki, I really missed her. I haven’t seen her in years.” The teen dumped her bag at her desk and sat in the chair. “I just wish she didn’t get a first hand look at Lila’s lies on her first day.”

“It was inevitable Marinette,” Tikki replied. “The longer Lila keeps lying, the more the class will turn against you. Since Cole is related to you, even if they don’t know it, Lila must consider her a threat.”

“She is,” Marinette replied. She typed out a message to her cousin on their discord chat. “We’ve been told we’re a lot alike, except I got most of the sweetness. She’s very good at planning. I think she’s more of a threat to Lila than I am.”

Suddenly there was a crash heard throughout Paris. Marinette looked up, seeing a cloud of dust rising from the ground and hearing the yells of panicked civilians.

“Of course,” She sighed. “Let’s hope Chat actually does something this time. Tikki, spots on!”

[crowkingwrites]

Battle of the Bands (Ch.13)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader, Jon Snow x Reader, Viserys Targaryen x Reader, Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: You just moved into the city for the first tie all by yourself. After you get your dream summer job working for a small magazine, you find yourself in the middle of the city’s rock festival: Battle of the Bands. Local rock bands throughout the city compete to win a record deal that could change their lives. Your job? Get close to them and write about them online.A single girl in the city surrounded by rocker boys during the summertime. What could possibly go wrong?

Words: 2077 // AO3 Link

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter Six // Chapter Seven // Chapter Eight // Chapter Nine // Chapter Ten // Chapter Eleven // Chapter Twelve

Ramsay Bolton and Viserys Targaryen grew up in similar circumstances. Both of them had been the undesired sons in the family. While Domeric Bolton graduated with top honors and went on to become an advocate for incarcerated fathers, Ramsay lit up his first blunt in his dad’s basement. While Rhaegar became wildly popular and successful in the arts world, Viserys struggled to write his first song because it wouldn’t be good enough.

Both had wealth and power, and they used it to their own advantages. Viserys used every girlfriend he had growing up for his own selfish purposes. What did it matter? He was Viserys Fucking Targaryen. Girls threw themselves to be with him for status. He even remembered a time where Cersei was extremely nice to him to get close to his older brother.

Ramsay did it the obvious way. He bullied and punched anyone who had words for him. His bloody bastard group had known the inside of the principal’s office all too well. Once, Ramsay saw the paint color swatches and told the principal his opinion.

“If you paint these walls green, it’s going to remind everyone of the lunchroom. It’s gross.”

Both had a certain fear of their fathers. Both knew how bad they were and liked themselves that way. Why would they change if everything was working out for them so far? That is, until Ramsay walked into his father’s private office to see Viz and his entire band behind them. One girl was about to ruin everything for one of them.

“Ramsay! He knows who this bitch is! Tell him!” Viz yelled out loud. Roose turned to his son. Ramsay wore a perfectly fitting suit. It covered all his tattoos. Ramsay was clean-shaven. For once, he looked like the perfect child.

“Mr. Targaryen claims you know who the author of the slandering article is,” Roose’s eyes flickered back to Viz before returning to Ramsay’s. “Do you know her?”

Ramsay shrugged. “I can’t say I do. I have done an interview with her once when my band was still in the battle, but she didn’t write anything terrible about my band. After that, I can’t say we have spoken again.”

“You’re fucking lying,” Viz seethed.

“I do apologize, Mr. Targaryen. This must be a difficult time for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You fucked her! You literally had sex with her!”

Ramsay took a step back and faced his father. “Father, I don’t mean to sound unprofessional, but I think Viserys may be on drugs, You know these rockstars. They don’t lead a sober lifestyle. It says so in the article. We may not want to be associated with people like them.” Roose nodded and took a step towards the band manager.

Ramsay smirked.

Robb stood still inside Jon’s apartment.

You rushed past him and he felt his stomach turning. He could smell your perfume on you. The floral scent rushed into his nose before he could protest. He didn’t mind smelling you. He minded smelling you here in his little brother’s apartment. A slow anger took over his mind while Jon walked up to him, explaining things at a rapid pace.

“It’s not what it looks like. I promise you. I can explain everything, Robb. I really can. I need you to listen and—

“And what, Jon?” Robb’s eyes flickered to his brother. “Are you going to give me a shitty excuse? ‘She had something on her face’, right?”

“Alright! I’m sorry. We-I—I didn’t mean—

“You didn’t mean to? I saw it. You weren’t kissing her on accident,” Robb snapped.

“I wasn’t going to say that! I was just going to say—

“Oh, now you’re going to tell me you’ve had feelings for her all this time?”

“Shut the fuck up, Robb.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Let me explain it before you piss me off.”

“Piss you off? You’re concerned about me pissing you off?!”

