#personally I think sun would be a funny choice bit for how silly she is and also how tense it’d make the group

[erwinsvow]

𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟

for the 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 collab <3

summary: you've always been fond of your step-brother, jean, despite how much he tries to avoid spending time with you. he finally reaches his breaking point when he sees you talking to eren, though.

warnings: step-cest, slight manipulation (reader), possessive behavior, teasing + edging, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, rough sex, creampie, jean is a good boy and reader is a fiend

author's note: i hope everyone likes this!!! i'm thinking about creating a step-cest series, let me know who should be next! tagging the lovely @yeagerslut & sending a big thank you for creating this collab! <3

Jean can never really peel his eyes away from you, no matter how hard he tries. At first it was subtle glances, like staring at the exposed skin of your supple thighs from his place beside his mom, when she was first introducing you and your father to him.

His first thought, besides the fact that it’ll be nice to have a sibling in the house with him every once in a while, is that your dress is incredibly short. So short that he wonders how you’re allowed to leave the house in something like that. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t let you, that’s for sure.

He quickly remembers that it’s not up to him, and that it’s not his place to be worrying about the length of your hem. Jean tries to suppress the strange, sudden burning feeling in his chest when he thinks about you wearing something as short as that when he has his friends over. No, that won’t be allowed.

He’ll have to tell someone about it, at some point, because he can’t stand the unusual jealousy he feels stirring at the idea of one of his friends looking at you while you’re wearing that.

His thoughts are cut short when his mother tells you two to get acquainted, while your dad and her head to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Jean almost doesn’t want them to leave, doesn’t want to be left alone with you and those legs and that dress, but he doesn’t have any say in the matter.

Your first words to your new step-brother are carefully calculated. In fact, you've been deciding everything carefully. The way you did your hair, the dress you’ve chosen that’s much too short for a family dinner but it’s not like someone can stop you, even the pink lip gloss you reapplied in the car before entering the house. Everything has its purpose, its place, with one goal in mind: see how long it takes for Jean to crack.

“I’m so excited to finally have a big brother, Jean!” you let out in a cheerful, chirpy voice that doesn’t match your insidious thoughts at all. You close the bridge separating you two with a few steps, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a hug.

It’s so sudden, so unforeseen that he stumbles a little, letting his tall figure be pulled by your efforts and arms wrapping around your waist for support. And before he knows it, the sweet smell of your perfume is invading all his senses and leaving him with nothing to think about except you.

He takes it all in, the lingering scent of shampoo in your hair, something fruity, he thinks off-hand, the feel of your soft skin on the back of his neck, your cheek against his, but especially the way your breasts feel against his chest.

He pulls away before you want him to, and you begrudgingly allow him to, recognizing what a challenge it’ll be. But you’re always up for a challenge.

The first few months pass by in the blink of an eye for you, and dragging on and on for him. Jean tries to avoid interactions with you since that first meeting, but it’s hard to when you’re living in the same house as him. Even harder when your bedroom is right next to his, his mother offering up his assistance to help you move boxes and get settled while she and her new husband go out to dinner.

It’s ridiculous, the way he flushes bright red when he opens boxes and suitcases filled with clothing he doesn’t want to look at, all short skirts and sun-dresses and delicate panties that he tries and fails not to stare at.

You keep your gaze away, knowing exactly which suitcase you had given him to unpack, while you organize books on the shelves of the room and sort knick-knacks.

“Won’t it be nice sharing a wall?” you comment, adjusting a frame on your nightstand and not meeting Jean’s eyes. “I think it’ll be fun to have you so close.”

Jean chokes on the water he was drinking, gasping for air and trying to process your words all at once, when you finally turn around and smile. A smile that he thinks should be illegal, given the way it’s innocence personified when you’re actually a little devil.

He leaves a little bit after that, calling out that he’s not hungry when you knock on his door for dinner, but you don’t miss the way he sounds breathless, or the panties missing from your drawers.

Every challenge gets easier, right?

It doesn’t take long for your behavior to get a little out of hand, especially when the two of you have so much alone time together. Your parents are gone all the time, frequenting dinner parties and double dates, and not coming back until late at night.

Jean tries his best to keep away. While he had once been the friend whose house was always available for sleepovers, movie nights, and the like, he was now keeping everyone away. Every time your parents’ car left the driveway, Jean followed suit, either hopping into Connie’s Jeep or walking the short distance to Sasha’s place and leaving you alone.

He was hoping no one would notice, but of course someone did, and of course that someone was Eren.

“We can’t do my place again,” Sasha says, absentmindedly reaching for the bag of chips which Connie yanks out of her reach. “My dad’s having people over.” A swat to the back of Connie’s head gets her back the snack quickly.

“How come we can’t do Jean’s place like usual?” Eren asks, reclining back in his seat and enjoying the panicked expression on Jean’s face. “There something wrong with that new sister of yours?” Jean chokes back a cough.

“No.”

“Does she always have friends over, or something?”

“No.”

“Then it’s settled,” Eren says, bringing his hands together. “Jean’s place it is.” Shit, Jean. Better come up with something quick.

“We- we can’t do my place!” he sputters out much too loudly, meeting the gaze of every person in the room.

“Any reason why, Jean-bo?” Eren asks.

“I- we- what if she’s not okay with having a bunch of loud-mouthed idiots sleeping over?” Shitty, but it’s the best he can think of when he’s so concerned with keeping everyone away from you.

If you behave like that with parents in the house, how are you gonna behave with his friends around? He doesn’t wanna take the chance to find out.

“How about you call and ask, dumb-ass?” Connie suggests, shoving his phone at him and waiting with a confused look. Jean lets out a defeated sigh, knowing how this phone call will go.

Your loud, chirpy “I’m perfectly fine with that, silly! I’ve been waiting to meet your friends..” can be heard through the phone and answers Eren’s question.

Jean searches for a reason, any reason really, to keep this sleepover from happening, but realizes that he’s failed miserably when all his friends appear, clad with pillows and overnight bags, on his front door. “So,” Eren begins, with a wolfish grin on his face that Jean wants to punch right off, “Where’s the sister? It’s only polite to say hi, right?”

As if you’d been waiting for the cue, you poke your head out from the living room, that very same innocent and sweet smile gracing your face.

“Hi,” you, stepping out to greet his friends in the foyer. “It’s so nice to meet you all.”

Jean immediately regrets the fact that he never had that conversation with you about the length of your dresses. It always sat in the back of his head somewhere, though it was incredibly easy to dismiss when you would come sit next to him on the couch, dress riding up frequently and exposing more skin that he somehow always found himself entranced by.

Today the dress of choice is yellow, and though it does, in fact, cover everything it needs to, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination either. Jean almost feels like a schoolboy again, blushing at exposed shoulders and thighs, but he can’t help it when you’re clinging right to his side as you greet his friends.

“I’m Eren-”

“Hi, I’m Connie-”

“Ignore these two, I’m Sasha-” All meet each other at once. You let out a laugh at your step-brother’s funny friends, glancing up to see his expression, but all you see are signs of anger. Your smile dims a little, but picks right back at up when you notice the way Eren looks at you, and the way Jean looks at Eren.

A plan is working itself into creation in your head before you can help it, deviousness taking a hold on you as you smile brightly in favor of Eren over Jean. Your step-brother’s been keeping his distance all this time, but you’re about ready to force his hand.

You don’t miss the way Jean’s jaw tightens, his hand clenching into a fist at his side as he guides the group to the living room. Your original plan changes quickly, following them into the space and taking your usual place on the couch as you scan the various video games laid out.

“Eren, will you sit with me?” you ask in a gentle tone, one that Jean is all too familiar with. “I don’t know this game, can I watch you play first?”

“Don’t you have work to do, or something?” Jean blurts out without thinking, his only thought centered around getting you out of the room and as far away as he can.

“What work? It’s summer,” you reply, watching your step-brother’s cheeks turn red.

You’re not helping matters for Jean, as he watches Eren sit where he usually does, teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurts. He doesn’t think he could get more angry, until he notices Eren’s hand move to your knee, squeezing quickly but lingering entirely too long. There must be steam coming out of Jean’s ears at this point, watching this interaction between you two.

“Yeah, Jean, she can stick around to watch. Anything for your little sister, right?” “I’m not that much younger than you guys, you know,” you reply with a laugh, adjusting your position on the sofa and purposefully lifting the skirt of your dress for a second before letting it settle. If someone were looking, which both Jean and Eren were, they’d catch a glimpse of black panties, and they both did.

Jean is seeing red now, standing up without realizing why, ready to yank Yeager away from you, when the doorbell rings again. It stops Jean in his tracks. “That must be Marco,” Sasha reminds, looking up from the games to glance at Jean with confusion. “Aren’t you gonna go get that?”

“Y-yeah. I’ll be right back.” Jean locks eyes with you as he leaves the room, and you dejectedly sigh, leaning away from Eren. It’s no fun to mess around with another guy if Jean’s not there to see.

He guides Marco into the living room, and you greet him with a quick smile before giving your full attention back to Eren.

The next few hours are fun for you, and unbearable for Jean. Every time he spared a glance to you, you were pouring over Eren, asking questions about the game and insisting on clarification, leaning in much too close and supporting yourself on his shoulder as he explained another trivial rule to you.

Jean didn’t like any of it, not the way you laughed sweetly and played with your hair while talking to Eren, not the way your legs were on display and Eren’s sleazy hands kept finding its way back to them, none of it. What he couldn’t stand, though, was how you didn’t shy away from his touch and found any and every way to keep it going.

He’s at his limit when you go to your bedroom after dinner to change into pajamas, knowing what to expect from your nightwear. If he’s lucky, you’ll pick a big t-shirt and shorts, but he’s seen first-hand the silky slips and cotton sets you prefer to sleep in.

Jean doesn’t think he can handle the look on Eren’s face if you come down the stairs wearing one of those, so he lets his anger do the thinking for a minute when the others are fighting over snacks and who gets the couch versus the floor.

Eren’s waiting near the bottom of the stairs, looking at something on his phone when Jean approaches and glances quickly to make sure you’re still in your room.

“You better knock it off, Yeager, I’m serious,” he says, trying to contain his anger and keep his voice down. His words come out in a low grumble that he barely recognizes, body stiff and trying his best to intimidate Eren. It doesn’t seem to be working. “Knock off what?” Eren questions nonchalantly, amused that his suspicions were proving to be correct. Looks like Jean had a little thing for his step-sister after all.

Jean’s eyes unwittingly flit to the top of the stairs again, before he forces his gaze back to Eren, but the quick gesture isn’t missed by his so-called friend.

“Oh, I see. You want me to stop being so buddy-buddy with your step-sister, huh? You better tell that to her first, you know. She’s been all over me since the minute I met her.”

The sly smirk playing on his lips only makes Jean want to cave his face in all the more.

“You better watch it, you son of a-” Eren clicks his tongue to interrupt Jean.

“Come on now, Jean, you can’t really expect me to stop. I mean, it’s not like she’s my sister, right?” Eren says, with a strange look in his eyes as though he was tempting Jean to blow his cover.

Eren walks away to rejoin everyone in the living room, leaving Jean seething by the stairs and you in your bedroom, pressed against the door and clinging onto every word.

All night you had known Jean was getting agitated by your constant flirting and touchiness with Eren, but he hadn’t been close to cracking, or so it seemed. The fact that he even confronted Eren had your heart pounding in your chest, wondering if tonight might finally be the chance you had been waiting for. You hear Jean’s heavy foot steps walk away, and you decide that it’s all or nothing, now.

You leave your room and close the door gently, dressed in a pink camisole and shorts that were sure to get Eren’s attention for long enough for Jean to finally crack.

Just as you began the descent down the stairs, you heard footsteps coming back and were greeted with Jean at the foot of the stairs.

The look in his eyes was something you hadn’t seen before, something entirely different from the reserved, hesitant Jean you had gotten so used to.

No, this Jean was someone else, a mix of want and desire and shame pooling in his pretty eyes, looking at you as though you were the prey he had finally cornered.

Before you know it, Jean is in your bedroom and your back is pressed against the door roughly as his lips stay on yours and refuse to pull away. His tongue is hot in your mouth, and his hands feel as though they’re burning your skin with the heat they are radiating, groping your ass and the soft skin of your back as he explores your body. All the things he’d wanted to do for these last few months, that he’d forced himself to repress, finally coming out.

You moan into Jean’s mouth at the sudden feel of his hands on your tits, grabbing blindly and pinching your nipple roughly and suddenly, causing the moan to turn into a loud squeal. Jean clasps his free hand over your mouth.

“Shh, now,” he begins, staring into your eyes and making your core heat up uncomfortably as you realize your little challenge was finally over. You feel the wetness between your legs growing, pussy throbbing just at seeing Jean be so dominant for once. “We don't want anyone to hear, do we?”

You shake your head quickly to answer his question, having completely forgotten about the multiple guests just a floor away. You expect Jean to pull away, to tell you that he’ll take care of you after they’re all gone, some other time, but he doesn’t.

He pulls his hand away and leads two fingers to your mouth, guiding them into your willing mouth, latching your lips around them and sucking while swirling your tongue, getting them wet as he wanted.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this? Huh? Since the day I met you, that’s how long. And you’re such a fucking tease all the time, you know how unbearable it's been?” Jean says in a deep voice, his eyes observing your mouth continuing its work. You moan around his fingers, wanting to speak but no words come out.

He pulls his fingers away and leads them straight to your throbbing pussy, running one up and down your slit teasingly as you hold back a loud moan.

“P-please, Jean, please do something, I- oh!” Jean shoves the two digits into your tight hole without any warning at all, causing your whole body to shake at the sudden fullness.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, you dirty slut? You wanted your big brother to get fed up and fuck you senseless, didn’t you? Say it,” he orders, fingers pumping in and out and his hand grazing your clit with every motion, causing you to moan as your body tenses. You can hardly process his words because of the pleasure you’re feeling, but his other hand finding your throat brings you back quickly.

“Say it. I won’t ask again.”

“Y-yes, Jean, I-I wanted big brother to fuck me, oh, yes-” You lose your thoughts again as his pace increases, making you squeal again before you clamp your mouth shut to make sure no one hears you. Your stomach is tensing and you know you’re so, so close, one more touch from Jean would have your orgasm washing over you like lightening spreading through your body, when he suddenly stops.

You gasp loudly at the sudden emptiness, feeling your orgasm dissipate as you buck up and clamp down against nothing at all. Jean’s fingers are in his mouth, tasting your wetness as you try to catch your breath and protest against the way he’s teasing you, but your pleas are met by deaf ears.

“Jean,” you moan desperately, clinging to his shoulders, “please, please, let me cum, please-”

“No. Filthy sluts that mess around with their big brother’s friends don’t get to cum,” he says gruffly, as you whine again and try to release yourself from his tight grip. It’s useless since he has you caged in, firm hands on your waist dragging you to the bed and throwing you on top of the soft covers.

“Please, I promise I’ll be a good girl,” you plead, using your sweetest voice and big. teary eyes to win Jean over, but it’s still useless.

“I said no,” he repeats, hovering over you and his hands finding their way to the bottom of your camisole. He pulls the skimpy top off of you quickly, revealing your tits. Your nipples harden at the sudden cool air, and Jean’s fingers find them once again, pinching and teasing as you moan into your pillow, desperately bucking your hips up for contact between your legs, to no avail. His hot mouth finds your nipple, flicking with his tongue as his hand plays with the other, before he pulls away quickly.

You whine again at the loss of stimulation, before you see Jean pulling down the band of his grey sweatpants and leaning back against the headboard.

“Prove to me that you deserve big brother’s cock,” he says, revealing his hard dick as it snaps against his stomach. “With your mouth. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You reposition yourself, ass in the air and head at Jean’s crotch as you stare at his pretty, pink cock with wide eyes. You’d expected him to be big, but not like this, though you don’t have time to dwell on it as he grips it firmly and taps the angry, pink tip against your lips.

You hang your tongue out, spit collecting and falling all over his length before you finally take as much as you can into your mouth, sucking and swirling as your hands move up and down the rest that you can’t take.

“Just like that-” Jean begins before breaking into a loud moan. You pop him out of your mouth and keep stroking with your hands as you whisper for him to shush.

“What happened to being quiet, and everyone downstairs will hear, and-” You’re interrupted as Jean grips his cock and shoves it back into your mouth, gagging suddenly at the unexpected movement.

Jean stares at your obedient mouth, following his instructions without any sign of the brat he was so used to. As you cup his balls in your hand, he feels them tighten and knows he’s not gonna last much longer like this. He guides your head away from his cock, admiring the drool and spit on your face and the glassy eyes he’s longed to see.

“Jean, I wanna-”

“I don’t care what you want, sweetheart,” he says, a false sweetness in his voice that’s making you feel dizzy. “You’re gonna ride me now, you got that?”

Jean’s hands are firmly set on your hips, positioning you just as he wants as you hover above his leaking cock. You grind down quickly, desperate for friction on your throbbing clit, before Jean stops your motions with the tight grip he has on you. “Are you gonna make me repeat myself?” he questions, in a tone that makes you positive that you don't want to make him angry. You shake your head immediately, taking his dick in your hand and lining it up with your wet hole, before slowly sinking down.

“Oh, god-!” you let out, before clasping a hand over your mouth. You had never felt quite so full before, the stretching burn making heat course through your whole body, as you bottom out and clench hard. “Come on, baby, you know how long you’ve been begging for this? Don’t get shy on me now,” Jean says, and you regain your senses slowly. You start moving, up and down, just like he wants and speeding up as you feel your cunt gush against Jean.

You’re sure to be making a mess, but you can hardly care when your brain feels so cloudy and distracted at how good Jean feels inside you, and you start the grinding movement again. Jean entertains you for a minute, before grabbing your hips even tighter, nearly at a bruising grip now, and snapping his own hips to thrust into you.

You’re blabbering now, utterly senseless as Jean fucks you mercilessly. You know you’re being loud, but you just don’t care, not when Jean is hitting that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars before you know it, your hands on his shoulders and holding on for life.

“Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum all over your brother’s big cock?” Jean teases, feeling you clench down harder and knowing he won’t be able to hold on much longer either. “Yes, yes, yes! Jean! Oh, Jean-” you finally feel the tight coil in your stomach snap, unaware of your own movements and surroundings as you focus on the pleasure Jean’s giving you. You yell out, cumming so intensely and shaking on top of Jean, twitching once more when you hear Jean groan and feel hot ropes of cum inside you.

Your throat feels dry and scratchy, heart pounding as you come down from your high. You feel Jean’s grip, much softer now, lead you off of his cock and lay you next to him on the bed. It’s a mess, and you don’t know how you’ll clean up with everyone downstairs and surely they’ve noticed you’re both still gone-but you still don’t care.

All you care about is the sound of Jean’s heart beat from your position on his chest, and the way his hands feel on your skin as he holds you close to his warm body.

“So,” he starts off quietly, “was it how you’ve been imagining it all this time?” You’re not looking at him, but you know he’s smiling.

“Mmh,” you hum contentedly, “even better.” You feel his body rumble with a laugh, and his hand reaches to cup your face and lean into you for a kiss. Just as your lips meet, you hear a sharp knock at the door.

“Might wanna hurry up, you two,” Eren calls out from the other side of the door. “The others are getting suspicious.”

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He���s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Absurd ideas [Sirius Black x Reader]

Title: Absurd ideas Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader and Remus Lupin x Own Character Word count: 4.7k Published: 12 January 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore  Notes: Not my best work, but I hope some of you will enjoy it. Summary: Sirius’ jealousy causes a misunderstanding which inevitably ends up with him getting worked up and everyone else being confused. Most of all you, when you realise he thinks he knows what you feel, but he couldn’t be farther from the truth. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes​​

Square filled: Mutual Pinning

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Make me feel Bingo Masterlist

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

You were seated in a room, rubbing your tired eyes on a bed that didn’t even belong to you. It wasn't just any room with any bed though. You were in the male dormitory of the Gryffindor House of Hogwarts, seated in the marauder's bedroom, specifically on Sirius Black's bed. Just like on every full moon, you waited for the boys impatiently, to make sure that they were in one piece as they arrived back from their wild adventures.

It was about 5am when the sun started to rise. You barely slept an hour or two, waking up almost every half an hour, concern and worry taking over you with a pinch of insomnia that you were used to on a daily basis. The boys should have been back already, but they took their sweet time, making you even more anxious, than you dared to admit. You took deep breaths to calm yourself down, just as the door opened with a loud thud hitting the wall behind it.

Looking at the entrance, you saw James first, holding up a barely conscious Remus, whose arm hung off his friend's shoulder, before you saw Sirius on his other side, helping James carrying the boy. You ran up to them and hurried them over to Remus' bed, wanting to check on the boy as soon as you could. They placed him on his bed as gently as they could and stood back, giving you just enough space. They stood silently with hunched backs, visible dark circles under their eyes and tired expressions across their face as they watched you.

You ran to the bathroom to fill up a bowl with lukewarm water and took a face cloth off the towel rack. You walked back to the room, balancing the water in your hands, the bowl wobbling unsteadily, splashing a bit of water on the floor. Silly you didn't bring your wand, so you had to improvise.

By the time you arrived back in the room, James and Sirius already undressed Remus and threw his clothes on the floor, on the other side of the bed.

You set the items down on the nightstand next to Remus and turned towards the other boys. Peter was already in bed, slightly snoring, which caused you to shake your head with a gentle smile. He must have been exhausted and you didn’t blame him for it. You couldn’t have imagined what they were going through each full moon, but from the stories you’ve heard and the state they always returned in, you understood most of it.

James was sitting on his bed, his back hunched, his neck hiding in between his shoulders, his face hidden behind his palms. The deep, tired sighs and the posture he took on screamed for a well-deserved rest, but the boy was restless until he knew his friend was safe.

Sirius however didn’t return to his side of the dorm. He was still standing next to Remus' bed with an exhausted expression, but more of a concern for his friend. He seemed to be the most worn out of all the boys, except for Remus. You knew he wouldn’t listen, but you wanted nothing but for them to finally rest.

"Sirius, Remus is going to be fine. So just go ahead and rest. Get some sleep," you told him as you nudged his shoulder, tilting your head towards his bed. “You too Mister, you need to recharge,” you pointed at James who let out a silent and exhausted laughter.

"It's fine, we have to take care of Remus,” Sirius turned back to you, but you had no intention of taking no for an answer. You got hold of his shoulder and started gently nudging him to his bed. He chuckled at your attempt, but you didn’t find it funny, not in the situation you were in. You pushed him down on his bed, in a sitting position and placed your hands on your hips, giving him a deadly glare.

"I get it, you are worried, but leave him to me. You need to sleep. It’s written all over your faces how exhausting tonight has been. So, please, just listen to me,” you didn’t wait for them to agree, you turned around and walked back to Remus. You started off by cleaning the injuries on his face first, before you continued with his arms and then legs as you crouched down next to his bed. Blood was still dripping from his body from some of the more serious injuries. He involuntarily hissed each time you cleaned an open wound and you apologised every time you caused him even more pain. You looked up at his face, feeling guilty for hurting him even more, but you knew it was necessary.

"It’s been very hard to handle him tonight. Even before sundown he said he felt anxious and restless," James spoke up as he took off his trousers and got comfortable in his bed.

"It's over now, so don't think about it, guys. Get some sleep and by the time you wake up, all of you will be just fine," you smiled gently as you continued to apply a cream on Remus' wounds that Madam Pomfrey gave to the boy. You were so focused on your task to take care of Remus, you couldn’t even sense a presence behind you.

"Thank you for helping us," you heard and turned around to meet the most beautiful grey eyes. Sirius leaned down to you, his long black locks falling into his face and hinted a small kiss on the top of your head.

"You don't have to thank me. I feel better knowing my friends are in good hands," you replied with a tender smile. "And now go to bed, before I force you myself," you laughed softly.

"Now that makes me want to stay and wait it out," he chuckled playfully as you pushed his chest away from you.

"Shush, just get some rest, Sirius," you smiled, shaking your head, before turning back to Remus to continue his treatment.

You stole Remus’ wand to perform a couple of easier healing spells to speed up his recovery, before placing it back on the nightstand beside him.

It took you only a couple of minutes to finish taking care of him, but by the time you were done, you could hear mixed sounds of snoring coming from all over the room. You smiled at the idyllic moment, giving you a certain warm feeling to be able to see one of the most important people in your life being so peaceful.

You looked up at Remus’ face, whose painful expression has finally disappeared and has become more relaxed, somewhat content. You sat on the floor, beside his bed and laid your head on the edge, feeling exhausted. You could barely keep your eyes open anymore and before you knew it, they closed on their own.

However, you didn't realise the saddened grey pair of eyes gazing at you, as you decided to stay by his friend's side. He didn't want to be jealous, especially not in a situation where he knew his friend needed you more, but your presence so close to someone else beside himself made him feel uneasy. He shook the thoughts off as soon as he could, feeling guilty about his own emotions and tried to sleep, rolling from left to right. Exhausting, he was more than ever, but sleep didn’t take him immediately. Your sleeping beside his friend didn’t let him rest.

