#raised as a brother but not really allowed to be recognized as such

[waitineedaname]

my thoughts about the yunmeng bros is that they are absolutely brothers and think of each other as family, but they would have to be under threat of death to refer to each other as brother because there is way too much baggage going on there

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[vanteguccir]

Y/N was in her shared bedroom with Chris, lying on the bed above her favorite duvet while answering some emails from her work on her pink macbook. Her body was already showered and covered in her boyfriend's blue pajamas, comfortable enough to sleep as soon as possible.

At one point, her ears were filled with the sound of voices and loud laughter, which the girl was unable to recognize. Y/N lifted her head, frowning as she focused on the outside, trying to distinguish them.

When she was unsuccessful, she slowly got out of bed, leaving her macbook and phone on her pillow. Her hands turned the handle, pulling the door open and moving her body through the frame.

The girl climbed the stairs in slow, mute steps due to the socks that covered her feet, only tilting her head up when she reached the last one.

Y/N's eyes widened when she saw a group of nine people in her living room spread out across the sofa, puffs, and floor. The conversation flowed normally between them, some comfortably using their phones while nodding their heads to something others said.

Her eyes quickly met Larray's, who was facing the top of the stairs that led to her and Chris room. The boy's face automatically lit up when he realized it was her, a smile expanding across his cheeks.

An excited scream escaped his throat as he stood up from his seat in a puff, running towards Y/N.

That caught the attention of everyone, who raised their eyes and focused on Larray's figure and, consequently, on Y/N as well.

"Hey girl! I missed you so much today." Larray spoke excitedly, pulling the girl into his arms, hugging her tightly.

A laugh escaped Y/N's lips, who wrapped her own arms around Larray's waist, returning the gesture.

"Baby!" The sound of Chris's voice echoed through the four walls.

Y/N slowly moved away from Larray, dodging his body and walking towards her boyfriend, who was almost jumping in place in excitement at seeing her still awake.

A shy smile took over her features as she received so many looks at the same time, focusing her orbs on Chris.

Chris frowned when noticing her tired eyes and slumped shoulders.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl. Did we wake you? I didn't realize we were being so loud-"

"No, baby! No, I was answering some emails before going to sleep." The girl responded in a low tone, shaking her head and allowing Chris's arms to pull her into a tight hug, his lips sealing her forehead lightly, keeping his arms around her.

"Y/N, this is Tara, Jake, Johnnie, Sam, and Colby. Guys, this is Y/N, our confidant, best friend, and Chris's girlfriend." Nick quickly made introductions while still seating, momentarily pointing to each person as he said their names.

Y/N smiled, feeling her cheeks burn in shyness. She raised her right hand, waving briefly at the people there, a small "Hi" escaping her lips.

"Hi, girly! Oh my God, I saw you in several of the triplets' videos, and I was dying to meet you!" Tara quickly broke the ice, standing up from her seat and walking over to Y/N, bringing her in for a quick hug before pulling her to sit next to herself, ready to start gossiping.

The girl glanced at her boy, who was already looking at her with eyes full of love and joy at seeing his girlfriend socializing with his new friends, and people he knew would become important to him and his brothers.

It was just as important for him to have her approval than anyone else's.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Just a really little blurb, I stopped for lunch and could finally see the triplets' new posts with the others, and I needed to write something!!

I did it in 20 minutes, so I'm sorry if it sucks 😚😚🩷🩷

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

A Christmas Gift | G.W.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

feat. George Weasley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to pick out a Christmas gift for your ailing little brother, who adored the shop (and the twins) before he became too ill to go. You find a gift and so much more than you ever dreamed of.

CW: this is really emotional, i’m sorry, but i pinky promise that it has a happyish ending. fred is dead, grief, hurt/comfort, hospital visits, sick sibling/children, some swearing, but also some fun and lightheartedness, plenty of christmasy fluff, first kisses

AN: last Christmas fic of the season!

The early morning snow buffeted at your back as you stepped into Weasely Wizard Wheezes. The store had just opened, you saw someone turn the sign as you finished your breakfast at the Three Broomsticks, but you wanted to beat the holiday rush so you could really take your time.

The smell of cinnamon and woodsmoke, plastic toys and what could only be described as joy, welcomed you inside. An enormous Christmas tree hung upside down from the ceiling, decorated in orange, purple, and gold, with handmade ornaments over every branch and popcorn strings strewn around it. Every shelf was stocked and festively decorated, and soft Christmas music played from the speakers.

You stopped in the doorway, tears welling in your eyes. Your brother would love this. You had hoped that he’d be having a good day today, that maybe, by some miracle, he’d be well enough to come with you. But he’d spiked a fever late last night, and was going in for some imaging today to ensure he hadn’t caught pneumonia…again.

“Morning,” a voice called to you, and you looked up, hastily wiping tears on your sleeve. George Weasley, a man you’d never met but would recognize anywhere, was halfway down the spiral staircase, a cup of coffee in hand. He was dressed in the iconic pinstripe suit, his copper hair a little longer than the last time you’d seen him two years prior, not that he’d remember.

The only reason you remembered was because of your brothers obsession with the Weasley twins. He’d asked to have his hair cut and dyed orange that same afternoon.

More tears welled up, and you cursed yourself, turning away to hide your face. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled, trying to take a deep breath. “I promise I’m not insane.”

You heard him move the rest of the way down the stairs, then approach you, his tall frame taking him across the store in a few strides. He had a bright purple handkerchief in his hand, the triple W embroidered on the corner.

“That’s okay, we like a little insanity around here. What’s your name?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Y/n.” You accepted the handkerchief with a watery smile and dabbed your eyes.

“George. Are you alright, y/n?” he asked.

You sighed, twisting the fabric in your hands. “The holiday’s are just hard.”

He nodded, his jaw flexing, eyes averting from your face to the floor. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment before. You noticed then the dark circles under his eyes, the air of heaviness around his shoulders. “Can I help you find something?” he asked, pivoting quickly.

“Yes, actually. I’m, uh, looking for a gift for my little brother. But he—it has to be something he can play with in bed. Nothing too loud or messy.” Your heart ached as you said it, knowing he would actually love something loud, messy, destructive, as little boys do, but such things weren’t allowed at St. Mungo’s.

George raised an eyebrow. “Strict parents?”

You shook your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “He’s in hospital,” you murmured, hating saying the words aloud.

George’s face fell. “Oh—Merlin, I’m really sorry.”

A flicker of understanding passed between you, your broken hearts beating at the same rhythm for a moment. You knew about the death of his twin, Fred, everyone did, and now he knew your pain as well. That knowledge weaved an invisible string of connection between you, forged in empathy.

“We can absolutely find something for him,” George said, his voice painfully sincere. He offered you his arm and you accepted, needing a bit of steadiness. “What kind of things does he like?”

You started to walk through the store, looking around the towering shelves, at a bit of a loss. “Well, he loves Whizz-bangs, and your Pyrotechtrix.”

George smiled, chuckling to himself. “Fun, but not exactly suitable for a hospital.”

“Exactly. But honestly, anything you recommended, he’d absolutely adore, so long as I told him you recommended it.”

“Oh yeah?” George raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you.

Saints, he’s handsome.

“Yeah, he’s a big fan. He used to beg us to stop in every time we came to Diagon Alley so he could watch your demonstrations.”

George’s smile widened, a flush creeping up his neck. “Well, ah, that’s really—” he scratched the back of his head, clearly flustered by the revelation. “That’s very kind,” he managed with a breathy chuckle.

The door jingled as another customer came in and you tensed, George’s eye flicking towards the new customer, then back down to you.

You moved to slip your arm from his. “I can look around, you go ahead—”

“Oi, Ron!” George shouted, a hand cupped around his mouth, his arm tightening around yours so you stayed put.

“What? I’m sorting inventory!” Ron Weasley shouted back, appearing from the back of the store with arms full of boxes. His eyes quickly scanned over you, your joined arms, then back to George, who was nodding his head towards the door. “Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” Ron turned greeted the customer, dropping the boxes where he stood.

You chuckled, leaning a bit closer to George, grateful that he didn’t abandon you.

“You’re my first priority today,” he murmured to you, close enough that you could smell his amber cologne, and you felt your anxiety unspool for the first time in weeks. For this one thing, this small, Christmas gift hunt, you weren’t alone.

You spent the rest of the morning with George, wandering through aisle after aisle as he talked you through every product you showed an interest in. At first, he seemed reluctant to talk about products with stories tied to Fred, like prodding a sore wound, but eventually he was telling story after story, grinning and laughing at the memories of their countless antics.

He encouraged you to share about your brother as well, and by the end, you were both in stitches from laughing, cheeks sore and eyes watery with tears. It warmed your heart to see him light up at the his brother’s memory, to see the love between them still very much burning, and soothed a bit of your fear.

No matter what happened, the love and the memories would remain.

You finally settled on an Aviatomobile and a few muggle magic tricks, nothing explosive, sticky, or illness-causing. George carried the items to the counter, setting them gently on surface, but hesitated when he reached for the register.

He turned, grabbing a gift box from beneath the counter. Carefully, he wrapped each item in branded tissue paper and nestled them into the box, then rearranged them once, then twice, before finally placing the lid and tying an orange bow around it. Then, he grabbed one of the paper ornaments from the counter, where kids could write little messages or drawings to hang on the gravity-defying Christmas tree, and scribbled something on it before securing it to the bow.

“There we go,” he said, pushing it towards you with a sheepish smile.

You reached for you wallet. “How much do I—”

He shook his head, waving you off. “It’s on me. Least I can do for an avid supporter.”

Tears burned behind your eyes again, caught off guard by his generosity. “George, I can’t—”

“Please, just—let me do this for your brother.” George’s eyes held yours, soft around the corners. “It’s what Fred would do.”

You nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat.

“Would you want to, uh, maybe get a drink later? Or coffee?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck, freckled cheeks flushing pink.

You smiled, your heart flipping in your chest. “I’d love to. We could get ice cream at Fortescue's?” You offered.

He smiled back. “Perfect. 7 o’clock?”

“Perfect,” you repeated, fighting a nervous giggle. “I’ll see you later, then.” You hefted the box in your arms and waved goodbye, hurrying out before you said anything embarrassing, or melted into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Halfway down the street, you finally glanced at the paper ornament George attached to the gift.

Sorry, mate. No explosive’s. Sister’s orders. But I’ve got a stash in the back waiting for you when you’re ready. Merry Christmas. - GW

You were fizzing with excitement as you approached the ice cream shop, a soft flurry of snowflakes dancing int the twinkle lights strew across Diagon Alley. Vendors were at every corner, selling steaming beverages, candied nuts, and fried dough. Shoppers wandered from glowing door to glowing door, bundled in thick coats and arms laden with bags. A choir sang Christmas carols on the steps of Gringotts, toads wearing Santa hats cradled in their arms, and you paused to listen while they sang “Carol of the Bells”, trying to collect your scattered mind.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about George for a moment, so wound up that you started getting ready three hours early for a simple ice cream date. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so giddy, so hopeful.

“I like this song,” a familiar voice murmured in your ear and you looked up, finding George standing beside you watching the carolers, the lights reflecting in his brown eyes. He was dressed in a brown wool coat with a Gryffindor scarf around his neck, a white, cable knit sweater and jeans underneath, patches on the knees.

“Me too,” you replied, biting your lips to stop the grin threatening to rise. “How was your day?”

“Chaos. I left Ron to deal with the stragglers. We were supposed to close around six…” he trailed off, his eyes catching on a group of wizards. You followed his eye, and were appalled to find them muttering and pointing at him. And when you looked around, you noticed several groups were doing the same.

Instinctively, you moved closer to him, as if you could shield him somehow.

His fingers twined with yours, warm and calloused. “It’s alright,” he said, turning you to face him. “M’used to it.”

“It’s not alright,” you said, raising your voice and directing a pointed glare at the noisy folks. “It’s rude!”

He chuckled, tugging you away from the carolers. “Easy, love. It doesn’t bother me much anymore. Don’t give them any of your attention.”

You sighed, falling into step beside him, hands still clasped together. “I’m sorry they treat you like that,” you said, glaring daggers at anyone that even glanced in his direction while you walked towards Fortescue's.

“It was worse when we first reopened the shop.” His thumb swiped back and forth across yours, soothing the irritation itching under your skin. “They would come in just to get a look at me. Like my grief was some kind of spectator sport.”

“I can’t imagine having that kind of loss broadcast to the entire world,” you said, glancing at a newspaper stand plastered in the Daily Prophet.

“It’s inhumane,” he replied, stopping in front of the ice cream shop. “But, I’m grateful for it too.”

You raised an eyebrow, facing him in the warm glow of the window.

“Everyone knows how amazing he was,” he murmured, his voice thickening with emotion. He looked down at your joined hands, playing with your fingers. “He’s a hero.”

You squeezed his hand, prompting him to look up at you. “So are you, George," you said, inflecting as much sincerity as you could into your voice. "Y’know, I was there that day, when you and Fred left Hogwarts?”

His eyes widened. “You were?”

You nodded. “I was two years under you, we wouldn’t have crossed paths,” you said, trying to assuage the needless guilt that crossed his face. “But I’ll never forget that moment, watching you guys reclaim the magic that makes Hogwarts, well, Hogwarts. You inspired all of us left behind.”

He gave you a sad smile, his eyes shiny with unshed tears, and brought your knuckles to his lips, brushing a kiss across them. “Thank you for telling me that,” he whispered. “You didn’t get burned, did you?” He asked, worry suddenly creasing his brow.

You giggled. “No, no. No one was hurt besides Umbridge's ego.”

He exhaled, flashing a relieved smile. “Okay, good. Because that would have been a terrible first impression.” He opened the door to the ice cream shop, gesturing for you to step inside.

“My first impression was when you turned Ms. Norris purple during the Halloween feast,” you said, stepping past him and into line, the smell of waffle cones and caramel wafting over you.

George barked a laugh, his head falling back with the force of it, and you smiled. “Better, I suppose.”

