#it's all leading places I promise because I already know what the next several steps are and I am setting things up

[ciaossu-imagines]

Cat and Mouse - Part Four

It was in second period that you’d first heard it. You’d been quietly working away at your desk, focusing on pulling footnotes and citations for your English essay and it wasn’t that you meant to overhear it so much as…well, the girls were just being loud. They were technically whispering but you’d heard stage whispers quieter than theirs. And you really hadn’t expected to react as you had, your breath catching and your stomach feeling as if someone had just socked you one really good in that area as you took in their conversation.

            You knew one of the girls. Everyone knew her though. Yuki was in your year, but was a year older than everyone else, due to being held back. But that wasn’t what everyone knew her for. Nope, she was so well known due to having both the biggest set of tits in your entire year and also for having the highest body count sexually. If rumours were to be believed, it was even higher than that girl who always seemed to be around Bandou, constantly fighting with him, the really chubby one who Rika had started a trend for earlier on the year of mooing and tossing milk at. You remembered that one a little shamefully. To be honest, you just hadn’t wanted to make waves or to be ostracized yourself, but you still felt horrible sitting by and doing nothing while your friends behaved that way. Anyway, it was saying a lot to say that Yuki’s body count was insane.

            And who could blame your ears for perking up at the sound of Shouhei’s name? Who could really blame you for hanging onto their every word as Yuki recounted hooking up with Shouhei the previous night at a hang-out in the park? Who could really blame you for being horrified as she recounted all the details, as she talked about how he was, rating him on a scale of one to ten. It wasn’t jealousy you were feeling…definitely not. That wasn’t why you suddenly felt so irrationally angry at Yuki. It wasn’t why you wanted to go and smack her hard across the face. It wasn’t why you were feeling sick and overly hot and why you felt hurt and angry. No, all of that was simply because you hated hearing anyone talk about someone else like that, especially a friend. Wait…were you and Shouhei even friends? Wasn’t he just someone you were doing a project with? Sure, you’d been spending a lot of time with him and HOMRA and you were enjoying that time, that double life, but wasn’t it just your rebellious phase? Weren’t Shouhei and his friends just people that wouldn’t be around in your life for too long? Where did the word friends come from?

            All of this was sitting heavy in your brain all period, all day really. You’d be able to put it aside, just for a little bit, every now and then, but your mind just kept returning to it all throughout the day and you were distracted and not all there.

            It was the break right before the last period and you found yourself standing off to the side in a hallway on the lower floor, just standing, staring out the windows of the exit doors. It was pouring outside, the rain hitting the ground hard enough to bounce back up, the sky dark and dreary. Even the weather outside seemed to fit your distracted, downcast mood. You were spaced out completely, tuning out everyone else around you, all the noise and chatter. It wasn’t until you felt a hand on your lower back, fitting itself to the dip above your butt and a person pressed themselves to your side that you were really snapped back to reality.

            “Oh!” you gasped out, flinching and jumping a little, breaking away from the touch and spinning around to stare wide-eyed up at Shouhei. “Shouhei! You scared me!” Your feet automatically put a little more distance between you, and your eyes immediately left him to look around the hallway to see who might have seen your reaction or to have seen you talking to Shouhei so familiarly, only to find it now empty and you blushed, feeling guilty for your immediate reaction. You couldn’t help it though…Shouhei might be your friend, you’d decided sometime during your musings, but it was more that he was your secret friend, someone you enjoyed outside of the perfect persona that existed in your school life and you really did prefer it like that. And you’d always figured that Shouhei really knew that. After all, he’d stopped really interacting with you at school much, outside of art class, or waving to you in the hall or stopping to chat in the hall after about the first week, week and a half.

            Because you were so busy looking around, checking to make sure nobody saw you, you completely missed the dark look that clouded Shouhei’s face momentarily, the way he half-flinched at your actions. By the time you’d turned back to him, his face was the normal sunny, cheerful expression as it always was.

            “Coast is clear, don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “You daydreaming again, y/n? You must’ve been because the bell’s already rung. I stopped by to see what caught your attention. Figured it had to be something good, getting you to skip class.”

            You blushed hard at that, almost choking on your own saliva. It made so much sense, for the bell to have rung, considering this was normally a pretty trafficked hallway and just how empty it was but God, did you feel stupid and a little shocked that you had gotten so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even heard it. And he’d pointed it out so casually, so nonchalantly, like it was just a little quirk of yours which only served, for some reason, to make it feel so much more embarrassing.

            Shouhei was half-humming, staring intently out the window as you stammered out odd syllables, trying to find just the right words. He grinned as he turned his gaze back to you, reaching out to ruffle your hair as he laughed.

            “Nah, nothing interesting out there at all. Musta been all up in your head then…gonna share what got you all distracted? Anything fun?”

            You shook your head emphatically. “No! It was nothing, really. Just got distracted was all.”

            Shouhei shrugged then, not too bothered by your refusal to expand. Honestly, it was something he was getting pretty used to with you and he knew that if he eventually left it, you’d probably end up talking to him about it at some point anyway.

            “Okay then. Well, either way, it’s my lucky day. Know why?”

            “No.”

            “C’mon, y/n! Guess?”

            “I really don’t know.”

            “You really don’t know how to play the guessing game, do you?”

            “I’m bad at guessing so why don’t you just tell me?”

            Shouhei made a little tch’ing sound, hamming it up a little as if he was terribly disappointed in your skills at his little guessing game. “We’ll have to work on your guessing skills. Important thing, that. Anyway, as I was saying…what was I saying again?”

            “That you were lucky.”

            “Oh yeah! I definitely am. I was keeping an eye out for you. Needed to talk to you about something and there was something I can’t wait to show you! Figured I’d have to ambush ya after school or something, throw you over my shoulder all He-Man style, but I lucked out and discovered you skipping out on class.”

            “I’m not skipping out on class,” you protested hotly. Your words weren’t quite entirely truthful, because you technically were, but it definitely wasn’t something you meant to do.

            “Hey, hey! You don’t need to worry about it! I don’t mind if you skip class. I mean, I totally should be in math class right now, but I’m not, so I got no room to judge, right?” Shouhei said with a shrug and a smile.

            You pondered this for a second. You definitely knew he had no room to judge you. After all, how many times had you thought that inside your own mind whenever he lightly teased you about your actions or the little outbursts of emotion that somehow you felt comfortable to have around him, despite feeling like you had to hide them around everyone else? But your brain really didn’t want to dwell too hard on all of that. It had been having a mental workout as was today and it didn’t need something else to ponder and brood on, so instead you chose to focus on the easiest part of his words.

            “Why aren’t you in math class, Shouhei?”

            “Eh…I’m not really a math guy, I guess…that’s more Bandou’s area of expertise. When it comes to math, I’m dumb as a box of rocks. Can’t seem to understand it and all the numbers kind of look and mean the same damn things to me. Last year I got in so much trouble from Ms. Hashiba because I’d keep mixing up the numbers, like ninety-one being nineteen, and I failed miserably. Doesn’t seem to be any better repeating that class this year so I figured it doesn’t really matter if I show up or not, ya know?”

            You studied Shouhei for a second, really studied him, looking deep into his pretty brown eyes as if trying to figure out something. It went on so long that Shouhei’s smile grew fainter, confusion showing on his face as he averted his eyes and shifted a little uncomfortably.

            “Why ya staring, girl? I mean, I’m not that bad looking but that’s some intense staring for just finding me attractive,” Shouhei said, trying to joke around, return everything to playing ground that he felt more comfortable with.

            “Shouhei?” you asked. “Have you ever told Ms. Hashiba what you just told me, about the numbers being mixed up or not meaning anything to you?”

            “Yeah…I mean, I tried. I’m not too great with my words though and she mostly just told me off for being lazy and said I needed to concentrate and work harder. Teachers can kind of be dicks at times.”

            “Shouhei? Have you ever been tested for a learning disability?”

            At this, he stared at you, wide-eyed and shocked. “Me? A learning disability?” He shook his head vehemently, a strained smile appearing on his face. “Nah. Just dumb, y’know?” He clapped his hands, his smile gaining a little more traction on his face as he changed the subject abruptly.

            “Anyway, to loop this whole thing back to the conversation, I was looking for ya for two reasons. One, I need you to keep tomorrow night open for me. I’ll text you later with all the details, once I have them all, but I got the perfect thing to bring a big end to our school project, right. Two, I have something really cool to show you today, thought it might help with our project, so, since you’re skipping class and I’m skipping class, let’s fucking skip class together, right, and I can show you that right now!”

            Shouhei held out his hand, waiting for you to take it. There was a large part of you that wanted to take his hand, but at the same time…

            “I don’t know. I really should get to class.”

            Shouhei’s moved a little closer to you, touching your chin and making you look at him. So, you did, meeting first his eyes and then the sight of his phone screen as he pulled it out to show you the time.

            “According to the time, there’s only half an hour of class left anyway, hun. You’ve missed half the class already. Wouldn’t it be better to work on a class where you already know what’s going on, rather than barging on in to one where you don’t know what’s happening and where everyone will stare at you?”

            Shouhei always seemed to know just what to say to get his way because he was very right. You would always take the option that kept people from staring at you or having you be the main center of attention. And this was for art, so you were still technically doing something class-related, which had to count for something.

            So, with only minimal hesitation, you reached out your own hand to slip over the one covering your chin. Shouhei lowered your hands, slipping his around yours and intertwining your fingers, pulling you along for God only knows what this time. Another adventure, you guessed.

[drghostwrite]

Already Taken…

Pairing: Arizona Robbins x wife reader, reader x greys characters

Summary: reader and Arizona are married and have been keeping it extremely under wraps, everything is going okay until some of the interns decide they want to get on your service, leading to Arizona getting jealous and showing them who you belong to.

******************************************************** You walked through the front doors of Grey Sloan and headed straight for your office. You had some meetings to get to so you shot your wife a txt letting her know you’d see her during rounds. You were hired on a few weeks ago but haven’t been able to practice due to various meetings, you were a triple board certified general/obstetric/trauma surgeon who used to be chief of trauma at another hospital. You were dressed to the nines waking in your suit with coordinating stilettos your white coat, after your last 2 hour meeting with Dr. Bailey you rounded a corner running into your wife who was looking down at a chart.

“Arizona!” You said catching her in her tracks.

“Oh god Y/N you scared me.” She said laughing between you. She turned pulling you into one of the on call rooms, “How’d this morning go?”

“Oh you know the usual, they want to know everything about who I am, why I choose this job, why I started in OB and then jumped to general and then trauma…”

“Well I’m sure they loved you I mean I definitely do, though I wouldn’t have been able to focus with you looking like this.” She pulled back taking in the sight before her, your dress pants with the heels hugging your legs and butt in all the right places, your button up had the top three buttons undone revealing just enough breast to still be business but to look amazingly sexy, the way your white coat hugged your arms and how your curls fell perfectly from your bun.

“Get used to it because you’re going to be seeing a lot more of it.” You said placing a quick kiss on her lips.

“You won’t hear any complaints from me Mrs. Robbins.”

“Mm…it’s Dr. Sinclair right now.”

“You’re only helping your case.” She said ghosting over your lips again running delicate fingers tips over the v neck of your shirt, “but unfortunately I do have interns I have to attend to.”

“Yea, I have to go grab my charts and then meet you to do rounding.”

“see you then.”

“sounds good.” You said swatting at her butt as she swayed her hips out the door. You quickly grabbed your charts and made you way down the hall rounding the corner and standing behind a group of eager interns. Who whispered amongst themselves while Arizona, Dr. Bailey, and Dr. Grey stood in front.

I wonder who the new doc is, I wanna know what specialty they are, I bet it’s some old rich white guy, not even 24 hours on the floors and you have people talking. You made eye contact with your wife as she waved you forward, you stepped up next to the other doctors and the whispering stopped abruptly, busted you thought to yourself.

“Good morning interns and welcome to Grey Sloan memorial hospital, I am Dr. Miranda Bailey chief of surgery for the hospital and I am happy to be meeting you all.” She introduced herself and then you went down the line Grey for general, Robbins for PEDs, and then you the new head of trauma.

“I guess it’s my turn,” you all laughed, “I am Dr. Y/N Sinclair and I’m the new head of trauma.”

the next couple weeks went by fairly smoothly, well for a trauma department that is, the interns were always swarming trying to scrub in on the next big surgery. At first you both noticed the whispers and requests that turned into, “I’ll get your coffee,” and then that turned into other favors. You let it slide for a little bit until one day a young laboring mom was being life lighted in with severe trauma injuries, of course all the interns swarmed you and Arizona trying to get in on the surgery.

“Hey Dr. Sinclair?” One of the girls asked.

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you?” This interns was promising and had been shy through her journey you were waiting for her to take the step and seize the opportunity.

“Sure, though it’ll have to be here cause we’re prepping for this surgery.”

“With her here?” She said shyly gesturing to Arizona who stood across from you at the nurses station.

“Is there a problem with Dr. Robbins being here?” you smiled at the shy intern, you'd seen her interact with Arizona before and saw how she was shy and nervous every time your wife was around, you assumed she had a girl crush whether she admitted it or not and you thought it was hilarious, you just didn't realize that it wasn't Arizona.

“No I um… I wanted to know if I can scrub in today,” she said redirecting her attention back to you and quickly realizing that you had analyzed her entire interaction.

“You know I think I’d be okay with that as long as Dr. Robbins doesn’t mind.” you looked over to Arizona who slowly looked up and nodded.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She smiled at the young doctor, who quickly scurried away, face flushed red.

“Wow, you’re quite intimidating.” Arizona said looking at you and you chuckled to yourself watching the intern retreat.

“You think so?” You eyed curiously, laughing at your wife. She slowly shook your head and chuckled to herself.

"I think she has a crush on you." you joked.

"Oh no Love, that's all you, she's intimidated by you and definitely wants a piece of you, too bad you're already taken," she said jabbing at your arm.

"Really? there's no way."

"Babe I've seen a lot of people look at you like that, I looked at you like that except I made up my mind that I was going to make you mine."

"Haha very funny."

"Yeah but you know I'm right, that's why you have my last name," she said getting close to you before teasingly turning away.

Not 15 minutes later you were standing outside the OR and Arizona had told you she would meet you there with updates and to scrub in. You heard a knock on the door and wondered who would be asking permission to come in.

“Come in.”

“Mm the mysterious Dr. Sinclair, I heard you’re letting one of us scrub into your surgery.” you looked up greeted by another young female intern.

“Yes, do you have a problem with that?”

“Only if I'm not the one scrubbing in… I wanted to ask you if you had any plans tonight, you're smart and extremely hot, like dirty sexy hot and I um… I would be willing to treat you right to a night of drinks and fun and then maybe help with some stress relief after this case.” She ran her fingertips over your bicep and stepped in closer. What you both didn’t know was Arizona was right outside the door, she slowly entered as you were responding to the intern.

You looked at the intern shocked by how forward she was, a lot of people didn't know about you and Arizona, not that you hid your marriage you just weren't openly showing it in certain settings, but you still wore a ring, even in the OR you wore one, and when in business attire you had a pretty nice diamond on your finger that was hard to miss.

“Okay, first I’m married, to an amazing woman who just so happens to be a world-class surgeon at this hospital for that matter, and If I recall you said you had another case you were working on so I would say that takes precedence, there will always be other cases.”

“I’m sure your wife wouldn’t mind…”

“Oh, I’m sure she would.” Arizona interrupted, walking over to you and crossing her arms behind you.

“She's your...I…um… Dr. Robbins, I didn’t see you there… I, um.”

“I think you were just leaving.” You said coldly, as she watched like a deer in the headlights quickly turning to run out of the room.

“And that is why I love you.”

“Arizona…”

“I know, I know…” you finished scrubbing in and while gowning up she walked over to you.

“I know I probably shouldn’t do this but good luck, and thank you for earlier.” She said and leaned up to kiss you. You could hear the gasps from the gallery as others watched this unfold and finally realized who exactly you were married to Meredith and Bailey both smirked at each other and they now didn't have to keep your little secret. But you didn’t care you were about to save lives with your wife, and there was nothing more that you’d rather be doing.

“Okay people let’s save some lives tonight.”

[nuoyipeach]

Carry My Name

Chapter 2

Park Sooyoung X Nakamoto Yuta

warnings: mature things ;) hint of misogyny(?)

Her father put up a fight when finding out about the deal, despite her claiming she accepted it unthreatened. But after a meeting with his coleader and secretary, he realised giving his daughter away would lessen his burden and improve assets.

Sooyoung knew he was never a man who cared to father properly, merely thinking of his family as assets as he did everything else. He was only mad thinking she was being stolen from him, but when realising the advantage, he would gladly send her out.

Her mother however cried when hearing the news, hugging her daughter as she spent her last night in her parents' house. "Do you realise the moment you take his name, you become cut from us?" Sooyoung nodded, her mother crying more. "But you will always be my daughter. Please contact me so we can see each other annually at least."

She knew it wasn’t that easy, considering how her mother had never seen her own family as far as Sooyoung could remember.

A week later, the day came. She stepped into her father's car for the last time, heading to the grand restaurant Yuta had apparently booked out for the signing to happen. He stuck to his words, he would only sign her father's contract alongside their marriage.

She knew it wasn't a wedding, but decided to dress in white anyways, a satin sleeveless dress, low cut and reaching down to the floor and a slit on one side of her legs, and a white cropped suit jacket over her shoulders. She noticed the way her father stared at her ridiculously, as if he found it all a joke to her.

"Remember, when you sign that paper, you carry his name." he spoke in an authoritative voice. "And when that happens, you will be cut from us, so don't think you can run back every time shit happens between you two. This isn't the real world, it's our world."

Her gaze remained on the scenery outside, as they passed by some trees heading towards the isolated fancy restaurant. She couldn't care less about what he said, she hadn't ever since her life felt like a puppet for fifteen years. She knew every leader was practically the same, but the slight child in her held hope Yuta wasn't lying about his promises to her.

whatever it is you wish for will come true, because I know involvement in this world isn't it

She sighed, fixing herself once more when noticing the building coming into view. Several of Yuta's guards were already stationed around, one even opening only her door and helping her out, leading her inside. She turned and noticed they hadn't done the same for her father, his own driver being the one to open the door and then trail behind her. A slight satisfaction invoked in her, for once he was behind her.

The guard lead her to the private room, knocked and opened the door, motioning her inside. She dipped her head a small bow to thank him before looking inside, and noticed she wasn't the only one dressed up in white for today.

Yuta stood there in what she felt was his best suit, possibly new by the looks of its shine, his hair done and face cleaned up. Their eyes met and he smiled lovingly at her, motioning her inside before his face switched, and she realised her father had reached behind her. Slowly she stepped in, when another younger man held out his hand and lead her to the seat next to Yuta on the right.

Her father was simply motioned to sit opposite the couple, and the moment both took their place Yuta suddenly turned to her and took her hand, bringing it up to his lips to place a kiss on the back. "You look lovely." she smiled, her cheeks heating up at his sudden wink hidden from her father's view. He changed face again before turning to the old man, who took out the contract from his bag.

"There, she's here, we're all here, now sign it."

Yuta scoffed, handing the file to his secretary. "Formalities sir, just making sure it hasn't been changed out." he took a sip of his drink. "Sad to you see you haven't dressed up for your daughter's wedding."

"This isn't a celebration boy, it's a peace treaty. I'm not gonna pop a bottle, not here anyways."

That caught Sooyoung's ears. Her father would go home and celebrate having to no longer worry about any attack or provocations from the Nakamoto group, but didn't care to celebrate his daughter's wedding. She pursed her lips, remaining unbothered by his priorities as she always knew where they lied.

Yuta however seemed bothered, as she suddenly felt his hand go under the table and hold hers on resting on her knee, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. She hid a smile, taking his off then holding it properly, their fingers intertwined, and looked up to see his face relax.

His secretary finally passed back the file, confirming everything was all good, then handing Yuta a pen. He released their hold to take it, before motioning for something from the man again. He pulled out and passed another file, which Sooyoung saw the title to.

Their marriage license.

His eyes then read both papers, before he first signed the marriage file and slid it to her, then took her father's contract and hovered his pen over it. She was suddenly handed a pen from aside, and took it a little bewildered.

"We sign together." he said, looking at her for a quick second. "I told you, I'd sign both at the same time." he cocked an eyebrow before turning back to the paper. Sooyoung nodded, and after a short pause, finally landed her pen on the paper, and noticed he had done the same. But he hadn't even started signing, not until she moved her pen first. Their signatures ended at the same time, and she released a breath.

She was officially Mrs Nakamoto.

Nakamoto Sooyoung, a long name she'd have to get used to for sure.

"Well, that's that." her father had signed his on the contract and passed it to his secretary to have it copied and filed away securely. He then stood up, putting his hand out towards Yuta. "Nice doing business with you, Mr Nakamoto."

Yuta held his piercing gaze, and shook his hand lazily. The old man was annoyed again, but knew better than to start a fight now, after the contract had been signed. He retracted his hand, and gave a forced smile, bowed, and left out the door.

Sooyoung's eyes followed him until the doors were closed again, and she felt nothing. No sadness, no remorse, just a little anxious knowing her life had taken a turn starting this very moment.

"My darling wife." she turned to her now husband, who had a smile on his face again, only this time it stayed. "Come now, we have a wedding to celebrate."

Very confused, she simply followed as he took her hand and lead her out the room, to an elevator heading up to the patio of the building. The younger man and secretary had followed behind.

"Oh, this is Na Jaemin, my stepbrother I mentioned. And this is Shotaro, my secretary." he introduced, and she gave them both a nod. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened revealing the patio. Sooyoung gasped at the sudden revelation, her mouth agape as she slowly walked out and looked around.

They had a beautiful view over the forest, then the city a little further ahead. There weren't many chairs, but the arch they all faced along with everything else was decorated beautifully with white and flowers. There was a table with light food and refreshments on the side, and her eyes finally fell on the people lined up around who watched her entrance.

She suddenly realised how shocked and weird she must have looked, and quickly hid her mouth with her hands, looking at them embarrassed. "Hello..." she bowed greeting them, and some elderly chuckled before greeting back. She noticed Yuta walk up behind her, when everyone quickly took place in their seats. She turned to her husband, who chuckled at her before handing her a small bouquet, fixed her hair down, then winked before heading to the makeshift altar himself.

Soft music played, and Sooyoung realised it was set up a real wedding as everyone stood and turned back towards her. Nervously, she smiled and walked down the aisle heading to the arch where a priest now stood alongside her husband. Once she reached, they faced each other while the priest started the procession, their eyes locked in an affectionate gaze.

When it came to the vows she suddenly realised she had none, and stared at Yuta who chuckled. "I know this wasn't mentioned to you, but to be truthful you barely know me so what good would empty vows do." he said, then suddenly held her hands in both his, passing the bouquet to whoever was behind him. "However, I do promise you happiness and love and a life void of sorrows and sadness. I promise to be at your feet for anything you desire, and to always prioritise your wellbeing over anything and everything else. Finally, I promise to be the best husband to you, to always be there at your disposal. I know we lead unlawful lives, but starting today the only laws I abide by will be your words, my wife."

Unknowingly, tears pooled in her eyes, one dripping down her cheek as he finished his speech. All her life she had never heard such genuine words from anyone, let alone directed to her. Her father was unemotional, her mother always depressed and apologetic, the people she was surrounded by all unsocial with her. She finally had what she thought would be nothing but a fairy tale to her, and her heart beat against her chest so much she was sure he'd hear it.

One of his hands left hers and cupped her cheek, thumb rubbing away the stray tear, a loving smile on his face, which she returned. The priest continued, reaching the ring exchange where she was passed one to put on him, before he put one on her. A small diamond carved into a heart, placed within the silver band. She looked back up just as the priest finished.

"I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss."

With a sharp tug on her hands, Yuta pulled her into his arms as their lips met in a passionate kiss. Her hands gripped his shirt where they rested on his chest whilst his held her waist tight, lengthening the kiss as he pushed her body closer to his.

Cheers and claps surrounded them as they slowly parted, faces still just inches away. "Been waiting to do that ever since I laid eyes on you." he said in a soft voice, causing her to look down shyly. He cupped her face up and kissed her again, deeper this time, and she nearly lost herself in it until remembering they were still in a public setting.

She quickly pushed him out and held a hand on his chest to stop him when he chased after her lips, giggling at his annoyance. "Save some for tonight, husband." her hand played with his tie, and she watched as he raised an eyebrow, smirking at her then winked.

> 

Yuta wasted no time after the short reception, during which they simply ate and he introduced her formally as his wife to everyone else in the ceremony, who Sooyoung got to know were the Nakamoto elders and working families loyal to them. It wasn't long before the newlywed couple sat in his car as he drove fast, one hand on her thigh the whole time through. His fingers would trace over the dress, before he gripped hard in possession. She didn't mind, as her own fingers started tracing the veins on the back of his hand unconsciously.

After a long drive to another secluded area, her eyes fell on the modest yet grand house, as if a mini mansion, which they apparently used when visiting South Korea. He went through the gate using his pass card, parked the car out front and hastily got out, running to her side and opening it for her. Before she could react, his arms reached for her and carried her up bridal style, a squeal leaving her lips in shock.

Her eyes met his, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he gave her a quick kiss and started walking into the house, heading straight upstairs and towards a room with what seemed like the nicest door.

"I sent everyone else out for tonight." he said as they stepped into the bedroom, his foot kicking the door shut from behind. "It's just us."

Sooyoung gasped dramatically, a hand covering her mouth. "What will you do..." she asked, teasing though a little anxious inside as well. He gave a wink, suddenly dropping her on the bed gently, took off his suit jacket and climbed over her, balancing himself on his forearms as his face hovered just above hers.

"So, what do you want?" Yuta asked in a soft low voice, and she stared back confused. "I told you, you marry me, and I'll give you all that you wished for, what you really want to do in life."

Her eyes studied his features as her mind replayed his promise from their first meeting, she didn't think he'd be so quick to bringing it up, but it got her thinking about her true aspirations in life. Nervous, her fingers moved up and played with his buttons, the top two already being opened from before. While her eyes remained down, he suddenly pushed his nose against hers and tilted her head upwards, getting her eyes up to meet his again as he smiled at her lovingly, a much softer look on his face than before, as if urging her to speak.

"I... I worked for dad right after high-school..." she finally spoke maintaining eye contact. "I've always wanted to work in business, mainly... I wanted to start my own. I know it’s a little far-fetched, but I was willing to go through all hardships and..."

She bit her bottom lip, stopping her sentence before her emotions suddenly took over. She never opened up about this to anyone, about anything to anyone for that matter, so talking and thinking about it all of a sudden made her emotional.

She felt a hand cup her jaw, thumb pulling her bottom lip out, and looked up to meet her husband's sad eyes. "Don't bite sweetheart, it's not good." he leaned down and placed a soft lingering kiss on her forehead before facing her again, nodding at her as if to say continue.

"I just want to get a degree and maybe start at a company as a proper staff, not just someone's assistant. Then later on, I could start my own."

"What kind?" Yuta asked, thumb still stroking her lip.

"Food business..." she swallowed a bit before continuing. "I noticed when I got switched to the private academy, our meals were so much more... extra than those in regular schools. I want to start a business that provides better meals for kids in those school, especially in rural areas where they might not have as much."

Silence took over as she watched his face, unable to read his expression as he stared blankly. "Oh God." he suddenly sighed, capturing her lips in a deep kiss while his hand held her face tight. He started speaking in between the kiss. "I didn't think... you'd could get any more... any more beautiful... but you did... Sooyoung..."

He pulled away abruptly, sitting on his knees and unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, her eyes widening at the action. "Consider everything done. I just can't hold back right now." once done with his own, his hands slid up her legs under her dress, pulling it off in the process and throwing it aside before he leaned back over her. "Sorry but I'm about to lose my mind."

>>>

[awhitehead17]

Day by Day

TimKon, High School AU, Mental Health issues, Hurt and Comfort, Adopted sibling relationship, Developing relationships.

Summary:

After moving to a new city with his brother to start fresh and to begin healing, Tim agrees to attend counselling sessions to keep his family happy.

As he attends the sessions he unexpectedly he meets another teenager who captures his attention like no one has ever done so before. Unfortunately for him this teenager, while alluring, brings Tim a whole new set of problems he hadn’t been prepared for.

Being made to push his boundaries and testing his mental strength, Tim finds moving to Metropolis isn’t as easy as he originally thought it would be.

Also on A03

Enjoy! :D

“I know I’m a mess, I don’t need anyone telling me that.”

“That’s a pretty solid statement to make. Would you like to explain to me what you mean by that Tim?”­­

“No, not really.”

“I understand it’s difficult to talk about, but you’re doing the right thing, recognising the problem and reaching out wanting help. The worst thing you can do is keep it inside you.”

“I’m not here because I want to be.”

“Why are you here then?”

“Because I promised my family I would do this.”

“If that’s the case you could always lie to them, say you’ve been when you really haven’t.”

“I couldn’t do that to them. Plus they’d know, they’re practically detectives, hell my oldest brother is a cop after all.”

“You care about your family.”

“Of course I do.”

“And you’re here talking to me because you promised them you would. Why did you make that promise in first place?”

“I don’t want them to worry any more than what they already do. Them thinking I’m getting help, will help ease their minds. If I can help them worry less then that’s something I guess.”

“So you’re not here for your own benefit, but only to please your family?”

“It’s not like that! I know I need help but I don’t want it. I’ll be fine, I always have been. My family do everything they can to help but sometimes it just isn’t enough. I don’t want them to worry about me that’s all, they all have so much on their plates already, they don’t need my drama as well.”

