#not exactly it's actually a very tense time for sky and he ends up deeply depressed and convinced prapai will leave him for a woman

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

Do Payu and Rain want kids?

I'm not sure.

I kind of skimmed the special novel because the machine translation is so rough. I'm going through it again (slowly, life has been a lot) and paying closer attention to the details.

My initial skim though, I don't think it EVER came up, but they're so busy that at one point Rain moves back in with his parents and doesn't see Payu for weeks at a time.

Now, that was largely because Rain wouldn't work with him, Payu was not hiring a second architect like he needed and was doing it all by himself. Once Rain has enough experience and prestige on his own, he becomes a partner in Payu's company, and the workload is infinitely lighter when spread between the two of them, they have much more free time.

But that happens like at the end of the special novel. So they really haven't had time up to that point to even talk about if they want kids.

[quillsanddaydreams]

mad first love

remus lupin x reader

—author’s note: I was thinking about how train rides are kind of nostalgic and time stops when we travel and well, this one-shot is the result. What happens when you spend your journey with an ex? Particularly the one you still seem to stuck on? Enjoy!

—warning(s): mentions of food, gender neutral!reader (pronouns aren't used).

—wordcount: 2,476

The train brought back memories. Happy moments. Times that were filled with laughter and glee and lighthearted chats. Smiling wistfully, you moved through the bustling compartments to the one at very end. It was the only one which was empty. Peaceful and quiet. In other words, perfect. Placing your bag at the top rack, you sat down next to the window looking at the crowd outside. A mother fussed over her kid’s hair who tried their very best to move away. The hunched vendor shouted their wares attracting the attention of small children.

“Is this seat taken?” a voice came and you snapped attention towards the sliding door. Your eyes broadened taking in the light brown hair and tired eyes looking around the compartment awkwardly. A flash of recognition crossed the pale face.

Remus.

You didn’t realize you had whispered his name. He gave you a small smile and for a small minute, the two of you just stared at each other. Remus spoke first.

“May I sit here? I’m afraid rest of the compartments are either full or too loud,” he said slowly and you shook yourself.

“Yeah, of course,” you said as he settled himself opposite to you.

How long had been since you last saw him? Six years or maybe more? Your heart clenched suddenly remembering the time you spent with him. You turned to look outside the window again. It always struck true, didn’t it? There was nothing quite like your first love. And you always supposed Remus to be the one.

The train started with a small jolt, moving past the station. People waved their good-byes, some of them running along with the sleeper shouting promises to meet again. Remus however, found himself sneaking glances at you. You had changed. Of course you had, it had been years since he last saw you. Your eyes were the same though. Sparkling with curiosity and threatening to see right through him. It was strange, sitting across you but feeling miles apart. But then again, it was how he made it to be.

The floor hummed as the train picked up pace. You stood up, taking out the book you had been reading before. Town dissolved into outskirts and it seemed too soon that the roads were replaced by unending fields. Placing your bag at one end of the berth, you laid down. It was going to be a long ride and you might as well make yourself comfortable. Remus huddled in a corner scribbling something in his diary. Time passed and you looked over at him, moving your book slightly. He looked exhausted. More exhausted than you had ever seen him at school. His eyes had dark circles as he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. Interest took over.

“So how have you been?” you asked as nonchalantly as possible. Remus’s eyes widened, not expecting you to speak to him.

“I’ve been okay,” he started, struggling to find the right words. “Been hunting down jobs. It’s not easy considering, well, my condition.”

You nodded. As much as you knew, he was one of the best as a student— anyone should be happy to recruit him. The wizarding society drowned in irrational fear. It made you sick. Remus had always been insecure about his condition. You remembered trying to help him through it even though he never heeded. Now you wondered how was it possible not to doubt oneself when you were treated like him.

“What about you?” Remus asked, breaking you out of his reverie. “I remember you being passionate about charms. Charming random stuff to fly around by themselves?”

You let out a laugh.

“Yeah, I’m doing exactly that,” you said getting up and sitting to face him. You scratched behind your ear. “I’m working for the ministry to improve the transfer of letters and objects. It isn’t that bad, but somehow someone ends screwing up and the room ends in an utter mess. Lucky, I don’t have to clean after.”

Remus grinned seeing you shudder. He followed your hand movements as you re-enacted the explosion. You giggled. Noticing Remus staring at you, you sat up, a bit more properly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked. You felt your ears heat up under his gaze.

“You haven’t changed, have you?” he said, a twinkle in his eye. You raised an eyebrow.

“I could say the same about you.”

Remus’s lips upturned, eyes childlike.

“I don’t know, can you?”

You smirked.

“I mean— messy hair, a grey sweater,” you moved your eyes over his form. Remus shifted in his seat. “dock martins and talking with that always-polite-voice? I would say you haven’t changed at all.”

Remus grinned, ready to quip back but stopped himself. He cleared his throat, looking away.

“Guess I haven’t.”

You fell silent too. The past seemed to cling on to both your backs, heavy and demanding. There was no escaping it.

“How are James, Sirius and Peter?” you asked taking a deep breath, sitting back. Anything would be better than the tense silence right now. Remus looked thankful too.

“James been working with the Bigonville Bombers, Sirius is mostly travelling around and is starting a T.V. show,” he sighed, face falling a little. “and Peter is busy with restoration of his parents’ home”

You rubbed your palm.

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon,” you whispered as Remus shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips.

“It’s not that easy.”

The train rattled a little. You held onto the edge of your seat and looked out. Dark clouds filled the sky. It seemed that the world was reacting to the atmosphere in your compartment.

“What if you become a teacher?” you said out of the blue. Remus raised his eyebrows.

“A teacher?”

“Yeah. The DADA position is open and Dumbledore was kind enough to let you in the school as a child,” you started. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you there as an adult.”

Remus seemed to ponder upon the idea before shaking his head.

“I don’t know about it. Am I even capable enough to teach children?”

“Well, you definitely were better than any other teacher when we were at Hogwarts,” you stated seriously. “You helped me score a perfect 100 back then.”

Remus let his head fall back, humming in response. A knock shook the two of you. The trolley lady offered the two of you a warm smile.

“What can I get the two of you?” she asked, gesturing towards her cart.

“I’ll love some of those sandwiches and lemonade,” you said, taking out some money from your purse. She handed you the things and you paid her in turn.

“And for you dear?” she asked Remus.

“Nothing, thank you.”

You frowned lightly. There was no way he made something and the journey was going to be long.

“Actually, can I have another one of these?” you asked the woman pointing to the one you remembered Remus liked; as he tried to interrupt. “Thank you”

The trolley lady left shutting the door behind her. You could feel Remus’s gaze on you. Handing the sandwich and the bottle of lemonade to Remus, you sat down slowly. He sighed.

“Did you have to?” he asked as you shrugged. You could see a small smile near the corner of his mouth.

The two of you sat in silence eating and drinking. You recalled sitting with Remus like this. He was never the one to say much and you enjoyed the calm that came with it. How many times you sat huddled with him in his dorm and his friends never even noticed? How many times he had kissed you so gently that you felt you would melt right there? You shook your head. A path down the memory lane didn’t seem like a good idea. Remus didn’t look bothered though. Afterall, wasn’t he the one who wanted to break up? You took a sip of the juice watching the scene outside.

He was supposed to be over you. He was supposed to be over you. Only he found that idea crumbling right then. It had been seven years. Seven long years. Remus had heard about all the people you dated. Successful people. People who were worthy of you. Hadn’t that been the idea all along? Feeling his chest wound up, he took another bite of the sandwich. Damn these feelings.

Time passed as you lay down and read the book you had bought. Remus was focused on his journal. You couldn’t concentrate though. Not for long anyway. Your mind kept wandering off to Remus. Unknows’ to you, he found himself in the same predicament. Both of you wanted to cross the invisible barrier but neither of you wanted to open old wounds. It was strange. You never felt more away. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe you two were supposed to be just strangers. Light rain fell against the window and you found yourself a kind of tranquility fall over you.

“Do you still sing?” Remus asked after a while, his voice soft. Your heart thumped and you inhaled deeply.

“Not anymore, no,” you said, feeling something stick in your throat. You stopped singing after the two of you broke up.

“What— why?”

Remus looked at you curiously. He spent countless nights with his arms around you as you sang softly to him. Listening on fondly as your soft voice lured him to sleep. Those moments were scarce. So precious and gentle that he treasured each one.

“I just don’t,” you said not meeting his eye, giving an intended shrug.

“But—” Remus started and you felt your temper rise.

“Remus I hate my voice,” you snapped. “I hate to sing, always had.”

There was a beat of silence. You pointedly looked at your wrist watch.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “It’s just you sang to me so many times.”

“Well, I saw you in pain and I’d never felt more helpless and hurt,” you said with a dry laugh. Tears pricked your eyes remembering those times. Perhaps you weren’t as over him as you thought you were.

“So when you asked me to sing, I forgot about it for a while,” you continued. “And you seemed to love it. It made you happy. I decided to do it for you from then.”

You let your head fall back, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. Remus looked down. He didn’t know what to say.

“You did, you made me happy,” he whispered after a while. You snorted.

“Come on, I did not make you happy.”

“You did, you were everything I could ask for—”

“Stop that,” you hissed. “If I were, you wouldn’t have broken up with me.”

You uttered before you could stop yourself. It hurt. As much as it killed you to admit, that part always stung. Your stomach turned. The rain was pouring down heavily, it’s pitter patter filling up the compartment.

“You know it’s funny Remus,” you started, staring at the ceiling. “I begged you for a reason. I begged you to tell me why you wanted to break up with me. Just a reason. All you gave me was that it’s not you, it’s me bullshit. And I spent years just nitpicking at my faults. Because I loved you. I loved you so much and I did not know what I lacked in giving you. So, tell me. Please tell me the real reason why you broke up with me.”

Staring at him, you sat up straighter. Remus squeezed his eyes shut. His adam apple bobbed as he spoke.

“It was the career aptitude class. I talked about my condition and what options I had,” he said. “There were close to none. I saw everyone coming back, talking about their futures whereas I sat there knowing I had nothing. And I was right wasn’t it?”

Remus gestured at himself.

“Who— who in the right mind would want to be with me? I felt like I was losing everything and that eventually I would lose you too. And I decided that it was better then, than later. You deserved better. You deserved people who you could match you. Me? I would be a nobody. It seemed proper that I broke up with you.”

Remus fell silent. You opened and closed your mouth several times. He turned towards the window.

“Would it have killed you to tell me just that?” you said, your voice kinder.

“Remus, I had never ever needed you to be successful to love you. Not once. I was, am not someone who needs money or the so-called respect from the world to be happy. Remus, you are worth it. Whether you believe it or not, there are people would love to have you.”

Something flicked over Remus’s eyes. He nodded.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the ride. The grey clouds changed into a sunny sky and you could hear birds flying outside. The compartment was so quiet, one could say it was empty. Sometime in between s kid came in confused, shouting something and running back. Remus and you exchanged a glance and turned back to what you were doing.

Time seemed to fly. You could see your destination all too soon. Taking a deep breath as your station arrived, you got up to take your bags. Remus helped you. He stood behind you as you walked outside. The line was long, people chattered excitedly. You felt something building up in your chest. You didn’t want to say goodbye to Remus again. It didn’t feel right. Stepping down from the carrier, you stopped before Remus. Words failed you two.

“I guess it’s time to go,” Remus said, his voice barely above a whisper. He searched your face.

“Guess it is.”

You moved your arms around awkwardly, praying silently for him to stop you. It was his decision now. He gave you a small nod, and turned to leave. Your head throbbed watching him disappear into the crowd. Clutching your bag tightly, you started to move your own way. Pahul waited for you at their apartment. You would have to take a muggle taxi. All you wanted right now was to curl up and watch some movies to forget all that had happened that day.

“Wait!!!”

You heard shouts behind you and you turned to see Remus running towards you. He puffed out a few breaths, standing in front of you his hands over his bent knees.

“Would you— would you— like to catch up some more sometime? Over dinner maybe?” he asked, a heavy breath punctuating each word.

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date.”

You stared at him, his face all read from running, biting his lip waiting for an answer. The scene made you smile.

“I would love that.”

—as for the taglist: I don’t make taglists, I have a blog @from-my-quill ​ which is updated whenever I post fanfiction. You could have the notifications on for it and it will work just like me tagging you.

⟨⟨REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED⟩⟩

[thelastpilot]

‘On GOD We Are Going to Get You a Girlfriend’- A Lovesquare Story as suffered by Nino

My last charity fic for @mlbforblm! The prompt was Aged Up College AU lovesquare, in which Adrien is struggling with his love for both Marinette and Ladybug and Nino is put in the position to be the ultimate wingman. I went a little off script with this prompt but I hope it scratches that itch nonetheless. 

The concept itself lent itself much better to 15k than 4 but I did what I could! Hope it gets a laugh out of you. 

It was twilight in Paris, the tail end of sunset slipping away as people all across campus engaged in extremely varied states of productivity. That is to say, at most 20% of the campus’ live-in population was actually getting any work done, while the rest of them were either limping along or had already given up.

It was midterms week, clearly.

In the dim space of a reasonable apartment accommodation were well -intentioned study implements of every kind. The completely average couch and carpet were covered with just enough of a layer of highlighters, pens, and printed pages to give a really studious impression at a glance, but whatever vibe it might have managed was thoroughly ruined by a young man laying face down on the floor, a game console nearly tumbling from his hands. Another, separate, but equally as unfocused young man had his back to plain white wall against which they had been meaning to put like… a chair or something at least for most of the semester now, staring idly out of the sliding glass door to his left that offered only a sliver of a view from his current position. At most he could see two lovely, but neglected, potted plants and a shoddy balcony looking off towards the main body of their college campus.

He watched the small patch of sky he could see succumb to a light coverage of clouds, and as he considered the possibility of rain, he sighed.

“Nino?” he finally spoke, looking away from his strip of sky. He waited for a response for a second or two, before reaching out with his foot and gently prodding his friend’s side to check he was alive, smirking slightly when he received a grunt for his efforts.

“Mm,” Nino answered from his curled up position, the glasses on his face a perfect reflection of his Pokemon team’s stats, which was ironic considering that Stats was exactly the thing Nino was avoiding at the minute. After a beat too long, he realized his friend was still waiting on his response. He lifted his head slightly, his hat falling free to the ground as he said, “Mm? Yeah?” He blinked slowly. “What?”

Adrien smiled down at him, chuckling a little before tossing aside a textbook he had been pretending to take notes from for the last hour. When his lap was free he leaned forward and rolled to the ground, mimicking Nino’s exact positioning on the ground a small distance away from him, sighing again (louder this time).

“What?” Nino repeated himself, laughing when Adrien leveled him with a sour look. He rolled his eyes but dutifully paused his game, shutting his Switch off and putting it on the ground out of their eyeline. “Go for it dude, what’s up.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Is it a girl thing?” Nino asked flatly, raising an eyebrow when all Adrien managed was a sheepish smile. “Dude.”

“Come on! You’re my friend, you’re contractually obligated. Look don’t make fun of me just help okay; I’m really stuck now.” Adrien pleaded with him, bringing his hands in front of him to cartoonishly beg for his grace. He got another eye roll for his trouble but Nino hadn’t gotten up and left yet so that was a good sign.

It wasn’t that his friend didn’t want to help him, its just that… well.

Adrien always had some kind of girl problem, pretty much off and on for the past five years. He knew it got hard to listen to and Nino had put in way more than his fair share of time into this. Especially since he had made essentially no progress whatsoever in all that time, but boy was he almost on to something here.

Nino said nothing else, making a vague hand gesture for him to continue and Adrien did as he always did.

He hesitated, carefully considering how to phrase something.

“So um, there is this girl. That uh, girl, I always talk about. The one you don’t know. And then there is another girl, one who you do know.”

“Do we HAVE to be so vague man? We’re in our own place, there is no one around. Can’t you just say it? I get so confused when we do it like this.”

Adrien tensed slightly, discomfort crawling up his back. “I uh, I can’t. Just- just listen okay? I can’t explain it.”

“We’re in our house,” Nino complained again. But Adrien ignored him, because he always ignored him when he said that.

“Just listen okay?”

Nino looked at him squarely, or at least as squarely as he could manage while laying on the ground. When Adrien patiently waited for a response Nino finally sighed, rolling on his stomach and laying his face sideways on the floor to match him, nodding stiffly for him to continue.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to a head. I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I have never ONCE in my entire LIFE gotten the timing right Nino, I’m dead serious.” Adrien rolled around a little gripping his hair with both hands. “I get the timing wrong EVERY TIME. I have never been where I’m supposed to be! I’ve never made a move at the right time I have never done it right. I get close with one girl but she doesn’t reciprocate or she tells me to wait or she says that its complicated, then I get close to the other girl but I feel GUILTY because I still care about the first girl. But she says it isn’t right so I work on it I let go but then the other girl is gone or moves on or life gets in the way. I have been in the wrong place EVERY TIME-,”

 Adrien’s ranting continues, rolling around on their carpet as he incredibly vaguely and very stupidly details a problem that he has had for many, many years. Nino can feel himself retreating into his own thoughts, more focused on Adrien’s animated rolling than his actual words. He reaches out once to save a stack of notes from getting creased and ruined, but other than that remains completely still and lets his friend do his thing.

This happened maybe once a week or so, maybe a little less often or more often depending on the status of the girls.

The fact that Adrien literally REFUSED to say their names made this completely incoherent, but where in his love life he was inconsistent, when it came to never talking about work Adrien was true to form.

Nino blinked blearily as Adrien continued, pouring over the reasons he cared so deeply for them both and why that made him feel like a bad person. It left Nino to stew, wondering much like always why they did it like this.

The two of them were superheroes. Spoilers if you didn’t know. He didn’t feel like much of a superhero when he was sprawled out on his shared apartment floor suffering the long run up to failing his Stats midterm like any other student. But the fact remained that he was one, and so was Adrien. The problem was that Adrien was serious about keeping life and work separate. It was pretty much only hard and fast rule about this gig that Nino had picked up on when he first joined. Never talk about work as a civilian, under any circumstances. You only get to talk about work when you’re suited up, and you’re only allowed to talk about life in plain clothes.

Honestly, it was so hard to do it that way, but the rules were clear, not that anyone had actually stopped to explain them to him. Adrien froze up whenever he even so much as mentioned an akuma attack or asked about an injury. Don’t talk about work, but…

They lived together now, this was the first semester where they had done so and Nino was so hyped about it. Like FINALLY, our kwamis can relax and we can be ourselves. He had been so excited about it, but to his profound disappointment Adrien refused to relent on his rule. Their kwamis were never even out in the open except for in their rooms, like he knew Adrien was strict but surely he wasn’t that committed.

Nino understood that it was probably Ladybug’s rule but still, it’s not like she was here. He wouldn’t advocate for disobeying her but… come on man. His brain hurt.

He KNEW Adrien was talking about Ladybug/Marinette. He knew that for a fact, but Adrien would never say her name out loud, because that overlaps with work (even though they hang out with her in person like every single day.) Maybe Nino didn’t know who the heck this second girl he was talking about was, but at the very least he could be clear about one of them.

Whoever the second girl actually was sounded a lot like Marinette, so the for-sure thing was that he had a type. Honestly though he had stopped trying to figure it out years ago. If he wasn’t so exhausted from not studying he would humor him like he always did, but today… man he was kind of tired.

He waited until Adrien was done talking, undoubtably ending by asking for advice as per the usual. Then, like always, Nino said what he always did.

“You need to communicate. If you are not crystal clear with these girls about what they want and what you want nothing with ever happen. You need to bite the bullet and TELL them, at least ONE of them, what you’re thinking.”

And like always, Adrien groaned and covered his face and said, “It’s not that easy!”

They both grumbled dejectedly into the carpet, repeating their years old platitudes until they gave up on each other. Nino usually did this a lot better but he reserved the right to tap out and Adrien usually seemed to accept that.

The only different thing Adrien actually said was when he was standing. He mumbled, “I know, I know. You’re right, as usual but… I’m maybe gonna ask someone else. See what they think.”

“I don’t know what answer you’re hoping for, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“I know,” Adrien sighed, offering a hand to help him off the ground. He smiled gently, but his eyes were sad. Enough of a gesture to explain that he wasn’t actually mad at Nino’s dismissiveness. He had a right to refrain.

 They spent an idle few minutes cleaning up their mess, consolidating their notes and books into two loose piles and neither saying much. It was only about thirty or so minutes later when Adrien announced vaguely, “I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Yeah man,” Nino answered, knowing by heart Adrien’s codeword for ‘patrol’. Didn’t know why he didn’t just say it, but that was a dead horse long beaten.

 Adrien left within a minute or two but Nino stood blearily for awhile in the living room, staring at nothing as he debated just going to bed for the day.

He was just about to head to his room to ask if Wayzz was ready for dinner when the kwami in question came flying into the room, confidently out in the open space now that Adrien was gone.

“You’re getting a call!” Wayzz piped up importantly, waving his little flippers a bit to sell the point. “It’s Cat Noir!”

“I- what?” Nino sputtered, glancing towards the apartment door in confusion. “He literally just- ugh.” Nino groaned as loudly as possible, Wayzz shaking his head a little. “Why is he LIKE THIS, he could have just TOLD ME TO COME.”

“I know he’s odd about it, but he must have his reasons. You should go, he must need you for patrol.”

Nino demanded a few more moments of frustration, which Wayzz indulged, before grabbing his keys and unlocking a window in case he didn’t feel like using them. It was Adrien’s turn tonight but okay whatever.  

 It only took him a minute or two to transform and get out onto their building’s roof, stretching a bit before raising his wrist. He forced himself to take a deep breath and remind himself of the rules while he returned Adrien’s call.

Through the hazy, green, holographic screen he saw the face of Cat Noir answer on the first ring, the feline superhero sighing in relief and smiling widely.

“There you are! I was hoping you were out. Hey, I know this is kind of sudden but… um I was wondering if you were willing to meet up with me. I want to ask you about something.”

He allowed himself to hang his head in frustration just out of the video feeds eyeline, pulling a sharp breath through his teeth before answering, “Yeah bud. Lets meet up.”

“Great!” Cat Noir answered enthusiastically, genuinely happy that he had agreed for whatever reason. “Meet me here when you get a second,” and he sent over his current location. Sure enough he was literally like, one block over.

He hung up without a goodbye, dragging his feet as he started to head that way. He was slow about it sine it was at most five seconds away for him. Adrien was so INTENSE about this charade some days it just drove him completely crazy. But rules are rules.

He waited for about a minute to distance their patterns, then with a short jump and a few corner’s turned he found Cat Noir crouched on top of the Linguistics building.

“Hey, you got here fast,” Cat greeted him happily, a little nervous looking actually. ‘Carapace’ as he was really had to resist the eye roll there, deciding instead to nod.

He went over and sat somewhat heavily, not pretending with an greeting at all and just watching him flatly. For whatever reason this made Cat Noir hesitate a little, but he quickly got over it, pushing through the weirdness and folding his hands in his lap.

“Well, listen I won’t waste your time much. I know we don’t really do this, we only ever talk about work and that’s the safe thing, I get how it is.” Cat Noir looked away, his gaze fixated on the possibility of rain, before he finally sighed.

“I just… I was wondering if I could get some… girl advice?”

Cat Noir looked to his ally, scanning his face and getting even more nervous as he more or less saw a brick wall of an expression on Carapace’s face.

Carapace blinked, saying nothing as Cat Noir began to talk unprompted, persevering despite the lack of reciprocation.

“So um, there is a girl, and you know that.  I always talk about her, and there is another girl, one that you don’t know.”

Carapace blinked.

He softly let out a “Bro…” but Cat Noir was hyping himself up now and he started rolling.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to this point where like, I-,”

He kept going, looking down at his gloved hands and missing Carapace’s slowly warping expression. He started rambling, about how he always got the timing wrong, about how he cared about both these girls so much and he just didn’t know what to do. He started and he didn’t stop, completely unaware of Carapace starting to lose touch with reality.

Finally Carapace interrupted, stammering slightly in a tone that was wildly like…

Disbelief?

“Dude I- stop, hang on. Dude I just- I know?” He waited for a beat, watching Cat Noir blink in confusion. He scanned his face, looking for just- literally anything. After another moment that was way too long, he finally braved it. “We- we already, we already talked about this.”

Cat straightened, throwing his head back in exasperation and groaning loudly, “Okay I know I talk about girls sometimes but I honestly never bother you with this much can you humor me please?”

“No I-,” Carapace paused, his voice getting quieter. “We just… literally we-,”.

“Please man I- UGH I’m really having trouble!” He nearly shouted it, looking so genuinely unheard that Carapace was reeling. “You’re one of my only close guy friends I NEED a second opinion, I’m begging now. I already asked my other friend but he always says the exact same thing and he’s RIGHT but I need someone to say something else!” Cat suddenly mimicked his voice saying, “”You need to communicate.” That’s what he says, he’s RIGHT obviously but I just-,”

He kept talking, briefly glossing over how this ‘friend of his’ wasn’t particularly helpful with this line of questioning, so Cat Noir had chosen to seek HIM out instead.

And as he went on with his rant, Carapace slowly brought his hands to his face in intense contemplation.

Suddenly, in the middle of Cat Noir’s over the top love ranting Carapace decided to interrupt him.

“Hold up- hold on now. I need to clarify something, just cause I need to double check alright, just checkin’ something.”

Cat Noir paused, looking to him and slowly saying, “…okay?”

“You KNOW I know you’re Adrien Agreste right?”

 Silence. Cat abruptly went rigid, but Carapace just splayed his hands wide, rapidly searching his face for confirmation of the impossible.

“Like dawg you KNOW that right? You’re aware? You know that right?”

Cat Noir was frozen, holding as still as possible like Carapace was a T-Rex and if he didn’t move this problem was just gonna go away. But Carapace pressed further, getting louder as he said “DUDE you know who I AM RIGHT?!”

The feline superheroes breathing was starting to pick up, his eyes blown wide as he REALLY looked at his friend, before he nearly inaudibly squeaked, “…no?”

“ADRIEN-,”

“Shhh!” Cat Noir leapt forward, trying to grapple him as he went into full panic mode, “Wait shut up shut up!”

“IT’S BEEN FIVE YEARS!”

“SHUT UP!”

They started to wrestle, Cat Noir violently shushing his companion as he had a full melt down, saying things like “All this time-!” and “You’re an idiot!” and “I thought you were just- oh my god!”

“Please!!! This is terrible Carapace shut up!! I don’t know how you found out my identity but I-,”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL-!?”

“Lower your voice!”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL”

“What do you mean?!”

Carapace gripped him hard by the shoulders and threw them both until Cat Noir was flat on his back with a harsh thump against the roof tiles. The turtle hero held him tight and shook his shoulders, his eyes crazed with years of realization colliding together at once. “Who is the second girl in your ridiculous life, what’s her name?!”

Cat Noir looked wild and frightened, finally becoming so flustered that he just hissed in a whisper, “It’s Marinette okay!?”

“And?”

“And WHAT!?”

“AND?” Carapace reiterated, shaking him harder.

“And LADYBUG you MORON!” he hissed as quietly as he possibly could.

Instantly Carapace stopped, holding him in a vice like grip just above the tiles. After an incredibly still moment, he dropped him, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face.