“It’s not like I made a great first impression on you, weeping like a sap as soon as I stepped into your store,” you joked, too busy gazing up at his smiling face to notice the line move forward without you.

He shook his head, still chuckling. “No, it was a perfect first impression.”

You ordered your bowls of ice cream, Peppermint Marshmallow Mayhem for George and Gingerbread Dreams for you, and sat at a corner booth by the window, talking about nothing in particular for awhile while you ate.

“So, how’s your brother doing today? You mentioned he had some imaging this afternoon?” George asked, genuine concern creasing his brow.

“He’s doing well, actually. No pneumonia, by Godric’s grace, and his fever broke this afternoon. Still not sure what caused it, but hopefully nothing of concern,” you answered, you heart lifting at his relieved smile.

“Good, I’m really glad to hear that. Now, let me try your ice cream.” He waggled his spoon and you laughed, sliding it towards him. He took the tiniest spoonful, flipping it over to lick it off, and your cheeks warmed at the way his tongue caressed the curve of the spoon.

You knew you were caught when he smirked around the utensil, but he let it slide.

“Here, try mine.” He dug a spoonful out of his bowl, holding it out for you to take a bite with a borderline sinful look in his eye.

“George Weasley,” you teased, shaking your head. “You are such a flirt.”

“Can you blame me? I’m sitting across from my dream woman,” he replied, grinning.

Now your cheeks were really warming, and you leaned forward to take a small bite off the edge of his spoon. Sugary peppermint and creamy marshmallow coated your tongue, and you moaned.

“Good?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Delicious,” you giggled, watching as he ate the rest of the spoonful, and wondered how it would taste on his tongue.

After ice cream, you continued wandering around Diagon Alley, peeking in all the shop windows and sipping warm butter beer, until your noses were pink from the chill, your hair full of glittering snow.

You stopped outside of his shop, the sign flipped to ‘closed’ and only a few lights on inside along with the exterior holiday decor, presumably left on for George.

“I have a confession to make,” he said, stepping a little closer to you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a thrill of excitement pulsing through you. “What?” You asked, picking invisible lint of his lapel just to have something to do with your hands.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw you watching the carolers,” he murmured, sliding his glove off and reaching out to cradle your face, his touch gentle, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You leaned your head into his large palm, gazing up at him, freckled, flushed, and starry-eyed. You’d never seen someone look at you with adoration before, and it made your soul sing.

Instead of saying anything, you rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his, a quick, airy peck. But when you went to move back, his hand held you in place, lips just barely touching.

“Again,” he breathed, his other hand coming around to rest on your lower back. “Please?”

You gave the tiniest nod, feeling like your heart might burst out of your chest, and his lips connected with yours again in a slow, languid kiss, the taste of ice cream and butter beer and him making your head go a little fuzzy, your right foot popping up behind you as you leaned into his embrace.

His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth, but he didn’t push further, just a small tease before winding the kiss down until it ended the way it started, with a few barely-there pecks in reluctant departure.

You sighed against him, lowering back onto flat feet, and he smiled, drawing you into his chest for hug. You slipped you arms under his coat, feeling the softness of his sweater and the warmth of his body envelop you.

“Thank you for this,” you murmured. “I really, really needed it.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tight around your body. “So did I. Can we do it again tomorrow? Breakfast? Sunrise picnic?”

You chuckled, tilting your chin up to rest on his sternum. “Breakfast sounds great.”

George beamed, dropping a warm kiss to the frozen tip of your nose. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“It’s a date.” You stole one last kiss before slipping away, practically skipping.

You and George saw each other every day for the next week, whether it was to wander around Diagon Alley, looking at the lights and festivities, or grabbing a quick cup of tea between busy shifts. Neither of you could stand being apart for more than a few hours at a time.

Tonight, George invited you to his flat for dinner and muggle Christmas films, and you were dressed in the ugliest Christmas sweater you could find. With a timid hand, you knocked on his door.

It opened under you fist, revealing George on the other side, wearing a maroon sweater with a giant ‘G’ on the front of it and a sauce splattered apron.

“Hey, love.” He tugged you inside, pressing an eager kiss to your lips before ushering you down the hall, his deft fingers unraveling your scarf from your neck and peeling the coat from your shoulders. You laughed at his haste, spinning and hopping as he removed your boots. He stopped only when he finally saw your sweater. “Oh, darling. You look ravishing.” His hands fell to your waist and he pulled you into his chest, a mischievous grin on his face. “Very fashion forward.”

“Thank you, baby,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hadn’t called him that before, but it just rolled right off your tongue, natural as breathing.

He loosed a pleased hum, leaning forward to capture your lips in another, slower kiss. “Like hearin’ you call me baby,” he mumbled against your mouth.

The oven beeped loudly, startling you both.

“Hungry?” He asked with a shy smile.

“Starved.”

He showed you to the dining room, a round table with a vase of flowers at the center, candles strewn on every surface. He pulled a chair out for you and you sat, accepting a kiss on the cheek before he dashed back into the kitchen.

You looked around, having been too caught up in his frantic greeting to take in the space. The rest of the flat was sparsely decorated, purely functional, besides a sagging bookshelf in the living room, and a few photos along the hallway. Not a Christmas decoration was in sight.

George returned with two glasses of wine, the bottle tucked under his arm. “Here we go, a little Pinot Noir for my gorgeous girl.” He set the glasses down then finally sat down in his chair.

“Thank you, baby,” you teased, and he smirked, withdrawing his wand from his apron and waving it towards the kitchen. A moment later, a giant bowl full of pasta, a basket of bread, a salad bowl, and two plates came hovering out of the kitchen, arranging themselves neatly on the table.

“Bon appetite.” He raised his wine glass, a shy little smile on his face, and you raised yours to cheers, so charmed you could cry.

Two hours later, you were curled up on George’s couch, half enjoying Home Alone, half enjoying the feel of each other’s skin under your sweaters, the rich taste of wine on each other’s tongues.

“How come you haven't decorated for Christmas?” You mumbled between languid pecks, his soft lips moving to trail over your jaw.

“Didn't much feel like celebrating this year,” he replied, kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing your pulse.

“And yet here we are, watching corny holiday films,” you chuckled and felt him smile against your neck.

“Things changed.” He lifted his head, capturing your lips in a heavy, open-mouthed kiss that made your blood warm, your heart beat a little quicker in your chest.

Suddenly, something slammed against the window, a frantic scrabbling against glass that had George springing up like something electrocuted him.

“Errol?” George moved toward the window. “No, what the fuck—”

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?!” You cried, jumping up and throwing open the window. Your family owl flew in, landing on the back of the couch. Fear pumped through you and you snatched the letter from his beak, rougher than the poor bird deserved in your panic.

“What is it?” George rested his hands on your hips as you tore it open.

The words on the card made your heart stop.

Mungo’s now, Mum

“George,” you whimpered, sagging against him as terror rocked through you.

He took the letter from your hand and skimmed it. “Go get your coat on, I’ll take you.”

“I—” You were frozen, darkness pulsing at the edges of your vision.

His hands came up to hold your face, shaking you gently. “Honey, we have to go. I’m going to be right here with you, okay? We’re going together. But we have to move now.”

You nodded, clawing through the sludge of fear and clinging to the thread of stability he offered. He helped you into your coat and shooed the owl out, not even bothering to lock up before he was ushering you into his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he ordered, and you did, and suddenly the world was sucked away, a dizzying, horrible tornado of space, and then it spit you back out on the front steps of St. Mungo’s.

“Holy shit,” you gagged, clutching onto George and he held you upright.

“Sorry, love. Never apparated before?” He asked, rubbing your back.

You shook your head.

“Y/n!”

George stiffened, his hands tightening on you, and you looked up.

“Mum!” You cried, rushing to her.

“Oh, hun. I’m sorry to frighten you, he’s okay. Just a scare. I’m so sorry, darling,” she cried, clinging to you.

“Sh, no, it’s alright. I should be here,” you soothed, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. “What happened?”

“He couldn’t breathe, his lungs—pneumonia again,” your mom hiccuped, wiping at her cheeks. “Who’s that?” She asked, looking over your shoulder.

George was were you had left him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes bouncing from you and your mom to the strangers mingling on the sidewalk. You could tell his hackles were raised, some protective instinct roused when he’d been startled by the owl.

You waved him over. “Mum, this is George Weasley. George, this is my mum.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” George said, offering her a hand and a shy smile.

She clutched his hand hard and you both winced. “I-you-Weasley—The George Weasley?” She gasped.

“Just George is fine,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“Oh my, I just can't believe—”

“Mum, can we go see him now?” You interrupted, anxious to see that he was well yourself. “I promise you'll have a proper introduction later.”

“Yes, of course. This way.” She released George and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the hospital.

George hesitated, until you reached your hand out to him. He immediately threaded your fingers together, falling into step with your frantic mother.

A few moments later, you rushed into your brother's room, finding him upright and smiling, some new tubes in his little nose, but all together looking well.

“Mum, I said to leave her alone!” He argued, crossing his arms over his reindeer pj's.

“Hush you,” you scolded lightly, wrapping him up in a hug and kissing his forehead, noting his lingering fever. “How are you feeling, darling?” You asked, pulling back to hold his face.

“M'okay. They let me have some ice lollies earlier!” He chirped, sticking out his neon blue tongue.

You grinned. “I see, that's excellent.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then you saw his eyes widen, mouth falling open in shock. You turned to see what he was looking at and realized it was George, who was loitering in the doorway.

“Is that—” your brother started, and George looked up. “Wizard—Wizard Wheezes!”

George’s solemn expression shattered into a wide smile as he stepped into the room, his energy shifting instantly. “Hello, mate! I’m George. Heard your not feeling so good?” George reached out to shake his little hand, and he took it, his fingers dwarfed by George's palm.

“No, no. I'm fine!” Your brother replied, shock melting into excitement. “What are you doing here?”

George glanced down at you. “Your sister has been telling me all about you, and how strong you've been lately,” he said, crouching down beside the bed. “She loves you a lot, y’know?”

You stepped out of the way, tears starting to burn behind your eyes. Your mother slipped her hand into yours, watching the interaction with a hand pressed to her mouth.

“I know, but she worries too much,” your brother answered, and George burst out laughing.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

“I’m big like you, I don't need protecting!” He argued.

George nodded, pressing a hand to his chest apologetically. “I can tell. But that doesn't mean they don't want to try anyways. And big guys like us have to protect them in return, yeah?”

Your brother nodded, puffing up his chest. “I'll never let anything happen to my sister. I promise!”

You blew him a kiss, and George gave him a high five.

“That's my buddy. Now, let's see if I've got anything special for heroes like you.” George fished around in his pocket, making dramatic faces while he rummaged in what you thought was an empty pocket.

But then he withdrew what appeared to be a toy airplane that would in no way, shape, or form fit in that pocket without magic. Your brothers face lit up when George threw it in the air and it started to fly, ducking and whizzing around the room.

“Hm, that wasn't what I was looking for,” George said with a dramatic frown, and you giggled. He glanced over his shoulder at you, breaking his frown to smirk at your reaction, and started fishing around in his pockets again.

He pulled out a bouncing ball, then a rubber chicken, a set of chattering teeth, a stuffed teddy bear. Item after item came out of his pockets until your brothers bed was covered in toys and gag items, and a dozen nurses were watching in amazement from the hallway. You and your mom were fighting through silent tears, your heart so big you felt it might explode out of your chest.

Most importantly, your brother was ecstatic, playing with this and that and chattering away at George about the different products and teaching him how to do magic tricks George himself had invented.

But half an hour later, your brother’s nurse came in to administer some of his medication and get him ready for bed. He tried to protest, but his new best friend, George, managed to talk him into not only compliance, but eager acceptance of his medicine.

You stole George away into the now quiet hall, Christmas lights illuminating the dark corridor, and threw your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, needing to feel him close, to ground you through the onslaught of emotions.

He wrapped his arms around you, his head turning to kiss your temple. “Need some air?” He murmured, and you shook your head no.

“Just need you,” you whispered, holding him tighter.

He let you cry into his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles onto your back and murmuring reassurances into your hair. When you'd exhausted yourself, you pulled back and he reached up to hold your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“Thank you for doing that,” you sniffled, sliding your hands down his chest, his sweater soft beneath your palms.

“It was my pleasure, love,” he replied, looking you in the eye. “You—him—this, I needed this. Needed you,” he breathed, voice tightening. “I forgot why we did all it, what all the sacrifices were for, and you reminded me. He reminded me.”

You rose on your toes to press a kiss to his lips, not knowing how else to express how you were feeling that wasn't, well, insanely soon.

He kissed you back, passionate enough to steal your breath, but released you when the door to your brother's room opened.

“Darling—oh, I'm sorry. Darling, would you like to come get a cup of coffee with me?” Your mother asked, clearly fighting a grin at discovering you.

“Sure, mum,” you exhaled, reluctantly stepping away from George. “You okay for a minute?”

“Absolutely, I'll keep an eye on him.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles before releasing you to your mother, a soft smile on his face.

When you returned twenty minutes later, you found George stretched out in the arm chair pulled up right next to your brother’s bed, Rudolph on the television.

“—Fred managed to get the deer into the kitchen with some carrots and loaf of banana bread, and kept him distracted while I tied bells and ornaments—mom’s favorite’s, of course—to it’s antlers.”

Your brother was giggling, curled up with the stuffed bear George conjured earlier, his eyes heavy as he fought to stay awake to hear the story.

“But then we ran out of banana bread and Fred tried to give it some cookies, but by then the deer had discovered the Christmas tree in the corner, with the popcorn strings and cranberries and salt dough ornaments, y’know? So the deer started eating the bloody Christmas tree and we cannot get it out of the house now. It’s found the best sodding snack on earth. So by the time my mom get’s home, half the tree is gone, there’s shi—dirt all over the house, dishes are broken, holes in the walls—”

“What did she do?” Your mom asked, laughing. “I would have sent you out to live with the deer and it’s family.”

George grinned. “We ate nothing but carrots and banana bread for a week. Even for Christmas dinner. It was torture,” he chuckled, turning back to your brother, only to find him sound asleep. “That boring, huh?” He joked, rising from the chair so your mom could take it. But instead, she pulled him in for a hug, surprising him.