“I understand that Tim, but what-”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore! Let’s talk about something else.”

“Of course... we can revisit that another day. How did your history test go yesterday?”

=========

As the automatic doors open, which lets him out of the building and outside of the school, he lets out a sigh of relief and shoulders his backpack. He hates going to counselling. It always leaves him feeling emotionally drained, personally attacked and exhausted. Who even likes talking about their emotions?

Tim certainly doesn’t that’s for sure.

As he said to the counsellor, a blonde woman named Dinah, he goes because of his family. They worry about him and his mental health. He knows he’s not exactly well, the last year has been rough for him, it would’ve been for anyone, but telling them he’s fine wasn’t enough for them to be convinced. He felt bad for being an inconvenience to his family with his problems when they struggle with their own, they didn’t need the drama of Tim’s life to be added to their already full plates.

After several long talks, a few arguments and shared tears Tim and his family finally came to a compromise which lead to Tim agreeing to see a counsellor at school. It didn’t stop his family from worrying about him of course, but they seemed to be more at ease knowing Tim is getting some form of help.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Tim’s brought out of his thoughts at the voice and looks up. He finds his brother leaning against his car on the main road just outside of school. He was wearing his signature leather jacket, jeans and black boots, the whole look was screaming ‘bad boy.’ Some girls who were still lingering around despite it being after school were stupidly falling for it if their gawking looks and giggles were anything to go by.

Tim rolls his eyes, he steps up next to Jason giving him a look, “you look like a douche.”

His brother raises an eyebrow at him before standing up and tugging at his jacket, “I think you mean I look awesome.” Before Tim could react, Jason slings an arm around his shoulders. “What’s with the long face? Fail a test? Get yelled at by a teacher?”

“Jason!” Tim squirms underneath his brother’s arm when the older starts rubbing his knuckles across his scalp. As Tim tries to break free from his grip the asshole only laughs and tightens his arm around Tim’s neck. They roughhouse for a couple of minutes before Jason finally lets him go.

“Seriously baby bird, you okay?” Jason asks looking him over, his tone having grown serious and concerned.

Tim sighs as he smooths out his clothes. “I’m fine,” he pauses to flatten his hair, “it was a hard session that’s all. I hate going.”

Jason stares at him before placing an arm around his shoulder’s once again, this time it was an action of comfort rather than playful teasing. His hand rubs up and down Tim’s arm comfortingly. “I know you do kid, but that was your what, second maybe third session now? It’ll get easier over time. Just stick through it okay.”

He’s heard it all before, pretty much from every member of the family at this point. Each time they say it, it only makes him want to roll his eyes and scoff. However he did promise them after all.

“Third time going but first proper session. The first and second visits were initial talks.” Tim mutters unhappily.

Jason hums and lets him go, he walks around to the other side of the car. “When’s your next one?”

Tim opens the car door and chucks his bag onto the backseat before climbing inside. “Monday after school.”

Jason settles in the driver’s seat and starts the car up, “Well at least that gives you tomorrow and the weekend to unwind before the next one.”

Tim hums, not really bothered by it. He doesn’t have any plans during the weekend other than doing a bit of studying. He hasn’t been in this school long enough to make friends yet. He’ll most likely stay inside and binge watch Star Wars. Maybe the Lord of the Rings trilogy instead? He’ll have to see what he’s in the mood for at the time.

Jason drives them back to their apartment and once inside Tim heads straight for his room. He collapses on the bed and stays there, unwilling to move. Eventually he gains enough will power to flop over onto his back and stares up at his blank ceiling.

Outside of school his life wasn’t very exciting. He’d either stay home to study, watch films or play video games. He may occasionally go out for a run or on the odd occasion go with Jason to his work and help out with the cars he fixes in the garage.

Tim’s the new kid at school and he hasn’t made any friends yet. There’s a couple people which he thinks he could befriend given time, they’re in a variety of his classes and Tim figures he’ll eventually work up the courage to talk to them at some point.

After staring at his ceiling for several long moments, he decides that he’s bored and grabs his phone from his pocket to play on it. Tim plays several mindless games for a couple hours until Jason calls him for dinner.

Tim trudges his way through their apartment until he gets to the small kitchen dining area where Jason has set up the table for them both. The pasta dish that was sat on the table smelt awesome and Tim didn’t realise he was hungry until he was sitting down and grabbing a fork.

“I’ve gotta stay behind tomorrow at work so I can’t pick you up.” His brother says conversationally.

Tim hums and swallows his mouth full. “That’s fine. I can walk.”

“Will you be alright on your own?”

Tim rolls his eyes at the concern. “I’ll be fine. Yes.”

Jason narrows his eyes at him before going back to his food. “Just asking, no need to get defensive.”

“Stop treating me like a child then. I’m seventeen.”

His brother scoffs but otherwise doesn’t comment. They continue with consuming their meal in silence. It’s at times like these when Tim questions whether living with just Jason is the wisest of ideas.

After everything that had happened over the last year Tim knew he needed to get out of Gotham if he was to start healing. It’s easy to say his family weren’t keen on the idea of him leaving the city. In the end they agreed to let him go but only if someone went with him and if he was to get help wherever he went. That someone happened to be Jason, his second oldest brother.

Together they moved from Gotham City to Metropolis into a decent sized two bedroomed apartment around a month ago. As they moved they worked on getting Tim transferred into his new school which he only started weeks ago. That’s also when he started counselling, as he said he would.

Tim doesn’t know how long they’ll be in Metropolis for but he isn’t in a rush to get back to the grimy city despite it being home. A lot of bad shit happened there and he needs a break from it, a chance for fresh air.

That night after finishing their meal in silence they clear the dishes away together. The next time they speak was to say goodnight before going to bed, Jason jokingly offering to read Tim a bedtime story and to check if there were any monsters in his closet. Tim laughs and tells him to fuck off before shutting his bedroom door.

========

Friday and the weekend fly by and before Tim knows it his alarm is waking him up at dawn to get ready for the disguised prison they call school. As expected he didn’t do much the weekend, which was fine by him, it was nice to have time to himself and simply do nothing.

Monday dragged, however. Each class feeling like it would never end, the teachers drawling on about behaviour and mobile usage while in class and the same old gossip and rumours going around about who slept with who. It’s all stuff Tim didn’t care for.

By the time Monday came to an end he was dreading it, it was his next counselling session. Bracing himself he walks to the small separate building where the wellbeing hub is, it’s just to the side of the main building. The automatic doors open and Tim walks through to the waiting area.

It’s quiet inside. There’s one woman who works behind the only desk and there’s only one other student there in the seated area. Tim recognises him, he was there last Thursday too, only that last Thursday Tim didn’t get the chance to properly look at him as he was called in as soon as he arrived.

The other kid was tall and Tim would guess he’s slightly built as much as a teenager could be although it’s hard to tell because of the jeans and leather jacket he’s wearing. He’s currently hunched over on his phone completely unaware of Tim’s presence as he sits down opposite him on one of the small sofa’s they have. The other student has black hair styled into a fade cut.

Despite not being able to fully see his features Tim assumes he’s good looking. From a first glance, the impression Tim gets is ‘bad boy’, which is probably the teen’s intentions and for some reason Tim also gets the vibes he’s someone he wouldn’t get along with. Then again, that’s exactly how Jason comes across, Tim really shouldn’t make assumptions.

“Tim?”

Tim blinks when his name is called. Taking a deep breath he gets up and makes his way over to the counselling room. As he walks by the other kid looks up and for the first time they make eye contact. Tim didn’t expect to see startling blue eyes from the other teen and to confirm his earlier thoughts, he is indeed good looking. Tim breaks their eye contact quickly and hurriedly makes his way over to the room where Dinah was waiting for him.

[lewistoferrari]

partition

pairing: kyle garrick x fat fem!reader cw: fucking in the backseat

“kyle, honey, c’mon. we’re going to be late!”

a loud thud and a muffled curse travels to your ears from where you stand at the bottom of the staircase, with your heels dangling from your fingers. you stand there, brows raised in concern when your husband starts cussing again. what the hell is he doing, you think to yourself. you’re about to climb the stairs, when kyle suddenly appears at the top of the landing looking a little stressed.

“i’m coming, doll. just give me a minute,” he says hastily, before disappearing as quickly as he came.

“what’s the hold up? our driver is here.”

“i’m lookin’ for my other cufflink!” he shouts, his response making you sigh.

“just wear another set. we have to go or we’ll be late,” you shout back, before putting your heels on. you spare a glance at the clock on the wall. if you and kyle don’t get a move on within the next five minutes, you’ll be late.

“i don’t know why he sent a car in the first place,” kyle complains, when he finally makes an appearance again. he’s fiddling with the cuffs on his tux with a look of annoyance on his pretty face. “could have driven my own shit.”

“just put the cufflinks on and get down here, please,” you tell him, before stepping away from the stairs.

kyle raises an eyebrow at your tone, but does as you say. “relax, darling. we’ll get there on time,” he promises when he’s done, before making his way down the stairs.

you’re already heading for the door when kyle catches up to you. he sets the alarm, then hits the lights, before locking up and leading you to the car that awaits.

your chauffeur greets you both once you get settled in the backseat. “we’re about thirty minutes away from your destination,” he informs the both of you, as he pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road.

you thank him, before turning your attention to the interior of the vehicle, and looking up at the starlight headliner embedded in the ceiling. “this is nice.”

“yeah? you want one?” kyle asks as he looks up from the text he’s just received from price questioning his whereabouts.

he laughs at the face you make in response to his question. “you just bought me a car, ky.” you don’t see yourself ever driving a car like this. it’s nice and spacious, but that’s about it.

“fair enough, love. price and his missus are en route.”

“i’m surprised she’s going with him, all things considered,” you mutter, because at this point, why are they still married.

kyle gives you a knowing look, “don’t start gossiping about my boss.” he always does his best to stay out of other people’s marriages. the only marriage he truly cares about is his own.

“yeah, yeah, not our business.” you don’t say anything else on the subject. all you can do is hope for the best.

you perk up a little when kyle pulls the chauffeur into a conversation, but then you zone out immediately when you realize they’re talking about rugby. kyle has tried to explain rugby to you several times before, but it just goes in one ear and straight out the other. you love your husband dearly, but when he starts talking about the sport, your mind goes blank.

you occupy your time with uploading the selfies you took with kyle in your bathroom to instagram. you’re so focused on your phone and the light chatter and laughing coming from your husband and the fellow up front, you don’t even notice the wide palm on your thigh at first. you slowly become aware when kyle gives your thigh a light squeeze. when you look up at him, he’s not even looking at you.

when kyle’s hand starts to creep up your thigh, you tense up a little then narrow your eyes at him. his expression gives nothing away, so you’re not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s doing.

you quickly come to the conclusion that he knows exactly what he’s doing when he starts caressing the soft skin of your inner thigh. he’s talking to the chauffeur and feeling you up at the same time. and you’d be lying if you said kyle’s touches weren’t making your panties wet.

“kyle.”

it’s meant to be a warning. and kyle tries to keep the smirk off his face when his eyes meets yours. “what’s wrong, love?” he asks cooly, almost mockingly, as if his hand isn’t close to disappearing between your plush thighs.

the look you give him says seriously? because what the fuck is he trying to do? and in front of your chauffeur at that. when you try to squeeze your thighs together out of spite, kyle gives you a warning pat. and when you try to move his hand, he doesn’t budge. if his hand moves up any further, he’ll be touching the lace covering your cunt.

brown eyes narrow when you let out a huff of annoyance and try to shift away, making kyle cut his conversation short with your chauffeur. you know you’re in for it as you watch the pane to the partition slide up to give you two some privacy, your eyes widening when kyle presses a button to make the electrochromic pane opaque.

you jump slightly when he reaches over to unbuckle your seatbelt. “what are you doing?!” you hiss at him, before staring at the partition warily.

“don’t worry,” kyle murmurs as he takes his own seatbelt off. “it’s soundproof. he won’t be able to hear you when you cum on my cock.”

“what!?” you squeak out. “i’m not fucking you in the back of someone else’s car, kyle.” it was absurd.

“fuck!”

if you were against fucking kyle in the backseat of the car, then how’d you end up in his lap, with your dress hiked up and panties hanging off one ankle while he bounces you up and down on his cock.

“fuckin’ hell,” kyle hisses out when your pussy clenches around his cock, “can’t wait to get you back home so i can fuck you properly.”

you let out a whine at that, because you know he’s going to fuck you right up against the door as soon as you step foot into the house.

“you look so pretty like this, baby,” kyle pants as he grips your asscheeks in his big hands, cock pistoning in and out of your drooling pussy as you hold onto his shoulders for dear life.

the sounds of your wet pussy and your soft cries echoing throughout the back of the car is all the motivation kyle needs to make you cream on his cock.

the constant drag of his cock against your g-spot has you feeling like you’re slowly losing your mind. “please, please, please,” you cry as you start to fuck him back, your hips rotating in tight circles as you chase the orgasm that’s creeping up on you.

“thats right, baby. fuck me back,” kyle rasps as he slaps your ass. you feel like a goddamn puppet on a string with the way he moves his hands from your ass and begins to guide your hips. he’s making you fuck yourself on his cock the way he wants you to. and all you can do is babble incoherently as the pleasure builds and your thighs start to shake.

and when kyle hisses out, “c’mon love, be a good girl f’me and make that pussy cream,” you cum gasping out his name with unshed tears in your eyes.

you’re so happy you chose to wear waterproof mascara tonight. you don’t need anyone knowing that you were you were crying because your husband made you cum on his cock, and not because you were sad.

kyle offers you no respite when he shoves you face first into the upholstery, then bullies his cock back into your aching pussy.

“fuckin’ hell, kyle! give me a warning next time,” you gasp out in between moans as your body rocks back and forth.

there’s absolutely no way your chauffeur doesn’t know what’s happening in the back of his car. even if he can’t hear it, you think he can feel the way the car rocks with kyle’s unrelenting thrusts.

“pussy’s always so tight and wet. feels like heaven,” he moans, before pulling his cock out of your hole, then slamming back in, with a force that almost knocks you off your knees.

kyle has a hand on the back of your neck to keep you restrained and when you try to prop yourself up, he just shoves you back down, slaps your ass, and tells you stop fucking moving. you’re too fucked out to argue anyway, as you focus on the way kyle’s cock is embedded deep in your pussy because of the position he has you in. you dig your nails into the upholstery to keep you grounded when his thrusts start to come harder and faster. he’s close and so are you. so when kyle reaches around your body and rubs your puffy clit in synch with his thrusts, you cum with a muffled shout.

it doesn’t take long for kyle to cum either. he slows down his thrusts into a filthy grind before his hips start to stutter, then he’s moaning your name and emptying his load deep into your spent pussy.

he makes you clean his cock with your tongue when he pulls out and sees a creamy ring around the base. you don’t protest when he makes you lick his fingers clean, once he’s done shoving his cum back into your pussy and pulling your panties back up.

and when the electrochromic pane to the partition slides back down and your chauffeur announces your arrival, you stumble out of the car with a throbbing pussy and panties full of kyle’s seed.

masterlist

[nellyharrison]

come along, CH. 1

aka my rewrite of season 3A of Teen Wolf based on the question: what if Erica was best friends with Scott and Stiles from the beginning?

The alpha pack wants Derek to join their ranks, even if it means taking out every member of his pack, or forcing him to do it for them.  After learning who the alphas already killed, the pack all agree to do what they can to bring the one they had lost back to life, even if doing so leads to unexpected consequences for the resurrected.  On top of it all, various groups of people are targeted as human sacrifices.

CHAPTER ONE - TATTOO (click to read on AO3)

Despite all efforts to locate the alpha pack that summer, there was no progress made after Derek and what remained of his pack felt the loss of one of their packmates.  In the last few weeks leading up to school, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson came back on their planned return trips to Beacon Hills, the latter joining his pack in the search for the alphas and his missing packmates.  No one was supposed to be alone when out patrolling, but the night before school started changed that.  Jackson was late meeting up with Isaac.  He had taken Lydia out earlier in the day, something Isaac had been aware of, but he had promised to be on time.  Grumbling, Isaac sent him a text telling him he was leaving without him and would be telling their alpha when he got back to the loft.

Isaac would have no recollection of what happened next for several days.  All he remembered was being shocked back to consciousness and being told to be quiet by a mysterious girl.  His savior explained that his memories had been taken, then ordered him to hold on as they climbed onto the back of her motorcycle.  Isaac was weak from his injuries, but he managed to hold on for a while when he suddenly heard footsteps coming closer.  He pleaded with the girl to go faster, but the twin alpha wolves kept pace, clawing at the bike and knocking them off course until they found themselves cornered.  Just when Isaac thought they had escaped, they crashed through a wall of windows, and he started losing consciousness, causing the bike to slide out from underneath them.  The girl, whoever she was, managed to save him from being attacked by the twin wolves that merged into one super-wolf, their collapse the last thing he saw before promptly passing out.

Someone must have heard the accident and called 911, because the next time Isaac woke up, he was in the back of an ambulance.  The EMTs calmed him down when he woke with a start, assuring him he was okay and that they were bringing him to the hospital.  He asked about the girl he was with, but the EMTs couldn’t give him any clear answers.  When they pulled up at the hospital, he was relieved that the first face he saw was Melissa’s.

“Hey wait, wait a minute,” she requested, stepping up to his gurney.  “I know this one.”  She crouched down beside him before asking, “What happened, Isaac?”

“The girl, alright, she’s worse, okay?” he told her, his sentences fragmented as he fought back the lingering pain.

“Are you not healing?” Melissa asked, seeing all of the blood and bandages covering him.

“I will,” Isaac assured her.  “Will you just-  Would you just help her, please?”

“Okay, can you take him?” Melissa ordered, pointing to the room Isaac should be placed in.  The EMT stepped in and rolled him to where he needed to go, while Melissa rushed over to where the other patient was being rolled in.  “Hey,” she repeated a few times when the girl reached towards her.

“Find him,” the girl said.  “I have to find him.”

“What are you saying?” Melissa questioned.

“I have to…” the girl struggled, her eyes closed as she tried to fight back the pain and concentrate.  “I have to tell him.”

“Who?” Melissa prompted.

“The alpha,” the girl answered, this time more certain.  “Find the alpha.”

“What do you want with Derek Hale?” Melissa wondered, assuming that was who the girl was talking about.

“No,” the girl shook her head, appearing almost offended that Melissa would think that was who she was talking about.

“What?” Melissa said, but then the EMT was rolling her away.

“Not Hale,” the girl insisted, but Melissa could no longer hear her.  “McCall.  Scott McCall.”

On the nights they weren’t on patrol, Stiles and Scott were usually together, trying to enjoy their summer as best as they could without the third member of their trio.  They had no idea if Erica was the one that had been killed by the alpha pack, but the possibility that she had died had been weighing on both of them ever since.  Not that they ever really talked about it.  While neither had admitted it, they were both afraid that if they talked about Erica like she was gone, it would feel like they were confirming it.  That didn’t stop them from occasionally mentioning her.  Those moments tended to happen subconsciously and were always followed by a quick change in conversation, but the night after school started changed that.

It really began when they went to a tattoo parlor in town the evening before school started.  Scott was determined to get a tattoo and while Stiles wished he could be anywhere else, he was determined to stick by his friend.  The artist had made a snarky remark regarding the design Scott had chosen, giving Stiles the chance to make some suggestions.  Scott was set on his choice, so Stiles decided to ask him about the design instead, emphasizing how important it was to get a tattoo that meant something.  When Scott argued that getting a tattoo meant something, the artist setting up next to him agreed and explained the history of the art, as well as the cultural significance in Tahiti.  That was all Scott needed before he was ready, leaving Stiles to be the one to pass out when the tattooing began.

Once the tattoo was finished, Scott and Stiles went back to the Jeep.  Scott’s arm started hurting, and before their eyes, his tattoo healed and disappeared from his arm.  Disappointed and out a couple hundred bucks, Scott told Stiles to drive, and they set off to see what else their last night of freedom had to offer.  As they were driving, they happened to pull up at a stop light next to Lydia and Allison.

“What are you two up to?” Stiles asked, leaning over Scott to get a better look at the two of them.

“Girl’s night,” Lydia answered.  “Jackson’s on patrol with Isaac, and I needed to catch up with this one before school started.”

“Welcome back, Allison,” Scott offered, glad to see a kind smile growing on his ex-girlfriend’s lips.  “Did you have a good time in France?”

“Yeah, I did,” Allison nodded.  “But I’m glad to be back.”

“Yeah, now hopefully you and your dad can help us find those stupid alphas and we can get our packmates back,” Lydia declared.

“Your packmates?” Stiles questioned with a chuckle.

“Listen, I might not be a werewolf, but if Jackson’s in Derek’s pack, then I’m in Derek’s pack,” she told them.  The light then turned green, but luckily, no one else was around.  “We’ll see you guys at school tomorrow.”

“Enjoy your girl’s night,” Scott encouraged, waving as he closed his window and the two cars drove into the night.  “That… wasn’t nearly as weird as I thought it would be.”

“Is that the first time you guys have talked since you broke up?” Stiles asked, following behind the girl’s car as they headed down the same road.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded.  “I agreed not to text her, and she never texted me, so we just stopped talking.  If it wasn’t for the pack, I wouldn’t have even known she was back.”

All of a sudden, Lydia was slamming on the brakes, glass spraying from the front windshield as they screamed.  Stiles stopped the car, both boys running to see what had happened and check on the two girls.  As Scott moved over to the deer, Lydia explained what she had seen as it ran towards them.  It was clear the deer had been terrified, but of what?  What had scared it so much it ran head-on into Lydia’s car like that?

Stiles helped Lydia call for a tow truck, animal control soon arriving to remove the animal from the car so it could be brought to a nearby repair shop.  Scott and Allison got in touch with the rest of the pack, resulting in Derek’s request for them all to come to his loft.  Once the car was gone, Lydia and Allison climbed into the back of the Jeep and they all set off for the loft.  Lydia was just finishing telling Derek what had happened when Jackson arrived.

“Jackson, what are you doing here?” Lydia asked.

“Where’s Isaac?” Derek demanded.

“I-I was late to meet him,” Jackson admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.  “He wasn’t where we agreed to meet, and I couldn’t find him.”

“I told you, you should have set an alarm,” Lydia reminded him, rolling her eyes when Jackson gave her a look.

Before they could start panicking over another missing member of their pack, Derek received a text message from Melissa telling him that Isaac was at the hospital.  “Isaac’s safe,” he told them, reading the text aloud before stowing his phone away and clenching his jaw as he thought of a plan.  “Until I figure out a way to get him out, everyone should go to school.  Except Jackson.  You’re going to the hospital to stay with Isaac.”

“Yes alpha,” Jackson nodded, knowing he had messed up.  The least he could do was make sure his packmate wasn’t alone.

“Allison, will you drive Lydia tomorrow?” Derek requested.

“Of course,” Allison nodded.

“No one goes anywhere alone, and if you see the alpha pack-”

“Tell you,” they all answered in unison.

With that, Derek dismissed them, annoyed at the new obstacle they would have to face but glad he had a pack that was willing to work with him to fix it.  He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to get his beta out of the hospital, especially when it sounded like the police were involved, but he would figure it out.  He texted Jackson to send him any preliminary information regarding the hospital, then left to finish the patrol his betas hadn’t completed.

The next morning, Lydia was just wrapping up a phone call with Jackson when Allison pulled up outside her house to pick her up.  She waited until they got to the school, Scott and Stiles waiting outside for them, before she told them that Isaac was okay and Derek was working on the logistics of getting him out.  They strolled into the school, Scott telling them about how he had tried to get a tattoo and what had happened.  He mentioned Derek having a tattoo, and Allison agreed it would be a good idea to ask him, but then Stiles was pointing out the missing posters pinned to the bulletin board.

“Doesn’t he have his hands a little full?” Stiles reminded them, his eyes settling on the picture of Erica.  “Pretty sure your tattoo would land low on his list of priorities right now.”

“Asking wouldn’t take time from him looking for Erica and Boyd,” Allison pointed out, sighing softly as well.  “I still can’t believe we haven’t found where they’re keeping them.”

“Well, one of them, since one of them is dead,” Lydia muttered more to herself, biting the corner of her bottom lip when they all shot her a glare.  “Sorry.”

“Come on, let’s just get to class,” Scott insisted, he and Stiles walking off while Lydia and Allison lingered by the posters.

“As much as I wish we could get both of them back, I’m not sure what’ll happen if Erica was the one that died,” Allison admitted.

“At least it would be easier for you to get back together with Scott,” Lydia shrugged, sighing when she was met with another glare.  “What?  You know I’m right.  I can want Erica back and still acknowledge that she’s kind of a huge obstacle between you and Scott.”

“Maybe you have it backwards,” Allison shook her head, glancing back at the poster.  “Maybe I was the obstacle between them.”

“So does that mean you and Scott are, like, over over?” Lydia asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not going to be trying to get back together with him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Allison told her.  “Dad and I did a lot of healing together this summer, but I’m still working on myself.  I let my aunt and my grandfather manipulate me.  I lost my mom.  I was ready to kill one of my friends.  I am not ready for a boyfriend right now.”

“Well then maybe what you need is a distraction,” Lydia suggested, nodding towards the end of the hall.  The two guys walking towards them, holding motorcycle helmets in their hands, were definitely distraction-worthy.

“Brothers?” Allison wondered.

“Twins,” Lydia corrected, watching them pass before nudging her friend.  The two girls giggled, linking arms as they set off for their class.

English started much differently than any of them expected, their new teacher using their phones to not only tell them of the first book they would be covering that semester but also the class policy on phones.  It was clever, original, and effective, as the class all turned off their cell phones and stowed them away.

Back at the hospital, Jackson had been with Isaac all night and into the morning, hiding whenever a nurse or deputy would appear until it was visiting hours and he could relax more comfortably in his packmate’s room.  He had already apologized to Isaac and promised not to let it happen again, and the two had been chatting ever since.  When Jackson started feeling tired, he decided he was going to grab a cup of coffee, Isaac promising to stay in his room until he got back.  However, Isaac’s room was empty by the time Jackson returned, and when he asked Melissa, she was certain he must have been taken for surgery.  The girl that had been with Isaac was also gone, which left them with questions they couldn’t answer.  As much as she didn’t want to, Melissa agreed to call Scott out of school while Jackson contacted Derek, knowing they couldn’t handle this on their own.

Scott was just as hesitant to leave as Melissa had been to call him, especially after Miss Blake warned him not to let his school work slip like past years, but he knew if his mom was calling him out of school, it had to be important.  He glanced back and nodded to Stiles, silently promising to get in touch when he found out what was going on.  Stiles tried his best to focus on his classwork but he soon found himself distracted by the bandage on Lydia’s leg.  As she explained what had happened, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if her dog acting out of character could have something to do with the deer the night before.  It was a wild theory, but it wasn’t impossible.  He just wished it wasn’t confirmed the way that it was.

The first crow that hit the window had jolted the pair of them, but as the flock approached, all they could do was watch in horror when bird after bird started smashing into the glass.  Once the windows started breaking, and birds started flying inside the classroom, panic ensued.  Miss Blake yelled for everyone to find cover, Stiles rushing to protect Lydia’s head when one of the frantic birds started flying around her.  Just as quickly as it had started, it was over, leaving the classroom covered in feathers and bird corpses and full of terrified students.

Scott would only hear about all of this later that day, as he was already on his way to the hospital by the time the crows attacked.  His mom greeted him when he arrived and told him which room Isaac had been in and the operating room he would have been brought to.  Unfortunately, instead of going directly there, Scott got sidetracked when a blind man requested his assistance in navigating the hospital.  By the time he made it to the operating room, it was empty, but he noticed Isaac in a wheelchair nearby, being rolled into the elevator by someone he quickly realized was an alpha.  The fight that ensued was rough, as Scott was blatantly overpowered, but just when he thought he was about to lose, Derek was there to pull the alpha off of him.

Jackson had also found them, helping to get Isaac to safety while Derek and Scott faced off against the alpha.  The alpha must have realized he was outnumbered, because when a swarm of nurses and doctors flooded the hall, he took the opportunity to disappear, leaving Derek and his pack alone for now.  Derek instructed Jackson to guide Isaac out to his car, Scott following them out and into the car before pulling out his phone.

[text from: Superman] We have Isaac.  Get to the Hale house.

[text from: Batman] Yeah, in a bit.  Gotta convince my dad I’m okay first.

[text from: Superman] Your dad?  Why is he at school?

[text from: Batman] Dude, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I will when I see you.

[text from: Superman] Stiles, are you okay?

[text from: Batman] I’m good.  I’ll see you in a bit.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Scott asked as they left Derek’s car and made their way into the house.  “I thought you were living in the loft.”

“I am,” Derek grumbled, laying Isaac on the table before crouching down and moving debris around so he could look under the floorboards for what he needed.  “The county took over the house, but there’s something here that I need.  It’ll help heal a wound from an alpha.”

“Yeah, but it did heal,” Scott pointed out, glancing over at where Isaac no longer had any visible wounds.

“Not on the inside,” Derek explained.

“That explains why he won’t wake up,” Jackson muttered, hovering by the table.  “I shouldn’t have left.  I should have been there last night.”

“Isaac wouldn’t blame you for what happened, Jackson,” Derek assured him.  “If you want to make it up to him, you’ll just do better.”  Jackson nodded, knowing his alpha was right, even if he still felt guilty for what happened to his packmate.

“So that was one of them back there, right?” Scott wondered.  “That alpha.”

“Ennis,” Derek nodded.  “Yeah, he’s one of them.”

“Was he the one that took Erica?” Scott questioned, clenching his jaw.