Cat Noir was flat on his back, panting heavily and staring up at him freaked out, but it was like Carapace had been struck by lightning and he was just sitting there, completely still.

 “Oh,” was all he finally said, curling in on himself slightly. Before suddenly, he pitched to the side and just lay there on the roof tiles, rolling onto his stomach.

“…oh?!” Cat eventually managed, twisting onto his side to look at him just laying there. “That’s all you have to say?! Of COURSE it’s Ladybug! I talk about her EVERY. DAY.”  

“This… explains… so much,” Carapace muttered, not even listening to him. With a huff Cat crawled onto all four and went over to him, his heart racing in what was nearly a panic attack at this point. But all of Carapace’s energy had been spent, and he just mumbled dejectedly with his face smooshed against the tiles.

Cat Noir’s ears twisted forward, trying to make out the words, before he just lost his patience and hissed “What are you saying?!”

“I said YOU’RE STUPID!” the turtle barked out, turning his face back into the filthy roof.

“Why am I- UGH forget it! Just forget it we have a way bigger problem here- If Ladybug finds out my identity has been compromised she’s going to-,”

“Is SHE stupid too!?” Carapace interjected, twisting just enough to look up at him incredulously. “Is everyone stupid but ME?”

“What the hell are you talking about?! Dude there is RULES! No one is allowed to know anyone elses identity!”

Carapace just gaped at him, before his eyes unfocused and he just went limp. He whispered it when he said, “So she IS stupid…”

He waited a beat, and wretchedly mumbled to himself, “Oh god you’re both so stupid.”

 Cat Noir was at a loss, looking all around him like he was desperately trying to make sense of it all, stopping only to try and sort of Carapace’s miserable breakdown.

He was about to give up and just drag Carapace to a lockable room somewhere before his friend propped himself up all at once with the most exasperated expression he had ever seen on a human person.

“So help me- someone has to do some shit about this, listen to me-,” Carapace got to his knees and lunged forward to grab him by the bell. He pulled him forward, and with all the determination of a war general he proclaimed, “On GOD I am going to get you a girlfriend, do you hear me? I am going to make this happen because I can not STAND another DAY of this. Got it?!”

“I- Carapace I-!?”

“GOT IT?!”

  Cat Noir dangled helplessly in his grip, and with his last wits he sputtered out, “Okay, okay!!! I’ll do whatever you say!”

[lifeofkaze]

Fourth Time's the Charm

Bill Weasley x Fleur Delacour

Prompts: The number 4

1) (word) Initiative

2) (colour) orange

3) (dialogue) “Take a chance. What harm can it do?”

Word Count: ~ 2.300

A/N: AU where Fleur meets Bill’s family before they get engaged.

____________________________________________

Bill Weasley had never been a superstitious man.

He had never listened to his mother’s old wives’ tales, nor cared for his father’s various ways of bringing about good luck. He had always smirked leniently when Charlie had gone through his pre-match rituals back at school and had long ago stopped questioning Ron’s doubtable fear of bad omens.

But today, everything was different.

Today, Bill had found himself jumping when Ginny had broken her glass at breakfast; his heart had skipped a beat when George had knocked over the salt shaker during lunch and he had felt the tips of his fingers tingle as he had subconsciously looked for any sign of the stray black cat visiting the Burrow from time to time.

He knew he was acting ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it; ever since waking up this morning to sunlight filtering into his old room and the silky hair of his girlfriend tickling his face, he had been out of his mind with nerves.

It was the first time he had taken Fleur to the Burrow to meet his family. Given, it wasn’t love at first sight for neither party involved and the atmosphere was a little more tense than what he was used to, but he could tell everyone was trying to get along; that wasn’t the problem.

No, what was actually making him nervous was the little red box he was carrying in the pocket of his trousers. Every time he moved and felt its corners against his leg, his mouth went dry and he had to fight the urge to panic.

Ever since he had met Fleur, when he had walked into her office at the Gringotts Headquarters, he had been sure she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Not because of her looks or her inherited Veela charm – although he couldn’t deny the appeal. No, what had won him over mere minutes into their first conversation was her personality.

He had never met a person more fierce and gentle, funny and witty. She was nothing like the perfect porcelain doll people made her out to be, an image she detested to the core of her being. Bill had felt it deep down back then, she was the one to complete him.

Bill had bought the ring he intended to give to her for ages ago, on his last work trip to Egypt. It wasn’t particularly elegant or fancy, but he thought Fleur would like it. Whenever he told her of his adventures, she hung onto his every word, his stories about ancient Egypt being her favourites. So when he had seen the delicate golden ring with a stylised lapis lazuli scarab on a bazaar in Cairo, he hadn’t thought twice. Haggling for an engagement ring had felt like weird thing to do and he had wondered if that was a good start for his endeavour, but he hadn’t wanted to be impolite.

Looking back now, he maybe should have trusted his initial instinct. He had been back in England for months now and it was almost time to leave again; the ring was still sitting in his small red box waiting to be presented, however.

And it was not like he was lacking enthusiasm to propose, quite the contrary.

The first time he had tried to ask Fleur the question of all questions, they had been at her favourite French restaurant. He had ordered champagne and the candles on their table had made her hair look like molten silver. It had been perfect, just until the couple on the table next to them had decided to break up very publicly and with a lot of thrown napkins, bitter curses and spilled wine.

The second time, Bill had cooked a three course meal for Fleur, giving it his all. He had taken care to prepare her favourite dishes the way her mother had explained it to him. They had just started on dessert and Bill had nervously fingered the box in his pocket when his family’s owl had crashed against the window so badly they had to rush and get him treated.

Bill had tried not to get discouraged by all his failed attempts. In the spirit of third time's the charm, he had taken great care and called some favours to make sure everything went right this time. A friend of his, who was skilled at weather charms, had promised to write his question into the sky for him; all he needed to do was show up with Fleur at the right place and time.

But she had come home from work late that day, tired, with a headache and in no mood to go anywhere. Desperate and nervous, Bill had urged her to come with him until she had snapped and they had had one of the worst fights Bill could remember.

No, Bill Weasley wasn’t a superstitious man; but seeing how many things went wrong already, he couldn’t help but feel on edge.

He had seen a lot of places over the course of his career; seeing how his attempts to propose to Fleur had gone so far, he couldn’t shake the thought that this would be his fourth attempt. Where three times was the charm, the prospect of number four made him uneasy.

Bill remembered his first work trip to Asia; the headquarters he had been supposed to get back to had been an inconspicuously looking building along the main street bearing the house number 4. He had been surprised to see that it wasn’t even enchanted to not be seen by Muggles until his colleague had explained to him why. There was no need to hide their headquarters because people wouldn’t even look at it for fear of something bad happening. The people believed that the number 4 was an ultimate omen of bad luck, the native word for it sounding almost the same as the word for ‘death’.

And right now, on the verge of attempt number four, Bill was dying more than a thousand deaths with every second the moment was drawing nearer.

He had chosen his timing carefully; his mother had gone into the village to run some errands, his father was off for work. Charlie and Percy had long since moved out and everyone else was busy playing Quidditch in the fields behind the Burrow. For once, the ramshackled house he grew up in was empty, save for themselves.

They were sitting under the huge tree in the corner of the garden where Bill and his siblings had played with the tire swing attached to a lower branch when they were children; the old treehouse reminiscent of his childhood was still sitting in the higher parts of the treetop. A slight breeze was blowing, making the leaves around the treehouse rustle unusually loud.

He had prepared a picnic for them but even the strawberries Bill had picked from the garden himself tasted like ash in his mouth as he mentally braced himself. He set his food aside and breathed in deeply.

It was time to take the initiative, once and for all. He would make sure there wouldn’t be a fifth time.

Leaning forward, he took Fleurs hand in his, sending a prayer to Merlin himself that she wouldn’t notice how sweaty his hand had become.

She looked at him in surprise. “What’s the matter? You are looking so serious.”

Despite his nervousness, a proud smile tugged at the corners of Bill’s mouth; her French accent had almost vanished since she had moved to England but the ‘s’ were still rolling from her perfect lips like a soft song, sending a shiver down his spine.

“It’s nothing, I just wanted to tell you how glad I am that you are here with me,” he started but trailed off again. He had prepared what he wanted to say beforehand, but all the sweet words were forgotten. “You know, this is my family, my family home. You and them getting along is so important to me, I wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t. It would be a disaster, it… “

Bill noticed he was rambling and stopped. Judging by Fleur’s sceptically raised eyebrows, he wasn’t exactly manoeuvring himself into a good position.

He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts and tried again. “What I wanted to say is, they are the most important thing to me in the world; my family. But ever since I met you, things have started to change. All my life, my family was the first thing on my mind; but not anymore.”

Bill had shifted from his seating position onto his knees, fumbling with the box inside his pocket. The wind seemed to have picked up, the leaves above them rustling louder than ever.

“The first thing on my mind is you, and it has been you ever since we met.” His heart was pounding in his ears as he took the small red box out. “That’s why I wanted to ask you – “

His words were cut short by something colourful whizzing through the air from up above him. He just had time to see two identical mops of ginger hair vanish between the branches of the tree again, before the water balloon the twins had thrown exploded right in between them.

Fleur shrieked and jumped out of the way as the bright orange liquid washed over them – Bill shuddered at the thought of what it might be.

Slowly, he raised his eyes from his own stained hands to Fleur; his eyes widened in horror as she started cursing violently. Even now, the rapid succession of angry French words spilling out of her mouth sounded beautiful to him, but her face was like thunder. The liquid had stained her silvery hair an orange colour almost the same as his own and Fleur’s tirade only intensified as she inspected the ends of it.

Bill’s heart sank at the sight and he felt a rush of burning anger at his little brothers for ruining his moment. Apparently, the fourth time was as unlucky as it was made out to be.

Discouraged, Bill hung his head. He wasn’t sure if Fleur had already seen the box before they had gotten pranked. Cursing Fred and George under his breath, he tried shielding it from her eyes with the back of his hand. But of course, she noticed the sudden change in his demeanour.

The crease between her brows softened as she reached for his hand. “I’m surprised you’re cursing them so much. This is new for me, but I thought you would be used to this.”

He shook his head. “Because they always have to ruin everything.”

Fleur’s nose wrinkled as she glanced down at her ruined hair and blouse again. “It’s a horrible prank. Just look at us, we’re looking ghastly. But I’m sure they didn’t mean bad.”

Bill sighed; he knew she was upset but was trying to make him feel better anyway. “They never do. But still, if I get my hands on them, I could kill them.”

Fleur shook her head, orange stained hair falling into her face. “No you couldn’t. You love your family just the way you love everything, with all of your heart.”

She smiled at him, the warmth in it making Bill’s heart flutter. “That’s what makes you so special.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “So you’re not mad?”

Fleur tossed her hair over her shoulder, a flicker of dismay crossing her face. “A bit; look at my hair, it’s looking just the same as yours now. But they’re your family. If I want to love you for the rest of my life, I will learn to love them, too.”

She intertwined her fingers with his and got up, pulling him along with her. “Because that is what I want to do; loving you for the rest of my life, as a part of your family. If you want that too, that is.”

Bill couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had always known Fleur to be brave, but he would never have figured her to be brave enough to take the initiative from him on herself.

He cleared his throat. “Are you really sure this is what you want? There is no me without this madness.” To drive his point home, he rubbed a smudge of orange from her cheek with his thumb. She chuckled at the sensation.

“This madness made the man that I love; how could I not want that?”

She took a step away from him and tilted her head to the side. “So, I think there’s something you wanted to ask me?”

Bill blinked incredulously. “You still want me to? Even though we’re all orange?”

Fleur’s laugh was like music to his ears. “Even though we’re all orange. Take a chance. What harm can it do?”

And just like that, looking at her smiling at him, his nervousness ceased. He felt completely calm, nothing but certainty left inside his heart.

He let go of Fleur’s hand and got down to one knee, both of them already smiling so widely it hurt his cheeks as he reproduced the now spattered red box again.

“Fleur Isabelle Delacour, do you want to give me the honour of becoming my wife, no matter how insane the ride will get?”

With a laugh bordering on a sob, Fleur sank to her knees next to him, showering his face in kisses, muttering “Yes!” over and over again.

Bill slipped the scarab ring onto her finger, the blue stone shining in the sunlight. He pulled his fiancée into a tight embrace, his face buried in her orange hair. Breathing in the lavender scent of her perfume, Bill felt a happiness wash over him greater than anything he could ever have imagined.

Maybe the old superstition was wrong after all.

Apparently, fourth time’s the charm.

[therewasatale]

for I have sinned

On Ao3. 

Summary:  Alucard likes to mess with other priests, not just with Anderson.

Note:  Maybe I'll write a second part. It's on your choice. Does anyone want a chapter two for this?

The morning sun's dazzling light shone through the window, the light was only amplified by the clean white wall. The shadows were forced to retreat into the corners of the room waiting for their time to come.

And yet it wasn’t the strength of the light that wake Father Anderson up, it was the warmth of the rays. He awoke with a pleasant sensation, or at least a much more pleasant one, than the one he had gone to sleep with.

He allowed himself to stretch lazily. His shoulders cracked with a satisfying sound, and they were soon followed by the joints of his legs. Finally, there was no burning sensation, aches, or throbbing inside him. He turned around carefully on the shaky bed. Every wound he got from last night's hunt were already healed thanks to his regeneration.

Reaching down carefully, he ran his fingers along the ragged edges of his cassocks. He found more than a couple bullet holes. On his trousers there was a dark, yet still distinctly red stain from dried blood. He had to get new clothes. Unfortunately, he was sure that he would not be able to change into anything else. His temporary accommodation, a smaller Catholic church housed a priest who was at least three heads smaller than him.

Luckily, the car will arrive soon, which will take him to the nearest plane. And there was always a change of clothes waiting for him on those. He just had to leave unobtrusively, as Maxwell used to say a long time ago, trying to be witty.

As he got out from the bed, he glanced out the window. There was a tidy little garden outside, it contained two chestnut trees. Thanks to being around late spring, they were full of white flowers. The priest remembered his home, where similar trees grew in the much larger garden of the orphanage. Those must be blooming by now too.

He missed his home, sooner or later he became homesick on every one of his missions. But there were things only he could do, and he always made sure he could return home again.

Closing his eyes, he slowly rubbed his face. It was time to leave.

Before heading out he took one last look outside. Beyond the ornately decorated fence, people walked the streets, focusing on their own thoughts, most of them looked at their phone. None of them suspected that there was a priest watching them, a priest who was officially declared dead 50 years ago. That was the same day he reborn, in a way.

Anderson was about to leave, but along the fence he saw a figure making his way towards the church, he was wearing a long red coat.

The priest froze in his movements.

The figure's footsteps slowed down a bit. His crimson eyes were clearly visible, as he looked not just at the church, but directly at him. Anderson felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck, but before he could do anything, the vampire walked away.

He knew full well that that damned vampire should have left the town long ago. He himself got back at the church at around three o'clock in the morning, after they finished off the vampire and almost finished off each other. Unfortunately, local police put an end to their deadly dance.

Anderson's hands trembled. That bloodsucker should have been with his master a long time ago.

It took a few moments for him to calmed down a bit. Whenever he was near the vampire, there was always a kind of tension in his blood. He didn’t know where it came from, but it helped him focus on the bloodsucker with each of his senses, so he relied on it more and more. And the mysterious tension rewarded him for it because he felt the movements of his nemesis grew more predictable with each time. Despite him thinking only a couple of months ago that he was just a monster fighting on instinct, he turned out to be so much more.

Adjusting his coat, he opened the door of his room. He got around the building, heading for the main entrance, taking bigger steps than necessary. The rays of the sun made the white paint shine as it towered over the ground. As he passed the wall, nearby laughter of children reached his ear. If he remembered correctly, the school belonging to the church was just a few blocks away. The spring sun continued to warm his dark coat, in other occasions he might have enjoyed this quiet morning.

The giant doors of the church were wide open. Approaching them was enough to feel the cool air flowing out from inside of the building. A chill ran down on his arm and he instinctively pulled his torn coat closer to himself. His footsteps echoed as he passed between the rows of benches.

"Morning." His throat felt dry, and he needed to swallow.

"Hm? Oh, good morning, Father Anderson...It's indeed a good morning. I mean the weather is lovely." Father Saw sat on the very first bench, his eyes fixed on the altar even as Anderson stepped beside him. "How did you sleep?" The man could not be more than 40. His thin, lean figure was clothed in priestly reverend. The black formal somehow made him look even thinner than he actually was. In his auburn hair one could already see a couple of graying hair.

"Good." The iscariot carried ran gaze throughout the building. Tidy, clean, welcoming, these words came to his mind. He found the place more than adequate. Father Saw kept the house of God and the flock of God in order. Anderson felt some satisfaction. He opened his mouth to speak again but the other man was faster.

"Tell me, Father Anderson. I don’t want to be indiscreet, but do you happen to know a tall man in a red coat? He looks to be around his mid-30s. Quiet a striking looking man with long black hair."

Anderson's body tensed up for the second time in the day. For a few moments, he could see the shape of the vampire and its glowing eyes clearly in front of him.

"Why are you asking?"

There was a brief silence in the church. The only thing that can be heard was the faint o laughter of children filtering through the walls. Then a bell rang in the distance, signaling the beginning of their class.

"Father Saw?"

The man cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, my thoughts wandered off a little." He turned his dark brown eyes towards Anderson for the first time, those eyes were hiding something. When he spoke again, his gaze turned towards the altar again. "Just out of curiosity. You could say that at least... The young man was here this morning, after the morning mass." Father Saw nodded, mostly to himself.

"What did he want?"

"Well, your friend-"

"He's not my friend."

"Oh, then, you partner, perhaps?"

"Not my partner either. Why did he come here? What did he want?"

"He came to the church to make a confession."

Anderson expected all sorts of answers, just not that. "Make a confession?"

"Oh yes."

"That bloodth-" He bit the sentence before it could be continued. "That bloody…man...came here? To confess?"

"Yes."

"And what did he say?"

Father Saw looked up at him tellingly. "It remains between us and the Lord. It's after all His business."

Anderson's mouth twitched a little, but he knew it wouldn’t be any use to insist. He forced himself to nod slowly.

"I see. The point is, I know that person. At least since last year. Sometimes we meet, I think the Lord sets him in my way as a test of sorts."

"Now-now, Father Anderson, remember that everything is going according to His plans." Father Saw smiled faintly.

Anderson raised his eyes towards the sky. This was undeniably so.

"He seemed like an interesting, person." Father Saw could clearly recall the image of the figure. He could see him passing between the last row of benches after stepping out of the booth. He smiled back at the priest, eyes that glistening crimson. It must have only been the trick of the light, that the priest assured himself again.

"So he confessed his sins. I would assume not all of them."

Fater Saw sighed slowly, not really knowing what to say. So, he did what he usually does when the situation becomes too awkward. He skirted around the topic and started on another.

"Well, he did a confession but first he asked about you. I think he was worried about you, Father Anderson."

He had to swallow a snort back and just nodded.

"He was worried about me, well, he didn't need to, the important thing is that he left and he won't return." Anderson muttered. The thought itself that a vampire dared to step into the house of God, was infuriating. And between two growls, he tried to ignore the tiny yet existing part of his self that was curious about what the vampire exactly confessed. "Anyway, thank you for allowing me to stay in the church. Now it's time for me to leave, if I'm not mistaken my car has already arrived."

Father Saw's let his shoulders sag a little. He hasn’t even noticed how tense they became during the morning.

"You're welcome, Father Anderson. Thank you for visiting to help us." Even if I don’t really know what was that you actually helped with. But the bloodstained trouser leg and the bullet-torned clothes were pretty convincing for me to not ask too many questions. Thought the younger priest. "Have a nice trip home, Father Anderson."

"Yes, thank you." The Iscariot glanced around the building once more. His eyes settled in the confessional booth for a moment. Then sinking deep into his thoughts and headed towards the main entrance.

 After Father Saw was left alone, he slowly rubbed his face and sighed deeply. He had eventful days behind him. First the child disappearances, then Father Anderson, whose arrival was announced only a day before by the bishop. Blood and injuries, and that man returned at dawn. And to top it off, that strange man and his confession.

He couldn't say anything because of his oath. Though it wasn't as if he had been able to say anything to Anderson anyway.

For years he had already listened to many kinds of secrets and sins and absolved many kinds of people. But there were still things that were able to shake and confuse him completely.

'Every time I see him my blood feels like fire, and I can't focus on anything else. He makes me feel things I forgot about a long time ago. '

Father Saw squeezed the bridge of his nose. It will be a long time before he could get rid of those memories. He could still hear the man's voice, which sounded so deep one could hardly believe it belonged to a mortal.

'I know it's bad, father. But I want to make him mine. I want to taste every part of his body and make him cry out from pleasure. And I want to make him beg for more and the best part is that I would give it to him. '

He didn't even know the man's name, nor did he know where he had come from and why and how a Catholic priest would associate with someone like him. What kind of people were those two? And how did they appear here as if out of nowhere. Even more importantly, did he want to know the answer?

He needed to get outside for a breath of fresh air. Decided Father Saw as he rose from the bench. He needed a change pf pace.

'Maybe one day, he will be mine, but until then I can only just watch and dream, father. Maybe it's a bad thing, but I can't change it. I just want him. '

He stood up a bit shakily and slowly crossed himself.

 The next day

 Anderson opened the door into the ornate office, inside everything seemed garish to him. He took a short glance towards the huge painting, taking up the entirety of one of the walls. Nothing has changed since he left. Part of him was a bit disappointed, he always hoped that Maxwell would one day realize that this opulence was tasteless and did nothing to help his work. He once tried to point this out, but his former disciple said the room was decorated like this for a long time. He also stated that the painting that Anderson despised the most, was a gift.

Now, sitting at his desk, the bishop ran his eyes down a sheet of paper and rubbed his forehead.

"Is everything all right, Father Anderson?"

"Yes, everything is all right." He replied succinctly as he walked closer to him. "Why did you call me, Maxwell?"

The bishop's mouth twitched a little. Almost every time he needed to remind Anderson to call him according to his rank. But for once he decided to overlook this.

"If everything went well, what is the reason for Father Saw submitting the request to the local bishop to be reassigned to another region?"

Anderson shrugged honestly, so Maxwell continued.

"This is the fourth time, Anderson. The fourth time you and that vampire will show up and within a few days the local priest request to be transferred." A sheet of paper was put into a smaller pile. Maxwell folded his hands into his lap and looked straight into his teacher's eyes, the priest stood his gaze.

"What do you mean, it's the fourth time?"

"For the fourth time. In two months. Even a Protestant would notice the fact that there is a pattern to this thing. I just want to know why the pattern exist so we can pay attention to it in the future."

"What did they say?"

Maxwell didn't even have to glance at the page. "Overall, they feel like they can't serve God enough in their current place. Their flock became too big, and they want to be in a quieter place." The bishop shook his head. "So? What can you tell me about these four cases? I know you finished the vampire, and I also know you ran into Hellsing's dog. But maybe something else happened too?" He slowly looked the man in front of him up and down.

Anderson glanced towards painting. The angels circled the saint in the middle, who reached towards the sky with an almost cathartic smile. In the bottom of the picture people were bathing in blood, their faces reflecting pure pain. The father could not stand this painting. The features of the figure in the middle, resembled Maxwell too much.

"Father Anderson?"

He answered after a moment's silence. "I don't know. I think they were just shaken by the deaths. They would not be the first or the last to ask for reassignment after a tragedy. Very few have to deal with literal monsters in their lives."

"Well, if I have to stand before the pope with that as an answer, so be it." Seeing Anderson's gaze, he lowered the self-sacrificing edge in his voice. "Thank you for visiting me. That would be it."

The priest glanced at the picture once again.

"You can go, Anderson."

"All right." He walked slowly towards the door, then turned back with his hand on the handle. "Sometimes get out of there, Maxwell. This place is," he continued after some thought. "You spend too much time indoors. And try to eat properly."

Maxwell couldn't hide his embarrassment, which made him feel warm at first and then anger mixed with some pride, but when he spoke, he tried to completely suppress the latter in his voice. "I'll think about it, Father. But I'm very busy these days, but I'll see what can I do."

The young man nodded slowly.

Anderson's mouth trembled, then he walked out of the office, leaving Maxwell behind. The bishop glanced at the painting and did not even notice the satisfied smile that appeared on his lips.

 For once, the basement was not in complete darkness. And this was also one of those rare occasions when the vampire didn’t spend all his time shut in there.

"If you had seen the face of that priest, Walter!" Alucard laughed sincerely, holding his glass towards the butler. "And his voice. It became just as high pitch as the others when they realized what we were going to talk about. Or what kind of sins they needed to absolve me from."

"I can only guess what kind of horror he had to go through thanks to you." He filled the glass of wine and then sipped a little from his own cup, with a small smile playing on his lips. "How many priests was blessed with the chance to gain insight into your worries?"

"This was the fourth." The vampire grinned contentedly. "I have almost forgotten how refreshing it can be when a man is freed from the burdens of his soul." He drank slowly from the wine. "A fraction of them at least."

"Refreshing? You mean fun." Walter glanced at him and crossed his legs. He was sitting across Alucard in a comfortable armchair that had been recently brought down into the basement.

"Combining the pleasant with the useful?"

The butler snorted and then chuckled under his nose. "I don't even want to know what exactly you said to that poor soul."

Alucard's grin widened, his eyes gleamed brightly as he remembered back to yesterday morning. Even now he could clearly recall the stuttering voice of the priest. He was just as shocked as the three others when he entered the confession booth. But he had to admit, so far all four had endured and none of them fled from him.

"I wonder where you got this idea from?" Walter shook his head with a smile.

"Actually, we owe it all to Anderson. He was the one who told me a few months ago, during one of our hunts, that a monster of my own kind would never be able to cleanse itself of its sins. Even if I apologized all my life."

"And of course, you took that as a challenge."

Alucard chuckled deeply. "I took it as a good advice, Walter, good a good advice from a good friend."

"A good friend, I see." He put his cup back on the tray.

"In the beginning, I just wanted to upset a priest. But since then, more and more new things have appeared in mind, and whenever I confess, I think it will be the last one. But it never is."

"Oh, I wonder why that is."

Alucard raised an eyebrow at the butler but received only a small chuckle in response.

"Either way, I'm glad you managed to get yourself something to occupy your time. Of course, in addition to constantly upsetting Anderson and provoking every meeting of you two into a battle."

"Not every meeting." Corrected it, a little maybe arbitrary, Alucard.

"Oh?" Walter chuckled as the vampire just snorted. "Still, try teaching Seras something more useful over time if possible."

"As soon as she starts consuming blood properly." Alucard waved it off. "What?" He raised an eyebrow as he caught the look in Walter's eye.

"Nothing." The butler shook his head and stood up picking up his tray. "But it's time for me to go, the dinner won't serve itself."

Alucard finished his glass, murmuring slightly. "Always on duty."

"Well, not everyone is lucky enough to have fun at work." Walter left the basement with a telling smile. "Have another nice night, Alucard."

"Hm," the vampire refilled his glass, then began to swirl it around slowly, watching the red liquid splash around the edge of it.

