#said your parent of choice. ''but a man in italy offered to take care of you. pack your things''. y/n was shocked and disgusted and in fear

[andromachos]

congrats to pucci on getting adopted i guess

[petalsmooth]

Ok.

Let’s talk Lili.

First off we only know what stars put out about themselves or other people say about them. We are not friends with these people. We are not in their homes. We don’t usually hear what they say in unguarded conversation. What we know is what is out on social media with some highly distorted soundbites from chats or DM’s with her mother that were exposed.

We were initially presented a portrait pushed by her and her family no less of a middle class family with the standard girl next door hit it big narrative. Down to earth, relatable, somewhat quirky. Strong two parent supportive household. All that was missing were the apron and pearls.

This girl came out of the gates talking about a modernized Riverdale with two girls who would be actually close and not vying for the same redhead. Feel free to add/or correct along the way of course...especially early on when not following as closely.

We got very little in the way of insight into Cole and Lili because they were trying to keep it quiet even if there were hints together. Mostly during this period what fans were fed was that she was slightly awkward socially, maybe not the most intellectual but nice and harmless. She spoke of empowering women, independence, she constantly shut down the idea of Barchie and praised Bughead. Along through the year’s she would speak to social bullying or bullying in general. She would openly talk about struggles with mental health. She’d talk and show her cystic acne and share photos not all airbrushed in ode to body positivity. She’d talk about not having an hourglass figure, and cellulite and often go out in ratty shorts and a bun sans makeup. You see she’d talk about it then follow through by showing lived the walk or calling out photoshops done of her.

Again this is “relatable girl next door quirky Lili” we told was the REAL Lili.

She would frequently talk and post about her family and dogs at home and how much she loved and missed them...though oddly not so much her older sister.

At a certain point it became undeniable Cole and Lili were together to even the hardest deniers. Of course also the Met gala eventually made official for media.

We get have her liking posts such as Miley’s about how lucky she was to have a man who checked off all the boxes. But at times there were glimpses all wasn’t kosher. People have mentioned various cons where she’d be caught flirting somewhere else, or she’d be in a bad mood giving Cole a cold shoulder. We recently saw an old video of them walking and her basically demanding he drop the fans and attend her. We have the con were Camilla is sexually harassing Cole everywhere and Lili doesn’t shut it down until Camilla tries to grind on him. It was so bad even Mads intervened. We have the interview where she is talking over him or rolling her eyes and basically being the unprofessional brat her fans claim she is not. Even though it’s ON CAMERA. Snapping at your co worker/boyfriend and rolling your eyes during a professional interview is not deniable.

Flashforward to the trip to Italy because for me there was always something off about that. That trip was obviously planned far in advance. Clearly Lili was supposed to be there. Her fans quickly blamed Cole because Lili was working. Lili didn’t have to work. It wasn’t a career changing move to do that film. It did not do well. I’m not entirely sure what was happening around that time but I have the sense Cole was disappointed/a  little angry she prioritized it over him accepting very likely the offer AFTER the trip was planned.

Lili spirals during this time. Cole comes back to clean up mess. They are quiet on social media for a long time then slowly emerge again and eventually get the photo booth shots, the wedding and her mingling with NY friends for once. Turns out close to the end for them.

I don’t want to make this a Sprousehart post though although some relevance to bring part of it up. The point is Lili put her career over her relationship. It was a calculated decision. It was also the wrong decision. Her fans talk about her being this warm giving person but that was a cynical call and a pretty lousy thing to do to your boyfriend of several year’s. I’m all for supportive partners but there are time’s where you make sacrifices if you really care for someone and this was a special trip planned long in advance. She blew it off. If I’m the partner she does this too, I question why I’m putting in the effort if it doesn’t mean to them what it means to me. 

TBH I think the bad choices she made there is why tried to make it up by meeting with his friends, the wedding etc...

Something than clearly happened because by January they were done. Not sure we’ll ever know but it looked like they were trying to fix things given the happiness hadn’t seen on Cole’s faces in a long time in those booth pics and then...it was done. We didn’t know at the time, but this is timeline Cole gave. There was a brief attempt at reconciliation where she babysits him at a photo shoot and posts a photo of them in bed and then shortly after...Cole calls it off. 

He heads to LA, she follows him there but not without making sure to shove Casey’s face into her chest to post and rent a place close to where he is staying. She posts weepy messages about the world ending etc....and weird new photos mimicking old shoots with him so naturally people think this means whatever happened they worked through. Around same time she and hers manipulated her fans to try to cancel him earlier because she misunderstood a picture of Kaia....although flat out if he had been with Kaia he was SINGLE and it was no longer her business.

She tries to walk back the firestorm she unleashed on him by “defending” him from a lesser twitter trend after realizing misconstrued the Kaia picture, All summer she weirdly seems to be trying to avoid the topic if they are together or not despite saying once if they weren’t she’d tell people. She finally puts her foot in her mouth one two many times' and Cole confirms they broke up which she doesn’t acknowledge. Because she doesn’t want to be broken up.

As we know know it wasn’t all rainbows on the set even before all this happened as in the musical she’d launched an object at him hard enough to have the crew concerned. Lili fans keep saying Cole is abusive but the only evidence we have of abuse is her towards him. We also had her suddenly doing a 180 from past 4 year’s and excusing cheating with Archie and promoting everyone in her live recaps except Cole/Jughead.

Back to the events following Cole’s post....then we get a sudden string of interviews taking shots at Cole, doxxing him, implying he could have strayed (just to resurrect hate against him) but can’t say he actually did because she has no proof. We know this because in those chats admit it was just suspicion and paranoia and never did have any names.

We learn that Lili has been funneling news and gossip and photos to keep her mother’s hold on the fandom in check and her mother in turn has been bullying people who would stand on Cole’s side. They sought to ruin him. This is not debatable.

For year’s people had made fun and called Bree out for being an obsessive stalker unable to let a relationship go, then Lili starts doing the same. We know she has tried to copy Ari’s style, her mother made a snide comment about breast size, Lili tried to taunt Ari from on set and Ari shut her down. A girl who almost never was in the line of sight of paps suddenly is snapped everyday following break up even before the public new. That doesn’t just happen. She wanted the attention.

I’m not going to go into all of it, you all know it. Suffice to say revealing she has a bitter vindictive attitude she has submersed herself in ever since Cole made it clear no reunion. She won’t even broach the topic of Bughead/Jughead unless forced. You can spin all you like but the split screens was not an artistic choice by RD. It was spurred by need to keep them apart.

Lili last summer was doing precious little other than a post or two of Black Lives matter and then when Cole gets arrested suddenly she jumps on the me too and sets up impulsive lives. Maybe she meant well but a part of me thinks she did it to attract his attention. Notice once she got praise for it and the initial protests faded she more or less doesn’t bring it up anymore. Cole never intended to get attention, it just happened because he’s a star and got taken in to a jail cell. He never put himself on camera for notice. 

Lili also co-opts the murder of a girl to flaunt she thinks she looks good naked. Completely tone deaf. 

Lili very rarely is seen in fan photos, only usually when she’s getting flack for it online. She, a girl who talks about bullying, went on a  midnight tirade against a guy who dares to critique or poetry setting her fans on him. Then deleted it probably because publicist in her ear.

She first said poems not about Cole, than said you could read into what you wanted to sell them. Now she doesn’t want to talk poetry or sequels because it flopped and was critically panned.

There are constant rumors about Lili on sets of productions to point they even had someone on her newer movie try to downplay. Yet we see in a video the cast barely talking and looking tense on a boat. 

The girl who used to talk about body positivity now lets them airbrush abs onto her.

The girl who used to talk of therapy and mental illness now promotes OTC supplements for $ and cults.

If she mentions cellulite she uses other tik toks of people showing not her own. 

She said she would never be on tik tok, yet now has her own and post old videos that aren’t funny.