“You knew I liked her. You knew all this time, Robb. You introduced her to me knowing how pretty she was. Knowing I wanted a girl like that for a long time.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Really?” Jon scoffed. “Do you just live and breathe in the same selfish world you built for yourself? Do you think every girl you talk to is going to date you? You’re so fucking blind.”

Robb stepped into Jon’s space more. “You knew I liked her too. I told you that. Remember? After I saw her with Ramsay? At the Blackfyre concert? You’re not the only on she’s been with. It’s a problem.”

“And you thought a great solution to the problem was to fire her from her dream job.”

“I gave her that job and this is how she treats me,” Robb spat. Jon pushed his brother away from him.

“Get the fuck out of here with that,” Jon said. “You can’t stand not being the center of attention in a pretty girl’s eyes. She doesn’t belong to you. She never has.”

“Oh, and she belongs to you?” Robb smirked. “Are you her boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Robb.” “No. Really. Are you? Because if you were, wouldn’t you think it’s so fucking weird that she spends a lot of time with other guys?”

“I think it’s fucking weird that you’re obsessed with her,” Jon muttered. Robb pushed Jon harder. When Jon pushed back, Robb grabbed his brother by his arms. He hesitated throwing him into his couch. His fingers itched to do it, but his eyes locked with his brother. Those same big, brown eyes looked up at him.

He threw down Jon’s arms, and opened his mouth. “You know, you’re not really my brother. You’re just flesh proof of why Dad couldn’t keep it in his pants. You’re not human. You’re a mistake.”

Two brothers envied one another.

Viserys Targaryen envied Ramsay in a lot of ways. He hated how Ramsay had a better hold on you than he did. Viserys was used to female attention. At first, he laughed it off, thinking it was a sick joke you kept doing. No, you were more attracted to him than Ramsay. You just felt bad for the guy.

Until the concert. Viserys watched you and Ramsay getting cozier without him around. He watched you kiss Ramsay like you were drowning in him. He never had that fucking chance with you. Why? It angered him. Even in bed, you chose that fucking psycho every time and he let it happen.

Viserys had everything handed and given to him without question. No one ever told him no. Until you came along. You treated him like he was a real being, not some king to bow down to. You made him feel normal. Like he was his own person without his name or title or wealth or anything. But, you chose Ramsay over him every time. And Viz let that happen.

Viz watched Ramsay smirk and leave his father’s office. Viserys knew of Ramsay growing up. He watched that boy enter and leave a principal’s office several times without facing any real consequences. Just like now. He was lying about being with you.

You. The Girl who finally conquered The Dragon.

No, he wasn’t going to let him get away with this bullshit. Viz pushed past a bodyguard and ran in pursuit of Ramsay. Momentum built up inside of him in every step he took towards that fucking bastard. Ramsay quickly turned down a hallway and when Viz reached that same point, Ramsay grabbed him and pushed him against the wall.

“Why did you follow me?” Ramsay simply asked.

“Why did you lie?” Viserys spat in his face. “What the fuck are you doing? She screwed you over too.”

“She had nothing to do with my band getting kicked out. Someone else did. So, she didn’t screw me. Well, she technically did. She did get in between us that one night. She was all over me while you just sat like a puppy and watched. Right? I don’t know what’s sadder. Watching the world’s greatest rockstar get rejected or watching your worst enemy take the only girl you cared about.”

Viserys’ fist connected to Ramsay’s nose within seconds. The punch sent Ramsay backwards and onto the floor, laughing. Viserys lunged again, but this time, his manager caught him. Viserys struggled against his manager as Ramsay mocked him.

“Oh! Look at you! Poor baby needs to be disciplined,” Ramsay laughed.

“I’m coming for you, Bolton,” Viserys warned.

“Oh I know.”

“You know?” Viserys cocked his eyebrow and smiled. “Your arrogant ass is going to kill you one day.”

“How did you know to come here? You don’t really need to interact with lawyers. Your manager does. So how did now to come to my dad? Unless you’ve been here before?” Ramsay watched Viserys’ eyes go wide. Ramsay stood up slowly and closed the space between them. A tension settled between the two young men.

“I knew it wasn’t Renly like you told me. You came here and had my father shut down my band because you know I’m better than you.”

Viserys’ face stayed in shock as his band manager pulled him out of there. Ramsay watched happily as the entire Blackfyre team was escorted out of the law firm. He ducked into his father’s office once more. If he could take down Viserys, he could take down the Starks too.

Ramsay Bolton wasn’t kidding when he told you he liked competition.

Competition was the only thing Jon knew with Robb. Jon always competed against him in everything. Grades. Father’s love. Girls. Sports. Music. Everything. When Jon met you, he felt a spark that he never knew before. For once, you didn’t compare him to Robb. You spent more of your free time with him than with Robb.