The passage of time was hard to tell inside the cellar, at least for an average person. Alucard could feel it without mistake when the day turned to night, or the breaking of dawn. However, he hasn’t really bothered with the passage of time since long ago. He could afford his thoughts to roam freely.

'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.'

Alucard still had to laugh. He doesn't need forgiveness, hell, he would never ask for it. But what would he say if Anderson would offer him forgiveness? How would he react? How soon would he stab the bayonet through the wall of the confessional? Or what if he would just listen? And if he could sit through it all? After all, he is still a priest, a bloodthirsty, fiery, and fighting priest.

The vampire's eyes flared up with an even more vivid red. His excitement was similar to when he fought with Anderson, be it side by side or against each other.

He drank slowly from his glass.

Maybe...there could be a way.

He placed his empty glass on his desk. Then, he got up from his chair and walked through the walls into the garden. Outside, he looked up at the clear sky and smiled at the silvery light of the moon. It was really beautiful today, - The thought ran through his mind. -, almost as much as Anderson’s eyes when he is fighting.

He paused for a moment.

"Well," he chuckled deeply. It seemed that even his own thoughts could surprise him from time to time. Well, he had a lot to think about.

[poptod]

The Nose Kiss (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: A dinner and offerings to the Gods devolves into something much quieter.

Notes: yesterday was the last day of my fast so today is the feast! i thought it might be fun to write something relating to that and my kemeticism thing, which is definitely there edit: i just realized all my fics lately have been about ahk im sorry lmao WC: 1.3k

+

The first thing on the list was obvious––you didn't even need to get them, as they were a common staple in your diet, especially around the festival of Opet. Dates, specifically medjool, and though you already had a box at home the thought of pitted dates came to you. If you got a couple nuts and coconut sugar you could stuff them, which was always a nice treat.

Number two and three on the list were a vegetable mix and olives.

Ahk mentioned liking olives.

You paused in the middle of the grocery store, staring at the list on your phone. Ahk would like all of this, actually––why hadn't you thought of that before? How many years have you celebrated this festival in a row and never thought of your friend?

Despite knowing exactly how the museum came to life every night, you'd never met anyone besides him. It was one of those evenings (or midnights, really) where restless wanderlust had you roaming the streets, looking for buildings to scale and the tallest places you could get to. The museum ended up being one of them, and that was where he saw and accosted you, a scared look in his eye that held you petrified.

That was a while ago now, though. It had to be... two? maybe three? years since you first met him, and considering the state of his existence he was a wonderful friend. And a very nice man to dream about.

One time he mentioned being a vegetarian, which happened right around the time he told you Teddy, a man also from the museum, recently became vegetarian as well. You wouldn't mind planning the feast around that. Thus you continued your shopping, a faint smile on your face as you imagined Ahk's upcoming look of surprise.

His hand in yours, you led him down the hallway, watching as he trailed behind you with a vacant but confused smile.

"I, the child of Khonsu," you began as you walked, starting a recitation of a prayer that you and Ahk had long since memorized. It would act as a sort of hint.

"I, the son of Ra," he returned.

"I will live and have power beneath the branches of the tree of Hathor. There Re appears in his horizon, his Ennead following him. Raise yourself, Re who are in your shrine, that you may lap up the breezes. May you swallow the northern wind, may you entrap the day, may you kiss Ma'at, may you sail the Sacred Bark to the Lower Sky, may you reckon up your bones and turn your face to the beautiful West."

In chanting unison you recited the prayer, the image of your shrine flashing behind your eyes. By now you remembered every detail of it, how it looked when you fell to your knees and prayed, soft utterances falling from your lips.

Your shrine at home was much prettier, much better managed than your portable one, but the smaller worked fine for your spot on the museum roof. Ahk never needed a jacket, but you did––for that you brought several thick blankets, wrapping up around the shrine and your pillow seats. Candlight surrounded the mobile shrine, illuminating the small painting of Khonsu in the back. For Ahk you brought an image of Ra, painted in faux gold, and gifted to him a couple months back.

His eyes drew first to the food. Plates of well-seasoned peas, turnips, lettuce, garlic, and onion––stacks of honey cakes and bowls of stuffed dates. In the middle lay the offering dish, one made of carved and stained wood and lined with flowers.

"How did you...?"

"Tied it all up in a big blanket and hauled it up the side," you said with a laugh, eyes set intently upon him, gauging his reaction. Thus far he looked delighted––beyond delighted. Almost... blushy.

"This.. this is –"

"Unwarranted?" You finished for him, raising a single brow.

He nodded.

"Don't worry," you said, once more taking his hand and leading him to sit down on his pillow seat. "It's the festival of Nehebkau today. Perfectly good reason."

"I suppose so," he said softly, attention drifting between the different plates.

"Offerings first?" You asked, and he nodded.

For the proceeding five minutes you stacked a fair amount of food onto the offering plate, lighting an incense whose smoke drifted high into the night sky. Without a roof above you, the scent remained distant, which suited you just perfectly for the meal you began to eat. An interesting yet uninvolved conversation flowed between you two, your attentions divided between the food and one another.

While Ahk finished up the remaining bites on his plate, you dug into your bag in search of your lute. You didn't play it often, more suited to guitar, but on the go it was a much lighter and smaller instrument.

"I lov–"

"Do you want to –"

You spoke at the same time, stammering and chuckling when you both recoiled your statements.

"You go first," you said, hands falling into your lap as you fidgeted.

"No, it's alright. What were you saying?"

"I just – wanted to know if you wanted to make some music," you said as you raised the lute into his line of sight.

"Sounds wonderful," he said with a happy, but dissatisfied, smile.

He taught you this one. The words. Together you translated it into English, though you rarely sung such songs in that language. Still, as you sung, you turned the words into English in your head, following along with the beat of your own voice.

But I, I am excited by your love alone

My heart is in balance with yours

and may I never be far from your beauty.

Yet I have departed from you now,

and when I think of your love,

my heart stands still within me.

The taste of sweetcake

Turns bitter on my tongue

The scent of your nose

is what revives my heart.

I have obtained,

forever and ever

What Amun has granted me.

"You sing that song well," he commented as you finished, quiet so as to not break the spell of music. "It becomes you."

Before you could answer he leant forward, eyes concentrated deeply into yours as his fingers raised to brush the hair off your face. Your heart skipped a beat as his skin touched yours. The two of you had never been all that touchy with each other––the furthest thing you'd done was a quick hug, leaving you clueless as to the sudden affection.

"You asked me about that one line in there, the one about the noses. When was that?" He asked, his head quirking to the side.

"Um.. a couple months ago maybe? You never gave me a direct answer. Why do you ask?"

He paused before opening his mouth, eyes straying to the side as a blush overtook him.

"It's called a nose kiss," he said, though apparently still couldn't bear to meet your gaze. "When a couple rubs their noses together and take in each others' scent."

You leaned forward the two inches it took to reach his face, closing your eyes as you bumped his nose with yours. At last his eyes turned to you, wide as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Once he did so he laughed––blushed a deeper red, and looked bashfully to the floor.

"Not quite that short," he mumbled through the soft laughter wracking his shoulders.

So you tried again; leaned forward with a gentler touch, brushing your noses together instead of bonking. Still your eyelids fluttered shut, focusing on the scent of him, the feel of his warmth, the rush of your heart at every grace. He sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders tensing until your hand came up to cup his jaw. Then he relaxed, moved into you, slotted his nose beside yours and landed the softest kiss right above your lips.

"Better?" You asked.

He kissed you again, this time on your lips.

[dreadfutures]

WIP Wednesday at BTV: @kita-lavellan | @silvanils | @noire-pandora | @ellie-effie | @musetta3 | @jarakrisafis | @nivenor-krosis | @kittynomsdeplume | @inquisitoracorn | @ohhgren | @medlilove | @morganlefaye79 | @hollyand-writes

And @crackinglamb who also tagged me!

I’ve had a really awful week but I’ve been slowly chipping away at this very important conversation between Ixchel and Solas. And I’d actually appreciate thoughts on this. I’ll just listen to whatever anyone has to say. This is long though so I’m going to put it under the cut.

Question: Specifically, I'm trying to navigate this complicated cause/effect and question of autonomy and individuality in their relationship, which happens to hold the weight of the apocalypse over both their heads in different ways. It is important that they both can operate as they wish, without fearing they will misstep and drive the other away

Ixchel definitely is one of the reasons Solas ultimately confronts some of his stubbornness/willful blindness, as his friend and someone he respects--it’s the way she lives her life and the way she hopes and fights and the world she believes in that ultimately makes him see more paths available than his din’an’shiral. It's not that she loves him or he loves her.

And he's aware that because of so many complications and questions about her resurrection, that she constantly feels like it might indeed be her love--and lovability--that’s holding back the apocalypse. And their relationship will never be equal and truly healthy until she stops carrying that burden. Somehow she needs to learn to trust that he has made his decision and will continue to make decisions based off of himself, and not her.

But also at the same time, he loves her, and she loves him, and they do help each other with like, reinforcing each other's hope, and reminding each other what they're fighting for, that the fight is worth it, and when the other one is tired, being able to prop them up and help them keep going as equals. There are the shadows of her own anxieties and depression that aren't entirely based in reality, but there are also these fears that are so deeply founded in reality. idk.

The Excerpt:

Ixchel and Solas finished bathing and washed their clothes—smiling like the foolish da'lenala neither of them had ever had the luxury to be. She was full of wine and laughter, and she knew that there would only be more waiting back in the Hold.

But as they dried off in the warm evening sun and she thought about the celebration of Hakkon's rebirth, her mind strayed to the name the Spirits of the Basin had given her, and what she had done to earn it. The shock and gratitude she had felt upon hearing herself called 'God-Song' had faded some, and now the chill of anxiety returned to the pit of her stomach. She shivered despite the golden light that surrounded them, and she felt Solas's attention shift from the sky down to her again. He did not speak, but she felt the question in his eyes on her bare back. "Vhenan," she began in a low voice, "should I… The Spirits called to Mythal through me. Was it her power that they summoned with that song? Or my own? Or theirs?" His grip around her waist tightened. "Do not be afraid," he said, but of course that solidified the cold tendrils of anxiety into hard, heavy dread in her gut. "The Spirits here are older than many," Solas said haltingly, "but they are still young. They remember only echoes of…'elf songs,' they call them. The echoes by themselves have power, even if the subjects of the songs cannot hear. That is the power of a prayer, spoken where the Veil is thin." He took a deep breath, and after a moment of consideration he sat up beside her. He rested one arm across his knees and began to trace idle patterns across her cursed forearm with the other. "I do not think she heard you." She stared across at his tense jaw, though his eyes remained on the horizon. "We summoned Flemeth at Mythal's altar in the Arbor Wilds, with a song," she whispered. He tilted his head slightly. "Did you not have the Well of Sorrows in your company?" "Ah." She gave a shuddering laugh as something, not quite relief, swept through her. "That's true." Solas responded with a shallow nod, but then, for a moment, his chest seemed filled with words. She waited, but he did not speak them before sighing again. "What is it?" she asked, and bit her lip. Solas slipped his arm around her waist to shift her closer, and then he sought out the Anchor. He spread her palm open, and with deliberate slowness, he dipped the pads of his fingers into the shining tear of magic her skin. It was as though he might slip through her hand and into the Fade that way. A vicious shudder wracked her frame; the penetration itself felt strange and dull, like a cramp, and yet the magic in her hand came to life with a hot flare. She could see the spirals of his orb across her skin, as she often could if she examined her palm closely, but now she could see the green tendrils of green rift magic as they wound their way up her wrist and her forearm. To her horror, it was clear that the Anchor had embedded itself almost halfway up to her elbow. She could feel Solas draw upon it with his concentration, and yet the reaching veins of the Anchor did not retreat. The damage had been done. Her fingers had curled around his instinctively, until the bones in his hand seemed to creak in protest. "I will not let them have you," he said. The finality with which he spoke made her feel as though he were not quite answering her question. Some other conversation had played out in his mind, and he had come to this answer. She did not know exactly whether he spoke of Flemeth and Mythal, or even perhaps the all-consuming power of the Anchor. She stared down at their joined hands, eyes burning, which was likely a sign that she was too exhausted to handle these conversations. When she heard and saw the resolve in him, she should have been able to stifle the part of her that remembered how he spoke to her of the din'an'shiral he must walk alone. She should not have immediately been afraid that the calculation he had done in his head was about his loyalties. It should have been a settled matter, and yet, still, it was not. Ixchel took a deep breath and tried to swallow that part of her. "I am more concerned about what she might do with you, Solas," she said truthfully. "How did I end up with Old God's spent soul within me? How did he come to possess it, when Mythal had taken it? Was he moving to the beat of her drum—knowingly, or not?" She saw the slightest twitch of his ear and knew that she had touched on a raw topic there, too. But this was a better topic, and one that was just as important for her to know the answer to. "If I have enticed you from the path that she wanted you on… Should I not be afraid, to stand against Mythal?" He turned his head abruptly, and she met his piercing gray eyes dead-on. After a moment's consideration, he reached around her to stroke her cheek gently with the backs of his knuckles. And she knew immediately that he had heard, beneath this line of questioning, the doubt that still ate at her. There was no challenge in his gaze, but the look with which he pinned her was not soft, either. "My loyalty is to our People above all else," he said, to make her heart seize in her chest. He continued in a measured voice that was heavy with blood and wine. "In Wycome. In Halamshiral. In Serault, and Minrathous, in Skyhold, and across the Veil… If Mythal indeed remains, she would not keep me from such a duty. For all the fearsome tales of the Witch of the Wilds, I cannot believe the All-Mother, if she truly remains, would undercut that work." She gripped his hand ever tighter. "And you… You are not afraid of Mythal," he said, a bitter note coloring his words. "You are afraid of walking your path alone. You are afraid that you cannot hold the Dread Wolf at bay with the strength of your love. And you cannot. You have not." His breath was hot across her face as he drew closer—not to kiss her, of course not, but rather as though he might impress upon her the full weight of his words with the strength in his silver eyes. "You are the Champion of the People. You have sworn, and I have believed." He squeezed her hand back, to emphasize his point. "For as long as you hold true to your purpose, you are my Champion, 'ma'lath, 'ma'av'in. But as you insisted, you chose yourself first. You gave yourself a name, decided its meaning." He brushed her hair behind her ear and then settled his hand firmly at the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair to hold her, ground her. He gave her the smallest shake. "Let me do the same." Ixchel swallowed. "Hope is a choice," she murmured. "Yes," he replied, "it is. So is trust." He kissed her gently then, and she tried to lose herself to it. The hand at the back of her neck slipped back to her ribs, to pull her close against his chest. She could feel his heart beat steadily beneath their skin, a steady, certain rhythm. She sighed into his mouth, and he hummed in response. "Ir abelas," she whispered as she broke away. They rested their foreheads together, eyes closed. "Do not be," he said, more gently than before. He raised their joined hands between them and traced the scar that ran down her chest, over her heart. "For all your stalwart strength, Ixchel, for all that you have reforged yourself from ruin, you cannot be blamed for fearing the one who shattered you. Especially when you have given him the very tools with which to shatter you again." Ixchel lost her breath as his words impacted her physically, and she opened her eyes to see that he had, too. For a moment, they were no longer silver—but rather they burned with the blue light of a god's power. That terrible gaze was focused on something deep within her chest…something that responded, and reflected his power back at him in painful resonance. "If there is one burden you can put down," he said, voice falling to a lilting whisper, "it is that you still carry the responsibility of the death of a world in your heart. Please… You must know it was not your failure." The magic in his eyes faded, and his lashes flicked up as he caught her staring at him. There were creases of grief at the corners of his eyes. "My mistakes will always be my own." The grief in his face might have seemed incongruent with the hard and heavy weight of his words, but she could feel how they hurt him as much as they hurt her. "I have told you that you have changed everything, but it was not your love for me, nor even my love for you, that has changed my course. It is the harm I have done to the world, the harm I know I might yet do, that stays my hand. Ane mala vasreëm." Perhaps it was the tears he saw well up in her eyes, or maybe it was simply his anxious mind trying to cut off any possible way he could hurt her more than he had already, but his own face was suddenly torn with pain and apology. "In saying this, I might seem to take away from your perceived victory—" "No," she said suddenly. "Solas, I do not need to believe it a war between us." She freed her hands from his so she could brush briefly at her eyes. "Thank you. I have only ever cared for your path as a friend... I love you, but--" she could not stem the flow of her tears, and she laughed at herself.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He obliged and held her tightly; warm, smooth skin pressed against her rough constellation of scars, and she was enveloped in his smell, his warmth, his magic. She knew that she was safe in his embrace. And she knew that he was right. Perhaps she could have thwarted the Dread Wolf's plans, had she not killed herself. But he had chosen his path, chosen to excise his heart and give it to her, and she had been right to think that to carry it—to redeem it, to return it—was a futile task. Solas had never betrayed her. He had never promised anything. Cole was right: Solas was only ever his own. It was Solas who had watched her walk her path. Solas had chosen to follow, open-eyed. And ultimately, it would be Solas who chose to stay. Life is a story written by two hands, after all.

[byorder-fanfic]

A Ghost Walked Through the Door

Summary: Anna Gray has been looking for her brother for a very long time.

Word count: 2637

Warnings: Mention of foster care and children taken from parents, swearing, implies abuse from Church (nothing explicit) and implies homelessness/ rough childhood.

Author’s Note: In the show, Anna’s age is all over the place so I’ve decided that she is a year older than Michael (born in 1902) because I really like the older sister dynamic. Hope you enjoy xx

Anna stood outside the wooden gate, staring into the typical country garden: green grass (that surely would've been vivid in any other season but the grey winter) that stretched as far as she could see, and slap bang in the middle of it all was the little brick cottage. The fire was lit. Perhaps he was there, the person she had been searching for as long as she escaped the boat. Perhaps this was it- the day she found herself. Her shaking hands did not reach to open up the gate. Not yet. The rusted old car of Jack Low's had clunked its way down the dirt road many minutes ago, leaving behind a trail of smoke and her. She was lucky she had found someone to drive all the way to the front gate, and Jack was quite kinder than she'd expected when she saw the white-haired bloke. It was because of the fur lining her throat and wrists, the newly gained winter's coat showing off a majesty of wealth she did not have. If Jack had noticed the thick chunk of mud clinging to the bottom of her leather boots, or had he clued on to her makeup less face behind her slick bob and fringe, or even saw the dimness of the plastic beads as she rolled them between her calloused fingers, he hadn't asked. Thankfully. Maybe Michael would- he'd probably be impressed with her finery, especially if the farm life was all he knew, and then he'd probably be a bit disappointed with how she acquired each luxurious item.  Finally, her hand (pale and shaking with more than nerves- why hadn't she taken Alberta's gloves that she'd had her eye on?) pried open the gate with a creak, as she walked into the garden. The sound of her quickening breath thrummed in her ears as she kept on going, heels clacking and tangling in the field. She made it to the door. Laughter boomed inside- could it be Michael's? Eagerness overcame her as she rapped on the door, politeness replaced with loud booming knocks that scraped her already bruised knuckles. The voices quieted, a quick "I'll get it!" from a woman. Michael's foster mother, perhaps, would she let Anna see him? The weight of a knife in her pocket proved that hypothetical pointless. Heels tapped closer. And closer. And- the door swung open, Anna's heart nearly burst. She was a portly woman, a warm smile on her face as she observed the girl with evident surprise. "Hello there, can I help you?" She asked kindly, hand still on the door frame. "Yes, please." Her eyes flickered behind her, where photos lined the walls, but she couldn't make out the one face she needed. "Are you Mrs James?" She nodded, yes she was. Another breath fell from her, a smile curling on her lips. The nun hadn't lied, then. "I'm looking for Mich- Henry, I mean. Henry Johnson. Your son, I believe." The other name still seemed so wrong on her tongue. Mrs Johnson's face fell, sadness and suspicion souring the woman's once kind expression. "It's Michael Gray now," she spat out. "Those Shelby bastards took him back to Birmingham with them." Anna breathed in deeply- her entire family was reconciled, all but her. Surely, if they found Michael, that meant they knew about the documents. Fuck. "When was this?" Her voice was meek. Maybe she could stop any real damage before it was done, stop Michael and her mother from mourning a girl still alive. "Two years ago," she said in a solemn voice, her eyes growing glassy. "Why?" "I'm Anna Gray," she stuck out her hand. Mrs Johnson hesitantly accepted it, eyes wide again in shock. "I'm looking for my brother." "Don't." She shook her head. "Those Shelbys are the devils, dragging my boy," she paused, "my Henry, into their Peaky Blinders nonsense. Your Michael...he isn't that boy any more." "He's my brother," she said, trying not to feel too offended at the disgust directed at her cousins. "He's all I have." "Very well," Mrs Johnson conceded, although obviously still disapproving from the look in her eyes. Motherly, Anna would call it, if she even remembered what having a mother was like. "They live in Watery Lane, Small Heath. Everyone there knows them, so just ask for directions." "Thank you!" Without entirely thinking it through, Anna pulled the older woman into a quick hug, pulling away when she felt her tense. "And thank you for looking after my brother all these years. It's good to know he had a good woman taking care of him." She couldn't call Mrs Johnson a mother, although she knew from the grief in her tone and photographs still hung up, that she was exactly that. But her mother was still alive- her loyalty was to Elizabeth Gray, first and foremost, even if she felt pity for this woman here. Just as Mrs Johnson had said, directions to the Shelby's betting shop (now Shelby Company Limited, she was impressed to hear) were easy to come by. Although she was getting odd looks from the men in uniform caps and coats, who were obviously comparing her clothes with that of most Small Heath citizens. Her years of searching were finally over and yet she couldn't find herself to knock on the bloody door. Or even walk down the bloody street. She loitered around the Church, not daring to go in, but not straying from its sight. The rosary in her pocket was wrapped loosely around her battered fist, as she uttered a silent prayer. The nuns and priests from the orphanage had jaded her to all things Christian, but this was a gift from Peggy. The good Catholic girl that took one look at the girl on the streets and decided to befriend her. Well, friend wasn't exactly the right word. She felt a burst of courage at the feeling of the wooden beads now, the crucifix hanging on the end of it no longer bringing vomit up her throat. "Oi, you there!" She jumped at the accent. It wasn't Brummie, sounding closer to Isabela's voice: another girl that friend wasn't the right word for. She looked at the boy, who was lighter skinned that Isabela, and wore the same cap and coat of many men in Small Heath. However, he himself couldn't have been older than Anna. "You coming in, or am I allowed to lock up?" "I'm just leaving," she said. Her voice wasn't from Burmingham either, immediately making the other boys eyebrow to shoot up in suspicion. She didn't really have an accent, just a blend of all the places she'd been and all the people she'd ran from. Despite her statement, her shoes stayed firmly on the path. Michael and mum were just a walk away, and she was stuck outside the Church as the boy faffed with the keys.  "So," he came up behind her, tilting his head. "Just leaving anytime soon, or...?" He had a smirk on his face and a teasing glint in his eyes, that immediately took in her appearance with curiosity, stopping at the rosary. "Just getting courage," she held up the beads before putting them back in her pocket, tapping over it to make sure it was safely in. "Whatdya need courage for?" He asked as he lit up a cigarette, standing stationary besides her. "Need to get to the Shelby betting shop," she shrugged her shoulders, hoping that'd get Church boy to stop asking. She hadn't missed the almost fearful nature her family was spoken in. But not Michael, of course- her Michael wasn't a Shelby. "Oh, really?" The boy put the smoking cigarette in the corner of his smirk. "Cause I'm just going there." She groaned internally, knowing this meant she actually had to go. "Alright," she snapped. "Could you show me the way?" "Course," he held out his elbow like he was a gentleman. Anna didn't stop her self from rolling her eyes as she took it, with only a little smile. "I'm Isaiah Jesus, by the way." "I'm Sally." Only the nuns ever called her that, in an attempt to pacify the girl screaming for her mother. Everyone else called her Anna, and Sallyanna if she was in trouble. "No last name?" "You'll find that out soon enough." For someone who seemed so talkative, Isaiah sure knew when to shut up. "Alright, Ms No Last Name," Isaiah teased as he held open the door, gesturing for her to go inside. "Here we are: Shelby Company Limited's very own betting shop." She was slow as she walked in, head turning to the pale pink wallpaper and the floral sofa. A cross hung up on the wall, alongside a number of Biblical quotes. There was a double set of doors, painted green, that were thrown open. Inside, a crowd of men and woman sat as numbers were called out, typewriters clicking and Peaky Blinders smoking. Isaiah walked past the frozen Anna, welcoming into the shop with cheers of greetings. "Hey there Isaiah!" One boy yelled. He was round faced and freckled, taller than everyone else and skinny as Anna was behind her thick coat. "Who's that you got with you?" "Sally here wanted to come to the betting shop." Isaiah gave a shrug, revealing that was all he knew, as he sat on his desk. Three men looked up from the table: one looked a lot like the skinny boy that had noticed her, but older. Not Michael. The other was broad shouldered and intimidating, with a moustache. Not Michael. The third man had hair as dark as Anna's, with the bluest eyes. But Michael had brown hair, and hazel eyes.  "And why do you want to be here?" The blue eyes man questioned, voice cold. She recognised the three vaguely, mind scanning for facts she once knew as well as the sky was blue. "Tommy?" She asked, eyes squinting, then she pointed to the other two. "And you must be Arthur and John, then." She didn't heed the curious glances as she stepped further in, head turning around to the people staring at her. "Finn, I'm gonna guess, although I never really knew you." The freckled boy had a shocked look on his face, as he turned to Isaiah in a "who the fuck is this" kind of look. "So, where's Michael?" Her voice was stern as she looked around again for the brown hair she only barely remembered.  "And why the fuck do ya wanna know that?" John, Anna thinks, stood up, arms folded as he watched her scan the room. "I've been looking for him for fourteen bloody years," she cocked her head, seeing a light flicker in the blue eyes of her cousin. "Now tell me where the fuck Michael is." Suddenly, a door opened, two sets of shoes walking through as they muttered to one another.  "Mum, there's abso-fucking-loutely no way I'm gonna do that," a voice said as he walked into the betting shop. The round face she remembered had sharpened out, his skin tanned (probably from the farm) in ways she knew her pale skin would've had she gotten onto that boat. His mousy brown hair was tidily gelled up, a smart suit on his broad build. He didn't walk in it like he stole it, she noticed proudly. His hazel eyes widened as he looked at her. The woman at his side was frozen too, watching the betting shop's sudden pause. "Who is this?" The woman snapped, dark eyes falling on Anna. She had the same dark hair, although hers was longer and in curls, and their eyes were just the same. No one could answer for her, and she seemed too absorbed in the two figures in front of her to bother with formalities.  "Anna," Michael's voice was barely a whisper, but is shattered everyone. Next to him, Polly trembled, pale skin suddenly whitening as she started to draw the same comparisons to the baby she had held what felt like a life time ago. "Hiya Mikey," Anna said in the same soft voice she'd use when they were little. She opened up her arms. "You too old to hug your big sister or what?" In a second, her brother fell into her, arms wrapped so tightly around her torso that she thought she was going to suffocate. If the fur on her coat was itching his face, he didn't seem to mind as he pressed his face against her neck, tears spilling from both of them. "I missed you so fucking much," she croaked into his ear, not daring to look up to her mother's broken face, or her cousin's undoubtedly confused faces. "I thought you were dead." Michael sobbed a little, pulling her closer as if to check she was real and not just the ghost Polly used to have nightmares about. "They said you were dead, gone to fucking Australia so I couldn't even see you." "I didn't even get on the boat, Mike. Couldn't leave. Not with you in England." They finally broke away, as Anna allowed her rough hands to wipe away the tears on her little brother's face (not so little anymore) and giving the biggest smile she'd ever worn for the longest time. "Been looking for you for years, been from orphanage to orphanage trying to find Michael Gray. Turns out that wasn't even your fucking name." "You were looking for me?" Michael's voice was an echo, sadder and on the verge of more tears spilling. "Course. Wanted to find you so we could come back home together." She took a dramatic turn of her head, grinning. "Although you didn't seem to share that sentiment, huh?" He tried to chuckle a little, shyly wiping off tears and snot with the sleeve of his probably expensive suit. "Went all the way to the fucking countryside only to be told that I had to go all the way back to Small Heath. Honestly, couldn't have waited a few years for me?" Her teasing tone was second nature, a whisper of the what was. "Bus fare wasn't cheap, you know?" Not that she used the bus. Or paid, with her own money at least. Still, it got another smile on his face as he hugged her again, letting her breathe this time. "Anna?"  The broken voice was enough to get Michael to back away, falling by his sister's side to allow Polly a proper view of the much longed for daughter. "No, it can't be, I thought- they said...but...you were alive this whole time?" She barely whispered, shaking the dark locks of curls with her head. She took a few strides forward, lifting her hand. Despite the great comfort she felt in the woman's presence, she flinched at the sight of the manicured nails being bared. Ever so gently, Polly placed her hand (too cold for comfort, but Anna had felt colder) against Anna's cheek. Bringing another hand slowly up to pull back the dark fringe that covered her forehead. Like this, she could see her wide eyes that had once looked so big on her bald head, the little pout that would tremble when John took her toys, the curves of her face that were so like Michael's, and her dark eyes that could only be Polly's. "My girl, my Sallyanna." "Mum," Anna smiled as she fell into her embrace, letting the woman hold her like she should've done for the last fifteen years. There was no tears this time, just soft smiles and tight arms clinging to each other like she had done when the coppers came knocking. Only she was grown now, and she wouldn't let them take her from her family ever again.