Lili once tired to attack Cole by talking about losing yourself in drugs or alcohol or sex yet we’ve seen her drug paraphernalia because she advertises. Her friends post and laugh over her being drunk. She was in an off and on relationship with Wallis that doesn’t seem to be about anything but sex.

We were told Coles friends are bad influences but Taylor is out there solicitating questionable clients and making videos slamming LILI’S COWORKER as a bad actor and his brother,

The majority of Lili’s posts no longer feature Sunny or her family/Addy. 

She insulted Vancouver, compared to a prison, and made it clear her creature comforts were of more importance than a pandemic. Not quite the attitude of an empath. Which she claims she is with intention to be a master which require sucking more gullible people into the cult.

She brags about being a “rich man” without understand the context. She went from artistic photos to modeling pinups to fuel her lack of self esteem.

She’s in her mid 20′s, claims she had grown and matured in the last year but there is no evidence of it. Still can’t work with her ex without buffers which still influences show direction though her fans deny.. Still lives off junk food and hangovers. Those glasses aren’t just for sun. Her timeline is mostly an ode to her vanity with pictures of herself and then her dog. She doesn’t seem to have any causes she’s deeply involved in on the side apart from her cult. She’s still stalking Cole as her impulsive makeup tutorial showed. She said she cut out of her life anyone who doesn’t service her. I highly doubt she is receiving quality therapy on the regular right now. She still does not seem to possess the ability to own her mistakes and apologize when warranted, rather deflects or erases when heat becomes too hot.

The content she puts out about herself post break up is very different than the bill of goods fans were sold before. She is a far cry from that quirky girl next door that stood FOR something more than vanity and shallow affirmation. So no, I don’t see what you see in her stans. Everything that once seemed to distinguish her from other spoilt princesses has long faded. 

[hs-devote]

ii. láthi: the touch

Moodboard * Content * Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

chapter i. láthi: the myth

ii. the touch

Selene came home not long after their sexual intercourse. The sex mind-blowing, for sure. Their sex always blowing Harry's mind, they know how to please each other at the most.  And it always boosts his ego when he makes his partner come many times. 

Later that night, around ten when the sky is very dark with stars and the full moon shining brightly, the God decides to visit the ocean. Well, he wants to meet something there. To ask for a little insight into his mission. Because until now, he hasn't been able to find someone he's looking for. He can't even feel the missing Goddess' presence, and he's a little pissed off about it. Well, it seems as if something has been distracting his mind, and Harry is well aware. Who, and why.

The beach is obviously clear from the visitor. There’s nothing as far as his eyes can see except the rocks and endless expanse of ocean. He slowly walks closer, letting the calm water wet his feet. His legs continue to take him deeper into the water until reaches his waist. Then, he closes his eyes, focused on who he is and calls out the one he wants to meet. 

His adrenaline is getting higher when he feels the waves getting wilder and the ocean breeze slapping his face and body. He inhales and exhales. Repeatedly. He feels surrounded by stars bow to him, and the moon exactly right in front of him. He feels his power, he regains his power more and more. 

She's here... 

She’s close 

Don’t worry, Your Majesty. You will have children 

Your lover will bear the children 

Sooner or later 

Your children to the throne 

But, only if you didn’t do anything wrong 

Or, the mistake will carry your children away 

  He doesn’t even flinch when the wild waves hitting his whole body, swallow his relaxed body without dragging him from the shore. It happens several times when he’s communicating with the ocean, which became one of the gates to Centauri. The ocean that blessed by Centauri’s Gods and Goddesses in the previous centuries, and he’s here to find the vision. 

But, which he doesn’t know, Y/N has been looking at him from the distance. She saw him when she had just come home from work and intends to go home along the beach. However, her steps stopped when she saw someone seemed just standing in the water with eyes closing. At first, she thought the stranger wanted to kill himself. Yet, after he got closer, she recognised that man.  

Harry. 

She feels odd when seeing the ocean looks like bowing to him. The way he doesn't seem to care when the waves hit his body making her wonder. What does he do? He can't possibly want to kill himself, can he? 

She’s more and more worried when he doesn’t move from there while the wind is getting stronger like a storm is about to break. Then it hits her. Waves as high as three meters crashing into his body and making the man disappear immediately caused her to scream. Her body trembling violently when the ocean returns to calm without Harry’s presence in his standing place earlier. 

Where is he? 

Did the waves wash him away? 

She just saw he commit suicide. 

But why?

She can't think straightly. She feels guilty because she knows she could stop him. 

Turning her body around, she screams again to see him standing right before her. His body and clothes aren't soaked at all, dry as if he hadn't been exposed to water. He looks at her with a confused look. She blinks repeatedly, making sure she's not seeing wrong. 

“Y/N?” Harry arches his eyebrow, “What are you doing here?” 

“Harry?” 

How come he’s here? A fraction of a second earlier she had seen the man being swallow by the waves. There was no way he needed only a few seconds to run over here. 

“I saw.. saw you there!” she stammers while pointing the ocean, “You were swallowed up by the waves! And.. and you disappeared. How.. how come?” 

"What do you mean? I don't understand." he lies, scrunching his face. In the bottom of his heart, he doesn't deny it. For an obvious reason, he can't say yes. If he says it, he swears the girl in front of him will pass out. 

“You were suicide commit earlier!” she cried out, “And now you’re here.” 

Harry just let out a humorous laugh, shaking his head to her confession. Y/N staring at him like a confused toddler, her brain digests what she just said. There's nothing wrong with what she said, right? 

"It's almost midnight, Y/N. I think you were just sleepy so you were hallucinating." he argues, "Have you eaten yet?" 

“Just lunch today.” she squeaks, telling him the truth. Today customers were awfully much, making her come home late and didn’t have time to eat properly. Maybe it’s true what Harry just said, she’s already sleepy and hungry, she planned to cook something for her dinner after she got home. 

“Then, I’ll treat you dinner.” he offers, “I think there are still restaurant open at this hour.” 

"Uh, I'm fine, H.” she refused politely, “It's okay. Besides, I believe my granny is waiting for me at home." 

"I don't want you to go home with a grumbling stomach, Y/N. You can call your grandmother and tell her you to go to eat first, I think she will understand." 

“C’mon. The sooner we go, the sooner you go home.” Harry insists when Y/N says nothing. He has to make her think what she saw was only her hallucinations, and on the other hand he knows she hasn’t eaten because he can feel it. 

“If only we split the bill,” she bids, “I can’t let you keep paying my food.” 

“Fine then.” he relents, then offering his hand for her to take, “Let’s go.” 

And of course, Y/N shyly grabs his hand.  

Harry takes her to the trattoria down the street, which the only one dining that’s still open. The place isn’t too crowded making it easier for them to talk. While he has made his meal choice, Y/N looks confused while looking at the menu book. She isn’t confused, no. It’s just that the food is quite pricey even though it’s only a trattoria, and she doesn’t want to spend her money just for a dinner. 

“I'll have spaghetti aglio e olio, I guess.” she shrugs, choosing the least priced meal. 

“That’s all?” 

“Yup. And mineral water for the drink,” she confirms, “What would you have?” 

"Err, I will go with the salads." then, he adds "I'm a pescatarian so I'm pretty picky about what I eat." 

“How does it feel?” she enquires after the Harry called the waiter for taking their order, “Being pescatarian and all. I once thought about going vegan but I haven’t gotten started yet.” 

“I feel like it makes my body better, plus I can’t bear to eat.. animals because I love them.” he begins, “I still eat seafood but I think I’ll reduce it.” 

“How wise of you.” 

“I know,” he smirks, “Have you told your grandmother that you’ll be home late?” 

“I have. I just texted her that I’ll be home late.” 

“So, Y/N. Is that correct that you only live with your grandmother?” 

Harry remembers the day when Y/N told him she just lives with her grandmother in Syracuse and somehow it makes him curious. There was a spark of wonder that tickled him to know more about her. They're friends now, there's nothing wrong if he wants to know, right? 

“Yes,” she exhales, “Granny asked me to move to Italy from England after the death of my parents. She didn’t want me to be sad if I stay in London and remember the incident that.. killed them.” 