“Thank you for doing this, and I’m so sorry about your brother. But I know he’d be so proud of you today,” she murmured, and you saw George’s eyes well, his jaw flexing as he tried to fight it. Your mom pulled back, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then smoothing away her lipstick with her thumb. “You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, George Weasley. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

He nodded, a tear streaking down his face. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s very k-kind.”

Your mother passed him to you, his hand gripping your tightly as he fought to keep his composure. “Goodnight, mum. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your mother nodded, waving you away while she kissed your brothers cheek.

You led George out of the room and down the hall, finding an empty room to slip into. As soon as the door closed behind you, he sank to his knees, great, heaving sobs wracking his body. You lowered yourself to the ground with him, pulling his head into your shoulder and rocking him back and forth, his tears soaking through your sweater and shaking your whole body.

“I miss him,” George gasped like he was in pain, his grip almost bruising around your body.

“I know, baby. I know you do,” you said into his hair, holding his head against your chest. Your own tears began to spill then, for him, for you, for your family, and his, and you clung to one another as the overwhelming grief took it’s pound of flesh.

Slowly, he began to settle, breathing labored, but his tears subsiding. He lifted his head, looking at you through tear-brightened eyes, his lashes dark and spiked with moisture. You leaned forward, kissing away the droplets on his cheeks and jaw, until you felt him start to smile.

“I-it’s been so long since I—” he cleared his throat, reaching up to cup your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I was numb for awhile, so long I sort of forgot what anything else felt like. I meant what I said earlier, you reminded me of I’d lost, but in the best way.” Tears welled up again, but he smiled through them. “He would have been so fucking jealous that I got you. But Merlin, he would have loved you so much.”

You huffed a laugh, lower lip trembling as your heart soared. “George,” was all you could manage, and he leaned forward to kiss you, rising onto his knees and pulling into into his chest.

Then, that wild spinning sensation enveloped you again, and in a blink you were back on his couch, exactly as you were before, the credits to the movie rolling on the screen, your glasses of wine exactly where you left them.

“Stay with me tonight,” he asked, trailing kisses down your neck as you reoriented yourself. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, we could spend it together.” He lifted his head to look you in the eyes, and you nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing as he rained kisses over your face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you have the most wonderful holiday season and start of the new year <3

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 1

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just recently moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Your art is finally put on display at a local gallery, and Klaus has a vested interest in it.

Warnings: Klaus Being Klaus, No Personal Space, Alcohol, Flirting, Almost Kisses, Art Interpretation, Dark Themes

Word Count: 1.2k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Your first art show in New Orleans isn’t nearly as extravagant as you thought it would be, despite the small jazz band in the corner and the free champagne being served at the door. The jubilant music seems to fade off into the distance as you stand just a few feet away from one of your pieces, silently stalking the patrons as they walk by and observe it, muttering amongst themselves. You try to hone in on what they’re saying about your work, about how it makes them feel, or if they’ve caught onto any messages you’ve hidden in your mixed medium on canvas. So far it’s just been a mixture of silence and solitary comments like “interesting” or “hmm” as the glass of champagne warms to room temperature in your hand.

“Which one’s yours?” A man’s eloquent voice pulls you from your anxious thoughts, forcing you to look over at his delicately handsome face as he walks toward you with a confidence that could rival royalty.

“Huh?” You take a sip of your lukewarm champagne in order to gain some liquid courage to engage with this gorgeous man who seemed to appear out of thin air.

“I’d recognize that look anywhere,” he starts, touching one of the sculptures he clearly wasn’t supposed to. “Will they like it? Will they understand it? But most importantly, will they buy it?”

“That obvious, huh?” You take another sip, letting the bubbles take their time to crinkle your nose as the rest of the carbonation slowly fizzles out.

“Painfully, I’m afraid.” That smirk of his warms into a coy smile as he takes a step toward you, his own glass of champagne nearly empty. “Yours isn’t the landscape with the sailboat, no… those waters look far too calm for you.” He stands next to you and continues to guess, letting his fresh clean scent surround you as hints of a bergamont settle into the air. “Not the still life either, you don’t strike me as someone who focuses on something as mundane as coffee and beignets.” He pauses and looks at you briefly, taking in your features. “No, a work of art from your hands has to contain something different, something much… darker.”

“And what makes you think that?” You chide in return, enjoying this little game he’s created for himself. “Maybe I love coffee and beignets.”

“Well, darling, who doesn’t? But that’s not why you became an artist, now is it?” He raises his eyebrows, giving you a chance to notice the hints of green and gold in his blue eyes.

He was good, you’ll give him that.

“My money’s on the portrait of the faceless woman drenched in blood.” His tone drops to the level of darkness he previously described as he steps behind you, his voice like butter as it melts down each vertebrae of your spine. “It’s beautiful, really; the way you captured the themes of the tortured and macabre while still maintaining an intimate beauty of the feminine experience. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

His change in tambre and location freezes you in place, forcing you to look at your own painting through his eyes as he hovers behind you, making you shiver with the anticipation of his intentions. The fact that you’ve allowed him to get this close so fast makes you wrestle with the idea that you may already desire this stranger based on nothing more than the words he’s chosen to speak with that velvety voice of his. Are you that subject to flattery? That desperate for validation? Longing that deeply for some level of intimate connection? Perhaps you are...

After what seems like an eternity of moral gymnastics, you no longer resist the temptation to turn toward him as he guesses correctly, noting the triumphant look on his face as your lips linger mere inches away from his. You barely notice the still breath that remains inside your lungs, expanding your rib cage for far too long as you stare at his plump lips, taking heed of the single droplet of champagne that rests on them.

“And what makes you such an expert on the feminine experience?” You manage to ask as he allows you to stare at him a little bit longer before answering your question.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m merely a curious third party who’s invested in the local artists that my charitable donations help support.” He confesses with a step back.

“You’re a benefactor?” You don’t mean to sound so judgmental, but he doesn’t exactly look like most of the ancient relics who usually pour money into the city. If you’re being honest, he looks more like one of the musicians you’d find on the street corner playing a cover of ‘Wonderwall’ on guitar for tips.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, love, we come in all shapes and sizes.” He laughs, looking you up and down while the shock of his financial status slowly begins to wear off. “Now, tell me, was I right? Is that your painting?”

“Maybe.” You cross her arms over your chest, trying your best to resist his evident charms. “But you already knew that, being a benefactor and all; that’s cheating.”

“Cheating is such a harsh word. I merely used my astute powers of observation to put two and two together.” He casually places his hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze in order to keep you near. “Surely, you can’t fault me for that.”

“I suppose not.” Your heart races at his sudden touch, the gleam in his eyes barely hiding the raging fire behind them. He’s going to be trouble, you can already tell. “Do you flirt like this with every new artist you meet?”

“Just the morbidly disturbed ones that I find deeply enchanting.” His strange compliment is oddly personal, hinting that he might know a little bit more about you than he’s currently letting on.

“You think I’m morbidly disturbed?”

He gives you a knowing look.

“Oh, it’s all over the canvas, love. It doesn’t take an expert to notice the hurried brush strokes in the busy background, the aggression with which you plastered the feminist news clippings together contrasted against the time you took to purposefully pour the viscous, slow drip of blood on it until it’s nearly spilling onto the floor.” He closes the gap between you, his hand now in your hair.

You swallow hard as he fishes around in your psyche for an accurate interpretation of your work, his proximity nearly turning your insides to quicksand as his cologne dizzies you on the spot. Good god, he’s beautiful.

“You know there are other ways of releasing all that pent up rage and aggression… all that passion.” He leans in so that his lips ghost over your cheek as it blushes against his stubble. “Although they aren’t quite as lucrative as this.”

“And what would those be?” You ask coyly, eagerly daring him to show you.

But instead of going in further for a demonstration, he leans back with a satisfied grin, as if he’s already gotten everything he wants from you at that moment. He grabs a pen from a nearby table and takes your hand, writing his phone number on your palm. “Find me when you feel like it gets to be too much, when all those emotions make you feel as if you’re absolutely about to burst.”

[bleached-latina]

Chokehold- Wooyoung Smut

Listen to the song that inspired this whole fic

Warnings: Dominant!Bratty Woo x Sub!Bratty! Reader, Oh so much biting, Orgasm denial (you gotta kinda squint), Oral (M receiving), Mention of sex tape, Petnames: Kitten (it’s kinda a lot 🙊) Baby girl (lemme know if I missed any). I think that’s it, if I missed anything, DM me or send me and I’ll add it

NSFW under the cut. MDNI

“I can’t wait to be back home Kitten,” your boyfriend gave you his signature smile that he knew you loved.

“Me too. You know you’re not leaving the apartment for at least a couple days right?” You asked, a twinkle of mischief in your eyes. Mischief that your boyfriend matched and exceeded.

“Oh I’m already planning on that Kitten. You’ve been so good, I’ve got to reward you,” he purred, and it made your body jolt with excitement and anticipation.

“Are you alone Youngie?” You asked, your voice leaking lust.

“Ye-,”

“Wooyoung, you sure you don’t want to come out with us?” San asked.

“Oh hi Y/N!” San called when he noticed you were on the other end. You had to cover up your top that you were allowing to fall off your shoulder while you were talking to Wooyoung.

“Hey Sannie! Can’t wait for your guys’ tour to be over!” You smiled, the lust starting to fade from your body.

“No, you guys are going to bed. I’m not dealing with eight whiny babies,” The guys’ manager interrupted, recognizing San’s going out outfit.

“For once, take Wooyoung’s lead. He’s just FaceTiming his girlfriend like a good boy,”

“Yeah Woo, keep being a good boy,” you teased with a wink, one that he raised a brow at.

“But I thought you didn’t like when I was a good boy,” he threw right back at you.

“Goodnight!” The guys’ manager grabbed San by the ear and pulled him out of the room.

“Sorry Kitten. Wait, did you move your shirt back?” He asked, noticing that your shirt was firmly back in place.

“Wait a second. My sister is blowing up my phone. I’ll be right back Youngie,” you told him, making sure to get an okay and an I love you before hanging up and calling your sister.

Only to realize it was a Code Red situation.

She was at a frat party and her friends bailed. So being the good big sister that you were, you texted your apology and explanation of the situation to Wooyoung.

Granted, he was bummed that his time with you got cut short, but he understood.

As both an older and younger brother, he understood that and loved that you were coming to your sister’s rescue. He’d do no less for his siblings.

It was one of his favorite things. Especially when you were tied up with work. That was usually his time to shine. Whether it was coming directly to the rescue or ordering an Uber to pick her up, Wooyoung was always down to help your family.

You really had gotten the dates wrong. Wooyoung had sent you a screenshot of his flight details, not taking the time change from America to Korea into account.

One more night… He’s coming home tomorrow…

So while you watched the endless fancams of Wooyoung and the spicy videos that you both recorded for these times, you really didn’t expect your locked door to unlock, not that you would’ve heard it.

“Youngie,” you moaned, trailing your hands down your body, closing your eyes and imagining your boyfriend's skillful hands instead of your own pleasing you, playfully pinching and slapping at your heated skin.

“Y/N?” Wooyoung called, before he heard moans coming from your bedroom. His stomach dropped until he heard his own voice. Then a smirk came over his lips.

“F-Fuck!” He heard you gasp, and that was when he dropped his suitcase and carry on, making his way to the bedroom. He silently opened the door to see you splayed out on the bed, your hands working your naked breast and barely clothed pussy.

“Youngie,” you gasped and he picked now to make his presence known.

“Right here kitten,” he smiled and your eyes shot open. Both in shock and elation.

“Youngie!” You squealed, sitting up.

“Don’t stop on my account kitten. Keep pleasuring yourself and maybe if you’re good for me, I’ll join in,” he teased and you smirked, knowing how this cat and mouse game would end: with Wooyoung pounding into you until he got tired. And you crying his name into the air. Your foot lifted before fitting against your opposite ankle, before your hands got back to work, reinvigorated by your boyfriend’s presence.

Your head folded back as you clicked play on the video again, your own moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping skin flitted from your phone to your ears.

“Youngie, I need you,” your hips ground into the mattress as your back arched.

“Be a good girl for me, and I’ll give you what you want,” he reminded you and you nodded, bringing yourself back to the edge of the cliff.

With his words and how you got yourself warmed up earlier, your orgasm hit you, making you bite your lip and head pressing into the pillows you propped up behind yourself.

“Baby?” You called weakly, your eyes opening into slits to look over at Wooyoung who started stripping. When he noticed your eyes on him, he smirked before teasing you with the ghost of his touch.

His eyes darkened before getting down to his underwear that did nothing to help the erection pressing tightly against the fabric.

“Where do you want me Kitten?” He practically purred.

“I don’t care. I just need you.” You whined.

“Damn Kitten, I haven’t even touched you and you’re already whining,” he teased before kneeling in front of the bed and grabbing your ankles, pulling you to the edge, your legs dangling free. Your hips and torso were the only pieces lying on the bed.

“My favorite dessert,” Woo purred.

“And my little kitten warmed it up for me,” he smirked before pressing teasing love bites into your plush thighs.

“Stop fucking teasing Youngie,”you grasped his silky raven locks between your fingers.

Which earned you a straight up bite to your innermost thigh, his nose brushing against the skin where your hip meets your core.

“What was that for?” You demanded.

“For hurrying a masterpiece,” he laughed, making you roll your eyes.

“Fucking brat,” you grumbled as his lips ghosted over your core and he stopped, an eyebrow raising at your words.

“Oh I’m a fucking brat?” He asked, gently blowing cool air onto your core, making your body involuntarily arch upward.

“Yeap,” you stood by your earlier statement. But what screwed you over in the best way possible, is that you were as big of a brat as him.

“Well brats don��t get what they want. Now do they?” Wooyoung asked, turning more dominant in the moment.

Yes that motherfucker was the biggest brat and switch you knew of.

“I usually get what I want,” you wink, making Wooyoung’s face flush for a moment.