[florenceandthemachine]

Hi ❤️ if you’re still talking prompts could you write Buck temporarily going blind and Eddie helping him cope till he gets better? Only if you want, no pressure and thx 😘

COMBINED WITH BUDDIEWEEK2020 PROMPT

July 8th   - Day 3: “We can do this.” + hurt

also I want you to know it was very difficult for me not to turn it into a permanently blind emotional rollercoaster that you definitely did not ask for.

(xoxo to @buckleydiazs for giving it a once over before posting!)

Every time Eddie closes his eyes, he relives his mistake. 

He can see Buck taking the stairs two at a time, clearing the last floor of the burning apartment building. He can see the ladder at the end of the hallway, the light at the end of a burning tunnel. He can see part of the ceiling give way as he turns, reaching for Buck, too slow, too fucking slow, and Buck—

—is gone, pushed through the floor by the caving-in ceiling, what Eddie was sure was a scream drowned out by the roar of the flames.

They find him, of course they do, half buried beneath rubble three floors down with a cracked helmet, broken mask, and blood leaking sluggishly around the temples. Buck is out cold—which is probably for the best, because when Eddie peels his helmet off as Chim speeds through the Los Angeles streets to the nearest trauma hospital all he can see is blue, and black, and red, splashed over the bridge of Buck’s nose, his lids, from ear to ear.

Retinal detachment.

Orbital fracture.

Extreme ocular trauma.

“It’s too soon to tell. The surgery went well, but the healing is where... well, where the healing happens. The gauze needs to be changed daily, and the tape on your lids needs to be removed in two weeks time—by that time, the nerves in your...”

Eddie started to zone out while the doctor was talking, his hand nearly numb from how hard Buck was squeezing it, not that he was going to complain. He had only left the hospital twice in the 60 hours Buck had been admitted—once during Buck’s surgery to drive home, take a well needed shower and a change of clothes, and once to pick up some coffee because he felt about as dead on his feet as Buck looked, and that was saying a lot.

Buck, who had thrashed around and nearly punched Eddie in the face when he came to after the surgery, because he couldn’t fucking see. Buck, who had stitches in his fucking eyeball and two metal rods in the bone around his nose to keep the cartilage from sinking back and puncturing his brain. Buck, who had his eyelids taped shut—which was barbaric in a way Eddie couldn’t properly describe.

“Do I look like a mummy?” Buck had asked after he woke up, near monotonous, and Eddie had to stop himself from near hysterical laughter—he just had two circles of gauze packed toward his eye sockets, another layer of tape beneath the fluff to keep his lids shut.

“Now, Mr. Buckley, who will you be staying with?”

And god, after less than three days, Buck was being discharged.

Eddie blinked, bringing himself back to the present as he heard the question, giving a small gesture with his hand—and remembering Buck couldn’t see it. Off to a great start. “Me. I’ll be taking him back to our home, the only hard part will be convincing my kid that it’s not a two week sleepover vacation.”

If Eddie didn’t already know how low Buck was feeling, the fact that he didn’t even try to argue said more than enough.

--

Eddie had immediately cashed in three weeks of his paid time off—he had racked plenty up with all the overtime he had worked his first few months on the team, before Carla, the patron saint of financial aid had swooped into his life. He wasn’t about to leave Buck alone, not for a minute if he could help it, but Eddie knew better than anyone that sometimes, things didn’t happen as planned.

The first few days of Buck staying with them had gone... alright. Tensions were sky high, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why, but thankfully Chris was in the house more often than not on the weekend, and it was impossible to be tense or angry when Chris was in the room, even if you couldn’t see him. 

At night, though, everything changed. Tension turned to despair, and Eddie had never been more thankful that the guest room was next to his own, on the opposite side of the hall from Chris’ room—he knew the nightmares would be coming hard and fast, and he knew Buck would have never forgiven himself if he scared Christopher with them.

The past two nights, all Buck had needed to anchor himself was a firm touch, a loud enough noise, something to anchor him to the situation, but Eddie could tell that wasn’t going to be enough when he opened Buck’s door a few nights into his stay.

Partially because of his own guilt, maybe, but mostly because Buck sounded like he was fighting for his life.

“Buck, come on, wake up—you’re safe, you’re home with me and Chris, you’re okay, fuck, Buck—“

He finally pulled Buck upright, hands on his shoulders, and Buck gasped, head snapping side to side. “Eddie, what’s going on, where—where the fuck am I, Eddie, what—I can’t see, Eds, I can’t fucking see, I—“

It was only years of Army training that had Eddie’s reflexes moving fast enough to grab Buck’s hands as he moved to claw at his eyes, to rip the gauze and tape off of his lids. 

“Listen to me, you’re safe. You’re okay. Come on, Buck. We can do this. I got you.” Keeping his voice as low as possible, Eddie pulled Buck’s wrists toward his own chest, and to his complete dismay, he could feel the moment that Buck’s mind caught up with him. He fell forward, limply pushing his forehead into Eddie’s shoulder, body wracking with sobs as Eddie let go of his wrists and just held his friend, his Buck, who had become completely undone in his arms.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, too afraid that the wrong thing would come spilling out, so he just held onto Buck and let him cry, only loosening his grip when he felt Buck’s breath start to even out again, only interrupted by the occasional hiccuping sob or hitch of emotional aftermath. He didn’t realize that Buck had passed out again until it was too late; it was hard to tell in the first place, not being able to see if Buck’s eyes were open or shut, but by the time he realized Buck had literally cried himself asleep he couldn’t even imagine waking him back up just so Eddie could leave.

Also… he didn’t really want to leave. 

Slowly pulling the sheet up around Buck’s shoulders, Eddie wiggled himself back down against the headboard, his own eyes closing. He had certainly had worse sleeps—anywhere overseas came to mind—but that was an afterthought. If this is what it took to help Buck feel safe, so be it. 

It was the best night of sleep he had gotten in weeks.

--

The next night, after he had read to Chris and wished Buck a good night, Eddie only needed to pick up on the smallest of hesitations from Buck before he took Buck’s hand and led him into his own bedroom. Buck’s shoulders sagged in relief as Eddie helped steer him into his bed, laying close enough that their legs were touching, but far enough that they still had plenty of their own space, the small contact hopefully enough to ground Buck into the present.

And if Eddie secretly loved the mornings where he would be lucky enough to wake up with Buck any degree closer, well, that was his own business.

--

Staying together in the same bed didn’t stop Buck’s nightmares, of course, not that Eddie expected it to. What it did was give them both the ability to stop them before it got too bad—with the solid resistance of another body beside you, it was harder to let a dream spiral down too far. He wish he didn’t know this from experience, but... well, he was far from perfect, and that was becoming more and more obvious every day.

The hardest part of it all was that Buck was a morning person, which, who would even have thought that were a thing? Eddie took advantage of sleeping in whenever possible—he had been known to drop Christopher off at school on his days off and get another hour or so of shut eye—but by the time his first alarm went off, Buck had almost always untangled himself from Eddie’s form and retreated to his own side of the bed, and that wouldn’t do. 

(When had Eddie started to think of it as Buck’s side of the bed? He really didn’t want to look into that too deeply.)

Eddie started to push himself—waking up ten, fifteen minutes before his alarm, just to enjoy Buck’s closeness, his warmth. 

He was getting used to it too quickly, forgetting that this wasn’t actually his, even as he dreamed of spending a sleepy Saturday in bed with Buck, looping an arm around his waist. 

“Eddie?”

Fuck. He was awake, and apparently, so was Buck. 

His mind immediately kicked into overdrive, not sure if he should pretend that he was still asleep or snap his hand back and apologize, but thankfully, Buck made up his mind before Eddie could. He felt Buck’s arm move atop of his own—not pushing off, just resting alongside, the limb a line of heat along Eddie’s arms as their fingertips brushed. “…this is okay with you?” Buck asked, and Eddie let out a rush of air, nodding, nose tickling the back of Buck’s head. “Yeah Buck, it’s, um. I like it. And if you like it, that’s even better. It’s great! I mean, it’s the least I could do, I guess.” God, Eddie, shut the fuck up.

“… the least you could do.”

Eddie swallowed as he heard the frown in Buck’s voice, knowing instinctively that he was in trouble as Buck moved himself, rolling to face Eddie—probably more out of force of habit than anything, considering they couldn’t exactly meet eye to eye. 

“Edmundo Diaz.” Yup, he was in trouble. “You don’t actually think that this is your fault, do you?” Buck said, his tone uncertain, brows furled even with the little bit of motion they had. 

“… it’s just… you were right there, Buck. You were right in front of me, and then you were gone. I couldn’t catch you, couldn’t do anything. I was too slow to act, even when you were in arms reach of me, and now you might be blind.” His voice was thick with emotion as he looked over Buck’s face, hating now more than ever that he couldn’t see the others eyes, see how upset or disappointed Buck must be in him. He felt his own throat tighten as he looked down, his arm burning where it was on Buck’s hip. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as Buck, let alone touch him, and—

“Eddie, shut the fuck up.”

His jaw snapped shut with an audible click, Buck’s tone like concrete, heavy and unyielding as he jabbed a finger into Eddie’s chest. “You don’t get to apologize because you haven’t done anything wrong. Hell, you’re the only one doing anything right. You’re here, you stepped up, you’re helping me, you’re... hell, where is anyone else? You don’t get to apologize for stepping up, for making sure that I had... well, don’t think I didn’t notice you calling this our home.”

Buck was getting more and more animated as he spoke, and Eddie found himself floundering a little bit, trying to keep up with what Buck was saying (and fuck, had he really said that?). “Buck, I just—”

“Eddie, this is not your fucking fault and I won’t hear you say that ever again.”

...well. Eddie might have disagreed, but he wasn’t stupid enough to argue, not when he had an angry Buck in his bed. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry about it anyway.” he grumbled, aware that he sounded like a petulant child—and if anything, the small smile that Buck had on his face meant Buck thought so too. 

“Well, fine. I’m sorry too.”

“What? Buck, what do you have to be--”

“Sorry it took me having a major accident to get you to cuddle with me.”

“What! We aren’t—I didn’t—this isn’t—”

“Eddie, shut up.”

Eddie would have protest when he felt Buck’s shoulders start to shake, worried he had said the wrong thing again—but Buck was laughing, the sound muted under his breath, and Eddie let out a dramatic puff of air as he collapsed back to the bed, his arm back at Buck’s hips.

But, he did shut up.

--

Eddie almost slammed his head on the hood of his car when he heard a crash coming from the kitchen. He bolted out of the garage, hands stained with oil, swearing as he stumbled in to the main house, almost tripping up the stairs.

“Wait, Eddie, stop!”

Buck’s face was angled toward Eddie’s direction, hand out, obviously having heard him stumble down the hall. Eddie froze in place, eyes huge as he took in the scene��everything looked fine, Buck was upright, he wasn’t bleeding, but the ground around him was glittering with broken glass; nothing more than a broken dish, but Buck was barefoot.

Buck was okay. Eddie hadn’t failed him again. He hadn’t let him get hurt again.

Taking a few steps loser, he let the wrecked look on Buck’s face register for only a moment, wishing for nothing more than to make it go the fuck away. “Hey, okay, you’re good, it was just a plate.”

“And a glass.”

“And a glass.”

“I’ll pay for it, I promise.”

“Buck, if you think I own any nice dishes after having a kid, you have another thing coming.” Eddie laughed in spite of himself, only encouraged when Buck let out a wet sounding chuff. “Are you okay with me just lifting you out of here? It’ll be the easiest way to get you out of glass before I sweep everything up.”

Buck lifted his arms in response and Eddie had to bite down another laugh as he lifted the other male easily, his hands latched beneath his rear end, Buck’s chest right against his face. He brought Buck easily to the couch and deposited him there, getting a little hasty with the broom as he cleaned up—but Buck looked so miserable, he couldn’t stand to leave the other alone for any longer than he absolutely had to.

It made Eddie want to scream—not because of the situation, but because of everything leading up to it. The day before, Buck had tried to start cleaning the dishes, and had nearly impaled himself with one of Eddie’s pairing knives. The night before that, he had almost started a kitchen fire, cleaning the stove with cooking spray instead of Lysol. Buck passed both of these off as just trying to be helpful, but Eddie was about to pull out his hair—not because the situations were stressful, but because Buck kept coming closer and closer to hurting himself, and Eddie couldn’t accept that. 

Tossing the glass into the garbage, he grabbed two beers and cracked them both open, making his way over to the couch with a sigh. “Alright, Buck, what’s up? Why are you pushing yourself so hard, when you only have a few days with the tape left?”

Eddie knew the answer before he even asked, the emotion on Buck’s face more clear than ever as he looked down. “Because I have to. What if I don’t get my vision back? All I want in the entire world is to rip this tape off, to—not even to see, just to know. I can’t stand not knowing, Eddie, I can’t. If I’m blind, I can’t be dependent on you forever, I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, take a breath.” Eddie easily took Buck’s hands in his own, squeezing them reassuringly, eyes studying the visible portions of Buck’s face, his thumb stroking over the pulse point in Buck’s wrist. “You know that whatever happens, we’ll be here for you, right? Chris and I aren’t going to let you face this on your own.

Buck let out another wet sounding laugh, sniffing as he shook his head. “Eddie, I told you, this wasn’t your fault—”

“I’m serious, Buck. We’re not letting you go. I’m not letting you go.”

Any protests that Buck had died in his throat as Eddie shrugged, his hands stilling beneath Eddie’s, suddenly painfully aware of their proximity. Eddie had to bite his lip to avoid laughing as Buck started to lean up, head moving on its own accord, because of course it would take Buck going blind to finally pick up on the signals Eddie had been broadcasting since forever—

“Eddie, I’m blind, you have to tell me if I’m misreading this, because I can’t see your stupid handsome face at all, and—mmphs!”

Eddie swallowed a laugh as he leaned in and claimed Buck’s lips with his own, feeling the quick moment of shock melt into something better, easier. His mouth was warm against Buck’s as he tilted his head, hand coming up to cup his jaw, only encouraged by Buck’s little moans as he melted into Eddie’s side.

The smile on his face was so bright when he pulled back that Eddie felt like he could feel the warmth from it sink into his skin, the heat from Buck’s breath dancing over his face, and nothing could bring him down from this high, not even Buck’s moment of insecurity as he squeezed Eddie’s arms.

“...you’re smiling, right?” Buck asked, his voice low, his own face cut into a shy smile that Eddie would have paid hard cash money to look at for the rest of his life.

Rather than answer, Eddie took Buck’s hands in his own, letting Buck’s fingers trace over his face, his smile, taking every moment he could to kiss the fingers that traced over his lips. Buck couldn’t help but laugh as he swatted Eddie’s shoulder, the sound warming Eddie to his very core—it was the first time in weeks that he had heard Buck laugh, he realized. Letting his arms slide back around Buck’s waist, he had to sigh as they fit back into one another’s space.

Chris didn’t even question finding the two of them like that when Carla brought home, because bless that kid. He just let his backpack fall to the floor, grabbed a blanket, and curled into Buck’s side. Buck, to his credit, let out a happy hum, wrapped an arm around Chris, and that was that.

(Two days later, Carla spent an absurd amount of time peeling the tape off of Buck’s eyelids, but Eddie couldn’t even complain about the laborious process when Buck’s eyes opened slowly, squinting as he started to re-focus.

Eddie held his breath as Buck’s eyes flickered over to him—not knowing if Buck could see was killing him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask, biting his lips as a smile bloomed over Buck’s face.

“God, you’re cute.”

Eddie wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying as Buck spoke, pulling his teammate—his Buck—into his arms, but he didn’t care. All that mattered right now was Buck, tight in his arms.)

[infernalrevenge]

Extra Ordinary

Fandom: Choices - Foreign Affairs

Pairing: F!Blaine Hayes x M!MC (Magnus Quezon)

Rating: G

Summary: Blaine and Magnus sneak off to a traveling fair.

Notes: Inspired by a message from @i-cant-think-of-a-name-15 wherein he told me I could write about "a purple panda visiting Vancross" and he'd still read about it, so I was minorly inspired. This is much longer than what I've written and posted here so far, so fair warning on that.

----------

"A fair?"

Magnus raised an eyebrow at Dionne, who clutched her phone as she showed him her text messages from Blaine.

"Yeah, she said she got tickets the other day, arranged for you two to go, and everything! It's only in town for a week, and tonight's the last night before they pack everything up the next day."

Before he could even object -- the thought of everyone still breathing down his neck about the scandal and cleaning up his image still weighing heavily on his mind -- she interrupted, "You don't have any classes tomorrow, you’re free, and you need the break! Plus it'll be so romantic, just you and Blaine--"

"And our bodyguards."

"--Having the time of your lives at a fair! Come on, it'll be fun, Magnus! Like you're gonna say no to her."

Okay, she's got him there.

It only took a little bit of pleading to get Tatum to agree to his antics this time, rolling his eyes as if he was used to it at that point. Nevertheless, he escorted the First Son to the pier where the fair grounds were, dressed as casually and inconspicuously as possible.

Magnus adjusted his sunglasses and beanie, glancing behind him to see if his bodyguard was right behind, only to find him gone. He did say he was just going to keep a "respectable distance", but it didn't make him any less nervous being out and about like this. It wasn't that he didn't trust his date to show up, it was that he was worried that she would and so would the paparazzi. They haven't exactly relented on their quest to squeeze out every juicy detail of his story.

He tried to scan the crowd for any sign of Blaine, only to be suddenly grabbed by the arm. He stumbled back in surprise, accidentally bumping into a mother with her kids. "Sorry sorry, I'm so sorry miss!" he quickly apologized, but the lady left in a huff, and he found himself face to face with none other than the mastermind of this operation.

"Geez, I forgot how you scared so easily. Sorry about that," Blaine remarked, clearly amused. Magnus could only roll his eyes, but was nonetheless relieved to find her -- or rather, have her find him.

He had to admire her insistence on the whole plan, and the fact that she had a plan in the first place. Of course, they couldn't get away from their bodyguards and had to effectively hide any prominent features of theirs to avoid being recognized, but hey, he would take any excuse to be with her.

"We've got a lot of ground to cover if we wanna make the most of this place," Blaine said. They made their way inside hand in hand.

"I'm starting to feel bad, leaving you with all the work of planning out covert dates. I should return the favor some time," Magnus said with a small laugh, taking in the sights and smells around him. The sun was beating down on every head present, hung up on a bright blue sky. It was quite crowded, which was a security concern, but it also meant it would be harder for untrained eyes to spot them in the sea of faces. Still, it had him a bit on edge.

"Looking forward to whatever you've got cooking up there, Rutherland. I'm sure you can think of something." Blaine looked up at the rides, the screams of its passengers intriguing her to give the experience a shot. It would also help to distract Magnus, as she noticed he was rather tense. "Where do you wanna go first?"

Magnus wasn't always the type to try to impress a date, but he might have been pushing it a little when he suggested an octopus ride. "I've never ridden one before. My mom always said they would break and the cart I'd be in would fly off."

It felt that way as soon as the ride started too. Magnus held onto the safety bar in front of them for dear life, his insides doing massive flips with every rotation. It was very thrilling, but it was also a strangely ticklish sensation that had him laughing and screaming the whole time. Blaine was having the time of her life, on the other hand, raising both arms in the air at multiple points as she whooped and jokingly yelled for it to go faster. Their excited screams blended in with the cacophony of the other riders, and somehow, that made the First Son feel the most normal he had since the day started.

If you were to ask him, Magnus would deny how his hands were shaking as they got off the ride, remnants of that thrill and momentary terror still running through his body. But it helped to have Blaine take both his hands and encouraged him to breathe deeply instead of the usual teasing he expected from her.

"Do you go on octopus rides often?" he asked, sucking in another breath before exhaling slowly.

"I'm actually more of a lazy river kind o' girl, but I love the adrenaline rush anyway," she casually replied, trying her best to ground him and calm his racing heart and stomach.

The two of them decided to eat some snacks as a substitute for lunch, settling for corn dogs, cotton candy, and watermelon slices. Along the way, Magnus spotted a giant panda stuffed toy in one of the game booths, its usual black patches replaced with a bright purple. Blaine followed his distracted gaze and giggled, trying to get his attention. “See something you like?”

The Rutherlandian chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh... it’s a giant panda, kinda hard to miss.” He was trying his best not to seem too obvious about his curiosity and desire to have it. However, after passing by the same booth a few more times as they explored the grounds, with his attention inevitably drifting to the toy, Blaine took him there herself to see if she can win it for him.

“You don’t have to--”

“Just let me do this for you. Besides, not like you can keep your eyes off of it.”

A laugh escaped him, “Are you telling me you’re jealous of a stuffed toy panda now?”

“I’m literally gonna win it for you, Rutherland, I am the farthest from being jealous. I promise by the end of the night, you'll be one panda richer.”

Basketball was the name of the game -- all she had to do was sink three shots in a row through the hoop across. Simple enough, if only she weren’t so far away from behind the starting line. Every time she threw the ball and watched it soar through the air, it was always just a few feet shy of the goal. By the time Blaine was on her sixth total attempt, she was just slamming the cash on the counter in frustration to pay for more chances, which the manager gladly accepted each time.

Magnus tried to get her to stop, insisting that it was fine and she didn’t need to waste so much money on a game “that was clearly rigged anyway.”

“Hey, I promised I’d get you that, and goddammit you are gonna get it!” she stubbornly replied, setting down another two dollars. This time though, she took a pause to rest and re-think her strategy.

Blaine furrowed her eyebrows, her focus alternating between the ball and the hoop, until an idea struck her. A wide mischievous smirk appeared on her face as she pinned the ball under her arm and climbed onto the counter, much to everyone's surprise.

"Hey, you're not allowed up there, miss!" the man behind the stand yelled, holding a hand up. The Ardonian was undeterred.

"Why? I'm still behind the line," she pointed out.

"You could fall and get hurt, you have to--" Magnus started, but Blaine was already focused on her goal, ball in hand as she lifted it up.

The height certainly gave her an advantage, taking one successful shot after another, despite the manager's and Magnus' protests. Her date still hung back right behind her, arms slightly raised to ready himself just in case. If she was so insistent on doing things her way, hopefully it wouldn't end in a hospital visit. She would hear an occasional "be careful!" between shots, but when she finally got the last one she needed, she practically threw caution to the wind after the ball.

“Victory is mine, asshole!” she yelled in triumph, throwing her arms up in the air in celebration.

She didn't anticipate how the momentum would throw her off balance though, misstepping behind her. She yelped and tried to move forward, but it was too late. One second she was falling back toward the ground, then the next... she was in Magnus' arms.

She looked up at him and laughed, "Good catch. You work out?" she commented with a wink, letting him help her stand back up.

"Let's just say you can always trust me to catch you," he replied with a hint of a flirtatious tone, before nudging her with his elbow. "But never do that again," he warned, though he was clearly just worried about her.

The Ardonian flipped her hair over her shoulder, turning her attention to the manager. "One panda, my good sir!"

He begrudgingly handed over the stuffed toy to Blaine, who then proceeded to proudly present it to Magnus. He had to wrap both arms around its fluffy torso just to be able to hold onto it securely.

"Consider this my apology for worrying you," she joked, patting the toy's fluffy arm.

"This feels a bit cliche, doesn't it?" he said, his voice partially muffled by the huge obstruction between them.

"What do you mean? It's a role reversal. It's the guy usually winning prizes for the girl, right?"

"I just mean the situation in general. Do you always win giant pandas for your dates?"

"Only for you, babe. Though I'll happily take it back if you don't want it."

At that, Magnus turned and kept it away from Blaine when she tried to reach for it. "No, you already gave it to me, so keepsies." He stuck his tongue out at her, looking more childish than ever, which earned him a boop on the nose.

"One more ride for the road?"

It was already sunset by the time they got on the ferris wheel. The sky was a gradient of pink, orange, and yellow as the sun started to set, slowly sinking in the horizon where the sky met the sea. It took some convincing for the ride manager to allow the stuffed toy on board, as long as they didn't drop it -- like Magnus was ever going to let that happen.

The newly christened Taro (as Magnus insisted on calling the panda) sat on his side, with Blaine snuggled on the other, her head settled on his shoulder. The ride moved slowly as other passengers boarded, and they were getting close to the top, just enough to enjoy the view.

"I know the rooftops at Vancross had great views of sunsets, but nothing beats being this close to it, huh?" Blaine said, her fingers idly playing with Magnus', intertwining and untwining them.

"Being in great company helps me appreciate it more too," Magnus replied, before turning to the stuffed toy next to him, sitting at eye level given its size. "Isn't that right, Taro?"

"Sorry, am I ruining your moment here?" she joked, gently nudging at his arm. Magnus simply smiled and wrapped an around her shoulders, pulling her even closer to his side.

"But seriously though, today was really fun. I'm glad you convinced Dionne to convince me to come out here. At this point, it's hard to say no to even just seeing you."

"Even if it means infuriating your bodyguard?"

Magnus rolled his eyes, looking off as the sky started to darken. "He wasn't infuriated, I'd say irritated at best, but he gets it. He's always been supportive of my 'be a normal person' agenda."