"How did they.. gone?" he says quietly, "It's okay if you don't answer that. I just curious because the last time you told me, you were eight back then. You were still quite young when they died." 

"It's okay," she mumbles, "They were killed in a car accident after dinner, their car was badly damaged and they couldn't be saved. What makes me sad sometimes is that the crash site is only ten minutes from our home. Yet, they didn't go home. Instead, they went home to heaven. I didn't believe their goodbye that night was their last goodbye for me." 

Seeing the woman in front of him looking sad, Harry cannot do anything except taking her hands to his and caress them as a sign of comfort. He knows Y/N forced herself to tell him about that and he felt grateful that she trusted him enough for being open with her life. 

“Even I’m not her granddaughter by blood, I’m very lucky to have her in my life. And I love her dearly.”   

Harry raises his eyebrow, doesn't think she would speak far enough. He just found out that her grandmother isn't her real grandmother. But, he chooses to remain silent to respect her. He won’t ask any further unless if she’s the one who starts it. 

“My granny adopted my father when he was ten since she didn’t have any children. She loved him so much and never treated him as if he wasn’t her own flesh and blood. Then, she got happier when my father met my mother, then they got married and had me. She said we’re a blessing from the universe.” 

“She sounded like a very kind and wise woman.” 

“Very much.” 

He just nods, with his hands still stroking her hands. They don't utter a word until a few minutes later, busy with their own thought. Harry immediately let go of their joining hands when the waiter come with their food, and it makes Y/N a little sad. Somehow Harry was able to make her feel better and put a smile on her face, and it seems she has started to depend on it. 

Who isn't attracted to him? 

He’s more than handsome to describe. 

He’s more than charming to tell.  

“I think I would like to meet your grandmother one day,” he says out of nowhere, “I’m curious about someone as extraordinary as her.” 

"Oh, you're going to love her!" she gushes, "And I think she will love you. I mean, she loves a handsome man." 

“Well, you’re thinking I’m handsome, huh?” 

Y/N's face flushed with embarrassment, cursing her stupidity for saying that. She quickly shakes it off, playing it cool but still embarrassed by the man in front of her. 

She speaks confidently, “Of course. Why should I deny it?” 

“It makes the second compliment you said to me, you know?” he laughs, “But, thank you.” 

"Take it as a compliment," she shrugs, then starts eating her food, "What about you?" 

“Me?” 

“Mhm. I’ve been honest with you as a friend. We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

 Harry clears his throat, sipping his drink before answering her. "As I've told you, I'm here for work and I love.. history. My parents also died several years ago from old age. I have no siblings, though." 

He isn’t lying. 

His parents indeed passed away from old age, just before he took the throne. He did have no siblings, it always himself alone in the family line, except his parents, until one day Selene became a part of the royal family. 

“Where were you before coming here?” 

Well, he doesn’t expect that kind of question. 

“Err, England.” he lies uncomfortably. He feels bad because her eyes sparkling, looking excited when she heard the man in front of him also came from England. 

“You didn’t tell me before.” she beams, “Which part of England?” 

And Harry doesn’t know, his lie tonight will lead into another lie. 

. . . .

Harry is increasingly coming to visit Y/N at her work, whether to buy the flowers or just to meet her, and it seems to be his undoubted routine activities. He knows this sounds cliché and pathetic, yet he can't just go one day without seeing her. The woman has a charm of her own that makes him think about her all the time. It feels like she has a magnet that keeps him from getting away from her. He always has a reason when Y/N or her co-worker questions his visit, especially when he doesn't want to shop. Even he blatantly flirts at Y/N, which he had never done before as a God. Not even with Selene.  

How did Y/N react? 

As someone who has never dated and got such attention from a male, she doesn't deny the feelings of flattery and shy. No man ever openly shows interest in her – or someone perhaps but she was insensitive. She's overwhelmed with the attention, fluttering hearts and many more. Too much indescribable feelings.  

“Thank you for waiting for me until my shift is finished. You didn't have to do that.” Y/N shares a smile when Harry picking her up from work after he spent three hours waiting for her to finish her shift. She doesn't know Harry will wait until she's done because he usually stopped by for a moment. 

"It's okay, Y/N. I don't have any work right now so I have free time for a while." Harry shrugs, looking at the girl who walks next to him. It's obvious that he offers a ride home to her, which often he does when the opportunity arose. 

“And that's mean I owe you a lot, you know? You gave me a few treats and drove me home but I haven't repaid your kindness, yet.” she chuckles, shaking her head. “How about, you're coming home with me so I can cook something for you? I know it will be different than those fancy restaurant but if you don't mind– ” 

“I would love to.” 

"Yeah?" she grins, the way her eyes flickering an excitement makes Harry's heart throbbing. In fact, this small gesture makes this girl look so happy. He just smiles in return, patting her head affectionately before wrapping his arm around her shoulder, guides her to walk a little bit faster. 

“C'mon then. I'm quite hungry right now.” 

She just giggles, letting he drags him to where he parked his car. Yet, she furrows her eyebrow when she doesn't see his car there. She could quickly recognise Harry's car because it was vintage, and this time her eyes don't see any vintage cars there. 

“I know what you're thinking but I don't drive the vintage one today.” he says, walking to a black Maserati and opens the door for her, “That beauty needs her routine check-ups.” 

“Thank you.” mumbles her while examining the expensive car, “This is fancy.” 

“Mhm.” he agrees, “Get in, love. Watch your head.” 

Love... 

The first pet name he says to her. Well, he's being kind and friendly, isn't he?  

"Ah, yes. I'm sorry."  she shakes her head and climbs into the car, "I don't know your job can afford this kind of car." 

"Been saving for years." he answers after he sits on the driver seat, "Saving allows me to get two cars for now." 

"I bet your vintage car costs a fortune too?" 

“Much likely.” 

He lies. Absolutely lies. Being a God, let alone a ruler of a realm means to be surrounded with a lot of wealth and definitely rich. He only needed to bring golds to sell and make money here since gold is like currency for Centauri. Centauri's gold is undoubtful and very valuable. Of course, he has to be careful when selling gold.

 Both of them arrive at Y/N's house after fifteen minutes drive. Her house isn't big, more modern than Harry's cottage. The combination of white paint on the walls and wooden materials create a homey and modest atmosphere. In front of the terrace, there are many pots filled with beautiful blooming flowers. 

"Welcome to my home," Y/N speaks softly and opening the door for both of them to enter, "My granny probably still outside. Make yourself comfortable, H." 

He slightly nods, carefully to steps forward while looking at his surrounding. Unlike his cottage, her house interior is mostly covered by wallpaper with a small area of the painted wall. According to Y/N, this house has two bedrooms with two bathrooms, a living room, kitchen and dining room, and a function room to do the laundry and small garden for her granny to plant a few flowers since their pots in the terrace no longer fits anymore. But then, his eyes catching a few pictures on the hallway. 

“I like it here.” he mumbles, eyes raking through the frame hanging on the wall. Most of them are pictures of little Y/N, her parents, or the family portrait. It always the three of them; the father, the mother, and her. Where's her grandmother? 

"My granny always took the pictures, so there's no picture of four of us. Plus, my granny doesn't like being photographed." she laughs, joining him who still staring the family pictures. The small family looks so happy and radiant, smiling widely to the camera. 

“What's your grandmother name?” 

“Her name is Ilitia.” 

“You look so cute in here,” he points at the picture where little Y/N was standing on her feet and being held with her mother, “I bet this was your first step?” 

“Supposed to be.” she nods, “Anyway, what kind of food do you want? Do you want Italian? Or maybe English cuisine?” 

“Anything is fine for me.” 

“Unless it's meat..” 

“Unless it's meat, yes.” 

“Okay. I'll be in the kitchen for another few minutes. Just call me if you need something, and if you want a drink just open the fridge, okay?” 