He got out of his bed and picked up the blanket laying at the foot of his bed, before he walked behind you and gently placed the cover over your shoulders. You sniffled in your sleep and scrunched up your nose, making him smile at your adorable expression. He removed a loose piece of hair from your face, adoring your sleeping form, before he went back to his bed and finally fell asleep. Your adorable expression being the last thing he saw before he fell into slumber left a small smile across his face.

*

You were seated in the Gryffindor common room, legs hanging over the arm of your chair as you looked over to the sofa from time to time, ignoring the book in your hands. You didn’t necessarily want to eavesdrop, but you were in the same space, so you couldn’t pretend not to hear the conversation between Remus, Sirius and James.

"When are you going to tell her?" James asked Remus. The boy’s face turned red, heavily blushing under his friends’ intense gaze.

"Can we just leave this subject?" He asked frowning, clearly unhappy about the conversation his friend initiated.

"No, we can’t. It couldn’t be more obvious that you like her. You can't keep avoiding it," James shook his head, heaving a deep sigh.

"I am not avoiding it. I can't tell her," Remus whispered, but his tone seemed agitated.

"And why in Godric's name is that?" James pushed, being tired of the same conversation over and over again. You have heard about Remus’ crush before, it wasn’t anything new, but Remus always found a reason, a fault within him that he used as an excuse not to confess his feelings.

"Because I would risk her life. Even if I took the necessary precautions, how would I explain to her that I had to disappear on every full moon? It's just impossible, James," he replied, heaving a sigh in defeat. “And why would she even like me? It’s just a lost cause, guys, so let’s just forget it,” seeing his pain, you couldn't stop the apologetic expression from spreading across your face. You felt sorry for him, for not having enough confidence in himself, for thinking so lowly of his personality and looks. He was an amazing person and you just didn’t understand how he couldn’t see that.

Without your knowledge though, someone else realised the change in your demeanour. He thought he was over feeling uneasy about you and his friend’s relationship, but to see you being upset about his friend talking about another girl, made his heart clench. He didn’t want to admit how badly your reactions to Remus affected him, but he couldn’t ignore the pain in his chest whenever he caught your eyes focused on his friend. He felt guilty, he knew he shouldn’t have felt the way he did, but he couldn’t control his feelings.

He knew you felt empathetic towards his friend, he knew you had a very close friendship, but from his point of view, he thought your side of the friendship was beyond what you should feel for a friend. He felt as if you were closer to his friend as if he was only second on an invisible list. He was hurt by the realisation that he came to find. That maybe, just maybe, you had feelings for his friend.

"Hi Remus,” a blonde girl walked down the stairs of the female dormitory, heading towards the exit of the Gryffindor common room with a shy smile across her face, eyes focused only on Remus. “Hey, guys,” she quickly added as she realised they weren’t the only one in the room.

"Hi Jane." Remus replied with a slight blush, watching as the girl offered him a soft smile.

"And there it is again," James quipped in as the girl left. He threw his hands in the air, worked up about his friend’s obliviousness. You giggled at the dramatic moment, finding James’ reaction funny. "Just do something already. She barely even realised our existence,” James groaned playfully, but before Remus could have replied, you interrupted.

"Let’s say that I know if she likes you or not. Would that change anything?” you asked as three pairs of curious eyes focused on you.

“Yes, it would,” James replied, making you giggle.

“I asked Remus,” you shook your head playfully.

“It wouldn’t change the fact that I have a couple of problems on my own,” he grimaced, clearly repeating all his faults in his head over and over again.

“You deserve happiness, Remus. We accepted your furry little problem, we love you the way you are. Do you really think no one else can accept that?” you raised a questioning brow, waiting for a reply, which never came. “So, would it change anything if you knew how she felt?” you pushed his buttons.

“Maybe- I think so-“ his unsure answer didn’t convince you, but the fact that he didn’t give you a straight up no, was a positive step ahead for you.

“Well, if it helps, she likes you,” a tender smile spread across your face as the words left your lips.

"As if," Remus shook his head with a gloomy whisper, once again trying to write himself down.

"Oh, I might have misunderstood the love letter she wrote you a couple of days ago. My bad," you shrugged acting as if it was your fault, trying to lift the negative mood.

"Wait what?" Remus looked at you in disbelief.

"Oh, now you care, huh?" you chuckled at his sudden interest.

"I mean..." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. You placed your hand in the pocket of your robe and pulled out a green envelope. You might have accidentally stolen the letter from your shared room, before Jane could have realised that it was undelivered. You weren’t necessarily friends, but she did ask you about Remus most of the time and you had quite pleasant conversations at times.

“It’s here,” you held the envelope in the air, between your index and middle finger, looking at it as if it was the most interesting object you have ever seen. Remus furrowed his brows looking at the letter, clearly concerned.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I shouldn’t open it unless she gives it to me,” he argued, but you just shook your head.

“I would agree, if she didn’t send this letter already. You see, technically she sent this letter to you 2 days ago and she thinks you already got it. But when her owl brought it back undelivered, she was out of the room, so I took the envelope from her owl. It, kind of skipped my mind until now,” you explained, trying to reassure him. He debated his options, before he jumped up from the couch, grabbed the letter out of your hand and ran upstairs. You chuckled at his eager behaviour which grew into a laughter as a curious James followed Remus up the stairs.

"Why would you do that?" Sirius asked, shaking his head, which made you confused.

"What do you mean?" you asked, trying to understand your friend. "I want him to be happy," you chuckled as you walked up to the couch he was seated on and sat down beside him.

"Isn't it painful?" he frowned, which caused you to return his expression, feeling as if you were supposed to know about something that you didn’t.

"Why would it be? I don't understand you Sirius," you shook your head. “Hey, what are you on about?” you tried again, but instead of talking Sirius seemed as if he was in pain. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug, one that he has not given you for a while.

He has been rather distant, and you didn’t know how to interpret his behaviour. The boy was the closest to your heart, you could always share everything with him. If you were down and needed a shoulder to cry on, he was there. If you were excited and happy, having the best day of your life, he was the one who was beside you, enjoying your happiness first-hand.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you closer to him, enjoying your warm embrace. He wished he could hug you more often, but it hurt him to think he was just a replacement instead of his friend.

“Hey, Sirius, talk to me,” you tried again to understand what was going on in his mind, but he just shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh. You kept running your hands through his soft hair, soothing the boy. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” you asked, which he responded to with a nod.

"Just forget it. Don’t mind me,” he spoke as he let go of your embrace and leaned back. “I was talking nonsense,” he smiled at you, but you could see through it. It wasn’t a genuine, happy smile; it was phony and forced. “I will go and check up on the boys,” he said and after placing a small kiss on the top of your head, he walked over to the stairs leading up to the male dormitory and disappeared behind the wall, leaving you with an utterly confused expression.

You have had a crush on Sirius for as long as you could remember and the thought of him distancing himself from you hurt. He was the only person you felt accepted you with all your faults and weaknesses, even more so than your friends and to think he was pushing you away felt like a stab in your chest.

*

Days passed by and Sirius' unusual behaviour didn't stop.

Remus and Jane finally started dating and you couldn't have been happier for them. Remus decided to push his worries aside, give it a go and experience love. What he didn’t expect was to feel content, relaxed, recharged as if he was always in a happy bubble. You were proud of him for choosing happiness.

However, as much as you wanted to see the new couple and sit down with them, have a fun little conversation, tease them a bit about being so oblivious to each other’s feelings, you didn't have much opportunity to do so. Sirius made it his mission to drag you away from the couple every single time you were in the same place or anywhere near them.

Whilst you loved spending time with Sirius, his usually slightly cocky and playful behaviour became dull and mostly upset. You tried to talk to him about it, but he didn’t give in. He always tried to shake you off with a ‘whatever’, ‘never mind’ or ‘doesn’t matter’. As if he was incapable of opening up to you. Which has never happened before.

You were sitting beside the Black lake, leaning against the trunk of a tree with Sirius next to you and the happy couple cuddled up to each other in front of you. It could have been a romantic little double date if you dared to confess your feelings for Sirius and if he didn’t wear that dark, dissatisfied expression of his.

Sirius sat beside you with a book in his hands, which in itself made you feel strange. Not that you had a problem with him reading, it was just a slightly unusual sight to see.

You leaned your head on his shoulder and looked up at him, wandering your gaze over his long, dark lashes, plump pink lips and unusual frown in between his brows. He was a beautiful man, but as much as you wished to be able to look at him as a friend, you just couldn’t.

Occasionally you caught his gaze wondering to Remus and Jane with his frown growing deeper, his jaw clenching as if the happy couple disturbed him in some sort of way.

"Is everything okay?" you asked him, lifting your head, placing your palms on his shoulder and crossing your fingers, laying your chin on the top of your hands. "You seem troubled," you concluded.  

"I'm fine," he replied, shaking his head, once again looking at the couple as they giggled happily about something. "Are you okay?" he asked as he looked into your eyes, as if he was trying to read you. You nodded in reply, a small smile spread across your face, feeling happy about being so close to him once again. You turned towards Remus and Jane, their happiness making you feel even more content.

"I'm all good," you replied looking back at his handsome features. His eyes however left you once again as the couple chuckled at something funny.

"Can you stop?" he growled in anger, causing you to pull back from your position, your eyes wandering between him and Remus. Jane and Remus looked just as confused as you, unable to understand Sirius’ problem.

"What is wrong with you?" Remus asked, but Sirius shook his head.

"You! I’m just fed up with you!” he groaned, clearly agitated. “Can’t you see how much pain and suffering you’re causing?" he hissed in anger. You’ve never seen Sirius act in such manner with his friends and from what you could read off Remus’ face, he was unfamiliar with this side of him too. Sirius seemed to be disappointed in his friend, which further confused you all. You looked at Remus, who also glanced at you, but both of you seemed to be clueless about what he was talking about.  

"Who is suffering because of me?" Remus asked, trying to understand his friend.

"You really are dumb, mate," Sirius retorted. "You’re cuddling your little girlfriend, while Y/n is suffering because of your ignorant behaviour," Sirius gestured towards you, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “You should feel ashamed. How oblivious can you be? How long are you going to keep hurting her?” you were lost by his words. You had no idea what was going on and by the look on Remus' face, he was as confused as you.

"Wait, me? Am I suffering?" you interrupted your fuming friend.

"Don’t act like you know nothing. I understand you didn’t want to tell him about your feelings, but I can’t watch you being hurt over and over again, whilst he is cuddling with his new girlfriend,” he replied as if he knew your feelings more than you did yourself.

"Oh..." your eyes grew wider at the realisation, before you turned to Remus, whose facial expression changed and soon started laughing at the scenario. You didn’t mean to join him, but in the end, you couldn’t stop giggling about Sirius' absurd thoughts, leaving the boy with a dumbfounded expression.

As soon as the laughter died down, Remus stood up, gently pulling Jane into a standing position beside him and turned to you with a determined expression. "I think now it's your turn to clear things up," Remus offered you an apologetic smile and left you behind with a frowning Sirius.

You silently sat beside each other for a good few minutes, before you gathered the courage to finally open your mouth and talk. "Why would you think that I like Remus? How did you end up with such an absurd idea?" you asked as you turned your whole body towards him, playing with the grass under you, fearing to establish eye contact.

"Well, you seemed different around him," he answered, but you could still hear in the tone of his voice that he didn't understand what was going on.

“What do you mean?” you tilted your head in confusion.

“When we were talking about Moony and Jane in the common room and he talked about his crush on Jane, you seemed so upset,” he attempted to explain.

“You are going to have to be more specific. It was a quite common occurrence that we talked about Remus and Jane in the common room,” you raised a questioning brow.

“When you gave him the letter,” he added.

“Oh,” you paused for a second to recall what he could have misunderstood, when it finally all clicked in. “Wait, is about me getting upset, when he said he didn’t deserve to be loved?” you asked with wide eyes as if everything finally made sense.

“Exactly. I saw how upset you were and that’s why I asked why you decided to give him the letter,” he explained. As if the weight fell off your shoulder, a wide grin appeared across your face as you massaged your temple.

“Sirius, you can be really daft sometimes,” you chuckled. “I don’t like Remus like that. He is like a brother to me. I was upset, because every time he talks about himself, he doesn’t seem to see his good qualities, only his flaws, his problems. It upset me,” you shook your head and offered a tender smile to Sirius as you leaned closer and pulled him into a hug. “You owe him an apology,” you chuckled as he scrunched up his nose. “Thank you for worrying about me, Sirius, but it’s honestly not what you thought,” you added, pulling away.

"So, then you don't like him?" he asked, waiting for further reassurance.

"No, I like someone else," you answered emotionless, waiting for his reaction.

"Oh-" he breathed with a heavy tone.

"You seem disappointed. Should I like Remus?" you teased with an innocent look.

"No!" he replied way too quickly. As you connected the dots and realised Sirius might just feel something for you, you decided to push his buttons.

"Do you maybe want to know who I like?" you asked with a fake curiosity, playing your part. He didn't know how to reply and for the first time you saw him searching for words. He wanted you to be happy, to be loved, to be treated like the most precious person, but he didn't want to see, didn't want to hear about you getting close to someone else beside him.

"Erm-“ he was not the cocky Sirius anymore. He wasn't as confident as he usually acted and Godric knows how much you enjoyed the situation.

"Maybe I should ask him out," you said more to yourself and stood up, wearing a determined expression. Before you could have even taken a step, Sirius jumped up from his place and got hold of your wrist, pulling you flush against his chest. His sudden attack surprised you, but you certainly didn’t complain. You enjoyed being close to him and you were somewhat glad to be in such proximity with him.

"No," he whispered, looking at your face, his breath fanning your lips, slightly tickling you. “I don’t want to see you with anyone else, but me,” he confessed, but from the blank expression across his face, you weren’t sure if he realised his own words. The only thing he seemed to be concentrating on were your lips and you certainly found his just as intriguing.

"Are you sure you don't want me to ask him out?" you smiled softly, your voice hitching as he pulled you impossibly close to him, his lips almost touching yours.

"No- Wasn't I clear enough?" he asked, seemingly defeated.

"I think you would be really happy if I asked him out," you added, crossing your arms behind his neck, completely confusing him with your actions as a deep frown grew across his brows. You silently giggled at his expression, before you gave him the last push. "Would you like to go out with me, Sirius?" you asked, placing a small peck on his lips, but he didn't react, his initial shock leaving him frozen. His eyes were wide open, his jaw hung low, his lips parted in disbelief. "Should I perhaps take that as a no?" you raised a questioning brow as you ran your fingers through his soft hair.

"You’re such a tease," he exhaled finally as a small smirk spread across his handsome and relieved face. His eyes wandered down to your lips, gazing at your mouth for an impossibly long time, before attaching his lips to yours while running his hands along the small of your back, pulling you closer. You chuckled into the kiss welcoming his usual confidence back, missing his cockiness. However, before you could have even given yourself into the kiss, Sirius pulled away and with a swift movement grabbed you under your butt and threw you over his shoulder, making you squeal.

"Hey, put me down, it's not fair," you started hitting his back, but he didn't budge.

"Your little game wasn't either," he grinned, slapping your butt as he walked towards the castle with your swearing form hanging over his shoulder. "By the way, yes I would love to go out with you," he added, making you grin at his reply. Although you were cursing him, hitting him, kicking him wherever you could and as much as you could, you were still the happiest person and even the fact that you were hanging upside down couldn’t ruin it.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

Harry Potter general taglist:

@awritingtree​ @chloer1275​ @emmaev​ @haphazardhufflepuff​​ @inkhearthes​ @pregnant-piggy​ @anchy-bananchy​ @sreidswhore​ @levylovegood​​ @fific7​​ @harrypotter289​​ @moatsnow​​ @pandaxnienke​​ @leelovegood​​ @nebulablakemurphy​​ @sarcasticallywitty15​​ @iliveiloveiwrite​​ @acuunaa​​ @nuttytani​​ @audreythehufflepuff​​ @the-unmanaged-mischief​​ @mesmerisedangel​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ 

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Finale | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: It’s Halloween, and there are a lot of things on Spencer’s mind.

A/N: Here it is, everyone: the end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this far. I greatly appreciate all of you, and I hope you enjoy it!   Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Penetrative sex, light D/s, mostly fluff! Word Count: 7.5k

—————————————————

Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.

It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.

But she wasn’t a season, and when it came to my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.

“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

(Y/n)’s face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.

“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”

The truce was received poorly, her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration to continue, “I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are... wrong. They are wrong.”

It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway), clutching tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.

“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating the way my voice jumped a little bit. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”

“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.

I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway. The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough for me to let the full force of my affection show before she noticed.

She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.

I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she had hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it. Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.

For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.

“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate further into my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”

All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.

That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.

I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.

But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.

“What are you doing?” I said through a very amused chuckle.

She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression. “I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”

I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.

“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”

“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seatbelt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.

“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.

“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away. I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.

“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.

That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted.

The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. My mind was brought back to the first time she ever let me know she was jealous, bickering over blondes and preferences while she sat in the very same place. And, just as before, she was still wearing the same raggedy old sweatshirt of mine.

“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.

“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”

The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be better with her there. In a way, I think we were trying to prolong the high of ‘hooky,’ finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour.

… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her? And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.

“Do you see that?”

For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.

“See what?”

“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”

My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”

“The giant pile of leaves?”

“Uh-huh.”

Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.

“What about— No! (Y/n)!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.

I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.

“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me. “This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.

As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.

“Absolutely not.”

With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.

The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.

“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.

“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”

As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.

But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns despite not being able to indulge in anything herself. Although she did half-heartedly attempt to trick me into buying her drinks in several different establishments, I think she was honestly proud that I avoided the drinks altogether. It was a nice reminder that sobriety could be something enjoyed between the two of us, regardless of the environment. However, we didn’t let that stop us from jumping into a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.

“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.

“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.

(Y/n) had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her 31-year-old FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.

“Laugh it up,” I droned. And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.

“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”

“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”

“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.

But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. It took her a while to figure out why the route felt so familiar, but I wasn’t ready to ruin the surprise. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on her. She didn’t disappoint.

“The Mayflower?” she asked with a bit of a bashful laugh before looking up at me through narrowed eyes, “Feeling nostalgic, Dr. Reid?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Thought it was more romantic than the club,” I offered, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies that burst through my stomach. “Not by much, mind you.”

Although I got the feeling that she didn’t know, or perhaps just didn’t remember, that wonderful night from almost a year ago was one of the most important days of my life. I knew it then, too. From the second I set my eyes on her from my pitiful place against the bar, I knew that she would ruin me.

“Nothing screams high end romance like an alley and a little light law breaking,” she sighed. I almost missed it, too preoccupied with the way her arm tugged me tighter so she could rest her head against my shoulder.

“I can take you home if you’d rather.”

“Hmmm. Depends,” she hummed. Then, turning her head up to me with that playful look that always turned me to putty in her hands, she purred, “How much longer do you think you can wait before you just have to have me?”

I sucked in a sharp, sarcastic breath, eyeing her just long enough for her to start to fume, I let out all the air with a defeated sigh, “I guess we’re staying.”

That serene sort of teasing continued past the reception desk and all the way up the elevator. If there were other people there, we didn’t bother noticing. We were too busy watching one another to even look away long enough to find our room. Doubling back through the dizzying hallways until we found the elusive number, we finally settled into the only vaguely familiar layout of beige and tan.

She was much quicker at it than I was. Before I’d even finished washing my hands and checking exposed skin for bugs that I was convinced had hitched a ride from the leaf pile, she was already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a tiny piece of lacy cotton and her favorite sweatshirt. The sight made me stop, lost for breath and logic of how I was lucky enough to be there with her again.

“See something you like, Dr. Reid?” she teased through giggles, no doubt recalling the same memory as me.

My answer didn’t need to be said, but I said it, anyway. She deserved to hear it.

“Yes.”

With arms outstretched, she sleepily begged, “Come here.”

But I couldn’t.

“Not yet… I just… I want to look at you like this a little bit longer.”

How could I move on from this moment, when it was the best I’d ever felt? So overwhelmingly safe and at home despite being in a strange, sterile room. I had no desire to move any inch of me if it meant that this image would persist for the rest of my days.

“You getting all romantic on me?”

“Always,” I chuckled. Her usual disgust for my sappy behavior didn’t show itself, overpowered by the gentle curve of her lips and hands that were becoming more and more insistent to be held. Eventually, I had to move, knowing that it was the only way to hold her.

My body reacted the way it always did when it found her. All of the tension dropped from tired shoulders, desperate to touch her more. To feel the imprint of her body pressed against mine, a mess of heat and need and love.

She was the one to kiss me first, and for a moment I let her do it without reciprocation. I wanted to feel how her touch became softer and shier as she realized what I was doing. That I was spending all of my energy memorizing the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back a giggle against my almost-still lips.

“What’s happening in that big genius brain of yours?” she murmured with eyes half open but still containing universes.

“I’m just thinking of all the things you’ve done to make me fall in love with you.”

I thanked all of the gods in every pantheon that made her too tired to tease. Instead, she just laughed, playing her part in bringing us back to that night we met.

“Like quote Picard?”

“We still haven’t watched Star Trek together,” I whined.

The sound must have stirred something new in her, because she rolled us over to take her seat on my lap. She hung over me, looking down at me, hopeless and breathless at the feel of her thighs under my hands. My heart started to race, but I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until she spoke the words that were already running through my mind, “We’ve got time. Picard can wait.”

Everything about it was effortless. Our bodies had fallen together and mouths found each other exactly like every romance novel has ever tried to tackle the metaphor of gravity.

But if we were an orbit, it was not a binary like the traditional notion of two equal souls. Despite the nickname I’d chosen for her, nothing about her soul was small. And even though she burned bright, she wasn’t anything like the fiery combustion of a star.

She was a home. A thing so full of vitality and life that I would love to watch for whatever time I had left. I was just a moon, loyally following her and trying my best to shield her from whatever might try to harm her. To protect her when she needed rest and to lead the tides to kiss her when she wished. I would be her shadow, shining a light onto her even in the darkest time. All that I asked for in return was a spot beside her.

‘One day,’ she had said before, ‘if you will have me.’

But it was never a question. Not for me. And if she really needed me to answer it for her, I was happy to give her that. I hadn’t been waiting for even a year, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Yeah, he can,” I repeated, quiet and with such a heavy waver that I’m surprised she could understand the shifting inflections. Even if she didn’t, she knew that something had changed in those few seconds of silence.

“What’s up, Spencer?”

I didn’t know how to answer. How to explain what I was feeling. But I grabbed hold of one hand, clinging desperately to her and guiding her to the heart that felt dangerously light. The rapid pace of its beating still not enough to alert her of the true cacophony of my thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

The answer was yes. Because no matter how loud and chaotic the sounds inside my head were, they all lead me to the same conclusion.

“Picard can wait, and we have a lot of time,” I tried to explain through a dry throat that was only growing tighter with the unwieldy weight of the feeling.

“Yes…” she mumbled back, just as trepidatious and nervous as I was.  

Just like I was. Because we were. We were connected by some force, whatever you want to call it. Whether it was a chemical or psychological or heavenly connection, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how I felt. To know that there was nothing that would ever tear me away from her.

“But I don’t… I don’t think I want to wait.”

After a couple more seconds of silence, she answered with a knowing stare, “… What?”

From my position underneath her, I was able to reach over just enough to grab my jacket. Of course, it helped that she moved with me, clearly curious and terrified of the possibilities. But a good kind of terror… I hoped.

My confidence grew as her legs gripped tighter around my hips and her hands shot up to cover her chest with balled fists pressed against one another. I heard the friction of her skin as her body started to shake in a different way, with an adrenaline that I hadn’t seen from her in even the most dangerous situations.

But when I pulled a small velvet box from the internal pocket, everything stopped. She became completely still. Her eyes were wide and frozen on the object in my hands, only to look away when she heard my voice.

“(Y/n).”

“Where did you get that?” she asked like she hadn’t just seen me pull it from my jacket. The same jacket that I wore every time that I was with her. The wool fabric that she’d swaddled herself in on a number of occasions, none the wiser of how much heavier it was for me when I wore it.

“I know this is really random, a-and to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” I said through the most awkward laughs I’d ever produced (which was saying something), “I mean, I knew I wanted to marry you, I’ve known that for quite some time, hence the ring.”

I paused, but got nothing in response. Nothing except her lips quivering from their parted position, and her nose twitching as she tried to settle on just one expression. But it didn’t matter how she contorted her face; they were all exactly as they should be. Because they were all her.

“But today, with you… I-I’ve never been that happy in my life. Jumping in leaves and fighting over fall flavors and I—“

Her eyes stopped bouncing, settling with my gaze and robbing my lungs of all air. She made up her mind, deciding to leave everything exactly as it was. The honest truth of the overwhelming storm of every emotion that had been experienced in the little time we had shared together.

The knowing that everything had happened exactly as it should have to bring us here.

“I love you so much,” I whispered, careful to make every word as genuine as they were, “And I know that we have all the time in the world left with one another… but I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife.”

“Ask me,” she answered immediately and abruptly.  