Derek stopped organizing the herbs to look over at him.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “What if it was him?”

“I’ll kill him,” Scott stated plainly, surprising both Derek and Jackson.  “And if she’s dead, I’ll kill them all.”

“Killing them wouldn’t bring her back,” Derek pointed out.  “And it wouldn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Might be worth trying though,” Jackson added.  “I still think we should kill them either way.  They killed one of ours.”

“It’s not officially off the table,” Derek reminded his beta, refocusing on Isaac.  “Look, this will probably take a while.  Jackson, you can go check in with Lydia.  Scott-”

“Actually, I have something I wanted to talk to you about,” Scott interrupted, reaching up to rub his arm.

By the time Stiles arrived at the Hale house, Jackson was outside on the phone with Lydia and Derek was setting up to fix Scott’s tattoo, so he decided to hold off on telling them what had happened at school.  Derek used his alpha eyes to see the design, unable to help himself from asking what it meant.

“I don’t know,” Scott admitted, sighing softly.  “It’s just something I traced with my fingers,” he explained, reaching down and tracing the design into the dust to explain what he kept seeing in his head.

“Why is this so important to you?” Derek questioned.

“Do you know what the word ‘tattoo’ means?” Scott posed instead, glancing up at him.

“To mark something,” Stiles answered, recalling what the tattoo artist had told them.

“Well, that’s in Tahitian,” Scott acknowledged.  “In Samoan, it means ‘open wound’.”  He paused, taking a deep breath as he glanced up at Stiles.  “Erica and I used to talk about getting tattoos when we turned eighteen.  I always wanted one.  I just decided to get it now, to make it kind of a reminder.”

“Of what?” Derek asked.

“Of how much it hurts to lose someone that means so much to you,” Scott muttered.  “I thought it had hurt when Erica stopped talking to me.  Even when I really wanted to, even when it was so hard not to sometimes.  I was trying to give her the space she wants.  Then the alpha pack took her, and you felt a pack member die.  I have no idea if I’ve lost her forever, and the not knowing feels like a, uh-”

“Like an open wound,” Stiles finished for him, nodding in understanding.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded.

Derek felt a little more respect for Scott, seeing that he had learned something from all of this and agreeing with his reason for wanting the tattoo.  He warned him of how painful it would be, then lit the blowtorch and instructed Stiles to hold Scott down.  As the flames started burning his skin, he began screaming, and eventually he passed out from the pain.  When he woke up, the tattoo was still there.

“It worked,” he sighed in relief, grinning over at Derek and Stiles.

“Looks pretty damn permanent now,” Stiles offered with a chuckle, patting his back when Scott walked over to them.  They all began moving back to Isaac, Derek checking on his beta while the two friends chatted.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded.  “I kind of needed something permanent.  Everything that’s happened to us- everything just changes so fast.  Everything’s so, uh… ephemeral.”

“Studying for the PSATs?” Stiles asked.

“Yup,” Scott replied.

“Nice,” Stiles encouraged.

The door to the house opened and Jackson walked back inside, gripping his phone in his hand.  “You know, you could have told us the school got attacked when you got here, Stilinski.”

“What?” Scott gaped.

“You were a little busy with the tattoo, so I figured I’d wait!” Stiles defended.  “A flock of crows crashed through our classroom.  Dad’s gotten over a dozen complaints of crazy animals, man.  Something is definitely going on.”

“Yeah, and now some random woman is asking for Scott at school and bruising my girlfriend,” Jackson added, shoving his phone into his pocket with a huff.

“Wait what?” Derek interrupted, walking towards them.  “What woman?”

“I don’t know, but she was looking for Scott, and when he wasn’t there, she grabbed Lydia and Allison’s arms so hard she bruised them,” Jackson explained.  “I have to get some cream from the pharmacy on my way home to help get rid of it.  You’d think with the amount of hickies I leave on her, she’d have that shit stocked.”

“Ew, TMI,” Stiles grumbled.

“Was the woman still at the school?” Scott asked.

“She left Lydia and Allison in the hall, but they left school, so I don’t know if she was still there,” Jackson told him.

“Where’s the girl?” they heard from behind them, and they all turned to see Isaac sitting up.

“What girl?” Derek asked him, returning to his side.

“The girl on the bike,” Isaac clarified.  “The girl from the hospital.”

“She was gone,” Jackson told him, shaking his head.  “When I came back and Isaac had been brought to surgery, the girl was gone too.”

“Maybe she was the same girl at the school?” Stiles suggested.

“Go,” Derek instructed.  “See what you can find out and report back.  Jackson, I want you to take Isaac back to the loft.  I’ll do the patrols tonight.  Everyone text me when you get home safely.”  He waited for them to all drive away, then set off into the woods, hoping to track the alpha pack and find his betas.  He was unsuccessful, and left with more questions when Scott reported the overwhelming smell of blood, indicating that the girl had likely been killed.  He also admitted to smelling a familiar scent, and when he figured out it had belonged to the blind man he had guided at the hospital, Derek knew exactly who had killed the girl: Deucalion.

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[phykios]

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated At School (And One Time Someone Cheated Him) [read on ao3]

thank you as always to @darkmagyk for inspo and beta-ing 💙💙💙 and thank you to @arosnowflake for the homer idea!

1)

Percy squints at the paper prompt again, tilting his head, as if the new angle will extract some hidden information. It doesn’t change. The font is the special dyslexia-friendly one used by most departments at NRU, so he isn’t misreading it, either.

Your final will be an 8-10pp (TNR, 12pt, double-spaced) research paper expanding on one of the topics discussed in our class so far, or an alternate idea of your choosing, to be submitted in writing by May 7 with footnotes and bibliography. By 10am on the Wednesday before the Thursday class you will submit online a 750-word essay (word count does not include footnotes) on the research thread you have pursued that week (no written assignments due Week 6 or Week 12). 

Percy might hate college.

“Your neck bothering you again?” Annabeth asks, coming up behind him, her hands already on his shoulders. She’s sweaty, dressed in workout clothes, having just come back in from a jog. 

“My neck is fine,” he says. “Just preemptively freaking out over my Roman history final.”

He tilts his head back over the top of his chair, staring into the upside down, prettily frowning face of his girlfriend, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

“How bad is it?”

“Eight to ten pages,” Percy says, “not including footnotes.”

“Ouch.”

“And,” he grimaces, “it’s a topic of our choosing.”

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

“Anything I can do to help?” She squeezes his shoulders lightly, an open invitation. 

He shakes his head, stretching his arms back to grab her waist. “Promise not to break up with me when you catch me crying at 4AM over it.”

“Promise.” And she seals it with a kiss, bending down to reach him. “Dad wants to know if you’re free on the 16th.” 

“The 16th?” He wracks his brain. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t conflict with sailing, or Greek Club, or the monthly intra-pantheon relations council meeting that Chiron and Clarisse both guilted him into joining. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Dinner--Charlotte’s out of town that weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll let him know. Now,” and she grins, “are you going to stare at that computer all day, or do you want to come and take a shower with me?”

Percy slams the computer shut. 

He doesn’t think about his paper topic for a while after that.

***

To his great dismay, Percy gets to her dad’s house first on the 16th. Drama in writing group 🙄 she texts him as he gets to the door, be there asap.

Great. Alone in the house with his girlfriend’s dad. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door. 

Not a minute later, Dr. Chase opens it. Last time they went to visit, Percy and Annabeth had ended up waiting outside for almost a quarter of an hour. “Oh, Percy,” he says, fumbling his flight helmet off his head. “Goodness, I thought I’d lost track of time again. Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” Percy says, stepping inside and shedding his jacket. “Annabeth’s running late, but she said she’d be here soon.”

He frowns, looking so much like Annabeth that it throws Percy for several loops. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “I’m sure we can entertain ourselves well enough until she gets here.”

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass. 

“Oh!” starts Dr. Chase. “Right, yes. Come in. Would you like something to drink?”

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

A few minutes of staggered conversation later, it becomes eminently clear why they need Annabeth between them. It’s not the awkward small talk that doesn’t go anywhere (“How’s school going for you?” “It’s okay.” “Good, that’s good to hear.”) or the fact that Dr. Chase doesn’t really grasp how to relate to younger kids (“Have you heard of this website called ‘Vine’?”), but more that it’s just painfully obvious that the two of them don’t really know where they stand with each other. 

Now, he knows that Frederick Chase doesn’t hate him. Objectively, he’s aware of the fact that, if it weren’t for him, Annabeth never would have reconnected with her father in the first place, and he kind of owes him for that. Also, Percy knows that he’s a pretty chill guy--a little scatterbrained, but chill. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make a good impression, though. Or that Dr. Chase thinks that Percy is smart enough for his daughter. Because, like, Percy isn’t smart enough for Annabeth--that much is obvious. Dr. Chase was courted by Athena. Percy barely made it out of high school calculus.

“Would you…” Dr. Chase hedges, plucking off his glasses and giving them a quick wipe with his shirtsleeve. “Would you like to see some of my current research?”

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.” 

At the very least, hopefully Dr. Chase will talk enough for the both of them, eating up time until Annabeth gets here.

A new spring in his step, Dr. Chase leads Percy to his study, where he’s got a setup worthy of Cabin Six: on his desk is a massive map of the Mediterranean, littered with miniatures of tanks, planes, and ships. Ringing the room are wall-hangings, depicting different types of planes, half of their structure in x-rays like people in an anatomy textbook, sandwiching the giant viking sword which hangs directly behind his chair. Every inch of floor space is occupied with a pile of books, some serving as additional desk space for mugs, notepads, spare toy soldiers, and, in one case, what looks like the leftovers of a handful of celestial bronze spearheads, melted down into shiny, useless nuggets. 

“You know I primarily study aviation,” Dr. Chase is saying, tidying up as he walks around the room, “but my colleagues and I are collaborating on an interdisciplinary re-evaluation of the entire North African theatre in World War II. It’s fascinating stuff; until very recently, they used to call it the ‘war without hate,’ given the lack of partisan roundups and, ah, ethnic clashes that you see in Europe--absolute garbage, of course. As if there weren’t civilians caught up in the fighting, too!” He chuckles, pleased at his own joke. Percy forces a laugh out of himself. “Anyway, with my prior experience studying the invasion of Sicily, I was brought on to assist in piecing the timeline together, working backwards from 1943.”

“Cool,” says Percy, filling the natural gap of conversation.

“Extremely! Operation Husky was a terrific endeavor of airborne, amphibious, and land-based combat.”

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

“Though, I must admit, I am having a little trouble retracing some of the ships.” Peering over his map, he leans down, fiddling with one of the ships. “You see this one here? The Palmer?”

Stepping up to the desk, Percy crouches down so the little toy ship is at eye level.

“Well, based on official records, the Palmer was supposed to have arrived at the rendezvous point at the same time as all the other ships, but ended up delayed by two days, and I can’t… quite…” He moves the ship again, frowning. “Figure out… why…” 

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks. 

Dr. Chase points to the map. “From Alexandria to Malta.” 

“They probably just hit a bad couple of currents,” Percy says, standing up. 

Tilting his head, Dr. Chase peers at him. “How do you mean?”

“If you’re going through the Cretan Passage, you’re going to hit all kinds of West-East currents which will push you backwards.” Snatching up a pencil from a nearby book stack, Percy lightly sketches on top of the map, tracing along the North African coast. “There are tons of overlapping currents in this area that push boats around in circles, especially around Sicily. That’s one of the reasons why so many historians figure that Homer was referring to the Strait of Messina when Odysseus goes through Scylla and Charybdis, here.” And he circles the strait, with a confident flourish.

When he pulls back, Dr. Chase is staring at him.

Percy blinks. “Um… sorry I drew on your map.”

“You--I have been trying to figure that out for weeks.”

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

But Dr. Chase just laughs. “You can make it up to me by helping me with these next.” Clearing crumbs off of southern France, he bends over, pencil in hand. “So, say you were trying to get from Marseilles to Tunis…” 

Forty-five minutes later, still embroiled in battle recreations of the Mediterranean theatre, they don’t hear Annabeth letting herself in with her key, not even registering her presence until Dr. Chase, grasping for a notebook, spots her leaning against the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Oh, Annabeth, dear! I’m sorry,” says Dr. Chase, going over to give her a hug. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that,” she says. “What are you guys doing?”

“Percy here has been assisting me with naval movements,” he says, proudly.

Lacing her fingers with his, Annabeth steps over to Percy, studying their battle map. “Really?”

“Oh yes, he’s been phenomenally helpful.”

She kisses his cheek, pleased. “Look at you, Mr. ‘Phenomenally Helpful.’”

“It was pretty fun,” he admits, warm all over.

“I’d bet. Although, I guess this means we should probably order in for dinner…?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dr. Chase smiles. “Yes, I suppose we should. Does pizza sound all right to you two?”

“Let me take care of it,” she says, slipping from Percy’s side. “You guys looked like you were in the middle of something. Extra olives, dad?”

“Don’t forget--”

“And anchovies, Percy, I know.” She rolls her eyes, taking out her phone.

Rather than the three of them move into the kitchen, Annabeth ends up bringing the pizza in with her, because of course she has opinions she’d like to share about the Allies’ naval movements. 

“You know, Percy,” says Dr. Chase, “I must say, you have a real knack for this kind of thing. Have you thought about what you might major in yet?”

Ah, the million drachmae question. “Not yet,” he says, fiddling with a pencil. “I figured I’d get through my gen eds first and then see which one I hated the least.” 

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

“Specifically maritime history, I suppose. Your predisposition to sailing and ocean currents would be a huge asset to your research.”

“But--wouldn’t history have, like, a metric ton of required reading? I’m not really sure that’s my area.” He has a daughter with dyslexia and ADHD; surely he’d understand Percy’s hesitation.

But he just shakes his head. “Graduate programs these days are very favorable towards interdisciplinary methodology, I sincerely doubt you’d have to barricade yourself in the library. And recently there’s been a significant push to make the field more accessible to students with disabilities, including things like digitization, screen reading for people with vision impairments, and even restructuring programs all together so that students no longer have to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica in order to pass their general exams.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Dr. Chase,” Percy says, “But history class isn’t like talking over naval movements with you.” He thought back to the paper that had lowkey been haunting his dreams. “Like, in my classical history survey, I can’t just… talk about currents and battle plans. I have to come up with a topic on my own, and then write about that.” 

“Surely something involving Roman naval movements would be well within your skill set. You have a second sense about these things,” he chuckles, “clearly.”

Percy glances towards Annabeth, hoping she’ll back him up, but she looks thoughtful. Considering. Like she’s actually thinking about her dad’s proposal. “I can’t just choose something in naval history.”

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?” 

If it was anything like his afternoon with Dr. Chase, it might even be fun. And school isn’t supposed to be fun. 

He repeats that thought to Annabeth as they drive home. “School isn’t supposed to be fun.” 

“No,” Annabeth agrees, “but I don’t know… I like my intro art history class way better than anything we ever did in high school because I actually care about it. Maybe if you write about stuff you’re good at, like my dad suggested, you’ll like it more.” 

The idea follows him all the way to bed, where he’s still mulling it over at 2 in the morning. Before he can chicken out, he grabs his phone, shooting off a quick email to his professor with his potential paper topic, then rolls over, eventually falling asleep.

By morning, he has a response. 

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

With shaking hands, Percy calls his mom. “Yes?” 

“Hey mom.”

“Percy?” He hears her perk up, almost visualizing her sitting up in her chair. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Mom instincts. They can always tell when something is different. His heart throbs in his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, smiling stretching across his face. “It’s just--I got my paper back.” 

Percy had ended up writing his paper about the Roman navy movements in the Battle of the Aegates in 241 BC. It was probably the most fun he’s ever had on a school assignment, or at least the most fun he’d ever had writing a paper. 

“And?” She sounds expectant, hopeful. His mom has always had such faith in him, even with thirteen years of schooling to prove her otherwise. 

He looks back at his email, just to make sure he’s reading it right. “I got an A.”

She gasps. He can hear the scrape of the chair as she stands up. “Percy, that’s wonderful!” 

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

He smiles into his fist, inordinately pleased. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so happy for you!”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you, Percy.” Her voice is soft now, like twilights on the beach with blue marshmallows. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. You should be very proud, too.”

“I am.” And he is, weirdly enough. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I can.” His mom must be grinning, her eyes sparkling. “I always knew you could do it.”

“Sally?” He hears in the background, muffled. “Is that Percy?”

“Paul, Percy got an A on his Roman history paper!”

A second voice crowds its way in, equally excited. “An A? That’s great, kiddo! Congratulations.”

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

“I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“Well, it is very well-deserved,” says Paul. “That was some great work you did. I could tell how passionate you were about your topic just from your first sentence.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he should be worried about all this praise going to his head, but damn, is it nice. “Listen, I have to go get started on dinner, but I just wanted to give you a call.”

“Of course,” says his mom. “I want to hear from you more, okay? Tell me more good news! Like when are you and Annabeth going to--”

“I’m working on it, okay?” says Percy, smiling even more broadly. “I’ll keep you posted, promise.”

She laughs, tinny and happy. “You’d better. Congratulations again, sweetheart.”

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

And he hangs up, puts his phone down on the table, tilts his head back, and sighs, full, happy, a release. 

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all. 

2)

“You don’t have to do this,” Frank says, hushed. “All you have to do is walk away.”

Five Greek Fire bombs, cloudy yellow, are lined up on the table in front of him, neatly laid out in front of five twenties. From the side, Frank stares him down, surrounded by an army of morbidly curious Romans. Someone turned off the music and turned on the lights a while ago, stopping the party in its tracks, every eye on Percy and his opponent. Figures, his first college party all year and he causes a scene. 

Percy grips the edge of the table. “He insulted the Mets,” he says for the millionth time. “I can’t let that shit stand.”

Frank sighs. “Annabeth?” he asks, hoping to stop this nonsense.

Turning to his side, Percy sees his girlfriend, two drinks in, her cheeks lightly flushed, but solid as she stands beside him, supporting him. Her eyes are hard, fierce, the warrior gaze of Athena all but leaping out of her. “Do it,” she says. 

William, the sour-faced Roman legacy of Juventus, scowls. “A hundred bucks on the table. Sixty seconds. No throwing them back up.”

“Deal.”

“Frank,” Annabeth calls. “Start the clock.”

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds out his phone, thumb primed, hovering over the screen. “On your marks, in three… two… one…” 

He hits zero, and Percy grabs a shot glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brings it to his lips, and throws it back.

It’s… not what he expected.

The tequila is awful--no getting around that. Even to Percy’s untrained taste buds, having really only ever had some of Gabe’s sour beer (under duress) and some of the Demeter cabin’s strawberry wine (on his eighteenth birthday, a celebration for actually getting to graduate high school), he can tell it’s cheap, rank, unrefined shit, like he’s drinking straight toilet cleaner. But the garum, the weird Roman condiment that the shot is mixed with, the one that Percy had never heard of before, it’s… it almost tastes like the fish sauce that comes with the pork and rice noodles from the Vietnamese place down the corner of his mom’s apartment, only less… fishy? Yeah. Less fishy.

It’s a weird taste. It’s not bad, by any means, it just--straight up, it just tastes like saltwater. Like the sea. 

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

He looks at William, and grins. “You are so fucked.”

The assembled Romans cheer, spectators at a gladiator show, as Percy knocks back the rest of the Greek Fire bombs, one after another, clearing them all in under thirty seconds. Annabeth swipes up the cash, shrieking as she throws her arms around Percy. William wanders off, red-faced and glaring, as whoever turned the music off before flips it back on, the night, and the party, saved.

Silly Percy. He should have known what was coming next.

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” he shouts at Annabeth over the loud music.

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

“Seriously,” he slurs, tipping forward on his feet. “You could be a model.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Remember when we were fourteen,” he yells, bracing himself against the wall, “and you got kidnapped by that monster?” Slightly soberer but still a little flushed, she bites her lip, nodding. “Well, I followed the rescue party--I told you that, that I snuck out of camp to follow the rescue party? Right?” 

“You did.”

He takes a sip of water, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Feels goofy as fuck. “We got hijacked by Aphrodite halfway through, and when I saw her, I thought--I thought, ‘Holy shit, she looks a little like Annabeth.’”

Her brows shoot up, smile pulling at her lips. “Really?”

He nods. “Totally! But you’re way, way p--” 

Still smiling, she silences him with a kiss, the lingering taste of hard cider on her tongue. “I appreciate it,” she murmurs, grinning, “but you probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Gross.”

From out of nowhere, like he always does, the weasley little shit, Nico di Angelo is suddenly in their space, looking surly and emo as ever, red solo cup in his left hand. “Nico!” Percy crows, grabbing for him and missing. “How’s my favorite cousin?!”

Ducking his wildly swinging limbs, Nico grimaces in the way that Percy has to come to recognize as his attempt at a smile. “Better’n you,” he says, a little wobbly. “What’s up with him?” he directs towards Annabeth.

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“What!” Percy pouts. “He insulted the Mets.”

“Aren’t you s’posed to be, like…” Nico snaps his fingers, words momentarily escaping him. “A--representation… person? For the Greeks?”

Percy waves his hand, hitting the wall. “Fuck that. The Greeks can handle themselves. The Mets are sacred!”

“Are you with anyone?” Annabeth asks, momentarily taking up Percy’s usual role of concerned parent friend while he is drunk off his ass. Theoi, he loves this girl so much. 

Nico shakes his head. “No, but Will and I are staying with--”

A thought suddenly blooms in Percy’s tequila-soaked brain. “Nico!” He shouts.

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

Percy pushes himself off of the wall, outstretched arms managing to box Nico in, falling on his shoulders and trapping him. He’s still a short, skinny little shit, the fuck, when are his Big Three genes going to kick in? “I need to talk to you about the thing.”

“The what?”

“The thing! The--the,” then he leans in, scream-whispering over the pounding bassline. “The thing.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“You know, it’s…” Percy licks his lips, language escaping him for a hot second. “Round. Metal. Jewelry thing.”

A beat, then Nico’s eyes widen. “Oh, that thing.”

“Yes, that thing!” Pulling back, he pulls Nico towards him, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a half-headlock. Annabeth watches, bemused, lips pursed as she tries not to smile. “I need to borrow Nico for a sec,” he says, words spilling out of him. “Back soon. Later. Soon.”

Her eyes crinkle, grey sparkling. She’s so fucking pretty. “Drink your water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then together, like some three-legged beast, the two boys lurch away deeper into the party, Nico leading them towards the kitchen. “Where’re you taking me?” Percy slurs. “‘M I being kidnapped again?”

“If I’m helping you plan out this stupid proposal,” he grumbles, pouring himself more vodka, “then I need to be less sober.”

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

“Where’s Annabeth?” Percy mumbles, looking back towards the house. The party is still raging, someone’s muffled Spotify playlist making a real racket, the greatest hits of ABBA still bouncing around his skull.

“Simp.” Nico, swaying a little, tries to stand up from his kneeling position, only to fall heavily back down on his knees. “She’s right where you left her.”

Discussing Percy's proposal plan had led to more drinking. More drinking had led to the two of them discussing their shared preference for blondes. (“Malcolm is pretty cute,” Nico admitted, flushing, and Percy almost screamed, “Isn’t he?! Sometimes I think about Annabeth with short hair looking like Malcolm and I almost start crying because she’d be so cute!”) Which then led to even more drinking. Which then led to general bitching about their lives, about Percy's hard-ass classics professor Dr. Bauer who he actually really liked but just pushed him so hard and expected so much of him, and Nico's half-brother Zagreus who was causing some family drama by picking fights with Hades all the time and also hooking up with both Thanatos AND the fury Megaera, which, ew, which then led to Percy inhaling his drink, nearly choking to death on unspecified college punch, Nico laughing at him all the while, as he had the most incredible idea.

"Nico!" He shouted, crushing the red solo cup. "Can you resurrect Homer for me?"

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

"Seriously! I need to ask him something for my paper."

"Percy." Nico gazed at him, all the power of the Ghost King boring into his soul, deep and haunting. Percy stifled a burp. "You're a fucking genius."

Which is how they found themselves around a shallow hole they had dug in the backyard, a large bottle of Pepsi originally intended as a mixer pilfered from the kitchen along with two slices of pepperoni pizza dumped on the grass beside them.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," he says, uneasy even through his drunken haze.

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

“Fuck you, I’m doing it.” With all the force of a tiny, angry kitten, he snatches up the Pepsi bottle, wrestling with the twist cap for a good ten seconds. “I wanna give that bitch a piece of my mind for making me cry in school.”

Percy looks at him sideways. “Hector killing Patroclus got you, too?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. Achilles didn’t pay his dues to the dead.”

“Seriously?”

The cap pops off, and Nico tips the bottle over, dumping flat, lukewarm soda into the shallow hole. “It’s the ultimate dishonor!”

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

“Let the dead taste again,” Nico mutters. “Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the guy who’s related to both horses and water.”

“I’m not related to water, I just control it.” 

The dirt turns black, dead soil mixed with sticky sugar water. Nico drops in the pizza, and begins to chant, that same ancient Greek that Percy heard in a dream once, talking of death and memories and returning from the grave or whatever. It’s still creepy as shit. 

Despite the warm California night, the air thickens with chilly fog. Silence, impenetrable, surrounds them, blocking out the noises of the party. From the earth, blueish, vaguely person-shaped figures begin to form, like thunderous clouds before a storm. “Which one is Homer?” he asks, hushed.

“Shh!” Nico hisses. 

Like little wells of gravity, the fog begins to coalesce. On one of them, Percy can almost make out, like, fingers. “Um, Mr. Homer? Sir?”

The figure doesn’t say anything. It lowers its mouth, drinking the soda out of the dirt. When it raises its head, Percy can see it more clearly, curly hair and milky white eyes and a straight nose. It--he?--seems a little more solid than your average run-of-the-mill ghost.

Nico frowns, eyes closed, concentrating. “What’s your name?” he mumbles. 

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

It--there’s a sound, like hissing, only it’s not coming from the mouth, Percy thinks. It sounds like it’s coming from the earth. “Nico?” he asks. “You good?”

The ghost opens its mouth again, moaning, raising its hands. Weakly, unsteadily, it stumbles forward on feeble legs, tripping over the shallow hole in the dirt.

“Nico?” he asks again, a little more forcefully. “What’s going on, dude?”

Nico blinks, slowly, mouth hanging open a little. “Uh.”

The… thing… raises itself up on its hands? He guesses, and knees, crawling its way over towards them.

Now, Percy may be drunk off his ass, but he has seen enough movies to know exactly what the fuck is up.

Moving with a speed he didn’t quite think was possible right about now, he grabs Nico’s wrist, and pulls him up, dragging him along as he lurches towards the house. “Percy…” Nico moans, stumbling over a rock. “I think I fucked up.”

“You think?” Percy wrenches the door open, tossing Nico inside, before following in after, throwing himself against the door. 

Nico groans, throwing his arms over his face. “Dio santo, my head.”

“Forget your head,” he says, “did we just raise a Homer zombie?!”

Panting, Nico stares up at him, sprawled on the floor of the house. “Oops.”

Percy thunks his head against the door. He does not have nearly enough mental capacity to deal with this right now.

But, he thinks ruefully, at least it’s just one. Even drunk, he’s pretty sure he can handle one zombie.

Nico’s eyes widen. 

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

Turning around slowly, he pulls aside the little curtain on the window. “What?” Nico asks. “What do you see?”

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

Slithering up behind, Nico peers over his shoulder. “That’s… not great.”

“Nico,” Percy says, eyeing the horde which slowly shambles closer, half-decayed bodies in togas bumping into each other, almost identical to the drunk college students inside, as the song changes, once again, to ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight).’ “Please go get Frank and Annabeth.”

The following Monday, an announcement is sent out to the entire campus: Per new department guidelines, students may not utilize the ambassador of Pluto to interview the dead for academic purposes.

3)

Percy attempts to flatten his hair. He readjusts his shirt. He almost wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, before he realizes what he’s doing, and clenches them instead, nails digging into his palms. He turns to Annabeth. “Do I look okay?”

“Ooh, ‘Mapping Funerary Monuments in the Periphery of Imperial Rome.’”

“Annabeth.”

She looks up from her brochure. “Relax, seaweed brain, you look fine. You look better than most people here.”

“That’s because I bring down the average age of presenters by about thirty years,” he hisses, eyes darting about at the milling mass of attendees, all packed into the hotel ballroom. 

Dr. Bauer had alternately convinced/pressured/guilttripped him into attending this year’s annual conference for the Society of Classical Studies to talk about the research he’d been doing with her. This year, the conference was held in San Francisco, so at the very least Percy didn’t have to spend five hours stressing about his poster presentation while simultaneously up in the air. But now that he’s here, in the ballroom, surrounded by strangers who know way more about this subject than he does, who are actually smart and probably never nearly flunked out of school or got kicked out or--

“Hey.” Annabeth takes his hand. “I know that look. You deserve to be here just as much as any of them.”

“Do I? I feel like any moment someone is going to come over and throw me out for trespassing.” He vaguely recalls something similar happening to him as a kid after he had ducked into the lobby of a semi-nice hotel to dodge what he had thought, at the time, was just a weird stalker, but had later realized had only had one eye. In any case, the hotel security guard had practically picked him up by the scruff of his neck, tossing him back out into the street. 

“That’s just your imposter syndrome talking,” she reassures him. “No one is going to throw you out.”

He sure as shit hopes so. It would be a shame to have done all this work for nothing. 

Glancing back at his poster, Percy can’t help but feel… good. Accomplished. Proud. About a school assignment, of all things. 