Harry nods as she disappears to the kitchen, starting to make whatever she wanted. He doesn't care if its Italian or even English dish she makes, the only thing he cares about the time they spend together. 

Twenty minutes passed, Y/N still in the kitchen and Harry begin to curious. He waited patiently while watching the television that had been turned on by her previously. Yet, he grows impatient as he smells the food aroma that tickles his nose, making him almost drool over its delicious smell, and he decides to walk to the kitchen. 

"Smells delicious." he praises, looking at the still cooking food from Y/N's shoulder. Good thing she acknowledges his presence and doesn't flinch when he speaks from behind. She just shrugs while her hand still on the pan. 

“Thank you.” she hums, “Go sit down, this will be ready in ten minutes.” 

Harry just obeys, moving to a chair in the dining room. His hand supported his chin while his eyes watching Y/N turn off the stove and ready to serve him. During his godly life, it was always servant who made food for him, except his mother if she wasn't busy while she was still alive, but when he lives with Selene, his wife never made him a meal or let her hands do such paltry work – like this. 

“Here you go.” 

He closes his eyes, letting the delicious scent of food in front of him fill his sense of smell. The delicious of freshly cooked food reminds him of the smell of bread that his mother had just taken out of the woodfire when he was kid, instantly making him miss his late mother. Meanwhile, Y/N take a seat next to him to make her little easier to study his face expression. He looks cute while closing his eyes, smiling so fondly until his dimples are full force. 

"Go give them a try." 

She bites her lips as Harry opens his eyes, and taking a full bite of the food. She squints her eyes while he chews, letting his tongue digest the rich flavour of the Italian simple dishes. Y/N just hope Harry to like it, and if he likes it, she probably makes some more for him someday. 

"The aroma doesn't lie," he speaks with a mouth full, "... è delizioso. Mi piace molto.” 

“Felice di sentirlo. puoi portarne un po 'a casa se vuoi.” 

“Mia cara?” 

She gasps when hearing her granny's voice as the door opened softly, happy that the old lady comes in perfect time. Excusing herself from Harry, she walks out to find the woman who raised her until now. The only family she has. Not long after, she returns with someone whose Harry assumes is Ilitia, her beloved grandmother. Yet, he's quite surprised that Ilitia doesn't look like a sixty or seventy years old, she looks so much younger. With her golden hair, sharp yet friendly eyes, she gives him small smile. 

“Hello, I'm Harry. Nice to meet you, ma'am.” he politely shakes her hand after getting up from the chair, making the best impression for Y/N's family. 

“Hi, Harry. I'm Ilitia.” she nods, “I don't know my granddaughter has a company today?” then she averts her gaze to Y/N. 

“I promised to cook something for Harry and he happened to stop by,” she answers, “I made Mushroom Bruschetta!” 

Harry grins, “Trust me your granddaughter is a great cook. I just ate one when you came, and it's phenomenal.” 

“Of course she is! She's just like her mother who loves and great at cook.” Ilitia beams, “Do you spare one for this old lady, Mia Cara?” 

“I made a lot, don't worry.” Y/N laughs, “I'm sure Harry can also take it home if he wants.” 

Being the gentleman he is, Harry pulls the chair for Ilitia to sit before he returns to his chair. Sometimes he glances at Ilitia and Y/N who are now sitting next to each other and staring at the two women. If he didn't know Ilitia is her grandmother, he would think Ilitia is her mother or even her sister. Even Ilitia isn't Y/N grandmother by blood, the two of them is still look alike. 

“How did you two know each other?” Ilitia asks them both, a bit glaring towards Harry. Her sharp yet warm glare makes him a little uncomfortable but he tries to shake the feeling away. He doesn't know, but there's something about the grandmother that he can't put a finger on it. 

"I met her in her work and I'm her regular customer if you can say." he shortly answers, "And we became friends." 

"He always comes every day to buy flowers." Y/N giggles, "Literally every day!" 

Ilitia raises her eyebrow, "Oh, I've never known a man who likes flower very much." 

“I am,” Harry laughs. 

"You're truly a different kind then, young man."  

The rest of the night they spend talking while Harry is more of a listener to Y/N and Ilitia. He also gets to know Y/N even more when her grandmother told him about her childhood. He finally decides to go home since it's getting late, feeling uncomfortable if he stays any longer and he's sure they both need rest, especially Ilitia. 

"Thank you for stopping by, H." Y/N thanks him while escorting him to his car, "I can tell my granny likes you." 

“Is that so?” 

She nods, “If she doesn't like you, she won't probably want to talk to you.” 

"Good then. She's a nice woman." he grins, "And again, thank you for the Bruschetta and thank you for packing some for me to take home." 

Y/N peeking at the small box on his hand, “No problem, H.” 

Giving her his signature smile, Harry takes a step closer and landing a soft peck on her cheek. Letting the reddish shy blossoming and heated her skin, only for him finding her too cute for blushing. 

“Good night, love.” 

"... good night, H." she whispers after a moment while her eyes trailing where his car disappears from her sight. She can't believe it. Harry just kissed her, on the cheek. That was not his first time to make a move on her. He once put his arms around her, held her hand, but this time.. it makes her heart bursting with happiness. A different kind of happiness that she's not sure what it is. Slowly, her palm creeps into the skin where the man had just kissed. Like an idiot, she smiles as she rubs her cheek. Not wanting her neighbour sees her being an idiot, she rushed inside. 

“You're blushing.” Ilitia teases her when Y/N closes the door, “You really like him, aren't you?” 

“Is that obvious, granny?” she mumbles, sitting next to Ilitia who's watching television. 

Ilitia rolls her eyes playfully, "Even my old eyes can see that crystal clear, mia cara..” 

“He's very nice, granny. He's very sweet, funny..” she trails off, “And.. beautiful.” 

“Beautiful?” 

“Handsome isn't enough for him. His ethereal beauty is unmatched.” 

Ilitia just laughs, shaking her head while looking at her granddaughter who's still stunned with whatever happened between them earlier. 

“This old lady doesn't know anything about love, mia cara. But, just be careful. I don't want you to get upset and heartbroken.” 

. . . .

A kiss on the other night leads Harry to venture into more physical contact with Y/N. He dared to embrace her, holding her hand, and steal the opportunity to give her a little kiss or quick peck on the cheek – and it's been going on for a quite a while. Y/N doesn't know where they stand, Harry has never spoken about their relationship, yet he admits he likes her a lot but doesn't officially say they're a boyfriend-girlfriend thing. 

Does she care? 

Not really. 

What she cares about is, her feeling isn't one-sided.  

“Harry, Harry, please!” 

Both of them are in his cottage, spending the weekend together with baking and cooking as they planned before. They're now covered with flour, thanks to Harry who first threw the powder at her playfully and ended up spending a sack wasted. 

"Our Croissants will never be finished!" she shouts, shielding her face away with both hands. Harry who's standing feet away from her, just laughing at her who had given up. 

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry, love.” he giggles, “Here, let me help you.” 

Y/N pouts as Harry put the sack on the counter, then helps her to brush her hair from the sprinkling flour. Luckily it's not overcovered her hair fully. 

“I have to take a shower to get rid this off of me,” she mumbles, sweeping the flour from her shirt. 

“No, you don't.” he denies, “You still look beautiful if you wanna know.” 

She snorts, pinching his arm jokingly to cover her now hot and pinkish cheeks. While the man in front of him still brushing the white particles off of her, Y/N has her eyes stuck on him – studying every inch of his perfect face. She brings her hand dancing on his porcelain skin, feeling her fingertips pulsating in every layer of her skin. 

“Now, why are you staring at me?” Harry hums, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears. 

“You're so pretty.” 

He squinted, “Am I?” 

“Yes.” she breathes as he's now staring deeply at her. The pair don't exchange a word, just enjoying looking at each other with thousand meaning behind their gaze. Slowly, and very carefully, Harry leans in and cradles her jaw with his large palm. 