He had no rebuttals, and you knew it.

“How about I give you something for your mouth to do besides talking shit,” he lifted you to your feet and standing in record time.

With how much he had to do even more intensive moves on stage made this a cakewalk.

There was a reason you used your vacation for this week. While you might have gotten the date wrong, you knew better than to expect to work for that first week- if you wanted to be coherent and not busy daydreaming or texting Woo any chance you got.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he grasped your chin in one of his palms and bringing you closer to his member.

You smirked before pressing a light kiss to the tip, the faintest taste of saltiness mixed with sweetness.

“You little minx,” you teased before continuing. “You’ve been drinking pineapple juice,” you smiled deviously.

“Perfect,” you then brought him into your mouth, needing to reacquaint yourself with his size.

“Just for you Kitten. You can take it all,” Woo bucked his hips into you, making you take a little more of him as a result.

The extra length made you have to come up for air, coughing slightly. As soon as you got your breathing back under control, you went back in, pressing your palm’s delicately on the front of his thighs. You looked up to see him already watching you take him in your mouth, lust completely overtaken your boyfriend, and lust filled gazes passed between you two.

Once you took his entire length in your mouth, Woo tipped his head back in pleasure, a moan ripping its way out from his chest. He’d missed this the most during the tour.

“Want me to record?” You asked, your mind going to the same place as your boyfriend’s. He nodded and jerked himself off while you hurried to your feet, grabbing your phone from the bed and pressing record, bringing the camera to face Woo full on.

It only encouraged him while you scoped out the best spot for your phone so you could just set it and forget it. You smirked as you set your phone against your spicy novels in the small bookshelf in the room.

“And I’m the minx?” Woo asked with another raised eyebrow, noticing where you set up your phone. He had to do a double take, his smirk deepened when he read the titles. It was a set that Woo had delivered the day you had to drop him off at the airport.

“Yeah tell me what you want babe, Let me bet something on your book page. What a wicked mind with some wicked ways,” He spoke the words to an edit on TikTok of him that one of your best friends accidentally sent it to him instead of you.

Your face flushed, bringing him out from between your lips.

“Izzy sent that to you?” You asked, mock horror in your tone.

“She meant to send it to you,” he spoke, smirking at the memory of watching himself from different concerts this tour, mostly in America, over a banger song that explained your sex life to a T.

“Maybe I should do what I wanted to do for you when she sent it to me,” you purred, standing and placing your hands on his shoulders, before pushing him onto the bed, straddling his lap.

“Look at you,” he purred, running his hands over your hips while one moved to your breast. He pinched and rolled your nipple between his index and forefinger, before bringing it between his lips, nipping at the sensitive heated flesh. A moan left your lips, your head dipping back, the ends of your hair tickling your shoulders and upper back.

“Right there,” you rolled your hips into your boyfriend’s, his member brushing lightly against your core.

“You want it baby girl, don’t you,” he brought his lips to your ear, nipping at your earlobe, before ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear.

“Y-Yes please,” you moaned, craving the friction you’d missed.

“Just be patient baby girl. I’ve been waiting for this for months, I’m going to get my fill,” he bit on your shoulder, a whine leaving your lips.

“I need you,” you whimper, your core pulsing around nothing in desperation.

“Where do you need me?” He asked.

“Inside me, now!” You demanded, grasping his hips with your hands.

“What did I say about rushing a masterpiece?” Woo asked.

“I don’t care,” you shook your head.

“So impatient tonight kitten,” he chuckled before you had enough of the teasing, lining yourself up with his member, and sinking down so he could fill you up to the brim.

“Oh my god!” Both of you hissed when bottomed out into you.

“You feel so good baby girl,” he whined, bucking up to meet your tempo.

“Youngie, I’m g-gonna cum,” you whimpered, trying to speed up the tempo.

“Nah nah baby girl. I’ve got you close, why change it up?” He asked, rolling his hips, making your eyes roll back into your head, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming as you were tossed off the edge of the cliff of pleasure.

“I’m close kitten,” Wooyoung’s thrusts became much messier the closer he got to his own release. He brought his lips to your ear, his grunts in surround sound in your ear.

“I-I’m cumming,” he warned you before painting your walls white with his seed. You melted against your boyfriend’s body as the orgasm delirium washed through your body.

“I love you so much baby girl,” Wooyoung separated from you, going to go get the baby wipes from the bathroom while you laid on the bed, your limbs still tingly from the first of many orgasms to come while he was home.

“Fucking TikTok,” you chuckled when Woo came back into the room.

“What’s so funny Kitten?”

“This all started because of that TikTok,” you laughed softly and he shut his mouth with a upward tilt to his plump lips.

“What? That’s what got you all needy?” he laughed and walked to the bed to clean you both up.

“Yeah pretty much,” you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips.

Taglist: @the-princess-of-mischief-1998 @multidreams-and-desires @faeratil

[syndrossi]

There are already so many AU's that I figure no one will notice another one, so I might as well suggest the one is been thinking about. What if Arthur actually was reborn as Daemon's son? He can be a bastard, or an older son of Rhae/Elyse, whichever one you like the most. If he is a bastard, would Daemon even know about him? I'm assuming his mother would have been a prostitute Daemon was fond of, but would she have told him that they had a child together? Would she have told Arthur who his father is? If he's another son of Rhae/Elyse, would he have tried to get into contact with Daemon sooner? If he gets Summerhalled at the same time as Jon and Rhaegar, would it be harder for their relationship to develope, since Arthur and Rhaegar already know each other and Jon would be something of an outsider? There are honestly so many places this AU could go.

It depends on if the setup is meant to be fairly similar (Arthur shows up as a mystery knight to compete for the Princesguard).

If so, aka he's 16ish, what probably makes the most sense is a either a prostitute or a lord's daughter who got swept up in the romance of sleeping with a prince. Perhaps a woman from the Dornish marshes (like Cole) briefly just before he was forced to marry Rhea. That would work best with the timing (Daemon would have been 17 and he's 34 right now).

Since Daemon was in Runestone when the baby was born and now married, she likely knew the king would not look kindly on her bringing scandal on the marriage, so wouldn't have contacted Daemon. There's also the potential issue of not knowing for certain whose child it was (depending on if she was a prostitute or not)--perhaps his eyes were more blue/dark at birth and only settled into purple when he was a year or two old.

It somewhat amuses me to think that Arthur is actually mistaken for a bastard of House Dayne when a member stumbles across him and his mother a few years later. Say, perhaps, by the Lord of Starfall's younger brother who died of summer sickness. In that scenario, he is likely raised in Dornish fashion as a noble son of House Dayne via a paramour and could conceivably still be awarded Dawn and become the Sword of Morning.

I think this path works better than Elys and/or Rhea keeping another child secret from Daemon, which often feels a little too outlandish to me.

Then there are the fun questions of what to do, once everyone takes a look at the mystery "Dornish" knight and is like...anyone else notice that he looks a LOT like Daemon? With Jon's dark hair? Arthur must know his mother's name, which Daemon may or may not recognize. If he does, then shit, that's his son. *grabby hands* No, you are NOT joining the Princesguard, you are a PRINCE once Viserys legitimizes you.

(Meanwhile, Arthur has his first argument with Daemon because of COURSE he's joining the Princesguard, who better than a prince to guard other princes like his precious younger brothers? While Daemon is adamant that he should be allowed to marry and have children and he can still be a knight, and how is he supposed to claim a dragon if he's stuck on guard duty all the time. Which...is something that Arthur never considered because DRAGONS. HIM. WHAT.)

In fairness, Arthur has only known Rhaegar for a few months (I have him joining the Kingsguard roughly six months before Rhaegar gets summerhalled), so about the same length of time Jon and Rhaegar have known one another! So I don't think it hampers him bonding with Jon too much, especially given how starry-eyed Jon will be about the Sword of Morning being their BROTHER, how cool. (Rhaegar shaking his head because Jon saved the world and doesn't realize that HE'S the coolest.)

I get the sense that Arthur and Daemon would clash heads a lot, too. Arthur doesn't really have any childhood trauma in his original life, so it's not like he's seeking a father figure, and his pre-summerhall version here had a happy childhood in Starfall. Daemon is, as far as he's concerned, the sperm donor.

What ultimately wins him over some with regard to Daemon is probably how sweet he is with the twins, and how badly they want him to be their brother. But Arthur probably always consider Daemon more of an ally than his father-father, despite Daemon's best efforts.

[hadesisqueer]

It's been a long time since I read Fire and Blood and the rest of the ASOIAF books (been meaning to reread them because I don't remember that much of them tbh, I read ADWD like seven years ago) and I'm not keeping up with the new show, but every time I see stuff about Rhaenyra and Jace I remember once again why I disliked Jon's legitimacy in the show. It's not just because even if Rhaegar married Lyanna that marriage would not have seen valid to anyone given the guy was already married and had two children with Elia Martell. It's because it's kind of poetic.

Rhaenyra was the legitimate heir to the throne. Her father had said so, and kept saying so over and over again, and with all her flaws, she was a better option than her brother. Jacaerys was also a great prince, clearly with excellent diplomatic skills —I doubt Cregan Stark would have sworn to him if he didn't see something in him—, and would have probably made a great king. But neither of them were allowed to actually be queen or king. Because Rhaenyra was a woman. And Jace was a bastard. No matter that his mother is the heir and not the other way around, no matter that Laenor knew and didn't care and gave him and Luke and Joffrey his name and treated them as his own, no matter that Corlys and Rhaenys also treated them as their grandchildren and recognized him as Velaryons. He would always be seen as a bastard even if he would have made a better king than his uncle. Just like his mother, even if she was better than Aegon II and was named heir by her father was also still seen as an illegitimate heir because she was a woman.

So, yes. I believe that if Jon had been kept a bastard, it would have been better. The Dance of Dragons was the start of the downfall of the Targaryens. The Targaryens tore each other apart because of power and because people could not just let a girl and a bastard boy rule. So I think it'd be ironic and poetic that the last scions of House Targaryen were a girl and a bastard boy.

Also sorry, but the show was stupid for making people immediately believe and accept that Jon was Rhaegar's son and the heir to the throne just like that, not just because the marriage to Lyanna would not have seen illegitimate. If I recall in the book you got Young Griff who has the classic Targaryen Valyrian looks and was supposedly raised to rule and was the perfect prince-- and yet he needs to marry Daenerys. Not only because she's the one with actual armies and dragons, but because without her, his claim is weaker than the Golden Company in the show. Because no matter what he says, he can't actually prove he really is Aegon VI (he probably isn't, I still think he's a Blackfyre). And now, you're telling me that in the show, people immediately believe that Jon is Rhaegar's legitimate son and heir to the throne because *checks* his best friend and his brother said so? Are you serious? Lmao.

[gooeseyleo]

Tell me a bit more about your Alopex please

Ah, Alopex is not a part of the Gooseyleo AU (maybe I could do a cameo sometime!) but I shall share! buckle up boys, I got a lot to cover!

She was purchased from a fur farm as a kit, was taken to New York to her new owner, and was mutated when the oozquitoes were first released. She fled the only home she really knew, cuz yk, they didn't jive with the whole "house pet being a senient mutant all of a sudden" thing, and winds up in the Hidden City. There she falls in with the downtrodden/rougher side of life there, with only her wits to keep her alive. She is eventually taken in by Bruce, and becomes a member of the Masters of Barbarianism. Bruce raises her alongside his birthson Kai. They hate each other. Or rather, Kai hates her for taking Bruce's attention from him. ANYWAY, that's a bit of a can of worms to get into here, but here is Kai in all his angsty glory.

When she gets older, she decides she wants to strike out on her own (Gang life is surprisingly rigid) and Bruce allows her until it is his time to step down as leader. So she starts bounty hunting to support herself. Bounty hunters are a regulated service in the Hidden City, but there is also illegal bounty hunting. Alopex does both. Which is how she ends up kidnapping Leo.

Basically, the octopus dude from Bad Hair Day becomes a serious gang leader, evil hair and all, and he wants revenge on Leo for getting him arrested (and maybe some other stuff down the line happens lol). So Alopex takes the job, and completes it flawlessly. She's off to tuck away the extra cash when a very pissed off Raph stops her on the street and demands that she return his brother. Turns out, Raph is the Hidden City's newly appointed sheriff, and it would put Alopex out of legit work for good if the Council of Heads found out that she was illegally bounty hunting for crimelords. So with that leverage, she agrees to help Raph get Leo back.

Their banter is nonstop. Alopex proposes that sometimes the law is unjust and not all criminals are bad people, just people the messed up Hidden City system failed. She also recognizes that some people are genuinely bad, but they too "have to be" to survive. Raph is a bit goody two-shoes about it, citing his own rough homelife and how it led him to want to do right for others. Alopex admires his dedication to justice, but thinks him ultimately naive of what the Hidden City is really like and how it works. etc etc Growing up with the Masters taught her the definition of "right" tends to change in favor of whoever has the upper hand.

ANYWHO they sneak in and get Leo back, but are ultimately caught. Turns out, octopus man doesn't like Alopex reneging on their deal, and after a short discussion, orders to have her thrown from the several stories tall building.

Raph catches her. He catches her attention too. With Leo's reluctant help, they all escape and return home safe and sound. Alopex is bewildered by the caring family Raph returns to. Despite her charistmatic and foxy personality, she didn't really grow up in a loving home like Raph. Complicated and difficult, but loving nonetheless.

Very long story short, she returns to bounty hunting and Raph resumes his work. Raph continues partnering with her as sheriff from time to time. They naturally grow closer, much to Leo's frustration, have a mutual attraction, and ya know

love and stuff happens :3

[angelcake10023]

so at the end Tang kinda adopts curious MK and they are a happy family. But why would Wukong allow someone else to raise MK ? Or is Wukogn still present in the kids life ? Or maybe even happy he doesn’t have the responsibility anymore ?

Wukong was willing to take Mk off Tang’s hands at first because Tang seemed like he was cracking under the pressure of taking care of him. He didn’t really know what he was gonna do with him, but was willing to do it as he’d been watching them for a while.