“Okay,” I laughed, endlessly entertained by how she could sound so aggressive even when we were both at our most vulnerable, caught in the nexus of our love.

“Um… Will you… marry me?”

There was no hesitation. No worry, no fear, and no doubt.

“Yes, you stupid old man!” she outright screamed, throwing arms around me even when it meant we both slammed against pillows and the headboard. She didn’t stop squealing even when she kissed me, struggling to find more of me to hold onto.

After she decided that tugging on my hair was the best way to express her affection, I managed to break away just long enough to shout, “Wait! I have to put the ring on you!”

“Then put it on!” she yelled, thrusting her hand in front of my face and practically slapping me in the process. But none of the pain mattered. Nothing was even recognizable outside of the feeling of her sweaty, shaking palm resting against my fingers.

I noticed for the first time that I was also trembling. I took the time to focus, slipping the ring over her finger. But once it started to safely slide into place, my eyes returned to watch what I knew to be happy tears fall over her cheeks. I wiped them away, but they were replaced with the wetness from my face when she brought us together again with a long, gentle kiss.

A calmness came over the room like the feeling following a storm. A clean slate with soil enriched for growth. A hope for a future forever changed.

“What do we do now?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and holding tight to my hands.

The answer seemed clear enough.

“Whatever we want.”

 —————————————————

 Is this really happening?

I stared at the diamond shining back at me with a clarity that had to be a metaphor for my heart. In the vague reflection of yellow light and us, I felt a warmth that doesn’t normally accompany metal. My finger’s new companion felt so comfortable in its new resting place. A constant reminder of the man I called home.

Then I turned back to him, unsure how I was supposed to move on from this moment. I never wanted to leave, but I also needed to move. I compromised and settled with my face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just dedicated to me. In that peaceful quiet, I heard him speak so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.

But I did.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said with fingers dancing through the ends of my hair, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And for once, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like freedom. I was finally free to be who I was without worry that I would be alone. Without worrying that I would be too much or too little to please him.

I was enough.

Enough.

“I love you,” I said, tasting salt from tears I hadn’t even noticed were falling.

Curiously, and in a rare role switch, Spencer was the one who took a blatantly affectionate display and turned it into something else. Pulling me away from his chest, he dragged me up until he could drag his lips over my jaw.

“Don’t cry, little girl,” he cooed with what I could only imagine was a wicked grin, “I haven’t given you a reason to yet.”

Something about that gruff rumble in his throat caused my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Every inch of me burned with flames that could only be put out by his touch. I chased after his lips with my own, but he was insistent on trailing down my throat. He knew I would be powerless to him. I wouldn’t be able to argue when my hands were knotted in his hair and my hips were already rocking helplessly against his erection.

“I want you to fuck me,” I seethed. My blood was boiling from the heat I felt within, and before he could even answer I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh? You don’t want me to make love to you?” Spencer laughed. As if that had ever been our style.

“No, I want you to take what’s yours.”

He responded to the demand by pushing me from my seat, forcing me onto my back on the other end of the bed. I wasn’t going to complain, either. The new position allowed me access to his belt, which I unbuckled before he even had time to laugh.  

“Are you really challenging me right now, little girl?”

But despite the taunt, he did nothing to stop me. His hands were also busy removing my clothes. And just like before, our nakedness was reciprocated. With each lost layer, I should have felt lighter, but I didn’t. I felt so powerful, so aware of how our bare bodies twined together.

“Here, of all places? Do you remember what I did to you that night?”

How could I ever forget?

“I’m not the same girl you had in your bed then,” I purred. We both knew it was true, although not in the way I was implying.

Because Spencer had changed me. Irrevocably. He taught me so much — not just about physics, literature, or criminology, either. He taught me about kindness, softness, and vulnerability. He taught me how to trust that someone could hold me without the intention of letting me go. More than anything, he taught me that I didn’t have to learn these things alone. Even the smartest man I’d ever met needed help with them sometimes.

Then again, something told me that Spencer wasn’t in a very humble mood. Perhaps it was the fact he’d pinned me down again, with his hands clumsily gripping hard enough to leave crescent moons in my forearms.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he growled with a small, chaste kiss, “You’re still just a fucking brat.”

I wasn’t feeling bratty then, though. Especially not as I felt the head of his cock pressed against me, just hard enough to feel the resistance of my body. He waited there, no doubt taking pleasure in the way my whole body squirmed underneath him. My hips bucked, but he managed to keep a cruelly steady distance.

“You’re so precious when you’re needy,” he mumbled. And although I stubbornly avoided looking him in the eyes out of protest, he forced my face towards him again, anyway. “Go on. Say please.”

“Fuck off,” I whined through a prominent pout that did me no favors.

“Say it.”

“Please!”

I managed to make eye contact, but it was fleeting. As soon as he thrust forward into me, my back arched and I lost myself in the pillows. My hands found him, though, leaving angry red welts over heated skin. If Spencer was at all affected by the pain, he made no showing of it. His pace continued, steadily forcing our bodies together until I trembled in his hands.

He would hold me there, at my limit but not pleading for him to do anything different. With tender hands, he would fuck me until I swore bruises would follow. But I never felt unsafe; I felt cared for and cherished in a way I’d never known. I trusted him to know my limits better than myself.

I trusted him with all of me because I had already seen that when given the chance, he would do whatever he could to protect me.

The love I felt must have shone through my eyes because his hips got slower, drawing out each movement. My hips rose in tandem with his, allowing me to feel every inch of him inside of me.

“This body belongs to me now and forever,” he whispered.

It always has.

“You belong to me.”

And I felt it. The undeniable string of fate that tied us to each other. I could feel his every emotion as his fingers brushed over my throat. I melted under his touch, completely consumed by the love he felt for me. The kind of love that people spent their whole lives searching for only to come up empty. That powerful thing that drove gods to war and men to madness.

The only feeling that could tear down every wall that had been carefully crafted to protect myself. Because I didn’t need them anymore. Spencer’s arms would take their place, holding me through the storms that might follow the same way he had carried me through the ones that led us here.

“Yes,” I breathed, “I’m yours.”

For forever and whatever comes after.

The words were truer than they’d ever been before, and Spencer took it as permission to let go of any remaining hesitation. The slow, gentle thrusts became faster and our moans echoed in the small room without a second thought to the poor patrons in the rooms surrounding us. Because if they felt what we did, they would understand. Spencer still tried to hush the sounds, crashing his lips over mine in a sloppy, frenzied kiss.

I was suddenly reminded of every romantic story I’d ever heard. They all spoke of feeling so close to someone that they felt like an extension of yourself. I wasn’t sure if it was completely true, but there was no denying how at home our bodies were. The way our tongues wrapped around one another and how our noses bumped so gently in the chaos was unmatched by any meeting driven by lust or need.

His hips met mine over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to keep him closer. Even when my hips chased his to be held longer, Spencer was persistent in the ruthless pace. Because like me, he was lost in the euphoria. I knew it from the sound of his whimpers and the way he bit my lip just a little bit harder.

“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged.

“You,” I answered without any doubt, “I just want you.”

His response came even faster, even more desperate and scratchy as it came through his lips into mine.

“You have me. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I will take care of you.”

There was nothing left to say. I could feel the truth and force behind the words as he fucked me harder, eliciting one more quiet cry from me in the sound of his name.

“Spencer...”

When he returned the call, though, it wasn’t with any name I’d heard from him before.

“So you better get used to this feeling,” he said through a smile that I felt on my lips before he drew back. He looked me in the eye as he buried himself in me, tensing to hold himself back just a few seconds longer. To see the look on my face and let that be the feeling of us giving in to each other for the first time in our new story.

“Because I’m never going to grow tired of this, Mrs. Reid.”

Mrs. Reid.

That was going to be my name.

Mrs. Reid.

That was the only thought running through my mind as I felt the coil in my gut snap and all of my muscles tense around him. There were no whorish sounds left in my lungs, only little whimpers and whines as I tried to claw him closer. Spencer gave up his visual in exchange for kissing me while he finished. My walls held him so tightly that I felt each pulse and every place where his release filled me. But nothing was more compelling than feeling the way his lip quivered between mine as his body fell onto mine with no grace required.

Spencer could act hard all he wanted, but I felt the way he craved softness. Safety. Love. All things I was happy to give… for a price.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?” he replied sleepily but animated enough to have a healthy dose of snark. Snark that earned him a rough nudge of my elbow into his ribs.

“You know!”

But naturally, the genius had to play dumb. With a happy little hum, he snuggled closer to me, burying his face into my neck so he could mumble against the skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Please,” I sighed, “for me?”

He seemed to contemplate the plea for a little while longer, with wiggling toes I felt against my shins and a happy sigh that breezed over my neck. I tried to take in those small things while I waited, knowing that while I had a lifetime to learn them, this moment would never come again.

“Fine,” he finally settled, propping himself up to give another soft kiss followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Only for you, Mrs. Reid.”

 ——  The Next Morning ——

 Waking up next to Spencer with a ring on my finger was literally waking up to find my dream come to life. And sure, his light snoring and constant wriggling under the sheets he continued to pull off of me weren’t perfect or picturesque, but they were real. The same way that he chirped when he felt my legs wrap around him in his sleep and only woke when he heard me giggling.

His eyes fluttered open, taken aback by something that he saw. Although I would blame it on the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I was sure that he would give me all the credit.

“Good morning,” he slurred.  

“Hi,” I answered with a smile and an attempt to pull him closer. But my hand was stopped by his, squeezing my palm between his fingers before dragging my knuckles to his lips. From there, he laid a gentle kiss over the diamond he’d placed there the night before. Although it was strange to be outshone by a rock, I let it go for now.

“I know you shouldn’t sleep with it on, but it’s so nice to see it’s still there,” he said with a heavy breath before lowering our still joined hands to rest against his heart. I could feel the way it beat a little bit quicker as I came closer, and I wondered if this was really what it would be like forever.

“I couldn’t resist wearing it.”

“You know you can still change your mind, right? We haven’t told anyone.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I replied unlike every time before. There was no teasing, no joke or anger or sadness. Just a pure, unadulterated joy.

… Of course, the question did bring up an entirely new anxiety. It did feel a bit silly, but it needs to be expressed.

“Have you?”

“God, no,” he laughed. Like he’d only asked the question to see the way I might panic. But as soon as I heard his assurance, I knew it was the truth.

My mind started to drift back to that first morning we spent together. It felt like a lifetime ago, but everything still felt so very much the same. I wondered if there were things I would change if given the chance. It wasn’t until after I ran through the laundry list of things that we would have been better off without that I realized I’d asked the wrong question.

It wasn’t a matter of what I would have changed, but what I would have kept the same. And the answer was simple. No matter what I would face in my life, I just wanted it to be with him. Everything would be okay as long as I had him.

However, when I tried to kiss him, Spencer still seemed hung up on the things he would have changed. Our lips didn’t connect for even ten seconds before he broke apart, happily laughing through the words, “This is so much better when I’m not hungover.”

“Old man.”

He didn’t argue back, wiggling under the sheets until our chests were pressed together. I took it as a very poor attempt at a power play, because instead of craning my neck to look up at him from my spot, I simply climbed his lanky figure until our noses were pressed together.

“Your old man now,” he corrected, followed by my own clarification of, “You were always mine, Dr. Reid.”

“But now you get to show everyone.” He grinned, letting go of my hand to roam over the curves of my body. His daily attempts to memorize each version of me he held. After a few more moments of silent reverence, I asked the question we’d have to face eventually, lest we face even more awkward, embarrassing moments with the team.

“Who’s gonna tell everyone?”

He barely even considered the options before he shrugged.

“Let’s just… wing it.”

I paused, certain that I’d heard it wrong. “You, Spencer Reid, would like to ‘wing it?’” I repeated, barely able to get the words out without laughing from the absurdity of it all.

But he was quick to assure me, “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright. Whatever you say,” I sighed. I figured that it wouldn’t be worth it to plan right now, anyway. It wasn’t exactly our style. If anything, we would find the perfect time completely by accident.

“You know what we should do first though?” I excitedly announced to the best audience a girl could ever ask for.

“What?”

“Coffee,” I drawled. To which he quickly answered, “I love you an ungodly amount.”

Taking full advantage of that admission, I shoved the poor soul who’d shackled himself to me forever away as I ordered, “Go turn it on. I am craving shitty hotel coffee in bed with my fiancé.”

“Fine,” he resigned with a smile while rolling out of the bed, “Spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat!” I shouted back from safe under the covers that I could finally get back in his absence. They weren’t as good as him, but they would be enough for now. I buried my face into his pillow, snickering as I heard a very tired Spencer call from the bathroom, “Forever mine!”

Just as the sounds of running water filled the room, I lifted my head at the distant sound of familiar chiming beside me.

“Is that my phone?”

I didn’t answer, paralyzed in my place as I felt the most intense sensation of deja vu I’d ever experienced. Right there on the nightstand, I saw the name Hotchner.

Spencer was quicker this time to leave the bathroom, but just as he turned the corner, a thought must have stopped him. Because he paused, staring at me with hotel sheets gathered around me and his phone against my ear.  

He didn’t try to fight me for the device. In fact, he didn’t move at all, watching from a few feet away with a smile I’d never seen before. The kind that I felt so deep inside of me that I realized this was what they meant to share a soul with someone.

 “Hello,” I spoke softly and filled with love, “this is Mrs. Reid.”

 The End.

—————————————————

Epilogue

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Is it wrong to lie to children?

A personal essay on reconciling with a shitty childhood and the question: is it wrong to lie to children?

It’s perplexing to have a shitty “unorthodox” childhood because initially I tried to throw out everything about It. Toss out the plumping and the rafters and the roofing, dispense of every single part of my upbringing I could get my hands on and not look back. Naturally, this approach didn’t work. It wasn’t even a real possibility. You’re still haunted by it, a ghost in the bones of a house, a foundation that remains long after the builders have left. That’s part of recovery too, to look at that ghost, to look at those bones, and keep saying: I see you, I see. I let you in. You sit with it and accept, accept, accept.

The really terrible part of this, the part where I don’t throw away the baby with the bathwater, is that you then have to raise the thing, deal with it. You have to do the hard work of parsing through the endless bits of self and placing them in “keep” piles and “discard” piles. I want to keep my mother’s kindness. I want to keep my father’s sense of humor. I want to discard the isolation. I want to discard the delusions.

But then there are these weird . . . “I don’t know” things. The things I am unsure if they helped me or hurt me. As I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten more and more of those “I don’t know” categories piling up. I’ve worked my way through most of the more obvious ones and now it’s all grey and mushy and as cloudy as a London winter. Recently, more than anything, I’ve been grappling with the fact my mother believed it was wrong to lie to children. She believed, in her flower-child way, that it was unethical in all forms.

I never believed in Santa Claus. I’m sorry to say I was a pretty obnoxious kid too because I would preach on the playground about how there was no Santa and there had never been any Santa. Which was a bit harsh, but in my defense I was under the impression these people were suffering from some sort of collective mass delusion. They were being lied to. And lying was wrong.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

I’ve known about sex since I was around 5 years old. I don’t remember why I asked, but it was something about where babies come from and so on. Most parents talk about a stork or love or some other abstract side-step. My mother described the anatomy to me and showed me a scientific diagram of the process. She told me that a sperm meets an egg and fertilizes it so the baby can grow. I learned most of this in scientific terms and was surprised when none of my middle school friends knew how a penis worked.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

When I was 9 or so our cat was eaten by a coyote. I asked my mom where he went and she said that he accidently got out the night before. She said they looked for him all morning, but it was too late. She didn’t use the word “gone” or “passed on” or “he’s in a better place now.”

She said he was dead. I said oh. She asked if I wanted to see him. I said yes. For the record, I am not actually sure if 9 year-olds should see corpses. That is neither here nor there. It was something that stuck with me though, the body of my cat with his tummy ripped out. I had never seen intestines before. His eyes were open.

But there was something cathartic about digging the grave. About helping pick up his little stiff body by the feet and placing him inside. There was something about piling on the red dirt as the sun set and letting the tears fall.

People on sitcoms hate talking about death. It’s understandable, it’s not funny, it makes for good dramatic irony when the kid asks “Where’s Socks?” and the parents go “Uuuuuh. He ran away.” I’ve never felt more alienated at those points. My cat died. He was eaten. I saw his body, and I buried it. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t want to be told he ran away-- that he had a choice in whether or not he left me.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

For a long time I thought the entirety of my childhood was wrong and bad, because I was miserable and broken at the end of it. I will assure you, my parents fucked up time and time again. But sometimes I have to stop and keep asking: Was this the wrong part? Was this the part where they fucked up? Was any part of this valuable? It’s a hard process to comb through an entire life and decide which bits are worth keeping, and if there are any silver linings.

So here is one: I am an honest person. I am a crooked person too, unsure of where to place my feet in social situations, picking my way through others normalcy. I do not readily share information, I am not forthcoming, and it’s a slow burn for me to open up about anything.

However, I notice time and time again that strangers will share personal things with me. I don’t mean for it to happen, but there’s just this pattern in my life. I once went on a car ride with a girl I barely know from my debate team. She described how she wanted to lose her virginity, she wanted it, but was scared God would be angry. That she’d be dirty afterwards. I told her that that was impossible, sex was just an act, it had no eyes, it had no priestly robes, or bearing on her soul. She cried. She said she hadn’t told me anyone this before.

I had a friend in high school who was struggling with an eating disorder, people had tried to get her to talk about it before, but I was the first person she admitted it to. In the hallway, sitting, just discussing nothing, and out it comes: I’m scared to eat sometimes. I was on a city bus and an old woman struck up a conversation with me. Over an hour or so, and she ended up telling me her fears for her own daughter going away to college. Her fear of growing old and passing on. Her problems with sleeping as she lay awake and dreaded it.

People have told me about their problems with substance abuse, their struggles with sexuality, and childhood trauma. People spill to me and I sit there thinking: Why? Sometimes I think it’s my gender or just how people are, but it always feels like I’m missing some part of the picture. Why do people open up to me, unprompted, all at once? Why me?

Is it wrong to lie to children?

Recently, I was reading a memoir set in 2001 where two young kids ask the narrator, their mother, about 9/11. They asked what happened to the people on television who were jumping off the building. Where did they go? The mother says this: They were caught. There are people-catchers that flew and saved them. Everyone is okay.

This story was meant to be heartfelt and lyrical, relatable. It ended like this: It is the job of mothers to offer gentle lies.

I had to stop reading because I was suddenly lost in a white-hot rage, unexpected, knee-jerk. How could she do that? I found myself frothing. They trusted her with answers and she lied. How could she? I knew it was irrational. It was silly even. This was a sweet story. It was meant to be heart-warming and framed in a way that suggested this is what all mothers do. This was what they needed to do. 

I felt my own mother, pumping through my veins, furious that these elementary school students were being betrayed. I stopped myself of course, I knew it wasn’t reasonable. I wasn’t raised “correctly.” I had no legs to stand on.

But still, is it alright to lie to children?

I am once again faced with that unending dilemma: how to throw-out those parts of myself that don’t work and keep the ones that do. It’s difficult to say, because in some ways I agree with my mom. How can I not? But death is cruel. Sex is weird. Santa Claus is a beautiful lie.

And what’s wrong with lying? I still don’t know. What’s wrong with letting them never hurt? Never knowing the pain or gross parts of the world? What’s the harm in letting them make-believe?

But sometimes I think about all those people who have cried to me. All these unprompted confessions come with an unspoken plea: I hurt. I am afraid. I am so scared. It’s all so heavy, these painful truths.

And some part of me stands there, the part my mother raised and says: there is nothing in this life that is too shameful. There is nothing in this world that is unnatural. There is nothing in this life to lie about, even to children.

Is death too painful? Is sex too gross? Would you tell an adult that a man lives in the North Pole and watches them?

I asked my mom, years later, when I was less furious and able to talk with her again without screaming, about why she believed all this. She had told me about it since I was very young, but I never asked why. She shrugged. She said: children are people, aren’t they?

I still don’t know what to do with this.

Children are people, but they are not adults. They shouldn’t be exposed to “adult” things, right? But is that line so concrete? Is the word “adult” just a mask for the greater word, the one we really mean? We all agree: honesty is good. Lying hurts. But it’s alright to lie to kids, because in many ways they aren’t people yet, they aren’t people yet, they don’t count.

I am admittedly an argumentative person. I was on the debate team, mock trial, United Nations, I studied political science in college and fought with every single one of my professors I thought was wrong. And I stood in that playground, age 6, and told every single one of my classmates Santa wasn’t real and I wouldn’t stop. The truth was important. And my mother, no matter what, thought I disserved it.

I often felt tiny and powerless as a kid. Terrified and holding myself together by shoestrings. I often felt there would be nothing better in the world than to be grown up. Not for the money or the dating or the job, I just wanted to feel like the hurricane would end. That one day I could stand on solid ground again. My friend often says: I wish I could be a kid again, ya know? No responsibilities. Just bliss. I want to be a kid again.

I can’t relate. I never have. I’ve been busy weeding through the pipes and lighting and the carpentry of my upbringing and asking myself: is any of this worth keeping? Is any part of me built correctly? There are no right answers.

But still, I am haunted. I sit and ask myself in circles: is it alright to lie to children?

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

My book 🌟 Ko-fi 🌟 Patreon

[lfcology]

are you afraid of the dark? | charlie weasley

summary: Part of a new series where I write about Harry Potter characters helping/reacting to the reader and their fears. This is about Charlie and the reader back at The Burrow for the first time in years. Reader has hid her fear from him but finally has no choice but to talk about how she’s scared of the dark.

pairing: Fem!Reader who is a Dragonologist x Charlie.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: None besides the fear of the dark and mentions of food.

A/N: This is my first fic here! Please Tell me what you think!

*

It seemed foolish – having one of the most feared jobs in the wizarding world yet being afraid of the dark. It was something you hid well, no one ever picked up on the fact that you always had a light on when the sun went down. And, if they ever were to ask a question, you were able to cover it up with a little white lie. It wasn’t something that posed you as a real issue until Charlie Weasley entered your life. You two had been friends during your time at Hogwarts, in the same year and both loving magical creatures. As the years went by you two found yourselves smitten with one another. He, just like you, was enamoured with the scaley, temperamental beasts that were dragons. It took a bit of persuasion from Hagrid (who insisted his two favourite students would make a perfect pair) but Charlie asked you to Hogsmeade and the rest was history. You two got accepted as apprentice dragon trainers in Romania together and after years the spark of infatuation you two felt grew into genuine and strong love.

Your fear of the dark was never a topic that came up. Working with dragons meant being awake during their most active hours – the night. Their fire lit up the darkness of the sanctuary and when you two finally got the time to sleep, it was daytime, the sun provided all the light you needed to have your fear dissipate. The only time, after years of being together, Charlie noticed you acting strangely about the topic was the winter of 1995.

It was the first year you were spending Christmas at The Burrow, having such a hectic work life meant you and Charlie opted to spend most holidays in Romania. Molly trusted the two of you not to have any funny business go on and let you share Charlie's childhood bedroom with him (despite the no girls in the bedrooms rule that was put in place years before). After working the night shift for so long the pair of you welcomed a warm home, comfy bed and a hardy nap with open arms. Molly hated to wake you two up but hours later she came in to let you two know dinner was ready whenever you two wanted it.

"Morning." Charlie joked as he stretched his aching limbs out.

Evening was coming closer and as you looked out the window you saw that the last moments of sunlight for the day were illuminating the bedroom in a golden stream of light. Charlie Weasley looked utterly ethereal from his spot next to you. His tangerine coloured hair rested ever so gently across his forehead from where he'd decided to let it grow out. The constellations of freckles speckled his face almost perfectly despite being so randomly placed – It was as if the sun had personally come and kissed them upon his skin. Photos were pinned around the room showing him both before and during his time at Hogwarts and looking at the man in front of you now your heart swelled. He had grown into such a wonderful human. His jaw filled out and was stronger as if a symbol of the confidence he felt in himself. Charlie had grown up but lost none of the boyish charms he had when you fell in love with him. He donned a couple more scars than when he'd left England all those years before but he still fit into The Burrow like a glove.

He ran a calloused hand through your hair and pressed a kiss to your forehead before sitting up and cracking some of his bones in an attempt to wake up more. You hummed contently and kissed him softly before putting on a signature Weasley sweater (gifted from Molly after only dating Charlie for 2 months).

"Well, looks like Sleeping Beauty and (Y/N) are finally awake." Fred teased from his spot at the kitchen table.

He and George were tinkering with what you assumed was another invention of theirs as Charlie lovingly smacked the back of their heads. You smiled at the brotherly moment before taking a seat and having plates mounted with food placed in front of you just as quickly as you blinked. It was delicious, just what you needed to start a much-needed vacation. The cosiness of The Burrow mixed with a full tummy had you lulled into a sleepy stupor. Charlie continued chatting with his siblings, most of which were home from school for the holidays, as you leaned into his side. Between the couch beneath you two, the muggle Christmas song playing somewhere in the house and him stroking your shoulder: it felt like home.