And for the next millisecond, their lips joined together, dancing in the same rhythm. Y/N was shocked at first, then she closes her eyes feeling the softness of his plump lips on her. She never kissed someone nor being kissed. She just hopes she doesn't disappoint him for being the first time. This is her first time being intimate with someone after all. 

She moans as the pleasure hits her, feeling the goosebumps tingles her skin. The way his hot lips ghosting down her throat, leaving wet kisses all around her skin and some bite marks blossoming into reddish. 

They both pull back as their gaping for breath, but Harry quickly feels her lips on him in a second. He likes the way her lips tastes like honey and soft like the winter snowflake, yet his fingers travelling around her side, squeezing her hips only to makes her moans louder. 

He smirks as he feels her hands fumbling with his shirt's button, he shushes her as he held her wandering hands, breaking their linked mouth for a moment. 

“So eager,” he pants, touching their foreheads together. 

“You're the one who initiated it first.” she huffs, placing her hands on his chest. 

Their swollen lips meet each other again for the umpteenth time. Both of them smiling into the kiss then turns into a steamy make-out session when Harry begins undoing her jeans button. Effortless, he makes her jump and latching her legs around his hips, then brings her into his bedroom. 

They didn't break the kiss until they got to Harry's room. He softly drops her body into his mattress, hovering her with his strong body as they stare at each other. He notices how flushed she is, with red-swollen lips, and few bites mark spreading around her jaw and neck. He wastes no time to kiss her as his hand unzipped her blouse and tossing it away. Then, he finished unbuttoning her jeans. Leaving the girl only on her bra and knicker. 

"Beautiful." he whispers while his eyes wandering up and down her delicate body, "How pretty," he adds while kissing her now bare stomach. 

Y/N sighed as he licks her hips, blowing a deep breath into her belly button. Suddenly, she becomes nervous. She has never done this before, and if she's going to do this for the first time, with Harry, she doesn't want to upset him. She has to be honest with him and she knows he really appreciates whatever she's going to say. 

“Harry..” 

“What is it, love?” he lifts his head after nicking her skin, “Tell me if this is too much.” 

He frowns when the girl beneath him doesn't say anything, “Or, you don't want to do this? We can stop it now if you're not sure.” 

“No, no. It's not like that. I.. I do want this. It's just...” 

Does she really need to do this? 

“I want this, H. I really do. But, I've never done this before.” she timidly says, “I'm afraid–” 

"Hey, hey. None of that." he cuts her off, "I don't care if you haven't done this if you have done this. I don't care if you're virgin or not. What all I care about is your feelings, concern, certainty." 

"I'm one hundred percent sure, H." she confirms, "I'm sure to want to do this with you." 

“No second thoughts? We still have much time if you want to– ” 

“Harry...” she whines, “Please, I need you.”  

That's it. 

It was his sign to continue whatever they have on mind. He breathes in relief before kissing her again and letting her hands help him take off his clothes. Once they discarded clothes joining each other's, Harry waste no time to fuck her no mercy until the only words leaving her lips are his name in moaning pleasure.

*

that was.. fast. what do ya think?

[gossipchii]

Drive to survive

FF.net: here / AO3: here

Characters: Ishida Yamato

Words: 5100+

Notes: I promised this on twitter, and here as well and well, it happened. A Digimon story on my latest obsession. the Formula 1.

It’s safe to say I got excited, this is my longest story in forever!

Anyway, hope you like it as much as I do. Enjoy!

He was making history; he could not let himself forget it. Not ever had there been a Japanese driver to win podiums, and so far, during that season only, he had five. He had been working towards where he was right now ever since he was 8, when his dad had taken him to a kid’s go-kart circuit in Tokyo and had found out his heart had never beaten quicker. His mom had gotten scared when he told her how much he had liked it, and that he wanted to go back.

The owner of the place, a former engineer for Formula 1, was impressed as soon as he placed his eyes on him.

“He’s got talent,” he had told his mother, she shrugged it off. It was only a hobby, it had to be.

When his grandparents had gone visiting from Paris, Yamato had insisted on them seeing him race, he was only ten at the time. His grandfather knew he raced go-karts from his calls with his mother, but since she had insisted it was just a hobby, he took it that way. Of course, as an old French man, he was a big afficionado of car races, and nevertheless he was impressed by how fast his young grandson was.

“He’s a natural Natsuko, you must understand this is not just a hobby.”

Yamato traveled back to France with his grandparents, after he had heard them discussed with his mother about him taking a shot at race teams in Europe, professional ones. He had never been a professional before, he was not even sure what that meant, since Formula 1 was not a popular sport between his classmates, it was all about soccer and baseball, he did not know people could get paid by racing.

Michel, his grandfather, had a friend, who knew a friend, who was a part of the recruiting team of Renault’s quarry, and as soon as they saw 10-year-old Yamato behind his tiny wheel, they knew he was a natural, good enough to start training as soon as possible with their team.

It all happened too fast for him, he had to go back to Tokyo to pack up his life and leaving for good. He was not even certain if he were feeling sad or nostalgic, all he knew was school would turn into something he could do at home, and in French, and that he would be racing all the time. It all sounded like a dream, really.

“Don’t tell your grandma I’m telling you this but go kick those English kids’ butts!” had been the encouragement words coming from his grandpa before his first-ever professional race. He was 13 at the time, already gaining enough attention from the media, especially from his home country, despite only stepping foot in Japan once a year.

He tried not to read anything regarding himself, they tended to be mean, and underappreciating him. He knew after the first article he had read, he would never read it again, what was the point anyway?

“Next time I see anyone writing something mean they’ll be fired, even if they work elsewhere,” his dad had threatened.

“It’s okay, I don’t even care anymore. Let them talk, all I care about is getting podium, again.”

And so, he did, until he was old enough to jump to the bigger leagues. From Formula 3 to Formula 2, and finally, with only 21 years old, signing a five-year contract with the team Michel had always admired: Scuderia Ferrari.

Sadly enough, he had not had the chance to see him drive in red, because he had passed away due to a heart-attack, his grandmother passing away shortly after. People said she had died from heartbreak. Yamato only took it as another reason why he had to prove his best. His management team had told him media were already calling him the best Japanese driver in history, and that was nice, but only if he made it reality.

Yamato had helped Ferrari pound back to being the first-place team once again, after years of competing against Red-Bull and Mercedes. But he had only been the fifth best racer, not good enough if he wanted to make history.

That week he was back in his homeland, Japan greeting him as a hero for the Japanese Grand Prix. It was scary how much his face was everywhere he looked, even more so than pop-icons. He was glad his team respected his choice to remain mostly private, and when they wanted advertising, his team-mate, an Austrian dude who was six years older than him, was more than happy to do the interviewing.

It was safe to say he was not pleased when they asked him to do a photoshoot for a local fashion brand, up and coming worldwide, apparently. Yamato did not care much about fashion, despite him being called the best dressed racer a few years in a row. Not that he knew about it, plus he usually put on an all-black outfit and he was through.

“Why can’t Lechner do it?”

“They want you specifically, Ishida.” His manager said softly, “even the Japanese embassy is paying for this partnership. Aren’t you proud to be Japanese?”

“Of course, I am, asshole.” He smirked, rolling his eyes as he decided it was the perfect timing to visit his brother.

As expected, he was on a tight schedule, this could never count as a vacation visit to Japan, but he had asked his team to send him into Japan two days earlier to visit his family. It was a tradition he tended to do ever since he started racing world-wide.

He took his ever-loved motorbike and drove as fast as he could to Odaiba. Driving a motorbike had been what he could call his hobby, since karting had turned into his job, having built a couple of them while living in Italy.

“He better be home,” he stretched his arms as he opened the door in front of him, knowing damn well his brother always made the mistake to leave it unlocked. He heard him singing in his bathroom, which meant he was finishing taking a shower. He looked around to confirm his mother was not home and shrugged it off. He had drifted apart from her when he initially moved to France with his grandparents, and even more so when his parents (finally) got divorced.

“Don’t you dare opening that door if you’re naked.”