His poster traces the development of the prow from the Greek penteconter, to the Roman liburna, and finally to the Byzantine dromon, looking at artistic depictions in history. Percy had picked the topic himself, spending hours in the library reading, writing, and hand-drawing cross-sections of the ships on the poster board when the images he had gotten from the Cambridge University library had been too small. It had been grueling, frustrating work, but fun, too. And not nearly as much reading as he had feared.

Dr. Chase proofread it for him. Dr. Bauer signed off on it. And Annabeth had taken one look at it, smiled, then kissed his cheek.

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

Though now he’s kind of torn between showing it off and hiding it away before one of these attendees figures out that he doesn’t belong.

He rocks back and forth and his feet, pursing his lips, randomly clicking his tongue. Annabeth nudges him. “Your ADHD is showing.”

That’s when, finally, one of the attendees steps up to his poster. He certainly has the look of a professor, in a black cable knit sweater with grey, curly hair and a receding hairline, thin, rimless glasses perched on his nose. He squints at Percy’s poster, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Interesting,” he murmurs, in a thick German accent. “Very interesting. This is yours?”

“Um.” He glances at Annabeth, who is frowning at the brochure, silently sounding out words that she can’t read. “Yep. All mine.”

“Very interesting.” He leans in closer, tilting his head. “So you agree with Pryor and Jeffreys about the skeleton-first construction, then?”

Percy blinks. Pryor and Jeffreys had written The Age of the Dromon, arguing that the ram, which had been a key feature of Roman liburnians, had gone away in ancient ship construction because of developments in how they built the hull. Right. “Yes,” he says. “The skeleton-first construction is a lot stronger than the, um,” shit, what was the name for this, Leo had only told him about a million times--oh! “Mortise-and-tenon!” He nearly shrieks. “The mortise-and-tenon method. It, um, it wears out a lot more quickly than the frame, so… yeah.” He clears his throat.

He nods. “Very interesting.” 

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else? 

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Who are you working with?” 

“Um, June Bauer?” He winces at the accidental question. 

He frowns. “I’m not familiar with her work. Where does she teach?” 

What a loaded question. “Uh… New Rome University.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s--she used to teach at Northwestern, if that helps. Um, retired,” Percy says.

The frown stays, but at least he doesn’t ask any more questions. “Hmm. Well, this is excellent research, nonetheless. I look forward to reading your dissertation.” Then, distracted by something else, he wanders off, chin still attached to his hand. 

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks. 

Percy shrugs. “Beats me. Also, what’s a dissertation?”

“It’s like a senior thesis, but, like, five hundred pages long.”

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.” 

“Maybe later,” Annabeth smirks. “It looks like you’ve got company.”

Sure enough, a smallish group of four people are approaching, led by Dr. Chase, making a beeline straight for them. “Here we are,” Dr. Chase says, gesturing. “This is the project I was telling you about. Percy, would you mind going over your poster for us?”

“No problem, Dr. C,” says Percy, smiling his least-grimace-y smile. 

As one, the adults all turn to look at him, faces politely blank, expectant.

Percy swallows. “So,” he begins, “um, this research is about the development of ship construction in the Roman empire…”

He trips up on some of the words, and at one point, he sees Dr. Chase squint in the way that usually means that Percy is speaking too fast, but all in all, he doesn’t totally fall flat on his face. His audience looks engaged, nodding along as Percy moves from point to point, and no one accuses him of being a giant fraud, which is pretty nice. 

At one point, Percy turns to the poster to indicate a specific point on his ship diagrams. When he turns back, his audience has suddenly multiplied, four people turning into a whole goddamn crowd. Each person gives him their undivided attention almost unblinking.

His mouth goes dry. “Um…” 

Dr. Chase, bless him, saves his ass once again. “Would mind starting again from the beginning, Percy?” he asks, a little bemused himself at the amount of people that had suddenly appeared. 

Silence stretches on for a moment, the muffled noise of the rest of the conference like a dull roar in his ear. 

Annabeth, behind him, coughs. 

“S-sure. No problem.” 

Swallowing, he closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose. Why, oh why did he let Dr. Bauer talk him into doing this again?

He pictures the tides of Long Island Sound, gentle and rocking, unhurried and unbothered, tries to match his breathing to them. When he opens his eyes, unfortunately, the crowd hasn’t disappeared. Everyone is still staring at him. 

But Annabeth stands next to her dad, flashing him a big smile and two huge thumbs up.

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

“Okay,” he says. “So, about the middle of the first millennium CE, ship construction went through a couple of major developments…”

This time goes much, much more smoothly. He’s not sure what it is--though it’s probably Annabeth, her face fixed in a gentle smile as she watches him speak. Gods, what did he do in a past life to deserve someone as amazing as his girlfriend? 

That’s the only reason he can do this. Hell, that’s the only reason he even thought to do this. If he didn’t have Annabeth there, encouraging him, cheering him on, he never would have had the confidence to put himself out there like this. She’s there to pick him up when he doubts himself, there to listen when he can’t explain himself, there to give him feedback when he needs to practice. 

She makes him feel so strong. She makes him feel like he can take on the world--or at the very least, that he can impress a handful of academics.

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far. 

“Excuse me,” says a nasally, pinched looking older British guy, face lined as though he lived his life in a state of perpetual squinting. “I find your conclusions to be suspect--wouldn’t the frame method be more susceptible to breaking than the mortise-and-tenon?”

Well, most of them, anyway.

Percy shakes his head. “You’d think, but no. If you look at the study by Steffy, you’ll see that the three-finned ram from the Athlit wreck was designed specifically to break the mortise-and-tenon hull by causing the planks to flex, so that they’d dislodge the joinerys right next to them. A blow like that can cause the wood to split right down the middle.” A blow like that had sunk Sherman Yang’s ship when they tested it out on the lake at camp last summer, the naiads practically hurling him out of the water so quickly Percy didn’t even have to dive in to save him.

“How were you able to do these strength tests?” asks another listener, an older woman with a thick Hungarian accent.

“Hands-on battle simulations,” Percy replies, easily. “We took our models and tested them in as accurate a simulation as we could make.”

“And how big were these models?” 

Percy holds his hands apart, a vague, entirely inaccurate estimate. “About thirty meters, give or take.”

Her eyes widen. “How on earth did you get your hands on such a large ship?”

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

He had forgotten--most people didn’t have dads who could summon shipwrecks from the bottom of the sea, dropping them off at Camp Half-Blood with nothing but a sand dollar and one or two exhausted, pissed off hippocampi who had had to drag them all the way there.

“Um,” he stammers, licking his lips, thinking fast--c’mon, Percy, think! “I…” He swallows, panicking. “I… b… built one.”

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

Simultaneously, every mouth in the crowd drops--in shock, outrage, and even excitement. “You built one?!” the woman yelps. 

Oops. “I had help,” Percy says, quickly. 

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

“Where?” The first man asks, his bushy brows flying above the rim of his glasses.

“At my… summer camp…” 

Dr. Chase sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean,” Percy chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, trying not to sweat too obviously, “it was either that or lanyards, am I right?”

Dr. Chase, thank Athena, raises his hand, ready to step in. “What Percy means to say, I believe,” he says, attempting to draw their attention, “is that--”

“That’s amazing!” says another woman, probably a grad student attendee based on the fact that she’s wearing jeans. “Do you have pictures?”

Oh this is not good. “Um, not--not on me, but--”

“I do.” Annabeth takes out her phone, holding it up to the person next to her.

Percy blinks. “You do?” He doesn’t remember her taking any pictures.

She shoots him a look, two parts exasperated and one part “shut up and let me handle this,” with just a dash of fondness in the mix. Pointedly, she looks at him, eyebrows raised, indicating that he should continue.

Oh. She’s using Mist. And he needs to keep their attention on him so that they buy it. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Any more questions?” 

His audience placated for now, passing around Annabeth’s phone, he manages to finish up his presentation. After fielding a few more questions, people start to peel off, distracted by other posters and presenters in the ballroom. When everyone has finally wandered away, Dr. Chase comes up and pats Percy’s shoulder awkwardly. “Nice work,” he says, and he seems like he means it. “A little touch-and-go there for a while, hm?”

“A little.”

He chuckles. “Still, you should be proud. I don’t know how many undergraduates would be able to handle that kind of pressure.”

“I mean,” Percy says, shrugging a shoulder, “it’s about on par with leading an army. Maybe a little less.” Honestly, maybe even a little more stressful. If a monster had decided to attack the convention center and interrupt his presentation, he probably would have been relieved.

He’d been worried for a moment that he’d undone all those years of work in making Annabeth’s dad like him. And that he’d be charged with some sort of academic fraud, for the whole “I have a boat” thing without proof. Thank the gods for Annabeth, as always.

She’s looking at him now through narrowed eyes. She at least can’t be surprised--that was far from the dumbest thing she’s ever seen him do. At least his “I spent most of my time at magic greek mythology summer camp” covers are normally better than hers. As someone who spent his formative years in the real world, he’s usually pretty good at keeping the demigod thing under wraps. 

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand. She pulls him off, through the dispersing crowd, lacing their fingers together, sweet and intimate, out of the hall and then down another one, and through a smaller corridor. Bringing them up to a little door, with a shake of her wrist, she pulls out her Estruscan keyring bracelet. About several of the keys have found themselves used in various misadventures, vanishing once their purpose is fulfilled, but her favorite key is still there. And, just like a clever child of Hermes, it can pick just about any lock. 

Inside is just an empty room, a little staging area surrounded by tiered desks going up, no more or less remarkable than any of the other conference rooms they’d visited before. 

“What--?” His question is cut off by Annabeth’s mouth on his. 

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

It's a while before they separate again. “You’re so good at this,” she tells him, unbuttoning his shirt.

He runs his hands along the lines of her flanks. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he grins. He’d practice kissing her all day long if he could. 

She smiles, shaking her head. “No, not this,” though she does lean in for another kiss, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. “I know you’re good at this.” They break away, Percy pulling her shirt over her head, Annabeth shucking off his. “But history. Presenting.” She runs a finger over his chest, kissing his cheek, headed towards the sensitive spot on his jaw. “Gods, you’re so smart.” 

Something about the praise vibrates through his chest. She doesn’t sound surprised, or anything, just--turned on.

“You had all those crusty academics eating out of your hand. Just, so impressed by you, knowing you know way more than they do about naval history. When you were explaining the--” Her compliment is cut off with a moan, as he leans down and starts sucking on her throat. Her blouse has a high neck, so he feels no guilt for using his teeth.  

“Watching you today, gods.” Her breath is labored as his fingers play at the waistline of her skirt. “And then thinking of you defending your dissertation.” He bites at her jugular, and she lets out a long, deep moan. 

“I don’t know what that means.” Do academics fight each other? Like, with weapons? He’s pretty sure he can take most of the people he met today. 

“It means you get to show off how smart you are,” Annabeth says, grasping his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “I was born the day my dad defended his. Gods, it's going to be amazing to watch you go.” She yanks his belt out of his pants, tossing it to the floor. 

They miss the panel on recent translation efforts. But Percy can’t say he minds one bit. 

And when Annabeth presents him with a positive pregnancy test two months later, Percy definitely knows he made the right decision. 

4) 

He almost doesn’t realize he’s having a dream-vision at first.

It has been literal years since he’s had a demigod dream. Hell, it’s been a long while since he’s had a dream, period--being a new dad to a one-and-a-half-year-old saps too much of his energy to even think about dreaming. Once Junie is put to bed, when he’s out, he is fucking out, and he does not have the brainpower to spare to manifest any messed up subconscious fears.

Which is why when he blinks open his eyes, taking in the too-bright colors of the Parthenon and the gleaming shine of the bronze statues which are somehow all looking at him--also, you know, how the Parthenon is complete, standing as it did thousands of years ago, and not crumbled into ruins--he knows, immediately, he is being contacted by a god.

And only one god in particular would bring him to Athens.

Without even checking, he heaves himself up off the ground, folding into a kneel. “My lady Athena,” he says, “can I ask for what quest you’ve brought me here?”

“Impertinent as ever, Percy Jackson,” rumbles the goddess, but Percy doesn’t think he can sense any ill will towards him. He hopes, anyway. “Perhaps I have summoned you here for a social visit.”

“Perhaps,” he says, choosing his next words as carefully as possible. “But I assume you have too much to worry about to randomly check up on your daughter’s boyfriend.”

He lifts his head, catching her expression--stoic as always, but maybe with just the barest hint of a smile. “You assume correctly. You have become, contrary to my initial expectations, very wise in the time that I have known you.”

“Thank you.” He knows better than to do anything but accept the compliment for what it is.

“I have observed your work as a scholar in recent years, and I must say that I am surprised, yet pleased, that you have chosen to pursue such a path. I had not thought you to be suited for a world of old men and dusty papers.”

He grits his teeth. Don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait--

“I understand, as well, that though you and my daughter have,” and here her careful composition cracks, just the slightest, the tiny lift of her lips falling, “made a child together.”

Percy swallows. He figured, you know, in the abstract, that Athena would know about Junie, but hearing her say it out loud is… well, he’s just glad that Dr. Chase has always liked him. “Yes, my lady.”

“It is customary in your time to marry prior to childbirth, is it not?”

“It is.” Oh, fuck, is she going to smite him for that? “I--that is to say, we, Annabeth and I, we, um, we definitely want to get married, but, Annabeth kind of…” 

He trails off. He can’t tell Athena, goddess of war, that his daughter pissed off the queen of heaven! And if he does, he definitely can’t imply that it was because she was being too stubborn!

“I know well of my daughter’s history with my father’s wife,” Athena says, smoothly. “I come to you now with an offer of peace.”

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

Raising one graceful arm, Athena turns, indicating the structure behind her. “Look upon my temple,” she intones. The white marble shines even more powerfully against the blue and red paint, intricate scenes and figures ringing the top of the columns. “In the time of Pericles, it was built to commemorate the victory of Hellas over the armies of Xerxes the Great. It was to be the shining beacon of our world, a triumph of our power and influence over the race of men.”

The race of men might have had something to say about that, he thinks to himself.

“But it was not to be,” Athena says, mournfully. “As our influence waned, so too did our temple, until its might was all but forgotten.” 

Before his eyes, the paint fades away, ceilings and columns collapsing, the destruction of the Parthenon playing out in front of him. 

“Some two hundred years ago,” she says, her voice taking on a darker, more dangerous tone, “a grave insult was paid to the ruins of my ancient sanctuary.” Like curtains falling on a stage, darkness swallowed up the structure, swift and impenetrable. “Many treasures were taken from my temple, stolen, by foolish, greedy men, spirited away far to the north, where they have languished in unworthy hands.”

He narrows his eyes. She can’t possibly be talking about--

Athena turns back to him, her eyes blazing, somehow twice as tall. “Retrieve my treasures,” she commands, war personified, “return the prizes of Athens to their rightful place, and I shall give you my support against my father’s wife.”

“You…” Percy leans back on his haunches, staring dumbfounded up at the goddess. “You don’t happen to mean the Parthenon Marbles, do you?”

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

“The same,” she says, imperious as ever.

Fantastic. “Welp,” Percy says, slapping his thighs, scrambling up. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. Nice seeing you, by the way. I’ll tell Annabeth you stopped by.”

Her sharp gazes pierces him, full of fury. “You dare to refuse my support?”

He snorts. “When it means trying to get the UK to give the marbles back, absolutely. Do you know how stubborn they are about this?”

Lightning flashes behind her, nearly blinding him. “You will regret this,” Athena says, dark and foreboding. “You may have your father’s goodwill, but the queen of Olympus is clever and cunning, her displeasure swift and merciless.”

But Percy still shakes his head. “When Annabeth and I get married,” and it’s definitely a ‘when,’ it’s just a matter of when precisely, like after Junie can sleep through the night maybe, “I’d rather take my chances with Hera than try and untangle that particular can of olives.”

A growl, and a snap of her fingers, and Athena disappears.

With a start, Percy wakes up. Junie had gotten her chubby little hands around his nose, and had decided to pull.

“Ow, ow, Junie, hey,” he squawks, attempting to dislodge her grip from his face. “Hey, I’m awake, it’s okay.”

She laughs, illegally adorable, her grey eyes sparkling, squeezing harder. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs along with her. “You got my nose, you win.”

As if she were waiting for him to admit defeat, she lets go, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together. 

“That’s right,” he picks her up, raising her above his head. “Barely sixteen months old and you already know how to take me down, don’t you? Just like your mommy.”

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

Junie really is the best parts of both of them. She’s got her daddy’s hair but her mommy’s brain, quick and sharp and painfully adorable. She’s already learning to read Greek, Annabeth sitting her in her lap and sounding out vowels together, Annabeth taking her finger and tracing it over the letter shapes. This kid absorbs information like a sponge, which Percy can only assume is the natural conclusion of taking a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena and mixing their DNA together. 

Thinking about his dream, he frowns. “What do you think, Junie,” he asks his toddler. “Should I take her up on her offer?”

The baby says nothing.

“I mean,” he tilts his head, “Greece has been trying to get the marbles back for two hundred years. UNESCO has top lawyers on this. What does Athena think I can do?”

Junie blinks at him.

“On the other hand, I do really love your mom,” he admits, “and I really want to marry her. You’d like that, right? To have your parents be married?”

There’s no way she can understand what he’s saying, but she moves her head like she’s nodding. Or maybe she does understand. She is Annabeth’s daughter after all. 

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

Several months, a college graduation, and one relocation to Boston later, Percy growls, hurling his pencil at the wall. Mother fucker. Fuck the British Museum, fuck his tiny laptop screen, and fuck the Italian prick who decided to have the least ADHD-friendly handwriting of all time. 

Why the hell is he doing this again? Like, seriously. Why in all of Hades is he, an inexperienced, snot-nosed, first year master’s student deciding to tackle the return of the fucking Parthenon marbles of all things. Like, what is wrong with him? 

Roughly scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Percy stands up. He has to go for a walk, clear his head, or he might actually explode. 

Then he catches a glimpse of the photo pinned to the fridge.

Percy’s mom had taken it, a candid of Percy and Annabeth and Junie on a sunny day in Central Park. There, in perfect 1080p, Junie is laughing, at what he can’t even remember, her pudgy fists yanking on Percy’s hair, while her mother and the love of his life does nothing to extricate Percy from her grip, her face screwed up so hard she had tears in her eyes. 

Percy had talked a lot of shit to the goddess of war’s face, but truth be told… Hera still terrifies him a little. Which, he assumes, was her goal all along, but it would be nice to marry Annabeth without fear of something going terribly wrong--or, gods forbid, something happening to Junie. That simply was not a risk he was willing to take. Percy is content to spend the rest of his days as Annabeth’s life-partner and roommate, if it means that the queen of the heavens won’t have a reason to take out her issues on his children.

Even if the engagement ring in the back of the pantry is gathering dust. 

Sunlight, wan but warm, falls in from the window, landing perfectly on his pile of open books. “I know, I know,” he growls, speaking to the air, rubbing his face so it doesn’t get stuck in a permanent glare. “I just--I just need a few minutes, okay? Let me go down the block and get a coffee or something. Two minutes, Lady Athena.”

The light fades. Percy takes that as an acquiescence, angrily scribbling a note. He’s not sure when Annabeth and Junie will be back, but even angry as he is, he doesn’t want to worry them.

Snatching up his jacket, he slams the door shut, stomping out of his apartment building and down the streets of Boston. He must be accidentally doing his wolf stare, because people are practically flinging themselves out of his path as he hurtles down the sidewalk. Literally--some girl is walking her husky, and the poor dog actually whimpers, cowering as Percy rounds the corner. 

Coming to a stop, Percy slaps his hands over his face, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. 

He might be in over his head a little.

Sighing, he looks to his right. He’s standing outside of a Starbucks. 

Percy doesn’t drink coffee, Annabeth does. And he knows exactly how much of a coffee snob his girlfriend is. Starbucks? Overpriced, overrated, over-sweetened garbage.

He pushes the door open, sliding up to the counter. “I’ll take a… iced mocha, I guess,” he says. “Large.”

“No problem,” chirps the barista. “I’ll have that out for you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

One thing Starbucks does have going for it, though, are really good napkins for doodling.

Slumping down in his uncomfortable metal chair, elbows resting on the hard, faux-wood table, Percy takes out his pen, and doodles aimlessly on the brown napkins. No, not that pen. Just because it can write doesn’t mean that Percy wants to risk slicing his face open every time he has a stray idea. Completely out of the blue, Annabeth had gotten him a nice set of pens, and ever since then, Percy always keeps one on him. Now, if he could just remember to use the little notebook she had gotten him, too.

Percy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t have an image in mind, just lets his pen move, drawing endless chains of triangles and stars, nebulous shapes which form themselves into Greek letters. After he catches himself writing γλαυκῶπις for the eighth time in a row, he sighs, dropping his pen, and picks up the cup, taking a sip.

Yuck. At least the chocolate outweighs the coffee taste a little.

Gods, and their cups are always, like, drenched from condensation--not that Percy can feel it, but there’s practically a whole other drink on the outside of the plastic, dripping all over Percy’s pile of doodle napkins. That must be why they give out so many.

Grumbling, he mops up the mess, ink smudged into a blue-brown slurry.

He stops. 

He squints at one of his doodles. 

Not that anyone else could tell, but Percy had apparently been trying to recreate the signature of Ottoman sultan Selim III, the guy who had supposedly authorized the Earl of Elgin to take the Parthenon Marbles. Percy had been staring at copies of his signature all damn day, trying to tell if it had been forged or copied, but classical Arabic was just so far beyond anything he could even begin to wrap his head around. It was gorgeous work, but even looking at it made Percy’s eyes swim.

This particular doodle is not his best attempt. It looks nothing like the signature. It’s smudged, blotchy, but in a way that’s… weirdly familiar. 

Snatching the napkin up, Percy bolts from the Starbucks, leaving his mocha behind.

Taking the steps of his apartment building two at a time, he bursts into his kitchen. His set up is exactly how he left it, books spread out all over the table, laptop shut and laid askew, the dry, half-eaten remains of his morning muffin on a plate on top of his encyclopedia of illuminated manuscripts--except for one book, the one on Ottoman history of the nineteenth century. It’s been opened, its pages facing the door, in the exact opposite direction of all the other books. 

“Hello?” he calls into the apartment. “Anyone home?”

No response. 

Percy approaches the table. 

From the pages, Selim III stares at him, his portrait rendered in black and white, sitting just above a figure of his signature, his tughra. 

Percy picks up the book, squinting. 

The signature is crisp, clean, a work of art all by itself. 

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

Opening his laptop, he pulls up the scans of the documents in the British museum, zooms in on the letter’s seal.

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares. 

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

In a daze, he fires an email off to his new grad advisor. Hopefully he won’t mind Percy sticking his nose in where he doesn’t belong. Hey Dr. T--was looking at the Parthenon marbles docs in the BM (don’t ask) and I noticed this weird smudge on the tughra. Lazy scribe, maybe?

And he closes his computer.

Later that night, while he puts Junie to bed, he gets a response. not sure. sent it to a colleague for a closer look. 

He can’t even be bothered to really think about it though, not with Junie looking up at him with Annabeth’s eyes, and asking for another book. “Alright, kiddo,” he acquiesces, settling in beside her. All her story books are in ancient Greek, and at age two, she’s starting to recognize the letters. “Which one are you thinking?” 

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

“Dolphins, eh? Getting Mr. D on your side early, I see. As smart as mommy.” He leans down and kisses her forehead before he starts to read her the story of the sailors and their sudden dolphin madness. 

***

“Huh,” Percy says to himself a few weeks later, as he and Annabeth are chilling on the couch, watching some Netflix.

His advisor has forwarded him an article from the BBC (New evidence suggests Elgin documents to be forgeries) with an accompanying note: Amazing catch! 

“What is it?” Annabeth asks, nudging him with her elbow--a feat, since she also has an armful of a squirmy Junie to deal with.

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

That gets her attention. Anything Parthenon-related does. “Really?”

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels his lips pulling at the sides of his mouth. 

“My mom is probably your biggest fan right now.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Turning back to the TV, she still manages to cast him a weird look. “I said, my mom will probably love you for this.”

A beat, then Percy practically somersaults over the couch, darting into the kitchen. Wrenching open the pantry door, he shoves his hand behind their collection of flours, fingers grasping for--

“If you’re looking for any more sacrificial cookies,” Annabeth calls after him, “we burned them all when Junie got a cold.”

“Remind me to make some more,” says Percy, pulling out his prize. It’s a little dusty, streaks of flour clinging to the blue velvet. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What, did Olympus put in a special order?” 

Percy slides back down next to her, ring hidden in his closed fist. “Can I have the baby for a sec?”

Eyes fixed to the screen, Annabeth passes her over. Junie’s hands automatically reach for his nose, ready to grab, but Percy places the ring in her grasp instead, kissing her forehead. “Hey, babe?” he asks Annabeth, handing her back. “I think our daughter has something for you.”

Annabeth takes her without a second glance. 

Then she does take a second glance.

Ring closed in her pudgy toddler fist, Junie holds it out to her.

Annabeth gapes. 

“So,” Percy says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “quick confession: I wasn’t just working on the marbles for fun.”

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

“Your mom told me that if I helped get the marbles back, she’d back us against Hera if we ever got married. So…” He trails off, waiting for her response. As close as he is, he can see the tears start to well up in her eyes--a good sign. “Shall we?” he prompts.

“Oh thank all the gods.” Annabeth is crying, because she's Annabeth. And because she's Annabeth, she also wastes no time in transferring Junie to her other side, and holding out her hand so Percy can slide the ring on her finger. “I was so worried I'd have to have Chase on my Masters’ diploma, too.”

5)

Percy is making sauce when his phone lights up. He hits speaker. “Hey.”

“Hey man,” comes the tinny voice of Magnus. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, “I figured you were dying or something.”

Magnus’ eye roll is almost palpable. “Very funny. What’s up?”

Bringing the spoon to his lips, he blows on it, taking a taste, before reaching for the salt. Needs way more. “Do you happen to have any Varangian guards in Hotel Valhalla?”

“Varangian guards? Uh, maybe. Probably. Why?”

“I’m doing a thing on the attempted reconquest of Sicily,” he says, lowering the heat a little to a simmer, “and I’m having some trouble piecing together the Battle of Montemaggiore. Know anyone who was in it?” 

Magnus hums. “I’ll ask around. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”

Rifling through their little spice cabinet, he makes a mental note to get a new thing of hot sauce, tipping the rest of it into the pot. “If you have anyone who fought under Harald Hardrada, that would be great.”

“Hardrada? I’m pretty sure he lives on the fifth floor.”

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

“Yes!” He picks up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you think I could come up and talk to him sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were doing something on Homer’s identity?”

He groans. “Backburnered for now until she stops driving me crazy.” No matter how many times Percy tells her, he can’t just drop the “Homer was actually an Egyptian woman” bomb without some serious evidence backing that up. And forgery is not one of his strong suits. Hence the need for a different topic for the time being.

“Has everyone ever told you your life is weird?”

“No, why do you ask?”

His phone suddenly vibrates, shocking him so badly he nearly drops it into the saucepan. Almost home, texts the love of his life, a shot of serotonin directly into his bloodstream. V hungry

“Sorry, Magnus, but I gotta run. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Say hi to my cousin for me.”

“Can do.”

“And make sure you pick a date soon! Sam needs to know so she can schedule her flight home.”

“Soon as I can.” You know, when his brain isn’t melting from grading undergrad papers. And making sure Annabeth and Junie are fed. And that Annabeth doesn’t lose herself in graduate school. And finding Junie a new preschool after she destroyed a classroom last month because of a monster. His toddler is a badass. But he’s a little worried she’s gonna follow Mommy and Daddy’s example as far as school goes. 

Sometimes, he thinks that their wedding just won’t ever happen. With Athena on board, he figured it would happen sooner or later, but time just… keeps getting away from them. Which isn’t the end of the world. A lifetime at Annabeth’s side is all he really needs, Mrs. Jackson or no. But he’s seen the silver fabric she weaved for her wedding dress. It would be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

And, yeah, he wants to see his little Junie dancing down the aisle flinging seaweed before her mother. He wants his mom to cry a little and he wants all his friends to be there to celebrate with them. Is that so much to ask? 

Speaking of his two favorite girls--”We’re home!” Annabeth calls from the hallway. “Junie, go say hi to daddy!”

Her bare feet slapping against the floor, his daughter comes toddling in, making a beeline for him. “Hey, kiddo,” Percy says, scooping her up. “How’s my best girl?”

“She’s just fine, thanks,” Annabeth says, setting her work bag down on the table. “Tell me I don’t have to wait for dinner--Margie kept me for the entirety of my lunch break, and I am starving.” 

“Just gotta make a salad and we should be good to go.” But he makes no move to finish chopping vegetables, entirely too enraptured with the way Junie smiles when Percy sticks his tongue out at her. “Let me guess,” he says. “Does my best girl want some olives?”

“Peas,” Junie says. 

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

She giggles, waving her arms. “Elaia, daddy!”

“Fine,” and he kisses her nose. “Extra olives for you.”

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

Handing her back to her mother, Percy sighs. “When am I going to get a kid who likes anchovies?”

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

“Reputation isn’t that bad.” Hardrada is saying. “The production isn’t what it should be, but lots of her lyrics are still on point.” 

“The production ruins it,” Percy insists. “And as a follow up to 1989? It's just bad.” 

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

“You can’t argue with the genius of that one.”

“It is terribly inconsistent,” Percy shoots back. “Yeah, ‘The Archer’ and ‘Daylight’ and ‘Miss Americana’ are sublime, but ‘ME!’? Come on!”

“Are you one of those people who thinks she peaked at Red?”