After a few more stifled yawns from Charlie, Mrs Weasley sent you both back to bed in hopes tomorrow would bring more family time. Coming back to Charlies room felt different. The curtains were still open but with only the waxing crescent moon in the sky to provide light it was eery. You tried to remain calm despite feeling your fear rising in your throat. Charlie was around and surely that would give you enough comfort to fall asleep without a hitch, right? You slipped off your sweater knowing Charlie produced heat like a campfire and slid into bed in hopes of a quick and dreamless sleep. The Burrow, despite how strange it seemed, was silent. You assumed someone had cast a silencing charm on the room for you two to rest peacefully but right now it only fuelled your fear more. You laid motionless for the most part, Charlie snuggled up as usual with his arm around your waist as you stared at the ceiling. You were tense and after a few kisses to your neck from the boy didn't gain your attention he sensed something was off.

"Goodnight my love." He said trying to gauge your reaction before mentioning something.

He pretending to sleep, listening intently to your breathing and analysing the tenseness of your body beneath his arm. You, on the other hand, paid him no attention. How could you when fear clouded your vision more than the darkness itself. You felt as though the room was filled with evil beings and creatures just waiting for their moment to attack. It sent a shrill fear down your spine and your breathing picked up dramatically making Charlie frown and sit up. With the flick of his hand, he wandlessly cast a charm to turn on his bedside lamp.

"Hey..." He muttered softly to get your attention.

Your eyes were wide and glazed over, you were on high alert and even as you looked around the room and saw it was only old Quidditch merchandise around and not monsters you didn't relax. Charlie held your hand ever so gently making your eyes snap down to him where he gave you a calming, reassuring smile. It wasn't a very different look than what he'd give to a wounded animal.

"Hi..." You replied trying to seem normal.

"Are you alright?" He asked as he looked around the room in an attempt to see what had startled you so much.

"Yes, just thinking-" You tried to reassure but he only furrowed his deep brows at you in disbelief. He could easily tell on your face that you not only were lying but something was most definitely worrying you.

"C'mon, tell me, Princess." He said with a frown. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You sighed knowing you couldn't hide your secret much longer. You felt more at ease now that the light was on but as you stared at it you wondered what Charlie would think once he knew your secret. "'S nothing." You shrugged but he once again wasn't having it.

"You're a terrible liar." He teased trying to lighten the mood but when you didn't give him so much as a smile, he knew it was serious. Sitting up straighter and clearing his throat he held both your hands in his larger ones. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" He asked as you bit your lip and ducked your head in shame.

His head followed yours and he tried to meet your eyes again which made you smile slightly as he resembled a child wanting answers. "I'm afraid of the dark." You finally muttered.

He tried to hide his shock but couldn't help but let out a surprised giggled which only made you pout more. "You said you wouldn't make fun..."

"I know and I'm sorry for laughing but-" He shook his head in disbelief. "You work with arguably one of the scariest animals in the world but you're scared of the dark?"

You fiddled with the hem of the blanket as you tried to think of a way to explain it. "It's not so much the dark itself that scares me." He leaned down in bed again and rested his head on his hand to give you his undivided attention. "You and I know better than anyone what kind of stuff hides in the shadows..."

He nodded and stroke your hair back away from your face once you laid down with him again. "You should have told me earlier. You know I wouldn't mind sleeping with the light on. Hell, we do it every day considering how messed up our sleep schedule is." He said referring to your night shifts.

"I didn't want you to think I was silly." You said with a shrug.

Pecking your lips softly he turned over and flicked the light off again before grabbing his wand from the nightstand and casting a nonverbal spell. Before your eyes, a baby dragon sprouted from the tip of his wand and was glowing a gorgeous warm white. It flew around the room exploring, not much different than the babies you work with on the regular.

"Ronnie used to have trouble falling asleep so I would make these little guys for him." He explained.

You didn't feel scared anymore. Between the light that the dragon illuminated as it pranced around the room and the strong arms of Charlie around you, you felt sleep calling your name.

"I'm always going to be here to protect you from whatever hides in the dark," Charlie said just above a whisper as the baby dragon settled gently on the bed between you two. "Even if it means a little light in my eyes." He teased making you smile and peck his lips as a wordless form of showing your love.

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, then the dragon, and lastly Charlie. He watched over you to make sure you were safe and comfortable before resting his eyes. By the time you woke up the sun was out, the dragon was gone and your tangerine haired boyfriend had you protectively in his arms. You had no fears when Charlie was around.

[nbrook29]

Kiss or Slap

Sander doesn’t remember when exactly their group made the riverside near the Scheldt their new hangout spot, but he couldn’t be more grateful for it as a cold breeze washes over his overheated body, providing a momentary relief against the scorching heat falling from the sky. It’s probably why the park is fuller than it usually is on Thursday afternoons, packed with people spread on their picnic blankets, searching for a bit of shadow under the big trees and desperately craving a bit of wind. 

It’s so hot he doesn’t even feel like sketching, preferring to just lie on the grass without moving a single muscle, and dying in peace. Even the enticing smell of cinnamon rolls that Noor brought with her isn’t enough for him to reach out and take one from the basket, the action requiring too much movement on his part.

“Guys, come on, we have to start or we’ll never get it done! Sander, get your lazy ass up.” He grunts when he feels Leon’s merciless fingers jabbing him in the ribs.

“Can’t we wait until it gets a little less hot?”

“No, cause that’s not happening in the nearest future and we need new content,” Nathan butts in, followed by Noor, which makes Sander officially outvoted. So he heaves a deep sigh, puts his shirt back on and ruffles his hair to make himself more presentable, rolling his eyes at Noor’s appreciative whistling.

“Someone’s gonna snatch himself a bunch of kisses today with that smoldering look,” she teases, pretending to give him a once over.

“Is that your way of telling me you want one for yourself, sweetheart?” He’s immensely proud of himself when her entire face scrunches up in disgust.

“Eww, no, feels like incest at this point.” Which is kinda true given the fact they’ve known each other since kindergarten and became best friends making sand castles. He fires an obnoxious wink at her, fully anticipating a shove which comes as expected within seconds, with Noor calling him a creep in between laughter.

“Who should we start with? Senne? Wanna go first?” Sander watches as Leon takes out his camera equipment and checks the settings as the rest collects their things.

“I guess, yeah. And then Nathan after me?”

“I’m not doing it, man, you know Britt, she’s gonna flip out.”

“Be a good reason to break up with her,” Sander mutters under his breath, not really feeling apologetic when Nathan shoots him a glare. It would be a long time coming, and honestly, Sander can’t wait for that moment to come. Just being in her presence gives him chills, she’s that much of a horrible person. A few years ago, he read something about alternate universes and sometimes when he looks at her he can’t help but think there’s a history there with the two of them, in a past life or something. At least it would explain that weird energy between them.

If it’s true, he feels very sorry for that Sander. 

He roots for him to run far away from said devil’s spawn.

“I can go next, I don’t have the ball and chain,” Noor says innocently, but she’s smirking over Nathan’s shoulder at Sander who pretends to high five her in their shared hatred for Britt.

“Yeah, us lonely birds will sacrifice ourselves and take the hit for the wellbeing of our channel,” Sander laments playfully, making Senne snort.

“Dude, you’re on your own by your own choice.”

“And pickiness. Don’t forget pickiness,” Noor adds smugly.

Sander huffs in protest. “I’m not picky! I just...” He cuts off because he’s not about to just explain it all now.

“Just what?”

“Specific about what I want.”

Brown curls, brown eyes, shortish, lean, pierced ear, cute giggle, elegant hands and a smile brighter than the sun. 

To be exact.

“Yeah. That’s picky.”

“Whatever,” he replies grumpily, and decides to ignore Noor’s knowing look. Sometimes he feels like she has a sixth sense and can read him like a book. Or she’s just less oblivious than the boys in their friend group. That’s a totally possible option too.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push him further (she’s awesome like that), though Sander has a feeling she’s gonna grill him later when they’re alone. For now, she checks her lipstick in her phone as they all briefly plan the video.

Not like there’s that much to plan; a few days ago, they decided to shoot a kiss or slap challenge for their YouTube channel because it had been wildly requested by their viewers.

Sander still doesn’t quite know how he became a part of a YouTube channel in the first place, always considering himself to be a bit more, well, sophisticated than that? But Leon was into it from the beginning and made them all participate in exchange for free beer, until one day one of their videos blew up.

If you can call getting 100k views on one video blowing up. 

Anyway, they got semi-popular amongst Flemish teens and even managed to snatch a sponsorship with Mentos (however small the offer was) that paid actual money. And he had just managed to move out of his family house so any money coming his way he welcomed with no questions asked. 

So they’ve kept shooting silly challenges slash anything else that’s a trend at a given time and have been able to cover their art supply needs with what little they earned. And, though Sander refused to admit it in the beginning, it’s actually kinda fun. It’s definitely better than his part time job at Pull&Bear where he has to deal with obnoxious customers on an almost daily basis.

They record a short introduction near the river, quickly going over the rules and explaining that the three of them will be competing in who gets more kisses versus slaps. 

“Hey, you know what, this is actually unfair cause you both can kiss anybody,” Senne points out all of a sudden, receiving four pairs of unimpressed glances.

“No one’s stopping you from getting kisses from boys too, dude,” Sander is quick to shut him up, shit-eating grin on his face as he gives him his first (light) slap to the cheek. 

They follow Senne around the park with a camera as he turns on his charm and smiles sweetly at the girls he chooses for the challenge, doing surprisingly well on the first few attempts. But when they venture deeper into the park and he tries his luck with college girls, he gets 5 slaps in the row to the rest of the group’s utter delight. In the end, his results are a blow to his pride and even Sander feels sorry for him, giving him a pat on the back while trying to hold his laughter in at Senne’s grumpy face.

Noor does much better, naturally, as her upbeat personality and a wide smile have always made boys and girls turn their heads. She gets a kiss after kiss, blush after blush, and two phone numbers in the process. Senne argues again that it’s unfair because no one’s gonna slap a girl anyway, but Leon just calls him a sore loser while Noor shamelessly flirts in French with another girl right in front of the camera.

Sander’s very proud.

Taking a quick sip of water, he gives Leon a thumbs up and starts his round, coming over to three blond girls chilling near the skateboarding ramps, trying very hard not to come off as creepy and clarifying the kiss part being only a cheek kiss. The girls erupt in giggles, but they all grant him a light kiss. One of them tries to flirt with him after, but he shoots her down before she can get too into it.

“Such a heartbreaker, you,” Noor coos at Sander’s pained face when they all walk away.

“That’s you, and you actually enjoy it,” he quips back, sticking his tongue at her.

“I do not, shut up!”

Fifteen minutes and fourteen kisses later he’s officially in the lead, sealing his victory with a kiss number fifteen he receives from a cute redhead. He’s gloating in Senne’s bemused face about nobody choosing to slap him when he stops in his tracks.

It’s the proof of his hopeless infatuation that he’d recognize that laugh everywhere.

He looks around for its source, but he comes up short. Then, his eyes focus on the skatepark area and his heart starts beating faster.

Because it feels like a sign. Like the universe is giving him a chance to finally do something. Make a move.

“Hey, can we shoot one more try?” He asks the guys, trying to sound casual while glancing furtively in the direction of brown curls.

“You’ve already won, but I guess?”

Nobody questions him about his reasons, they just follow him to the ramp.

And he’s so fucking nervous. 

It’s incredible, really, how he generally has no problems talking to people he’s interested in, conversation flowing without him even trying, gaining easy smiles and appreciative looks wherever he goes, some natural confidence to him. 

But that boy. That boy is something else.

He makes him question everything he says, makes his palms sweat and makes his deep hidden shyness come onto the surface.

Sander saw him for the first time during Open Day at the Academie in may, strolling casually through the hallway with his friend, completely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing to Sander’s heart.

That was the day Sander saw an angel. 

Fate placed him on his path again sooner than he could’ve hoped, the boy participating in a 2 week film course at his school only several days after he saw him for the first time. And he tried so hard to convince himself to talk to him over that time, but he only managed a few smiles while passing him by in the hallway. 

That and that one stupid joke he said to him while they were waiting in line at the cafeteria that makes him cringe in despair just thinking about it. Seriously, it’s like his entire cool evaporates when he’s near him.

But, the boy laughed at it. So maybe it wasn’t as horrible as Sander is making it to be. Or he was just being nice. 

Robbe. 

Robbe, who he’s been crushing on ever since that fateful day in may.

Robbe, who was at the same party he was last weekend.

Robbe, who he talked to at that party and managed to calm his nerves enough to be charming and funny.

Robbe, who giggled, blushed and bit his lip at Sander’s dumb jokes that evening.

Robbe, who slipped through his fingers because Sander blacked out soon after.

He almost never drinks, but that one night he did, celebrating the beginning of summer break, and not realizing his usual abstinence meant he was now officially a lightweight. What an awful timing.

Robbe doesn’t notice him right away, having his back turned to him while talking animatedly to his friends. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile to his face to hide his nervousness, he approaches them.

“Hey guys, got a second?”

He notices the recognition in Robbe’s face right away, and Sander shoots him a quiet “hi” when his eyes meet his, an unsure smile blooming on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” One of the boys nods at the camera.

“I’m Sander, and we’re shooting a video for our YouTube channel, the kiss or slap challenge,” he quickly explains, the boys’ faces lighting up.

“Hey, we have a channel too! I’m Moyo, this is Jens, Aaron, and Robbe.” Moyo reaches out to bump his fist with him and damn, Sander has to find that channel if Robbe is a part of it.

Jens levels him with a look. “So, you want us to kiss you or slap you?” 

“Pretty much, yeah?” Sander chuckles because he’s aware it’s ridiculous, but he’s a man on a mission here, give him a break.

“I think Robbe should represent all of us, don’t you think so?” Moyo proposes, tongue in his cheek as he checks with the rest of his friends. Sander catches the death glare Robbe sends the boy before looking back at him and crossing his arms, looking a bit out of place. And, fuck, the last thing Sander wants is to make him uncomfortable.

So he asks softly, “you’re in?” and waits for agonizing five seconds as Robbe watches him, eyes narrowed, before his features smooth out and he smiles at him.

“Sure, why not.”

Relieved, Sander lets out a chuckle and tries to keep his cool. “Okay then - kiss or slap?”

Robbe squints against the sun and makes him wait another few seconds before he answers, but Sander’s not worried because there’s a soft smile on his face and obviously his angel wouldn’t-

“Slap.”

Wait, what.

He can hear his friends bursting in laughter at this unexpected turn of events while Sander can only stare in shock because how could he miscalculate the situation this much?

Gulping, confused and heartbroken, he asks, “you’re sure?”, to which Robbe nods with a poorly hidden glee.

“But you have to close your eyes cause I can’t hit you while you're looking at me.”

Heaving a deep sigh and trying to save a face despite the humiliation flooding his body, he nods and closes his eyes, steeling himself for it.

But it never comes.

Suddenly, he feels a hand cupping his cheek and he flinches a little, but then soft lips touch his in a kiss so gentle he blinks his eyes open, not knowing what’s happening.

“That was payback for you promising to call me and not keeping your word,” Robbe whispers against his lips before leaning away, something sad and wistful passing through his face. Sander is left completely dumbfounded, ignoring the hollering from the two groups as his eyes fleet all over Robbe’s face.

It’s difficult for him to collect his thoughts because holy fuck, Robbe has just kissed him and he’s internally freaking out. He finally manages to get his bearings when the remnants of a smile slip off Robbe’s lips.

“I-, Robbe, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your number.”

“I gave it to you. At the party?” He doesn’t look like he believes a word Sander is saying.

“Um, I kinda blacked out and don’t remember much after like one-ish?”

“You saved it though, I saw you typing it in,” Robbe argues again, but this time he doesn’t look so sure. “Wait, what’s your number?”

Sander watches him entering digit after digit before hitting call. He fully expects a plain number to appear on his screen, eyes widening when he sees what pops up instead.

zk bambieys 🥺🦌👁️💘🧡💖💞 calling

“Fuck, you did give me your number.” He’s not fast enough to hide his screen from Robbe, but he can't even feel embarrassment once he notices the frown disappeared from his face.

“Bambi eyes?” There's a teasing note in his voice, but his pink cheeks sell him out.

Sander scratches his head. "I was very drunk, you can't hold it against me. Also, your eyes are really beautiful," he clarifies, winking when Robbe laughs at his shameless flirting. "Hey, I tried to find you on instagram, but nothing came up. I was really hoping we're gonna bump into each other again. Sorry for being a dumbass and not realizing I had your number this entire time?”

“It’s okay.” Robbe shoves his hand into the pockets of his jeans, swaying on his heels. Sander decides to put them both out of their misery and take the initiative.

“So if I asked you out, would you say yes?”

It looks like Robbe’s about to nod, but then he bites his lip, an almost cheeky smile directed at him. “I guess you have to call me to find out.” And then he gets on his skateboard and casually skates away to the nearest ramp, pulling a surprised laugh out of Sander.

If he was intrigued before, now he’s totally smitten with this wonder of a boy, because damn. 

Their friends finally seem to regain their voices and speak over each other at what just happened, but Sander doesn’t pay them any attention, just takes out his phone again and pressing the call button. 

Watching as Robbe comes to a full stop at the top of the ramp, he cocks his head with a grin and waits until he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sander.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Robbe laughs into the speaker.

“Will you go out with me?”

He meets his eyes across the skatepark as Robbe makes him wait again.

Then, with a smile so radiant it overshadows the sun, the boy finally gives him his answer.

“Yes.”

[awritingtree]

The Complications of Friendship and Love

James Potter x reader, very little Sirius Black x reader, James Potter x Lily Evans

@wand3ringr0s3‘s 1.9k follower writing challenge: Angst prompt 5. “I never thought something could hurt this bad.” The prompt has been bolded :)

Summary: Being best friend’s with your ex is complex. But adding your best friend dating your ex? Things got a whole lot more complicated.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: angst, low self-confidence talks, friendship betrayals, unrequited love, 1 swear word

A/N: jsdf I’m sorry this took so long love <3 I wrote half of it and then lost motivation and then got back to it after so long 😂 anyways I hope you all enjoy it xx

Next part: The Benefits of Friendship and Love

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Y/N Y/L/N had believed that James Potter was her one true love; the person she was going to spend the rest of her life with. But there she sat in her Potions class watching her two best friends giggling and flirting with each other wondering where did she go wrong?

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, not glancing at her.

“Of course I do, James,” Y/N replied, bewildered he would even think about asking her such a question.

“It’s just- I’ll be really busy you know. With quidditch, NEWTs coming up and being head boy, I won’t have a lot of time to give you,” James explained.

“I don’t care about that. As long as I’m with you, nothing else matters.”

James didn’t get a chance to say anything as Sirius just plopped down next to Y/N, throwing a hand over her shoulder. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” said James before launching into a conversation with Remus about prefect duties.

“Right, nothing,” sighed Y/N, picking at her food.

“Hey, can we talk?” Lily’s voice snapped Y/N out of her daydream. Her eyes connected with the grey eyes of Sirius Black before she turned around to face Lily with a smile, “Of course, Lils.”

“Can we go somewhere...” Lily looked around the courtyard, “a bit more private?” she finished.

Y/N nodded, stringing her bag around her shoulder as she followed Lily towards the Black Lake. It was a rare warm day at the beginning of October of their seventh year. The grounds were filled with students soaking up the remnants of the warm sun before a cold, harsh winter took over.

Lily led Y/N to a secluded area near the edge of the Black Lake. She stood there, rocking back and forth on her heels, wiping her hands on her uniform every few seconds. She took a deep breath, turning to face her best friend. Her forehead creased, her bottom lip pulled in between her teeth, nibbling down on it.

“Is everything alright?” asked Y/N softly, concerned at her best friend’s behaviour.

“Yes- well um no. I guess- I just need to tell you something. Promise me you’ll listen to the whole thing before speaking?”

Y/N nodded; her eyebrows furrowed in worry. What could Lily possibly have to say that’s gotten her so anxious?

“I want to start by saying I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did, especially without talking to you first. James and I, we’ve been dating. Since a few weeks ago before the term started. We didn’t tell you because I knew it’d hurt you and none of us wanted that. We’ve broken up now. We talked a few days ago. I- we couldn’t carry on like that, not when we knew what we were doing would hurt our best friend. I knew you liked him, and I still said yes, and I shouldn’t have done that, especially after he hurt you so badly. I know you’re upset; we shouldn’t have hidden it from you in the first place, but we’re over now.”

Lily looked up suddenly, shocked to hear Y/N laugh. Not a hurt, mocking laugh but a genuine laugh as if she had heard something really funny.

“I know, Lily,” Y/N said giggling, “You all did an extremely bad job at hiding it.”

“Really? And you’re not upset?” Lily asked nervously.

“Of course not, silly. But I do think you’ve both gone mad. Absolute bonkers. How could you ever think I would stand in the way of my two best friends’ happiness?” Y/N asked with a small smile.

“I can’t. We can’t do that to you.”

“Rubbish! You’re not doing anything to me. Go, be with him. Be happy, both of you.”

A grin made its way onto the redhead’s face she jumped onto the Y/H/C, squeezing the life out of her.

“Thank you! Thank you so much. You’re the best,” Lily shouted as she ran back towards the castle. She turned her head to see her best friend with a small smile on her face, what she didn’t see were the tears gathering in her eyes and how her face fell once she was alone. What she failed to see was the sight of her best friend falling onto her knees, breaking down once again.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Sirius, Remus and Peter found Y/N sitting against a tree, face resting on top of her knees drawn to her chest. They all grimaced at the sight of her blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. She looked so broken.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she whispered, continuing to stare at the still lake before her.

Sirius, Remus and Peter stayed silent not knowing what to say. They did know from the beginning. James came back home shouting about it as soon as it happened. They were asked not to tell her and so they didn’t, a big mistake on their part they realized a little too late.

“Leave me alone” requested Y/N, her voice hoarse from crying.

“Y/N/N, we are-” started Remus.

“Please, just go,” she pleaded weakly. She had no energy left to do anything anymore. Her heart hurt too much. She’d wasted all her energy trying to be enough for a boy who wanted nothing to do with her; all for nothing.

“Alright. But we are sorry Y/N,” said Remus softly.

“We’re here if you need anything,” Peter went on.

Y/N didn’t reply. She made no acknowledgement that the words reached her ears. She continued to stare at the still water, a defeated look on her face. Remus and Peter turned to walk back to the castle. Sirius sighed and took a step towards Y/N, ignoring the pointed look Remus sent him. He leaned down to press a soft kiss against her head.

“We really are sorry, love,” he mumbled before following his best friends back to the castle.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

A few months passed by. The weather got colder; the wind got harsher. The leaves changed colours and fell. The green grass began to get covered with white snow. All through this, Lily and James got stronger. Every girl was envious of their relationship. The golden couple, they were known as throughout the school.

Meanwhile, Y/N continued to suffer on the sidelines, never showing anyone how badly she was hurting. She wore a bright smile, fake to anyone who really looked. Sirius, Remus and Peter noticed it, she had begun to pull away from all of them, spending all her time in the library when she could, sitting with other people during meals. Anytime they approached her she would cut the conversation short saying she had somewhere to be. The times where she did stick around them, she wasn't the talkative Y/N they knew and loved but a shell of her former self.

Y/N felt disgusted with herself for the hate and anger she had begun to feel towards her best friend. It was justified in her eyes, but she knew no one else would see it that way; she would be considered too dramatic, petty and honestly, a bitch. Due to this fear, Y/N kept quiet about how she felt about the situation. She couldn’t rant to Remus, Sirius, Peter, Marlene, Alice or Dorcas. The only person she could rant to, who would understand her completely or otherwise not judge her, was the sole cause of all her problems in the first place.

James Potter not only ripped her heart right out of her chest and stomped all over it but also left her alone with no one she could talk to, making her spiral into a whirl of self-hate and loneliness with nothing to keep her from drowning.

“What happened to not having enough time to be in a relationship?”, “Be more like Lily then maybe we’d like to hang out with you more”, “Look at Lily, she’s beautiful and she takes care of herself” were the only thoughts that swirled through Y/N’s head on repeat. Her self-worth was reduced to the size of a speck of dust, ready to be blown away into the open by the lightest of breaths. Sirius had noticed her change in mannerisms, clothes, tone of voice; almost everything and it made his heartache. He watched from afar as she continued to distance herself; not that anyone could blame her. But it appeared that her absence went unnoticed by everyone, except by him, Remus and Peter. Not even her best friend noted the lack of her presence; too involved in her new boyfriend and busy making new friends.

Y/N soon found comfort in her friends from Ravenclaw, particularly Dave. He understood how she felt; not completely but a bit was better than nothing. He was someone she could rant about James and Lily to without the fear of judgement. Dave and Lily had broken up a few months before she’d started dating James; turns out she had liked James throughout their relationship, using it as a backup since James was showing interest in her best friend at that time. But in the end, not even the friendship of Dave was enough to fill up the empty void inside her, the gaping hole that she believed only one person could close.