“YAMATO?” Takeru opened the door wearing nothing but his tiny white trousers.

“I truly do not feel like seeing you naked,” but of course his younger brother could not care less and ran to greet him with a hug. He was the only person on earth allowed to hug him.

“What a funny way of admitting how much you had missed me!!” He gifted him one of his traded white smiles, the warmest smile Yamato knew. “Nervous for this weekend?”

“As long as it doesn’t rain, I don’t see why I should be.”

“Even when it rains you succeed, you’re always making everyone proud!”

“Even you?” he served himself oolong tea. He was surprised to see beer in his mom’s fridge, forgetting for a second his younger brother was legally allowed to drink.

“You know I’m your number one fan, those old-rich men are nothing compared to the original Yamato Ishida stan!” Takeru walked into his room to get dressed, for Yamato’s relief. He had offered his mother if they wanted to move to a bigger apartment, considering he now had the money to provide her and Takeru with something better, but she had refused, and he gave up after the third time.

“Going out?”

“I was going to, with the good-old gang, but that was before I knew you would pay me a visit.”

“So Hikari and company, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, even Taichi is coming, you should come, too!” Taichi was his oldest friend, the only one he missed when he moved to Europe.

“Nah, you know I don’t drink.” And it was not merely because of his strict diet, he was not a fan of what alcohol did with his mindset. “But you go and have fun, I must get back to my place, anyway, and be as early as possible in Suzuka tomorrow morning.” Takeru looked disappointed, Yamato felt a pinch of guilt for not being what a fun older brother was supposed to be. “But I’ll text Taichi! Remind everyone they’re invited this weekend, VIP seats and all!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, brother.” Yamato smiled softly before playing with Takeru’s hair like he used to when they were kids, even if he was almost his height.

He took a chopper ride from Tokyo to Suzuka the morning after. He had much rather taken the train, but Ferrari strictly prohibited him from doing so.

“Are you insane? People would eat you alive, you’re pretty much as famous as Hello Kitty is in this place!” He ignored his comment, it was always annoying to Yamato when they were in Japan, because most of his team-mates were foreign to Japanese culture, and he did not have the patience to educate every single one of them.

It was Thursday, which meant he could do strength exercises before the testing race the next day.

“How’s my superstar doing?” the mere voice of his manager irritated him, but he had another year signed up to him, afterwards he had decided to work by himself. After all, he still had another three-year contract with Ferrari.

“He’s extremely focused,” and he was strength training was the hardest to him.

“Don’t forget you have that photoshoot I had mentioned you in an hour, and I wouldn’t like you to go there all sweaty.”

“Do you think I would forget?” but in fact, he had forgotten it, his mind had probably erased the memory of that specific event.

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same track,” he winked at Yamato, before shutting the door of the hotel’s gym.

Yamato did not have much of a choice, so he took a cold shower before heading to one of the hotel’s meeting rooms. It had all been transformed for it to look like a Sakura garden. In reality, it was October and Sakura’s were far from blossoming. He would be lying if he did not admit it looked rather breathtaking.

He had heard about this up-and-coming brand. They had turned the Japanese typical attire and turned it into mainstream. He had to admit he was a fan.

He had also heard the brand had been started by a young student from Bunka Fashion College, under the wings of a bigger brand. He had heard, not that he cared, really, that the founder was around his age. Suddenly, he was curious.

“Ishida Yamato, what a pleasure to finally meet you!” a man around his thirties greeted him rather enthusiastic.

“You must be…?”

“Oh, you’re a funny one! Yoshio Fujiwara, of course!” And the Fujiwara branding was the bigger one who had taken the young designer under his wings, he wondered where she was.

“Of course, of course,” he bowed, always traying himself to remain close to his Japanese customs and traditions. “A pleasure to meet you, Fujiwara-san.”

“No need to be formal with me, I’m very used to western traditions, having spent most of your life in Europe, I would have killed for an opportunity like that!” Yamato tried his best not to roll his eyes, faking his best smile. “It is our biggest pleasure that you have accepted to be the face of our newest collection.” Yamato saw a petit figure running around the room with pieces of clothing covering her, he wondered if that was Fujiwara counterpart.

“It’s always delightful to put Japan’s name high, you know.” He cleared his voice, “so, am I also going to meet Takenouchi-san?”

“You absolutely will, she must be somewhere around… Sora!?” The fast-paced person finally stopped, uncovering her face from the piles of clothing she was carrying. “Don’t be rude and introduce yourself to Yamato.”

“Sure thing, just let me finish up the final touches and…”

“Now?!” Yamato noticed a subtle sigh coming from her lips. She surely seemed young, barely his own age. For the first time since the encounter started, he felt safe.

She ran right next to him, her attention still clearly on the mess she had left. He could immediately tell how passionate she was about what she was doing.

“It’s a pleasure, Ishida-san. I would love to lie and say I’m a fan, but truth is this is my first time having an encounter with races, or cars in general…”

“Sora! You’re being rude!”

“Sorry, I still take the subway and I never got a driver’s license!” Yamato snorted, in those five seconds he decided that redhead was his favorite person in the room.

“Well, I’m glad to admit this is not my first encounter with your brand, I’ve read so much.” Her eyes lit up; Yamato could have even sworn he spotted a subtle blush in her face.

He was rather awkward in front of the cameras, never quite a natural. Another reason why his team-mate was the one to do most of Ferrari’s advertisements. But Sora helped him feel in his element, somehow. He liked how much she got into her character, almost ignoring him by how much she cared on how her designs looked on him.

“I think we’re good, we shouldn’t take much more of your time.” By then, Fujiwara had left the room, Sora was certain he had slipped into the hotel bar.

“That must have been the less stressful photoshoot I’ve ever had, thank you, Takenouchi-san.”

“Oh, don’t call me that! I’m not older than you are.”

“Then you must accept to drop the formalities with me as well.” A grimaced appeared on her face, clearly unsure.

“But you’re a client, that would be completely unprofessional!”

“I promise I won’t tell anybody,” Sora liked that, a dirty-little-secret.

“Fine, but if Fujiwara is around, I’ll go back in character.”

“Deal,” Yamato grabbed a bottle of water and doubted if he should say what his mind was begging at him to do. “Are you staying for the race?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I had no idea how this worked.” She shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t understand why it lasts so many days, it’s confusing. This whole sport is confusing.” Sora liked sports, for instance, sports where a ball had to go from one side of the court to the other, not cars and tires.

“It’s not that hard, you’ll see,” they took a seat on the fake grass Sora had built for the photoshoot. “The first day is merely for us to get familiar with the track, nothing formal. The second day the places for the actual race, which is on Sunday, get settled. And that’s pretty much it.”

“And you get to travel the world for that?”

“People can be very serious about their cars.”

“Incredible,” she locked eyes with Yamato, she was not familiar with his sport but she sure was with his face, and not only because it was everywhere she looked around the city’s billboards, but because she had studied it for the whole photoshoot, and even for the particular line she was about to launch.

“It would be fun if you stayed, some friends around our age are coming too, so it won’t be that weird for you.”

“Okay, but I’ll stay for fun, not as a part of my job schedule.”

“Great!” He said way too enthusiastic, regretting it right away. “I can get you great tickets, so don’t worry about that.” She chuckled, taking out her VIP pass.

“Don’t worry, I have that part settled.”

“Of course, you do,” he felt stupid, all sponsors got the best tickets, even better than he could even get most times.

“So, I’ll see you around? Do you say break a leg for this?”

“Absolutely not! But I appreciate your luck wishes.”

He was glad on Friday’s there was never much of a crowd, that way he could stay focused on what mattered: getting comfortable enough with the track. Whenever he raced, he felt an almost out of body experience, where he could disconnect from his current reality and be one with his car. Ferrari had nicknamed him the racing samurai, for how dramatic his recovering could be whenever he was behind on the race.