"Did I help deliver?"

"Oh definitely. You sure know how to make a guy feel normal, in a good way."

Blaine glanced up at him, "What does being normal mean to you?"

The young man blinked, not expecting such an introspective question. The lights on the ferris wheel started to turn on, giving him a view of Blaine under their soft glow. He almost lost himself in the sight and backtracked on the question.

He gave himself a moment to think, choosing his words carefully, "Just... being able to live my life away from scrutinizing eyes, I guess. I don't want the public to see me as someone or something that I'm not just because some tabloid article told them this or that."

She nodded in understanding, pulling his arm closer. "Definitely. It's like the general population seems to forget we're people too. We have our own lives and identities, and it's not something that can be toyed with."

"I wish I didn't have to act a certain way, I don't want them to change me. I wish... things were different." A bout of silence passed between them, the ride moving at its leisurely pace to give its passengers time to appreciate it.

"But if they were, then I never would've met you, so it's not all bad. You're... one of the best things that's ever happened to me, you know?" Magnus looked at Blaine, a small yet genuine smile on his face. The girl looked up at him almost with a flicker of doubt at first, but looking deeper into his eyes, she knew he was telling the truth.

And she wasn't sure how to handle that.

She could feel her stomach doing flips, a thrill running through her -- except it wasn't like she was on a fair ride. This was somehow more intense, yet she felt grounded with him by her side. She couldn't help the smile that bloomed, her cheeks darkening slightly as she took in his words.

"You're too good, Magnus. I hope the world never changes you."

The way she said his name sounded almost adoring, like she was in awe of what a genuine soul he was despite everything that's happened to him. She knew what it was like, having been expected to keep up appearances her whole life, but somehow this boy right next to her never seemed to lose touch of himself along the way. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew who he was at the end of the day.

Just hearing her say it like that was enough to melt Magnus' insides with a loving warmth. A smile spread across his face, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on her lips. He was just so relieved that he never had to pretend around Blaine, never had to prove anything to her. It was more than enough just having her there by his side, and even though he was looking forward to the day he can finally be out with her in public with pride, moments like these made their secret trips still worth going through.

.

.

.

(Due to Taro's size, it couldn’t quite fit in Magnus' bed as intended, so it instead resided on the couch in the suite. It didn't mean he didn't take any chances to nap on it though.

Dionne has sent many pictures to Blaine of the young man's face buried into its fluffy stomach, curled up on the small space as he rested peacefully, and Blaine has had to stifle many squeals of delight at the adorable sight.)

[btssmutficslovingfan01]

Friendly Encounters- Chapter Six

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: A friend challenges you to go out of your comfort zone and talk to one of the cute boys at the café. However, after attempting to flirt with one of them, they reveal that they are in a relationship with each other. It’s fine, though, because you’re all friends now!

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Romance

𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: Smut, Fluff, Angst

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Graphic Depictions of sex, Mature Language, Angst is Yoongi-centered

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 5k+

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jimin x Yoongi x Reader

Masterlist

⇤Prev | Next⇥

                                      ____________________

Yoongi watches, with his dick in his hand as Jimin wrecks you. Over and over again, your blue haired boyfriend pounds into you, as you continuously convulse around his massive girthy dick. He’s feeding you well. 

“Jimin...I c-can’t anymore.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m almost there...come on babygirl, don’t give up on me now.” You shut your eyes, panting heavily as your final orgasm hits you in a euphoric wave of pleasure, making your muscles tense and you gasp as his dick twitches inside of you from all your clenching.

“Sorry...Yoongi...couldn’t take you too.” Your older boyfriend shakes his head, kissing your forehead lightly as Jimin recovers, pulling out of your sensitive body slowly. 

“Don’t be. Seeing you two enjoy yourselves was reward enough.” Yoongi leaves a tender kiss on his boyfriend’s lips before departing to his room. “Take care of her, alright? And wash up, your mom should be home soon.” Yoongi gives you both a stern talking-to before departing with his clothes in hand. 

“You okay?” Jimin asks while wiping you down with a washcloth. You nod, sitting up on the bed as your boyfriend brings you a warm towelette for your face. He had an extra one on hand. “Think you can walk?” You shake your head, limping as he helps you up. “Here, get on my back.” You don’t think much of it, as you both saw each other naked and took your relationship to the next level all in one night. 

“You’re the best boyfriend ever. Hah...A hot bath was exactly what I needed.” Jimin smiles at you as you lather your body with soapy bubbles. 

“Thanks. You know...you’re pretty cool yourself. Able to take me like a pro. Wow, that was some expert level stuff right the-”

“Shut up.” You splash him with water, laughing as you both have a water fight. After you finish bathing (with a lot of water ending up outside the tub, much to your inconvenience), you just end up cuddling with Jimin in your room. Your more bubbly boyfriend texts your older, introverted partner that he’ll be spending the night with you.

You’re not very surprised when Yoongi replies with the response that he is completely okay with it, since he spent a night with Jimin and left you in the dust. You also understand it, they’ve been together for so long that it probably feels weird to adjust now that a third person is a part of the relationship.

You’ve felt like you’re out of place, like the awkward puzzle piece that has the right shape and fits but it just doesn’t fit quite right. Obviously, you won’t express your concern to the gorgeous specimen of a boyfriend in front of you, because you’re worried about upsetting him. 

His reaction is predictable though, since you’ve grown used to the barista by your side. He would probably just kiss you and hold you tight, claiming that if he let you go you would fly away like a butterfly, or maybe he would just tell you all of the things you want to hear and more. You’re already deeply in love with him, might as well just get everything out in the open.

Then there’s Yoongi. Your kind, sweet, gummy-smiling boyfriend. You initially thought he was annoyed with your friendship and closeness to Jimin, but he ended up expressing the opposite, and in the end your bond was strengthened even more. You’re afraid of disappointing him, or even worse, making him cry. You know his “tough guy” act is just that. The real Yoongi is frail but you’ve only caught glimpses of his vulnerable side. From everything you’ve seen so far, you can tell he still hasn’t opened up to you. You’re afraid of jeopardizing your relationship and possibly losing one-or two of your boyfriends in one go. 

One wrong move and it can possibly be the end of your dream-like romance. You sigh, falling back into Jimin’s arms with one of your hands covering your eyelids and the other on your hip. Your boyfriend just grabs your hips and helps you settle into a comfortable position on the bed. He spoons you, and you’re mostly grateful as the warmth envelops you and lulls you to sleep relatively quickly.

Morning comes early, your alarm waking you up earlier than you expected. You groan, rolling over and finding your boyfriend still asleep and snoring lightly. Jimin looks cute even when he’s sleeping. You try taking care of your appearance, since you want to at least be remembered for dressing well during your last year of high school, but at the same time you dress for yourself. And your boyfriends. When you go downstairs in your short black miniskirt and denim jacket covering your sky blue tee, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you but most of the time stays quiet. Before you decide to hug him.

When he smells your expensive perfume, he asks, “Going somewhere after school?” You shake your head.

“I was thinking I could head to the café in the evening. I have a lot of busy work. I doubt any of the teachers even know what they’re teaching anymore,” You shake your head, before shuffling through your backpack and then pulling out your phone charger. Finally, after three and a half days of searching you’ve found your old friend! “Ah-ha! I knew I put it in here. Finally, now I can charge my phone during the 3rd period.” 

Yoongi watches you scramble around to make breakfast as fast as you can before asking you another question, “Do you want a ride?” Curse your dirty mind for reading that the wrong way!

The car ride is long, and awkward. You and Yoongi had all this pent-up sexual tension possibly from the moment you met, and now that you’ve both seen each other naked, done other nasty things together as a couple and such, the only thing left to do is to fuck.

That’s right, you both just need to let out your feelings, when you’re alone. Like you did with Jimin before Yoongi joined, or rather, watched. You were spending sufficient time alone with each of your boyfriends, but as of late, you need to get down and dirty with Yoongi. As fast as possible, before things get any weirder.

“Thanks.” You say before getting out of the car.

“Hey, um, I know after yesterday things are different but can I please ask you to pretend like it didn’t happen? I was clearly not myself. I’d rather that we do things naturally and let everything happen when they’re supposed to. I apologize if you felt forced to do stuff in any way.”

You almost cry at how gentle he sounds. He talks to you like you’re a princess, literally the kindest man you’ve crossed. Your heart flutters just from hearing him speak, like your eyes have been opened for the first time.

“No, not at all!” You clutch your backpack strap, biting your lips in anxiousness. “I wanted to. I actually hope I can do it with both of you someday. Like actually..the three of us in one bed.” You trail off, realizing what it is that you truly want.

“You okay? You zoned out there for a second.” You nod, smacking yourself internally for spacing out with Yoongi.

“I’ll see you after school, bye.” You share a quick kiss before you run to your first period class.

For some reason, your friends seem busy. No one is eager to talk to you about their lives or even stop for a second to listen to you talk about yours. You understand it, though. Everyone has their own stuff to deal with. You’re sure all the other girls your age are worrying about bigger stuff than boy problems, like possibly being pregnant, or scared that they don’t have enough credits to graduate. 

You stay glued to your phone most of the day, as Jimin sends you heart emojis and lengthy passages about how he loves you. He just had to message you during English class, during which your teacher caught you on your phone, and she picked up your phone and when she read your text, it brought her to tears, resulting in her asking you if she could read it out loud to the class. 

You insisted it was from your boyfriend and how it was for your eyes only, but she said it demonstrated how simple sentences work well in writing when used correctly and that his use of grammar and vocabulary was that of a college graduate, or at least a professional writer.

She read it aloud, with emotion, and feeling. It made your heart swell up in joy, as you heard his voice through hers. The message behind his words.

“Oh, how you make my heart ache, and in the end it only longs for you. How could a person affect me so much? Come home and hold me, my love, I promise you won’t want to leave,” She finishes reading the long text and after you get your phone back, you bury it deep inside your backpack. 

My teacher calls you to her desk after class, and she tells you to cherish your boy with your whole heart, as it’s evident enough that no couple would be crazy enough to send love poems to each other unless they were truly fond of the other. There was no way you wouldn’t treasure him; You already loved him. And Yoongi. You love them both.

                                     ༻• Later That Day •༺ 

“Tell me what’s happening in front of my eyes isn’t really happening right now.” You huff at your blue-haired prince.

“Oh no, you’ve got it right. He’s really doing it.” He drinks his sweet tea with more vigour, sucking the straw harshly.

“This is pathetic. What does he think he can accomplish by upsetting his partners?” Jimin shrugs at your rhetorical question. Honestly, if you had a whip right now, you wouldn’t mind using it on Yoongi.

He actually has the balls to flirt with a regular female customer, a girl you actually caught making goo-goo eyes at him and trying to get his number every time she orders something. He’s not even shrugging her off anymore, but instead encouraging it. Jimin slams his hands down on the table, as he wipes a spot near you, glaring daggers at his boyfriend.

“Okay, I think I really wanna punish him now.” You were joking before, but the flirting has gotten out of hand as of late. He’s been doing this for two weeks already.

“Good, as it should be. Training continues in your room at 6:00 sharp. Be there and be ready, there’s a lot we have to cover before you dip your toe in the dom puddle.” You raise an eyebrow at his terminology. You knew what a dom was, but didn’t think he was serious. There’s no way that you’d actually take control in the bedroom, right?

Images of Jimin naked and whining beneath you flash in your mind, as you imagine all the different ways you could make him a mess. You’ve heard what Yoongi does to him, but imagining what you could do-that could go anywhere.

“Why do we have to wait?” You find yourself growing bolder as you lean forward, innocently sucking the metal straw that Jimin provided to you earlier when you ordered the mango smoothie.

“What are you suggesting, kitten?” You laugh at his nickname, before narrowing your eyes at your incredibly sexy boyfriend.

“Bathroom.” You continue sucking the straw, innocently sipping your drink before getting up and walking to the restroom. 

After 5 minutes of waiting, you hear the door open, and heavy footsteps. They were much too heavy to be a woman, for sure.

“Baby!” He hisses right outside of your stall, signaling you to grab him and pull him in.

“I checked. It’s empty. No one can disturb us anyways, not unless they see two pairs of feet underneath.”

“Oh, I have an easy solution to that,” He folds his arms across his chest. “Kneel,” You listen to him, happy to follow his orders like a mindless kitten. “Go ahead, suck.” He has his phone in one hand, recording you as you take him into your mouth.

“Remember who’s boss, baby? You said I’d learn how to be a dom.” He groans lightly as you suck his length, slightly squeezing his testes as well with your free hands.

“Alright. Show me what you’ve got.” His eyes are clouded with lust as he watches you swallow his precum, but you do eventually get you fill, instead opting to let his semen spill to the floor.

“Should I just prep you right here? Finger that beautiful asshole so that Yoongi can fuck you later?” Jimin groans at the thought, and you do too, imagining how his cock would bounce in your face as your older boyfriend fucked him carnally. “Ohhh, look at you taking my fingers. So, so, pretty Jiminie. Hear that? This is what good dick sounds like.” Your panties are drenched, you’re leaking through. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were on your period.

“F-fuck me good Y/N.” You smirk, pinching his scrotum, making him shriek in urgency.

“Sorry, bad boys don’t get to cum.” You continue rubbing his shaft, a sloshing sound resounding through the bathroom walls as you give him a moist handjob. He tries his best to stay quiet, with a few whimpers escaping his lips.

“Please, Y/N. I need to cum, please I can’t hold in!” He whines wantonly as you continue pumping his dick, letting his erection peak to the highest point before rubbing him out during his climax. He gets so loud that he has to cover his own mouth with his small hands.

You go on for several minutes after that, or what feels like an eternity, laughing maniacally as Jimin squirts and cums for you. You just did that! You made him feel so good he came.

After you let his cum spill to the floor, you stand up, tucking his dick back into his pants before licking your fingers clean of the savory juices Jimin left behind.

You both wash your hands in the sink and leave the bathroom in turns, so it won’t raise any suspicion.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Jimin gives you a quick peck on the cheek before running off to the counter to grab another order.

“So, I’m guessing you guys spent his entire break together?” Jin asks, wiping your table for the hundredth time again.

“Yes, Jin. We were just talking about the birds.” Jin glares at you, obviously not believing your lie.

“And the bees, I assume?” You clap your hands together, laughing as you sip your mango juice. “It’s no laughing matter for a girl your age. You’re already with two men who are closer to my age than your age. And I’m 27!” You roll your eyes, ignoring him as you get your daily lecture again.

“Jin, you know Jimin and Yoongi are only like 3 or 4 years older than me. And I’m already more mature than lots of girls my age. You can also save the bedroom talk, I know my limits and what I’m comfortable with. I know it’s not the most conventional agreement, but I feel safe with both of them. They treat me like a princess even though I don’t deserve it.” You tell him with a small smile on your face.

“Hm, you really love them, don’t you?” You nod, humming as Jin walks away. “While you’re here, why don’t you help out with these boxes? Just move them to the alleyway. They’re all rotten fruit.” You cringe at that, as Jin hands you a stack of two huge boxes.

“Alright. But if I get mugged I’ll sue you.” You get around to the alleyway, surprised to see that there’s no one there and you actually had a moment of peace without incident.

You weren’t expecting anything anyways, as you know this town is very safe and there’s not much criminal activity happening in this neck of the woods. You were too focused on everything going on in your mind, so in case there was an actual threat, you wouldn’t be too phased.

“Done, now when do I get paid?” You dust your hands, looking up at your boyfriends’ boss. Jin just gives you his signature smile and blows a kiss at you before turning to his office.

“Look, how about I just let you drink for free? For a month?” You nod, folding your arms as you notice the picture on Jin’s desk, a family photo of Jin with a woman. 

“Sounds good, hey who’s this?” You ask, pointing at the frame.

“That was my wife. She passed away three years ago…” You suddenly feel like a jerk.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m gonna get going now, it was nice seeing you again, Jin.” You smile sadly at the man before leaving your boys to wrap up with their work. They’ll be taking a leave for a week anyways, so they’re just trying to make this week count.

You know that’s probably why Yoongi was being so friendly with most of the female customers. You hadn’t seen him flirt with any other men apart from Jimin, but he did talk to a lot of girls. Then again, the girls probably approached him themselves. 

You try pushing the thoughts out of your head, as you know your ultimate goal is to have angry sex with Yoongi over the fact that he’d been flirting with other people in front of you and Jimin. You channel the anger through your body, as Jimin later presents himself to you that evening, with thoughts of only awakening the lustful dominant inside of you. 

“Here are my prized positions, please take good care of me, kitten.” You shake your head, smirking at him as he gives you his box of toys to use on him.

“Want me to ride you, baby?” You ask him as he groans in pain, his bulge painfully tightening in his pants. You can see the area around his pants, the tiny wet spot around his tip. 

“I’d love that, kitten,” You shed your clothes, before working on Jimin’s pants first. After the pants come off, you work on his shirt. Both articles of clothing go flying to the ground before the final layer, which is his boxers. The precum stringing from the head of his cock glisten as you gather a good portion of it onto your fingers before slathering it on your stomach. You lick the remaining juices from your fingers before placing both of your legs on either side of him. Jimin is excited. His dick seems to inflate a little as you sit down on him. “Look at you, being ruined by my cock. You aren’t gonna let it control you today, are you kitten?” You shake your head, panting slightly as you struggle to focus on what you were doing.

“I own this cock, got it? This cock is mine!” You finally start moving, making Jimin groan beneath you as he appreciates how much your boobs bounce in his face and how he can see everything as you move on top of him.

“Oh gosh, I’m gonna cum.” You gasp before quickly climbing off him and you resorted to using your mouth to finish the job.

“Um, why did you just stop when you were close?” Jimin asks. You gesture to his unprotected penis.

“You weren’t wearing a condom. I couldn’t let you cum in me and risk getting preggers. I watched Glee, I know all of the downsides.” Your boyfriend just huffs impatiently.

“I could’ve pulled out, but it seems that now I came once but you haven’t cum at all.”

“Jim, who’s in charge?” Your boyfriend is taken aback by the new name you gave him. He just sighs before turning his head to you and looking at you directly in the eyes.

“You are.”

“Great, glad we’re on the same page. Get on your stomach, babe. I wanna peg you.”

“What?!” Jimin’s eyes widen as you grab the lube from your desk drawer.

“Do you not want to do it tonight? I need to practice so Yoongi can-wait, are you telling me that you’re a top?” He blushes before running his hands through his pretty blue hair.

“We’re switches. Although, when we’re alone, hyung is more dominant in nature.” You gasp in awe as Jimin reveals this new information to you.

“That’s great, we’ll make him beg by the end of next week, I’m sure of it. But Jim, I do have a plan for how we go about it…” You quietly adjust the straps of your harness before slathering the dildo with lube. This is softer, so the texture feels like skin.

“Oh gosh, Y/N!” You hum as Jimin makes all kinds of cute noises, mostly from suffocation and feeling smothered. You take a break in between because Jimin declares it ‘too much,’ and after getting a drink of water you presume to prep him gently, so you don’t tear him apart.

Before you know it, just from the stimulation of your fingers on the base of his cock and the fingers in his hole, your man is coming undone, moaning, whining, cursing, begging-all of those things while you pump him with your right hand, as fast as possible. Seeing Jimin come on his stomach was the hottest thing you’ve seen in a long time. You really needed to see that.

“Kitten, wanna cum with me? You made me cum so many times already…” You nod, your face red from excitement. The lewd thoughts just make it worse.

“Jiminie, can we...69?” You ask shyly, but your boyfriend is more than happy to oblige.

“Sure, baby.”

                                            ༻• Night •༺ 

Yoongi gets home late only because Jin had some trouble with the cash register. He wasn’t feeling well as of late, but there was no explanation for his unexplained sadness. He had everything he needed in life, along with two amazing partners. So why was he feeling this way? He knows it’s normal for people to feel down sometimes. 

It’s hard for people to be happy all the time, especially when there’s a lot of stress in the environment. Now Yoongi has to prepare to deal with the “break-up” since you and Jimin will share the honor of being in an arranged marriage. Well, it’s more like a trick love-marriage. If your father catches you in bed with the wrong man, there’s no telling what he could do from there.

Yoongi just needs you and Jimin to get married to save you both. Jimin gets to reconnect with his parents who cast their son out because he got a boyfriend, and you would be free from awkward marriage dinners with strangers. Oh, and your father would leave you alone because he’d consider you as “Jimin’s property.” 

He knows the type of person he is. He’s dealt with the same type of parents many times over. His family wasn’t even willing to accept him even though he told them he wasn’t completely gay but didn’t agree to being labeled “straight” either.

Now look at you all, everyone is happy together and that’s the way Yoongi wants it to be. Even if he has to be in the background. For your happiness, he would do anything. For you and Jimin.

As he’s about to open the door, a text from your mother catches him off-guard. She was texting that she gets to come home earlier today, so she can spend time with you three and get to know your boyfriends better. Uh-oh, this is bad.

He shuts the door behind him before running upstairs, to look for you and Jimin. Yoongi bursts down the door with force only to find you and Jimin NOT watching iCarly together on Netflix.

“Oh God, I’m sorry!” He shields his eyes, turning around so you could cover up a little bit. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but he didn’t want to be a pervert. Even though you’d be fine with him looking. He still wants to ask for consent. 

You change quickly, Jimin still panting and recovering from his last orgasm. He almost passed out from how good you were with your tongue.

“You can look, you know?” You and Jimin day in sync. The two of you share a look that Yoongi knew was the type of look reserved for two special people. You’ve already bonded, without him. It’s a good thing, even if it kills Yoongi that he's trying to earn extra money so in case you and Jimin do get caught with the plan, you would have a safety net to catch you when you fall and help you up. 

Yoongi didn’t inform you or Jimin of this, but recently, he’s been opting for extra hours just to save up money. He’s also been spending some of that money on new equipment to make his producing process a bit easier, but apart from that, he has a large amount of money in his bank account. At least, it’s big in his eyes. He never had much, but now he finally has a reason to do more with his life. 

You and Jimin constantly inspire him to make songs all the time, and without realizing it, you’ve changed him for the better.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But that’s not why I’m here, your mom is coming home, and she wants to spend time with us, since we’re your boyfriends!” Yoongi panics and you find it endearing how the man you once thought to be cold and unkind to now be so comfortable around you that he speaks his mind.

“Thank goodness you walked in when you did, Jimin was about to pass out on top of me.” 

“Wait, you bottom for her?” You look back at Jimin to see his reaction. He gawks at his blond boyfriend in shock.

“Yeah, I mean haven’t you seen how she gets when she’s dominant? It’s sexy as hell.” You can’t understand what they’re saying anymore because they are speaking in Korean.

“Oh, I see. Wait until the roles are reversed, I’m sure our kitten will be mewling for you to stop once she feels your lips.” Jimin glances over at you quickly before looking back at his boyfriend.

“Hyung, in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve already done plenty alone.” Your prince-like boyfriend combs his hair to one side, making you giggle as you see Yoongi turn bright pink like a piglet.

“I can see that. Kitten, are you up for a date when we go up to the cabin?” You bite your lip, glancing nervously towards Jimin as he gets dressed with his back to you and looking at Yoongi as he waits patiently for your answer. You were planning to spend time with the two of them, but you know that maintaining the individual relationships with your partners are just as important as the group dynamic. You’ve also been naturally closer with Jimin, as he was your best friend first.

Yoongi deserves a break, and you know that he’s probably noticed that you and Jimin have been spending a lot more time together while he’s been working hard. The vacation is actually for Yoongi, but he doesn’t know that, yet.

“Sure. When do you want to go out?” You ask.

“Hmmm, what about tomorrow? I get off work around 4 tomorrow, so we’ll have a lot of time to spend after that.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” You both share a small smile before Jimin interrupts the moment with applause.

“Great! While you guys do that, I’ll be out learning choreography. I need to keep up with my peers from the institute.”

“Wait, you went to a dance school?” Jimin gasps at the realization that he never told you about his dance classes during high school.

“Yep, I was at the top of my class,” Jimin quickly changes the subject. “Anyways, enough about me, you guys need to plan for your date!” He quickly runs out into the hallway, in his boxer shorts with the rest of his clothes in hand, as you uncover yourself and give Yoongi a quick peek before scrambling to find some clean clothes that don’t smell like sex.

“Boys, I assume you know what this meeting is about?” Your mom clasps her hands together on her lap as she basically murders your boyfriends with her eyes.

“I know it’s a weird arrangement, but we both really like your daughter.” Yoongi is the first to speak up, and you find it sweet that he can open up to your mother, since he wasn’t the most socially adept back when you first met him. You assume that’s because you changed him, you and Jimin made him crawl out of his shell and explore the world a bit more. This was mostly good but bad at the same time because he was much better at communicating, and instead of scowling at people or giving them a blank stare, he actually smiles a lot more and makes more eye contact.

Maybe that’s just the jealousy talking, but you genuinely feel that it’s better for Yoongi, in the long run.

“I’ve known you guys for six months now, and in judging you personally, I can tell that you both have excellent characters. You will make her happy, and hopefully someday you three can be more serious.”

“Hey mom, I needed to ask you something about that.” Your boyfriends glance at you anxiously as you ask your mom. “When is dad coming home?” You bite your bottom lip as you do when you get nervous.

“Hmmm, he said he would be gone for half a year. He’ll be back by October, why?” You scratch your head.

“Can’t a girl wonder when her daddy’ll come home?” You don’t even bother looking at your boyfriends as you can tell exactly what their expressions are.

Once your mother is done interrogating your partners, Jimin creeps down the hallway and sneaks into your room.

“Where’s Yoongi?” You ask, as he kisses your collarbone.

“Asleep.” You stop him.

“Look, we left him out earlier so I feel kinda bad. I don’t think we should do any more stuff tonight. We can continue tomorrow.” Jimin’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t push your boundaries. He just backs away from you and he flops down on your bed.

“You think I’m good...right?”

“What?” Jimin’s sudden words throw you off guard.

“I’m not bad at sex, am I?” 

“Jimin, where did you get that idea? Of course you’re amazing in bed, I’m just not in the mood tonight. Besides, my mom’s home.” You sit down next to him, stroking his right arm.

“Thanks. Sometimes I feel like I need validation. My confidence isn’t all what I chalked it up to be.” You just let out a long sigh. You can relate to him, in what happened with Jungkook and Jasmine. Your friendship actually made you lose trust in those closest to you. You were partially afraid of opening up to Jimin in the beginning too, but after you cried it out with him, you felt even closer to him than the people you knew practically your entire life.

Jimin is just easy to get along with, and you know that’s partially the reason why you were able to open up to him so quickly. Considering, yes you were only about three months into your romantic relationship, you needed someone to latch onto. Jimin was still the best friend you ever had, and you learned quickly that this was what a healthy friendship was like. 

Unlike Jungkook and Jasmine, Jimin would listen to you, and he’d give you advice about your problems. In turn, you listened to him, just as you had with your past friends. There was something different from the other interactions you had, because it was a take and give type situation. 

You weren’t just taking, though. You were applying yourself, and improving who you were as a person. This is what a friendship should be like. Even though you’re dating, it feels comfortable and familiar. You’ve learned not to depend on people as much, only when you need to. Unlike anything you’ve seen in the past, the dynamics of Jimin and Yoongi’s relationship is so free, they don’t pester the other to tell them everything.