Y/N was broken, like a mirror shattered into a thousand pieces and the glue that could put her back together was only in one person’s possession.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Y/N wanted to cry; she wanted to break things, thrash a whole room as she collapsed under the weight of her sobs. She wanted to scream into the void until her throat ached, her voice hoarse and raw. She wanted to shout at Lily for deceiving her; for pretending to care all these years. She wanted to yell at the universe, asking what she had done to deserve this. She wanted to punch James, break his nose for destroying her. Y/N Y/L/N had lost herself and she was nowhere to be found.

Y/N knew everyone would pick Lily if it came to it. Everyone always picked Lily; she was the much more favourable and lovable choice. It hadn't bothered Y/N much at first, she would gladly pick Lily first over herself too, but it started to get too much when people she was close to first - she’d introduced Lily to (such as the Marauders) - chose her. The last straw was drawn when James, the only person in the world Y/N had thought would never abandon her; tossed her aside like a second choice, opted for her. The person she revealed her deepest, darkest secrets to; whom she told things she’d never imagined telling another living, breathing soul had thrown her without a second thought, without any regret, onto the side of the road like rubbish without glancing back once to see the damage he’d caused. He’d promised he wouldn’t turn out like the rest. He’d promised to her.

Maybe it was all her fault. She gave her everything to him; her heart and soul, all her time, her first kiss, amongst other things whether she wanted to or not. There were days where she wondered whose fault it really was. Was it her? Was she not pretty enough? Lily Evans was beautiful; no one could deny it, you looked like a tiny twinkling star next to the glowing moon. Surprisingly the only person that comprehended what a first kiss and relationship meant to Y/N was Sirius Black, the notorious player of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was the only one who’d not told her to get over it and instead held her hand through the period of time when she had needed someone to rely on.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“Y/N! Wait! Y/N/N!” Y/N reluctantly slowed down, waiting for the person calling her name to catch up to her. She found herself in the company of Sirius, Remus, and Peter once a hand quickly grabbed her and pulled her to the side of the corridor.

“What do you want?” she asked impatiently. She just wanted to go back to her common room and sleep - an evening of peace - but the universe was against her, as usual.

Peter looked around nervously at the tone of her voice whilst Remus looked as if he’d been expecting this reaction.

Sirius raised an eyebrow in question, “Have somewhere to be, do you?”

“Yes actually.”

Sirius sighed before his mouth pulled into a wide cheerful smile choosing to be the bigger person, “Well we’re all sneaking out to Hogsmeade later if you wanted to join us.”

“No thank you. I’m busy,” Y/N said pushing her way from between them and walking away.

“How long are you going to keep this up!?” he yelled after her, irritated.

Y/N froze, anger bubbling through her blood and she turned on her heel slowly to face him.

“What?” she asked slowly, her teeth gritted, and her free hand clenched in a fist.

“Padfoot, don’t,” Remus muttered in warning, placing a hand on Sirius’ arm.

“No Moony,” Sirius said shrugging his hand off, “Someone needs to tell her that enough is enough.”

“Enough? Enough!?” Y/N laughed taking a step closer to Sirius with every sentence. “Enough was when my best friend decided to date my ex despite him breaking my heart not once, not twice but three times! Enough was when my best friend decided to date the boy who left me shattered behind my back! Enough was when my best friends knew about all this and chose to keep it from me!

“Enough was when all my friends left me stranded alone.”

The pain she’d locked up inside washed over her, her knees buckling beneath her. Sirius moved swiftly, gathering her in his arms before she hit rock bottom. Y/N clutched his shirt in her fists, soaking it as she sobbed against his chest.

“I never thought something could hurt this bad,” her voice broke, tugging Sirius’ heartstrings. Y/N’s heart ached; her chest physically hurting as it constricted her heart. The pain was too much to handle; the wound tearing open and blood smearing the ears of whom the sounds of her anguish fell upon.

Sirius had always known a time like this would come. A time when he’d sit there holding the love of his life in his arms as she sobbed into his chest over his best friend, for his brother. And there was nothing he could possibly do about it.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

If you enjoyed reading this fic, please like/comment/reblog! Your opinion/feedback is welcome, appreciated, and motivating :)

General taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @pregnant-piggy @approved-by-dentists @remmyswritings @lenalxvegood​ @idont-knowrn @coffee--writes @kinkyduuh @ickle-ronniekins @the-mighty-bookworm @chaoticgirl04 @malfoyspogue @dracofeltonmalfoy @dracosmainhoe @tinylumpiaa @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @pandaxnienke @george-fabian-weasley @sarcasticallywitty15

Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[thearchvillain]

of horsefairs and maidens. part 1

nikolai lantsov x reader

link to part 2

summary: The weather is warm and the air thick with the scent of summer blossoms at the epicentre of horse auctions and races, Caryeva - and Nikolai Lantsov has been bored out of his mind for the past... what feels like an eternity. When even counting how many times his brother has made a fool of himself lost its appeal and became nearly tragic to watch, Nikolai retreated to the edges of the fair only to find that pretty girl Vasily had been dragging around all day hiding on the outskirts, seemingly desperate to escape the supposed Lantsov charm. Or whatever version of it Vasily had offered. "Tomorrow then.", he leaned down beside her, "I'll buy all your father's horses if that's what it takes." Watching her from the side he could just see the tiniest of smirks grace the corner of her lips, "That's an expensive sport you're wanting to try out." "Well, have I ever told you that I have a lot of money?" "Silly me, and here I was thinking you were a mere peasant." "Was it the humility? The rogue charm?"

word count: 2085

warnings: mentions of animal abuse, also Vasily being generally shitty as always

A/N - this is my first attempt at writing this sort of AU/imagine/excerpt, and I’ve gone overboard with the word count (as always), but I hope you will like it! i thought i might fit it into one part, but both Nikolai and the main character had so much to say I figured there would have to be another part thrown in there haha also we have some (briefly) confused!Nikolai, so I hope you enjoy that!

She'd hidden herself well, standing at the very edges of the fair where the trees cast their shadows long and wide in the evening sun, offering a pocket of peace to both the animals and the humans looking for a moment of silence, or cold breeze not laden with the scent of alcohol and sweat and horses.

Nikolai had been watching her for a while, straight-backed and still in her rider's outfit, standing near the rickety fence and looking at the horses not quite suited for the finer crowds that milled around the crown prince back at the heart of the fair. He supposed it was a good place to hide, not so much because of the forest behind them, but because his brother was far too vain to venture this far out.

"I saw you before, you're the girl who's been entertaining the crown prince.", he said, casually, noncommittally. She'd been ignoring the sound of his steps as he'd approached her from behind, drawn in by some sight before her, and even now she didn't so much as glance over her shoulder. Instead, she let out a sound that might have been a snort, but more lady-like, "Well, he's certainly not been entertaining me, so someone had to get the job done."

Nikolai stopped just short of the fence, to her left, and finally when the girl turned her head to see who she was speaking to he could see the brief flash of recognition in her eyes. So she hadn't known who she was speaking to. The surprise stayed there only for the briefest time, then morphed into something that might have been calculation, as if she were weighing her options - to speak of the prince to his brother this way was a dangerous game, at least if one wasn't familiar with Nikolai.

She finally settled on a slight nod, as graceful as it was superficial, "My apologies.", then she cocked an eyebrow, "Tell me, your highness, could this cost me my tongue?"

Cheeky. He smirked, "Only if it's me you're speaking of this way, and even then only because it would be a terrible lie. I'm wonderfully entertaining."

She made a noncommittal sound and looked back at her horses, "Does it run in the family?"

Nikolai felt personally slighted that the giant lump of muscle that was a horse a few meters away from them seemed more interesting to her than he did, but it wasn't like he was going to just back off, "At least give me a chance, it'd be a shame for you to think we're all like that."

"Like what?", she turned her clever eyes back to him and smiled, "You make it sound like I've implied the crown prince is not charming."

"Oh, you haven't. I'm the one implying it.", this seemed to draw out a chuckle from her. Take that, horse. "You're rather good at hiding distaste, I'll give you that."

"Who says I'm not hiding it now?"

"Ouch.", his hand went briefly to his chest in a theatrical display of hurt, "How come you're not nearly as charming to me as you've been to Vasily?"

"Because you don't seem like a jackass. How's that for the capital offence?"

"Personally, I see none, merely a good judge of character."

This time the chuckle she let over her lips was a bit less restrained, and he'd be damned if he didn't take that as a win. Now her eyes slid back to the meadow in front of them, beaten down by horseshoes and boots until it was nothing but mud, and Nikolai watched her watch that same horse she'd been staring at since he'd first spotted her. One could claim it was nothing special if it weren't for its size - he'd be damned if that wasn't the largest horse he'd seen since the army, and probably the roughest-looking.

"Do you have a penchant for the uglier specimen or are you just wondering about his size?"

The girl gave him the dirtiest look he'd been given in a while, "He's not ugly, just old and overworked.", then as if to sound less stern, "But he is a big boy, even for his breed."

Well, that attempt at a joke about his looks fell flat. He wasn't used to that. "How do you know?"

This seemed to be more her tune because she perked up and pointed one long, elegant finger at the horse, "Do you see the way he's walking? And the scars on his flank?", she didn't wait for the answer, he could hear the urgent irritation in her voice, "He's been severely abused - his hind leg has been broken and never set properly, and you rarely see a valuable work animal this scarred from beatings and equipment."

Now Nikolai looked, actually looked, he could see the ridges of old scars crisscrossing his entire body, and something off about the way he ambled around as if to put a distance between himself and the people. "I thought he was a warhorse, that those were battle wounds. Not something his owners would do to him."

He could see her soften a bit when she heard the shock and disgust that laced his tone, her eyes going briefly to him before she looked at the horse again, "Vasily wouldn't even look at him."

"You tried to show him to my brother?"

She frowned at his tone, "I had no choice! My father won't let me buy him, and he's going to be sold for meat if I don't get him before this hell show is over."

"You want to buy him?"

No, actually, this was the dirtiest look he'd received from a woman, "Well, of course. He deserves a peaceful, loving retirement. He's suffered enough."

Now it was Nikolai's turn to look incredulous, "I thought you were letting my brother drag you around like a prized mare because you wanted an actual prized mare."

She sputtered, incredulity lining her features before she finally found her voice, "Excuse me?"

"Not like that --"

"Like what then?"

Nikolai cleared his throat, if only to buy himself time, "Well, this went off the rails fairly quickly."

She turned her entire body towards him now, and he could feel the anger vibrating off her tiny frame in waves, all directed at him, "You were never on the damn rails."

Fair enough. "It says nothing of your character, anyone who listens to his drivel for an entire day should be well-compensated for their emotional trouble."

"I'll need to be well-compensated after this conversation."

"I don't think that old horse will do it though."

She smacked him on the arm. It took Nikolai a second to process what had just happened, as he looked down to his arm where her fist had punched him with all the righteousness of a woman scorned, then back up at her, incredulous once again. "I was joking."

"Try doing it again, but this time make it funny."

When Nikolai didn't answer quickly enough she put her hands on her hips and raised a brow, "Well?"

"Well-- my extensive education in diplomacy tells me I should ease off with the jokes and perhaps try to apologise?"

Her brow somehow went even higher, it made him feel young and squeamish.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you were accompanying my brother for your gain."

"Oh, please, of course I've been advising him on horses because I want something out of him, why else would I listen to him compare me to a mare and act like he'd written me a sonnet."

"He compared you to a horse?"

"An expensive one, so it's fine in his mind.", she let out a shaky breath, the anger still simmering beneath the soft rosy tint that coloured her cheeks. Nikolai couldn't help but stare, taken aback by the simplicity of her intentions, her irritation - she'd been keeping her cool the entire day, nodding prettily whenever his brother said something, offering him her expertise only to have it thrown back in her face because she was not meant to be listened to, only showed off. And she was not a girl that wanted to be showed off or ignored, that much was clear.

"What?"

She turned to look at him, and Nikolai caught himself mid-stare, too absorbed in his thoughts to recognize that he'd been looking at her a bit too long. "Nothing, I'm just impressed."

"With what?"

"You.", he smirked, "I mean you've been suffering under his charms all day, then mine, and at the end of it you're restrained enough to only punch me in the arm?"

She frowned, her eyes sliding to his arm, uncertainty on her features, "Can I get in trouble for that?"

"Oh no, I'm into it."

She raised a brow, and Nikolai couldn't help the smirk that passed across his lips. Then he said, out of nowhere, "Will you come to dine with me?"

"As you said, your brother thinks I'm his prized mare."

That was only half a no, so he thought he might still have some wiggle-room left there, "Well I think you're far prettier than that. At least a good racehorse."

"Saints I want to smack you again."

Nikolai leaned in, his voice conspirational, "Well, yeah, that was kind of the point."

That chuckle again. He noticed that the feathery hair at the back of her neck curled delightfully when she turned to look at the fair and wondered briefly what she might look like when she let her hair down from her ponytail. His thoughts were interrupted when she said, "I can't. My father wants me to keep him amused, so Vasily might buy from him instead of the breeder from the next town over."

Nikolai frowned, "So he sent you out to entertain the creepier of the two princes like a well-trained monkey?"

"You just physically can't say a sentence without petting your own ego, can you?"

"Oh, you're noticing that just now?"

She leaned her forearms on the fence, staring out at the distance, "Are you really surprised? My sister probably knows even more than I do about the horses, but it was never about the knowledge."

Nikolai wished he could tell her he was, but he'd been made all too familiar with how these things worked in court, why his mother had paraded him around so much, with his pretty golden curls and charming smiles.

"Tomorrow then.", he leaned down beside her, "I'll buy all your father's horses if that's what it takes."

Watching her from the side he could just see the tiniest of smirks grace the corner of her lips, "That's an expensive sport you're wanting to try out."

"Well, have I ever told you that I have a lot of money?"

"Silly me, and here I was thinking you were a mere peasant."

"Was it the humility? The rogue charm?"

He'd just turned his head to look at her, a smirk playing on his lips, ready to come up with another joke to try and get another laugh from her when his brother's voice carried over from somewhere behind her, "Brother. I see you've met my advisor.", there was an edge to his voice, even if he was all drunken smiles, "She's pretty isn't she?"

"The prettiest.", Nikolai replied, pleasantly, even if he knew that wasn't quite the most interesting thing about her, "Come to save her from me?"

"Always.", Vasily's eyes went to the girl, and Nikolai realised he'd never asked for her name, "Did he bore you?"

"Not at all.", the mask slipped back onto her face, as empty as it was pretty, not that Vasily would ever notice, "I see he's inherited your charm."

"Yes, but not quite all of it."

Nikolai cast a glance her way and offered a slight smirk, something unspoken about it, an intimate joke, "I shall leave you two alone, I'm sure you've found another horse to bore her with, brother."

Vasily cleared his throat, "See you at dinner, little brother."

As he walked away, he could hear Vasily ask her for the details of their conversation, the jealousy seeping into his voice like poison. Then something about the workhorse they'd been looking at, wondering why she'd ever want that broken halfbreed. Nikolai knew why his brother had raised his voice when saying that, knew those words were meant for him more than her, but he was too tired to care. Tomorrow then. Hell, he might actually get himself some horses of his own tomorrow.

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Eleven

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Eleven: Soulmates

The summer afternoon drifted by peacefully as Luka and Adrien sat up on the deck of the Liberty, basking in the warmth of the sun.

Luka was trying to figure out the bridge to the song he was writing about Adrien while Adrien lounged in a nearby deckchair reading Sailor Moon.

Luka just so happened to look up and find tears streaming down Adrien’s cheeks.

“Hey. You all right?” he called in concern.

“Oh. Sorry,” Adrien chuckled sheepishly, swiping at the tear tracks. “I’m fine. Just thinking too much and being overly sentimental.”

Luka set aside his violin and pulled his chair over next to Adrien’s.

“Hey.” He rested a hand on Adrien’s forearm. “Don’t dismiss your feelings like that. That’s your father talking, and he’s wrong.”

Adrien’s gaze dropped to the manga in his lap. “It doesn’t feel like he’s wrong, though. I feel silly.”

“Talk to me?” Luka urged gently, trying not to press too hard.

It was a fine line to walk between supportive and pushy with Adrien. He wanted Adrien to open up to him on his own terms, because Adrien genuinely wanted to confide in him.

It was difficult, however, because Adrien was used to bowing to others’ demands, and Luka didn’t want to accidentally force Adrien into speaking because Adrien thought that that was what Luka wanted.

Adrien was a people pleaser and likely to steamroll over his own boundaries if he thought it would make others happy.

“Only if you want to talk about it,” Luka added softly, giving Adrien’s arm a squeeze. “I’m here for you, okay?”

Adrien bit his lip and turned to gauge Luka’s reaction. “…Do you… Do you believe in soulmates?”

Luka blinked and thought about the question for a moment before answering honestly. “I think they’re a lovely idea. It’s nice to think that, out there somewhere, there’s someone made especially for you…but I don’t actually think the world works that way.”

“Oh,” Adrien breathed, expression carefully neutral. “Why is that…do you think?”

Luka shrugged. “I’m also kind of a rebel. I don’t like it when other people make decisions for me, so I don’t really like the idea of the universe setting me up with someone without my consent. The choice of a life-mate is probably the most important decision you can make; I want some say in that.”

“Oh,” Adrien repeated, considering Luka’s points. “I mean…I can see that, but…what makes you think that they don’t exist?”

“Life experience,” Luka answered with a sheepish smile. “I’ve been in love a couple times, and there have been a few different people I could see making a life with. I read somewhere once that there were maybe twenty different people that any given person could be compatible with, and I think that’s true. I mean, off the top of my head, I can think of two people I’d consider as ‘soulmates’ for myself.”

Adrien’s expression darkened. He could easily guess that one of Luka’s potential “soulmates” was Marinette. The other, he suspected, was XY, and the thought made his stomach roil with jealousy and hurt.

“I think the idea of soulmates is nice,” Luka continued, missing the shift in Adrien’s mood, “but I don’t believe in them. I like to think that I make my own decisions. Besides, what about people who aren’t interested in romance or relationships? Do they just not have soulmates or are their soulmates more of a queerplatonic arrangement or…?”

Luka trailed off as he noted the sour look cutting into Adrien’s face. “I’m sorry. Was that the wrong answer?”

Adrien’s head jerked up. “What?”

“Sorry,” Luka repeated. “I didn’t mean to try to shove my views down your throat. And I could totally be wrong. I’m certainly not some kind of supreme deity or anything, so who am I to say that there’s no such thing as soulmates? I didn’t mean to insult you if you believe in soulmates.”

Adrien shook his head, waving away Luka’s concern. “No. It’s fine. You didn’t insult me. I just…”

He bit the inside of his lips, eyes tracing the picture on the manga cover in his lap. “I used to think that Ladybug was my soulmate. I mean…we were supposed to be ‘two halves of the same whole’ and all that, but…”

He shook his head again, a dark smile tugging at his lips. “It was just wishful thinking. She was never interested in me like that, and the truth is that the previous Guardian just randomly picked the two of us, so it’s not like it was some grand plan of the universe or anything. It was just luck and coincidence. I was fooling myself.”

“Adrien…” Luka whispered, tightening his hold on Adrien’s forearm.

Adrien looked up and slapped on a fake grin. “Besides, there’s no hope for a relationship with her now that it turns out my father was our arch nemesis this whole time. I’m a complete failure as a hero, Luka. I was living under the same roof as Papillon, and I had no idea for half a decade. There’s no way—”

“—Stop,” Luka commanded, standing and pulling Adrien to his feet as well.

The Sailor Moon manga tumbled to the deck, pages flapping.

“Just stop, okay?” Luka tugged Adrien into a hug, squeezing him tightly.

“Stop and breathe and quit being so mean to yourself,” Luka instructed.

The tension quickly flowed out of Adrien’s body, and he melted into the embrace.

“Marinette would never rule you out as a romantic partner just because of your father,” Luka stressed, wishing he could make Adrien see reason. “And you’re not a failure as a hero. How many times do I have to tell you how amazing you are?”

“At least once more,” Adrien chuckled mirthlessly into Luka’s chest.

“You’re amazing, Adrien,” Luka insisted. “If Plagg were here, he’d say the same thing. It wasn’t your fault you didn’t know about your father. How could you know when he always kept himself shut up like he did? You hardly saw the guy. No one can blame you for what happened. Marinette certainly doesn’t.”

Adrien nodded lethargically. “Yeah. I know. I just…it’s hard not to be down on myself.”

“Yeah,” Luka whispered. “Yeah, I know, but try to hang in there and think positive.”

Adrien made a halfhearted noise of agreement.

Luka squeezed tighter. “You’re going to be okay. You’re a magnificent person, P5, and, someday, you’re going to meet someone amazing who sees how special you are.”

“…Like how you do?” Adrien inquired, pulling back just enough to catch Luka’s reaction.

Surprise flitted across Luka’s face and was then replaced by a warm smile. “Yeah. Just like how I do.”

Adrien laughed, resting his head back on Luka’s shoulder. “No one sees the good in me like you do, Orpheus.”

Luka gave in and indulged himself a little by resting his head on top of Adrien’s. “In that case, I’ll be your soulmate, if you want. I mean, if no one else is vying for the position.”

“The job’s yours if you want it,” Adrien replied in a way that implied that he thought no one in their right mind would want the position.

“It’s funny how, just a month ago, I had fans willing to literally maim and kill for a chance to get close to me…but, now, no one’s interested,” he mused.

Luka shook his head. “Well, now you know who your true friends are, at least.”

“There’s not a lot of people left standing,” Adrien observed glumly.

“But the ones who are are good ones.” Luka tried to help Adrien shift his perspective. “You’ve got Nino and Alya…Chloé, Kagami, Wayem, Marinette, Rose, Juleka… And your classmates are sticking by you, aren’t they? The people who really know you are still on your side.”

“…Yeah,” Adrien agreed, slowly warming to the idea. “I guess you’re right…. And there’s you. I haven’t lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” Luka promised. “…Maybe we need to have some of your friends over. I know you call and text and go places to hang out with them, but you’ve been here almost three weeks, and you haven’t had anyone over yet. You should call Nino and have bro time.”

Adrien looked up again. “Really? That would be okay?”

Luka laughed. “You see how people regularly wander in and out of this houseboat. Do you think anyone would care if you had some friends over?”

Adrien considered this for a moment. “…No?”

Luka nodded. “No. No one would care. You should see if Nino’s doing anything and have him over to hang out.”

Adrien bit his lip. “Would you hang out with us too?”

Luka shrugged. “If you want me there.”

A bright smile stretched across Adrien’s lips. “Yeah. I’d like if we could all spend time together. I’d like you to get to know my friends better.”

Luka’s eyes widened as he was pleasantly surprised by Adrien’s words. “Yeah. I’d…I’d like that too.”

“I mean, you should know them if I’m going to marry you someday,” Adrien teased, pulling away with a wink.

Luka choked. “What?”

“You know. Since you’ve volunteered to be my soulmate.” Adrien scooped up his book and stuck out his tongue as he started to make his way back below deck.

Luka stared after him for a good minute as all kinds of metaphorical fireworks went off.

It killed him when Adrien flirted.

[cakesunflower]

Who’s Gonna Love You Like Me? [Brother’s Best Friend!Calum AU] Part 8

A/N: apologies that it took me over a month to update this fic!! but now i’m done with college (big yikes) so now i can get back to writing and updating on a semi regular basis :-)

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

“Josie—got a cutie waiting for you in the front.” Josie glanced up at Sarah’s words, pulled out of her conversation with Lizzie as she swiveled in the leather salon chair at one of her stations. Her eyes caught sight of Calum leaning against the desk, her eyes immediately meeting his as he raised two fingers up in a wave.

Josie excused herself from Lizzie, walking down the length of the salon with her eyebrows raised and a surprised smile curling at her lips, not expecting him to drop by. “Hey,” she greeted with a small laugh, glancing at the receptionist, Maddie. “I’m gonna step out real quick.”

Maddie hummed in response and Josie grasped Calum’s wrist, pulling him outside for some privacy. Talking amongst Los Angeles pedestrian traffic was better than in front of all her coworkers, even if they were some of the chillest people she’d ever met. The sun was bright, as always, and Josie let out a laugh as Calum pressed her against the brick wall next to the window of the salon. “Hi—what’re you doing here?” Josie greeted.

Calum smiled, his frame shielding Josie from the sun as he gripped her hips. “Wanted to see you real quick and ask you somethin’,” he responded, pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Josie inhaled sharply as she kissed him back, the smile evident on her lips. When they pulled away, Calum raised a hand to curl his finger around a stray lock of her blonde hair, his grin never leaving at Josie’s curious expression. Brushing his nose against hers, voice dropping low, Calum asked, “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Josie’s heart jumped at his words, her grin widening as his finger brushed along her cheek. Her own hand had reached up to play with the chain around his neck, an accessory she thought he worked unfairly well, as she bit down on her grinning lip. Her cheeks were already hurting from the grin on her face, excitement coursing through her veins. She felt silly, being so thrilled with the simple question Calum asked her, but she would be lying if she said it wasn’t one she had been waiting for.

“I would love to,” Josie responded, feeling a warmth spread in her cheeks under Calum’s gaze. She kind of loved how he so easily made her blush.