Japan had never particularly been the biggest crowd when it came to Formula 1, but ever since he had started getting podiums, and making a name out of himself, it had a 180 degrees change. Ferrari could not be happier with the now 23-yeard-old racer, he was smart, analytic, and cold headed.

When he got back to the Pits, he was greeted by his family, not expecting to see them until the day after.

“You were pretty fast out there!” his dad said, as awkward as he usually was.

“This was merely the boring race, we were just testing the track,” he smiled widely, greeting him by what could be considered a hug, or sort of one.

“But Hiroaki is right, you were extremely fast. That car you’re racing, is a beauty,” seeing his mother was always an adventure for Yamato. Ever since he left home, at such a young age, they had drifted apart. Naturally, she was worried for her older son, racing and putting his life at risk every time he did so. Yamato had heard her fighting with his grandpa countless times, until she finally gave in. She was never going to win, Yamato loved karting the same way she loved writing.

“You were tremendous there, superstar!” his manager came to greet him, as much as he annoyed him, he was not a bad person, he just clearly loved the money Yamato made him gain. “You better keep up the pace the rest of the weekend.”

“That’s the plan,” Yamato served himself a cup of tea, while he took a seat in front of the screen that was studying his track performance. He was nearly obsessed with improving, never not paying attention at even the slightest mistake.

“Before I forget,” his manager was French, and spoke a very heavily accented English. His family, apart from Takeru, barely spoke any English at all, hence why they did not communicate with one another. Yamato despised that, considering he could speak four languages. “Young Takenouchi asked me to give you her number, Romeo.” Yamato’s cheeks flushed, as he took with both hands the business card he was being given.

“I’ll quickly go to my room,” he excused himself with his family, promising he would meet them for a quick dinner.

He wrote and re-wrote his text message towards Sora, not wanting to appear desperate. Formula 1 drivers, at least some of them, had the reputation of being more than successful with the opposite sex, however Yamato was rather unlucky. He put so much effort into his performance inside the track, he tended to neglect everything else. Hence why it felt nice to have a close to normal conversation with someone his age, a woman his age.

“This is Yamato, I heard the rumor you wanted to have my number,” he finally sent, wanting to throw his phone over the window right after.

“How come we spent so much time talking yesterday and I had to ask your manager for your number?” she replied right after, Yamato felt relieved.

“I guess we lost track of time.”

“Hey, I had to come back to Tokyo, business matters. But I’m not one to break any promises, so I hope you still save a seat for me for the big race on Sunday. Did I say that correctly?”

Yamato immediately felt disappointment, but he had to understand he was not dealing with someone unoccupied; this was a young entrepreneur with a worldwide successful fashion brand.

“Are you sure you want to make a four-hour trip to see some car racing?”

“As I said, I’m not a promise breaker. Plus, is not Formula 1 supposed to be the best car racing in the world? I won’t miss it, and I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, and your spot on Scuderia Ferrari will remain untouched.”

“Great, I’m actually pretty excited! You have turned it into such a big deal for the country, I’ve never seen such a media coverage on the sport before. How was the tracking test?”

Yamato’s stomach made a turn. He did not want to focus on the pressure it meant to be in his home country, he just wanted to do what he always did, which meant to give his 100% performance, and get better every time. He just really hoped it would not rain on Sunday…

Him and Sora kept texting for the rest of the day, and the morning after as he got ready for the weekend’s second race. His goal was to qualify on the front row, that was always a determining factor for the final race. His mom had been right when she mentioned his car was a beauty, because it may not be the fastest car, that would still go to Mercedes, but if Ferrari had something no other team could fight with, was beauty.

He was not one to make many friends, but he was always amicable with the rest of the drivers. He saw them more than he saw his family, and even grew up with a big amount of them, but he always tried to focus on what they really were: his competition.

The weather so far had looked hopeful, a rainy race was one of his biggest fears, he had already had more than one rainy accident, and they had been hard to get over. He tried not to put too much thought into it, how he put his life at risk every time he got into the car, because there was no point in doing so, considering he was not going to stop, racing was the most important part of his life.

He got behind his wheel and his team assured his car was ready to go for the last time, and he got into driving mode, forgetting everything else, the pressure, the people, the weather, his friends. He almost disassociated from everything, but the track, and his team speaking whenever there was something to say, like which place he was on at the moment.

He had gotten so used to Ferrari, after being over two years on the team, that he could go as far as to describe its motor as a part of him. The first few laps were always the most stressful ones, and were most of the accidents happened, everyone tried to gain that valuable P1 as fast as possible, but Yamato thought of it as a waste of energy, he would rather stay behind for the first few laps and give it all in after. It had worked for him so far, avoiding the turmoil behind it.

There were 53 laps in the Japanese track, not that he counted them, but he always studied the tracks of wherever he was at. He just focused on staying in track, passing the rest of the drivers and being fast, and his team made sure he did not forget where his position was at the moment, which was a P5, his teammate was currently second. Fifth was not a bad position, it was still second row, but it was not his goal, he truly wanted first row. In the end he had managed to end up fourth, which his team congratulated him for, he still was not happy.

Back in Ferrari’s box, he had a bigger crowd greeting him, not only his parents and brother, but some of his closest childhood friends.

“Man, how does it feel to be able to fly!” Taichi said before giving him a big hug, which Yamato did not mind, he guessed he was also allowed to hug him.

“What I wonder is what that amount of speed can do with your body, I read you lose up to 3 liters every time you race,” Joe patted his shoulder, the soon-to-be-doctor never missed to drop a random anatomy fact on him. “And sorry, but it seems to Koushiro your car’s machinery is way more impressive than you.”

His third friend, a genius redhead, had been talking non-stop with his team’s engineers, asking questions Yamato could possibly never answer.

He spent the next few hours doing interviews, as much as he hated them, it was on his contract to do them before and after every Grand Prix. He also took more time studying his career, and where he could improve. He wanted to get podium on his home country more than he had ever wanted before.

But of course, he also took the chance to spend some time with his loved ones, catching up about their crazy adult lives.

“Koushiro could soon enough buy one of these teams, you know? He’s getting so rich!” Taichi had a big mouth, but they had gotten used to it. And to be fair with his brunette friend, he was not wrong, considering Koushiro’s software startup had gotten public, and the dude was only 22.

“And Jou’s about to be a doctor, and you, well, you didn’t get kicked out of Uni!” They all laughed, Taichi rolled his eyes. Yamato had gotten so comfortable with their conversation, he got scared when his phone began ringing.

“Yes?”

“Guess who’s just landed in Suzuka!” it was Sora, his heart skipped a beat. “I’m glad I made it a few hours before I had promised, I truly didn’t want to miss tomorrow’s race.”

“Where are you exactly? You should come join us! I’m at Ferrari’s tent with some childhood friends, I mean, if you’re not too tired.” His friends started yelling embarrassing things to him, as friends did whenever you spoke on the phone with someone, even if that someone was your own mother. Except, of course, it was not his mother.

“Great! I’ll ask the driver to drop me off.”

They spent the next few hours chatting, and laughing, and making fun of Yamato with embarrassing stories Sora was rather intrigued to keep on listening. Of course, Sora had hit it off with his friends, she was a great talker, they all had liked her, he could tell, especially with Koushiro, considering the man was the clearest book when it came to first impressions. He felt disappointed once he checked his watch to confirm it was time for him to go to bed, the big day was closer than ever.

Suzuka was one of the last races on Formula 1’s schedule, which meant every single point counted even more. He was disappointed when he checked the weather, there was a rain forecast, but there was nothing he could do, he still was willing to give the best race he had given in his career span. His friends and family wished him the best of luck, just as he dressed up in the famous red suit.

He had never felt this overwhelmed before, as soon as he stepped a foot outside of Scuderia Ferrari’s box, the crowd chanting his name was like nothing he ever heard before. He bowed shyly, turning the shouts even louder. Fame had never been something he had been looking for once he started racing in Formula 1, but he thought at the end of the day it was only inevitable. He really wanted to make his co-nationals proud.