Maybe Jon was being delusional. Maybe it was the weed. When Jon’s fist connected with Robb’s cheek, the only thing he could think of was you. Robb thought everyone loved him. It was time that Jon proved him wrong.

Robb held his face for a minute and then left without another word. Jon let out a heavy breath after his door closed. He ran his fingers through his hair and watched Robb walk away from his apartment building. Jon collapsed on his couch and took out his phone.

Jon to You: [I just punched my brother for you. So wherever that puts us…

Jon pressed the back button until all of his message was gone. He sat up and tried again.

Jon to You: [This is all getting out of hand. Maybe we should…

“No, no, no. You stupid idiot.” Jon said to himself. “This is bad. This is really bad. Fuck.” Jon turned over his phone in his hands repeatedly. Jon’s phone played a tone and he saw a message from you.

You: [That article about Viserys. He saw it and he’s gonna try to take me and The Scene to court. What do I do?] You: [Ramsay told me. How do we tell your brother? This is bad. I’m panicking] You: [Never mind. He’s here at the office. He knows. I think he’s going to fire me.]

Jon groaned out loud. He looked over at a Gryffindor poster he had on his wall. The same lion looked back at him.

“Why couldn’t I be a coward? Wouldn’t life be easier if I was a coward? Damn you, Potter.” Jon got up, grabbed his keys, and left his apartment. There was only one person who could possibly understand what he was going through.

Jon arrived at a studio apartment in an artistic corner of the city. He knocked on the door lightly before he opened it. Two pizza boxes were stacked on the stove. Along the wall stood a mismatched shelving system of records. On the far wall, Jon could spot a skinny little nobody on his couch, strumming away at a guitar.

“Theon,” Jon sighed in relief.

“Oh, now you come back?” Theon shook his head. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming back for Alys or not.” Theon gestured to the guitar in his lap.

“I’m—I’m in some deep shit, Theon,” Jon collapsed into a beanbag.

“Yeah? You need our friend, Jack?” Theon passed the whisky bottle to him. Jon shook his head and looked up to the ceiling.

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s about a girl isn’t it?” Theon asked. When Jon nodded, Theon reacted. “Oh shit.”

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[a-pretty-nerd]

Red Handed (Patrick Hockstetter x reader smut)

Requests: "If you’re not too tired of pat x reader could you do one where the reader and Patrick are hooking up somewhere and they get caught? Maybe by the gang or the losers? Love your fics they give me life ❤️" ~ Anonymous

"Could you make a one shot about Patrick hocksetter dating a cute innocent reader with lemons :3 lots of lemons 🍋🍋🍋" ~ @weepingprincepeace

I'm combining these, I hope thats cool! ✌❤

A/N: Keep requesting and such! So because I fucking feel like it, Imma go ahead and write that damn Jasper series. Another one, Ruby? YES! As always, your requests and feedback keep me goin'! ✌❤

Warnings: NSFW, sex, rough sex, public sex, etc.

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School dances weren't your scene. Well, really nowhere was your scene. But your mom made you go with your friends. Who all kind of wondered away from you with their boyfriends. They danced while you stood leaning against the snack table watching and waiting for your date to arrive.

Could you really call him a date? It wasn't so much like he asked you or you asked him. It was just a general understanding that at some point your boyfriend and his friends would crash the spring bash.

You awkward sipped at your punch as you swayed back and forth in your incredibly hideously pink dress decorated with gawdy lace and fake flowers. Your mother picked out for you, obviously. You didn't even see him walk in. All of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye you saw a tall shadow figure. You turned to see a lanky boy swaying his arms as he walked towards you. Dressed in ill-fitting office casual. His pants were a little too short, and so was his shirt.

Behind him came three, equally awkward guys. His friends. Wearing old button ups and jeans. Belch wore a clip on bowtie over his short sleaved button up with jeans. Henry only owned one pair of dress pants and an old flannel. Vic was the only one who looked like he somewhat belonged.

"Oh, h-hey!" You stood up straight and watched as Patrick's gaze waved from the crowd to you. He looked you up and down and gave a hardy chuckle.

"What the fuck is this?" He snorted, pulling up your dress skirt. You swatted his hand away.

"My mom picked it out..." you explained with an embarrassed blush. He nodded and stood next to you as you watched the crowd for a moment as he spoke.

"Makes sense. Peggy has shit taste..." he waited a second, "personally, I'd rather see you in...nothing at all." He purred as he leaned in and down to your neck. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Patrick!" You scolded wtih shrill embarrassment. He giggled into your neck and he kissed the soft flesh. You pushed him a little farther away.