“Great,” Calum smirked, hips pressing against hers. “You’re off tomorrow, right?” Josie nodded with a hum. “Alright—I’ll pick you up at your room at five.”

She scoffed out a laugh. “Five?” Josie asked with a raise of her eyebrows. “It’s a bit early for dinner, isn’t it?” She normally ate at seven, years of classes interfering with her schedule having an effect on when she ate.

“Not for what I’ve got in mind.” Calum chuckled, winding his arms around her waist to keep her close. “None of that dinner and a movie bullshit. I got somethin’ planned for us.” He pressed another kiss to her lips before murmuring, “Alright, get back to work.”

Josie smiled, pressing her hands to his chest, reluctant to move away from him. But right before she did, her smile turned coy. “Just so you know—I’d totally be fine with a dinner and movie with you.”

He grinned as she pulled away, heading back to the door. “Noted.”

For the rest of her shift at work, Josie couldn’t help but think Calum was a bit of a tease. She loved that he had been impatient enough to arrive at the salon to ask her on a date in person, loved the few kisses they stole before she had to go back inside. But concentrating on her next few clients had proven to be difficult, to busy trying to school her features to hide the wide grin that threatened to erupt at the mere thought of going on a date with Calum. Her excitement buzzed at her veins, crackling like electricity, and she wondered what he had planned for the two of them. 

Later that night, when Luke was in his bedroom getting ready to turn in for the night, Josie was leaving the kitchen to go into her own when Calum entered the living room, his shift for the day a short one. Josie’s eyes widened in excitement at the sight of him, making sure the water didn’t spill from her glass as she quickly ran over to him and grasped his hand. 

“Can I get a hint for where we’re going tomorrow?” she asked with a sweet smile, looking up at him with big blue eyes in hopes to get him to give in. 

But Calum knew how to handle Josie. He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, lips curling up to grin as he ran his tongue along his lower lip. “Not happenin’, sweetheart,” he responded, making Josie’s lips fall into a pout. “Just don’t wear heels.”

Josie scoffed, gaping up at him. “That’s so vague, Calum.”

He moved past her, a ghost of a smirk apparent as he took off the cushions on the couch in preparation to pull out the bed. As Josie walked over to help him, he pointed out, “At least you know it’s not fancy.”

Josie didn’t hesitate in taking one of the cushions and throwing it at Calum with a huff. He merely laughed, catching it easily before it hit him and placing it on the ground. “You’re the worst,” she declared, fixing his pillow before walking around the bed to head up the stairs to turn in for the night.

Behind her, she could hear the smile in Calum’s voice as he asked, “What, no goodnight kiss?”

Raising an eyebrow, she looked at him over her shoulder. “Do you think you deserve it?”

Calum’s face scrunched, eyebrows drawing together and lips pulling downwards as he scoffed. “Yes.” Josie watched him, fighting off the amused smile that threatened to grow as he approached her, his dark eyes never leaving her blue. “All this sneaking around, keeping my hands to myself so we don’t get caught? Fuck yeah, I deserve a damn goodnight kiss,” he grunted.

She couldn’t fight the grin that split across her face, only for it to be obscured by Calum’s hand placing itself on the back of her neck, using it to tug her closer as he bent down to close the gap between the two of them. Josie wasn’t about to push him away, though she still smiled against Calum’s lips as she kissed him back. He tasted like minty toothpaste and Josie was no stranger to the subtle yet exciting thrill she felt shoot down her spine at the act of so openly kissing him in her house, knowing her brother was just up the stairs. 

She would much rather embrace the surge of exhilaration of sneaking around behind Luke’s back than the guilt of keeping such a secret from him.

*****

As he had said, there was a knock on Josie’s bedroom door at five in the afternoon the next day, right when she had finished tying the laces to her most comfortable pairs of red Converse. She paired it with a yellow sundress, tight around the bodice and fluttering around her mid thigh, and it consisted of small red roses that matched her shoes. Calum had said it wasn’t a fancy date, so Josie hoped her outfit choice was fitting to whatever he had planned for them.

In the couple of seconds it took for Josie to walk from her bed to the door, she did her best to tamp down on the excited flutter that had been a consistent presence in her stomach since yesterday. It was kind of funny; her and Calum were already together, obviously, but the idea on going on their first date made it seem all the more official. Like they were actually doing this—despite having been doing it for a while. Being with Calum, even though they were sneaking around, brought Josie a sense of calmness that she hadn’t experienced with another guy before. As though in the grand scheme of things, she had nothing to worry about, no reason to doubt Calum or what they had.

It was refreshing and exactly what she needed.

Him. He was exactly what she needed.

When Josie opened the door, her grin easily curled at her lips at the sight of Calum, dressed in his favorite baggy black pants, a silver belt chain looped on the side, with a white shirt tucked in and his shining black leather jacket on top. He looked casual and comfortable and so unbelievably good—if Josie lacked better control of herself, she’d melt into a puddle right then and there.

Instead, a smile graced her pink lips, leaning against her door as she playfully mused, “Well, hello there.”

His boyish charm was ever present as he returned, “I’m here to pick up a blonde bombshell.”

At that, Josie let out a very unladylike snort, pushing herself away from the door as she turned her back to him to grab her purse off the dresser. “Don’t ever call me that again,” Josie laughed, grabbing her denim jacket in case she needed it. Raising an eyebrow, hoping to filter some of the overwhelming excitement she felt, Josie asked, “We out?”

Calum grinned and the glimmer in his eyes told Josie he was just as excited, and nervous, as she was. “Yes, ma’am.”

They got in his car and were on the road just moments later, all the while Calum kept expertly shut about where they were going. After shutting her down for the sixth time, Calum scoffed before letting out a laugh, shooting her a look as he said, “You’re the most impatient person I’ve ever met.”

Josie shot him a skeptical look as his playlist played a Coldplay song. “More than Ashton?” she questioned, the smugness seeping into her voice because she knew she wasn’t nearly as bad as their friend.

Calum scoffed, one hand on the wheel as his left elbow remained propped on the door, the window down to let in the pleasant breeze. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Josie’s jaw dropped, a gasp escaping her as she pointed at him accusingly. “That’s fucked up.”

He merely grinned, shifting so his left hand was on the wheel to allow his right hand to grab her pointing finger before maneuvering her hand so he could lace their fingers together. The gesture only widened Josie’s smile, warming her cheeks as she felt the breeze dance through her blonde tresses as Calum drove them to whatever secret destination he planned for. Josie eventually resigned herself to Calum’s desire of wanting to keep things under wraps, enjoying the car ride with him as the music played, the wind billowed in her ears and his fingers remained laced with hers.

The calm that settled over her was welcomed, enjoying the sensation of her hair tickling her skin as it danced in the wind and the warmth Calum’s touch brought. Already, Josie knew this was probably the best date she’d been on. Simply because it was with Calum.

Soon enough, they arrived at their destination, and Josie’s eyebrows raised as they passed the sign that read their arrival at Lake Balboa Park as Calum pulled into a parking lot. Josie hadn’t been to Lake Balboa before, but there were barely any clouds and the branches on pretty cherry blossom trees, and as she stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching underneath her shoes, the smile was easily lifting her lips.

Especially when Calum walked to the trunk of the car, opened it, and revealed a folded blanket and, quite literally, a sizable picnic basket that had Josie’s smile widening all the more. Her lips were parted in surprise, gaze flickering so her blue eyes could meet Calum’s triumphant brown ones, and no amount of sunshine could spread warmth throughout Josie’s body like Calum did in that moment. He grabbed the blanket and tossed it at her, which Josie caught even in the midst of her shocked state, and the wide grin he wore told her he knew just how off guard he’d caught her.

“A picnic?” she asked, well aware of the answer, the excitement evident in her tone and the way her dimples deepened at her grin. It was taking a lot of willpower not to bounce on the balls of her feet. “Stop—that’s so romantic.”

Calum smirked as he shut the trunk, quirking an eyebrow as they began walking. “Why do you sound so surprised? I can be romantic,” he added with a huff.

Josie snorted, hugging the blanket to her chest as she shot Calum a look. The sarcasm was evident in her tone when she drawled, “Yeah, pushing me into the pull because Luke came home just screams romance.”

He shot her a flat look and Josie merely smiled sweetly, and though she was teasing him, she found the memory funny. It had happened only a few days ago when the two of them had been enjoying their backyard pool. At one point, they’d gotten out, were in the middle of kissing, when Luke’s loud voice announced his arrival and, in a panic, Calum had pushed Josie into the pool. When she had resurfaced, she stared at him in utter disbelief while Calum had the decency to look just as surprised at his actions. 

The two of them continued down the path, greenery and flora around them and Josie was mesmerized by the sight of the lake, noticing the ducks that swam contently and the few pedal boats among them. Eventually, Calum found a nice spot under a tree right on the soft grass, the lake in front of them, and Josie smiled as she spread the blanket before the two of them settled on it.

“Alright,” Josie grinned, sitting comfortably with her legs folded beneath her, leaning back on one hand as her gaze met Calum’s. “Dazzle me with romance.”

She watched intently as Calum began pulling out the items he had packed, consisting of cloth napkins, plates, utensils, two glasses to drink the red wine—which made Josie a lot more excited than it should’ve. She then noted all of the food he brought, her eyebrows raising and lips parting at the dishes; fresh corn and tomato fettuccini, shrimp summer rolls, cut up pieces of toasted baguette, and chocolate truffles for dessert.

Holy shit. “Did you make these?” Josie asked, the awe evident in her voice as she eyed the fettuccini and shrimp rolls.

Calum’s gaze met hers and Josie saw the pride dancing in his dark eyes, smiling as he answered, “Sure did.” Then, with a smirk, he asked, “Are you dazzled yet?”

And a little bit in love, but Josie kept that fleeting thought to herself.

Instead, she leaned forward, right hand finding the back of Calum’s neck as she pulled him close, hoping her kiss would convey just how amazing all of this was, how much she appreciated it. Calum truly went out of his way to make their first date special, taking advantage of the perfect weather and putting his skills in the kitchen to use in making the food that looked and smelled delicious. There was a permanent warmth in Josie’s chest; no one had ever made such an effort for her before, and it was impossible to keep the smile off her tingling lips after she slowly pulled away from Calum.

His smile remained, brushing his nose against hers as he said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Calum completed the set up by pulling out his phone and letting some music gently play as he poured them some wine before they indulged in the food he had prepared. Josie couldn’t keep the smile off her face even if she tried as they ate, drank, talked. Her gaze never left Calum, admiring the way the sun peeked through the cherry blossom tree above them and splashed against him in certain spots, feeling like she was in the scene of a damn movie as a flower occasionally fluttered down and brushed against her skin.

Eventually, after they’d finished the delicious food Calum had made and the wine was pleasantly warming her up, Josie sat with her back against the tree and Calum’s head resting in her lap. Her fingers were running through his dark hair, the strands soft between the digits, and she admired the content smile on his face, eyes shut as he reveled in the feel of her fingers in his hair.

They’d been at the lake for over an hour or so, judging by the way the sun was slowly making its descent, but neither of them made a move to leave. Instead, Josie picked up one of the cherry blossoms that had fallen next to her, holding the pink flower by its short stem and twirling it before glancing down at Calum. With a gentle smile upturning her lips, Josie held it upside down before lowering it, tickling the tip of his nose with the petal.

She watched as his nose wrinkled, closed eyes scrunching at the sensation as his lips curled into a close mouthed smile. The peaceful expression that rested on his features transformed into an amused grin, breathing out a laugh as Josie hummed, “Thank you for today, Cal.”

He opened his eyes then, dark brown looking up into bright blue, and his smile softened. The natural pinkness in his cheeks tempted Josie to kiss them as she brushed some curls away from his forehead. Calum reach his left hand up, the silver bracelet dropping away from his wrist as he cupped Josie’s cheek. “Anythin’ for you, pretty girl,” Calum told her earnestly.

The blush returned to her cheeks, but she didn’t have much time to register it as Calum pushed himself up and brought her down enough for their lips to meet in the middle. Josie melted into him, into the kiss, and came to the conclusion if a perfect day were to exist, it would be this.

They’d watched the sunset after, and as the cicadas began chirping throughout the darkened park, the two of them packed up the picnic and, with Calum’s fingers intertwining with hers, made their way back to his car. The drive home, as always, was filled with chatter and music, and when they pulled into the driveway, Josie sat up. “Oh, Luke’s home.”

She glanced at Calum, who didn’t look troubled at all, and it wasn’t lost on Josie how his calm managed to relax her effortlessly. So the two of them got out of the car, deciding to bring in the picnic basket—the most damning evidence of their outing—later on when there was no chance of Luke catching sight of it.

Josie chewed on her lower lip, unable to stop the nervous habit, as they walked into the house, instantly catching the attention of her brother, who was on the living room couch watching TV. “Hey,” he greeted before turning to look at the two of them, eyebrows raising as a corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “Where’re you coming from all dressed up—a hot date?” he joked, gazing at Josie questioningly.

She knew he was completely kidding around, but the oblivious truth in Luke’s words had Josie’s heart momentarily stopping, stomach dropping before she forced herself to scoff. “No—I was out with some friends and asked Calum to pick me up.”

It would be better if she didn’t focus on how swiftly that lie escaped her.

Next to her, Calum huffed. “What, I don’t look all dressed up?”

Josie wanted to nudge him into silence as Luke gave him a once over before offering a single shrug. “Nah,” he answered before turning to watch TV once more, unaware to the scowl that scrunched at Calum’s eyebrows, mildly affronted.

Despite herself, Josie couldn’t fight off the amused smile upturning her lips as Calum made a face at the back of Luke’s, so childish and boyish and endearing. Leaning close to him, her voice a whisper, she chanced the risk of Luke hearing her as she hummed, “I think you look hot.”

The smug smirk on Calum’s face, accompanied by the wink he sent her, made the risk worth it.

*****

“Go on without me—leave me here to explode in a mess of spaghetti sauce.”

Josie caught Luke’s bemused eye roll as the rest of the boys chuckled at her antics, though she was serious about the implication of being unable to move. She dropped down on a bench on the sidewalk, her stomach feeling heavy after the lunch she practically inhaled; the portion of spaghetti had been the size of her head, almost, and Josie had practically licked the dish clean. And although her mouth was quite happy with the delicious explosion of taste, her stomach was another issue. She genuinely felt like she couldn’t move.

And the fact that the cars were parked a few several blocks away. . . Josie didn’t think she could make it.

“Alright, Lil’ H,” Ashton spoke up, making his way to her and promptly ignoring the distasteful scrunch of her face at the nickname he’d uttered. It was one he and the rest of the boys coined for her back when they were a lot younger, and although they outgrew the use of it, there were still some instances where they’d mention it. Josie had never liked it. She watched as he stood in front of her before turning his back to her, wiggling his fingers out at the seated girl as he said, “Hop on.”

Her eyes lit up, understanding that he was offering her a piggy back ride. Not needing to be told twice, Josie got up as Ashton crouched down enough so it was easy for her to hop onto his back, arms winding loosely around his neck as his hands gripped her thighs to keep her up as he stood straight. She grinned where she was settled on his back, catching the exasperated shake of Luke’s head and the fond grins on Michael and Calum’s faces before they all continued on their way.

Moments like these made Josie a lot happier than one would think. For as long as she and Luke knew the boys, Josie had always feared that she was encroaching on her brother’s friendship with them. When they were kids and she would sometimes tag along, at first Luke had been irritated, but his fondness for Josie always won out in the end, and he’d bring her along to get food or to the park when he would go with the boys. Because of that, the rest of them grew fond of her too. It wasn’t hard, either—it wasn’t like there was years and years separating her from them in age. Only a couple, but she was still Luke’s little sister. And even though they would harmlessly tease her for that, always playful and never spiteful, there had been moments when Josie would think they were sick of her tagging along when she did.

Now, though, with all of them in their twenties, that feeling never came back. Even if it did, Josie knew that Luke would never allow for it to stay for too long. Same went for the other boys. And Josie loved them for it.

“Come to think of it—I don’t think it’s that great of an idea for you to give me a piggy back ride after eating,” Josie piped up, glancing down at Ashton with a raise of her eyebrows.

He made a noncommittal sound, utterly at ease as they continued. “It’s either this or listen to you complain—which I can totally do without.”

Josie scoffed at his teasing as she heard Calum lowly chuckle next to them. “I’ve got my arms around you, Irwin. I can easily choke you.”

She couldn’t quite see his face, but Josie heard the smirk in Ashton’s voice as he responded, “Sounds kinky.”

Luke, having heard him, shot Ashton a scandalized look that the rest of them merely laughed at. Josie was sure she heard him mutter something about his friends corrupting his little sister, and she rolled her lips into her mouth as she glanced down at Calum to her right. He met her gaze, mirth and mischief both dancing in his eyes, silently letting her know he’d heard Luke as well.

They kept making their way down the sidewalk until Michael stopped in front of the glass walls of a vintage looking record store. He didn’t even have to tell them he wanted to go in before everyone was already turning towards the shop, Josie hopping off from Ashton’s back as she wandered inside. It smelt just like Josie thought it would; of plastic wrap, laminated cardboard, and heavily treaded carpet, yet there was something familiar about it as she danced the tips of her fingers over a few records stacked on the table in front of her.

They all shuffled through the aisles, looking at the various records, an unfamiliar classic rock song playing in the background. As Josie moved, she happened to glance up, only to freeze when her eyes startlingly met an achingly familiar pair of green ones. The breath caught in Josie’s throat, nearly choking her, as Austin stood a few tables away, a furrow knitting together his eyebrows as he registered exactly who he was looking at, too. And when he did, the confused frown transformed into a scowl, and the blood in Josie’s veins froze, ironically springing her into action, too.

“Oh, fuck me,” she whispered, unaware of Michael’s confused glance her way. The panic heightened, though, when her ex-boyfriend moved to approach her, and with her eyes widening in alarm, Josie silently turned around and swiftly made her way out of the store, ignoring Michael’s confused calls of her name.

Shit, shit, shit. She did not want to have an unprecedented confrontation with her ex-boyfriend, who—by the looks of it—seemingly had a bone to pick with her. Pushing the door of the store open, Josie stumbled out onto the sidewalk, the fresh air not enough to loosen the tightness of her throat, and she’d barely made it two steps away from the store when Austin’s voice froze her in her tracks.

“Do you ever get tired of running away?”

Josie squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, face scrunching in aggravation before she forced herself to turn around, meeting Austin’s unimpressed gaze. Despite herself, Josie rushed out, “I don’t run away.”

He scoffed, not at all convinced with his arms crossed over his chest. His tattooed biceps was a bit more pronounced under the short sleeves of his shirt than she remembered. He’d been working out, it seemed. “That’s exactly what you just did,” Austin pointed out, a wry smirk tilting at his lips. “What, you didn’t want me to see you with your new boyfriend?”

As if the universe had some kind of personal agenda against her, just as Austin had asked his question, the door behind him opened and out stepped her brother and the rest of the boys. Josie was biting down on the tip of her tongue as Austin stepped away to look at both her and the boys, and the panic quickened the pace of her heart as Austin gave them all a once over.

Luke frowned at Austin, knowing exactly who the guy was, jaw tight as he asked, “What’re you bothering my sister for?”

Just as he had asked that, Josie had simultaneously told Austin, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

She’d desperately wished the words hadn’t fallen past her mouth, noting the brief flicker of Calum’s gaze to her, and Austin rolled his eyes at her words. There was something dancing in his green eyes, and Josie recognized it as his intent of making this as difficult for her as possible, a resentment driven need for some kind of revenge over her breaking up with him more than once.

“No?” Austin cocked his head to the side, challenging. Josie was fully aware of everyone’s gaze on her—especially Calum’s. But she watched as Austin allowed his gaze to wander over the four other men, a sardonic smirk on his lips as he asked, “Tell me, Josie—which one of your brother’s buddies are you fucking around with?”

Her heart jumped out of her body, as if a bucket of ice cold water had been poured over her head as she gaped at Austin and the obvious smug expression he wore. Oh, God. No, no, no. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go down. She couldn’t even be furious with Austin for pulling this shit—Josie was too busy drowning in the panic and anxiety that churned her stomach, the busy buzz of the street silencing into the background, all too aware of her thundering heart beat. This wasn’t happening.

Josie vaguely heard Luke sputter indignantly, ready to give Austin a piece of his mind, but her ex beat him to it as she watched his gaze take in the other men standing before him. She watched as Austin’s gaze ultimately landed on a stone faced Calum, who also looked about two seconds away from breaking Austin’s nose, before her ex huffed out a humorless laugh through his smirk and jutted his chin at the tattooed brunette. “It’s this one, isn’t it?” He clicked his tongue, a knowing expression flickering across his face. “I saw you with him around campus a couple of months ago. Should’ve known.”

Josie’s gaze flashed to Calum, who didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he was too busy glaring at Austin, hands curled into fists at his side. Michael and Ashton remained silent, the tension enveloping them nearly suffocating as Luke’s confused glare settled on Austin. “Yeah—I told them they should hang out when Cal was visiting. . .”

The way he trailed off, his stare flickering between his hardened best friend and frozen sister, Josie could pick up on his confusion, the skepticism that was filtering into his voice as he looked between the two of them. Luke looked unsure of what to believe, his irritation with Austin’s arrival overshadowed by the bewilderment his accusation brought. 

Next to her, Austin snorted. “Looked way more than hanging out to me,” he surmised, and Josie was overcome with the urge to sock him in the jaw, too. God, what was he doing? Why was he doing this?

Of course, she knew. She was just still trying to process.

His green eyes met her unblinking, startled blue ones, and Josie’s heart dropped at the guiltless look in his gaze, utterly unapologetic that he just majorly screwed things up for her. With yet another sardonic smile, he quipped, “Nice to know I’m not the only one you’ve fucked over.” He purposefully looked towards her brother, let out a scoff of contempt, before pushing past them to head back into the store.

Everyone was a bit too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Hesitantly, Josie shifted her gaze and it immediately landed on Calum. He was watching her and Josie’s throat tightened at the concern she was met with. He looked worried—not that Josie blamed him. She was pretty sure she hadn’t taken a breath in the past few minutes.

Calum looked like he wanted to step over to her, to hold her hand, but he also looked conflicted, unsure of what the right move was. Josie wasn’t sure, either. Yet her softened gaze remained on him, hoping her silence would convey that she understood, that this was all so royally fucked.

But then she looked at Luke, who had been watching them this whole time, and Josie’s throat locked up when Luke’s blue eyes narrowed. He took a step away so he could look at both Calum and Josie, eyebrows drawing together as Michael and Ashton exchanged a look. “Is he. . .” Luke trailed off, a disbelieving scoff escaping him as he looked at Calum and Josie. “Is that true? Did you two—”

All she could make out in his tone was one of disbelief, nothing else to give away how he was feeling. Maybe he was as numb as Josie felt. 

Her lips parted but no words came out, because Josie truly didn’t know what to say. Should she confirm Austin’s accusation—his truth? Or deny, deny, deny? It seemed that in that moment, all of the sneaking around behind Luke’s back and subtle lies were starting to choke her, daring her to spew out another one right to his face after basically being told the truth from a third party. Sure, maybe Josie could play off Austin’s words as some jealous, resentful ex, and maybe Luke would believe her. 

But, God. She was sick of the lies.

Before she could even decide what to do, Calum moved, and Josie’s gaze instantly fell upon him as he came to stand next to her. She watched him, wide eyed and parted lips, as his gaze remained fixed on Luke, who was watching him with sharp eyes. “We aren’t fucking around,” Calum told him, all confident and firm despite the bombshell he was dropping. “And it wasn’t just a random hook up. Josie and I are together.”

Her heart was in her throat, anything she could possibly say dying on her tongue as she looked up at Calum, eyes wide at his confession. They hadn’t quite discussed when the right time would be to tell Luke about them, and Austin had made sure they wouldn’t after what he’d done. And as surprised as Josie was that Calum took it upon himself to confirm the truth, there was also the tiniest bit of relief she felt relax her stiff muscles. The kind of relief that came with letting go of a secret that had been weighing her down for too long.

Calum’s gaze flickered down to her and Josie inhaled softly at the look in his eyes; soft, reassuring, encouraging. It was enough to make it easier for Josie to breathe.

But when she looked back at Luke, who was still silent, it felt as though an iron grasp had found its way around her heart. 

And instead of exploding on them in a fury as Josie had feared, Luke remained still, Ashton and Michael watching the scene unfold intently. But Josie remained focused on Luke. His expression was empty, features never giving away what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Luke, who was so expressive, but looked utterly blank in that moment.

Who was quiet. Too quiet—a complete contradiction to the betrayed anger that was swirling in his eyes. And, Josie realized with her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach, Luke’s silence was a whole lot worse than anything she could’ve imagined.

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @loveroflrh​ @astroashtonio​ @sweetcherrymike​ @softforcal​ @wildflowergrae​ @loverofhood​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbbycal​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @highfivecalum​ @calumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @spideyseavey @miss-saltwatercowgirl​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi​ @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @mindkaleidoscope​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @cocktail-calum​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @gosh-im-short​ @thesubtweeter​ @mycollectionofnuts​ @cthwldflwr​ 

[andawaywego]

Prompt: Jamie working at the Leafling with her and Dani’s baby in one of those slings

i loved this prompt, and i got to put Jack (who appears in a different prompt of mine that can be read here) in it as well, baby-style. i hope you like it!