“Red is a bop from start to finish,” Percy fires back. “But she definitely peaked at folklore.”

“Thinking she peaked at folklore is just pedestrian when ‘tis the damn season’ exists!” Hardrada yells, drawing his axe, which is then promptly flung over Percy’s head. 

As the only mortal in a room full of armed, excitable, undead Taylor Swift stans, Percy beats a hasty exit, Magnus and Jason covering him as he flees, because they’re just so thoughtful like that. Percy’s pretty sure he saw Magnus take an arrow to the knee, going down in a heap, before he shuts the door to the hotel, finding himself in a Forever 21. 

Looking over his notes later as he gets back to his apartment in the North End, he frowns. They had spent… approximately twenty minutes talking about Sicily before getting solidly off track. Who knew an eleventh century viking would have such intense feelings about pop music? 

And now he’s singing “seven” to himself as he unlocks the apartment door, because it's a good song, and because it made him think of Annabeth. And he always wants to think of Annabeth. 

“Hey, babe,” he calls into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “I’m back!”

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she says, unconvincingly. 

“Alright,” he calls back. “Let me know if you need something.”

Moving Junie’s toys out of the way, he drops down onto the couch, grabbing his laptop. Hopefully he can make some sort of sense of the… notes… that he got from Hardrada. Though he’s probably going to have to trek out to Beacon Hill again, which, while not really out of his way, does mean he has to hike a bit from the Park Street station through the Commons, which makes him super sweaty and out of breath. It’s just embarrassing, walking into a hotel full of the greatest warriors of Valhalla, and Percy can barely handle a hill. 

However, he’s not so out of practice that he can’t sense Annabeth coming up behind him. “You good?”

“What do you think about getting married by the end of the month?”

“Sure,” he says, pecking at his computer. Damn autocorrect ruining all the Norse names. He keeps forgetting to download the right language package he needs. “But I thought you wanted to wait until after you turned in your portfolio?”

“Well… I might not be able to fit in my dress if we wait much longer.”

That gets his attention.

Percy turns around, slowly. Annabeth is grinning, holding a thin little piece of plastic with a circle on the end. She wiggles it. 

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

“What? No!” Percy slides his computer off his lap, twisting around to face her, up on his knees. “No, no, not at all. I’m not mad.” She slings her arms around his neck, pregnancy test warm against his skin. “I just…” 

Eyes warm, she looks into his, unafraid. “What is it?”

“It’s…” It’s silly, is what it is. But this is Annabeth. If he can’t tell her, who can he tell? “I just feel bad that I’ve gotten you pregnant twice before getting married.”

“Well, at least I’m not nineteen this time,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t such a horndog.”

Percy snorts. “Me? What about you, Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before my first lecture’ Chase.”

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“It’s Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before your first lecture’ Jackson.”

Grinning, he presses his mouth to hers. After all this time, she still smells like lemons, her lips soft and warm. “Not yet it’s not.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

And, well, Percy can’t think of a better plan.

+1

Jamie hisses. “Fuuuuuck,” she whispers, the sound dropping like a stone in the dead lecture hall. “Goddamn shit fuck ass.”

And the worst part is, she’d actually spent a lot of time preparing for her Latin midterm. She’d made flashcards, she’d drilled noun endings, she’d even slept with the textbook under her pillow for fuck’s sake. 

Typical--the moment she sits down to take the test, it all goes out the window. 

“Legistne carmen longum de Troiano,” she reads under her breath, as though saying it out loud will unlock some hidden secrets of the cosmos. 

Nope. Nothing. The multiple choices remain as inscrutable as ever.

“Psst.” 

Jamie looks up. 

There’s a four year old staring at her. 

“Hi,” Jamie says. 

“Hi,” says the four year old. Junie, her name is, she thinks. 

Mr. Jackson, Jamie’s Latin TA, will bring his kids to class with him sometimes--his wife works full time, and Jamie guesses that they can’t afford a babysitter. She’s a cute kid, quiet, usually sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, drawing or even knitting, sometimes with her little sister playing with toy ships next to her. 

Now, she’s still staring at her. “What’s up?” Jamie asks.

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.” 

She squints down at her test sheet, attempting to visualize her flash cards. That’s… “Bello” is the right answer.

The fuck? The fucking four year old can speak Latin? “Thanks,” she whispers. 

Junie beams at her.

Darting her eyes to the front of the lecture hall, Jamie spies her professor, Buck, completely conked out at his desk, his chest rising and falling with his snores. Percy is nowhere to be seen, his laptop open at his chair. “What’s the next one?” Jamie turns her paper so that Junie can see better.

“Pluto Proserpinam infelicem cepit,” she announces, perfectly accented.

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.” 

The door to the lecture hall opens. Jamie whips around in her seat, startled, and sees her TA, walking down the steps. From the corner of her eye, Junie disappears, booking it to her dad, who scoops her up without missing a beat. “Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Were you bothering my students?” Then he glances at Jamie. “Sorry about that--hope she wasn’t too annoying.”

But Jamie shakes her head. “It’s fine.” Dammit. 

Still smiling, Percy makes his way back down to his seat. Junie grins at her over his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s neck.

At the beginning of the semester, Professor Buck had droned on and on about Mr. Jackson, about how he was one of the best up-and-coming classics scholars in the world, how he could have had his pick of PhD programs, and how NYU was lucky to have him. He got first pick of assistantships this semester, apparently, but had volunteered to teach Latin 1001, and they should all be grateful, because he had done some beautiful new translation of Virgil for his Master’s thesis, and they were all going to learn a lot from him. 

Turning back to her exam, Jamie snorts. Of course a guy like that would have a kid who could speak perfect Latin. 

She really should have just stuck with German instead. 

[idy-ll-ique]

One And Only.

Pairing: Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: s*x

Requested: nope

Summary: Their marriage is for business purposes only but they fall in love. Until Y/N starts having a doubt... does Steve Rogers have a mistress? It's all a misunderstanding...

Author's Note: Hiya peeps, iw!Steve in this one. Enjoy!

---

"Hey, you doing okay?" Y/N turned away from the mirror and smiled at Natasha and Wanda. "As well as a bride could be minutes before her wedding," she jabbed, making the ladies chuckle. "It's going to be fine, Y/N, Steve will treat you well. We've been friends with him for years, one thing we know about him is that he never treats women wrong."

"I don't doubt that, it's just that— I met him a week ago. One time. I don't even know him, anything about him, other than the fact that he leads the most feared crime gang in the entire country," Y/N muttered, tugging at the sapphire necklace she was wearing. Something blue. "You will get to know him soon enough, though. Come on now, everyone is waiting."

Her father stood outside the door, a soft smile on his face. "You look lovely, honey," he cooed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as the two ladies sauntered past them into the Hall with their partners. "Thank you, papa." The two people walked into the Hall and everyone stood up to greet the bride. At the end of the aisle stood Steve, tall and proud, a huge smile on his face.

Y/N couldn't help but smile back. As soon as she reached near him her father let go, but not before pressing a kiss to her cheek. Steve took her hand and brought it to his lips when she stood in front of him. The priest standing next to them began his usual recitations; Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today… Y/N didn't really pay attention to his speech.

She was busy staring at Steve, who looked magnificent in an all black suit, his dirty blond hair and full beard making her feel all sorts of things. His smile softened a bit, also not listening to the priest. He was observing her. It was supposed to be purely transactional, the marriage, but he knew it wasn't gonna end like one. It would be a proper marriage.

Happily married.

She looked wonderful. He met her a week ago; a bit wary at the concept of merging two mobs by marriage but the moment he saw her, he knew he had to have her. She was his, no one else's. The two quickly exchanged their vows as the ring bearers came forward with the rings. The bride and the groom took the rings with smiles and turned to face each other.

"Steve Rogers, do you take Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest turned to Steve expectantly.

"I do," Steve spoke, loud and clear, as he slipped the ring on Y/N's finger. Y/N had to admit, she felt a bit giddy when those words left his mouth.

"Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Steve Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?" Y/N smiled shyly at Steve. "I do."

Steve grinned widely when she neatly placed the ring on his finger. "You may now kiss the bride." And the whole room erupted into stentorian cheering as Steve gathered his wife in his arms, pressing his lips to hers in a deep kiss. Only when he heard a wolf-whistle coming from the crowd did Steve stop, pulling away to look at his out-of-breath wife.

"Mrs Rogers," he spoke fondly and she giggled. "Mr Rogers," she teased as they turned to the crowd, Y/N clutching Steve's arm as they smiled widely. Not many people had attended the impromptu wedding; just Steve's close friends and Y/N's father. Her bridesmaids were Natasha and Sharon, with Wanda being her maid-of-honor.

Steve's groomsmen were Sam and Tony, with Bucky being his best man. "Well, the first dance goes to the bride and her father, I'd say," Clint called out, already helping himself to a bottle of beer as music started playing. Steve reluctantly handed his wife over to her father, bidding her with a sweet kiss on her cheek.

"I hope you know why I had to do this, honey," her father sighed as they danced in the middle of the Hall. "I know, papa. Don't feel bad, I think I'm starting to like Steve. He seems friendly enough and Nat and Wan told me he's good to women." Her dad chuckled. "Well, he doesn't have the label of promiscuity that other leaders do." He was right.

Steve Rogers never really had time for dating, too busy leading the salient mafia. Also, the thought of having women just for a night or two didn't sit right with him, so he never went in that direction. "Can I have this dance now?" As soon as the song changed Steve appeared on her side, holding his hand out. She smiled and took his hand.

He easily slid an arm around her waist as the music slowed. One hand around her waist and the other holding her hand in classic ballroom dancing position, he pulled her closer. She rested her head on his chest, the arm which was around his neck lowering to his middle. "I'll treat you well," Steve whispered as they languidly swayed in the middle of the room.

"I know. If it's not much, um, I think I'd like to take things slow…" she hinted, hoping he'd notice. And he did. "Of course, of course, we can do that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way," he assured her. "Thank you, Mr Rogers," she mumbled. "My pleasure, Mrs Rogers." The rest of the ceremony was enjoyable to say the least.

---

10 months had passed since the wedding.

Steve and Y/N were still taking things slow, against their own wishes.

It was a misunderstanding.

They loved each other; they really did, but they couldn't bring themselves to say the words to the other. Steve was purposely not making the first move, in fear that his wife would think he was rushing things. Y/N, on the other hand, had started severely doubting herself because 10 months have passed, does he not want to be with me anymore?

She was expecting him to make the first move, and he was expecting her to give him the permission first. It was annoying, to say the least. They were still friendly with each other, so Steve didn't pay much attention to the anxiety his wife was feeling. Y/N was beside herself with worry that had increased tenfold since... well, 15 minutes ago. She had overheard a conversation.

"So, how's Smith treating ya?"

"Same old, ya know. He has like 3 bitches as mistresses, thinks I don't know about 'em. Which mob man doesn't have a mistress in today's world, ha?"

"Preach, sister. I'd think even Rogers has one, heard somewhere that he and his little wife haven't even consummated their marriage. Probably doesn't even wanna be with her, he did marry her for the business."

"Mmhm, I agree. What about you, Lin?"

"Oh, Danny? Probably out there sleeping with Denise."

She didn't mean to eavesdrop on their personal conversation, but she couldn't help it. Mistress? She was familiar with the term, but what she was not familiar with was the fact that nearly all married mobsters had one. And when they mentioned Steve, she was done for. Crying, she had gone back to her room, collapsing on the bed, sobbing.

In her crying state, she failed to notice Steve also in the room as she raked her brain, thinking about all the times Steve had come home from work. He had given her no reason to believe that he had another woman, but what if he was just that good at hiding it? "Sweetheart? My love, why are you crying?" The bed dipped next to her.

Steve had just stepped out of the shower when his wife had thrown the door of their shared suite open, falling on the bed with a nerve-wracking sob. Why was she crying? "S-Steve…" she stammered and he pulled her on his lap, rocking her back and forth, getting her to calm down. It worked as Y/N's heart rate slowed down.

"Y/N, tell me, what happened? Who hurt you, tell me their names." Steve suddenly saw red at the prospect of someone hurting his wife. "N-No one hurt me, I just… I accidentally overheard a conversation I shouldn't have and—" She trailed off when her breath hitched. Steve soothingly rubbed her back, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

"What were they talking about?"

"Mistresses. One of the ladies said that nearly all mob men had mistresses and I— We haven't even consummated our marriage, haven't done anything besides kissing so I just thought— Do you have a mistress?" Her question shocked him. Him? Keeping a mistress when he had a wife he was head-over-heels for? "My darling, I love you."

She looked up at his words. "You do?" she mumbled, taking a deep breath. "Of course I do. The only reason I didn't say anything was because you told me, on the day of our wedding, that you wanted to take things slow. Before doing something, I needed your permission and that's why I haven't made a move on you." Y/N felt very silly all of a sudden.

"I'm so sorry for accusing you—"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Don't apologize to me, princess. Come here." He hugged her tightly, cradling the back of her head as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Do you know how many of my colleagues have asked me the same question?" She gently shook her head. "One too many. Do you know what I say to them each time?"

"No…"

"I say, why would I have a mistress when my wife makes me the happiest person on the planet? Why would I have a mistress when my wife is an angel personified? You guys are just jealous that she's mine and not yours." Y/N's skin burnt at his praise and she burrowed closer to him. "Steve," she muttered bashfully and felt him chuckle underneath her.

"Will you allow me to show you just how much I love you?"

"Yes."

He gently lowered her on the bed and hovered above her, one large hand coming to rest on her cheek. Then he made quick work of their clothes until they were bare in front of each other; Steve's eyes went wide with awe when he saw her body. "You are perfect," he declared, his warm hands grabbing every bit of skin it came in contact with as his lips touched her neck.

Y/N mewled underneath him when he shamelessly groped both her breasts, groaning. "So perfect. So beautiful. Only mine, my one and only," he whispered, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss as he felt his shaft harden. "I love you," she blurted out as one of his hands found her core, his fingers scissoring her open, getting her ready for penetration.

"I love you too, my sweet," he smiled at her before lining his shaft against her core. He pushed in inch-by-inch, giving her some time to adjust to his size. He was bigger than anyone she had previously been with, much bigger. Y/N bit her lip to stifle a moan as he bottomed out inside her, grunting. "None of that," he rasped, "I want to hear you."

Y/N groaned when he lazily rotated his hips, not holding back, just like he asked. "That's it, baby girl. Just like that." He sped up inside her, grabbing the headboard of the bed, each snap of his hips sending waves of pleasure washing over Y/N. "Oh, Steve," she whimpered, her hands balling into fists around the bedsheets she was clutching, moving weightlessly against him.

"Are you close, my dear?" he growled when her walls clenched around him. She meekly nodded, throwing her head back as she tried to hold in. "Only one moment, love, I'm close too." His thrusts soon got sloppier. "Cum with me," he ground out before letting go, shooting his load inside her. Y/N came just moments later, her arms wrapping around Steve's shoulders when he slumped on her.

"There we go, our marriage is sealed," he joked and she laughed tiredly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Steve rolled off of her, smiling gently when he saw her drifting in and out of consciousness. "Go to sleep, I'm right here. I'll take care of you." He got up and walked to the closet, taking out a spare towel. Running it under some hot water, he sat next to her and cleaned her up.

Then he cleaned himself up, put on a pair of pyjama pants and lay down next to his sleeping wife, an automatic smile blooming on his face. He'd dreamed that their first time would be unforgettable, and it was, but he also wished it was… longer. God knew he was an insatiable man; but he also didn't want to pressure the woman he had grown to love.

There's always a next time, anyway.

"Sleep tight, my dear."

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

[harfanfare]

I saw this post and I was wondering if you write Malleus' too, is okay for you to make that?

How to win a heart of Malleus Draconia?

a/n: I started posting my writings here because I want to improve my English — so I technically wouldn't make this request. But! Someone on Wattpad (where I take requests) asked for the same thing, so I rolled up my sleeves and wrote this guide today in both languages. Enjoy~

1. Don't be afraid of him.

It is said that the first impression is the most important.

So when you first saw this guy walking through the corridor of Diasomnia, it was hard for you to get rid of that view from your head.

Illuminated both by the green magic flames set in the lobby, as well as by the moon, which eventually managed to break through the dark clouds and with a bright glow appear in the windows of the dormitory, he seemed... lonely and beautiful.

You shuddered as you took a step down the hallway and the dark-haired man turned to you. He measured you with his emerald eyes. And then you recognized him; all the conversations about the mysterious and fearsome Malleus Draconia flew through your head.

Everything told you to rush towards the hallway and run as far as possible, but a piece of you found it inappropriate. Or rather, no one would want to chase everyone away from themself... right?

When you realized you were looking at him for a while, you took a deep breath and nod slightly.

"Good evening, Draconia-san," you said quickly. After a while you added, "The moon is beautiful today, don't you think?”

 2. Smile a lot.

Today was a really wonderful day: the test was postponed, your favorite dish was given in the canteen, and for some reason, the last two lessons were canceled – your class had to make just a quick note about a topic and it took less than fifteen minutes.

"Something happened?" Malleus asked, seeing how almost in the jumps you walk past him. When you looked at him, he added, "You smile a lot.”

"I can stop smiling if you want," you made a sad face, but after a while, the corners of your mouth began to tremble uncontrollably and twisted up again. "Oops, I can’t. Today... it was such a good day... that I think I'm slowly using my life's happiness.”

"I didn't say that smiling is bad," he said. "You look so much better when you smile.”

"Oh," you sighed with apparent surprise. "Is it a compliment?"

"It’s rather a fact..?"

 3. From time to time visit him during club activities.

"Is this a class of the ‘Gargoyle research society club’?” with a deaf knock you opened the door. Malleus turned to you, making a break from browsing through the materials gathered in the library about the history of each of the gargoyles on the school grounds. And there were a lot of them.

"Yes," he replied briefly, getting up. "Do you need something, [Name]?"

"Not at all, my club don’t have a meeting today," you said, closing the door behind you.

You looked around: the room was as clean as ever, except for one desk, where were laid several huge volumes about statues in NRC.

“Are you here alone?” You said before you thought. You lowered your eyes to see Malleus nodding unconcerned slightly. You blinked several times trying to think of what else you could say. "This room... could be a secret base," that was the first thing that came to your mind. Malleus turned his head to one side, uncertain of your response.

“A secret base..? Why?”

"I have no idea," you admitted quickly. "But the very existence of a mysterious point is interesting, isn't it? Doing normal things, such as watching movies or just talking, seems more interesting in places like this,” After a moment of silence, you sighed. "You know what, this idea with the base is stupid”

"We can try," he replied with serious tone. You raised your eyes to see how he looked around the room. "But you'll just have to explain this idea to me in more detail. We can also tell Lilia, Silver and Sebek about it...” he smiled as if seeing your five together in his thoughts was a pleasure. "It will be surely... fun.”

 4. Get yourself a Tamagotchi.

"Look!" you spin a new key chain on your finger. You finally stopped and showed it to Malleus. "Now they are matching!”

A small electronic toy, in a dark green screen that, when it flashed, showed a virtual, pixelated animal. You were impressed with how good quality it was made, especially since you only gave the Shroud brothers a sketch of a toy that Malleus owned.

Your keychain was exactly the same, just a different color and with another pet.

Malleus pulled out his own device and put it on the table. He pressed one of the buttons and a small pet appeared on the keychain – a dragon.

"They can now be friends," you brought your toy closer to so-called Gao-Gao Dragon-kun.

"Do you think so?" He asked in a very surprised tone, but it sounded as if in a moment he were about to burst out with an inexplicably joyful and surprised laugh.

"Of course. Everyone needs a decent friend, no?”

 5. Gain the trust of Lilia, Silver and Sebek.

Lilia, one of Malleus' closest people. It is much more likely that you will meet him before Malleus. He will be very proud when he learns that Malleus has found a friend. If you become a taster of Lilia, in terms of his pastries, he will 100% like you, and at 20% you will leave the kitchen alive and well.

Silver, who has mastered the art of sleeping in any conditions. It's easy to get him into your plans, although with the craziest ones he will hesitate. Rather well-disposed towards everyone, he can cover for you when you are not in class— but he usually inadvertently falls asleep and both of you often have penal assignments after school.

Sebek, faithful to Malleus, if he doesn't like you, you won't have too many opportunities to stay by Malleus's side without a thunderous glances at you. He will recognize you if you will listen carefully to his monologues about his master and as a sign of your friendship, he will teach you by heart of all the titles and achievements of Malleus so far.

With this trio by your side, you can get a lot further than you might have imagined...

 6. Be a master in hide and seek.

You’d give your right arm that your breath was too loud.

You pressed your hands to your mouth as you crouched in the corner of the room.

From whose voices you already heard, you knew that Lilia had already found Sebek. This meant that you or Silver would still be helping cook dinner since Malleus didn’t come at the start of the game.

This may seem silly, but the ability to play classic games was one of the elements of the art of survival in Diasomnia.

It was thanks to games like ‘stone-paper-scissors’, hide and seek or tag that household chores fell on the shoulders of the losers. Lilia loved the idea, and there was always a proud smile on his lips when he saw his beloved children play together.

You heard the steps behind you and shivered.

Very slowly you turned around and looked up to see Malleus standing over you and wondering what you were doing, crouching in the darkest corner of the room.

Puns were also included in the survival pack.

Fearing that Lilia would hear your whisper, you put your finger on your mouth, asking him not to say a word. You put a begging eye into it – all but not cooking with Lilia. Not again.

Malleus nodded, recognizing the gravity of the situation, although he smiled.

Really, no one would want Malleus to be an enemy.

Or at least in such a situation.

 7. Do not hesitate to ask him for help with learning.

"In theory, you should focus on the space around you," Malleus pulled a wand in front of him. It flashed, and almost at the same time, a thin but incredibly strong protective barrier was created around him. “Weaker spells can be reflected. In turn, the stronger ones are better to block”

You nodded understandingly.

Defensive magic was not something easy to understand. Most depended on the person against whom the counter spell was being prepared. And there are countless people who walk on this Earth and want to start fights.

"Unique spells block or avoid physically," he continued. You nodded at every subsequent sentence, slowly feeling like all the lessons are eventually gaining transparency. “Using unique magic against unique magic, the stronger will win, both will lead to explosions or completely reduce.

He looked at you when you wrote down the last sentence in your notebook.

"I sincerely hope that you will only need this information in class," he said with a sigh. "If you need help, call me. I will come. I promise.”

 8. Sometimes be persuaded to wear extravagant clothes.

"Do you really think it suits me?" you turned around, looking at yourself from every possible angle in the mirror.

You were going to the theater in a few classes to see some era-related play that you've been discussing now in history lessons. Everyone, respecting the reputation, actions and achievements of theatre, dressed in their best clothes.

Malleus stood next to you.

He was already wearing a black and white outfit with green accessories. They all worked so well together and fitted him like a glove that you were sure that the whole outfit was made especially for him.

"Yes," he replied. "Everything you put on today suited you very well.”

Once again, with critical eyesight, you looked at the outfit, face and hair, before you quickly turned off the lights in the room and closed the door behind you.

Then you smiled at Malleus.

"We can go now," you said. You made your way through the portal to the main NRC building. "And... thank you for your help.

"My pleasure," he said. Under no circumstances was it just a polite formula. He really loved looking at you.

 9. Invite him to your birthday/party.

"Another break from school soon, huh?" — you muttered, leaning against the railing.

You took a deep breath and let the fresh, pleasant air refresh you.

"Are you going to home, [Name]?" Malleus asked. Green lights were still flying around him, so you guessed he’d just appeared here.

"I haven't decided yet," you sighed. "It would be nice to go home, but the break won't be very long... Ah, that's right!” you straightened up and turned to him. "How about spending another break together? As soon as I can, I will contact my family... although I cannot promise anything.”

Though he did not show it, Malleus' heart beat a little faster.

Spend free time? With someone? With someone he likes?

"Of course," he sounded less calm than he thought. He wasn’t often invited anywhere, even for the things he should have been on, so there was a lot of excitement growing in his body. "I don't see anything against it.”

 10. From "The Great Malleus Draconia-sama" to "Love".

"Ah, The Great Malleus-sama!" you sighed theatrically, taking from him a box of chocolates with a joyful smile. You could promise that because of this dark-haired boy here, you slowly become pampered. "Thank you for your generosity!”

Malleus frowned.

"The Great Malleus-sama"..?” he pondered, putting his fingers to his chin. "Did Sebek told you again to call me with this title?"

"No," you laughed softly at his reaction. "I did it out of curiosity. Maybe I could call you some cute nickname, hmm?" you smiled mischievously.

"For example?"

"By adding ‘-chan’ to your name?” you turned on your phone and typed something related to the nicknames. You started reading suggestions and struggled to hold back from laughing. ” ’Sunshine’, ‘star’, ‘flower’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘love’...

"I like the last one," he said, and the invisible force stung you to the ground.

"Would you like me to call you like that? Out of curiosity or out of love?" You laughed, but your cheeks were all red with blushes.

He smiled sincerely at your reaction.

"Hmm, I wonder..?"

[nctsworld]

the yuletide boyfriend

✩‌ yangyang ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fluff | angst | smut | friends to lovers | ‌college au | 9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ your one wish this year is to not be single during the holidays. yangyang, as your best friend, takes it upon himself to be your temporary boyfriend. soon enough, both parties begin to wish this new arrangement could last beyond the holidays. // part of the x-mas in ncity collection WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ implied ‌anxiety attack (during the first part of dec 24th – skip if need to), smut, mutual m*sturbation, couch s*x, angst, miscommunication, swearing RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ mature TAGLIST ⇾ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ this is my longest fic to date and also... might be my worst b/c i feel like the angst plot points don’t really make sense... but i hope y’all still enjoy!!! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit!

NOVEMBER 30th

“So, anything special on your wishlist this year?”

Your best friend, Yangyang, asks you as you two sit next to each other on one of the many plush lounge couches in the Psychology building. It’s the usual lunch spot where you meet with him during your break between lectures.

The Psych building held much sentimental value for both of you because you met in Psych 101 during first year. Fast-forward three years later, neither of you expected to be the close friends that you are today.  

Chewing your sandwich, you ponder on his question for a bit. Through the transparent glass walls leading to outside, you see the trickle of students heading towards the building since class is about to start for the noon round of lectures. A couple, you assume by the tight hand-holding and nose kissing, giggles as they enter the building, glued to one another by the hip.

“Not really.” You drop your head downward to your lunch container, smiling to yourself. “I’m honestly just happy to have Mark in my life, especially at this point in the year.”

Yangyang nods in accordance and smiles too, understanding the story behind your sentiment.

The boyfriends you’ve had since first year have always broken up with you before the holidays, right before the end of November. Since you only became close during second year, Yangyang’s been around for two out of three of your cursed holiday break-ups.

To have Mark, your latest boyfriend, be with you and it being already December tomorrow, it was truly a blessing for you and a silver lining that maybe this was the year to break the curse. Yangyang was grateful too, wanting you to have the utmost happiness.    

You take another bite of your sandwich and tilt your chin toward the ramen eater.

“You?”

Yangyang slurps a few more noodles before he answers.

“I mean, the new Playstation would be nice,” he hums, mouth full.

Pointing the tip of your sandwich, you joke, “I’ll get it for you, but only if we share custody over it.”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head during a mid-slurp. “You know I can’t promise that.”

Both of you laugh in unison, living in the calm before the oncoming storm.

DECEMBER 5th

The E-Sports club for the university is hosting a party tonight and because Yangyang’s on one of the professional teams, he asked a few weeks ago if you and Mark wanted to attend. Of course you accepted; Mark also had some friends in the club.

However, when you text Yangyang in the afternoon, stating a change of mind, he knows something’s off.

Half an hour before the party starts, Yangyang decides to visit you. Thankfully you both lived on campus, but even if you lived across town, he’d still bus out to see how you were doing. He does it all the time to visit his family, anyway.  

In the living room, the two sudden knocks at your door startle you. Peering through the peephole, you see the usual sight of your best friend, his lips curled upward and thumbs tucked in his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

It feels like an eternity for him when you unlock your door. The hinges squeal as you open it hesitatingly, your face barely appearing through the agape crack.

Immediately, his smile dissolves. Your face is drained and blood-shot eyes avoiding his own confront him.

Yangyang has only seen you cry twice in the three years he’s known you:

Once, when you were freaking the fuck out over potentially failing a course (but, on the upside, you ended up passing the final to save your grade).

The second time was at his house for a family dinner, when his mom accidentally added too much hot chili sauce to her homemade beef noodle soup (let’s just say you weren’t the only one crying that night).

Those were tears of dread and physical discomfort.

But this… this was crying he’s never seen from you before. His chest collapses inward, fearful of the reason behind your tears.  

His voice shakes as he asks, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Neither of you are major huggers and only exchange them on the rare occasion.

However, this situation screams the necessity of it, so Yangyang lunges towards you, the collision swinging the door out of the way. His arms embrace you like a large, warm blanket. Comforting and safe.  

Despite the affection, emptiness has taken over your body. Tonight, you’re a dead, empty shell of who you normally are.

You feel weak to the bone, but you muster up enough energy to scarcely raise your arms over his back to return the hug. Your eyes are dry from all the crying you’ve done all day, but apparently you have more tears left in you to spare.

Your eyelids snap shut and your jaw clenches.  

“Mark broke up with me.”

Your words are muffled into his shoulder, but Yangyang hears it crystal clear.  

You break down, sobbing out of control over the statement.

As aforementioned, Yangyang’s been around for your last two, now three, break-ups. Sure, he’s aware of how grumpy and distant you can get, but you never cried in front of him. You made an effort to never have him see you at your lowest point.