Secrets are important in a relationship; That’s another thing you’ve picked up. Obviously you aren’t going to lie, but you feel like you have a safety net.

“Sorry. It’s just hard to always live up to society’s expectations of me.” Everything clicks for you with Jimin’s words. You quickly stand up, blood rushing to your head as you do, making you fall back just as fast. Jimin catches you, luckily, and lowers you down onto the mattress.

“We’re not getting married.” You put your foot down, catching your boyfriend off guard.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You simply stare up at your boyfriend, eyes filled with hope.

[amaranthkick]

A Therapy Werewolf, part 10

(ao3) 

“You should have seen it, Pidge! Shiro threw his head back, a noble howl resonating around the area catching the attention of the space wolves. All Shiro had to do was growl, showing off those pearly whites and they were cowering with their tail between their legs. Ah, as a fellow lupine, it brings a tear to my eye.” Lance dramatically wiped a non-existent tear from his eye.

Shiro knocked Lance down, laying on top of him and trapping him underneath. “You know that is not what happened in the slightest.”

“Mmm, yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened.” Pidge said to Lance, voice dripping with sarcasm. She raised an eyebrow. “What really happened?”

Lance hid his flushed face behind his hands while Shiro whined softly and put a paw on top of his muzzle. Hunk tilted his head at their reactions and gasped as an idea popped into his head. “Oh! Is it like on TV where dogs sniff--”

Everyone froze as the alarm blared throughout the castle and in an instant they rushed to the bridge.

“It's as I feared.” Allura informed them as she pulled up the map, showing an enemy marker heading towards their location. “The Galra are sending a warship to our position. Fortunately, it's not a robeast. ...Not this time yet. But this means we don’t have the leisure to wait here for a way to change Shiro back to normal. Never mind, we’ll talk afterwards. Paladins to your Lions!”

Shiro huffed as he waited on the bridge as the others worked together to take down the warship. He could feel the Black Lion purring in apology in the back of his mind but as otherworldly and advanced as these Lions were, the controls proved difficult in his current state.

Though he wasn’t able to fight with his team, he perked up in pride as they managed to take it down. They have really grown from the first time they piloted the Lions to be able to work together even with one Lion missing.

---

Even though they were victorious it was tense when the paladins returned to the bridge. Keith was tense with anger, of course the Galra wouldn’t let them catch their breath. It’s just a matter of time until they keep sending stronger and stronger reinforcements. Pidge was fiercely staring at a screen as if her glare can make a cure form faster. Everyone else was frowning thinking of what they could do.

Lance started when he felt Shiro nudge his hand with a wet nose. “You said you had a plan B, in case things don’t pan out. Well… things aren’t panning out. Can I hear what it is?”

Hearing Shiro bark made everyone turn their heads in their direction. Lance rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, there is something I’d like to try. I think it’ll be able to help Shiro.”

Lance explained that he wanted to turn Shiro, give him the bite and turn him into a werewolf. He got the idea thinking about Coran’s remarks about his body rejecting the space wolf chemical. The turn would also pretty much be instantaneous. The idea surprised them and certainly piqued Coran’s interest in how the turning works but more importantly brought a spark of hope back in their eyes.

“How interesting, is it magic based or perhaps it works like an infection passed through a bite wound?” Coran was holding a magnifying glass too close to Lance’s mouth for his liking.

“I have no idea.” Lance leaned away from Coran’s good-natured prodding. “I’ve never tried it but it does involve a bite, which obviously hurts. Not sure how I feel about biting our leader. Are you sure you want to try it?” He asked Shiro.

“I’m willing to give it a try.” Shiro nodded, appreciating his concern.

“Are you sure this will work?” Keith asked, highly concerned for Shiro’s safety.

“I don’t know how this’ll work on a space wolf but uh… ok, something like this happened before. They say that no one has turned anyone in a while but my dad or his friends might have done it but don’t you guys tell a soul! My family might get in trouble.”

At their agreement, Lance continued. “A long time ago, when my dad and a few of his friends were young and dumb and unafraid, they asked the age old question ‘can you turn a wolf into a werewolf?’ But unlike normal people and just imagining what would happen, they tried it out. Long story short they ended up adopting a very confused and slightly feral human. Ah, Uncle Jim Jam… the life of the party.” Lance ended with a nostalgic tinge in his voice.

“You guys named him Jim Jam?” Hunk asked incredulously.

Lance gasped, a hand on his chest. “Don’t be mean! He’s doing his best! But anyway, they started a wolf and ended with a werewolf that can turn into a human or wolf. Which is what we’ll end up with, hopefully.”

---

It wasn’t night yet but the moon had entered the sky from the eastern horizon. Lance said he needed some time to concentrate and see if the moon was willing to help. Apparently he had to get the moon’s blessing to be able to turn someone. Shiro found Lance in the usual hall, the moon visible in the window. His eyes were closed and he breathed in deeply, soaking up the moonlight. Once Lance noticed his presence he sat down next to him.

“This moon is happy to help, she feels friendly and kinda curious about me and werewolves since this planet doesn’t have any. ...How are you feeling about all this? Like getting drugged and uh, getting experimented again by the galra?” Lance winced as he asked. There wasn’t exactly a subtler way to ask that.

Shiro was surprised then he deflated with a sigh. It was hard to keep the dependable leader front with all this trauma piling up. “It certainly is not helping that it happened again. Feels like everytime they get their dirty hands on me, I’m changed beyond recognition from who I used to be.” He felt like he could breathe a little easier, having admitted that.

Lance started to gently stroke his fur, he felt Shiro relaxing slightly at his touch. “How about this though? If turning you is successful, you won’t exactly be fully human again.”

“Hmm, but this feels different. Maybe because you offered it and I chose to try it rather than another galran experiment being forced on me.” But still… being a werewolf, it’ll definitely be a new experience, Shiro thought.

“Oh! That kinda reminds me of some werewolf legends, want to hear them?” Lance looked eager to tell him a bit of werewolf culture, his culture. Shiro wagged his tail once, happy to listen.

“Well, they say the first turning was actually a curse.” Lance smiled sheepishly as he started. “Humans were afraid of werewolves so they hunted them. The moon was angry at the many innocent lives lost to the hunters. So she cursed the bite a werewolf had inflicted in self defence and caused the hunter to become a werewolf and thus the hunter becomes the hunted by his own people.

“Oh! But then there’s another legend that makes turning look like a blessing! So there was this werewolf woman whose lover was terribly injured. Since werewolves boasted great regenerative abilities she begged the moon to be able to turn her love so she can save them. And once she did they lived happily ever after and all that jazz. They tell these stories to get pups to not judge things at first glance since something was a curse in once case turned out to be a blessing in another. Ah, I remember when grandma told me these stories...”

Shiro's eyes softened fondly as Lance started to reminisce, happily talking about his family. A blessing, huh? Shiro felt lighter as his nuzzling caused Lance to laugh.

“Haha! Alright, alright. Enough of that, I think I’m good to go. Let’s get everyone and see this through.”

---

Pain.

Shiro was ready to accept that. Sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. But that spike of pain only lasted for a moment.

Then it felt like lava coursed through his veins spreading from the bite to every part of his body. He felt something… in the back of his mind, a gentle pull. Was this how the moon felt to Lance?  Lance told him if he felt it, he should go against the pull as it guided them towards their wolf form. He concentrated on doing so. Shiro gritted his teeth as muscles spasmed and bones started to shift. He could vaguely hear yells of concern from the others.

He remembers Lance trying to tell him to not fight against the change before he blacked out.

---

It was a chaotic few minutes full of screaming, cursing, yelling, honestly, just another day out here in space, Lance thought to himself. But everyone calmed down once Shiro had changed back into a human even though he promptly passed out. They quickly dressed him up in the silky, black pajamas stored in the castle. He was still missing his arm but with Pidge, Hunk, and Coran on the case, Lance doubts it would be that much of an issue for long.

Lance suggested a sleepover, getting everyone bringing their blankets and pillows to fill that circle of couches area in the common room. This way with Shiro’s brand new stronger sense of smell, he’d be surrounded by familiar scents when he wakes up.

Allura took Coran with her to chart their next course to their next destination, taking care to mark some safe spots to give the paladins much needed rest. Coran assured Lance that he would make her join the sleepover so she could rest as well.

As they slept in the soft nest waiting for Shiro to wake, Lance settled in and he let his mind wander. It’s been a wild ride out here in space. Becoming paladins, helping Shiro like he helped his uncle, everyone accepting him even if he was a werewolf and him fully accepting them as a pack. Lance knew this war would be tough but he’ll do what he could for his pack.

[amoret-the-leaf]

Summary: Wei Wuxian is determined. After seeing his Lan Zhan yawning, yawning of all things, he makes it his mission to let his husband take a rest. Though, as with many things in life, it doesn't go according to plan. Many years had passed since the esteemed Hanguang-Jun and the Yiling Patriarch had found themselves stuck in a cave on death's doorstep, confessing deeply rooted traumas to each other. Wei Ying would give everything he had and more to never let it happen again. Never. He was going to cherish Lan Wangji like he deserved, until the day he died.

Ship: Wangxian

Word Count: 5397

Author’s Note:  This story is a result of MDZS/CQL frankencanon, and may contain differences in titles and ways of addressing due to subtitle variations. This work may not be completely accurate to Ancient Chinese and Xianxia culture. If something has been written inappropriately/offensively, please let me know!

This chapter contains:

Exhaustion, Hypothermia, Delirium

"IT'S FREEZING OUT HERE!!! HUG ME LAN ZHAN!!!"

The snow was fierce, blowing in strong gusts of wind that changed directions every few seconds. Thick snowflakes sat in everyone's hair, from the lovers leading to the group, to the juniors being nearly blown away trailing behind. Clearly (or rather, unclearly- it was very hard to see), this day was not going as Wei Ying had hoped. Had it, and they might've been dancing through the white-coated streets of Caiyi, where the sky was calm now, and the sun shone to melt some of the snow. A blizzard in Yuanwei was certainly not in his planned itinerary for the day.

They'd been sent off when Zewu-Jun arrived back in the Cloud Recesses, visibly distressed with several delayed letters of aid coming from the townspeople. A blizzard of questionable origins had been raging for about two days now, judging by the dates on the papers. A collection of them had been found just outside the borders of the place. When recalling the events of the night before to the Lan Sect Leader, the worst was feared. Had the people been... were they gone?

If so, they were dealing with something, or someone, much more dangerous than they'd hoped.

So Zewu-Jun sent out his brother, accompanied by Wei Ying, and a group of their finest junior disciples to look for survivors, or bodies of the dead. Whatever was left at this point. Though, what had yet to be explained, was why Jin Ling was trotting around and rolling his eyes at Wei Ying snuggling against up his lover.

"Roll your eyes all you want! I'm cold! What are you even doing here?!" The former Jiang disciple hissed, head half-covered by Wangi's long sleeve he'd been wrapped in. "Shouldn't you be doing Sect Leader things?! If we needed a Sect Leader, Zewu-Jun would've come with us!"

"Mind your business!" The teen snapped back, crossing his arms. "I'm studying in Gusu right now! Did you forget? We literally see each other every day!" Jin Ling... in the Cloud Recesses? That would explain why a wild Jin would be wearing white. But it wasn't exactly ringing a bell. "Why didn't you dress warmer anyways? You knew where we were going!"

"I am dressed warm! I have my warmest clothes on mind you! But it's still cold!"

"Then you're a baby."

"A-Ling... Maybe fighting with Senior Wei isn't worth it?" Sizhui intervened, giving the softest nervous smile he could. "All of us are still cold, the temperatures are below what most of us are used to. We should try to get this done as soon as possible."

So it was A-Ling now? Interesting... He and Sizhui would be having a talk when they got home. Wangji seemed to pick up on this too, sharing a look with the other before nodding.

"Well said Sizhui!" Wei Ying exclaimed, pacing around the group. "What a polite disciple! You should try to be more like him! Your uncle has corrupted your brain to be so aggressive! It's scary!" He jumped back to his lover in exaggerated fear when Jin Ling practically growled at him as a response.

"Can we get going now? Some of us would like to keep all our fingers and toes by the end of this." Jingyi complained, sarcasm being second nature to him. It was almost impressive. "It's cold, and this place is almost buried. I don't wanna be buried with it."

Normally, the Second Jade would at least point out the rude behavior. But the boy was right. People's lives could be on the line. So he took off his outermost layer of winter robes, gently placing the clothing around Wei Ying's shoulders. His husband's golden core was still weak in comparison to what it used to be, Wangji could manage in the cold if it meant swaddling the other. White was not his color, but seeing Wei Ying with embellished clouds covering his typical black and red combination reminded him of their student days back in Gusu. Back when they were carefree teenagers.

They had to move now.

So they walked. Trudging through knee-deep snow as wind whipped their faces, snow blurring their vision, and hoping they were still headed towards the right direction. Wei Ying tried to protest giving the extra layer back, but would only be met with, "You need it more." At least, it was something along those lines. Perhaps it changed, Wei Ying didn't focus on it too much. All he wanted was for his beloved to be taking a break.

They hadn't slept in. There was no time for naps or any trips out to Caiyi. No buying loquats in the marketplace or relaxing by the cold pond (too cold to go in!) or catching up over a meal with the kids. It scared him. Wangji looked exhausted; scary to think about, scarier to see.

Is this what it felt like? Being worried for your one true love? Did Lan Zhan go through this all the time? Standing there, watching, knowing he's too stubborn to ask for help or properly take a rest? They were more alike than Wei Ying would like to admit... and that was... Miraculous. Even through his worry, Wei Ying couldn't help but be enamored by the graceful beauty Wangji had. Intoxicating in the best way.

Thick, frosty flakes sat in his hair, looking so natural. So pristine, so tranquil. "Lan Zhan! How dare you look like a regal, captivating snow prince while the rest of us look like drowned rats!" The Yiling Patriarch whined. He wasn't wrong, damp, half-frozen hair clung together wildly in almost everyone's face. Yet Lan Wangji was immune, so to speak, still looking as handsome as ever. Even tired, he was radiant.

"Mn. Not true." The Second Jade replied.

Ah, an opportunity. "Oh? Is that so?" Wei Ying smirked, bringing his palms to rest cutely onto his frigid, rosy cheeks. "So there's an exception then? Someone who gets to be labelled as breathtaking as Hanguang-Jun? I envy them~"

"Sizhui."

Eh!? "LAN ZHAN!!!" Wei Ying cried, throwing his arms back down in a fuss. He could already hear the muffled snickers coming from the juniors still following behind. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAY ME!!!"

"Lying is forbidden."

"WHAT!?!? LAN WANGJI!!!"

Oh how they laughed. The lot of teens quite honestly couldn't contain it anymore. Senior Wei had just been delivered a critical blow- that was hilariously overdue. Anyone could hear the moment Jin Ling dropped to the ground with a loud thump, sinking into the fresh powder as hysterical laughter spread throughout the group. Jingyi was barely hunched over on his knees, trying his very best to stay upright in the frenzy, huffing loudly every few seconds to get more air. The ever-mannered Sizhui only meekly turned away, giggling in a sort of shame.

But Hanguang-Jun took a hand to his husband's face. "Wei Ying is too bright. Too warming. He cannot be a snow prince. Has to be the sun. "

The Yiling Patriarch smiled brightly, spitting out a "take that!" to the group. "Is it because I make you melt, Ji-xiong?" He asked, playfully sticking out his tongue.

Still laying in the snow, Jin Ling covered his eyes. "Ew. I did not want to see that. Please never do that again."

Hanguang-Jun didn't seem outwardly amused, but Wei Ying could tell he was snickering at the remark (on the inside!). That is, until the Second Master Lan stepped forward once more. "No time for this. Advance."

With that, the disciples scurried back and followed. Even his husband seemed to get the message that his teasing time was regretfully over. Maybe Lan Zhan WASN'T laughing on the inside? Actually, he seemed so tense all of a sudden. Stiff as a board. When they'd arrived, he was his usual smittenly sweet self. Now it was like he was in a cultivation conference listening to the nonsense being spit by anyone who craved a sliver of attention. But he had seen him amused by it! So what just happened?

Sizhui, covertly speeding up behind Wei Ying, tugged on his sleeve. If he hadn't been half-expecting the kid to notice, he might've flinched. But A-Yuan was attentive. The subtle frown on the teen's face, the way his eyebrows lowered, and his lip sunk just a bit- Sizhui was worried too. And maybe, just maybe, Wei Ying was close enough to now be able to decipher his kid too.

Before either of them could try to get to the bottom of this, a quiet thunk was heard. Thunking wasn't the typical crunch of the snow now was it? Heads turned to Lan Jingyi, the origin of the sound. At the disciple's feet, something was peeking out. The group gathered around the unidentified object like ducklings, before digging into the fresh powder.

"It's... It's some kind of box?" Someone announced. Three of them lifted it up, but whatever was inside was buried at this point. Tipping it over, parcels containing cloths and pendants fell out. Many of them held the same, if not similar design to the tapestry previously hung in the Jingshi, and the symbol on their map.

"Well!" Wei Ying bent down, grabbing one of the pendants and sweeping snow off its print. "At least we know we're getting close!" He perked up, "And this wasn't buried deep. Someone was carrying this recently. Maybe even a few hours ago. Could've been a merchant, could've been a shopkeeper desperate to preserve their valuables. But it was abandoned here within the last 24 hours, so there's at least one person nearby."

Wangji nodded. But he kept the grim look on his face. It was always a possibility, but no one was happy when he added, "Check for bodies."

They dug around. No bodies. That was a relief. Whoever was out here, well, hopefully this meant shelter was somewhere, and still intact. Townspeople didn't have golden cores, they wouldn't make it long in this.

So they kept going. Wei Ying kept his eyes on Lan Wangji, and through his peripheral vision, watched as Sizhui and now Jingyi seemed to fret at the sight of their beloved Hanguang-Jun. If Jin Ling had any suspicions, he was doing so from afar, trailing behind with the very end of the group.

What was especially concerning, was that Lan Zhan didn't notice them. Really, Lan Wangji wasn't noticing their not-so discreet eyes piercing into him. He just kept walking.

But a hut, a hut on the hill, would draw attention away from that. A hut on a hill with a fire nonetheless, as smoke came out of the side of the place. The teens cheered, scurrying up closer, but never going past their Second Jade, who kept his simple pace. Luckily he seemed relaxed at the sight. Thank goodness, it was unbearable to see that side of him! Oh Wei Ying was definitely having a conversation with his lover about this later.

Wangji lightly knocked on the door. The loud screech of the bitter wind nearly drowned the voices inside the cabin out. But the door swung open. A woman put a hand to her chest, sighing with relief. "The cultivators have arrived!" She cried out. "Oh you're here, we're saved! We're saved!"

She pushed the door out wider. Groups of people could be seen sitting on the floor, the younger of which appearing to be swaddled in thin, scarce blankets. There was enough people crowded in this tiny house to... To fill a village! Oh!

All of them huddled around a tiny bundle of wood lit aflame in the middle of the floor. Just barely, it seemed, as it was more of a flicker than a flame. The Juniors were already taking care of that, a fire talisman sweeping through the air to get a brighter flame on the already charred wood. "Jingyi, Jin Ling, gather some wood." Lan Wangji instructed. "Sizhui, keep feeding the flame as best as you can."

The three nodded, immediately doing as they were told. Sizhui shielded the fire when the other two had opened the door. Still, the fire wavered, hanging on by what could best be compared to a loose thread. "Miss, what happened?" Wangji asked, in as few, few words as possible. At least that was normal.

"Hanguang-Jun," She started, slowly. "Hanguang-Jun, a few days ago, one of our youngest here, A-Bao, had wandered off. When he came back into town, he said he'd met a little girl." The woman's breath hitched, eyes welling up with tears. "H-He said this girl was friendly, and she wanted to play with him. A-Bao talked to her and... and he mentioned he liked snow. So the little girl promised she'd make it snow for him the next day."

It sounded like a fairytale, almost. "We thought... we thought it was a joke. But the snow came the next day. At the time, it was a coincidence to us. It's winter, we don't usually get a lot of it but it's not uncommon. But the snow never stopped!" She cried out, causing a few gathered by the fire to groan, or cover their ears. "It never stopped! We tried sending requests for aid. But every time we sent someone out, they came back, halfway to death's doorstep! No one could bear the journey! The last person to go out never came back! Sang Meng, our most talented in cultivation! A-Bao is his brother... So he went to fix his mess! Oh please, please!" The woman was kneeling now, gripping her dress, tightly. "Please help us, Hanguang-Jun! The boy might've died! We can't last like this!"

A spirit, most definitely. No curse could do this, and last he'd checked, Wei Ying wasn't aware of any large scale weather changing talismans. However, it would be unlikely this spirit would attempt to freeze over the town, and send a signal while its people were still alive. If it was out to kill, no warnings would be given. Therefore, it was not the spirit to have burnt the tapestry last night. Wei Ying's eyes glimmered with a realization. "Has Sang Meng ever created any original talismans?"

The woman nodded, vigorously. "He's been working on an altered fire talisman last I'd heard. Why?"

"He's alive, or, was. Last night. He could still be out there."

Everyone gasped. Some pulled each other close, some remaining more distant. The juniors were surprised, especially. But hope, hope was in the eyes of the townspeople. It was an all too familiar feeling. Wangji nodded, catching onto what his husband had eluded to. "Incident in the Cloud Recesses." He confirmed, though giving no other details. "Sang Meng could be alive. Most likely with the spirit now. I need to go."

...I? When had there ever been an I with them? The one person Wei Ying did not want of this house, and he was volunteering. "Lan Zhan-" He tried, but honestly, it was no use. He also, in good conscience, did not want to send the kids out in this, possibly to retrieve a body. Besides, his husband was already halfway to the door. "Lan Zhan!!! I'm coming with you! Wait for Xian-gege!"

"Wei Ying will stay here."

"Wei Ying absolutely will not. Silly Lan-er-ge."

They were both impossible to sway from these kinds of things. Righteousness was as much of a curse as it was a blessing. The Second Master Lan sighed, taking his beloved's hand. "Wei Ying is cold. The juniors are cold. They will stay here and help keep warm." He insisted,

Wei Ying huffed. Were they fighting? Was this a fight? No, Wangji was looking at him with those sweet big eyes of his. Guilt trap. It was a guilt trap, do not fall for it. They weren't fighting, Lan Zhan was worried. The other hated that. "Lan Zhan is cold too, he just won't admit it. This Yiling Patriarch is coming with you, and you cannot stop him!" With that, he continued for the door.

Wei Ying was set on this. These kids were absolutely not going to fight whatever was able to plague this whole place with a blizzard. It was definitely not the best idea to bring them, now that they had an idea of what was going on. But they could still help these people, hopefully not freezing in the meantime. "Oh, and A-Yuan, you're in charge. None of you are allowed to come with us, just make yourselves useful here. We're gonna go get the bad thing now! Don'tdoanythingstupidokaybyebye!" He beamed, ignoring the near horrified face of their son, and stepping out into the snow. His soulmate was already ten paces ahead.

Lan Wangji, just what was he not telling his A-Ying?

-

The woman, who Lan Sizhui now knew as Feng Jixiao, turned to face him. "So, are they always like this?"

A-Yuan laughed, timidly. There was only one word that came to mind to answer that, his beloved Hanguang-Jun's favorite phrase in the world. "Mn." He answered, closing his eyes. The disciple couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong, and that he was missing something very important here. But what...

-

Wei Ying panted, holding himself up on his knees. "Lan... Zhan... not so fast." He mumbled, getting no response. Or rather, if he did get one, he couldn't hear. The wind had grown louder since they'd gone inside. But it was just the two of them out here now, and Wei Wuxian was determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with his husband. In this case, it had to come first. Spirit, rescue, whatever they were doing, his soulmate came first- and Wei Ying did not have a good feeling about this. No, not at all. Was Lan Zhan swaying?

They'd been walking for about an hour. Honestly, they probably strayed far away from their original direction long ago. Luckily, the two had a teleportation talisman to use if they started to freeze. Over an hour now, and still no sign of a boy. No taunting whispers of a spirit either. If they couldn't find this spirit, they would have to call for additional aid from the clan and evacuate the townspeople. The only reason they hadn't, well, those without a core had a slim chance of surviving long enough to get to safety. Yuanwei would bury itself, something that Wangji understood, and absolutely would not accep- Was Lan Zhan swaying?

No, Wei Ying couldn't give in to paranoia. The winds were strong, and his vision was blurred with snowflakes that would fall from his eyelashes as he blinked. He definitely was not seeing his husband sway as he walked. He wasn't noticing the way that his soulmate clenched his hands, stretching them in and out. What was it? Had he found A-Bao's brother? Was the sight too terrible to see? Wei Ying took his eyes off Hanguang-Jun for a moment, a fraction in time, to try and organize these frenzied thoughts of his...

Thud.

If a thousand snowflakes had fallen last evening, then the Heavens should be happy with what they'd brought down. The will of no deity or divine being ever deserved to take Hanguang-Jun down with it. But he was falling. By sheer adrenaline, Wei Wuixian was moving. As fast as any rules would forbid, he was moving. Across the sea of dusty white, he was going. But today, Wei Ying couldn't move fast enough. The Second Jade hit the ground, any and all color drained from his face. Lan Wangji was on the ground... a ground that began crackling and crunching underneath him. Snow didn't crackle like that. The Earth did not crackle.

They were walking on a lake. A fucking frozen lake for who knows how long. A frozen body of water they somehow had defied fate on until now. But now his soulmate was unconscious. He looked like he had DIED. How far out were they?! The ice was buried under the snow, Wei Ying couldn't tell! He couldn't see- FUCK!

"LAN ZHAN!"

An earth-shattering scream rang out, and god did he run. Wangji dipped below the surface and he ran. Wei Ying didn't even feel as though he was running. No, he was flying, as fast as humanly possible. The ice cracked beneath his feet as he ran, but he would not falter nor slip. The Yiling Patriarch did not stop as he dove just his hands into the freezing water. Thousands of needles shot through his every nerve, barely registering the white cloth he'd gotten ahold of. But once he saw it, he didn't hesitate. Wei Ying pulled. 'Please don't just be the headband,' he thought, desperately. He pulled and pulled with all the strength he'd worked to regain. Come on... come on! Lan Zhan!

Wei Ying fell back with a limp body in his arms. The former Jiang disciple didn't have time to even check if he was still breathing. They had to- he had to keep running! This ice absolutely not going to hold much longer. The teleportation talisman wouldn't be fast enough! He'd fucking play a life and death game of hopscotch across glaciers if he had to. Lan Wangji just fainted on him. He should've stopped him from coming. He should've said something sooner! This was all his fault!

Bichen. Wangji still had Bichen with him. Wei Ying was too weak to ride a sword, he didn't bring Suibian. But goddammit he was gonna ride this sword. WITH Lan Wangji. Unconcious. There were no other options. Bichen already had let him wield them once, a long time ago, so Wei Ying was eternally grateful when he was able to unsheathe the sword again. He threw it straight out, shaking hands gathering up the Second Jade, and hopping on.