..

Every day, it’s more and more uncanny how much she looks like Jamie. It’s in the brown tuft of hair that gets curlier every day, the longer it gets—so unlike Dani’s own baby pictures, wherein what little hair she did have was blonde and thin. It’s in the way she smiles, so lopsided and adorable, and the way her eyes shine in the sunlight—like she’s up to something, but Dani doesn’t know what. 

Three months in, and it’s getting to the point where Dani has no idea what she’s going to do with their daughter.

Take now, for instance: sitting in the padded rocking chair Jamie dragged into the back room of their shop the week before Dani’s due date, Jack rested over her shoulder as Dani pats her back through her green striped onesie. She’s always so restless after she eats and trying to burp her is sometimes a bit of a struggle. Just like her other mother, Jack has a bit of an issue sitting still for too long.

Dani is just getting to her feet, wiping Jack’s chin clean, when the door opens and Jamie steps in. 

“Hey,” she says, unable to keep the look of wonder that’s been near-constant on her face since that stick first said pregnant last winter. “Sorry. Ran out of tape for this rush order.” 

“That’s okay,” Dani tells her normally and then immediately slips into her high-pitched Mommy voice to say,  “We’re all good now, aren’t we, baby?” 

As she says it, she turns Jack in her arms so she can see Jamie standing there and smiles at the look of excited recognition on their daughter’s face. Little grabby hands reach out, flexing and stretching clumsily until Jamie finally comes over, grinning already.

“There’s my girl,” Jamie says, letting her fingers be grabbed in Jack’s tiny fists. Her eyes flit up to meet Dani’s, still smiling. “My other girl.” She leans in for a kiss and Dani meets her, sighing against her lips, feeling floating and solid in that way she always has whenever Jamie kisses her.

Dani hums a bit and pulls away after a moment. “Careful,” she says, “you’re going to scar our daughter.”

Jamie scoffs out a laugh. “Hardly.” She pulls one of her hands away from Jack’s grasp and brushes her fingers through her curls affectionately. “She’s calmed down a lot. You’d hardly even guess she was such a troublemaker last night.”

“Guess my boobs are good for something.”

Jamie quirks an eyebrow. “Some-things. Plural.”

Dani rolls her eyes and lets Jamie take Jack from her arms, feeling the loss of her almost at once. It’s funny how that goes—how present that feeling is whenever Jack is out of reach. The first time she’d felt it had been at the hospital, just hours after giving birth, when Owen had been holding their swaddled, pink newborn in his arms and cooing at her. 

And it was Owen, of all people. One of the greatest friends she’s ever had, but it still felt like cutting off a limb to be so far away after nine months spent as close as she could get. It happened with her mother, too, when she’d eventually made it to the hospital and spent twenty minutes looking Jack over and telling Jamie stories from Dani’s birth that had Jamie laughing until she was as pink as their daughter, curled around Dani on the hospital bed. 

It wasn’t until Jack was back in Jamie’s arms as they lay on the bed together, counting her fingers and toes, filled with wonder and amazement at this little human that belonged to them, that Dani felt everything slide back into place. Jamie is the only person Dani can handle giving Jack away to. Because it isn’t giving her away at all. It’s simply...her wife holding their child.

And it’s one of the most incredible things Dani’s ever seen, each and every time. Each time it happens, she can’t help but remember the first time it happened, after Jack and Dani had each been cleaned up, after they’d been placed in a quiet hospital room with a barrage of nurses only a button-push away. Jack was nestled in a pink blanket, a little pink beanie on her head, and looking up at Dani with big, blue eyes, similar to the way Jamie was looking at her from beside the bed.

Jamie, Dani had said through tears she hadn’t quite realized were falling, come say hi to your daughter.

And Jamie had, moving slowly, carefully—the weight of all those heavy childhood memories bearing down on her as she took their baby into her arms for the first time. And it ached to let go, yes, but not in the same way. In a different way. A better way. A look at the two people I love most in the world way.

It feels the same now, too.

“Do you want to rest for a little while?” Jamie asks, smiling as Jack bumps her tiny forehead to her chin. “I can take her.”

“Are you sure?” Dani asks, wanting to protest because there’s work to be done before they close, but also wanting to lie down on the couch beside her legs more than anything else.

Jamie nods. “’Course I am. You’re the one she had up all night.”

As if Jamie hadn’t been up, too. Falling asleep with her back pressed to the headboard—head lolling like Jack’s always does in the bath, as they rinse the suds off her little body—as Dani tried and tried to get Jack to follow her lead and go to sleep.

Dani’s gaze softened as she watched Jack grin and grip onto the pocket of Jamie’s overshirt. Three months doesn’t seem right. Her and Jamie had spent so many nights of her pregnancy curled up together in bed and imagining the child they were about to bring into the world. But for all that discussion—all the sonograms and preparation that went into making their second bedroom a nursery—she’d never been able to conjure a clear idea of what their baby would actually look like. Now, the sight of their daughter—the way her cheeks puff up when she smiles, the way her little eyebrows move, the sounds she makes when she’s happy—is something she doesn’t think could ever be washed from her memory.

“Okay,” Dani agrees finally. She leans forward and rubs a thumb across Jack’s cheek. “Be a good girl for Mom, okay?” 

Something flickers in Jamie’s eyes at the word—the way they always have ever since Dani used it to describe her. That’s what she is: Jack’s mom. One of them, anyway.

“Tell Mommy you’ll be the best girl ever,” Jamie says and Jack coos out a noise as if in response. Jamie has that ability—that connection with their daughter that Dani can only stand before in awe. “We’ll be right outside, okay?” Jamie says next, jerking her head toward the door, and Dani nods.

Before they can go, she moves to one of the shelves against the wall and grabs another roll of floral tape before turning back around to hand it over. “Don’t forget this,” she says and Jamie takes it with a smile, moving her arm back immediately to wrap around Jack. 

“Thanks, Mommy!” she says in her very own Mommy voice, and then blows Dani a little kiss on her way out the door.

It closes behind them and Dani stares at it for a long moment, warmth spreading throughout her chest and seeping into her veins. She can hear Jamie’s voice as she talks to Jack softly, hear the sound of her movement around the shop, and Dani lets it wash over her.

She’s not sure how she ever got so lucky, and she’s still contemplating it when she lies down on the couch and drifts into a light sleep.

__________

The afternoon sun is slanting in through the windows by the time Dani comes out from the back room, a little tired still, but certainly more refreshed. In the harsh lines of their light, little particles of dust float loftily, swirling with the drift of the air around them. Dani stands in the open doorway and brushes her hand through some of them, watching them part for her, as she listens to Jamie talking quietly on the other side of the shop.

Her back is facing Dani, and she hasn’t seen her yet, which means that Dani can simply stand there and watch her family. Jamie has the sling she’s always wearing when they’re working on, and Dani can’t see Jack but she doesn’t need to.

“I know, I know,” she hears Jamie say softly. “I miss Mommy, too, but somebody kept her up all night long, didn’t they?” She moves a little, picking up something from one of the vases in the corner. “What do you think of delphiniums, Jackie?” There’s a pause, but no noise. “Yeah, I like them, too. And the viburnums?” Another pause. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe just a little.”

She turns, then, eyes down on the flowers she’s holding and goes to the preparation table they keep by the counter. One of her hands rests on Jack through the stretchy wrap, who Dani sees that her head is back a bit, staring at the wall as it passes by. 

There’s a vase on the preparation table, one of their prettier ones with its widened base and the thin, glass leg of it holding it upright. There are already flowers inside it: roses and lavender and hydrangeas. It’s beautiful—all pink and purple and green–Dani’s favorite colors, actually, and Dani can’t help but wonder what order it’s for.

“Look at that,” Jamie says as she places the newest additions in the rest of the arrangement, moving them around to make them perfect. “Good choice...Think Mommy’ll like it?” Jack fusses a bit and Jamie stops working, taking the time to press a kiss to the baby’s head, bouncing a little bit to calm her down. “You’re right. She’ll love it.”

The flowers, Dani realizes, are for her. Jamie has been putting an arrangement together for her with their daughter while she let Dani sleep and it hits her straight in the chest, stinging a little. 

During the pregnancy, there’d been moments when Dani worried that the baby would be too much work, so much that she and Jamie wouldn’t have time together the way they had before. That they’d be so busy with her, figuring out how to love her and take care of her, that they would forget to love one another as well. But Dani knows now how silly a thought that had been. 

She and Jamie will always be them. Will always be a team and a pair no matter what life throws at them, and, if anything, having Jack has only further proven how good they are together. Now they’re the best team Dani’s ever been a part of; they are moms together. And isn’t that something?

“Of course she’ll love it,” Dani says and then Jamie is turning, is looking at her again, is smiling bright and lovely and Dani thinks oh.

There you are.

Jack fidgets a bit and Dani moves forward, reaching out to smooth a hand over the baby’s back through the wrap keeping her pressed tight to Jamie’s chest. 

“Hey,” Jamie greets softly, reaching out a hand to curl her fingers around Dani’s hip. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“I know,” Dani says. “You were a bit busy, weren’t you?”

Jamie’s cheeks turn a bit pink, so sheepish after eight years together, somehow. Like she doesn’t think she’s allowed to do nice things for Dani. Nice things like surprising her with a flower arrangement in her favorite colors. “Yeah, sorry. It’s a…” She takes a step aside so that Dani can see the flowers a bit better. “Do you like it, then?”

And standing there looking nervous and beautiful, their daughter held close to her, Dani feels so full that she could burst. Thinks she nearly does. Has to clear her throat. 

“I love it,” Dani tells her. “Love you.” She has to crane her neck a bit, but she manages to kiss Jamie around Jack’s head. “Both of you,” she adds in for emphasis, giving Jack a kiss, too. “It’s beautiful.”

The way Jamie smiles then has Dani’s veins pulsing with pure devotion, and then Jack’s head is a bit tilted and she’s almost mimicking the expression—somehow, miraculously, her other mother’s mini-me. They’re perfect. Even when Jack wakes her up at one in the morning, screaming her head off. Even when Jamie leaves empty drinking glasses all over the apartment, covering the counters and tables in the living room, and table by their bed until she runs out of room. Even when they’re both fixing her with their best you’re kidding me expression.

But especially now—standing in the late afternoon sunlight, looking at Dani like she’s their whole world in the same way they are hers.

“She looks so much like you, Jay,” Dani says softly, and it’s clear that Jamie isn’t expecting this given the way her expression changes into one of mild confusion. “Seriously.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Jamie tells her, but Dani just laughs and shakes her head.

“I don’t care,” she decides. “She is absolutely, one-hundred percent your daughter.”

Jack makes a little noise and Jamie looks down at her, hand reaching up to cup the back of her head instinctively. They stare at one another for a moment, mother and daughter, and Dani and they really do look too much alike. Dani is certain she couldn’t imagine the resemblance.

“Yeah,” Jamie whispers finally, pressing another kiss to Jack’s forehead. “She is.” She looks up and smiles. “Our daughter.”

“Our daughter,” Dani repeats, and she leans forward, pressing her forehead to Jamie’s and pressing her hand to Jack’s back, breathing in the moment for as long as she can. 

It vibrates to life in the air between them and Dani knows that things are different between them now, but they are not worse.

No, they are better. Changed. More now that Jack is with them.

The sunlight continues to press in, warming each of them as they hold onto one another, their child cradled between them, thinking about the way that they will never again be who they were before all of this.

And, dammit, if that isn’t a miracle.

..

[timeforelfnonsense]

Lost and Found

Astarion x Dafni 

Rating: T

Hurt/Comfort

TW for depression mention 

Ao3

I’ve been working on this bad boy for a month and it’s done at last!

 An important note: There is some reference to the Lolth Sworn drow in this and I feel the need to clear the air and state that I have some issues with the way WotC characterizes the drow as inherently evil. My house rules are that none of the races are inherently evil because the broad strokes in the source material as problematic af. So while the followers of Lolth might be evil I want to make it clear that doesn't equal all drow are bad. Dafni holds all varieties of elves in tender regard. As an eladrin of the fey wilds and a follower of Corellon she understands that fluid and changing nature of all living things. Life is messy and people do not fit into boxes, very few folks are all bad or all god. Not every elf worships the Seldarine and that’s ok. A fundamental part of Corellon is freedom and choice therefore it would be foolish to insist her path is the only right one. Her issue is with Lolth not the drow as a whole.

The Underdark was a horrid and forsaken place. A shudder ran down Dafni’s spine as she rubbed away the gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Lolth’s influence hung heavy in the stale air. She would have to step lightly. A cleric of Corellon would be a great prize to the followers of the Spider Queen. She missed the warm sun on her face, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet. She could feel herself wilting under the oppressive darkness that surrounded them.

Anxiety was a strange and forging feeling. The majority of her 160 years had been spent embodying the playful delight of spring. Perhaps it was on account of her relative youth. Or, maybe it was the influence of Corellon Larethian, whose wild and wonderful influence she had felt all her life. He had looked out for her. Cared for her as a father would his child. Truly, Corellon felt as much a parent to her as her mother, Thesmia did. A meek half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had given her a reason to leave home when the wanderlust became far too much for her to contain. If she was to flourish as both an elf and a divine servant, Dafni would need to truly know herself beyond being Thesmia’s shadow. Absentmindedly her fingers reached for the familiar crescent moon that hung from her neck.

Her feet skidded to a halt, her trembling hand pulled away empty. Her blood turned to ice. An agonizing dagger of guilt pierced her heart and she felt as though the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Part of her wished that it would. She had carried the holy symbol since she was a young girl. Though she knew in her soul it had been her’s even before that. It had served as her connection not just to her god, but her heritage and primal spirit- The very essence of her being. 

“I lost it.” Her voice was less than a whisper, stunned and distant. Tears began to well up in her eyes. The world around her was growing colder by the second. “My amulet is gone.” Her breath began to come out in heaves and she began to sob in earnest. “It- It must have gotten lost when the minotaur tossed me!” 

 Her sharp cry stopped her traveling companions in their tracks. Each of their faces dressed in varying degrees of confusion and concern. Gale began to speak but his words were drowned out but the low ringing in her ears. A dizzy, sickening feeling bloomed in her gut and the edges of her vision began to blur as the darkness she had so feared gripped her soul.

They had doubled back to the old Selûnite fort. The others were still there setting up a temporary camp. Shadowheart hadn’t been able to find anything physically wrong with her aside from the normal bumps and scrapes that were to be expected on an active adventurer. 

Astarion felt truly helpless for the first time since he’d escaped Cazador’s clutches. It had been an hour and Dafni had yet to wake. He clasped her hand in his. A soft blue had slowly been spreading over her sage-green skin, creeping its way from the tips of her fingers to the crown of her head. Her locks were shifting at the root from rosy pink to a frosty teal. The flowers that wove through her loose ponytail had all weathered into dust. 

He squeezed her hand, “Come on Daffodil…”

Gale had been fairly positive that this was, to some extent normal for the eladrin of the Feywilds. Something about a book he’d read by some notable wizard? Truth be told Astarion hadn’t been paying much attention. He was too busy staring down Lae’zel, who’s paranoia filled gaze had been locked on Dafni’s sleeping form from the moment they’d returned. 

He should have been annoyed at her. The loss of some silly costume jewelry had caused her to swoon like a high born lady. He knew she was made of stronger stuff than that. Her little spell had put them all behind and left them without a healer the whole trek back to the fort. Yet, try as he might Astarion couldn’t seem to conjure up the ire he held for those too weak to survive hardship on their own.

 He groaned, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a soft thunk. There it was again- That damn sentimentality! By the Hells, he was a vampire, not a nursemaid! What had gotten into him? 

“You should rest.” Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit.” 

His eyes went narrow, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The idea of leaving her while she was vulnerable made his blood boil. 

I’ll watch your back and you watch mine…

Her promise echoed through his thoughts. Dafni had held her end of the bargain with unwavering resolve. If he left now it would feel too much like betraying the one person he’d allowed even a fragment of trust in the past two centuries.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.” He muttered while he whisked away an icy tear from her cheek. “I’m just a bit... Out of sorts.” 

Wyll nodded, taking a seat on the dusty floor beside him, “Hey, she’s tough. She’ll pull through, whatever this is.” The warlock gave him an almost smug look, “You really care for her don’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.” He sneered with a wave of his hand, “Besides, my concern is simply a matter of pragmatism. Our little band of misfits can’t afford to lose our best healer-” Astarion hesitated for a moment before adding, “Don’t tell Shadowheart I said that. We need not add my body to the pile- Should things go poorly.” 

“If I promise not to sell you out will you take a break?” 

For the first time since she had fainted, he noticed the scratchy dryness in his throat. Astarion scowled, there was little in the way of appetizing food that he had seen but he would just have to make due. He was loathed to leave her side but Wyll was a good man, a better one than him in truth. He would keep her safe. 

“What’s this? The legendary Blade of the Frontiers, stooping to common blackmail.” He tried to keep his tone flat but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips, “Fine, I’ll take a break. I’m a bit parched anyway. I suppose I’ll try to track something palatable down here. Unless…”

 He arched an eyebrow towards Wyll who moved away with an overstated scoot. 

“Not a chance, now go!” 

Cold. 

A crushing, all-consuming chill wrapped its arms around her spirit. Spring had left her. Now she stood alone in the isolating melancholy of winter. She reached out for the familiar warmth of The Protector but here- In this cursed place his influence felt far and foreign. If only she had her holy amulet. It could have served as a compass leading her back to Corellon’s embrace. She would simply have to press on. She had put them behind already and there was no time for sentiment. She wouldn’t be able to cast spells until she found a replacement and the chances of a spare symbol of her god in the Underdark were laughable. Dafni tried to sniff back the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes but it was no use. They rolled down her baby blue cheeks freezing before they could fall to the ground. She glanced up at Astarion, who walked a few paces ahead. While Gale and Wyll had spent the better part of a day coddling her, he had remained distant. 

Maybe he didn’t want her like this? Her sadness threatened to consume anyone near her and he had enough grief of his own. He had admitted once that he enjoyed having her near. Whispered in her ear that she was sunlight and happiness made flesh as he took her in a flower patch of her own creation. 

The feeling of a gentle hand pulled her from her thoughts. Gale offered her a small smile before speaking, “Are you all right?” 

“Oh-” She sniffed, whipping away another frozen tear, “I’ll be alright. I just don’t feel much like myself right now.” 

Gale nodded in response, “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought you here. The Underdark does seem quite at conflict with the very core of your being.”

A mournful laugh escaped her aching chest, “I don’t think we’d have had any better luck with that shadow curse above ground. No, my sorrow isn’t a good enough reason to risk the rest of the group’s safety.” She brought an icy hand to Gale's cheek, causing him to shiver, “I appreciate your concern but really I’ll be alright. We eladrin are ruled by our emotions, a shift of season was inevitable at some point or another. It’s unfortunate for the rest of you it had to be winter. Things are dire enough without my sorrowful presence bringing you all down with me. Perhaps it would be best for all of you to keep your distance.”

 She sighed, her eyes falling on Astarion, who lingered just on the edge of the bitter cold her sadness created. While it pained her to say it, she knew he was right to keep away. The others should do the same if they were wise. Gale gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“He’s a funny one, Astarion.” Gale mused, “Wyll told me he had to resort to extortion to pry him from your side while you were out. Yet, today he acts as if you have the plague.”

A small snort of laughter broke past her tears, “Extortion?” 

“I believe comments were made comparing Shadowheart’s healing abilities to your own. Wyll offended his silence in exchange for Astarion taking a break.”

“That’s not fair to her.” Dafni sniffed, “She’s not a life cleric, she does her best.” 

“You have a good heart, Dafni.” Gale said giving her arm a squeeze, “My point is I think he cares about you, in his own odd way. At the very least he’s far more pleasant when you are around”

“You really think so?” 

“I do,” Gale assured, “he’d have to be the biggest fool in Faerûn not to see how wonderful you are.” 

Dafni felt a bit of warmth return to her heart. Not enough to thaw her sorrows but it was a start. Gale’s words helped her sort through the chaos of her mind as they had so many times before. He was a loyal and kind friend, as was Wyll. Shadowheart too despite her evasive and secretive nature. Even Lae’zel had warmed to her as best she was able despite their differences. There was a solace to be found in the support of her peers. She wasn’t so alone after all.

The sound of her laugh hit Astartion like a battering ram. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits since arriving in the Myconid Circle. She floated about the fungus folk with an easy familiarity. It seemed being among the vibrant plants and creatures of grotto had offered her some sense of normalcy. He looked over his shoulder to see what had coaxed a giggle from her (no matter how pitiful and melancholy it sounded). A sharp twinge of jealousy ran down his spine as he watched Dafni stroke Gale’s cheek with a somber smile. 

He bit the feeling back. It was better for them both if he kept his distance. Gentle kindness was hardly his strong suit. Gods, he was a disaster. How many times had she offered him comfort even when he spurned her? She had given so freely to him, her kindness, the warmth of her bed, the very blood in her veins. And there he was relying on someone else to comfort his lover.   

 Dafni was a resilient little thing. So optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. It was disorienting to see her so morose. He had learned the boundaries of her emotional aura rather quickly. He had noticed an unfamiliar warm feeling that first night at camp. He found himself lingering near her as often as he could after that. Savoring the tender happiness that radiated from off of her. She had told him it was simply part of her nature. A charming quirk he’d grown to enjoy a great deal. But now he could feel her heavy sorrow as if it were his own and he longed to make her hurt go away.  

Damn sentimentality.

He had his own worries. He didn’t need to take on hers as well. She didn’t need him to coddle her. And more importantly, he most certainly was not beholden to her contentment for his own survival despite his halfwit heart’s insistence to the contrary. She was making him soft. It was ridiculous! He was far too old to be fretting over her like a lovelorn sprat. 

It must be the tadpole. Her compassion must have wormed its way into his brain somehow. That was the only logical explanation.

He needed to clear his head and get some distance between them so he could feel more himself. He wandered aimlessly about the grotto as he attempted to show away any feelings of softhearted sympathy but it was no use. He rubbed his temples and let out a frustrated huff. He should never have taken that first taste of her. She’d become an irresistible craving from that moment on. It wasn’t just her blood, but every aspect of her that called to him. Inviting him to take refuge in her affections. He could feel himself lowering his guard a little bit more each day despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length. She’d flash him that beguiling little grin, her topaz eyes brimming over with admiration and he would find himself tempted to let her just another inch closer. He’d known she was dangerous from the moment he clapped eyes on her in the wreckage of the crash. He’d prepared himself for a stake to the heart but the infatuation she had inspired in him was infinitely more frightening and possible just as deadly.

He made his way to the alcove where the Society of Brilliance had set up shop. The strange hobgoblin had mentioned something to the party about being a collector of magical items and oddities. Walking had failed to rid him of his frustrations perhaps shopping would. 

A glimmer caught his eye as he approached the cluttered stall. There, on the table was a familiar silver amulet. He was going to get it back for her and pray the gesture was enough to curb his need to see her happy. He could swipe it easily enough but he didn’t want to draw trouble to Dafni if she was spotted wearing it. No, charm and a dash of intimidation would be his best shot.

“Excuse me,” He smiled wide allowing for a slight flash of his fangs, “I was hoping you would be willing to part with that necklace.”

“A vampire interested in the acquisition of a holy symbol?” 

“Yes, it’s very ironic.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now, how much do you want for the damn thing?”

“Well, first time for everything.” the hobgoblin shrugged, “You have a good eye, this is very unique. It’s forged from mithral and inlaId with sylvan moonstones. The holy symbol of Corellon is more commonly depicted as an eight-pointed star these days rather than the crescent moon. Meaning this item is very old indeed! It was brought in just yesterday. I would be hesitant to sell it but my research does require more funding. How does 900 gold sound?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you but ‘very old’ is a relative term when it comes to items of elvish origin.” He kept his tone flat and unimpressed, “Long-lived people do tend to hold onto things.” 

“Ah, but you’ll find this is more than your average antique! Judging by the craftsmanship I would say it dates back to the time of the primal elves.”

Shit. 

Of course, her necklace had much more than sentimental value. He had hoped for a quick haggle but it seemed he was going to have to work for it. He really didn’t have that much coin on him, nor was he inclined to spend it on something that was not rightfully the hobgoblin’s to sell. He raffled through his mind searching for a thinly veiled threat or convincing argument to lower the price until the perfect mixture of the two dawned on him.

Astarion let out a droll hum as he checked his nails with casual disinterest. He spoke in a low, blasé voice, “You said before you weren’t much for combat? Don’t you think it’s risky, carrying around a holy item of Corellon in the den of the Spider Queen? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you at the hands of a zealot. Really I’m doing you a favor by purchasing it. I’ve crossed swords with the Lolth sworn before they are merciless and skilled fighters almost as dangerous and bloodthirsty as vampires.”