And yet, here you are, drowning him in your misery. Guilt washes over you for drenching his bomber jacket, but Yangyang couldn’t give two shits. His arms squeeze tighter while he rubs your back tenderly.

After several minutes pass and your waterworks abate, you peel away from him. You sniffle and rub your nose with the back of your hand.

“Sorry about cancelling last minute.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” he whispers soothingly.

“I’m just… so fucking frustrated.”

With fatigued eyes, you drag yourself back inside your apartment. Yangyang discreetly closes the door behind him and hurriedly uses his feet to push off his shoes. As he does so, your mouth begins to run off while you slowly pace around aimlessly.  

“Fucking done with boyfriends, especially when they think it’s so fucking awesome to keep breaking up with me right before the holidays.”

He kicks off his last stubborn shoe and catches you raking your hands through your hair, pulling it back firmly. Your lips are trembling, along with your entire frame.  

“Like I get that I’m horrible and needy and emotional—”

His mouth opens, wanting to cut in to disagree with you with all his heart, but he clamps it back shut and swallows, allowing you to blow your steam off.

“—but can’t they wait until the fucking new year? I don’t know, or maybe just don’t date me in the first place! I don’t know, I don’t fucking know anymore. I’m just cursed, Yangyang...”

You flop down onto the couch and sink into the ocean of shiny pleather, shutting your eyes and trying to stop crying for the nth time. The deep sting behind your eyelids pain you, but it pains Yangyang more to watch the events unfolding ahead of him.  

Unsure of what to say, Yangyang walks around the room. His gaze falls on your laptop screen and he frowns at the mostly bare Word document that stares back at him:  

“WISHLIST:   -KEEP ONE (1) FUCKING BOYFRIEND DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON!!!!!!!! GOD FUCKING SDKMFLDS”

There are a few more lines below it with more profanities and keyboard smashing. He quickly darts away, a pang of guilt striking for invading your privacy.

Then, he turns to you on the couch again. You’re now covering your eyes with your forearm, pressing your lips together. His chest twists and his throat is arid as a desert.

You’re in shambles and he’s dying to pick up the shattered pieces of you, wants to glue you back together. On a regular basis, Yangyang’s a talking machine and can talk your ear off for hours, but right now, he doesn’t know what to say to you in your current state. He second-guesses himself, wonders if he’s even that great of a friend if he can’t comfort you in your worst times.

Blowing out a long sigh and removing your arm, you speak aloud, “You should get going to the party.”

Like awakening from a deep slumber, you rise up sluggishly and sit up on the couch, slouched over. The other figure in the room steps closer to you.  

“Sorry about your jacket, by the way,” you say. Your body is still, but your glazed eyes move to the dark spot on the middle of his shoulder. He glances at it and shrugs.  

“It’s better like this anyway,” he says with a gentle smile, and the tight knot in his heart softens at the flicker of your own smile, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, it fades in a few seconds. “I don’t want to leave you like this, though.”

You stare at the used, crumpled balls of tissues scattered on the living room table. Some also ended up on the floor. Break-ups are shit and 98% inevitable, but you know you’ll eventually get over it. You always do.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He raises an eyebrow, as if asking, “Are you sure?” The lack of a worded reply causes you to notice the question written on his face.  

“Go,” you plead with a feeble laugh. “Have fun for me.”

Both of you head towards your front door again. Crossing your arms, you lean your head against the door frame and attempt a smile for your best friend.

“Thanks again for checking up on me.”

Yangyang nods with a half-smile, half-pout, “Of course.”

You give him a departing wave prior to sealing your door.

Usually, Yangyang would bus from your place to the student union building, where the party is being held. Instead, he zippers up his jacket and stuffs his fists into his pockets, opting to bear the early winter chill to walk his thoughts off. His blazing self-doubt burns at first, but he overcomes it by focusing on ideas to fix your accursed dating rut instead.  

Halfway through the walk, a light bulb moment occurs. A plan begins to brew on the surface of his mind and he thinks on it for the rest of the week.  

DECEMBER 11th

It’s been almost a week since you last saw Yangyang.

Finals started already, so classes were done for the semester and thus, your lunch meet-ups halted too. On top of that, since you were simultaneously moping and studying, you hadn’t really texted him much, nor had he, besides the occasional check-up text on how studying was going and random memes. Yangyang knew you preferred time alone to heal and he respected that.  

He also thought six days was enough time to get yourself back on your feet.  

Yangyang’s at your front door once again, but this time with two bowls of his mom’s beef noodle soup in tow.  

“Long time, no see,” you greet. Your tone is chipper, but your eyes look heavy, which could be partially from studying, Yangyang thinks. His smile deepens, content that you seem a lot better than the last time he visited.

“Delivery for two,” he raises the bag in his hand.

“And if I told you I already ate dinner?” you playfully retort.

The boyish man shrugs defeatedly, “Then I’ll tell my mom you hate her cooking—”

“You didn’t say it was your mom’s, Yangyang. Oh, my God,” you gasp, half-mockingly. You rush to grab the bags out of his hand and stroll towards your tiny kitchen. “Start off with that next time.”

As you remove the containers from the bag and onto the granite countertop, Yangyang shuts the door and takes his shoes off.  

“So, I’m gonna be upfront and say that I may have come here with a proposal.”

“Changed your mind about the shared custody of the Playstation?”

“I’m still considering that one.” Finally in his socks, he slings his backpack off his shoulder and plops it onto the couch along with his jacket. He stands next to you by the counter. “But it’s on the same page as that. Remember that day we were talking about wishlists?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum as you rip off the lid of one of the bowls. Blatant wisps fly upward and you inhale the savoury aroma, followed by a heavenly sigh.  

“Last time I was here… I might’ve seen what you wrote on your laptop.”

Your expression immediately changes into full-on cringe. You bring a palm over to your face.

“Oh, God. Let’s not talk about that. That was just weepy, lonely me talking.”

Yangyang pops off the lid for his bowl and steps into your kitchen, rummaging through your drawers for chopsticks. “So you’re telling me you don’t want a boyfriend for Christmas?”

Your hand flies off your face. Eyes widening, you spew, “Do you have a boyfriend in your pocket, ready for me to have?”

In your open hand, he places a pair of chopsticks into it. “Well, actually, I was thinking—”

Sternly, you point the chopsticks at him. “Don’t you dare set me up with your friends.”

He counters and points his at you, “Even better than that.”

With your interest piqued, you slide yourself onto the counter stool and mix the noodles around, anticipating to hear Yangyang’s fantastic plan. Your friend sits on the other stool, facing you. He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath.  

“Why don’t I be your boyfriend for the holidays?”

You freeze, and the noodles’ drips above your bowl are deafening to both individuals. Laughing awkwardly, you break your frozen state to drop your chopsticks and turn your head to look at him.

Sputtering, you say, “What?”

Unnerved, his mouth pinches to one side, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have even said anything in the first place. This was stupid, so stupid, but it’s out in the open and Yangyang already dug his grave—he may as well lay in it.  

“Well, for one, it’s something on your wishlist that I can easily get,” he pauses mid-sentence, glancing upward in thought. “Well, really, fill? Is that a better way to put it?”

He continues, eyes back on you, “And two, I’m not setting you up with a stranger or someone you wouldn’t be comfortable with. I assume you know me well enough that you’re comfortable around me?”

Yangyang lifts an upturned palm and raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response to his assumption. Petulantly, you shake your head playfully and stick out your tongue at him.  

Rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze drops down to the floor for his last point. His voice lowers.

“And, I don’t know, we’d just hang out like we usually do during that time, except we’d do more couple-y things.”

Realizing the implication of his words, he widens his eyes. “I mean, we'll do whatever you’re comfortable with, obviously. We don’t have to do any of the physical stuff—”

You burst into a giggle at his rambling and hold a hand out, cutting him off. “Okay, Yang. I get it.”  

Yangyang watches your next moves carefully. You’re peering off to one side and picking at the tips of your fingers. After a minute that feels like forever, you nod slowly.

“I guess you have a point. We are sorta like a couple already.”

Your best friend sighs in relief, grinning that you’re not outright rejecting the idea.

“So,” you meet his eyes and bunch a shoulder up towards your ear. “We’ll just be a couple until what, New Year’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs indifferently. “Whatever you want. It’s your Christmas wish.”

You chuckle and shake your head in disbelief that you two are actually making an agreement for Yangyang to be your temporary, holiday boyfriend.

Honestly, it’s a little crazy... but maybe it’s the perfect thing to get your mind off of Mark and the handful of holiday exes hanging above your head.

“Okay, since my last final is on the 21st, let’s start ‘dating’ then and we’ll play everything by ear, see how it goes.”

Yangyang bobs his head eagerly. “Sounds good, soon-to-be girlfriend.”

He sticks a hand out for you to shake. You take it firmly, sealing the deal and flashing him a grin.

“Soon-to-be boyfriend.”  

Although the night goes on like usual between the two of you, you couldn’t deny how ecstatic you are to finally have a boyfriend during the holidays, even if it was technically your best friend as a stand-in.

DECEMBER 21st

Tonight’s your first date with Yangyang.

That sounds weird to say, you admit to yourself, but it’s the truth.

After you stroll out of your last final of the semester, Yangyang’s waiting for you inside near the main exit of the building with several layers on, including his hoodie over his head and a knitted scarf underneath. His attention leaves his phone and he stuffs it into pocket as he notices you heading over.  

“Hey, girlfriend,” he welcomes you, beaming.

You snicker at the unfamiliar label. You wonder if you’re going to get used to this, even if it’s only for two weeks.  

“Hey, boyfriend,” you grin harder as the word falls from your lips, trying your best not to outright burst into laughter. “Where we heading off to?”

Although you said both of you could play the dating by ear, Yangyang’s been keen on scheduling plans for the upcoming days. You told him he didn’t have to, however, he insisted by saying that he wouldn’t only be a horrible boyfriend, but a horrible friend if he couldn’t make the next weeks fun for you.

Yangyang was anything but a horrible friend, and the fact that he was willing to be your holiday boyfriend to make you happy proved it further. Nevertheless, you gladly let him take the reins.

“I was thinking the movies tonight? See the latest Marvel film?”

Concurring to the idea, you scurry towards the bus stop and are movie-theatre bound to the nearest one off-campus. Arriving at the theatre, Yangyang and you buy your tickets and a popcorn to share, then head into the respective auditorium where the movie is playing. Since the movie’s been running for a couple of weeks, the auditorium is fairly empty, giving you two the chance to snag perfect middle seats with nobody else is in the row.  

Up to this point, aside from the name-dropping of boyfriend and girlfriend, this feels less like a date and more like any other hang-out with him. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing awkward.

But that changes during a third of the movie.

You’re both so immersed by the screen that neither party notices the other’s hand when both of you reach for the popcorn in Yangyang’s lap at the same time.  

A jolt runs through as your hands brush together. The duo’s eyes tear away from the screen and flit to the action happening in real-time. The touch lingers for several moments.  

“Sorry,” you quickly mumble, drawing your hand back slightly, but still hovering over the popcorn.    

“Uhm,” Yangyang licks his lips and visibly gulps under the screen’s bright glare.

He whispers, his voice almost cracking, “As your boyfriend, can I hold your hand?”

Okay, this is just your best friend, acting as your temporary boyfriend, asking to hold your hand. No big deal, no big deal at all.

Yet, the thunderous knocking in your ears, louder than the explosions blasting through the theatre’s speakers, suggests otherwise.

You don’t even register it, but you’re already nodding in response. Your breathing slows to the rate of Yangyang’s hand inching over. At the anticipated contact, you gasp softly. His smooth fingers clasp over yours. Since the arm rest in the middle of you is positioned upward, there’s no obtrusion and you relax, letting your hands mingle in between the empty space.

Without looking at one another, both of you smile bashfully to yourselves as you try to continue to focus on the screen.

After a while, because you aren’t exactly holding hands, you spread your fingers, hastily doing so because you don’t want him to think you’re breaking the interaction, and twist your palm to properly interlock hands with him. You give Yangyang’s hand a warm, gentle squeeze. He does the same and even strokes his thumb against your skin.

Talk about playing everything by ear. Who knew you’d be hand in hand on the first date?

You attempt to not think much on it, but Yangyang’s hand in yours feels... so right, like your hand was made for this, for his to hold. Like you should’ve done this way sooner.

And if Yangyang’s thoughts could be heard, he’s thinking the same.

Despite the mutual fear of sweaty palms, neither of you desire to let go, so much that you not only hold hands during the rest of the movie, but throughout the bus ride back to campus and all the way until he escorts you to your front door.

With a certain charge in the atmosphere, you exchange sweet good-byes. That night, after the culmination of stress from finals and your worries of your holiday exes, you finally have a peaceful sleep, looking forward to your date with Yangyang tomorrow.

DECEMBER 22nd

“Babe, how do I look?”

“Very pretty, honey.” A bundled up Yangyang winks at you from behind his phone.

The second date is an evening at a Christmas light festival at a botanical garden on the outskirts of town. The lights illuminate so strongly; there was a glowing dome-like hue over the location that seemed to reach the dark sky as you got off the bus.

When stepping foot into the garden, all the encompassing lights mesmerize you. Lights on the various greenery, lights as decorative art pieces, lights lining the pathways. Different shades of colours and shapes engulf the massive area.

Yangyang’s currently in the middle of taking your photo near an arch tangled with dark blue, gold, and white bulbs. All night long, you’ve been mockingly using endearing terms, but, despite the frigid air, your cheeks heat up over something else he just said.

“You think I’m pretty?” you genuinely ask, breaking your pose.  

He lowers his phone a bit, his jaw dangling.

“Uh, I mean,” he giggles awkwardly, nodding softly. “Yeah.”

Yangyang never told you, but he initially sat near you in Psych 101 because he thought you were the most stunning girl in the class. And sure, he was a little disappointed at the time to find out you had a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean you two couldn’t still be friends. Other than the first few weeks he had a crush on you, he’s never thought of you as more than a friend.  

But those feelings are resurfacing, hitting him in the chest like a bag of bricks, due to moments like this one—you’re batting your eyelids, gaze straying elsewhere, and adorably chewing on your lower lip.  

“And you’re not just saying that as my holiday boyfriend?”

Pouting to one side, he shakes his head cutely. “Mm-mm.”

On the flipside, the beginning with Yangyang for you was strictly platonic. You were dating Haechan at the time you met him. When Haechan broke up with you later that fall, you kept a distance from dating for a while, heartbroken from the high school love gone sour. During that period, you never told him, but you did run through the possibility of dating Yangyang since you got along so well... until you met Jaemin earlier the next semester, who stole your heart. Ever since then, you’ve never seen Yangyang under that light again.

Despite that, you can’t deny how attractive he is, and now that you’re single and technically dating him, you embrace the fact with open arms.  

Beaming as bright as the lights, you tug him by the end of his puffer jacket’s sleeve to bring him closer to you.

“C’mon, handsome, let’s take some pictures together.” Prickles rise under Yangyang’s cheeks from the off-hand compliment.  

Holding your phone up in the air at about an arm’s length away, the side of your heads touch to prepare for a few selfies. When you finish capturing them, Yangyang’s hovering over your shoulder as you scroll through to glance through the photos.

“We look good together,” you comment. “Don’t you think?”

In sync, your heads turn to meet each other. Your eyes waver from the blatant clouds of your breaths and over to his lips. The clouds become rapid bursts as you begin to lean forward. So does Yangyang.

“Do you guys want a picture together?” someone suddenly asks. The abrupt voice drags you both apart instantly, crushing the moment into pieces.

“Sure,” you peep, fumbling to hand your phone over to the stranger.

Posing, Yangyang’s hand rests around the middle of your back, which is the norm when you take pictures with him, but he pulls you in snugly. You smile even wider, relishing in the new-level of intimacy and allow yourself to be truly content among his presence.

“You guys are such a cute couple,” the stranger gushes while they return your phone prior to walking away.

“I guess we are, huh, babe?” you jut your tongue out in jest at him. This time, you indulge in the endearing term without a sliver of mockery.  

Yangyang copies you, jutting his tongue out further than yours, and seizes your hand to continue the tour around the gleaming garden.

The almost-kiss isn’t mentioned for the rest of the night, nor is it acted upon, but both individuals dwell on the near occurrence before sleep that evening, staring longingly at their bedroom ceiling.

DECEMBER 23rd

For the third date, you find yourselves at the campus’ dedicated ice rink arena to partake in ice skating.

You’ve skated a few times in the past, but you’re by no means a pro. On the other hand, this is apparently Yangyang’s first time, and he’s already skating circles around you.

“Show off,” you grumble as he does another lap past you. Your gloved hands are splayed out in front of you, careful not to fall flat on your face.

Turning on his blades, he rebounds over to you.

“Sorry,” he pants. His raised cheeks glow an adorable shade of pink. “This is really fun when you get the hang of it.”

Yangyang intertwines his fingers with yours before you can say anything. “C’mon, take my hand.”  

At first, it was sweet to skate alongside your holiday boyfriend, notwithstanding the few times you almost trip. As the minutes pass, you think you’re getting the hang of it, but suddenly, Yangyang unleashes your hand and glides ahead of you, abandoning you to slide at a swift pace that is definitely out of your comfort zone.  

“Yangyang, what the fuck?!” you screech, completely disregarding the handful of surrounding parents with their kids, the former sending daggers your direction. Your ankles struggle to make a T-shape to stop, but the struggling only somehow makes you move faster.  

As he spins to face you, now skating backwards with ease, he says, “See, you got the hang of it-oomph—”

Air’s struck from his lungs when you crash into his body. Thankfully, Yangyang skids his blades harshly against the ice and is able to steady and support you within his arms.

“You little fucker,” you gripe, lightly punching him in the arm.

He chuckles blithely, “Sorry, but it was kinda funny, you gotta admit.”

You breathe a large huff, which makes you note how your hair is falling over your face after the catastrophe. You’re about to lift your hand to rearrange the strands, but Yangyang beats you to it and is in the midst of tucking them behind your ear.

The knocking in your ears reappears with a vengeance and the physical source of the knocking is thrashing violently against your chest.

Your scorching breaths fuse in the refrigerated rink as Yangyang eliminates the inches of space between, his plush mouth ultimately converging with yours.

You have to constantly remind yourself to breathe under Yangyang’s intensity, and remind yourself that you’re in a public space and shouldn’t be making out like this.

But everyone’s skating around the couple, daring to not disrupt the affectionate display.

God, you don’t know when was the last time you’ve been kissed like this. Have you ever even experienced a kiss that was a fraction of this? Yangyang daintily cups your cheeks like you’re glass, but his lips press ruggedly into yours, inflaming your entirety and melting any existence of your figurative fragility.  

You ignore the echo in the back of your mind that reminds you he’s your temporary boyfriend.

The Talk will inevitably occur, but your future self could deal with it. Presently, you’re too caught up, drowning in Yangyang’s embrace.

DECEMBER 24th

On Christmas Eve, Yangyang decides to bring you to an outdoor Christmas market.

Understandably, since it’s the day before Christmas, the place is absolutely packed. For the first fifteen minutes or so, it’s joyous being immersed in the Christmas spirit with the assorted little shops and their respective products. You’re holding Yangyang’s hand tightly, pointing and half-shouting over the bustle about the items that catch your eye.

Unfortunately, someone accidentally bumps against your arms and your hand is gone from his.

Swivelling your head, searching through the crowd, it occurs to you that you officially lost Yangyang.

Your feet come to a halt as your hand attempts to dig into your jacket pocket to pluck your phone out, but the moving crowd forces you to constantly follow the stream.

You yell for him, but words can’t materialize. Your windpipe tightens. Your breath is becoming shallower and shallower. Blood pulses in your ears alarmingly, blocking out the clamour from around you. Your mind’s running everywhere without control.

Where is your boyfriend?

No, scratch that, he’s not your actual boyfriend—where is your best friend?

Did he leave you? He would never.

Right?

But what happens when all of this is over? Will you still have your best friend?

You’ve avoided The Talk long enough, but you didn’t expect to catch feelings for him. Not like this.  

Maybe you’re just destined to be alone.

Is this how it feels to actually lose him?

Tears fight your vision. You hear a faint call of your name, but you can’t urge yourself to turn around, sinking only further into the sea of anonymity. You’re just a face in a crowd, all alone, with no one who cares—

Yangyang grasps you by the arm and maneuvers you aside to a less busy area behind one of the vendor stands.

“Oh, God, thought I lost you there—”

You cut him off, hugging him with all your might and stuff your face in his chest cushioned by the downy layers of his winter jacket. Yangyang immediately drapes his arms securely around you, reading your uneasiness.  

“Hey, I got you. I got you,” he soothes, running a hand through your hair. “God, not my best idea. Sorry for bringing you here.”

You shake your head, wordlessly informing him that it’s okay. You’re just glad to be with him again.

“Wanna go home?”

You nod solemnly, and Yangyang zips you out of there in minutes with his arm tucked by your side,  ensuring he doesn’t lose you in the crowd again.

Fortunately, the jitters mostly disappear when you arrive at your place in the late afternoon. You’re in the middle of rummaging through your keys to unlock your door.

“Sorry I didn’t have anything else planned for today,” he mumbles, leaning with folded arms against the wall.

“Did you...” You insert the correct key and turn the lock, clicking the door open. Your gaze lifts to match his. “Did you wanna maybe have dinner with me tonight? I was thinking of ordering pizza in.”

The grin that reaches his eyes is a sufficient answer for you.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He hangs his arm around your shoulder and plants a kiss atop your head.

After chomping down pizza and playing a few rounds of Super Smash Bros. on Yangyang’s Switch, you peer over to him on your living room couch while he’s figuring out which character he should play next.  

The little mental voice in the back of your mind prods you, reminding that you should really, really have The Talk soon. The Talk that you swept under the rug at the start by saying you’d play everything by ear.

Four dates later, and the thought of this ending scares the living daylights out of you. This not only including the interim relationship, but the dire possibility of the friendship itself too. Is it possible to go back to how you were, flipping it off like a light switch?

But the internal voice is smothered as you’re drawn to his pouting lips in thought. His pouting, oh-so kissable lips. Following the ice skating kiss yesterday, you only shared a good-bye kiss when he dropped you off. Since then, you’ve been itching to have his lips on yours again.

Yangyang eventually detects your lack of focus and finds you gawking at his mouth. Your gaze dashes to his eyes, blinking innocently, but then his eyes flicker to your mouth.

The tension in the room snaps. You two carefully throw the Switch controllers off to one side and attach yourselves together. Unlike the crashing of your bodies at the ice rink, this one is purposeful. Deliberated, as his forehead presses into yours and his tender caress carries your cheek. Your body plummets backwards until Yangyang pins you completely into the couch.

Initially, the lip-locking is gentle and mild. Your fingers lay in the vicinity of his angular visage and sturdy upper frame, in contrast to his hand curling around your waist in a light squeeze.

Soon, hands traverse to other regions—his back, your thigh, his stomach, your ass. Each touch seeking, craving, whining. Tongues slinking and dancing with appetite. Your bodies buzz for more.

Open-mouthed kisses transition from the damp lips to each other’s necks. The touches dig deeper, thriving with hunger. Your back bows, body curving into his. Grinding ensues and his robust desire is blatant against your own pulsing passion.

“You don’t happen to have any condoms on you, do you?” you groan upwards to the ceiling.

He retracts from your neck to swing his head side to side, grumbling a “Sorry, we can stop...” yet you interrupt his apology by cupping his covered length. The guttural groan he exhales into your lips makes you shiver with pleasure.

“Doesn’t mean we still can’t have fun with our hands...” you say slyly.

“Fuck yeah,” he rasps, smirking, before diving in again to taste your mouth.

Clothes are stripped with the assistance of each other, leaving you with only your bra on while Yangyang opts to be completely bare. He tops your body in the same position once more.

On the couch arm rest, your head is perched with his hand clutching the space next to it for leverage. Both figures are too scatter-brained to delve into the exquisite nudity of one another, hands flying desperately to your respective arousals.

Your pretty fingers wrap around his possession almost exactly when he dips two digits into your warmth. In unison, two sharp, quiet gasps pierce the room.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he hisses observantly. You’re so overwhelmed by the bliss that you can’t assemble any sort of response.

Your mouth’s parted to one side, chest soaring with each plunge. Through his clouded vision, he ambles over your curves and lines and yearns to see your breasts, but he respects your choice of keeping it on and opts to ambush the expanse with kisses. Your chest is launched further into his mouth and Yangyang assumes you’re enjoying this.

Fearing friction burn, you drop him from your grip momentarily, swiping a few licks over your palm. When your hand pumps him again, now drenched with saliva, grunts reverberate against your skin.  

“Yangyang?” you whimper, causing his face to pull away from the temple of your body.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m-I’m close.” And he can attest to it; the contractions around him are increasing, harshly squeezing his fingers.    

“Same,” he pants.

Your best friend flicks his wrist with ignition, securing your waves of elation. You attempt to do the same, but it’s difficult when he’s also sloppily thrusting himself into your fist, so you simply clench your grasp harder. His features pinch and choppy moans dribble as he yields to his climax, gushing himself over your stomach.  

Still sucking in lungfuls of air, Yangyang kisses you tenderly before removing himself to clean up the mess he made.

Following the clean-up, while putting on your clothes, Yangyang expresses how he should get going since it’s getting late.

“Did you wanna stay the night?” you pipe up.

His mind races, debating on whether to leave or not, anxious to blur the lines of your relationship even further.

Sure, he’s your temporary boyfriend, thus staying over at your place shouldn’t mean anything. But this agreement is ending next week, and he’s questioning if you two can stay just friends after this, knowing that he’s going to want more. Yangyang has had a taste of the what if, and it’s now irrevocable.

He wants you all for himself. Selfishly, but deeply.

For the sake of keeping this a great thing for you, he shoves his thoughts aside. This is all about you and for your benefit, anyhow.

“Uh, sure, I can take the couch like I always—”

“Yangyang, you just put your fingers inside of me,” you snicker, snagging him by the hand to your bedroom. “C’mon.”

The rest of the night is relatively chaste with some kisses and touches here and there. Eventually, you fall asleep facing each other with your fingers interlocked, excited for the big day tomorrow.

DECEMBER 25th

Normally on Christmas, Yangyang and you spend it with your respective families, but coincidentally, both of your families, your parents being retired and all, ended up vacationing this year, leaving the two of you to spend it with each other.

After getting up around noon, Yangyang heads to his place to grab his gift. He takes longer than you expected because, as it turns out, he also went home to grab baking goods he bought beforehand since he wants to make butter cookies with you today.

The cookies end up fine, but the mess is another story. Besides the chaos on the counter, your faces and aprons are splotched with flour (you swear he started it, but he disagrees and stands his ground that you’re the perpetrator). With a damp cloth, Yangyang aids you to clean, but not forgetting to wipe your face and giving you pecks over your cheeks and nose.  

The baking and aftermath occupies most of the afternoon, so dinner comes in the form of fancy, romantic instant ramen for two. Afterwards, you two sit in your living room and start to exchange gifts.  

Yangyang hands his over to you first. From the size of the gift and the crumpled, oddly-shaped wrapping, you already can guess it’s a stuffed plushie of a cute animal to add to your never ending collection. You hug it tightly with a large smile.

“It’s so cute, thank you!” you squeal, but you change your expression in an instant to a serious pout. “But you can’t steal this one like you did with my Ice Bear plushie.”

“Hey, I didn’t steal Ice Bear, I just forgot to give him back.” You roll your eyes sarcastically and he laughs. “I’ll bring him over tomorrow, if it makes you feel better.”  

Then, when it’s your turn, you head into your bedroom and come out with a large, white shopping bag. His eyebrows raise, unsure of what could warrant a gift this size.

“For being my holiday boyfriend,” you grin, placing the bag in front of his feet.  

Despite the hugest smile on your face, his heart sinks at the label for a second, but he blinks and wills himself to look inside the bag.

His eyes shoot open, so much that you’re scared you might have to stuff them back into his sockets.

Yangyang slips the box out of the bag with precision and stares at it speechlessly.

It’s the new Playstation.

He shifts his eyes toward you. You’re swaying on the couch, pleased by his reaction.  

“Your parents paid for most of it, so I can’t take all the credit.” Sticking a finger in the air, you add, “You just gotta promise to share custody with me though—”

A hand behind your head yanks you into a deep kiss. He’s not the only one left speechless on the couch. He places the top of his head against yours.

“You’re crazy, but I love—” He quickly catches himself from saying something he might regret. “—I love it so much, thank you. Now I feel bad for getting you only the stuffed animal...”

You shake your head softly, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone.

“Thank you for everything.” Your eyes twinkle. “I couldn’t have asked to spend the holidays with anyone else.”

Carefully, like a newborn baby, he safely situates the boxed Playstation to one side and nabs your lips with his again. The scene feels like repeat of last night as your bodies wrestle passionately on the couch.

“Not to be presumptuous,” he mutters between the kisses upon your neck. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation. “But I also grabbed condoms from my place when I stopped by.”

His words sends the two of you leaping towards your bedroom. Under the dim lighting, you fall into the bed as Yangyang pares your layers off, one by one. With each peel, his lips roam the revealing bare skin. You swear he has kissed you from your literal head to toe when you’re fully nude in front of him.

Your companion drags his shirt over his head, throws it off to your floor, and immediately targets in onto your nub with his mouth, finally satiating his craving from last night.

Fingers thread into his hair and over his flexed back. His tongue swirls and his teeth lightly tug on your perkiness, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And he still isn’t even inside you yet.

After leaving love upon your other bosom, Yangyang fumbles with the condom, forgetting which way it should go on. Giggling, you perch yourself onto your elbows and assist him. Rolling it over his possession, you recline yourself back and spread your legs for him.