Of course, he'd nearly fallen off right then and there. Bichen had taken a sharp swerve left to keep them on. Wei Ying adjusted his footing, and they were going at breakneck speed, on a dizzying, unclear path. He was on a moving tightrope, and could only hope when they eventually got to the ground, it was real ground. Solid, snow-covered ground. The wind hurt as they flew, but any pain in his hands was completely blocked out by frostbitten numbness and sheer determination.

They weren't high. He didn't feel like breaking any bones if they DID get lucky enough to not die from this. Wei Ying could only swing helplessly back and forth, trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Eventually, he'd more or less gone dry of spiritual energy and lost his momentum, and they tumbled off the sword, which came to a halt. Wei Ying wasn't sure if he closed his eyes, or they'd done that by himself. He really didn't want to watch himself die again.

There wasn't any cracking. So, one eye peeked back open. Trembling, he slammed down on the ground with his arm. Not slippery. Hard. No cracking sounds. No breaking. Lan Wangji was in his arms. Panicked relief swept over him as though he'd never experienced before. He could cry, hell, he was already close. But it was too cold. Icicles hanging off his face wouldn't help. "Lan Zhan." He whispered pushing his body over to his husband, turning the Lan on his back. His voice was raspy, and god was he tired. "Lan Zhan." He shook. "A-Zhan. Wake up."

He didn't. Wei Ying hunched over him, breathing hard. He took his finger's to the other's wrist, hesitantly. He really, really couldn't feel, though. The Yiling Patriarch's hands were ghostly white. Was Lan Zhan breathing? He thinks so? Fuck it, he'd do it anyway. Wei Ying used his entire body to press into the other's chest. Deep, strong rounds of pushing, with the scarce bits of spiritual energy he had left being infused into his husband.

Before he could do any mouth to mouth (much to his dismay), a pained groan escaped the Second Jade's throat. Wei Ying quickly moved back, gasping. "Lan Zhan?" He asked, lacing his fingers into his soulmate's hand. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to smack him too, but mostly kiss him. Instead, Wangji just turned over, harshly coughing. A small trail of water he'd breathed in fell onto the ground.

Glazed-over eyes stared back at him. The typical strong, striking gaze of the Lan's golden eyes looked more like they were dripping in honey. Wangji blinked, looking confused. "Wei Ying?" He asked, quietly. Wei Ying only nodded, bringing his unfeeling hand to Lan Zhan's face. Wangji looked as though he wanted to say more, but was simply too out of it. It didn't take much thinking to know that he was ice cold, colder than he was, even if Wei Ying couldn't feel it. They had to find shelter.

There was a tree nearby. Wei Ying trudged over with his own tired and bitterly freezing body and snapped off a thick, long branch. Leaning most of his weight onto his new walking stick, he swung Wangji's arm over his shoulders. "Lan Zhan, I'm going to carry you on my back, okay?" He spoke. Switching which hand he held his stick, he got the Second Jade's other arm around his neck. "Hang on for me, please."

Wei Ying had never said a genuine please in his life.

Wangji gave him no answer. Luckily, he seemed to comply, trying to hold his feet up, just a few centimeters off the ground, so they didn't drag. It was enough. Ideally, Wei Ying would be able to hold his legs, or just cradle the other bridal style in his arms once again. But this was not ideal, and he was exhausted. Wei Ying wasn't sure he'd stay upright without leaning against the stick. That, and he refused to stand on the ice again. If they were getting close, the stick would be the one being plunged into the frozen lake. Never would anyone think the Yiling Patriarch would be hunched over, stabbing the Earth with a walking stick with a frozen Hanguang-Jun on his back all those years ago. Yet here they were.

There was nothing to see but white. If only Wei Ying had more spiritual energy. The teleportation talisman they'd brought was just about useless now. Neither of them would have enough to use it- Lan Zhan's was far too important in keeping him alive. No signals would work in the blizzard either. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest decision for them to come alone. Then again, if all those kids had fallen into the ice... Wei Wuxian would never forgive himself. He'd never forgive himself for this.

...Wangji had closed his eyes again, head buried into Wei Ying's back as they walked. Was it a relief? Or was he- no, Wei Ying couldn't think about that. He was fine, for now. He WOULD be fine. When this was all over, fuck it, they were going on a break. A year-long break far away from any of this. No night hunting, no cultivation world. The Sects would just have to learn how to live without him and Lan Zhan solving all their problems. The world owed them it's kindness.

Heh, if he wasn't so blind, maybe things would be different. Maybe he could've married Lan Zhan all those years ago. Maybe the Burial Mounds could be the Yiling Wei Sect by now. Maybe Wen Qing and Granny Wen and Uncle Four would be sitting around a table as they feast. Or maybe they'd all be in the Cloud Recesses. Wen Ning would be perfect for this job, considering he's dead. He wanted to call him, in a desperate attempt, but Wei Ying knew he was in Lanling right now.

Maybe if he'd gotten Jiang Cheng out of that damn Wen prison earlier... They'd both have their cores. Maybe he wouldn't have walked his single-plank bridge. He could be sitting in Lotus Pier right now, and Shijie...

A cave. A cave?

He was hallucinating. That definitely wasn't the entrance to a cave. Oh, but it was too good to pass up. For Lan Zhan's sake, he'd have to hope it was real. Slowly sweeping through the mountains of white wet shit, Wei Ying put a hand to the outside rock wall of the hallucinated cave. Solid. Solid? It was real.

The inside was dark, damp, and depressing. Not the first cave they'd be stuck in, unfortunately. This one at least looked a little different, ice hanging from the ceiling in certain spots. But the cave- it was also deep. Deep enough to hide away from the whirring wind outside, and finally sit down with the Second Jade. He didn't waste a moment to pat his hand on the other's cheek, even if his own bones screamed at him. "Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, you can't sleep anymore." Wei Ying spoke, soft, and hurriedly. "Lan Zhan. Open your eyes."

Those golden, honey glow eyes fluttered once more. "Wei Ying." Lan Wangji repeated, as if picking up where he'd left off before. Just by the way his head rested off the cave wall, Wei Ying could tell he was dizzy. "What-"

"I'd like to ask you the same question, Mister 'I'm fine I don't need a break' and 'let's faint on my husband'." The other bit, not exactly meaning to be harsh about it. Still, it probably came off that way. "You. You fainted. What the hell have you been doing? Why won't you talk to me?" Stop. He wasn't angry. Why was he saying these things?

'I'm sorry.' Wei Ying thought, his breath hitching. 'I'm so sorry for not doing something sooner. I let you fall.'

"I..." Wangji really, REALLY looked tired. But Wei Ying couldn't let him sleep. No, not until he warmed up, even just a little. Otherwise, he might never wake up again. "I can't tell... Wei Ying. I can't tell him." The Second Master suddenly shot upright, grasping at Wei Ying's clothes. "You won't tell him, will you? Please don't tell him."

Oh, that wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. Deliria? "...I won't tell him." Wei Ying answered back, sadly. He shuffled on the floor. That walking stick was about to come in hand. "I won't tell him anything... but we need to get you warmed up." Snapping the stick into three... four smaller sticks, he sprinkled them on a dry spot. Luckily, there was another tree right outside the cave entrance. So Wei Ying had taken Bichen once again, the sword being much heavier this time and chopped up bundles of logs. He came back to the same, mumbling Lan Zhan seated in the exact same place.

He had a fire talisman. Not that he couldn't start one on his own, but this was way easier. Plus, he didn't need spiritual energy for this one. A bit of his tinkering had come to the rescue. Fire talismans were one of the easiest to alter, he'd found. But if that kid had sent a strategic fire all the way to the Cloud Recesses, well, he was a bit of a genius. His rescue would have to wait, though.

The fire caught, blazingly. Sticking his hands over it made them feel as though they were melting back to some degree of normal. "Lan Zhan, I'm gonna move you closer to the fire, okay?"

He didn't get a verbal response. But he did get a pout, and puffed out cheeks. That couldn't help but make him laugh. "Ah Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan," He spoke, carrying his lover and plopping him on the ground, for him to then lean against Wei Ying's body. "Is Lan Zhan five? No, that can't be it. How about three?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood.

What didn't Wangji want to tell him? He couldn't be sure. All he could do was gather them up and throw them into the fire. Dissipate, burn and disintegrate and fly away. Make like a bird and fly away.

Hanguang-Jun was down. They had no idea where the spirit was. The Juniors and all the townspeople were waiting for them. Sang Meng's survival was looking less and less likely by the minute.

Lan Zhan was down.

"Shijie," He looks up, frowning, "Xianxian doesn't know what to do now."   

[avengenerd]

Clockwork

A/N: it’s ya girl, back at it again after OVER A YEAR of not posting a fic. I’ve been working really hard this year in getting back into writing, and I’d like to think I’ve improved since I last posted here. So, let me know what you think. Like, comment, REBLOG, I go feral for the last two. Also S/O to @writeyourmindaway​ whose custom line divider I used! Much love, in these oh so trying times. 

Summary: Bucky x Female!Reader (established relationship). Reader is a part of the team, and endowed with the skills of MacGyver and a science degree. She’s also been kidnapped, disarmed, and locked inside with a ticking bomb. It’s not great. 

Word count: 2296

Category: fluff, light angst and self-deprecation. We been there. No warnings. Enjoy!

You’ve got 10 minutes before the walls come caving in. Four red, white and blue wires snake around four identical corners joined by enough incendiary to turn you to ash. The door is locked from the outside and your previous attempts at breaking it open have proved both a waste of time and a bruising task.

At 8 minutes and 35 seconds, you’ve assessed the bomb’s components and begin to thoroughly scan the small bathroom. A wall radiator attached to brown metallic pipes, definitely gas fed, is beside the ceramic toilet bowl. It tells you that not only are they planning on wiping you out, but burying the entire building beneath flames and rubble. On the floor there’s cleaning bleach and a blue bottle of standard toilet cleaner. You grab one of them and put it on the sink. In the mirror-cabinet above, you find a small manicure pouch. Immediately, you pull out tweezers and a metallic file. There’s no trimming scissors so you take the nail clipper instead.

The impending explosion is the most immediate threat, so that’s where you begin. Using the tweezers you unscrew the plating, and pry open the metal casing with the nail file to expose wiring. Four wires, same sequence as the external, red—blue—white—blue. You snip the last blue wire with the nail clippers. The timer stops at 7 minutes and 1 second.

It’s not over yet. In 7 minutes and 1 second, the assholes who locked you inside with a bomb will be wondering why there weren’t any fireworks. Then, they’ll be back. You may be able to diffuse a bomb but your capabilities end at stopping an army of bullets.

There’s a knock on the door.

You stop breathing. Tilting your head toward the door, you listen closely and hear heavy pants. Inching back to the sink you pick up the bottle of bleach.

Another knock, this time followed by a tentative call.

“Y/N?”.

You put the bottle down. “Bucky?”

A sigh comes from the other side. “Fuckin’ hell. Next time you get kidnapped, try not to lose your comms.”

Tilting your head back, you let out a deep breath before moving closer to the door.  “I’ll try to remember that. Can you let me out now? There’s a bomb-“

“Shit.” A ruffling followed by a grunt comes from Bucky’s side. “Move away from the door.”

You immediately scurry to the sink, as three pops to the door’s hinges allow Bucky to enter the small room.

His dark hair is matted to his face, drenched in sweat. His thick blue vest holds a darker spot on his left side, not much bigger than the size of a fist. Blood, maybe. ‘His’, you wonder. ‘Or someone else’s’. He’s grinning at you, skin stretched at the corners of his mouth, a pleasant image despite the huge semi-automatic attached to his back. ‘Definitely someone else’s’.

You smile back at him. “You took your sweet time.”

He glances at the left wall hosting the disarmed bomb and quirks an eyebrow at you. You shrug your shoulders in response. “Couldn’t wait forever, babe.”

Bucky moves to respond, but is interrupted by distant shouts.  “New friends of yours?” he asks.

“Clearly,” you reply, nodding to the explosives. “Did you by chance bring some friends of your own? A small army, perhaps?”

“Not exactly. We knew you’d be somewhere in the area, but there’s about five industrial bases within a 10 mile radius.” He removes the gun from behind his back, reloading the magazine. “The team had to split up. Didn’t think you’d be kept here though.”

Which is exactly why he checked, he goes on to explain. When the others reported unoccupied spaces, he’d almost given up. Until Tony conveniently mentioned how odd it was for there to be a 3-storey colonial home in the middle of an industrial outlet.

You hum in acknowledgement, moving once more toward the sink. “My man, ever the hero.” You send a wink his way. You open the cabinet once more and pull out a bottle of clear liquid. “Buck, pass me the bleach.”

The thundering footsteps of armed idiots inch closer towards your position. Your 7 minutes are up.

He hands you the heavy container, and you immediately pour the clear liquid into it, screw the cap and hand it back to him. You move back to the bomb, detaching the C-4 explosives from the rest of the mechanism.

“Care to explain what it is you’re doing?” Bucky shifts to move closer to you, but you hold a hand up at him.

“Please don’t move. There’s some highly exothermic chemistry waiting to happen in that,” you point at the bottle in his hand, “and I’d rather it didn’t happen here.”  You grab the beige blocks of C-4 with their fuses still attached.

“Right. Usually I’d find this really hot but, we’re on a clock sugar.” The group of Hydra militants have entered the bottom floor, and you can hear commands being shouted.

“Then let’s dip. Hand me the bleach, you take this,” you say, piling the explosives into his unarmed hand. You take the bottle and finally exit the bathroom meant to be your final resting place. Gross. You leave those thoughts for later.

Short static buzzes come from Bucky’s ear, as he presses down on the hidden earpiece. “Yeah, I’ve got her……. There’s too many of ‘em right now for just the two of us….. think you can pick us up from the roof?” Another final buzz and Bucky looks to you and nods. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, do it now. Sam’s ETA is 2 minutes.

Your assailants have cleared out the first floor, and are making their way up the second. You estimate 30 seconds before they find your position.

You shake the bottle in your hands and immediately feel heavy waves of heat permeating through the plastic. “Then this should buy us some time.”

As you make your way down the corridor with Bucky scoping ahead, you uncover the bottle and let its contents run out in front of you, immediately backing away and covering your mouth. Toxic white fumes escape and a small, but dense fog settles ahead of the spill, growing as more liquid evaporates.

The pair of you run towards the window at the end of the hall. As you reach your destination, a smattering series of coughs and heaving erupts behind you.

“What the fuck is that?!”

“Shit! Cover your nose!”

“I think...I’m gonna…gonna…pass-” followed by a heavy thunk.

Bucky turns to you, bewildered and confused. “What was that?”

“Really crude chloroform. Very nasty stuff, concerningly easy to make.” He gives you an impressed smile, as if to say “not bad”, and proceeds to break through the window with his metal arm.

Clearing out the glass shards, he beckons you to go first. You climb onto the roof and he hands you the plastic bricks of C-4 before slinging himself up to join you.

“How long till Sam gets here?” you ask him, squinting as harsh winds blow into your face.

“Why don’t you look up, sweetheart,” a familiar voice announces. You glance towards the sky and see Sam hovering above you, a halo of sunlight framing his head. A very fitting image indeed.

“Y’all ready to bounce or what?” Grinning from ear to ear, he lowers down onto the roof and engulfs you in a hug. “Damn girl, you really had us scared for a minute.”

“Only a minute?” You scoff. “Might as well leave me here then.”  Smiling into his shoulder, you hug him back, happy to feel safe again.

“Please don’t. Let’s move before you don’t have an actual choice,” Bucky interjects, his eyebrows tensed but his light expression remaining.

“Right. Hope y’all don’t get air sick,” Sam grabs onto each of your hands, extending his wings.

“Wait!” You shout. Grabbing the explosives you ask, “Any of you guys got a match?”

You take the lighter Bucky provides you with and ignite it. You move towards the edge of the roof and burn the fuses of each brick of C-4, before throwing them into the broken window below.

Immediately you sprint towards the waiting men, and grab Sam’s hand. “Okay, go go go go go!”

Without any further delays, Sam takes off with a grunt, arms straining as he takes you three airborne. Not even 13 feet into the air do the explosions begin, the roof you previously stood on exploding in a fiery blaze. Almost immediately, the horde of enemies who had hunted you flee the house through the bottom floor. From your view, they looked like ants being fumigated from their burrow. How appropriate.

“They’re escaping!” You shout over the whipping wind, but Bucky hears you. He nods no, before pointing in the distance behind you.

Looking back, you see an ever distant figure breaking through the scene of blue sky with streaks of red and gold. On the ground, Steve’s shield knocks down a round of men in one swoop whilst Wanda’s red magic incapacitates another.

You look back at Bucky and grin.

“Man, I love you guys.”

“I brought you something.” Bucky’s low voice interrupts your star-gazing as he joins you on the balcony. You look back at him. Steam rises upward and into his face from your favourite mug (the bright pink one with a 2005 Barbie movie plastered on its side).

“Aw, you remembered,” you coo at him, grasping the mug between your palms. The hot air rises to your face and you sigh deeply. Your hands tremble a little. It’s been a long day.

“The colour’s hard to forget,” he grins. “How are you though?” Bucky stands beside you, so closely you can hear him breathing. You can feel his eyes on you, and decidedly ignore his question. You blow gently into the tea and take a sip.

The disgust on your face is evident.

Your boyfriend rushes to explain. “It’s Valerian root. It’s supposed to help relieve stress or somethin’…” he trails off. You’re crying. “Is it that bad? You don’t have to finish it or-,”

“No,” you turn to face him. He’s looking at you gently, calmly, like he already knows what you’re going to say.

You say it anyway. “I should be happy. We did what we were supposed to do, and nobody who wasn’t supposed to get hurt, didn’t. We got the bad guys, again.” You scrunch up your face, and briefly squeeze your eyes shut, feeling even more pathetic for crying. “And I got captured, again. Someone had to save me, again.” It stings. This is the second time it’s happened in this month and though it has little to do with your performance, it definitely feels that way.

“I didn’t get hurt, and I know I should be happy about that. Everything worked out in the end, but, god Bucky!” The tea sloshes out of the cup and onto both your feet. You pause to look down at the mess, then up at him, and you lose it.

Bucky quickly takes the mug and places it out of reach. Wrapping his arms around you, he holds you as you cry into his shoulder.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m losing it.” You feel palms gently moving across your back, and for some reason it makes you cry harder. “I-, we got out, we’re safe. I just-”

“Just because you left unmarked, doesn’t mean you left unaffected Y/N,” he speaks into your ear, hugging you tighter. “What happened to you could’ve happened to any one of us. No matter how much we plan, we don’t always know how our enemy is gonna react. You got out. More than once. That definitely counts for something.” He unwraps his arms from your body and steps back to look into your eyes.

Your crying has dwindled to tearing, but tracks (and a little bit of snot) remain.

He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “If it were me trapped in there, I probably woulda been barbecue.” You sniffle. “Smoked. Grilled. Roasted.” He continues and smiles at the breathy laugh you give in return.

“Toasted?” You continue, giving in to his jesting. He moves his hand from your face as you wipe the remnants of your tears away.

“Exactly. Not to mention you’ve probably terrified them for life. Chemical warfare and an incendiary attack in less than 5 minutes? I’d be pissin’ myself if I didn’t know you were on our side,” he teases, grinning as you shake your head.

“You should still be pissing yourself. Valerian’s got actinidine, Bucky. Fly pheromones. That tea was so gross,” and with that, Bucky knew he’d done his job, at least for tonight. He could give you tonight.

“Yeah yeah,” he grabs you again and pulls you into his embrace. You weren’t gone for long, he knows, but a gram of anxiety niggled at him regardless. His worry and consequent relief was well hidden for your sake. But you knew. You always knew.

Lightly pressing your palm to his cheek, you lean in to kiss him, feeling his lips on yours in a sweet and delicate reciprocity. The air tonight is cold. It should be prickly, but it softens between the both of you. You let him know you love him, and how much you appreciate him. You also kindly remind him that he shouldn’t rely on every Google suggestion.  

When you go inside, Bucky asks you about making chloroform, then gleefully interrupts you mid-explanation with another kiss. “You’re so hot when you science at me, babe.”

You fling a pillow at him and the night ends in love and laughter.

[softschofield]

another of my favourite things about 1917 is how well the soundtrack ties into what’s happening on screen. because in other films, it’s very easy and very common for the soundtrack to become nothing more than background music - it plays under the scene, it might have one particularly grand moment during a final battle or pivotal bit, but for the most part, it’s just there to fill the silence and add a bit of ambience.

but in 1917, it’s more like ballet, or live theatre, or, actually, very much like fan edits - because, all through the film, there are beats that fall on specific pieces of action, like when scho slams bäumer against the column and there’s the thud built into the music. and that is so satisfying.

and even more than being satisfying as a viewing experience to have the music perfectly align with what we’re seeing, it makes it even more immersive when you’re listening to the soundtrack by itself - because it’s so synced with the visuals, you know precisely what is happening even when you haven’t got the film in front of you. in “the night window”, you know exactly when scho begins to run from the rifle fire. in “engländer”, you know exactly when müller stumbles out of the ruined school and throws up, and you know exactly when bäumer stops breathing, and when scho starts to run, and when he breaks free of the maze of rubble and starts along that long stretch of open road, and when he makes the jump from the bridge. in “sixteen hundred men”, you know exactly when he starts and ends his run, and when he rolls back down into the trench. in “gehenna”, you know exactly when they’re beginning to approach the german frontline, and you know when they finally arrive at it and aim their rifles down the trench. in “come home to us”, you know exactly when scho closes his eyes.

and then, even more than that, there are times when you don’t even realise there’s any music playing at all, when it just sounds like your own heartbeat or the sound of distant war - when it somehow manages to sound like tense silence. it took my mum six viewings in the cinema and me pointing it out for her to even realise that there was music throughout the entire film - because so much of it blends in with what’s happening on screen so fluently that it just disappears. hell, there’s even the sound of distant explosions, rumbling, and plane propellers built into “milk”! “écoust saint mein” has a heartbeat thudding in the background! you feel afraid and nervous and you don’t even know why.

and so much of the musical cues echo what the characters are feeling - so you end up with these moments in the music that are almost tangible, that portray emotion in a way that cuts deeper and is more personal and recognisable to the audience than just seeing it can be: the panicked violin strings after scho kills bäumer in “engländer”, that are like scho’s whirlwind of thoughts given a voice; the fact that from 2:05 onwards, “the night window” feels like howling, like wailing, like everything scho isn’t able to do and process in that moment - it feels like sweeping grief, like just screaming yourself raw to the night sky, like a slow build-up of misery and sorrow and fear and anger into a final blinding, unhinged outburst, because that’s what that run is: more than just running for his life, it’s running blind into this concussed, swirling landscape where nothing makes sense and where he’s alone and lost and grieving, and finally he feels. and then it quietly settles down into something tidy and contained again because schofield can’t let himself collapse.

and also!! just - the way even the happier and prettier sounding music always descend into tense, unsettling endings, because there’s no such thing as peace in this film and there’s always danger and trauma lurking around the corner, and when it isn’t physical it’s still in their minds. like that horrible, high-pitched, vibrating rumble in “mentions in dispatches” before the mission is even revealed. it is so unsettling - because that’s how they feel. always. constantly. and thomas newman wasn’t afraid to make some of the tracks almost impossible to listen to, like “tripwire” - because they aren’t meant to be listened to, they aren’t meant to be artful and nice, they’re meant to be experienced, felt, lived. and the way that “a bit of tin” isn’t some sweeping, sorrowful track - it’s just quiet, and subdued, and bleak, and empty, because that’s what blake’s death has done to schofield. it isn’t wild, soaring grief like it later becomes in “the night window”; it’s just... quiet. and the way the introduction to the film and to blake and schofield, the way their title track, is just... so unsettled. so sparse and mournful. so tired. it isn’t the sympathetic theme of drained heroes. it isn’t the grand and joyous tribute to soldiers who have done their duty. it’s just bleak - even with blake, it’s just bleak: even if he isn’t like schofield now, this introduction promises that it’s just a matter of time, and the war is chipping away at him piece by piece as well, and as the track descends lower and lower near the end, that’s what he would have become if he’d survived. he was probably so much more when he first arrived, too. the warm, cheery, naïve blake that we meet, this introduction promises, is still a pale ghost compared to the boy he was a few months ago.

and it’s brilliant. because it goes beyond just a visual experience - the music has become the film in and of itself. and it’s spectacular as well because it may not have one outstanding score that’s become so iconic that it can be hummed and everyone will know it in an instant - it hasn’t got a song like the star wars or jurassic park or mission impossible themes. the entire soundtrack is the film and the recurring motifs are so subtle that you hardly even realise you’ve started to recognise and expect them. and i just love it so, so much. it is such a truly, deeply beautiful soundtrack that is so revolutionary for a war film and i could wax poetic about it for hours.

[bouwrites]

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 14

Sorrow hides well in your shell, a fellow man with hurt to spare.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

When Jon goes to Paris, a few days after Christmas, he and Marinette have their first true date. According to Marinette, she has to bribe Nino and Kagami to lock Alya and Adrien away together just to be sure they won’t be interrupted, but it’s definitely worth it.

Frankly, Jon is just relieved that it seems to be accepted here that Adrien wants to stalk their date in the same supportive best friend way Alya does, and not that he’s jealous or… well, Jon admittedly doesn’t know the guy that well. They’ve only spoken now and then when Marinette was already on the phone, really. That and stories. Him being Marinette’s ex makes Jon just a tad wary – not about him being around Marinette, but for the future friendship between the two of them personally – but he trusts Marinette’s word that Adrien’s alright with them, and he trusts the rest of her friends, too, so he has no reason to doubt the guy.

Either way, Jon’s first date goes off without a hitch. Mostly, anyway. He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do on a date, so he’s a bit awkward, but Marinette thankfully seems to find it more endearing than insufferable.

They spend most of the day wandering around, stopping by major landmarks. The Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Notre Dame cathedral, but really, every corner they turn seems to have some crazy landmark on it. Even if it’s not strictly a landmark, but just an old fountain or building. The public water fountains may as well be art pieces, for heaven’s sake! Hell, even the modern buildings are so different here! Jon knows Marinette’s family lives over their bakery, but that’s not a common thing in Metropolis. When she shows him her childhood home, he can’t believe just how cute it all is.

He has, though, had Marinette’s baking enough times by now to believe completely just how tasty her parent’s work is. I am the luckiest boy alive.

It’s not Jon’s first time in Paris, but it is the first time he’s ever looked around. Doing it hand in hand with Marinette makes it the best day ever.

Eventually, they exchange Christmas gifts. Marinette tells him of the scarf she made Adrien back in their teenage days, how his father somehow took the credit for the gift and how she didn’t tell him the truth until much later. She’s nervous about it all, and says she doesn’t want to look like she’s just doing the same thing with him as she did with Adrien, but a scarf was her first real gift to him, she says, and she thinks that turned out pretty well all things considered, change in life paths and breakup notwithstanding.

Plus, she wants to surprise him, and he has to admit he really does expect her to have made clothes that she made such a production of fitting him for last semester. But she’s clever like that.

Jon gets it, and honestly, he doesn’t think twice about the backstory either way when he sees the scarf. The inspiration is obvious, though the technique… Jon hasn’t the faintest idea how Marinette goes about capturing the night sky in fabric. It’s like knitted midnight, stars and all, and Jon – he knows he’s a nerd, but he has to check – quickly finds Cygnus as a reference point and starts mapping out the stars. It’s not a perfect map, not to his memory, anyway, but it’s clearly put together with a lot of care.