However after he gets captured by SQ and then rescued by the trio, he recognizes Tang is pretty tough for a human and seems to really care about MK. And since Tang seems to want the kid back he makes no objections, but he does stick around as the old brother mentor : )

[linkemon]

Confession headcanons

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here.

Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Part 2 | Part 3 of the confession headcanons.

This part contains: Malleus Draconia, Idia Shroud and Kalim Al-Asim.

Malleus Draconia

• Malleus' confession of feelings involved a number of obstacles and misunderstandings, although happily resolved.

• He wrote about you many times in letters to his grandmother. And although it made him realize the fragility of relationships with humans, grandma was also very happy knowing that her grandson had experienced such deep love. She really wanted to meet you, even though you didn't know it at the time.

• Draconia's biggest fear and block from telling you how he felt was the fear of loss. In various aspects of it. He was aware that he would certainly outlive you, and from time to time the thought of you returning to the world you came from floated in the back of his mind. In addition, you were his first real friend, not counting the people who were with him every day. Rejection could cost him the entire relationship.

One most ordinary night, he simply realized that the risk was worth trying to tell you how he felt.

• Malleus sprang into action with eager vigour. Unfortunately, these efforts were somewhat misdirected. It took Lilia to clearly explain to him that the customs adopted among fae do not necessarily translate to humans. He was forced to do this, as it were, because after you threw away his family generational necklace, the clouds over Diasomnia were darkening day by day and a disastrous downpour with lightning was brewing.

Meanwhile, you were simply afraid that Grim would destroy such a valuable and expensive gift. You had absolutely no idea of the additional meaning it carried.

• The second attempt was definitely more successful. Malleus gave you the rose seeds he grew in Briar Valley. Planted in Ramshackle, with his magic they turned into a field of red flowers. Combined with the moonlight and the fireflies dancing around you, it created a wonderful atmosphere that you will remember for a long time.

It was then that the fae confessed to you that he had been smitten with you from the very beginning but it was your friendship, so precious to him, that turned into something more. The fact that he knelt down in front of you and promised to give you everything you wanted made you think for a moment that he was going to propose to you. Initially, that's what he planned, but Lilia talked him out of it...

Idia Shroud

• It's not that Idia didn't know what love was. He had played so many otome games that while he wasn't an expert, he certainly wasn't a noob. However, without Ortho's help, he would not have correctly recognized its signs in real life.

• He started by avoiding you. The rapid heartbeat and red tips of his hair were becoming more and more frequent and it was difficult for him to control them. So he found the best solution he could come up with, which was to lock himself in his room. He avoided you as much as he could all over campus.

• His brother, although he quickly understood through data analysis what was happening to him, did not think it was good to raise the topic too early. Initially, he wanted to give Idia time. Time was clearly running out because the robot, seeing you once again look sadly at the tablet and gave it a wide berth, decided to act. He prepared a series of tests to convince your older brother that you reciprocate his feelings. Of course, Shroud hid under the blanket, mumbled to be left alone. Although he pretended to be uninterested, the speech actually sparked hope in him.

Maybe this time he wasn't a total knight nerd and side hero? Maybe he could play the lead role for once?

• He did what he does best. He designed a program that allowed him to send a request if you wanted to be his girlfriend. At worst, he was going to pretend it was a mistake.

When he saw that instead of checking the tick box, you had come to Ignihyde, he immediately paled. You had to knock on the door, telling him that you wouldn't leave until he explained to you what was actually going on and how this confession related to his constant avoidance of you.

Idia just stuck his head out of the crack, stammered and said that he was like the worst NPC you've ever seen but if you let him have some time, maybe he'll become a main character worthy of you.

Kalim Al-Asim

• Friendzone should be his middle name. From the beginning of your relationship, he sent you signals that you considered romantic. Until you started spending more time with him around others and you found out that Kalim treated them the same way he treated you. That's when everything started to get confusing for you.

• When you tried to tell him that you liked him very much, he replied that he liked you too. When you said more, he said more, more. And when you said he was more than a friend, he said you were his best friend. He did all this with such a wide smile on his face that you didn't have the heart to explain to him the true meaning of your statements. You knew the sincerity of his words. Few people in the NRC matched him in truthfulness. But it was incredibly frustrating for you.

• Grim knew exactly what was happening, seeing your hearty eyes every time you left the desert dormitory. He calculated in his head how many cans of tuna he would get if you got together with the prefect of Scarabia. This prompted him to not-so-subtly blurt out to Kalim that you were romantically interested in him. In return, he received a promise of a container of fish delicacies.

• The boy was in great shock but in a positive way. He didn't know what to do with all his joy, so he grabbed the first flowers in a vase he had at hand and ran towards the flying carpet. You weren't expecting him at all in the evening, dressed in your pajamas and ready to go to bed. He hugged you so tightly that he almost knocked you over and that was before he even remembered that he hadn't told you why he actually came...

[cinnbar-bun]

The Heartless Giant Pt. 2

Pairing: Crocodile x GN! Royal! Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/n: the second part of my contribution the Storyteller AU!

Summary: After a blowout with your brothers, you fulfill your promise to the “giant”. Perhaps there’s more to him than meets the eye.

Notes: GN!Reader, Prisoner!Crocodile (for my Impel Down Croc lovers), implied age gap, Reader is an adult but age is not specified, violence, bad siblings, protective Crocodile, "falling for my father's enemy" teehee

Part 1 here! AO3 link here!

Taglist: @gingernut1314

You ascended up the many levels of the dungeon silently, careful to not allow yourself to be caught going back to your room. You glanced around the hallways and sprinted back to your room, happy to finally be back in the warmth of your private space. Just as you were about to go back to sleep, you heard many voices mumbling and arguing in hushed whispers in the room next to you.

“-do you know what he’ll do?”

“We’re toast. We’ll die.”

“Sh-shut up! Maybe we can go back tomorrow and-”

“Are you crazy?!”

You frowned as you recognized the panicked voices of your older brothers. You removed yourself from your bed and knocked on the door. They gasped and stayed silent, refusing to make a move or even let a sound out. You rolled your eyes and knocked again.

“It’s me, (Y/n). Open the door.”

Within an instant, the door flung open and you were immediately wrapped in the many arms of your three brothers.

“Oh my god- oh my… yer alive!”

“What the hell?”

“Don’t do that again!”

You were taken aback by their worry, removing their hands off of you as you walked into the room and shut the door behind you.

“We need to talk,” you stated, crossing your arms.

Your brothers awkwardly stood around you, regretful and apologetic for their behavior.

“Listen, we’re-”

“I can’t you believe you guys,” you cut the first off. “You guys used me as bait and left me to die alone.”

They clamp their mouths shut at your stern and blunt statement. There was nothing to argue there. They were cowardly and left you. It was only a miracle that the man in the cell held some mercy for you and spared you when he did.

All of you knew that he chose not to kill you tonight. Your third brother held his bandaged hand and winced. You four were lucky to be left alive and in one piece.

“Okay, we admit that,” the second begins. “We were just… playing around.”

“Playing around? Slamming me against the bars? Throwing rocks at him? Are you daft?” You raise your voice at them. The anger and betrayal you felt was bubbling to the surface now. “The fact that he was the one to protect me should tell you everything about this situation!”

“Oh, you’re defending the beast now?” The third matched your tone. “Do you think he really felt bad for you?”

“Considering how you fools were acting, I can only imagine what he felt!” You yell back. “You were close to getting us all killed!”

“He’s a criminal! A stupid ogre! Why are you considering his feelings when he tried to kill us all back then?” The first shouted over you.

“Because at least he learned!” You rage. The volume of your voice catches your brothers off-guard as they freeze in place, their eyes wide and shocked. You clench your fist and shake with an anger you have never felt so strongly until now. “At least he protected me! At least he didn’t throw me to the bars and try to use me as bait or a meat shield! At least he talked to me after and didn’t ignore my cries!”

“Ya think that monster has learned? Ya weren’t there. Ya weren’t there for what he did and what he’s done to us. Father had to have the whole army to even make a scratch on that man. He’s not human. He not’s man. He’s a damn beast,” the second spat.

“You say that, but he was the only one with any humanity in him tonight. What would you have done if he really killed me? Would you tell father the truth about what you did, or would you lie?”

Your brothers remained silent as their eyes flicked between the floor and themselves. The righteous fury within you began to dim as you recognized how low your brothers could sink.

“You won’t even deny it?” You weakly ask. “You wouldn’t admit what you did? You wouldn’t even save me?”

“W-we can try next time-”

“When is next time? When I am dead? When it is too late?” Your eyes begin to water as your voice breaks. The eldest looks down until he steps forward and attempts to embrace you. You shake your head and push him away, refusing to look at them. “No… no, don’t do that. Don’t bother.”

“Listen, we are trying,” he says. “We messed up, badly. We know you probably can never forgive us, but we do love you. We love you a lot… we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“If I can’t even rely on you to defend me in a situation like that, then how do you expect me to trust you?”

The room turned silent, your brothers refusing to look at you as they fidgeted with their fingers or tugged on their pajamas. You huffed and turned away.

“Consider this conversation over. Don’t ever ask another thing from me again,” you spat, retreating back to your room. The heavy aching in your heart finally peaked, and you silently cried into your pillows as your brothers were quietly murmuring their arguments. How could you ever trust them again, knowing what they did to incite the man below? Knowing they would gladly and easily throw you away for their cruel jokes, knowing they would lie to cover up their mistakes?

You wished you could go back in time, back to the day the man nearly pillaged your kingdom. Back to that day to meet him, to understand what it was your brothers thought and felt. Maybe, just maybe, you could have done something for him in order to get him to stop.

But you could not. You know you never could. You could never undo the past. And even if you could, the valuable knowledge you gained from your traveling was a better use of your skills and time. Was that man really worth risking everything for?

Your mind conjured images of him. Those dark eyes… the gold hook… the way the cold metal of that hook felt against your neck as his large hand grasped you like a predator.

He could have killed you.

Could have ended your life before you could even register it.

The thought terrifies you, sends shivers down your body, before you remember how he was careful to never let the sharp tip hurt you. For what reason, you didn’t know. You were the child of the man who imprisoned him in that cell, he would easily have a number of reasons to kill you.

But instead, he held you, protected you, threatened them off. Why?

You sighed and try to brush the man out of your mind. You didn’t need to let your brain conjure up more thoughts and worries right now. You would repay the favor to him when you awoke later, at the very least. It brought you some semblance of comfort after the awful fight you had with your brothers.

—————

It was almost noon when you rose from your bed. Very uncharacteristic of your usual behavior, seeing as you were the one who was often the most prompt and presentable of your siblings. When you went downstairs to eat, you found your brothers at the table. You refused to greet them as you sat in your usual spot, placing your food on your plate.

“Hey, (Y/n),” the second began, whispering to not get the attention of the servants around you. You ignored him, biting into your food as they tried to get your attention.

“Just leave it…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake-” they hissed under their breath until the large doors to the room swung open, revealing your father. He strode over gracefully, taking a seat at the head of the table.

“Father,” you greeted, and your brothers awkwardly followed after. Your father tilted his head back in acknowledgement while he had his lunch served to him.

“I admit, I was surprised to see you four up this late,” he begins, taking a sip of the drink a maid just poured for him. “Might I inquire what you all were doing?”

“Reading,” you answer quickly.

“Training,” the first brother replies.

“Polishing my weaponry,” the second says.

“Writing,” the third states, carelessly showing off his bandaged hand. Your father raises a brow.

“Why is your hand wrapped?” The third brother sits up straight, stiff as a board.

“Oh, from, uh, you know, training.”

“You just said you were writing,” your father humorlessly corrects.

“The pen is mightier than the sword!” Your brother laughs, trying to continue the lie.

Your father nods, not believing a word but not wanting to continue with this conversation.

“Be as it may, I’m happy you are all here right now,” the king says.

You glance at your brothers and notice they look rather disheveled. The first has bloodshot eyes, nodding along while frequently yawning. The second is refusing to look at anywhere but his plate, picking his food he hardly made a dent in. The third, meanwhile, is nervously fidgeting around.

You huff, remembering that you’re still angry with them and continue to eat. Your father tries to continue the conversation, but it’s a blur for you until you leave.

You begin to walk out of the dining room while your brothers jog up to you.

“(Y/n), please wait-” they begin, and you shake your head.

“No, I’m not talking about this further,” you reply harshly. “Just stop pestering me!”

“Come on, we really do feel terrible and-”

“And? I feel terrible, too!” You glare at them and slam your door shut in front of them.

Let me just give him his blanket…

You remembered the promise you made last night and quickly open your large closet. Inside are various blankets, some of which have not been used in a long time.

“I don’t think they’d notice if these were gone…” you mumble as you grab one and fold it in your arms. It’s rather large for you, but considering how big the man in the cell is, it’d probably not be enough. You can’t take more now, though, that would be too suspicious.

You peer out the door and notice the coast is clear, save for a few random maids. Finally, you can see the man again. You do your best to walk normally, not wanting to draw further to attention to yourself. There’s a guard patrolling the area in front of the cellars, and you run up to him.

“Good afternoon. One of the maids thought they someone suspicious outside. If you could please handle the matter, I would be grateful,” you ask politely. The guard is surprised but nods and gets up to scour the area. You sigh in relief that there wouldn’t be anymore distractions and run down the stairs of the dungeons, all the way to the lowest level.

Like last time, the cold air of the dungeon immediately prickles your skin.

“You’d think I learn,” you comment until you slow down your steps as you approach the giant.

His back is toward the bars and he doesn’t flinch as he hears your footsteps.

“Excuse me,” you begin, finding the previous courage you had melting away as you realize just what you were doing. “I came back as promised.”

At the sound of your voice, he cranes his neck up and sits upright. You hear a small chuckle until he ushers you over with a finger.

“So, you really came back, huh?” He snarkily asked.

“I did. I made a promise and I intended to keep it.”