Pensively, he sticks his tongue out as he adjusts himself between your sex, easing himself into you, and upon the full impact, you meet his gaze head-on. His stare makes you feel vulnerable and exposed beyond the physical plane.  

But, unlike the others you have been with, you trust him with everything, like you always have, and be free with him. Losing your inhibitions and submitting to your whims, you entangle and become one with Yangyang.  

Behind his hazy vision, Yangyang’s simply thinking how beautiful you are, how he can’t imagine anyone else under his touch but you, how he is willing to give up anything to make you smile.

Well, in this case, he’s willing to give up anything to make you pleased.

However, it doesn’t seem like he needs to do much because you’re howling his name and clinging onto his skin and the sheets in a frenzy, like you’re about to die of exhaustion.

You perish a few times under him before he finally reaches his little death himself, convulsing into the sheath.

When air’s replenished into your bodies, you rest on his chest under your blanket. Glancing up at him, you move some of his tousled hair off his sleek forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Yangyang,” you whisper, snuggling him with a satisfied smile.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he whispers back, giving you one last peck before you both drift into a deep slumber together.  

DECEMBER 26th

Last night took so much out of the both of you, you don’t get out of bed until about the middle of the afternoon. Yangyang doesn’t have anything planned for today since it’s Boxing Day, since the crowds might be crazy wherever you go, so it’s officially a chill, rest day for you both.

When you step out of the shower in fresh clothes, from behind the couch, you watch Yangyang gaming on his Switch.

The little voice in your head looms, prompting that now is the time to have The Talk, and speaks up on your behalf.

“Do we have to end things next week?” you croak.

You see Yangyang’s shoulders stiffen, then he pauses the game and turns around to face you. His gaze follows you as you step closer to the couch, opting to stand.  

“Uhm.” His Adam’s apple bobs and he shrugs. “It’s up to you, it’s your—”

“Yangyang, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking what you think, how do you feel?”

His lips press together and he’s staring at the floor. You can tell the gears are moving, but you can’t read his expression clearly.

“I’m down for whatever you want to do,” he says slowly, eyes still averting yours.

That’s a I’m-your-best-friend answer, you deduce. Not a I-want-to-be-your-actual-boyfriend answer.  

He adds, stuttering, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing this a little longer if that’s what you want—”

Your face scrunches in annoyance. “Did you just sign up to be my short-term boyfriend so you can fill my empty heart?”

His eyebrows crease with confusion. “I mean, I never want to see you unhappy.”

“So it’s pity dating then?” you lash, raising your voice.

“No, I—” Yangyang bites down on his tongue, almost letting the one word slip out again. He blows out a lengthy sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I care about you, so much. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

You’re defining his words as an affirmation of friendship and as an underlying rejection of your love.

You need to know for certain.

“Do you love me, Yangyang?” you blurt. “As more than a friend?”

This is it, Yangyang thinks. This is your chance to let her know how you feel.

But the distress written on your face makes him wonder if he should even go through with it, and it’s intensifying with every passing moment that he’s not speaking.  

If only he knew your distress was deepening because you took his hesitance as absolute rejection.  

Your heart is breaking because of him, and he technically wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You smack your lips together and gulp a few times, trying to make the huge knot in your throat disappear.

“You know what, maybe let’s just forget this arrangement and leave it all behind and forget about the sex and—”

“You wanna stop this?” he utters quietly.

The word “this” hangs heavy in the air. This, carrying the weight of not only being the temporary agreement, but also your friendship.

“Yeah,” you whisper, tears beginning to blur your eyes. “I think I do.”

DECEMBER 28th

Two days have passed since you last saw Yangyang.

That day before he left, Yangyang, feeling guilty for how events unfolded, wanted to give back the Playstation, but you insisted for him to keep it. In spite of everything, it was a Christmas gift to him from you and his parents.

But both of you weren’t sure if the shared custody promise was going to be held up.  

In hopes that things would eventually get better and heal itself, Yangyang thought it’d be best to leave you alone for a while, like how he usually did.

And maybe he was right to do so, but this time is different.

Because he’s on the other end of the stick now; he’s the one who broke your heart.  

Under regular circumstances, whenever you needed space, he was always ready to be there by your side.

But Yangyang’s uncertain if you’re going to let him comfort you this time.  

And you’re uncertain if you even want him to.

DECEMBER 30th

Today, Yangyang finally makes the move to get in touch with you, texting you to call him, but you don’t, so he leaves a voicemail later in the evening.

“There’s a New Year’s party I’m going to tomorrow,” he starts off, then spews the specific details.

There’s a pause and you hear shuffling in the background. You assume he’s pacing around.

“I know you ended our agreement, but I wouldn’t mind fulfilling my end since New Year’s is the last day tomorrow. I’d be really glad if you came to the party with me, whether it be as my friend or my girlfriend.”

Another pause.

On the other end, Yangyang rubs his palm over his face, considering whether or not he should say it. If you picked up the phone call, he was going to do it anyway, but this just felt improper. He wants to say it when he knows you’re listening in real-time, so he ends off the message with:

“I miss you. So much.”

DECEMBER 31st

It’s 8:40PM. Before Yangyang buses out to the party, he’s back at your front door for one more shot. His fist taps at your door, cognizant that you wouldn’t be elsewhere since your other friends are out of town for the holidays. Despite that, you don’t come to the door. Nevertheless, he speaks to you through the wooden barrier.

“Hey, I know you want to be left alone, but I just wanted to see if you changed your mind about the party.”

Still no answer. He lets out a sigh and prays the following will incite a reaction from you.  

“About the question that you asked me that night...”

He closes his eyes and allows his mouth to carry him.

“I do. I do love you. As both my best friend and more. I’m sorry if I hurt you that night by not saying anything, but I love you so much and I think we should give us a shot.”

Still no answer. Yangyang continues.

“Look, I know it’s scary and crazy to date your best friend. I’m scared too, but you know what? I’m okay with being scared. I’ve watched you gone through those assholes over the last few years and maybe you’re scared I’ll end up like one of them, but unlike them, I don’t think you’re horrible or needy or emotional—you’re beautiful, intelligent, and strong for putting up with all those fuckers.”

He leans his forehead gently against the door.

“And even if we ever do break up, and this is a big if because I’ll always try my hardest with you to make it work, I’ll still be your friend. I promise. You won’t lose me ‘cause I need you in my life. I gotta keep my end up for the custody of the Playstation, right?”

A smile breaks over his face from his joke, but still. Radio silence.  

“Can you at least say something?” he begs.

After a few minutes, realizing he needs to probably give you more time to be left alone, he departs and heads to the party.

Originally, you actually were planning on attending the party to see Yangyang to make-up with him.

Unfortunately, out of all the days you had to take a late afternoon nap, it had to be today.

And you overslept. Big time. 

At 10:55PM, you scramble awake, realizing you’re absolutely late to the event. Since the party’s downtown, you know calling an Uber or Lyft there would be fast, but tonight’s the worst night for any share riding service and there aren’t any available drivers. Thus, you have to manage with busing there.

It’s 11:40PM when you finally reach downtown, but the bus can’t take you all the way to the core centre where the party is; hordes of people are out on the streets and traffic is dreadful. God, you’re going to be cutting it close to midnight, but you make a run for it.

You’re grateful the party is on the second floor of a small building because you slide in right through the entrance at 11:58PM. You rush to call Yangyang’s phone, hoping he’ll pick up as you try to find him in the scattered groups of people.

You begin to holler for him in hopes he can hear you, but the countdown is happening, drowning out your voice. Thirty seconds left until the clock strikes for the new year.

When his number finally goes to voicemail, you redial his number. Suddenly, a hand grasps you by the wrist.

Yangyang looks at you, dumbfounded.

“When did you get here?”  

The harmonious chanting around you floods your surroundings.

“Ten, nine, eight...”

Getting closer to him, you practically scream into Yangyang’s face, trusting he’ll hear what you’re about to say.

“I know Christmas is over, but I want to change my wish.”

“Seven, six, five...”

“I know you might not feel the same and I know things might not work out.”

“Four, three, two...”

”But I wish to date you past New Year’s until whenever, however long we last.”

“One...”

“I love you, Yangyang—”

The one you love snatches you by the waist and your cheek, stealing your lips at the last millisecond before midnight.

“Happy New Year!”

A wave of noisemakers, clappers, and hollering erupt around the room. After it dies down a bit, Yangyang shocks you with a scolding.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I came over?!”

Confusion rushes over you. You realize he probably came by when you were sleeping. 

“You came over?!”

“Yeah, I confessed my love for you.”

“Wait,” you blink blankly, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Your love?”

“Yeah,” he nods, giving you his cheesy, adorable smile.  “I love you.”

“As more than a friend?” you clarify.

“Babe,” Yangyang’s thumb caresses your cheek. “I don’t think I could ever go back to wanting less with you.”

Your lips tremble with relief as your gaze melts in his.

“And, anyway, who else am I going to share the Playstation with?”

“Well, I mean, you do have Hendery, Xiaojun, Winwin...” you start to count his infinite list of friends on your fingers.  

“Yeah, but I need you so I can constantly beat your cute little butt at games.”

“You do not constantly beat my cute little butt at games, I’ll have you know that I beat you at—”  

Yangyang shuts you up with another kiss, the one of many for the rest of the night.

JANUARY 2nd

It’s your second morning at Yangyang’s place. You’ve only done it a few times now, but you realize that waking up in his arms is one of the greatest feelings in the world, second only to his kisses.  

In his bed, spooning you from behind, he grumbles into the nape of your neck, “Morning, girlfriend.”  

Half-awake, you mumble back, “Morning, boyfriend,” and sink deeper into the curve of his body.

Content, you finally broke your string of cursed holiday break-ups for good.  

And all it took was to be with the one who was in front of you all this time.

[otomes-world]

Snowy Spirit

Unexpectedly I finish it now... so... here it is! I guess... I know I should have written Trey but Vil comes to my mind. I don't know if I would do others residents of Pomefiore, so I don't give any promises this time. Next in my plans is rsa!mobs.

Forests are different: coniferous, deciduous. There are also those in which winter has found shelter, which has doused the trees with its cold breath and turned the area into its majestic fortress. Naturally, the yokai could not help but settle here as well. Naturally, only the best could lead the impenetrable beautiful forest.

Vil Schoenheit, being a snowy spirit, could not pass by. If you left it unattended, the gifts of nature would get bogged down in mud and lost their value. Fortunately, there were no other contenders for the role of head. However, if they did appear, they definitely should have a guts to compete with Yuuki Onna. This was how the Winter Forest appeared - the Pomefiore Fortress.

First of all, Schoenheit took the territory under his icy control. The place was flooded with many small yokai, some of which could hardly be called orderly. For a quiet existence, a hierarchy was needed. The next step was getting rid of people. The snowy spirit didn`t hate the human race, but he could not forgive them the devastation and murder of forest dwellers. The solution was painfully simple: lower the temperature. Yokai didn’t care about cold, and animals had warm fur. The only ones whom the frost could harm and scare away in this situation were precisely those whom Vil wanted to get rid of.

The work as head was exhausting, but the yokai was not going to give up halfway. Help came out of the blue. During one of the inspections of the borders, which the spirit regularly conducted, a snow wolf ran up to him. He involuntarily reminded to Schoenheit another yokai, with whom, by chance, he get along. Driving away the faint signs of nostalgia, Vil quickly take matter in his hands. The tanuki, the forest was full of them, noticed the presence of a strong yokai. Judging by the denunciations, he didn`t harm others, except that almost all the inhabitants of the forest felt his gaze on them. The problem was not great, but many, frightened, decided to turn to the strongest creature here. Frowning slightly, the snow spirit nodded and continued his work. If the intruder had arranged surveillance, then very soon his turn, Vil`s, will come.

And so it happened, after some time in the distance snow creaked barely audibly. A sound that was elusive to the human ear, but not to the yokai`s. Before Schoenheit had time to riddle the impudent troublemaker, he jumped out himself, eyes shining with delight. Just thinking about the first meeting with Rook, the snow spirit began to have a migraine. What the eccentric, on his mind, the yokai forgot in his domain was not clear. However, with his appearance, ruling become even easier.

The next step towards permanent headache was the appearance in his life of a small tanuki, which had already acquired a human form. Despite his pretty image, he had a huge potential, which Vil immediately noticed, taking the yokai as his student to the latter’s great displeasure. However, no one asked his opinion. The name, Epel, was also given by Schonheit himself.

Several hundred years passed since that events.

By this time, Vil had managed to build his small personal empire with himself at the head. In addition, nothing much had changed: his deputy continued to get other yokai with his close attention, and the mini-raccoon still caused problems. If he closed eyes to these two facts, life in the winter fortress Pomefiore could be called peaceful.

However, fate often had its own view of many things, and the calmness of the snowy spirit was clearly not part of its plans. Because, for what reason, after a long, beautiful eternity, people decided to invade its territory again. Or a human, it didn’t matter. This race alone was enough for Schoenheit to get migraines again. In any other case, he would not hesitate to send Rook, but at this unfortunate moment the yokai needed to leave under a plausible pretext that Vil did not even listen to in the morning.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the snowy spirit reluctantly went to arrange a warm welcome to the uninvited guests. Naturally, he did not plan to kill them, however, if the person would suffer a little, this will serve as a good lesson and warning. Rumors spread like wildfire, so Vil decided to play on the phrase “one knows - all the world knows it too”

The closer Schoenheit got to the border, the more his indignation grew. For the first time in a long time, he had a free minute, which now he was forced to spend not on himself. The murder was not part of his plans, snowy spirit again reminded himself. His gaze finally found a human who was accompanied by two yokai. In normal times, Vil would have attached more importance to this, but at the moment it was the last thing that worried him.

A wave of the hand - a gusty wind rose, foreshadowing a strong blizzard. Stopping, the snowy spirit allowed itself to examine the strangers. Two yokai — clearly kitsune and tengu — whose appearance left much to be desired, tried their best to shield the human from the prickly snow. There was only one explanation for this: it was their Master. Unwittingly, Vil pondered his position.

No, it completely suited him, but he could not deny the deeply hidden grudge against his future master. There was no case that the yokai did not meet their master. However, the question why someone’s meeting happened in a matter of days, and someone languished in anticipation for thousands of years, asked many creatures of another world. In particular, those who involuntarily belonged to the second group. Although outwardly Vil remained impassive, completely uninterested in any person. In secret, he listened with hope to every case of the arrival of people in the forest, hoping that by some miracle his master had come for him. However, the days were replaced by months, months by years, and those slowly but surely turned into centuries.

“H-here he is!” The choppy, but no less loud voice of the red fox brought Schoenheit back to reality.

Focusing its attention, the snowy spirit found himself noticed. Although this did not greatly change the situation in someone else’s favor. The wind was getting stronger, and even the yokai could hardly stand on their feet, what to say about a human. Deciding that nature with his little help would do its job, Vil was about to return, when something prevented him from taking a step. A strange feeling did not let him go. Turning abruptly, the Schoenheit was finally able to see the face of a man struggling to resist the blizzard.

Long-term resentment suddenly faded into the background. Not noticing, Vil walked slowly towards the company. His mind was empty, but his intuition told him that his time had finally come. The tengu and the kitsune instantly tensed, standing up in defensive stances, despite the fatigue visible to the eye. It seemed that a wave of the hand would be enough to deprive them of support. What Schoenheit took advantage of.

The human looked fearfully from one comrade to another, whose strength was running out. However, obeying instincts, they stubbornly tried to get up, as a result again falling into the snow. Having caught up with the master, Vil shielded the yokai lying below, completely getting the person’s entire attention.

“I-I’m sorry, we a-accidentally wandered h-here…”

The human spoke, carefully choosing his words and constantly stumbling, while Schoenheit listened diligently and burned out a pleasant voice in his memory. Taking a step forward, he embraced the master. The fact that a person would definitely accept the thread of the contract, Vil did not give in to doubt.

To the pleasant surprise for yokai, the human did not break free. However, a sudden hunch overshadowed the moment of reunion. Hugging Yuuki Onna was the same as digging into a snowdrift or diving into an icy river. So person was stumbling not `cause of nervous but of frost. Picking up them in his arms, he immediately moved to the temple.

After all, the murder of his own Master was certainly not part of his plans.

[chimchimsauce]

Fairest

Is beauty a blessing or a curse? All of her life, princess YN was told that her beauty was the greatest gift her late mother ever gave her. But when her looks attract a man cruel and bloodthirsty, YN begins to think that her greatest asset is the beginning of her demise.

“Checkmate.”

YN cannot help the grin that spreads across her face as she utters the word, watching as her older brother groans with disdain.

“You always win!” he complains, acting very much like a child.

“That’s because you always get too caught up in the current move, dear brother. The future decisions are the most important ones.”

YN’s older brother, first in line to the throne of their small country Ameris, huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Chess is like war. You get too focused on winning battles that cause you to lose the war. I certainly hope that won’t be the case for our kingdom . . .”

YN is only jesting. Her elder brother is an excellent leader and will make a wonderful king. He’s just really impatient with games. 

“I’m sure I can beat you next round!” her brother says playfully.

They both know it’s unlikely, but YN clears the board and begins to set up another game. As she’s placing the last pawn, a knock comes at the door. One of her handmaidens opens it, revealing one of their father’s special guards. 

YN’s breath catches ever so slightly before she schools her expression back into one of unbothered royalty. It’s always so hard to ignore her secret lover when other people are around, but she knows she must. A relationship between her and her father’s most trusted guard would cause a scandal that would undoubtedly get Wonho’s position revoked. He’s worked his entire life to get good enough for a spot on the King’s royal guard and there’s no way YN would do anything to sabotage that.

“His majesty has requested your presence,” Wonho says, not even looking YN in the eyes.

He’s much better at keeping his emotions in check.

YN’s brother stands, tapping his finger on the chessboard.

“Lucky thing I’m being summoned, or else I would have absolutely destroyed you in this game.”

YN laughs, maybe a little more politely than she would if Wonho wasn’t standing at the door.

“I’m sure of it,” she says, “Feel free to come back anytime to play again.”

YN’s brother nods and leaves her quarters, following after Wonho. Being the heir to the throne means that YN rarely gets to see her brother. He’ll be gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time as he tours the neighboring countries to learn everything he possibly can, as well as maintain a positive relationship with their allies. Ameris may be a small country, but it is located in the perfect spot for transcontinental trade and filled to the brim with valuable resources. One could dig in a mine for just a few moments and emerge with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

Thankfully, Ameris has not had any problems with its neighboring countries in hundreds of years. The last war was ended by YN’s great great great grandfather and peace has blanketed the region since then.

Well, for the most part. In the last several years, the Eastern kingdom of Moonbyss has been steadily expanding and taking over small, unclaimed villages. They have not breached any borders or broken any treaties, however, so there is no cause to worry quite yet.

YN sighs as her thoughts shift back to Wonho. Their secret love affair has been going on since they were teenagers. At first, Wonho was just an attractive boy who was willing to indulge her wanton fantasies, but soon enough an affection bloomed between them. It’s so hard to pretend not to be in love with him, especially when he grows more handsome by the day.

“Thinking about him, my lady?” YN’s lady in waiting, Irene, asks her.

Irene is YN’s closest confidant and friend. She knows almost everything about the princess. Ever since she arrived in the castle from abroad two years ago, they have been inseparable. 

“Of course,” YN says, standing and walking over to the window that overlooks her private gardens. 

She opens the glass door and steps outside, her skin warmed by the sunshine. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, cloudless and blue. Birds chirp sweetly and the scent of flowers wafts on the breeze. The princess stops at the fountain in the middle of the garden, sitting on the bench and looking into the bubbling water. YN often made wishes in this fountain when she was younger, tossing in coins that reflected the sunlight back at her. More recently, though, she’s only wished for one thing - to be with Wonho. Her father, although he loves her, would never allow a union between them. Her older brother, however, has promised to allow YN to marry whoever she desires once he takes the throne on his thirtieth birthday.

He does not know that someone already has her affections, but no matter. YN is not worried about being married off. While her brother is the only prince in the kingdom, the king was blessed with twelve daughters and YN is the youngest. Every available man of power in the kingdom and the surrounding countries have already been wedded. 

YN has Irene bring her a book to read and she settles in, getting comfortable in her garden. The hours pass by quickly as she is sucked into the tale, but soon enough a shadow blocks her reading light. 

The princess looks up and is shocked to see Wonho standing in front of her. Alarm flares up inside of her. The two of them have agreed to never be seen together in daylight.

“Won-”

“Your Majesty,” Wonho says stiffly, “The King requests an audience. I have been asked to escort you to the throne room.”

YN hesitates a moment. She can tell that something is wrong by the strain in his voice. Something must really be bothering him for the guard to allow it to leak into his words. She wants to ask him what’s wrong, but she never knows who is watching so she simply stands, handing her book off to Irene who stands beside her.

“Very well,” YN says, trailing after him and back into the castle.

He walks three paces in front of her, leaving her to stare at his back. So much about him has changed in the last few years. He’s gained an immense amount of muscle, something that YN has really grown to appreciate during their midnight endeavors. It’s a shame that everything is covered up by his uniform, but she must admit he looks dashing in it.

As they walk, YN notices that Wonho isn’t the only one acting strangely. The various maids and butlers who usually flit around and chatter pleasantly amongst themselves are dead silent, walking with perfectly straight backs and zipped mouths. The princess notices a few pitying looks tossed her way and something cold settles in her stomach.

What’s going on?

Wonho knocks on the throne room’s closed doors. They are ever so carefully opened a few moments later and Wonho leads YN into the grand room.

Her father sits on the throne, a smaller one empty next to him. It always makes YN sad to see her father by himself. The Queen passed away only a year ago and was her father’s closest friend. The late Queen was kind to everyone, even YN’s mother - a poor girl her father discovered in one of his hunting trips. Apparently, YN’s father was so taken with her mother that he simply had to add her to his harem and rarely visited any of his other concubines afterward. But it didn’t last long - YN’s mother died shortly after her birth. Everyone says that she left YN her ethereal beauty, a fact that led YN to being hidden away in the castle for the majority of her life.

“You’re the most valuable diamond in all of Ameris,” her father told her once, “It’s important that few people know of your existence.”

It had saddened YN when she was younger that she could not attend the lavish parties and balls like her elder sisters and brother, but she came not to mind once Wonho came into her life. It mattered not if other people thought she was beautiful - as long as Wonho desired her, that was more than enough.

Standing to her father’s side is YN’s brother. The jolly air that had surrounded him mere hours ago is gone completely now. He looks furious, an expression YN has rarely seen on his face. He’s looking at a man who stands before the throne, a crown placed perfectly on his head.

Visiting nobility? 

The man turns as the click of YN’s heels sounds out against the marble flooring. YN’s step falters as a large, nearly terrifying grin spreads across his face. He is incredibly handsome, but the smile on his face does nothing but creepy the princess out.

“There she is,” he says, quickly extending his hand towards her.

YN, uncertain, looks at her father who gives her a stiff nod. Hesitantly, YN places her hand in the stranger’s grasp, making sure to school her expression as he places a cold kiss that lingers too long against her gloved hand. The princess has never been more glad to be wearing gloves.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” YN asks, careful to watch her throne. 

“King Seokjin Moonbyss, your highness. I must say, the rumors of your beauty do you no justice. You’re much more radiant in person.”

YN’s blood freezes in her veins. This cannot mean anything good.

“Thank you,” YN says, a slight tremble in her voice.

The man has still not released her hand.

“YN,” her father says, giving her an excuse to look away from this man - no, this monster - beside her, “King Seokjin has asked for your hand.”

YN barely squashes the shout of protest that so desperately wants to escape her throat. There’s no way this can be happening! No way! Her eldest brother is just three years shy of taking the throne, three years more of having to tiptoe around with Wonho. No way she can get married, especially to someone from so far away.

“Excuse me,” Wonho says, speaking up from his place behind YN, “I thought King Seokjin was already married.”

Relief flows through YN. If Seokjin is already married, then surely this is an error.

“She failed to provide me with a male heir, so I had her disposed of,” King Seokjin says simply, glaring at Wonho, “Do not question me again.”

There is not a trace of remorse in his voice at all, nothing but anger.

YN begins to tremble.

“Father -” she begins.

“King Seokjin has made us an offer I cannot refuse,” he says, cutting her off, “And besides, YN, you’ll be able to be Queen. You never would have had that opportunity here.”

YN’s father would normally never make this sort of decision, especially not for the daughter he tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Of course, sweet YN,” King Seokjin says, “You are free to reject my offer if you so desire. I would, however, be forced to declare war on Ameris. After all, this country is the most resource rich of all the lands. It’s a shame. It would have been so much nicer to make a positive connection with this beautiful country. I wonder how much of its splendor will be left once my troops march through it.”

The threat is crystal clear. YN has to marry this King or her country will suffer for it. YN glances at her father and brother, seeing the fear that’s in their eyes. Ameris is much too small to fight Moonbyss and win, especially since the eastern country has been gaining a lot of territory very rapidly. YN swallows. In a matter of hours, her perfect daydream has been shattered.

“I would be honored to marry you, King Seokjin,” YN says, trying her hardest not to cry.

She can release her tears once she’s in the safety of her own chambers. She cannot show any weakness in front of this man.

“Beautiful and smart,” King Seokjin says, “It will be my honor to have you as my bride. After all, the most handsome man in all the world deserves the most beautiful bride of them all.”

YN never really thought much of her beauty. She’s always heard it was a blessing, the only one her mother ever left her, but right now it feels like a curse. 

“I pray that you’ll join me for dinner this evening, my betrothed,” King Seokjin says.

“I would love to,” YN says even though the thought of having to spend even a single moment more in this man’s presence makes her want to hurl.

“You best retire to your quarters, my love. Your father and I have much to discuss before this evening. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready.”

The dismissal is clear. YN turns swiftly and leaves the room, Wonho following closely behind her. She walks much too fast to be considered ladylike, but she does not give a damn, wanting to be as far away from the throne room as possible. 

“YN, wait!” Wonho calls out to her.

He grasps her wrist, uncaring of who will see, and pulls her to his chest. As soon as the warmth of him touches her, YN loses all composure, breaking down and sobbing into his pristine uniform.

“Wonho,” she cries out, grasping him as close as she can, her fingers creasing the silk he wears, “I don’t want to be Queen! I want to marry you!”

YN feels something wet fall against her head. Based on the way his shoulders shake, Wonho is also crying. She hasn’t seen him shed a tear since one of his best friends was murdered on a mission.

“What are we going to do?” YN asks into his chest, her voice muffled, “I don’t think I can bear being apart from you, especially with someone as cruel as the King!”

“We’ll figure something out, YN, I promise,” Wonho says, pulling away just enough to give YN a salty kiss.

“At least once more,” YN says once their lips part, “I must have you at least once more.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” Wonho says, pulling her along to her chambers.

The two fall into the sheets, both knowing that this is the last time despite desperately wanting to spend eternity together.

On the other side of the castle, Irene makes her way through the hallways, stopping at a grand door and knocking three times. No one answers, so she swings it open, prepared to wait for as long as it takes. 

Maybe half an hour later, King Seokjin opens the door, looking quite pleased with himself. He doesn’t greet Irene, instead instantly walking over to her and pinning her against the wall, his lips meeting hers passionately. Irene barely has any time to catch her breath, but she doesn’t mind at all, too enamored with this man she knows is only using her.

When he was only a prince, Seokjin was infamous for being a womanizer. All too often, he lured servants and noble girls alike into his chambers, whispering promises and pressing kisses against their skin only to leave them abandoned like trash when he grew bored of them. Irene was one of those servant girls, but Seokjin has kept her around for longer than most. A part of Irene is convinced it’s because she’s special to him, but she knows it’s really not true.

Seokjin has been obsessed with YN, the secret twelfth princess of Ameris for five years now. Ever since he spotted her while visiting Ameris with his late father, he wanted her - needed her. After all, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, trying as he might to find another. His late wife was incredibly beautiful as well, but she didn’t compare to YN. No one else was worthy of her but him. It was YN that drove him to murder his own father and take the throne before he was supposed to. After all, Seokjin has never been a patient man.

Seokjin pulls away from Irene, looking unbothered as ever.

“No good,” he says, “Simply imagining that you’re YN does nothing. I’m tired of waiting.”

His words sting Irene’s heart. She tries not to be bitter, but jealousy is a powerful emotion, one that overshadows the genuine affection she feels for princess YN.

“Well,” the King asks her, “Who is it? The one YN claims to be in love with.”

The King rolls his eyes, gripping his fists tightly. How dare YN love another when he’s already claimed her.

“It’s Wonho,” Irene says, pushing down her feelings, “the guard that accompanied her today.”

“A guard huh? How dare he think he deserves someone as beautiful as YN!” he says, furious.

Seokjin is terrifying when he’s angry. Irene tenses, preparing for the worst. Instead of gripping her hair and tossing her to the floor like he usually does, Seokjin grabs a decorative vase and tosses it against the ground, watching as it shatters into a million pieces.

“You didn’t strike me,” Irene says, shocked.

“I have been practicing,” the King says, “After all, it would be a shame to make a single mark on YN’s perfect body.”

Much too soon, Irene is knocking on YN’s private chamber door.

“Your majesty,” she calls out softly, “Your betrothed has requested your presence.”

YN rolls over to Wonho, tears in her eyes. He blinks them away, wanting to remember this moment clearly.

“One moment,” YN calls out, listening as Irene walks away.

“Run away with me,” YN pleads, her voice desperate.

“You know we can’t,” Wonho says, his eyes sad.