Marinette isn’t as much of a geek as him, and this isn’t just the zodiac constellations in order, so he knows she has to have found star charts and referenced them to make this, which is way more work than he’d ever expect for a gift that seems, on its surface, so simple. Especially since she must have done this between Thanksgiving and now, and a lot of that time is dedicated to finals.

Now his present seems lame.

Or, well, Marinette still lights up when she opens the jewelry box and sees the little pewter pentagon inside, so Jon supposes it can’t be that bad. If she’s smiling, he didn’t fail, so he’ll take it. “It means hope.” He says quietly, reminding her as he snuggles into the scarf around his neck.

“I remember.” Marinette giggles. “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon lets out a tense breath. In truth, in addition to it just being really small and lame compared to what she gives him, Jon is afraid it may be a little… too much. Because ultimately, it is his family’s crest. Yes, these days, and on Earth, it’s more associated with Superman and heroism, which in itself poses a potential problem with the gift, but to give her his family’s crest to wear is… suspiciously close to a promise ring.

Now, Jon isn’t anywhere near ready for that kind of step, and he doubts Marinette is, either, but the symbol also means hope, and that… that is something that defines how he views her. She gives him hope for the future. She gives him hope for peace and for a life unbound by Superboy and heroes.

In a lot of ways, the gift of the symbol is extremely ironic. But frankly, Jon appreciates that. And, if anyone asks, he can brush it off by saying he’s from Metropolis (sort of) so he’s a Superman fan. For everyone not in the know, it’s just a small gesture to bring Marinette a little closer to her boyfriend’s home. Perfectly innocuous. It works.

And Marinette’s clever, certainly cleverer than him. One look at her face tells him she picks up on all those little meanings and more, and that she appreciates it.

The glittering of her eyes may as well be the stars out in Hamilton County, though Jon has to admit, the Eiffel Tower lit up as they pass by on the Seine is pretty spectacular as well. It’s there, under the first facsimile of the environment of their first attempt, that Marinette fiddles with the scarf around his neck, bunches it up in her hands, and gently tugs him down.

It’s strange. Out in the tree in the country, there’s no one around. It’s him, her, the bugs, and the stars and that’s about it. Here, on a crowded boat on the Seine, under the sparkle not of stars but of lights not suspended millions of light years away, but towering over them very real and raw and bright, when he leans closer to Marinette, it’s not all that different than it was the first time. The night is colder, but it feels warmer without the biting wind of flat farmland. The light is harsher, but it’s also more grounded. When he looks into Marinette’s eyes, there’s no difference in the night. What he feels inside of him is exactly the same. This moment is the same.

Except that the soft wisp of breath across his lips doesn’t startle him this time. This time, he doesn’t stop until proper contact is made. He doesn’t jump away at all, actually. He can stand here and let Marinette steal the breath from his lungs like this until he suffocates, and he’d be happy.

It’s short. Just a peck, really. Sweet and chaste and Jon really wouldn’t have it any other way. Not yet. As far as he’s concerned, as first kisses go, this is perfect. It’s not Jon’s first kiss ever, though nearly so, but it is his first kiss with Marinette, and that’s just as important.

Everything, the kiss, this night, the date, it’s all beyond Jon’s wildest dreams. Jon almost can’t believe himself for just how deeply in love he is. It’s ridiculous given he hadn’t truly thought of her in such a way until Thanksgiving, but… everything was primed. Perfectly primed for them to fall in love. All they needed was the catalyst, a starlit dance, a magic carpet ride, and that’s it for him.

Jon gets a curious text, before the break ends. It’s from Sam, and the first thing he thinks when he reads it is that she must be drunk. In fact, he actually calls Kasey to ask her to check in on Sam for him, because she has to be either inebriated or delirious and she may need someone to take care of her right now.

Kasey just tells him in no uncertain terms that no, Sam isn’t drunk, she’s just trying to one-up Marinette after the argument they had before finals. Jon is well aware of what happened then, but even still he asks her to double check, because… well… Jon has trashed the entire text conversation with Sam three times now, and is quite frankly too afraid to even click into the conversation at all when he sees that she sends him an image. Not after the first one she sends.

Jon honestly thought only guys did that. He’s had guys send him pictures like that unsolicited before, but girls? Not once, thankfully. Not until today.

Logically, he knows he should keep a record of the messages, but for Sam’s decency he just deletes sight (thankfully) unseen. If he really needs a record, he’s sure Damian or Tim can dig it up. Both are professional, and if it gets to that point, he’ll have a lot more to worry about than people seeing those pictures. Jon is hoping it doesn’t come to that, though. Honestly, given he’s adamantly not looking at that conversation, he’s not even entirely sure the pictures are what he’s thinking they are. But even if they are, and even if Sam isn’t drunk, this is most likely just lashing out and trying to manipulate him with… carnal pleasures, or something. Funny that she thinks that will work on him, or that she’d want him if she does think it’ll work on him.

Clearly, her logic is not there at the moment, so he’s just going to let her tire herself out and kindly refrain from actually looking at any picture she sends him. That, and tell Kasey and Marinette what’s happening. Kasey, because she can hopefully get Sam under some sort of control, and Marinette for obvious reasons.

Funnily enough, he gets a text from Louise warning him about Sam’s little outburst. Too late, but he appreciates that she thinks to try. That’s two testimonies saying that Sam has basically just gone off her rocker tonight. Jon hopes she figures it out. He really doesn’t like blocking numbers, but if this continues beyond this one outburst, he’s not going to have much choice.

Marinette handles it maturely enough that it honestly doesn’t bother him much. He definitely sees more than he wants to, just because the first image is unexpected so he doesn’t know not to look, but she thankfully isn’t completely undressed in that first one. And it doesn’t upset him. He actually feels a bit bad for her. He’s been trying to gently let her down all semester (and he realizes now that he probably didn’t have the best tactic, but even so he’s positive he was obvious), so he figures this is just her last ditch, desperation attempt. It’s… really sad.

Like, really sad. Maybe she’s trying to win him over with pity? Whatever the case, after a short conversation with Louise, Kasey, and Marinette, Jon just silences his phone and puts it away. When he checks it later, he deletes whatever Sam’s sent him and lets the other girls know that it’s stopped for now.

All in all? What a strange day. Jon makes a note to avoid Sam in the future if Marinette isn’t there – not that he usually sees the girls without Marinette around since they’re her group more than his, he has his boys – but otherwise tries to just put the whole day behind him. He doesn’t hear from Sam again, which is sad because she was a friend, but he’s not beat up about it because if she was telling the truth to Marinette, and her recent, pitiful attempt to steal him from her possibly just to hurt her tells him she probably was, that’s not a good friend, anyway. It’s sad, but they’re better off now. He’ll get over it in time.

He’s lucky he was never really that close to her. Her flirting ironically kept her more distant from him than the other girls. He does make sure to stick close to Marinette when he can, though. She’s strong, but it’s still a friend betraying her. She insists she’s been through worse, which Jon is sadly sure is true (he’s been through worse himself), but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let her handle it all on her own.

(When he explains the situation to the boys, he gets a string of four simple messages, one from each of them, reading, “yikes,” which makes both him and Marinette chuckle. A small joy, to lift the atmosphere. It works with aplomb.)

When the next semester starts and Jon has Marinette full-time, he takes full advantage of that fact to hang off of her whenever he can. Not only is he stubbornly trying to stop her from thinking too much about Sam, he also just gets a lot of free cuddles. (He still can’t believe he gets to cuddle Marinette like this.)

It’s hard to say, but he thinks it’s working. Either way, it has a side effect of overcoming the hesitance they have about their new boundaries in their new relationship, and Jon is more than happy to have Marinette draping herself over his lap like he’s just a comfy pillow. So, it’s a win-win.

A lot more goes on, too, but it’s all just casual, normal stuff. Jon teases David about not being with Tamias yet when even Jon managed to make it official with Marinette, he and Marinette give some awkward explanations about how they started dating and their holidays overall, Jon raves to the boys about the scarf that Marinette made for him, sending Jesse absolutely wild because dude, that’s Jagged Stone’s designer and you got a custom piece from her! Holy cow!

All fun and games, and their semester goes well, too. Jon has a semester of his foreign language class under his belt now, and is officially using Marinette to cheat (or, as he prefers to call it, check his work) on his French assignments. Marinette loses all shame about using him as a mannequin. Sometimes, they do both those things at the same time.

Marinette surprises him with a shirt, with a lame, cheeky excuse of some-week-iversary, which prompts Jon to get her flowers “just because” which starts a small gift war between the two of them which only stops when they both sit down and agree to stop wasting money on each other.

Jon adores the shirt, though. It’s just a simple black button-up with large, colored horizontal pleats (red, blue, yellow) on the outside of the short sleeves, but it’s comfortable, fits him better than anything else he owns, and it’s a gift from Marinette. He wears it whenever he can.

And that’s how life is for the next few months. Even summer comes and goes smoothly, despite some frustration on Jon’s part at the distance from his girlfriend (His girlfriend!! That still makes him feel fuzzy inside!) but even then, their powers and pasts are put to good use letting them visit each other much more often than normal long-distance relationships would allow.

Jon doesn’t think he jinxes it. He can’t remember when he does, if he indeed does so. But someone must, because it’s all going honkey dory until he gets a phone call from Damian.

Why is it that phone calls from Damian always seem to end in everything being chaotic for a while? Jon sighs as he picks up the phone, resigning himself to… whatever is going to happen, but rapping his knuckles on his wooden desk just for the hope. He’s barely gotten back to school, and it’s his final year here. He really doesn’t need this.

“Jon. You need to get home. Now.”

Jon knows that voice. That’s the “this is urgent; do as I say or die” voice. He knows better than to fight it. “Metropolis or the farm?” Jon asks, worried now. “Is Marinette in danger, too?”

There’s a sharp sigh from Damian’s side. “You’re not in danger.” He says.

Jon relaxes, and pauses his preparations to leave. If he’s not in danger where he is, then why on Earth is Damian sending him back home? Damian hasn’t bothered Jon about being a hero since their chat after Marinette found out about him. “Then you better explain.” Jon says tersely.

“Of course.” Damian clicks his tongue, a sharp sound that cuts even over the phone. “Last month, some members of the League investigated a fire in Cadmus Labs in D.C. They uncovered, among other things, a so-called ‘weapon’ created to, according to the files and the weapon himself, replace your father should he die, and kill him should he turn evil.”

Jon… honestly doesn’t know what to think about all this. “I haven’t been a hero for three years, dude.” Jon says. “This is going to hurt my brain, isn’t it?”

“It’s quite simple.” Damian snaps. “Using your father’s Kryptonian DNA, and Lex Luthor’s as a stabilizer, Cadmus created a genetic clone with the intention of replacing or killing Superman, whichever is necessary first. Understood?”

Jon furrows his brow, trying to wrap his head around it. “That’s not a clone, Dami. If it’s Dad’s and Luthor’s DNA that’s just my half-brother, isn’t it?”

“If you wish to think of it that way, then that works, too.”

“Where’d the mitochondrial DNA come from?”

Damian snorts. “I’m surprised you know what that is.”

“I did take biology.”

Damian clears his throat, as close to a laugh as the situation, and Damian’s demeanor, permits. “One of the paternal donors, most likely. There were no records of a female donor. This was not a normal process, obviously, and given you’ve manifested powers with a human mother I’m not sure we can know without testing him. Or that it really matters.”

Jon snickers. “Yeah, good point. So, in summary, I have a half-brother now?”

“Simply put, yes.”

Jon breathes deeply. “And… you said this was last month? Why didn’t Dad tell me this?”

“You’ll have to ask him that yourself, I’m afraid. Speaking of, do get going. The weapon seems to be beating him pretty badly right now.”

“Wait, they’re fighting?!” Jon exclaims, jumping back to his feet. Marinette comes out into the living room, looking at him with a clearly concerned expression, so Jon puts a finger to his lips and puts Damian on speaker.

“Yes, that’s why I told you to hurry home. The farm, by the way, to answer your first question.”

“Damian, I don’t fight! You know that! Can’t someone else stop them?”

“Stop two Kryptonians?” Damian scoffs. “Sure, let me just dig out my hoard of kryptonite and head over right away.”

“You say, as if you don’t have a hoard of kryptonite!”

“Do you really want me to use it?” Damian’s voice is terse and challenging, telling Jon that he absolutely will. Jon knows he will. “Because I have no other means to stop them, and you all have been very clearly against kryptonite in any form. I’m calling you because you can stop them without resorting to it. But if you do not want that courtesy, I’ll go stop them myself.”

“No!” Jon growls under his breath. “Damn it, Damian. I’m not fighting them!”

“Then talk to them. I don’t care how you stop them, just make sure that weapon doesn’t kill Superman.”

Marinette’s eyes go wide as the call ends abruptly. “Kill Superman?!” She gasps. “What’s going on.”

Freaking hell, Damian. Every time. “I’ve got a new brother.” Jon says, exasperated. “And he’s not getting along with Dad.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, either. In case you didn’t notice, Damian isn’t exactly the most helpful guy around.”

“That’s for sure.”

Jon sighs. “I have to go. I promise, I won’t fight, but one way or another, that’s my family. I have to-” Jon’s throat closes up involuntarily.

A fight. A Kryptonian, just like him and Dad. Duking it out with Superman. Jon is the only other person in the world strong enough to interfere with any relative safety. Aunt Kara must be really busy with something really far away or Jon wouldn’t be asked in the first place. It’s either this, or kryptonite, and by the time Damian can get the kryptonite over there, it might be over, anyway.

But… Jon hasn’t fought since he quit being Superboy. He can’t fight. Not just because of his promise, but because thinking about it…

“I’ll go with you.”

Jon’s eyes snap open, fixing on Marinette. “No! Not a chance! I don’t know anything about this brother, but he’s fighting Superman, and he has Kryptonian powers. I’m not letting you go out there!”

Marinette just sets her jaw and fixes a stern gaze on him. “Wayzz? Will your magic hold up against a Kryptonian?”

Wayzz titters awkwardly. “Ah, it is hard to say. There are limits to what I can shield from. It should hold up for at least a few attacks, but if you end up in an onslaught…”

“Then that doesn’t happen.” Marinette says simply. Her eyes turn back to Jon. “But I’m not letting you go alone, either. I’m not completely incapable, you know, and I’m not fighting, either. I’m going to support you.”

“Marinette…”

“Jon, you can barely think about seriously fighting without freezing. You are not going out there without protection. Understood?”

Jon swallows down the burning shame within him and nods. “Understood.” It’s strangely easy to fall back into submission when she takes that tone with him. Like when he follows Superman’s orders in the field. It’s the tone of a leader of her team, ensuring everyone makes it through safely, and years of training, even now, make Jon fall quickly into line.

“Wayzz, transform me.” The flash of green changes Marinette’s clothes and gives her a shield, and her piercing eyes fix once more into Jon. “Fill me in on the rest while we fly. Or would you rather I take the horse Miraculous out?”

Jon growls past the paralysis in his chest. “We’ll fly. You need to be caught up before we get there, so we need the time.” He sighs. “I just hope we don’t waste too much time.”

“He’ll be okay, Jon.” Marinette puts her hand on his shoulder. He leans into the touch, finding the same comfort in it as always, despite the suit. “We can do this. Peacefully. This is your brother, right? We can talk this out.”

Jon gets moving but doesn’t stop the conversation. “My brother that I only found out about just now.” He mutters. “Apparently, Dad’s known about him for a month. Damian, too, probably.”

And that hurts. That hurts most. Jon should at least be aware enough of the situation that a brother of all things doesn’t surprise him, even if the fight still does. How could Dad have kept that secret from me? Damian, too, but Damian is… well not family, for one, even if he may as well be a sort of weird cousin at this point. Damian not mentioning it hurts, but it’s honestly not that surprising. Damian always has secrets. He doesn’t make secret of that, at least. Jon’s own father, though…

Jon slips his arms around Marinette and takes off. They get out of the building in a blur and fly away too fast for anyone to see. Jon only slows down once he’s far enough that they can talk safely, and then only long enough to explain the situation fully to her, then he goes full speed once more to the farm.

They touch down in a smoldering field. Jon notes off-handedly that it’s an off-season field. Least none of the crop is destroyed. That I can see, anyway. Not too far away, Jon’s father, in his Superman suit, is being punched out of the sky by a feral-looking teenager.

That’s… an interesting, and very concerning, sight. Jon shares a look with Marinette, both unsure how exactly to step in.

When the teenager drops down to start beating Superman into the earth, Jon steps forward, but freezes, as if rooted to the spot. He can’t… he can’t step in. He can’t see those fists swinging, he can’t feel the heat of those stupid eye lasers, he can’t handle the rush of adrenaline through his system.

“Breathe.”

He can’t breathe, either. What the hell? What is even happening?

“Jon!”

“Jon?!”

“Jo- Superboy?!”

For a few, terrifying minutes, Jon doesn’t have any idea what’s happening. It’s almost like he blacks out, but he still sees everything. Blurs all around him, out of focus, everything’s green, there’s a roar in his ears, drowning out sound, cotton muffling his brain. It’s like he just shuts down.

It comes so quickly, but clears slowly. A steady hand and voice guide him back, and he follows it for its familiarity, muted as it is. When he shakes the last of the fog away, breathless and trembling, Jon needs a moment to reexamine the field.

The green is Marinette’s magic, a dome surrounding the two of them, a little birdcage of safety, where Jon can regain control of himself. Outside, Superman and the black-haired teenager stop fighting, both staring his way with open mouths. That’s one way to get them to stop fighting, I guess. Jon thinks bitterly. God, this is why I don’t fight anymore, Damian.

“I’m good, Marinette.” It’s mostly true. He’s fragile, liable to burst – into rage or tears he’s not quite sure yet – and he’s experiencing a number of things physically that he’s not sure even make sense to be feeling right now, but he’s present and he’s focused, as much as he can be, on the task at hand. That’s the most important thing. The rest can wait until they’re back home, just the two of them.

Marinette adjusts her hold on her shield, glaring at both the teenager and Superman, as if either of them may attack at any moment. “You sure? They’ve stopped fighting. No rush.”

“I-I’m good.” Jon repeats.

Marinette scowls, but drops her shield. The green dome around them disappears.

“Jon?” Superman speaks first. He looks pale, cold, clammy, sort of sick, almost like how Jon feels. “What are you doing here? You should be in New York. Are you okay? Who’s this?”

“I was in New York.” Jon hisses. As the numbness of his panic disappears, something much hotter fills in its place. “Until I got a call saying that my dad is fighting with my brother – thanks for telling me about that, by the way – and that I need to get over here before you kill each other.”

Jon makes no secret of the pure and simple fact that he is absolutely pissed off right now. Marinette, with how well Jon knows her now, looks no better, though she’s certainly controlling herself much better.

“You’re the original Superboy.” The teenager says quietly, with something like awe in his voice.

Jon sighs. “Yeah. I was Superboy. I’m not anymore, so I would like to know why I’m being called out here. If one of you would kindly explain?” Jon crosses his arms and looks at the both of them with the same look his mom gives him when he misbehaves.

Parental disappointment is… the only sort-of positive outlet he can think of for the rage he’s feeling right now. On the bright side, both Superman and the teenager have the sense to look abashed under Jon’s stern gaze.

“I’m Superboy.” The teenager says. “I was created by Cadmus to replace Superman should he fall, or kill him should he turn from the light.”

“Superboy.” Jon repeats, unimpressed. “That the only name you got?” Ordinarily, Jon would assume not, but an organization making people in secret doesn’t exactly give him faith in humanity.

The teenager falters for a moment. “…Yes.”

Jon sighs. “Okay. This is fine. Care to explain why you’re fighting Superman?”

The teenager hesitates for one more moment, then huffs grumpily and turns away. He looks like he’s only sixteen or so, so even though he’s a big guy considering that, the expression is kind of cute. Great. Jon thinks. My new brother is a Damian. He rolls his eyes. “Superman? Any input?”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Superman says, finally spurring into motion to approach him. Marinette plants herself between the two. It must be a hilarious image from an outside perspective, or even from Superman’s, considering she’s so much smaller than both the men. Even so, Superman stops advancing when Jon doesn’t call her off from her defense. “And who’s this?”

“I’m his girlfriend.” Marinette snaps. “And I’m just as angry with you as he is.”

Superman’s eyes go wide. “Marinette? You’re a-”

“Dad.” Jon snaps his fingers impatiently.

Superman clears his throat awkwardly, sending a wary glance over to the teenager. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know if he was…”

“A spy.” The teenager says huffily. “Or an assassin.”

Superman sighs. “I’m going to have to figure out who leaked our address to him.”

“Good luck.” The teenager retorts.

“Enough!” Jon rubs at his temples. “Let me get this straight. You found my genetic half-brother a month ago. You decide to not only not tell me that I have a brother, but you hide him… where, exactly?”

“With the Titans.”

“Yeah, sure, because if he’s here to kill you, the Titans are totally safe.” Jon scoffs.

“They’re my friends!” The teenager protests.

Jon takes another deep breath. Marinette rubs his back. Thank God for Marinette. “So, my brother is with the Titans for a month, all the while you… investigate your son? And turn up with nothing, I assume?”

Superman sighs. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Yeah, well neither did I!” Jon snaps. Superman recoils and ducks his head. “In fact, I distinctly remember asking to stop this! So, don’t try to play that card with me. Not right now. You’ve been investigating him for a month. So? Is he, or is he not, a threat?”

“I didn’t find anything to suggest he’s dangerous.”

“Thank you.” Jon sighs. “Now… Superboy. Bro. Whatever. What’s this fight about?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” The teenager says.

“Fine. Dad? Explanation?”

Superman sighs. “He’s upset because he feels like I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t.”

“…No. I don’t.”

“Ugh. Why, why, why, am I here?” Jon tilts his head back to look at the sky.

Marinette’s hand through his hair grounds him. With that and a deep breath and her murmured words, “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. Superboy doesn’t seem like a bad kid. I think he’s just acting out.”

“Yeah.” Jon says back, under his breath. “I’m thinking the same thing.”

“I thought you retired.” The teenager says. “The original Superboy disappeared. That’s why I was made, because there’s no replacement for Superman anymore.”

“I did.” Jon says. “I am. There’s a reason I didn’t put on the cape to come out here, bro. I’m retired from hero work, and I’m living non-violently. I don’t fight. I’m just here because I found out my family is, and if I couldn’t talk you down, you’d have kryptonite being carted here by the buckets. I figured we’d all prefer that not happen.”

The teenager does recoil at the thought. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Did both of you really think the rest of the League would just ignore this?”

Superman rubs his neck. “I didn’t really have a choice, Jon.”

Jon firmly believes that one always has a choice – he has to, to stay true to his principles – but it’s not worth criticizing his dad for this. It’s clear the kid started the fight. “Look. Bro.”

“Why’re you calling me that?” The teenager is pulled back, guarded. Jon shares a look with Marinette and sighs. She’s got that analyzing look. “What? Bro? Because you’re my brother, and it’s a lot easier than saying Superboy. I may not use the name anymore, but that’d still be confusing right now.”

“You- just like that? I’m your brother?”

Jon calms down fully and softens his gaze as he looks at the teenager. “Yeah. You’re my brother. Aren’t you?”

A little too quickly, too eagerly, the teenager nods. “I am.”

“Good.” Jon thinks for a moment, watching the teenager. “The Titans didn’t give you a name? A civilian name, I mean, or even a Kryptonian name?” There’s no reason the Teen Titans would give him a Kryptonian name, Jon knows, but if he’s been around for a month, there must be something.

The teenager looks away. “No. I haven’t even been on missions with them. They’re just babysitting me.”

Ah, familiar disappointment. League’s orders, no doubt. They don’t trust him, they hope that a bunch of kids his age will get him to open up despite them clearly not trusting him, they ignore the danger that, if he is an actual threat, he risks to a bunch of teenagers.

Yeah, it’s the same old song. Jon can’t hate them for it; not long ago he probably would agree with them, and even now he doesn’t have a better alternative, taking into account the very real danger that a potentially mind controlled Kryptonian poses, but still. Jon really hates heroes right now. “Do you want a name?” He asks.

And damn, the kid nearly tears up just like that. Jon shares another look with Marinette. We are going to parent this kid so hard, aren’t we? But we haven’t been together long enough for kids. There’s a flash of amusement in Marinette’s eyes, like she reads his mind, and Jon sighs. I’m going to be that big brother. Great.

“You…” The kid says. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jon says. “If you want to be a hero, you can go ahead and use Superboy if you want. I’m not using it anymore. But you’re going to need an identity if you aren’t just full-time, or you don’t pull a Beast Boy. But… since Dad and my identities still need to be secret, unless you get a civilian name, we can’t officially claim you as our family. See? So… I’ve got a name in mind. Two, technically. If you want.”

“Yes! Please!”

Jon doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the desperation the kid is trying so hard to hide. “How do you feel about Kon-El? We can call you Conner for an Earthling name. Last name Kent, obviously. Or Danvers, if you want to be Aunt Kara’s. I’m sure I could convince her.”

“Kon-El.” The kid repeats, awe clear now. “Conner Kent?”

Superman makes a face. “Where’d you get those names?”

Jon smiles. “Aunt Kara tried giving me a Kryptonian name, once upon a time. Kon-El was one of the options.” Jon looks over to the teenager. “If you don’t mind that that was mine, once, too.”

“Not at all!”

Aw. Jon swears he can see the kid smile. Just a little bit, but it’s there.

Superman frowns. “She didn’t tell me about that. What’d you land on?”

Jon flashes his dad a cheeky smile. “Jor-El.”

Superman steps back, like he’s hit by a train. “Named after your grandfather.”

Jon nods. “Just like my human name.” Superman retreats into thought, so Jon takes the chance to look to Marinette. She grabs his hand, entwining their fingers. Jon smiles. “So, I assume you two aren’t going to fight anymore?”

“No.” Conner says. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jon lets go of Marinette to walk over him. “Hey, Kon.” Conner looks up at him. Jon gives him a patient smile. “It’s alright. No one got hurt.” He glances over to Superman and Conner himself. “Much, anyway.”

“But you… when we were fighting, you…”

Jon struggles to keep up his smile, but he manages for his new brother. “There’s a reason I retired, Kon. That’s why I’m not a hero anymore, but that’s not your fault.” Jon puts his hands on Conner’s shoulders, pleasantly surprised that Conner doesn’t try to push him off. “I’m going to be honest with you, I’m still figuring everything out. You, and all this. But you’re my brother. If Dad’s ever a problem for you, you’re welcome at my place.”

Conner tears up again. Wow, that tugs at Jon’s heart. “Really?”

Jon smiles and looks back at Marinette. “Well, actually it’s our place, but… Marinette! What do you say?”

Marinette giggles. “Family is always welcome in our home, Kon. You stop by anytime. I’ll make some cookies for you.”

Jon gets the breath knocked out of him by Conner practically tackling him to hug him tightly. “Thank you.” He mutters, before quickly separating, face flushed. From embarrassment or the tears he’s still fighting to keep back, Jon isn’t quite sure.

Yeah, we are definitely going to parent this kid. Why is my life like this?

——-=——-

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