"Aw c'mon sweetie pie," he cooed jokingly, "put out a lil won't ya?" He hooked you by your waist and pulled you to him. It made a chill go down your spine. "Lets get out of here." He rocked you from side to side as music played, almost dancing with you. The way his hands glided across your body, and way he looked at you. Oh god. "I wanna see these nice tits you've been hidin'" His hands slid up and gave two quick gropes.

"Hey!" You swatched again and he just laughed at you. "Patrick, y-you know how I feel about-"

"I'll change that." He told you as his hands went back to your waist and he kissed your neck. He made you melt. "C'mon. No ones in the hallway. We can sneak out to the janitor's closet." He pulled you out towards the door and into the hallway. You couldn't fight him. You wanted him too. His lips kisses your hungrily, sloppily, as you made your way to the closet. He practically threw you into the room with giddy giggles. It shut tight behind you, and you were left alone in the dark.

"Oohhh Patrick." You moaned as he left hickies on your neck. He quickly got your dress unzipped and he let it fall to the floor with a loud 'huff' of fabric. He instantly went for your breasts. Gropping and squeezing. He played with your nipples as he kissed them and sucked. He breathed heavily as he chuckled to himself. He pulled you close to him as his hips curved up so he began grinding against you through his pants. You whimpered as he played with you.

"I knew it. I knew you had a rockin' bod!" He cheered and laughed.

"S-Shut up." You struggled. He pulled away and through the darkness you heard him remove and drop his clothes. Before you knew it, he turned you around and pressed you against the shelves. His long fingers ran over your as and he took a sharp breath.

"And what a great ass too!" He remarked before giving a good slap.

"Ah! Hey! I didn't say you could- ow!" He spanked you again. He did again, and again. It made you wild. You pressed your ass against his cock and he chuckled at you as he ground himself against you again. Enjoying the sweet little sounds you made.

"Oh thats it." He growled and pulled your panties down to your knees. A single fingers dragged from the front to the back before he inserted a finger. "Haha, so wet." He remarked.

"N-No....Patrick." You moaned. He took a moment to finger you first before he pulled his finger and placed it in his mouth. You heard a loud smacking sound.

"Oh hoho, what a taste." He growled before you felt his tongue. He licked, and sucked, and nibbled anywhere he could.

"Ooohh Ah!" You cried. You squirmed for him as he held your ass and moaned into your wet flesh. He stood, and wiped his mouth with a slurp before he adjusted himself. You felt his tip, and you opened your mouth to say something. "Patrick, I- oooohhh FUCK!" You barked as he slid deep inside. You shut your eyes tight and braced yourself. He only took a few good slow thrusts, before he got intense. It felt so good. You moaned his name as he held your hips and started really fucking you.

"Fuck Y/A," he grunted, "you're a wild one, huh?"

"N-No." You whimpered.

"Oh yes you are." He leaned forward as he hips kept slapping against your ass. He stuffed his face in your neck and pulled your hair. "You can't lie to me. Your body's telling me everything I need to know." He snacked a hand down to your clit and played with it.

"Ah!!" You cried in pleasure.

"Like how you're about to cum." You kept your head dead down as he drove you to orgasm, pausing his own movements. Suddenly there was a loud creeking sound and a bright light came. Your heart jumped. You were still cumming and there was nothing you could do.

"FUCK OFF!" Patrick screamed at what appeared to be a young kid who was attending the dance.

"Ahhhh!!! Run Eddie! He's killed her!" A voice cried before the door slammed shut. You road out your high before Patrick just went back to fucking you.

"P-Patrick they...oh god- we-"

"I told you. You're a wild thing." He growled with a smile as he fucked you, harder. He fucked you senseless in that closest for what felt like forever. Making you cum, god knows how many times. Your eyes were rolled in the back of your head and you were focused on your breathing when Patrick started to really struggle. He bucked irrationally and grunted. His nails dug into your skin as he lost himself. "G-Gah..ah..fuck!" He cried as he came. You panted and leaned against the shelves. He leaned against you. His arm out stretched to balance the both of you as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Mmmh my wild little thing." He finally cooed.

Suddenly, the door opened again and you would have panicked had it not been for the intense wokrout prior.

"Patrick!" A voice shouted. He looked up at Henry, who stood in the doorway. "What the fuck man!? We've been lookin' all over for you! Those fuckin' loser kids keep shoutin' about you killin' someone!"

"I'm busy!" Patrick yelled back.

"Get your dick out of your girl and lets go!" The door slammed shut.

"Come on. We'll give you a ride home." He got himself dressed and just barley helped you. You felt dizzy. When you were dressed, he walked you out by your waist. And when no one was looking, he stole a kiss on the cheek.