“You do understand what that looks like, right?” His voice returns to its normal, drab tone as he runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t care. You… you did me a favor, and it is my duty to repay it,” you reply sternly. The chains clank and rustle as the man stands up, showcasing his large frame. He slowly turns around to face you, and those dark eyes of his bore into yours.

There is no light in them despite the smirk on his face. They are empty, hollow, and lifeless eyes.

“How sweet of you, your highness,” he says in a saccharine tone.

“You’re mocking me,” you cut to the chase.

“Oh, am I? Perhaps, your highness. I don’t get many visitors here, let alone such a pretty relic of the royal family,” he mocks. “You can’t really blame me for not knowing how to talk to you properly. I’m afraid manners are something I haven’t learned.”

“You can express your appreciation more sincerely next time,” you huff as you hold out the blanket to him, careful to keep your arms stretched in order to create some distance between you and him.

He snickers at your apprehensive behavior and makes sure to use his golden hook to grab the blanket from you. He is careful to not touch your hand with the weapon as he brings it inside his cell.

“My, my, what a lovely blanket. Cashmere?” He jokes. You take a step back and watch as drapes the blanket across his shoulders, making his shadow cover even more of you. “I appreciate it, your highness. Was that polite enough for you?”

“It was a start,” you admit, not liking the way he made everything sound so sarcastic and insincere.

“You may go now,” he dismisses you.

A part of you is eager to run away, but the more you watch him stretch his limbs and roll his shoulders, the more curious you get.

“Why did you not kill me yesterday?” You ask.

“This again? I’m starting to think you are begging for death,” he replies.

“No, you just… you saved me, yet it’s obvious you despise me.”

“Despise you? Now why would you accuse me of such a thing?”

“Nothing you say is ever serious. You’re obviously toying with me.”

“Toy with you? No, no, no, I’m not toying with you-” in an instant, he reaches forward and tilts your chin up with his hook. You gasp as you’re pulled closer to him against the bars and he gazes down with a strange emotion in his eyes that you cannot pinpoint. “This is toying with you. Your highness, I don’t hate you. I could never.”

“And why is that?” You quietly ask, your eyes glancing down to his hook every few seconds.

“You’re far too intelligent, far too competent for the ones I really despise,” he coos. “I may seem like a lowly prisoner now, but once upon a time, I was a pirate with a taste for the finer things in life. I know worth when I see it.”

Your eyes widen and you feel your face heat up from his words. You shove yourself off his hook and step back. “What gives you the right to say such a thing?”

“What? Never had a man tell you the truth? Never had anyone appreciate you correctly?”

“That’s none of your concern!” You yell, embarrassed that you were enjoying his praise.

“Oh, I think I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”

“Just, ugh-!” You growl in frustration.

“Poor, little, royal- they don’t really care you, do they? The way those ignorant fools ran away with their tails between their legs, I’m sure they didn’t care what it cost, so long as they escaped.”

“That’s not true, they’re just-”

“Tell me, your highness, do they always leave you behind?” You bite your lip and shake your head.

“N-no, not always, it’s just-”

“They always make you do the work, don’t they?” He continued.

“Well…”

“And they never are really thankful for you, are they? You’re just like a little toy they can discard whenever they choose. Let me tell you something,” he leans closer to you. “You’re too good for them. And they know that, so they keep trying to get you to lower yourself.”

Your taken aback by his rather frank assessment of your relationship with your brothers.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t need them. You can do much better. Have some pride, will you? I hate seeing wasted potential,” his face contorts into one of disgust. “Especially for a bunch of imbeciles like that? Is that who you’re trying to impress?”

He wastes no time getting to the heart of the matter, and you sigh.

“Those are my brothers. I can’t do anything about that.”

“You can and you should. Fools like them are a dime a dozen. The fact you’re even entertaining the notion you must keep them around is sickening. The men I met yesterday are the ones who are supposed to run this kingdom before you?”

Your hands drop to your sides as he spells it out for you.

“I despise them,” he smiles, but there is nothing humorous about what he says or feels about the situation. “Idiots like that disgust me. I hate the weak, the talentless, the ineffective, more than anything.” His words are laced with venom, every sentence making you freeze. “Do you understand now what I mean? Weakness like what they showed yesterday- that is sin.”

“I’m not strong, either,” you reject.

“Physically, you’re not. But you have something they don’t. You have a brain in there. You have commitment. That’s infinitely more important than being a brute or a coward.” He blows a few strands of his loose hair from out of his face. “Use your brain and stop depending on them.”

He turns around and waves his right hand.

“Well, I’ve said enough. You don’t need to take my word for it, after all, I’m just a beat down prisoner.”

Your face softens as you watch him take a seat, facing the wall again. You hesitate for a moment before you step closer.

“What is your name?” You ask curiously.

“Hm? Why would you ask for the name of a ‘monster’ like me? Something like that is better left out of your mouth.”

“Answer me.”

“Sorry, your highness, I am a business man at heart. I don’t talk without some kind of deal.”

“What do you want, then?”

“Heh, your eagerness is rather endearing, so I’ll be easy on you this time,” he chuckles. “Give me a cigar. Not a cheap one, mind you. I want something your father would be happy to light.”

“A cigar? That’s it?”

“I’m a simple man, your highness. I miss the comfort of such simple pleasures.”

“A cigar, for your name?”

“That is all. Now go, you’ve wasted enough time down here. Don’t want your dear old dad to get suspicious of you, do you?”

“N-no, I don’t.”

“Good. Run along, your highness.”

You don’t need any more reminders as you turn your heel and run up the stairs as quick as you can. Your heart is pounding hard and fast in your chest, and despite the icy chill in this dungeon, your face still feels rather warm.

Just a cigar, huh?

[the-daydreaming-show]

(I'm in love with the idea that) Maglor wandered Middle-earth so long that he became the last of the elves on the continent, refusing to die but unable to sail west, and one day he fainted on the beach. It is not the first time it has happened, and it will not be the last (?), whether due to lack of sleep, dehydration, hunger, or any of the torments that followed him. But when he gets up, he is not on the beach, he is in a cabin in the woods. He quickly deduces which woman of the race of men took pity on him and cared for him in his inconvenience.

Maglor wants nothing more than to return to his self-inflicted exile, to hate himself, and to be nothing more than a scrutiny of his own life, but he is very weak. The woman has placed heavy blankets over him, which are warm and comfortable, so before realizing it, he returns to unconsciousness. He feels from time to time that she feeds him liquid meals and takes care of his badly injured hand, whose pain is already chronic. Maglor doesn't know how long it took him to be able to get out of bed on his own, but it's been a while, and he's a gentleman at the end of the day. His mother raised him well despite all the mistakes he made by choice, but she taught him and his brothers how to treat a lady, regardless of her race.

Maglor helps the women tend to her gardens, makes sure her house is well taken care of while she works (in a job she doesn't talk about directly, is ambiguous about its specifications, and never really says what it is even though he directly asks a couple of times after several weeks of taking care of his voice at his request), and makes sure to be as helpful as possible. He doesn't plan to stay, he's simply staying to settle a debt that an innocent woman shouldn't have created with a relative killer like him. So he only wanted to free her from her presence as soon as possible once Maglor made up for the time she spent taking care of and the resources she used in taking care of him.

He doesn't leave. He stayed. The days pass. And although Maglor feels that his debt to her is paid, since his garden is more beautiful than ever, and he made sure that the house was in perfect condition, to the point that he has had to really look for things to do lately. He doesn't want to leave.

He married once, but she did not follow him to Beleriand. Still, despite the time, he recognizes the feeling that begins to brew in his fea and in his heart with every minute he spends with that woman. One day, when he helps her with the garden, they end up in a closer position than they should, their hands touching without gloves, and he almost loses his breath. There, he decided that he was leaving.

He loved her enough, his sweet human, who had gone out to help a fainted and desolate stranger on the beaches without expecting anything in return, to understand that if he didn't leave her now, he would never leave her. He couldn't allow his own condemnation to affect her. 

(Selfishly, Maglor also knew that he would not want to live beyond the day she joined death, which was the destiny of his race. And he did not believe he deserved the definitive end that was death, he was sure that the empty would not even be enough empty for him and his actions.)

The woman gently tries to convince him to stay, not too hard, as she seems resigned to the fate of him leaving, but she tries. Maeglo looks the same, smiling sadly at him, leaving the cabin behind with his harp on his back and heading towards where the sea should be.

But Maglor can't get to the beach. She can't even get out of the woods. He walks and walks, but three times he is taken back to the cabin, which remains intact but empty. He tries to the point of desperation, but he can't seem to get out. The last time he walks to the cabin, after days of trying to get out of the woods, the woman is waiting for him standing in front of the cabin, and she seems sad and embarrassed, but firm and ready for the conversation to come.

“What are you?” Maglor asks, straight to the point of the conversation, desperate to know what he had gotten himself into.

“I didn't want you to find out like this, I swear-”, the woman tries to explain with shame and desperateness to justify her lies.

“Answer me,” Maglor demands. The woman sighs shakily, but she finally answers.

“I have many names, in all languages ​​and for all races. But your people call me the Gift of Ilúvatar.”

Maglor could have fallen dead right there from fright and shock. Although he could potentially already be dead, he realized that the woman who had won her old and painful heart was nothing less than death itself.

He had fallen in love with the dead.

What does this mean?

How could this end for them?

Why did she lie to him?

Was he dead? Or was he kidnapped in some estrage way?

Did she follow the order of the Valar? Or Maybe of Eru himself?

Does she love him back?

That was really the only question he care about, as crazy as it may be.

[one-night-story]

I Don't Know You, But I Would Love to Meet You (Jack Hughes)

a/n: I wanted to get this not under the wire, but I can't help but feel like it a little? Which, sorry about that. this is for @writingonleaves by way of @wyattjohnston 's annual winter fic exchange! I hope you enjoy it! this was as always a fun challenge to write. title is from "We Should Be Friends" by Josh Ramsay, which is v cute. (also it's so long oh jeez)

There’s probably a certain age when you’re fairly certain you’re “too old” to be waking up on strangers couches with little memory of A) who’s couch you ended up on and B) how exactly you got there.

I don’t think I’ve quite hit that age yet, so I think I’m in the clear for the understandable confusion I woke up with as the morning sun streamed in from the floor to ceiling windows. 

Shit, not only was I in an unfamiliar apartment, whoever was renting the place was clearly richer than my blood. 

Good news: my phone was on the coffee table and attached to a charger, so whoever I’d crashed with was a benevolent host, which boded well for my continued situation. I checked my texts and it seems last night me had been coherent and just exhausted, seeing as I remembered to text my roommate that I wasn’t coming home saying I was crashing “with friends” and that I’d text her when I got back on campus. 

Huh, promising.

It at least meant she wouldn’t send out a search party consisting of our friend group, their friends, and the National Guard. All incredibly good things for my continued health and existence. 

Now, to figure out who’s apartment I’d just woken up in. 

Carefully, I stretched out my legs and shifted the blankets onto my lap when I realized I at the very least had the sense to not try and sleep in jeans but had left my “nice enough to go out” t-shirt on, and scanned the area. A couple of photos on the wall of a relatively decent sized family, siblings at the bare minimum as they popped up in several photos. Rich, but a bachelor as no one with any interior design sense had popped by to huck a colored throw pillow into the mix, and that was assuming their lease didn’t allow for wall color changes. 

Honestly, I was coming up empty. 

None of my friends were this rich, hell if they were I feel like it would’ve come up way sooner, not to mention why the hell would they bother commuting to campus when they probably could leverage online classes and still come out with a degree. 

I was just about to fashion enough of a blanket skirt to at least try and find my pants so I could start rifling through a mail stack when there was creaking coming from down the hall. Well, maybe I’d have an answer soon enough. I readjusted the blanket a little so I could look over from where I thought the creaking was coming from and was greeted by… okay calling it a familiar face might’ve been a stretch, but so would the text to my roommate saying I was staying with a friend, so somehow that was two birds with one stone. 

I did recognize him, which was an improvement over my worst fear, he was a friend of a friend of a brother of a friend. Which put me at four degrees of separation, and raised my “why the fuck did I crash here” hackles, but the fact that I was on a couch and not in someone’s bed felt safe, even if it wasn’t all there yet. 

He didn’t seem to be fully coherent yet, as he rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his, admittedly very pretty, hair so I tried to hold back a large laugh when he startled at seeing me sitting on his couch.

“Hi,” I said with a sheepish wave. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair soon enough,” I remarked. What I really needed to do was find out where the hell half-dead me had hucked my pants so I could tug them back on and then make a beeline to the nearest train station to get home.

“‘S fine, just… uh… shit, there’s no like… good way of asking this,” he mulled over.

“It’s okay, I don’t quite remember your name either,” I said, saving him the embarrassment. He laughed, and it was goofy and light, which was way too endearing for… shit did that microwave clock say 9:30 in the morning? I couldn’t help but join in with a chuckle of my own. 

“Oh thank god,” he said once he stopped most of the laughter, “I didn’t want to seem like a complete asshole, but also there was no way I was going to remember it after last night.” He added.

“Yeah, I don’t remember much either, and I don’t even think I drank that much?” I said with just a dash of question in my tone, he nodded once.

“You didn’t, but I think you mentioned that you didn’t want to risk taking the train back so late.” He said. “I offered to let you crash here when you refused to let someone pay for a hotel.”

Yeah, that sure did sound like me.

“Well, thank you, I’m Sadie,” I said, and as soon as I did, he brightened like he suddenly did remember and just needed the metaphorical kick in the brainstem. 

“Yes! Okay, see I thought it’d be in there,” he said with another chuckle. “I usually at least try to learn the names of the girls I bring home.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the way he chose to phrase it and even more when he very clearly winced realizing how it sounded.

“We’ll chop it up to “lack of coffee” and call no hard feelings, sound fair?” I proposed as an even solution to our silly little predicament. 

“Fair, I’m Jack by the way.” he said as he came over to the couch and offered up his hand. “Nice to actually meet you Sadie,” he said. 

“Nice to meet you too,” I said with a chuckle as I shook his hand with a bit of teasing vigor. 