“Yes we can!” YN insists, “You know this country better than anyone. We can get up right now and flee and -”

“YN,” Wonho says, “What about the country? You know we’ll be forced to go to war if you disappear.”

YN sniffles.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” YN confessed, “And if I can, I don’t want to find out.”

Wonho is silent for a moment before he sits up, an idea in his mind.

“What? What is it?” YN asks him.

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you didn’t have to live without me? I’ve heard rumors amongst the staff of a poison you can take that will put you in a deep slumber for a fortnight. If some was mixed into your dinner tonight, it can seem that you’ve been poisoned and passed away. Then when you awake, you and I can disappear together.”

YN brightens. Even though being unconscious for a fortnight doesn’t sound pleasant, anything will be better than having to marry KIng Seokjin. Besides, she trusts Wonho with her life.

“Okay,” YN says, agreeing right away.

“Are you sure, YN?” Wonho asks her, “You will end up getting rather sick for a few days before the slumber.”

YN nods eagerly.

“Yes, anything,” she says.

“Very well.”

Wonho hops out of bed, pulling on his clothes as quickly as he possibly can.

“I’ll get everything ready. YN, go to dinner with the king, alright? I won’t be able to see you after this so as not to arouse suspicion. I love you, princess.”

He leans down to kiss her.

“I love you more,” YN says, watching as Wonho slips out of a glass door and into the gardens.

Unbeknownst to the lovers, King Seokjin is outside the door, his ear pressed against it to hear everything. He had come to escort his beloved like a sweet fiance would, only to hear his to be wife scheming to get away from him.

He’s never been so angry, but he suppressed it, not wanting to let YN know that he’s been here. He grabs Irene by the arm roughly and leads her out into the hallway, bending over to whisper in her ear.

“Make sure to add enough of the poison to YN’s food to keep her under for longer than a fortnight. Put as much of it in as you can without bringing her to the brink of death.”

“Are you sure your -”

Irene’s question is cut off when he backhands her, one of his elegant rings drawing blood.

“Do NOT question me!” he says, “Do as I order!”

Irene rushes off to do as the King says, tears brimming in her eyes. She’s never regretted being Seokjin’s spy until now, too blinded by love. She should have warned YN, should have helped her disappear with Wonho - someone Irene knows truly loves the princess. King Seokjin is just obsessed with her beauty and determined to own her like she’s some sort of object to be bought and sold.

Peeking around the corner, Irene sees Wonho pouring a liquid into the soup bowl meant for the princess. When he leaves and when the coast is clear, Irene snatches the vial from the counter and empties the rest of it into other dishes reserved for the princess before refilling the vial with water and placing it back where Wonho left it.

“YN, I’m so sorry,” she whispers to herself before fleeing into the night, never to be heard from again.

At dinner, YN pretends not to notice the odd taste in her food. It’s obviously been tampered with, but YN doesn’t let it show at all, eating properly and conversing with King Seokjin as much as she can bear. YN misses the look of glee in his eye as he drinks from his goblet, still believing that everything is going to plan.

YN starts feeling ill once the final course comes around. She quickly asks to be excused and King Seokjin offers to walk her back to her room. YN accepts, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own with the  way the room begins to spin.

For the next three days and nights, YN is in and out of consciousness, the world swirling around her in a nauseating mix of bright colors and fuzzy shapes. When she closes her eyes at midnight of the third day, her thoughts are on Wonho and the fact that the next time she opens them, she’ll be free to be with him.

But YN does not wake up. Not for a fortnight, not ever. Seokjin, furious, intends to find Irene and hang her for murdering his beloved before realizing that she’s nowhere to be found. It’s easy enough to frame Wonho for her murder and a matter of hours after YN dies, Wonho follows her from the gallows.

At his request, YN is preserved and dressed in a wonderful white wedding gown, still looking very much alive. He marries her anyway and has her crowned, determined to have her even in death. She’s too beautiful to be buried underground, so he commissions a glass coffin to display her in, putting her corpse in his bedroom where no one else can see her. King Seokjin finds that he does not mind YN being dead. She’s much less bothersome in passing, much easier to fall to his will.

King Seokjin stands before her, placing his hand flat against the cool glass of her coffin. Even in death, YN is the fairest of them all.

[crack-whore-who-fuckedup-already]

The Man Needs His Cat

Bucky x fem!reader

Word count: 1,960

Warnings: mentions of animal death, fluff, Tony/Bucky interaction

Summary: Bucky and Reader stumble across a kitten in the woods and Reader is tasked with asking Tony for a huge favor. 

A/N: y'all- I'm head over heels in love with catperson!Bucky

The situation had to be dealt with carefully, (Y/n) knew. She didn't want to come on too strong or he'd be quick to turn her down. Maybe a hypothetical would be the best course of action... She took a breath and pulled her shoulders back. Then, with only a second of hesitation, she entered Tony's lab. 

He greeted her from his hunched over position at one of the many cluttered tables, barely sparing her a glance. In the heat of engineering, he worked on some odd piece of tech he had yet to fully present to the team. She echoed a small 'hello' back and rocked awkwardly back and forth on her feet. 

Still not looking up, Tony indulged the girl with idle conversation. They spoke of their day, of current world news, of the weather. That's how he knew she wanted something. The girl would always engage him in casual conversation just before asking a favor. Tony didn't mind much, of course. If anything, he found it entertaining how intently she tried buttering him up. But today he had quite a bit of work to get done so he wanted to get this show on the road. 

Putting his tools down, he looked at her pointedly with a knowing grin. "Alright kid, what's up?" He asked.

(Y/s)'s eyebrows raised in question, playing dumb. "What do you-" 

"Drop the act, (Y/n)," he chuckled, and grabbed an already greasy rag off the desk next to him to wipe his hands. He stood and made his way to her, tossing the rag back on one of the several tables in the lab. "I know when you want something, so just go on. Ask." He said, his face light with a smirk.

(Y/n) flushed with warmth, embarrassed by his boldness. But she continued anyway, determined to fulfill her promise to Bucky. 

The night before, she and Bucky were on their way home from the movies. It was a beautiful night out and in their comfortable silence, they found themselves on a slight detour through the woods. At some point, Bucky had pulled over off the side of the road and onto a look out.

Bucky, ever the silent communicator, simply stared at (Y/s) confused face with the softest smile on his own, before stepping out of the car. While (Y/n) scrambled to open her door, Bucky walked the couple of feet towards a barrier fence overlooking the river beneath him. His eyes followed the shine of the water as it drowned the boulders lining the river bed. He thought for a second how exciting the challenge of rock hopping sounded, never really having gotten the chance to as a child.

The call of an owl pulled his attention to the tree line which he observed with such intensity that (Y/n) nudging his arm made him tense. She flashed him a smile to calm the surprise on his face and in an instant, his arm was around her, pulling her close. They both looked out at the shadowed woods and (Y/n) was even sure to point out the moon and stars themselves. 

In the silent moments that passed, they both had turned to embrace each other wholly. They stayed like that for a moment and then Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead. Pulling back to look at his warm, loving face, she found acute concern instead. He was glancing just past her head, off into the bush leading down to the river bank. 

"What's the mat-" she asked quietly, shrinking away. 

Bucky pressed his fingers to his lips and hushed her quickly and gently and then slowly gestured to his ear. Listen, he was telling her. 

She didn't hear anything at first. Nothing but the rush of the river below them and the gentle night breeze above them.

But then, just as she was about to ask again, she heard it. The faintest of mewling. Barely audible but definitely there. 

Bucky grasped her shoulders and looked her in the eyes once more before he squeezed them tightly and moved past her. He approached the thicket and hesitated for only a second before pressing forward. The branches hurt his skin but he'd suffered worse.

(Y/n) tentatively called his name to which he responded "I've almost got it." His voice sounded distant and strained and it worried (Y/n) that she could no longer see him through the darkness, being so close to the river and all. But as long as she could hear his grunts of discomfort from the branches whacking him in the face, she remained calm enough. 

Eventually, he emerged. Even in the dark, (Y/n) could see the pure white fluff sticking out between Bucky's fingers. As he approached, the fuzz ball revealed its face from its careful hiding spot in the crook of Bucky's arm and glanced around. Two dark eyes and the palest little nose swung in her direction, its whiskers twitching with cautious curiosity.

A kitten.

The poor thing was trembling but so was Bucky. Placing a hand on his forearm, she beckoned his attention and spoke low.

"What was it?"

To bide his time, he shifted the kit closer to his chest and took a deep breath. He didn't meet her eyes but he mumbled just loud enough to hear.

"A whole box of them but…." He didn't dare finish the sentence and instead held the kitten in front of his face, ignoring the unwarranted feeling of loss he felt for its siblings. Swallowing hard, he finally met the girls soft, understanding eyes and smiled sadly. 

Before she could say anything, the small creature let out another indignant mewl that seemed to reassure Bucky just a bit. With that, (Y/n) moved to his side and slung her arm around his waist.

"Alpine," he mumbled.

"What's that?"

"I think I'll call him Alpine." Bucky said fondly. His eyes never left the baby and the girl knew he was in deep.

"Oooh, I know that look." She tittered. Bucky only stared, his eyebrow creased, questioning. "That's the way you look at someone you love. That's the way you look at me." She said with a blush, nudging him lightly.

His face melted into that soft loving one she cared for so dearly. The kitten settled into the warmth that embraced him as the couple kissed.

"Let's get a move on. It's getting colder and colder by the second and I'm sure this little guy agrees." The kitten mewled one last time.

With a light chuckle, they spared one last glance over the look out before returning to the car where Alpine slept peacefully in Bucky’s lap the whole way home.

The two couldn't help but discuss what they were going to do with little Alpine. Bucky was set on keeping it and had even decided to clear his schedule the next day to make a vet visit. The only issue was their living space. They weren't too sure how Tony would react to them bringing a cat in off the street. But the girl could see how much the kitten meant to Bucky already so she promised to talk to Tony in the morning. 

Well, morning came and now here she was.

Tony crossed his arms impatiently. "Well?" He pressed, tilting his head up.

(Y/n) anxiously grasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward a bit. "What would you say to the idea of us getting a pet?" She stared openly at his face as he stared back at hers. The question bounced around in Tony's head, leaving his eyebrow slightly creased and the room painfully quiet. (Y/s)' nervously raised eyebrow gave him a clue into the situation.

"Right….and who exactly is this 'us' you're referring to? Cause something tells me I'm actually being iced out of this decision." Before she could even get a full breath in, he continued on. "All right, what are we working with, huh? A rabbit? A goldfish? If it's a parakeet, it won't even get past the front door, so help me god." 

The girl shook her head as she let out a laugh. She could tell he wasn't overly fond of the idea. It was clear by the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. But judging by the way his voice didn't fall completely flat, he wasn't opposed to it either….not entirely, anyway.

"No, no. Not quite. It's a cat. A kitten, actually, so there's still time to train it and all," She reassured him. "And Bucky should be getting home any minute from the vet with him if you'd like to say hello."

Tony caught himself before he let his expression drop at the name of the elusive ex soldier. He'd gotten better at watching himself since the two of them moved in. Bucky and (Y/n) weren't together when they did, but being only a few steps down the hallway certainly allowed them a closer relationship.

Tony nodded his head reluctantly and dropped his arms to his sides. 

He followed the girl down the various halls as she recounted how they found the poor kit, and found themselves approaching the common room. Or the family room, as (Y/n) preferred to call it, while simultaneously prattling on about how much time and energy the team wastes pretending to hate each other. Huh.

They could hear the tinkling of a bell being wacked around from down the hallway. As they entered the room, they stopped in the archway and took in the sight before them. 

Bucky sat crisscrossed with his back to them. In his hand was a feather wand, standing out bright purple, blue, and white against the dark brown floor. In front of him, white fluff darted back and forth. There was the smallest sound of tearing as its tiny claws ripped against the carpet, no doubt leaving it frayed.

Tony tried his very best to suppress his dissatisfied grumble...

They watched for a bit as Bucky went back and forth with the kitten. Tony didn't have to look hard at all to see how much the ex soldier cared for the tiny thing. No only because of his undivided attention towards the cat but also because of the many beige bags labeled "PetsPlus+"  full of toys, treats and towers scattered around the sofas. 

He thought it might be good for Bucky to have another companion around. Maybe it would help him relax. Maybe even lighten up a bit.

Tony stepped forward.

"So, uh, I'm not a big fan of funky smells so that's got to be top priority as far as pest control goes with this thing, alright?"

Bucky jumped to his feet and Alpine followed suit, hackles raised. Bucky quickly scooped him up and held him close. "Of course." (Y/n) made her way over to them. "Our rooms are big enough to keep him there most of the time and we have already worked out all the responsibilities between us. We've got it covered."

Tony stepped back a bit looking them up and down, humming. "I expect weekly visits in the family room," he said pointedly, then waved his hand. "Keep it tidy, folks." And with that he left the couple to their new fascination.

Tony lingered at the doorway on the way out. While the couple was distracted, he found himself watching that wretched arm. The dark, intimidating metal turned soft and gentle as it reached out fearlessly to antagonize the tiniest, weakest thing in the room. No hesitation, no fear. Not in Bucky or the kitten. Tony knew then that it stayed, no question.

The man needed his cat. And damn it, he'll get it.

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[hereforhalstead]

Tell me that when you’re sober

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader 18+

• Requested: Yes:

“I fucking love you”

“Hang up and tell me when you’re sober”

• Warnings: Swearing - PURE FLUFF

• Summary: Jay isn’t happy with you bringing work home but leads to a confession he’s wanted to tell you for a long time.

• Words: 4215

• A/N :I slightly adapted this to fit it better and intended for this to be a short fluff but 4000 words later.. here we are😅Thanks so much for your request and hope you enjoy!

**

You groan and throw your pen down onto the table, this case was really getting the best of you and frustrating you to no end. You look up at the time to see ‘10.30’ flashing in the green light back at you. You run your fingers through your hair which was now borderline greasy with how much you had been absentmindedly running your hands through it as you’re deep in thought. Eyes burning from how much you had been straining them and a slight blister on your finger with how hard you’d been holding the pen as you cross examine the notes intently.

You didn’t realise how quiet the apartment was, the faintest noise from your neighbours TV and the cars rushing past on the street below was all you could make out. This wasn’t like you, you basked in the liveliness and thrived in busy environments, the ones where you barely have time to think so therefore don’t spend much time on the outcome. You picked the pen back up to click it on the papers that were spread out in a manic like fashion in front of you, it made sense to you but if someone else was to see they’d think you’d just picked up the lot and thrown them down in a huff.

You scan over the CCTV stills and traffic cam screenshots, as if you hadn’t been staring at them for god knows how many hours and by a much needed miracle something was going to jump out at you and you’d have your lightbulb moment. Instead, you’re greeted with the same dead end paths and pointless thoughts you’d been fighting relentlessly.

You hear the keys turn in the lock and normally you’d be out of your seat and over to him in a heartbeat, your feet hitting the floor as if you were a kid at Christmas on your way to see what Santa left under the tree but today wasn’t that kind of day. You tried to tell yourself it was just because you were tired and it wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit you’d had another night of little success after being warned about bringing the work home by Jay several times. He always loved to prove a point and you weren’t about to let him get another one over on you, you couldn’t handle those eyes boring down on you as he stands behind you to examine you work, even if it meant lying to him.

You jolt in your seat as you feel him rest his hands on your shoulders before dropping a kiss to the top of your head “why are you still working? How many times have I told you..” he trails off but you’re quick to cut him off with your best ‘I’m fine’ smile “Jay, I’m finally getting somewhere” you falsely admit and feel the pit of guilt instantly form in your stomach as his eyes light up, he probes his thumbs into your skin in a light massage “proud of you” he softly confesses as he continues kneeding your skin.

If you weren’t so determined to get this case tied up this easily would’ve lead somewhere else but you had your focused mind at work and nothing was going to change that. He remains standing over you as you scribble pointless notes onto your notepad, highlighting the odd name and photo as you go as if to convey you had some trail of thought but really you were just buying yourself time until he left your side.

A few minutes go by but to you it feels like hours, you hate what you’ve become in that you find yourself dreading seeing Jay when you bring your work home. Knowing he was right in what he says and that he only says it because he cares but you always wanted to prove yourself and especially to him. He managed to get you into Voight’s good books after pissing him off one too many times, you had a back bone and even though most of the time this was an admiral quality it sometimes backfired.

You and Voight disagreed regularly but you had now learnt how and when to bite your tongue for the best result in cases but there were times you just couldn’t. After coming to blows and being sent to ‘get some air and cool off’ Jay was quick to plead with Voight for your job back and luckily it worked and you were back in the department the next morning. This lead to you now feeling this internal debt had to be paid to your boyfriend to prove you deserved your place and it was worth him sticking his neck on the line.

The pair of you became increasingly serious, starting as partners with the occasional flirty comment or glance soon lead to the regular sting of jealousy or worry which was now the feeling of emptiness when you weren’t together. Some may say you moved on fast, having only been together just under a year and already basically living together. However, due to the uncertainty of your job you decided to not hesitate and wait for when everyone else said it was right and do what felt right for the pair of you. Even if this did mean earning raised brows from Jay when he comes home from a late night to see you hunched over a stack of paperwork that you’d bought home, god knows how many times you’d seen him do it but for some reason it was a different ball game when it came to you.

It pulled at your heart how caring he was, always keeping an eye out for you and sometimes even more for you than himself. As much as there’s endless amounts of perks for dating your partner it sure did come with its consequences and you learnt them faster than you were expecting. Jay throwing himself into danger because it meant protecting you, you leading on suspects on undercover missions to try and get them to confess to which Jay hated and heated debates on the best way to handle a case were just a handful to name a few.

But, despite all of those you truly wouldn’t have it any other way, as you see it as spending as much time with him as possible and being grateful to have him beside you and always in your corner no matter how he feels, he will always back and argue for you.

After Jay strolls into the bedroom to change into some comfier clothes you start to fold some of the papers to create a bit more space, the thought of waking up to this mess wasn’t the ideal situation as you’d find yourself working on them at the crack of dawn and hardly in the right frame of mind to work. That was Jay’s one rule that he never budged on ‘put it all away before you go to bed’, he had hammered this into your head hundreds of times that it became natural for you at this point.

Neatly shuffling the papers to stack them in a pile on the side, helped you to resist the temptation to take a peak at the late or early hours when you should be asleep. He caught you one time glancing at an open file at the dead of night and he was not happy to say the least so knew he had to put his foot down. He knew you were like him and would work until a case was done but unlike him, you rarely knew when to stop.

He would know when his vision starts to loose focus from staring at a screen for too long or he gets a headache from the scrunch between his brows as he examines some notes that it was time to call it a day whereas you, would pop a few painkillers and carry on.

You hear Jay’s phone ring from the other room, not really taking much notice as you continue to fold the papers and shuffle them in a pile but can’t ignore when he comes bounding out of the room over to you “Baby, Adam and Kim are down at Molly’s. You wanna go?” He asks and normally you struggle to turn down such an invite but tonight you just weren’t feeling it and it’s as if you not replying instantly already told Jay you didn’t want to go as his face falls “let me call you back” he mumbles into the phone before shoving it into his back pocket.

He continues in his strides over to you and crouches down in front of you, taking your hand in his as he places a light kiss to your palm “please don’t tell me you’re going to sit here and work and make me go to Molly’s alone?” He pleads, eyes in puppy dog form as by now he knows the best way to get to you.

You run your hand over his disheveled hair as he leans into your touch “I think I’m just gonna have a shower and head to bed” you lie through your teeth, knowing full well the second he steps out the door you’ll be back knee deep in your files with the added extra of knowing you won’t be interrupted by your concerned boyfriend.

He scans your face with a concerned look on his own, lightly running his thumb over your knuckles as he sighs “you promise me you’re not going to carry on working and that you’ll give yourself an early night?” He rightfully asks, you nod in response thinking to yourself that you can’t verbally promise as you were one to never break promises and especially when it came to Jay.

He reaches up to plant his lips on yours, lingering them for a few seconds before standing tall in front of you “give me a call if you want me come home”. He reaches to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and you instantly regret not allowing yourself for be bundled into his arms as you crawl into his lap for the night but you knew you weren’t nearly as done with the case as you’d like and the only way you could continue was if he wasn’t there.

He heads into the kitchen to grab the coat he left on the counter but is back at your side within seconds, placing a glass of water on the table in alongside another kiss being left on the top of your head “make sure you drink that please baby” his voice slightly elevates in concern and you can’t contain the smile that spreads on your face at his worry for you.

“have a good time” you call out to him as he heads for the door “text me when you’re in bed and I want proof!” He yells over his shoulder and without looking you can see the smirk engraved onto his face “get out Halstead” you tease, earning a wink from your boyfriend as he exits the apartment to leave you again in total silence.

You pick up the glass of water he left and take a sip, struggling to think of the last time you hydrated yourself and thankful he knows when to think of these things for you. You lean back in your chair and cross your legs beneath you, slight hunch in your back from the pain of being in the chair for so long and now wishing you were still receiving the massage from Jay that you desperately craved. You shake your head to clear the the thoughts and pour yourself back into the notes. Re reading the interview script over and over again, eventually reaching for your phone to find the recording you’d sent yourself before you left the district to be able to listen back at home.

You chew the inside of your cheek at the sight of your lock screen, a photo you’d taken of Jay on vacation just after the pair of you became an item. His back was towards you and he didn’t even realise you snapped the photo of him looking out from the balcony window at the gorgeous beach front below, reminding yourself that everything you do is for him. As cringy as it sounds, you longed for his approval and praise as he was always so vocal about it, wrapping you in his arms after you finish a case report, sitting you between his legs as you work late on a report with the occasional kiss to your shoulder to remind you her was there or the way he just knows how’s to give you that look that says ‘you’ve got this’ was what kept you going.

You click play on the recording and sink back into your chair as it plays, leaning your notepad on your legs as you listen along. Laughing to yourself when Jay looses his temper or Voight makes a snarky comment to which they both laugh to made the listening all that much easier as it seemed to drag on for hours.

You checked the length of the audio on your phone and the combined clips had only been playing for just over an hour. With the faffing around when Jay came home and the breaks you took to replay certain parts, the time had soon passed. The clock now beaming down on you with the time flashing ‘12.45am’ made you toss your head back in frustration. You’d been round and round in circles, still getting no where and conscious of the fact Jay would be home soon.

You certainly didn’t want him to find you like this as you’d never hear the end of it, you have a stern word with yourself and play back Jay’s warning of packing everything away as you finally close the files you’d been staring at for far too long. You push them to one side and prop your head on your elbows on the the table, you finish the glass of water that had been sat at your side that was truly collecting dust at this point due to you forgetting about it. You glance down at your phone to see a text from Jay flash up on the screen

‘You in bed yet baby? Not seen any proof..’

You roll your eyes as you just know he’s been impatiently sat there waiting to hear from you ever since he left just a few hours earlier. You stare at the screen to debate whether it’s best to ignore it and pretend you’re already asleep or to lie to him again for the second time that night. You’re soon interrupted as his name lights up the screen, his toothy grin staring back at you from the contact photo he had set for himself after a night out reminding you how ‘you always make me smile so you deserve to see it when I call you’.

You hesitate to pick up but know he won’t stop until you answer, after having a few drinks the last thing you want is for him to bound home to you in a mood about how you didn’t answer his call. You sigh and slide the button to answer the call and can barely contain your laughter as you hear his drunken slurs on the other end of the line

‘You haven’t answered me you know?’ he moans, annoyance in his tone but also sounding like a child who hasn’t got their own way at the same time. You laugh to yourself but careful to not let him hear as this wouldn’t go down well “ was asleep” you hang your head in shame as you yet again lie.

‘Why are you lying to me? You were working weren’t you?’ He accuses and you’re stumped on how to reply, even without being with you he knows you better than anyone to which you always seem to forget. He huffs on the other end of the line after he doesn’t get a response, knowing he has you cornered. ‘Y/N please, just get to bed and I’ll be home shortly’.

“I’m just packing it away Jay, I only had a few more bits I wanted to do. I promise” you nibble on your fingertips in slight nervousness as he continues to groan down the phone.

‘What, like how you promised me you were gonna give yourself an early night you mean?’ He questions but you’re quick to reply “well actually, I never promised I just nodded” you chuckle to yourself, feeling clever with your response but Jay isn’t happy.

“Y/N I’m just looking out for you, I care about you too much to see you draining yourself over these things” he begins and before you can get a breath in he carries on his drunken rambles “I love you too fucking much to watch you not look after yourself, as much as I love to be the one who takes care of you I can’t be there all the time so I need to know you can put yourself first baby” you’re silent after his admission, unsure if he’s even aware of what he’s just spilled out

“Do you know what you just said?” You tease, trying to lighten the subject but the sigh on the other end tells you he was still in a mood.

“Yes Y/N, I said I love you too fucking much to watch you destroy yourself” he expresses in outrage but you were in too much of a shock to think of a clever reply “hang up and tell me that when you’re sober Jay”.

“I’ll be home soon” he cuts the conversation short before ending the call, you take a moment before placing your phone back on the table and you try to comprehend what just happened. He said I love you.

Fair enough it wasn’t in the way you had envisioned, him confessing his love for you as you lay wrapped within his arms or him accidentally spilling his admiration during a teasing session you often had but he still said it. Whether he meant or it was just a drunk slip up was another question. You couldn’t let yourself say it back in case he woke up tomorrow and didn’t remember, it would pain you to let the last piece of your guard down for him to take it all back the next morning and the whole thing becomes a distant memory.

You finish tidying away the papers, patting yourself on the back for the great job you’d done of making it look like you hadn’t spent hours on end sat at that table, it now gleaming the exact way it did this morning. You place the glass back onto the kitchen counter and trudge into the bedroom, thudding down onto the bed as you lay staring at the ceiling. Wrapping yourself in the comforter and attempting to close your eyes but nothing was enough to push down that anxious feeling in your stomach. This isn’t how you should be feeling after your boyfriend says I love you for the first time and even though you’d both wanted to say it for a while it still didn’t seem real. You didn’t deserve him, all the things he does for you and the way he takes care of you didn’t seem feasible in your mind that it would happen to someone like you.

Moments pass and you hear the front door shut, his attempts to be quiet made you laugh into the pillow as you hear him lightly walk across the hardwood floor. Bumping into the doorframe as he enters, grateful the comforter covering your face to avoid him seeing your amusement of his drunken self trying to be quiet and navigate his way to the bed. You stay laying on your side, hand tucked under the pillow beneath your head and the other resting on your stomach. You hear his belt unbuckle and watch hit the beside table as he gets himself undressed, tempted to turn over and help him but knowing he would still moan at you for being awake no matter what state he was in.

You force your eyes closed, keeping your head slightly buried into the pillow as you feel the bed dip beside you. Within seconds you feel the all too familiar comfort of his arm latching around you, pulling you into him in one swift motion as he tucks his head into the nape of your neck. Your heart flutters as you feel him place a kiss to your back before further pulling you into him, any chance of a gap between the pair of you was well and truly diminished.

You stay facing away from him, now far too comfortable to move and knowing he will be asleep within seconds, as long as he was by your side and you were wrapped tightly within the safety of his grasp he would sleep anywhere. You soon feel the light puffs of air to your skin as he falls into a sleep, the occasional nudge into your back as he gets himself comfortable but after a while he lays still to signal he was finally asleep.

You lay there trying to ignore your thoughts, cursing yourself for being such an over thinker as the one who had sent you into this spiral now laid passed out beside you, unbeknownst to the panic he set off inside you as he falls deeper into his slumber. You run your hand up and down his arm to sooth yourself to sleep, thinking to yourself of how you’re going to forget what happened and tomorrow will be a new day.

***

You awake to the sunlight peering through the window, annoyed at yourself for not closing the blinds before you went to bed as the rays shine in your eyes. You turn in Jay’s grasp and jolt in his arms as you’re met with him softly smiling back at you “morning” he groans, his normal groggy morning voice now made more intense with the slight hangover he would soon be facing. You drop your head to lay on his chest, pressing your lips to his skin as he runs his fingertips up and down your spine and resting his head on top of yours as you lay in a comfortable silence. “Good night?” You break the air, knowing he certainly wasn’t in the mood to be talkative but if you didn’t have some form of interaction from him you’d go insane.

“Wasn’t the same without my girl” he tightens his grip on your waist, a soft pinch of your skin as he teases “but she was at home working when she promised me she wouldn’t, clearly choosing work over her boyfriend” he huffs into the top of your head as you bury yourself further into his chest.

“don’t go there” you warn as he chuckles in response “choosing to look at old case notes than spending time with your boyfriend, that’s a tough one” he continues to ramble, you detach yourself from him and turn to face him with stern look “I said don’t go there”you warn but he pouts his bottom lip at you as he raises his brow. You narrow your eyes at him and he cracks his serious exterior, bringing his hand to the back of your head as he brings it to him to connect his lips to your temple “It’s a good job I love you” he mumbles into your skin, pressing his lips onto yours for a brief second before allowing himself to pull back and admire your expression of shock.

“You remembered?” You question, still nervous he wouldn’t have a clue what you were talking about. “Of course I remember, you think I’d forget when I first tell my girlfriend I love her?” He tilts his head as he asks, you lean your head down onto him as he clears his throat “would help me if you said it back though, bit embarrassing if I’m the only one to say it” he jokes, grin encompassing his morning glow as he gloats “I love you too idiot” you roll your eyes at him, bringing your lips onto his for a chaste kiss. He brings his hand up your back and tousles it into your hair, keeping you in place as your lips intertwine before pulling back and running his eyes over the happiness beaming from your face “you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that”.

**

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