He let a wicked bark of laughter. A bemused expression flickering across his face. He could smell the fear stirring in the timid merchant. It would seem he hadn’t lost his edge after all.  

Blurg swallowed hard before mustering a response, “ Ah- I hadn’t thought about that...”

Dafni sat cross-legged on the ramparts of the fort fletching a new batch of arrows. She’d need more to compensate for her lack of magic for the time being. She’d spent the whole trek back to their camp scanning the ground for her necklace but it had all been for not. She’d just have to accept the fact it was gone no matter how much it broke her heart. 

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 The sound of Astarion’s voice caused her to jump, tossing her arrow down with a start. Dafni clutched her chest shooting him a sharp look. He only laughed, his infuriating gorgeous face fixed in a grin that reminded her of a satyr who stumbled upon a river of bathing nymphs. He dipped to his knees placing a hungry kiss on her scowling lips. He couldn’t be serious. All-day she had been desperate for his attention and he was completely uninterested but now that he had an itch to scratch he was searching up and down for her. Unbelievable! She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d ever promised her his undying love and devotion. Still, she had thought him tactful enough not to proposition her after the hell she’d been through that day. 

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” She scolded, “You’ll just have to entertain yourself tonight, you egotistical lecher!”

“That- Isn’t why I sought you out. But, if you truly don’t want my company I’ll leave you be.” He shrugged his tone flippant despite the flash of vulnerability in his ruby eyes.

“I- I’m sorry that was really mean and uncalled for. Please stay.”

Stupid impulsive girl.

She slumped forwards, hiding her face in her knees. She could feel the icy tears threatening to spill over for the hundredth time that day. He’d come to check on her and she’d cut him down because of her own insecurity. The bitterness had gotten the better of her and she had unwittingly discouraged his attempt at compassion. 

“If you think the accusation of being a rake is the most heinous insult that’s been hurled at me I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark by quite a lot.” 

He sat down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on her back. She could sense his uncertainty. He was nervous and clearly out of his depth but he was trying. His cautious fingertips moved slowly across the expanse of her back, tracing nebulas shapes and patterns as she drew short, shallow breaths. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She just knew he was staring at her with the same wide, gentle eyes he had when she’d offered her neck to him that night in the woods. If she saw him like that the dam would break and she’d be an utter mess. 

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” Her voice came out shaky and quiet as she peeked over the top of her knees at him. 

“I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I have something for you. Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

She arched a questioning brow but compiled, hopping to her feet. He pushed her ponytail to one side. His touch lingered on her jumping pulse causing a shiver to run down her spine. A warm chuckle falling from his lips in response. The cool feeling of metal draped across her throat, an otherworldly comfort hummed all around her as the delicate weight of a pendant fell against her chest. 

“Where did you find it!!” Dafni gasped, “I thought I had lost it forever! You can’t fathom how much this means to me.”

“It’s a gift, to repay you for all the ones you’ve given me.”  

It probably seemed a small thing to him but he’d returned a missing piece of herself. Words felt woefully inadequate to express her gratitude. She threw her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a bit. She hardly noticed. She stood on her tiptoes placing gentle kisses all over him. First over the bridge of his nose and then his cheeks and down his neck. Her fingers laced through his soft curls tugging him close, her lips brushed against his. Astarion’s hands fell to her soft waist, his mouth ever so slightly parting for hers. Dafni sighed, running her tongue along the warm seam of his lip earning her a satisfied purr. His hand ventured to the small of her back gently coaxing her closer. She took in a deep breath, the dizzying blend of leather and patchouli making her weak at the knee. She could have stayed like that forever, pressed safe and content against his solid chest. The feeling was big and terrifying but magical and perfect all at once. 

Drat...

She was falling in love with him.

[hazelandglasz]

Hi dear, how are you? May I prompt a silly thing? I saw Magnum's commercial, so: Kurt and Blaine first met at the beautiful wedding of a couple of girl friends of theirs (idk why, but they never actually got to be introduced to each other before... and maybe they're the bridesmen? eh, what a coincidence!). Of course, each of them catches a bouquet... *wink wink*

Oooh

Link to the Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJXuDkmoFfc

I know it may sound tone-deaf to post a cutesy fic right now, but I feel like we need the levity and relief of just a moment spent in a different universe

I hope you’ll enjoy this little one :)

On AO3

Kurt is just so happy for Santana.

For all her brashness and hard exterior, he can’t think of anyone else who deserves a happy romance, and Dani certainly brings it for her.

They both complement each other so well, it’s uncanny.

And Dani fits so well into the group of misfits who travelled from Ohio to settle in New York, some days, Kurt feels like she was always meant to be with them.

As such, he thought he had met all of her friends, including the potential bridesmaids, bridesmen, and honorary person.

(His money was on Graced Lightning, if someone cares for his opinion.)

Though there is a name that has been repeated enough without Kurt being able to associate a face with the name.

But who is this Blaine? Where is she?

That is, until the rehearsal dinner.

Kurt is minding his own business, going down the stairs while arranging his cufflinks, when he spots someone standing in front of the mirror, fixing their outfit.

“Excuse me,” he calls. “Are you here for the Lopez-Ochoa dinner?”

The person turns on their heels and Kurt has to remember that he is an adult man now, not a teenager who can (and would) giggle when faced with a gorgeous man.

Because this, Sir, is a gorgeous specimen of a man, and what he was arranging in the mirror must have been his bowtie.

A bowtie which manages to both be elegant and pay homage to Dani’s profession, Kurt has to give the man kudos on this particular fashion jujitsu.

“I am indeed. I am Blaine.”

Ah. So Blaine is a he.

“The infamous Blaine,” Kurt says as he shakes Blaine’s hand (manicured, clean, soft. Kurt likey.). “I have heard so much about you, but I didn’t know…”

“That I was a man. Dani loves spreading confusion about me.” Blaine smiles fondly, much like Kurt does when he is faced with Santana’s idiosyncrasies. “And you must be Kurt.”

“Indeed,” Kurt replies, preening under Blaine’s gaze. “And whatever you heard about me is probably true to an extent.”

“To an extent?”

“Santana can exaggerate, and Dani tends to calm her, so. Overall, ya know.”

Blaine’s smile deepens, making his eyes crinkle. 

It’s a testimony to how far gone Kurt is that he finds it adorable already.

They start walking around the corridors, and Kurt knows that it’s actually the longer way to the venue, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s walking side by side with a gorgeous man who has been giving him the Look™, and he will appreciate it for as long as he can.

“It’s a bit odd, isn’t it,” he starts, following his inner monologue.

“What is?”

“That we’re the best men in a lesbian wedding and we’ve never met each other.”

Blaine nods. “It is odd,” he replies, hands in his pockets. He truly exudes some old Hollywood vibes—really attractive and really inspiring—which Kurt really wants to appreciate in detail.

(Before messing it all up as he would ravish Blaine, but that’s for him and his mind to know.)

“In the past year, I have travelled a lot, I guess,” Blaine continues. “I kept in touch with Dani whenever I had a moment, though, and she let me crash at her place when I was back in town. But now I’m here to stay,” he adds, giving Kurt a sideway glance, “and I will not live with them as a married couple.”

“Wise. Trust me,” Kurt laughs, “you wouldn’t have handled living with them as an engaged couple.”

“Oh?”

“I know I didn’t handle it the most… gracefully, shall I say.”

“No, you did not,” Santana interrupts them, looking smoking hot, if Kurt may say so, in her three-piece suit. “But I forgive you.”

“How generous,” Kurt says in a deadpan, before pulling her into a hug. “You look amazing, ‘Tana.”

“I know,” she replies, brushing invisible lint from her lapel. She blushes as she does so, though, softening her statement. “Thank you. And you must be Dani’s Blaine.”

“You must be the love of my girl’s life,” Blaine replies, opening his arms and waiting for Santana to hug him.

She mutters something Kurt can’t decipher, but she still goes in for the hug. “She didn’t tell me her best friend was also her dad, though.”

“An old man in a young man’s body,” Blaine chirps back, making her laugh and making Kurt look down at the aforementioned body.

His glance doesn’t escape Santana’s attention, and he glares at her smirk.

“Now, come on, let’s get this rehearsal dinner over with,” she says, linking her arms with theirs to pull them along. “Dani’s nana is already hitting on the bar staff.”

“Leave her to me,” Blaine replies, patting Santana’s hand. “I’ll take care of her.”

“As in?”

“I’ll let her hit on me for the rest of the evening.”

“Cocky.”

“Knowledgeable. Nana Francesca loves to pinch my cheeks.”

“Which cheeks?”

“Yes.”

Kurt can’t help the roar of laughter that comes out at that cheeky reply. He doesn’t even notice when Santana leaves them alone to join her fiancée.

Where has Blaine been all this time?

Why didn’t Santana play matchmaker before?

Kurt mentally shrugs it off. What matters is that they do meet, doesn’t it?

“You’re…,” Blaine starts, beaming at Kurt before hesitating. “Um.”

“If it’s a compliment, go ahead.”

“You’re really beautiful when you smile like that.”

Kurt instantly runs his fingers through his hair to keep them from coming in front of his face. “Oh. Um, thanks. I usually… don’t.”

Blaine nods, like he understands what Kurt means by that, and maybe he does.

In which case, they have even more in common and why on Earth did Santana keep Kurt from his soulmate?!

“Come on, let’s take advantage of the bar,” Blaine offers, gesturing toward the already crowded section of the venue.

“Not planning on getting drunk tomorrow?”

“I’m a best man of honor,” Blaine replies, holding one hand to his heart. “I need to be at the ready to fulfill such a position.”

Kurt mentally goes through all the positions he would like Blaine to fulfill while, well, “at the ready,” but he quickly closes that file.

For now.

“And knowing Dani and her family,” Blaine continues, seemingly unaware of the depravation going through Kurt’s mind, “all she will need from me tomorrow will be to keep her mom and her nana away from the waiters. And the bar.”

“Which is a job that requires a full vigilance,” Kurt comments, observing the way the Ochoa women seem to be able to drink everybody under the table.

“Indeed.”

“As Santana’s best man of honor,” Kurt muses, “I guess my job will be to make sure she’s staying hydrated and she doesn’t get her hands on a microphone.”

Blaine looks doubtful. “You know they have a first duet planned, right?”

“What?”

“They rehearsed a song to sing as a married couple’s first duet, to surprise everybody who would expect a married couple’s first dance.”

“Oh Lord.”

“But Santana wouldn’t…”

“Oh she would.”

Blaine winces and Kurt nods. “You haven’t been around her much, have you?”

“Just every now and then, and she’s been perfectly nice.”

Kurt can’t help his snort. “Santana Lopez, nice?”

“In a rather delightfully brash way, yes.”

Kurt snatches two glasses of champagne and hands one to Blaine. “If you find Santana delightful, you’re definitely the man for the job.”

Blaine holds up his glass and clinks it with Kurt’s, a glint in his eyes. “Here’s to being the right men for the job.”

“Here, here.”

---

The rest of the rehearsal dinner is, Kurt must admit, quite a blur.

After a while, the waiter just leaves the tray of champagne glasses at the table Kurt and Blaine chose as their own, and they keep on talking all night long—they briefly pause when Santana’s grandmother and Dani’s father make their speeches, but otherwise, they only go their separate ways because both brides pulled them apart to go to sleep in the early morning.

Kurt can’t believe it took him this long to meet a man like Blaine. So perfect in his imperfections, so in tune with Kurt’s unspoken feelings and thoughts, so funny in a subtly dry way.

So handsome, too, especially at the end of the night when he untied his bowtie and left it hanging around his neck, two top buttons opened…

“Kurt, stop daydreaming about your man and come help me get in this dress!”

Santana’s call effectively wakes Kurt up from his fantasizing and he gulps down his mug of coffee.

“Don’t worry, ‘Tana,” he says, pulling down on the laced top of the dress to keep it in place in the back with tape, “nothing is going to go wrong.”

Santana takes a deep breath and looks at him in their reflection. “I know,” she replies softly. “Nothing can go wrong since I’m marrying my soulmate.”

The certainty in her voice makes something in Kurt’s chest tighten, but he brushes it aside.

Today is not the day to let self-pity take over. 

Besides, who knows; today may end with a slow dance in the arms of a perfect man…

“Ready?”

“Ready. Let’s make an honest woman out of me.”

“Ha, as if!”

---

Kurt has not been to a lot of weddings, and he may be biased, but he has never seen a more beautiful couple of brides.

And Blaine looks even more scrumptious today that he did the day before, in his pink suit.

Dani really did a good job of finding a color to compliment Santana’s simple cream choice.

The pink and cream colors are everywhere in the reception, with some darker highlights to remind everybody that those brides are first and foremost badasses, including in the married couple’s bouquets.

Once Santana and Dani charm everybody with their “first duet”—an acoustic version of “Here Comes The Sun” with Dani playing the ukulele—Kurt can finally breathe and enjoy the wedding.

Namely, he can spend all of his time with Blaine.

Or watching Blaine smoothly taking the bottle of tequila from Mrs. Ochoa Senior’s hands and replacing it with tall glasses of cocktails that are more fruits than alcohol, without a word of complaint.

Kurt also enjoys the sight of Blaine’s blush when the same woman manages to spank him lightly as he passes by with a plate of mini cakes.

On his way to Kurt, oh my.

“Hey.”

“Finally taking a break from your bridesman’s duties?”

“Yep,” Blaine says, popping the last sound as he drops his whole body into the chair next to Kurt. As he puts the plate of pastries between them, the back of his hand brushes against Kurt’s wrist, and all at once, Kurt understands the woes of all the Victorian heroines. “In about, oh, ten minutes, they’ll throw the bouquets, leave, and I will have performed my duties as best I could.”

Kurt blames the numerous glasses of Moscato wine he kept on taking away from Santana and drank on the multiple things he would like Blaine to perform, hopefully on him, preferably on a comfortable surface, but he’s not picky.

“Ah yes, the bouquets,” he says instead, picking up a strawberry tartlet. “AKA the Hunger Games of bachelorettes?”

“Yep. Except Santana and Dani want us in the crowd.”

“No.”

Blaine snickers, looking down at his shoes before looking back at Kurt, his smile boyish and Kurt could kiss it off his face. “Something about gender stereotypes being fought on the battleground or something.”

“Eurgh.”

“Hey, it was yours, not mine.”

“They’re ours, now.”

The words come out of Kurt’s mouth before he can stop himself, and he can feel a panic rising in his chest.

Blaine’s smile softens as he cocks his head to the side. “I like the sound of that,” he says, voice barely above a murmur.

And yet, above all the mayhem and the music and the shouts, Kurt only hears him.

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s stand with all these young people,” Blaine says, standing and offering his hand. “And then, hopefully, you’ll allow me to have a dance.”

“And then?”

“And then we will see.”

Kurt takes Blaine’s hand. “That’s a program I can get on board with.”

There is quite a crowd assembled at the bottom of the stairs of the venue, where Santana and Dani stand, already changed in their traveling outfits, but still holding their bouquets. Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand before going to Dani’s side of the crowd.

“Ready?” Santana calls, peals of laughter and wolf-whistles answering her. “Alright!”

They both turn and in the same move, throw their bouquets towards the crowd.

Kurt sees it happening in slow motion, lifting his arms to protect his face from the hands and elbows going in his direction.

And yet, his fingers close reflexively around the thing that lands in them.

“Oh,” he says when he opens his eyes and sees the bouquet in his hand, Mercedes clapping her hands and Santana shouting like he just scored a goal.

Over the heads and the crowd, Kurt immediately looks for Blaine.

And finds him with a matching bouquet in his hand, looking as dazzled as Kurt feels.

“Oh,” he repeats.

When Santana passes him by, she pulls him in a hug. “Go get him, Tiger,” she whispers before kissing his cheek. “We can wait for you to get together before we start having babies so they can grow up together.”

“Cart and horses, Santana,” he replies, shaking his head as he kisses her and sends her on her honeymoon way.

Kurt shakes his head, but his imagination is already considering the color scheme that would best suit both Blaine and himself.

“May I have this dance?”

Blaine’s voice cuts through Kurt’s planning, and here he is, holding up one hand with one cream rose tucked behind his ear.

Kurt beams at him, before pulling a pink rose to mirror Blaine’s new attire. He hands over the bouquet to Santana’s little niece who apparently won Dani’s bouquet from Blaine already and who shrieks in delight when she gets his.

“Yes,” he replies, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s neck. “Yes, you may.”

Blaine puts his hands on Kurt’s back, and they stay slow-dancing there, on the grass in front of the venue where the party kicks back to life.

Not a bad way to end a stressful month, as far as Kurt is concerned.

And turquoise and purple would make for a wonderful wedding theme, wouldn’t it?

(It would, but Kurt won’t know for sure for another couple of years.)

_______________________________________________________________

(Should I add a small NSFW chapter?)

[qoreprojects]

The Party Whip, or Lilith in the 11th House

Not long ago, I paid a visit to my 11th house to speak with Lilith. She lives there, along with my South Node - a tiny golden compass that points toward the past. It was the past that I wanted. Lilith had lived in this house alongside it for so long that I believed she’d be able to help me understand what it meant. 

“You thought that I would be angrier?” she laughed sharply. 

Lilith was perched on a window seat, half her face bathed in the single stream of light in an otherwise shadow-filled room. She wore a simple red shift dress. Her hair was loc’d and tumbled towards her leather-belted waist on one side of her head, exposing a shaved opposite side to the dappled sun. She held an orange and a pocket knife in her hands. 

I nodded slightly. Every movement in this room could be felt in ways that did not exist in the material realm. Palpable waves rippled away from the tiniest gestures. Shadows danced in the corners. The air was possessed, and every shift had meaning.   

“That’s funny,” she said, flicking a peel onto the floor, “I don’t know why people only recognize Lady Regret when I am in my war clothes.” She used her own title with a touch of irony. 

Several crows called to one another outside, and a light breeze stirred the distant treetops. This movement agitated the shadows in the room. All was as it should be - in flux. 

“You are here because you want to know about your greatest regret,” Lilith stated presently. 

“I suppose so, yes,” my breath rippled away from me in the cool, dark air. “At this point, I’ve run out of reasons not to know.” 

Lilith smiled a lop-sided smile and continued peeling, one foot on the sill and one on the floor. “Are you familiar with the term ‘true believer’?”

“Yes,” I said quietly, knowing where this was going. I could feel the conversation as a tangible thing, like a strong westerly wind. The shadows and the dust particles organized themselves accordingly. Lilith tilted her face to look me directly in the eye. “What about the term ‘party whip’?”

The wind of conversation changed directions, and the shift was slight but sudden. I marveled at the subtle switch, and a sense of dread overcame me. The life inside the room absorbed my response as an addition to its moving chorus of shadows. 

She paused to eat one section of orange, and then began peeling again. “The party whip is a different thing, isn’t it? Let’s examine the two…”

The True Believer and the Party Whip

The life of a True Believer can easily be confused with personal sacrifice on behalf of others. This is because, from the outside, it looks as if the True Believer is willing to give up a great deal for their party. They may give up relationships, time, effort, money, or freedom to make certain lifestyle choices. Observers who consider the party a worthy cause call the True Believer “self-sacrificing” and “a saint”; people who dislike the cause say the True Believer is silly and “voting against their own interests”.

In truth, the True Believer sacrifices little for the party because the party’s goals and the True Believer’s goals are almost exactly the same. If a True Believer does sacrifice anything for the party, it is minor and without much pain or hesitation. There is no real conflict between their motivations and that of the party. The True Believer may recognize some problems or contradictions within the party, or they may lack the critical perspective to do so. In either case, the flaws of the party and the flaws of the True Believer are largely the same. There can be a kind of innocence in that.   

A Party Whip is not the same thing as a True Believer. (A Party Whip can also be a True Believer - but for the purposes of this conversation we will consider them separately.) Unlike the True Believer, the Party Whip does not necessarily align with everything the party says and does on a personal level. They may notice glaring flaws and issues within the party. They may believe that the party’s words and deeds do not match. They may long for previous versions of the party, or hope for future ones, while considering the present party to be a mere shadow of itself. They may think of the party’s goals as good general rules that will benefit the world, but that should not be applied in every situation without nuance. 

The only things necessary for the role of a successful Party Whip are a sincere belief that the party is the best way to get things done - to have a hand in the creation of the world, to make things happen - and that the ends of this goal justify the means. For the sake of those two beliefs, the Party Whip can modify their own behavior and offer themselves up to be ‘borrowed’ by the party, in the hope that they can ‘borrow’ the party’s collective power for themselves at a later date. 

Say, the leaders and vanguards of the party have decided that its collective goals will be best served by oranges. Under no circumstances can there be apples. Other fruits are fine, though less than ideal - but absolutely no apples. The Party Whip shows up to work and receives the party line: everyone in the party is to vote for oranges, and it is the Whip’s job to ensure this outcome.

The intelligent Whip has their finger on the collective pulse and can understand exactly why the party agenda is supported by oranges. They also know that competing parties are out there voting for other fruits - sometimes even apples. This is unacceptable. The party must win, which means that oranges must win and apples must lose.  

The skilled Party Whip may not personally enjoy the taste or texture of oranges. They may even feel sympathetic to apples. However, the Whip is quite accustomed to viewing their own tastes and desires as a secondary concern to more important matters: the party line. They know how to either conceal or surgically remove the parts of themselves that are not convenient to the party and its goals - unlike the True Believer, who has never had to change very much about themselves in exchange for membership.

Therefore the Party Whip is assigned a role: to go out among members of the party, keep track of everyone who might vote for another fruit, and get them to vote for oranges instead. To accomplish this, the Party Whip is going to use whatever tools they already use to keep themselves in line with the party’s interests. 

These tools vary, and may include: 

Shame and guilt

Reasoned arguments

Coercion

Information

Misinformation

Bribery

Cost-benefit analysis

Promises of future reward for current sacrifice

Appeals to duty, loyalty and obligation

Not all of these methods are equally ethical. A Party Whip is only able to be as ethical when whipping the rest of the party to consensus as they are when whipping themselves in private. 

Lady Regret in the 11th House

Your biggest regret is being a very skilled Party Whip. 

You were good at living your life according to the party line. This earned you such compliments as ‘inspiration’ and ‘example’, which made you feel safe and valued. You were gifted at being able to distance yourself from your own instincts so thoroughly that parties rewarded you with protection and support in exchange for your skill at keeping their dissenting or individualistic members in line. This was not questionable for you - you participated in this exchange because you believed it was good and righteous, and that the party’s ends justified the means.

You privately exulted in your own savvy. You believed your differences from the True Believer - your ability to perceive the group’s flaws and issues with a bit more perspective - made you more ethical. In reality, it made you more culpable. Your clarity was a gift meant to inspire you to take risks and speak up, valuing the truth over any attachment to the party’s reaction.

You did not speak up. 

You chose to improve the party by sacrificing your unique perspective in exchange for access to the collective’s power; you were shocked when improvement never came. When push came to shove and the party’s power was threatened, for one reason or another, they abandoned you. Perhaps the abandonment was purposeful. Perhaps they simply no longer had enough clout to protect you. In any case, the party name was no longer able to get you into the rooms you wanted to enter. Your persuasiveness on others’ behalf was no longer in demand. The recognition in strangers’ eyes when you flaunted your membership card dwindled. Circumstances may have even become so drastic that mentioning the party put you in danger rather than keeping you safe.    

A lone, displaced ruler must rely on personal power and instinct. They cannot rely on an ever-present council or party membership to get things done. You were suddenly alone - the sole authority of your life. You were not prepared for this. The years, or even lifetimes, you spent living outside of your own will have taken a toll. You don’t even know how to have a thought or emotion without examining it for its usefulness to some group, even when there is none present. You walk around barefoot and in rags with panic behind your eyes. You roam the streets waving a saw and rasping through dry lips, “I will saw off anything for friends in high places! Fingers, feet! I will cut off anything for friends in high places! Eyes, face! I have experience, will work for connections!”

Most people are horrified and cross the street when they see this display. Some see you as a temporary tool and take advantage of you until you have nothing left to give. Some people see your true heart better than you do and try to connect with it, but by this time you are jaded and assume that all anyone could want from you is your skill as Party Whip. They try to love you, but you are too preoccupied with trying to dutifully serve their interests in exchange for power and validation.

Dreams shrivel and die like old fruit under these conditions - again, again, and again. This is the loop, the hoop that must be mended. 

Resolution

Lilith rose from the windowsill. Her full height compelled the room’s darkness to rearrange itself. Dead orange peels lie on the floor at her feet, glowing in the patch of sunlight that streamed through the window. 

“Who are you when you are alone?”

I sat down on the dusty floorboards and stared into the shadows. 

“What are you capable of creating - or destroying - when you only do so from your heart?”

The shadows gave me nothing but constant shifting in return. 

“As long as you sacrifice your dreams for others’ out of fear that you cannot accomplish them alone, your efforts will go to waste. Parties are not forever; empires fall and agendas shift like the wind. Learn to build true alliances based on raw love - which can only happen when you are clear and unashamed of your own desire.”

I looked up just in time to see her toss me the last slice of orange. My hand shot up to catch it, and I carefully considered its juicy ripeness against my fingers. 

It felt delicious.