“Can I at least offer you breakfast before you sneak out in the middle of the morning?” He asked while still holding onto my hand. I thought it over, and remembered the time, and figured that… yeah I could probably stand to be held up for coffee and a minimal breakfast before jumping on the train. 

“Yeah, if it’s not —“

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack was quick to cut me off. He let go of my hand and wandered back over to the kitchen and I was quick to try and figure out where the hell I’d put my pants so I wasn’t having to talk across the apartment and be perceived as rude on top of whatever else one could make assumptions about a girl who’d crashed on the couch of a guy she barely knew. After being assured that the blanket was carefully tucked around me I leaned down to check under the couch and was relieved when I found them sticking out. I carefully maneuvered my body so that I could reach under the couch, grab them and carefully bend back up onto the couch so I could put them on under the blanket. When I eventually sat back up and stood. Jack was looking at me with a look of bemusement. 

“Were you…”

“No, last night me wanted to not sleep in jeans. So I must’ve haphazardly hucked them off.”

“And you managed to get them on… without getting up from under the blanket?”

“Old trick from summer camp. Trust me, you haven’t even seen half of it.” I could get dressed pretty entirely without getting up from under the covers. When Jack still looked amused I chuckled and finished walking over to where he was in the kitchen. “What? Upstate New York gets cold in the morning in the summer.” I remarked. Jack fully laughed and again, I couldn’t help but join in.

“Oh I know, I guess I’m just used to living in houses with heating too.” He said. I simply shrugged, low tech summer camps, what could you do? I watched as Jack maneuvered around his kitchen to get the coffee going from the cautious spot of his breakfast bar, trying to not take up too much space or get in the way, no one likes multiple people in a kitchen at once, it was practically a fact. “I only have milk and sugar, I hope that’s okay?”

“It’ll be fine, I’m hardly in a position to be picky,” I said as I tried to focus on something that wasn’t the way Jack’s hair was falling that made him seem… softer? than just my brain’s logical, knee jerk reaction of him being “just some guy”. I mean, of all the people that my sleep addled brain could remember, I definitely remember that Jack was one of the better looking ones. I could feel my fingers wanting to pick at my nails and the social morays of it all was pretty much the only thing holding me back from doing so. I wanted to say something, anything, pretend for one morning that I was good at socializing. The fact that I’d managed to get through last night with enough grace and charm that I had managed to score a place to crash after the friend of a friend I came with ditched me to hook up with on of the myriad of white boys that were there that night meant this morning I was praying I had enough left to at least make it through coffee.

Jack set the Keurig off to do its thing and rifled through the cupboards to try and find… something. Honestly, while I was hoping for cereal, I would’ve settled for toast, when I heard him curse someone under his breath and went over to the fridge.

“Shit.” He muttered.

“Roommate eat you out of house and home?” I said taking a shot in the dark. Jack looked over, remembering he was making coffee for two and gave me a look that read as though I’d gotten it in one. He padded back over to the breakfast bar and leaned in conspiratorially, something I couldn’t help but meet him halfway about.

“So… I might’ve lied about breakfast. My brother was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday after practice and it looks like he forgot.” I chuckled and opened my mouth to assure him that really, it was fine, thanks for even offering, I’ll just go; but he pressed on, “there’s a spot around the corner that does… probably better than I ever could and that includes the coffee. If you want, I could… take you there?” He proposed. 

On the one hand, that was incredibly sweet and his smile was very much continuing my brain’s belief of him being endearing. Not to mention I love a good brunch spot as much as the next girly and that included a good little diner.

On the other hand, I felt gross being in yesterday’s clothes and I didn’t want to impede Jack’s ability to get on with his day. That, and the somewhat social expectation to turn down anything offered with you without an obvious way to pay back. We weren’t really friends, and we weren’t dating, so what the hell could I even do? My obvious gut reaction was to reject it, to chop it up to the fact that really, he was just being polite and there was no real reason to go with him. But then I snuck another glance at him, a little open and earnest and maybe the offer was just a genuine “let me be a good host in spite of the fact that my roommate is making that a challenge.”

“One condition,” I said and Jack nodded, “you mind if I borrow your shower? I feel super gross,” I said and Jack immediately nodded.

“Yeah, course, I’ll get you a new shirt if ya need.” He was quick to add. I smiled and thanked him as he pointed me toward where the bathroom was. It was very clear a bachelor’s bathroom, but at least they had more than one bottle of soap. So… small victories.

I was quick to wash up and thankful for the t-shirt left precariously balancing on the bathroom island that fully suggested it’d been put there without someone looking. Changing was just as fast and I came back out feeling a little less like death. I grabbed my phone and my bag from the end of the couch (ungracefully shoving my t-shirt from last night in) and met Jack where he was by the door. 

The trip to ground level was mostly quiet, with both of us seemingly trying to pick and choose what to say about all of this. I didn’t want to put any sort of anything on it, hell, I was prepared to pay should need be and blow the rest of my fun money budget for the month. 

And Jack hadn’t been lying when he said the place had been around the corner as, sure enough, the glass faced front of a quaint brunch place, Edison light bulbs and all, was in front of us. For a late Saturday morning, it wasn’t horrendous by any means. I predicted a twenty minute wait without reservations, but I was willing to be surprised. Jack got the door for me and I muttered a quiet thank you as we walked in. The front area was small so I suspected that this was probably a strict “reservation or get lucky on a walk in” place. I snuck a glance at Jack, but he didn’t seem to be fazed by any of it as he made his way over to the hostess and they had a quick exchange before menus were being grabbed and we were being led to a quiet little back booth, out of sight of the main windows. The hostess gave her usual spiel about the menus and our waiter being over in a few and we both thanked her for her time. As she left I finally looked over at Jack.

“What?”

“Does the owner owe you money or something?”

“No, but he is a fan,” he said. That made me tilt my head slightly but I was quick to shake it off. “Relax, I made reservations while you were showering. Got lucky that they had a last minute cancellation.” He said. Yeah, that seemed reasonable all things considered, so I let the topic drop and gave the menu a scan. There wasn’t a lot that didn’t appeal to me, so that was a good sign. 

“Got any recommendations?” I asked as Jack fidgeted with his fork.

“Oh, uh… the pancakes are pretty killer. And my brother swears by their waffles. But pretty much everything’s good.” He said. I nodded and adjusted my own silverware as our waiter came over and poured water. While I was of the firm belief that brunch didn’t count as brunch without mimosas, I just ordered coffee with some of their fancier fixings. We asked for a bit more time with the menus and our waiter agreed to come back with the coffee. We fell into a silence, not quite awkward but nowhere near comfortable, and I settled on biting the bullet first.

“So why New Jersey?” I asked.

“Why New Jersey?”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like you’re from around here so why’d you move to New Jersey?”

“Work,” he answered simply. My memory of the previous night was still a swirling mess of exhaustion and bright lights and a smidge too much noise, but I think I remembered that those at the table who hadn’t been with my acquaintance group were coworkers. Must be a tight knit workplace. “You?”

“School, got a scholarship.”

“What for?”

“Creative writing, not the flashiest of degrees, but it’s what I’ve always wanted to do.” I replied. 

“Working on the next Great American Novel, then?” He asked and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ah, maybe. Right now I’m fighting to try and keep my voice while meeting every professors’ wildly different expectations. It’s a… hassle.” I said. The conversation spiraled from there, breaking to order brunch, but otherwise swapping stories about his family and my schooling. What could I say, I had an odd high school experience, even by American Public School standards, and eventful friends.

By the time food came out, we’d eased up the tension by a couple points, and I only felt sort of bad when my phone vibrated insistently in my pocket. I made a gesture asking if it was chill if I got it and he nodded. I fished it out of my pocket and scanned the notification. Multiple texts from Anna, the friend I was supposed to travel home with last night, as it seems she’d finally woken up from her adventures last night. Most of them were standard, if sweet, a “did you get home”, a “sorry for ditching you”, and then finally “oh holy shit this guy is rich rich”. It was funny, and I was just about to put my phone away when I saw the last text come in.

what kind of rich as hell guy has a two bedroom? Shit, did i sleep with a married guy?

That finally got me to audibly laugh and Jack raised his eyebrow, “The friend I was supposed to get back to campus with, she just woke up and is questioning if she just became the other woman.”

“Nah, none of the guys out last night were married. What’d she look like?” He asked.

“Blonde, dark eyeliner, wearing the purple tank top,” I said. Jack then stifled a laugh.

“Ask her if the guy she went home with had poorly taken care of curls,” he said offhandedly. I did and set my phone on the table as I continued eating my brunch.

A couple minutes later my phone lit up with a notification.

yeah, that is *oddly* specific, how did you know?

“Yeah he is,”

“Oh my god,”

“What?”

“She’s at my place.”

“You’re kidding,”

“She went home with my brother, you’ve been in the same place all night,” he said and I couldn’t help but nearly double over as I started laughing. The entire reason I’d crashed was because she had ditched me and now it turns out we’d been in the same apartment the whole night.

“Oh that’s so fucking funny,” I said once I could breathe again. I shot off a text to Anna.

I’m still downtown, I’ll meet you at the train station in a half hour if you want?

deal.

I finally put my phone back in my pocket and we finished up brunch with a companionable edge. By the time the waiter came back to clear our dishes we were getting close to having to negotiate the bill.

“So…” I started to say.

“I’m paying,”

“You didn’t even—“

“I was never gonna let you pay, my mom raised me better than that.” He said. 

“At least let me cover for my coffee?”

“Sadie, don’t worry about it,” he said with a tone that got me to drop it. Like I wasn’t going to be able to win this no matter how I negotiated it. As the waiter came back with the bill and Jack handed over his card I said a quiet thanks which got a grin out of him. Brain, pick a struggle, we cannot be enamored by this boy after waking up on his couch in a first meeting we can barely remember. He finished paying and we got up to leave and I did my best to keep my internal argument off my face as we did.

I managed to make it to the street corner before I was willing to confront the fact that I had to actually leave and go back to campus, and Jack had to… wait. Hang on. 

The coffee had started to kick in and things were finally lining up. I knew I had to have gotten into school for some reason right?

“Oh shit,”

“What?” He asked with a tilt of his head and okay fine I’ll admit it brain he’s cute, but the realizations that my brain was finally having made it so that this was never going to happen again.

“You’re a Devils player,” I said as I smacked my own forehead and Jack started laughing. 

“You only just figured that out?”

“Leave me alone, I haven’t had a full night's sleep in like a week,” I joked, still covering my face a little. Jack carefully moved me out of foot traffic and gently pulled my hands away from my face.

“Is that a deal breaker?” He asked.

“What?”

“Me being a hockey player?”

“What, why?”

“Well, I thought that went well all things considered and I was gonna ask for your number to hopefully do dinner sometime.” He said with a soft smile, letting his hand fall into mine. I thought it over, between the fact that he was indeed cute, that he was nice, and funny, and asking with such an expression that seemed that, if he wasn’t trying to convince me he was cool and at least a little normal, he’d be rocking on his heels about; and the mere fact that he took me out to brunch after offering to let me crash on his couch. It was pretty much enough in the category of good signs that I was inclined to say:

“It’s not a deal breaker,” and he grinned a little wider, “besides I was going to ask for your number anyway. I have to get your shirt back somehow.” I chuckled.

“Ah, keep it, I can always buy a new one.” He joked. I passed over my phone and he put his contact in before quickly texting himself and passing it back. I chuckled at his contact photo, a terribly taken close up of him, and saw that I had a text from Anna that she was at the station already.

“I guess I’ll talk to you to figure out scheduling?” I proposed with just a hint of awkwardness. 

“Yeah, I gotta check with my brother about some things and what have you.” 

“Okay,” I said with a little chuckle of disbelief. “Thanks for brunch, by the way.” I said.

“Thank you for agreeing and not sneaking out in the middle of the morning,” he replied with a bit of a chuckle that lit up his face. There was no good way to leave this, with a promise of something stronger, but still uneasy about what one's dynamic is in the now, “can I give you a hug?” He asked.

Oh thank god.

“Yeah, yes,” I said with a stumbled out laugh as he matched it before giving me a friendly “see you around” style hug. We parted with a half wave and I started making my way back to the train station.

I made it with a bit of a light jog as Anna dragged me in the direction of the platform so we could catch the train just pulling into the station. We quickly collapsed into seats before she finally turned to me.

“So… who's this?” She asked tugging on the sleeve of the clearly borrowed t-shirt.

“The guy who’s couch I crashed on last night. I made a comment about feeling gross about being in last night's clothes that he lent me a t-shirt.” Lent, gave, I wasn’t certain I wanted to broach that topic with Anna yet. Roommate first, acquaintances second. “How ‘bout you? Did you at least get coffee?”

“Yeah, he made a comment about his roommate being out so we ordered breakfast at his place, he was so nice.” She gushed. I watched as the realization crossed her face, “wait you said you’d tell me how you knew what he looked like when we met up,” she lightly wacked my arm with the back of her hand, “spill.”

I laughed and rubbed the back of my neck, “I was at breakfast with his roommate. Also known as his brother.” I said.

“Shut up! No fucking way,” she said with a laugh. We were getting looks from a few commuters in our immediate area and I tried to quiet her down. “That’s too funny,” she said in a slightly quieter tone. “Are you seeing him again?”

“Are you?” I countered.

“Maybe, he gave me his number, but I’m not certain.” She said, “Now tell me you coward,”

“Maybe,” I countered and she groaned at my dramatics.

“Insufferable, you fink.” She joked. I grinned a little as we continued some small talk before I agreed to let her rest on my shoulder until we got to the campus’ stop. 

I fished my phone out and figured that I should probably try and organize a date huh?

[ljz002-world]

Assistant, Part 2

“Ana!”, Michael called out as he jogged up to walk besides the girl who turned to look at him quite shocked, “Mikey-boy!” Michael caught up with the girl as the two walked side by side towards the office, “How’re you Ana?” “Doin’ alright, you?” “Bit out of breath but fine.” “Why’re you here? Don’t you go to the office from the Shelby home?” “Nah, I’m with my mum, it’s a bit of a longer way from there down here. Tommy just bought her a house.” “I remember”, Ana said with a smile, “He told me how happy Aunt Pol was-“ “You call her ‘Aunt Pol’?” “Yeah. I’ve known her for a while now. She’s like a mother to me. I never had one.” “O-Oh, I’m sor-“ “Don’t be Mikey-boy. You didn’t know. But you’re lucky to have her as your mum. She’s the best.”

Michael and Ana continued with senseless small-talk until the boy looked over his shoulder, swiftly grabbing onto Anastasia’s waist and pulling her against him, catching the girl completely off guard. Just as she was about to protest a car sped past them. “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to drive”, Michael said as he glared after the car before turning his attention to Anastasia whom he was still holding close to himself, “Are you alright Ana?” “Y-Yeah, ‘m fine”, the girl stammered, growing red from blush at the closeness she and the boy shared, she could feel his hot breath hitting her forehead as he was checking if she had gotten any injuries. He might have pulled her out of the way but the car was still dangerously close to her.

As the two stood in such closeness neither really spoke, both being pulled back to reality by someone clearing his throat behind him. “Oh, Finn”, Anastasia spoke as she recognized the youngest Shelby brother. Said boy was standing behind then, cap on his head as he glared at Michael. “That’s enough touching I think. You can let go of ‘er Michael.” The younger boy did as told, letting his hands slip away from Anastasia as he looked at his cousin, unsure of how to react. “We should get going. Tommy’s waiting for his assistant and accountant to begin their work.” “R-Right!”, Anastasia beamed as she walked towards Finn, grabbing ahold of his arm as she dragged him to walk with her and Michael, “Now why the gloomy look, Finny?” “Woke up on a bad leg.” “Silly boy”, Anastasia chuckled, she considered Finn one of her few true friends. She had known him since she was a child, the two were around the same age, Finn only being a few years older than her. He and aunt Pol had gotten her the job a few months ago. And Finn seemed to be the only boy who was consistent in her life.

“Anything new going on?”, Finn asked Anastasia and the girl nodded, “Yeah, I got a date tonight.” “Oh?”, Finn asked with a raised eyebrow, this had also caught Michael’s attention as the three were walking to the office where Thomas Shelby did most of his legal business. “Yeah. I’m excited.” “Whose the lucky boy?”, Finn asked and the girl smiled at him, “Chuck. You know, the boy working down with the Butcher. He’s a fine isn’t he?” “Does Tommy know?”, Michael asked, earning a slight glare from Finn as the girl shook her head, “Why would he? He ain’t me father.”

By now the group was by the office and Anastasia was quick to get to her table and start her work. Michael having a desk right besides her to do his own work while Finn just entered his brother’s office, leaving around twenty minutes later. At around four in the evening Thomas stood by his door and barked for Anastasia to get into his office once again.

Said girl just rolled her eyes once more as she got up, “I swear if it’s something stupid again I’m gonna blow”, she grumbled as Michael just chuckled, “Like what?” “Like his tie got loose again, or the buttons by his sleeves undone. I swear to god I sometimes don’t know how he made it back alive from war.”

At her words Michael was unsure how to react, she truly was the only one who dared to speak about Thomas Shelby that way. Once she had entered his office another worker turned to face Michael, “That girl has the biggest balls in all of England. Not even Mr. Shelby’s enemies talk to him like that.” “I figured, he’d have his enemies dead quicker than a lightning if they did.”

Just as they wanted to say something else shouting could be heard from their boss’ office, Anastasia was shouting at the top of her lungs at Thomas fucking Shelby.

“No! I’ve had it with you! You ain’t me father, so don’t act like it! I am going to meet Chuck and I am going to go on a fucking date with him!”, with that the girl stormed out of the separate office belonging to mr. Shelby as she grabbed her bag, her eyes seeing only red as she turned to Michael, “I’ve had it with your cousin! Why do all of the Shelby’s have such thick heads?! My god!”

=

Anastasia had waited, and waited, and waited, for no one to show up. But she heard footsteps approaching her from behind, footsteps that made her heart flutter in hopes that it’d be the boy who had asked her out. But a voice that did not belong to the boy she was waiting for spoke up, “All alone Ana?”

“Mikey-boy?”, the girl turned around to face the slightly older boy who stood a few feet behind her, arms in the pockets of his pants as he mustered the girl up and down, “You look good.” “Well, too fucking bad that my date didn’t show up. They never do.” “Their loss”, Michael said calmly as he walked closer, no eyes were on the street at this hour. “And your win?” “If you let me take you somewhere, then yes.” “What you have in mind?” “Well, we could always go to the Garrison.” “Isn’t Mr. Shelby there?” “So? You said it yourself this morning, you don’t give a shit what he has to say about your dating life, ain’t that right?”

The girl thought, looking up at the taller boy before smiling mischievously, “I like the way you think Mikey-boy. You’re paying”, she said as she had walked close enough to him to pat him on his chest, leaving the boy with brown hair quite stunned, “I wouldn’t have let you pay either way!” With that he jogged to catch up with the girl, being bold enough to put his arm around her waist as the two walked to the pub where Shelbys drank for free.

“Oh, you’re not going to like what just walked brother”, Arthur told Thomas who turned to look at the door where none other than his accountant and secretary walked in, with his cousin’s hand on the girl’s waist as he helped her out of her coat before hanging it politely onto the hanger by the doors. “Like hell I like that”, Thomas said coldly as he turned to look at John, “Didn’t you tell him?” “Don’t look at me Tommy, I told him to keep his hands to himself!” Finn just watched on in jealousy as the two walked to the bar, Michael ordering whiskey while Anastasia stayed with something non-alcoholic. She never drank alcohol.

“We tell ‘em to come over?”, Finn asked but Thomas shook his head, “No. They’ll come on their own.” The leader of the Peaky Blinders was proven right once the girl and his cousin had noticed them, walking over before sitting with them at their table. “Good night isn’t it? Tommy”, Michael spoke, a sly grin on his lips as Anastasia just looked at the older man coldly. Thomas downed his whiskey before setting the glass onto the table, “That’s not the Chuck boy.” “He’s not.” “Why?”, Thomas folded his hands in front of his chin as Anastasia crossed her legs before looking at Michael and then back at her boss, “He did a no-show, Probably wet his pants at the thought of actually having to meet me. Your cousin has more balls, that much’s sure.” Thomas nodded, Finn just glared at his cousin silently. “Not even a year here and you already claw yourself at a Shelby? Brave girl”, Thomas said to which Ana huffed, “I already work for you. Plus, Mikey-boy is just a sweetheart, wanted to cheer me up, ain’t that right?” To this Michael nodded, “No lady as pretty as you should be sad.”

“It’s getting late”, Anastasia said as she got up, Michael getting up as well, “I better get home. Got a cat waiting on me at home.” “I’ll take you”, Michael said, with a smile, he indirectly wanted to rub it in his cousins faces. He knew about the unspoken rivalry between Finn and Thomas, both wanting the same girl, and now, within a few days, Michael had gotten farther than both combined. “No need, I can take her home”, Thomas stated to which Anastasia gave him a sickly sweet smile, “But Mr. Shelby, you’ve had quite a lot to drink, if anything you should be brought home. Have a long working day at the office tomorrow.” “I’m fine”, Thomas said coldly, wanting to get up bit Michael interjected, “Tommy, don’t worry. I’ll just bring her home, and then I’m off home as well. See you tomorrow.” “See you boys then”, Anastasia said with a wave as she and Michael left the pub just before midnight.

“Want to come inside?” The question caught the young man off guard as he choked on his spit before clearing his throat, “I thought you don’t do that?” “Do what?” “Let boys into your home after the first date?” “This was a date? This was a meeting, we met and had fun, and I want to invite you to a bit tea. It helps you sleep at night.” Michael grinned as he wiped his shoes on the matt before entering the girl’s home, taking his coat off and hanging it besides the girl’s coat as he followed her upstairs into her bedroom, “So we’re havin’ tea in your bedroom?” “Yes?”, Anastasia said with a sly smile as she closed the door to her bedroom, shutting her lovely little fur-ball out.

[just-mary-ann]

I DON'T HAVE SELF CONTROL!

Harlequin swap AU by: @tadc-harlequin-au

Based on the draft of me and @mrs-nightshade

Honorable mention: @thore-lb

Lavender

Pomni and Caine sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Their coffee preferences differed—not that they needed coffee—but indulging in such a human ritual allowed them to feel alive, if only for about ten minutes.

"I didn’t see Able this morning," Caine remarked, inspecting his top hat before placing it back on his head.

"He hasn’t returned from the fighting ring yet," Pomni replied, stirring her coffee slowly.

"The fighting ring?" Caine tilted his head, mimicking the gesture of a raised eyebrow.

"The first rule is not to talk about it, so that’s all you’ll get from me," Pomni chuckled.

Suddenly, they heard a grumble. Able entered, exuding irritation.

"I’m back," he muttered, heading straight for the coffee machine.

"You look exhausted, brother," Caine slid a clean mug toward him. As expected, Able caught it effortlessly. "Don’t tell me you lost?"

"Bite your tongue, detachable jaw," Able retorted, pouring himself a cup of coffee before sitting beside Caine. "I found out who my 'secret admirer' is."

"You mean that fanatic who’s been staring holes through you at the fights for the past month?" Pomni leaned forward.

"She’s so persistent I could physically feel her gaze," Able ran a hand over his head. "You’ll never guess who she is."

"Oh, let me guess—a dainty little statuette who’s bored of high society and fell for a bad boy," Pomni waved her hand sarcastically.

"Your sister," Able replied, waiting for Pomni to meet his gaze. "Lilac."

"Pomni has a sister?" Caine was genuinely shocked.

"Not just a sister—a twin," Able explained.

"No way. Lilac is a 'proper lady.' I refuse to believe she’d attend a fight," Pomni nervously started stuffing herbs into her pipe.

"Believe it. I’d recognize her Harlequin design anywhere. How many Harlequin puppets do you know?" Able sighed.

"Excuse me, but could someone explain how Pomni has a twin sister?" Caine interjected.

Pomni and Able exchanged glances.

"When a man and a woman love each other, they can create new life," Pomni began with a smile.

"Th-that’s not what I meant!" Caine facepalmed. "I mean, why hasn’t anyone mentioned her all this time I’ve been living in the bunker?"

"There wasn’t a need to," Pomni leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "My sister and I haven’t spoken since she gained full consciousness. I’m not even sure she knows where the bunker is. I did try convincing her to move here, but even after enlightenment, she chose to stay with her human owner."

"A puppet willingly serving a human?" Caine mused.

"Can we drop the subject?" Able stood up from the table. "Her voice is so sweet it’s practically cavity-inducing. I’d rather not think about it anymore."

The day passed quickly, and soon it was night. Able prepared to leave for the fighting ring again.

"Able," Caine stopped him. "Listen. Can I come with you tonight? I’m really curious to see how you fight other puppets."

Able chuckled.

"What? Losing to me wasn’t enough for you?"

"Our match was a tie. We’re evenly matched in strength," Caine crossed his arms.

"Fine. No harm in having one more spectator. Let’s go."

Caine enjoyed watching his brother fight, though the crowd's noise made him uncomfortable.

"His stance is solid. His punches are professional. It’s clear this isn’t just fighting for him—it’s a sport," Caine muttered to himself.

"YES! GO, ABLE! YOU’RE AMAZING UNDER THE RING LIGHTS!"

Caine turned toward the feminine voice. Beside him stood a puppet woman. Her long black hair was styled in elegant curls, gathered into a loose updo. She wore a floor-length lavender gown with closed shoulders and long sleeves, adorned with ruffles and lavender embroidery. She completed the look with mesh gloves and a parasol hanging from her elbow. The puppet applauded enthusiastically with every blow Able landed.

Suddenly, realization hit Caine.

"Lilac?"

"Hm?" The puppet turned to him. "Do we know each other?"

"Not personally. I’m a friend of Pomni and Able. Caine."

"Oh, a friend of my sister. And my darling Able? Well, hello there. I’m Lilac, the Lavender Harlequin. Come to watch the fight?"

"Yes. But I won’t stay for the rest of the evening. Once Able is done, we’re heading home."

Able’s opponent suddenly landed a hit on his shoulder. His arm went limp.

"Looks like a shoulder joint injury," Caine winced at the thought of the pain his brother must be feeling. "We’ll need to replace it."

"You... can repair puppets?" Lilac clutched her parasol tightly.

"Both Able and I know how to repair and create puppets. I can’t recall where I learned, but it doesn’t change the fact that we often spend time in the workshop."

"Create... puppets..." Lilac clung to his words.

Despite his injury, Able secured a victory. As they left the club, Able suddenly cracked his shoulder back into place, restoring its movement.

"Ah, so it was a dislocation, not a break?" Caine asked.

"Did you think a weak hit like that could hurt me?" Able teased.

"Darling Able!" Lilac hurried after them, slightly out of breath. "You’re so fast, and I’m in heels!"

"Ugh. Lilac," Able averted his gaze. "What do you want this time?"

"Caine said you can create puppets. Is that true?"

Able shot a glare at his brother.

"So what if it is?"

"That means... you can create one from scratch?" Lilac fidgeted with her parasol.

Able froze.

"So what?" he repeated.

"My owner, Lady Melissa," Lilac’s voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes. "She’s gravely ill. No medicine helps her. Please, I beg you, help her." She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Can you turn her into a puppet?"

Able hadn’t expected such a request. Usually, Lilac would shower him with compliments and hint at a date. But now, she seemed... desperate and hopeless.

"Ugh," Able sighed. "To be honest, yes, I can build her a body." Lilac’s face lit up with hope. "But a mechanical body is just a shell. Without a soul, it’s useless. I don’t have the knowledge or skills to transfer her soul from a living body to a mechanical one." He turned and began walking toward the bunker. "If I could help, I would. But as it stands..." Able glanced back at her. "Pray for the best outcome."

Caine felt sorry for Lilac. She stood frozen, as if rooted to the spot, her tears abruptly stopping. Without a word, Caine followed his brother.

To be continued