P4 was not a bad place to start racing, yet he could hear his heart beating up to his ears. A rainy race was always messy, and there was always a bigger risk for accidents, not just for him, but for the other racers as well. He had to drive smartly; speed was not all that mattered in that moment.

His eyes were fixated on the checkered flag, as soon as it went down, his feet went all in. Suzuka’s Grand Prix finally starting.

As it was expected, some cars lost control on the very first curve, him being noticed by his team on the other side of the microphone. He hoped nothing bad had happened to them. On a rainy race it was important to have extra control while reaching a curve, and absolutely never trying to overpass another racer while on them.

By lap 30 he had improved to P3, the engine of the previous third place had had some issues, which pushed him into the pits. The Ferrari engine had significantly been improved for the current season, and it showed. It had been a while since the red team had had both of their cars in podium position, and he was doing quicker laps than the last year’s race.

Everything appeared to be going according to plan, Yamato wanted to win, of course, but he was not unhappy with the third place. Yet, the unthinkable happened on lap 49, when his teammate lost control of the steering wheel. It all happened so quickly, Yamato could barely avoid the inevitable crash, which was bad enough for them to call a red flag, every racer had been sent back into pits.

His teammate had been fine, he could even walk by himself; however, his car could have been confused with garbage. A shame, really, everything had been better than what they could have imagined. Now every podium expectation fell on his shoulders, and he could hear the public screaming his name even louder, as if he was some sort of rock star.

“Only 4 laps left, you can do it,” and he was now put in second place, a bittersweet feeling inside his gut.

The final lap felt like the longest he had driven, all he truly wanted was for it to end. He was less than two seconds away from the first place, which his team kept repeating. He knew he could do it, if he tried and overtake him near the end, right after the final curve… And so, he did, winning a podium for the first time in his short Formula 1 life career. He had not done it for himself only, but for Lechner as well. It felt insane, he was no longer feeling the ground, he was still flying somehow.

Champagne soaked him as soon as he stepped out of the car, being hugged by everyone on the famous red car team. He was not easily to make cry, but he could not help the tears coming out, and he wished, if he were ever going to cry again, it better be as good of a feeling as he finally lifted the trophy for Suzuka’s Grand Prix.

[d-noona]

BARTERED BRIDE - Chapter 4

Ch 04 - Lunch Meeting

Kim Namjoon is a ruthless financier used to buying and selling stocks, shares and priceless artifacts. But now Namjoon has his eye on a very different acquisition - Park Han Byeol. Left destitute by her father's recent death, Han Byeol walks into Namjoon's bank looking to extend her overdraft. As Han Byeol needs money and Namjoon needs a wife, he proposes the perfect deal: he'll rescue her financially if she agrees to marry him. But in this marriage of convenience can Han Byeol ever be anything more than just a bartered bride?

Masterlist

"I nearly kept you waiting," said Namjoon. "I came back from the bank at eleven to go run in the park. As I was coming home I saw an old man on a bench who was obviously in need of medical attention. That held me up."

"Do you run everyday?" Han Byeol asks.

"I try to. Are you a runner?"

Han Byeol shook her head. "I play tennis and ski. I don't do work-outs."

He slanted an appraising glance at her figure. Today, in place of a black suit, she was wearing a designer outfit bought on a holiday in Italy. It consisted f a fine jersey-knit top in lilac, a waistcoat in violet, and swirling chevron-striped skirt combining those colors with pink and pale pistachio-green. The audacious color combination was perfect with Han Byeol's dark hair and brown eyes. "You look in great shape," he remarked. "But people in desk jobs like mine need some kind of fitness regime to stave off the bad effects of a sedentary lifestyle. Come and sit down. What would you like to drink before lunch?"

She remembered his remark about the wine she had been drinking when he forced his way in the previous evening. Was he one of those people who drank only mineral water and made everyone who didn't feel on a lower plane? Han Byeol had no intention of allowing him to intimidate her. "A Campari and soda, please," she said firmly.

Namjoon said to the butler, who had been following them at a discreet distance, "A Campari for Miss Park and my usual, please, Curtis." With a silent inclination of the head, the butler withdrew.

"Let's sit over here, shall we?" Namjoon steered her towards a group of comfortable chairs near one of the windows. "Have you finished your packing?"

"Almost"

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she had worked on it till long past midnight. At half past nine this morning a dealer whom she had ought a lot of furnishings had come round to buy them back. Luckily Han Byeol had paid for them out of her bank account. Although the money in it had come from her father, technically they were her property, not his. As soon as his business had been forced into receivership, everything her father had owned, including the family home belonged to his business creditors. But the cash the dealer had handed her could go in her pocket. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing if, when Namjoon spelt out the terms of his trade off marriage, she found that she couldn't accept them. Looking up at the elegant cornice around the ceiling and the two crystal chandeliers, their chains swathed with coral tassels at the tops of the heavy cream curtains.

"Are you interested in architecture?" He sounded faintly surprised.

"Sometimes."

The butler came back with their drinks, hers a slight more vivid red than the coral linen slipcovers on some of the sofas, Namjoon's colorless except for a twist of lemon floating among the ice cubes. It could be in or vodka, or it could straight mineral water. Namjoon said, "This was my grandparents' house. My paternal grandmother still lives here when she's not staying with her daughters". I moved here when my father died. We had been living in Ilsan. I have an apartment near Gangnam but I thought you would feel more comfortable being entertained in the main house," he added with a gleam of amusement. After a slight pause, he added "I shall move out when I marry. The province is better for children, if their parents can choose where to live. Most people can't of course."

"Where are you thinking of moving to?" Han Byeol asked.

"I haven't decided." His expression was enigmatic. "Where would you choose to live, given a free choice?"

Han Byeol considered the question. Once the answer would have been "Wherever Yoongi wants to live." She said, "Ideally I'd like more sun than we get in this city. I wouldn't mind living by the sea, getting some fresh air...or a lake would do as long as it has mountains round it. I'd like to look out on mountains...big ones with snow on top."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Sounds as if New Zealand would suit you."

She shook her head. "I'm sure it's a beautiful country but it's too far away from Korea. Have you been there?"

Namjoon nodded. "The scenery's magnificent...when it's not raining. Unreliable weather. I went with old friends, you might know them since they run in the same circles you do. Where have your travels taken you?"

"Mostly to holiday places...the Caribbean in winter...resorts round the Med in summer. My mother's a passionate gardener. She doesn't like travelling alone, even in a group. I've been on some garden tours with her...the south of France, Ireland, California. Where do you for holidays?" Han Byeol takes a sip of her Campari.

"I used to go with my father who also liked someone with him. We went to Japan together and other Pacific Rim countries. I travel a lot for the bank. For pleasure I usually go to France, Greece or Spain. Where would you like to go for our honeymoon?"

The question, tacked on to innocuous small talk, took her by surprise. "I haven't agreed to marry you," she said coldly.

"If you found the idea unthinkable, you wouldn't be here," he said dryly. "Let's be straight with each other Han Byeol. I need you...you need me. It's a sensible, practical arrangement."

She knew that at least the first part of what he said was true, but she wasn't about to admit it. Was it pride that made her reluctant to fall in with his plan too readily? She said, "I'm not clear why you've selected me."

"You're very attractive...as I am sure you're aware." he smiles at her gently.

"Is that all you want from a woman? An acceptable face and figure? Don't you care what I'm like inside?" Han Byeol scoffed.

'I can make some intelligent guesses. People can't hide their characters," he told her casually. "Even in repose a face gives a lot of clues to its owner's temperament. Apart from yesterday's evidence that you have a short fuse, I haven't detected any characteristics I wouldn't like to live with."

His arrogance took her breath away. In that moment of shock, she was struck by the thought it would be both a challenge and public service to bring this man down from his lofty pinnacle and convert him into an acceptably unassuming person. But perhaps it was already too late . One of gran's favorite sayings was, "What's bred in the bone must come out in flesh." Namjoon with his long-boned thoroughbred physique and his handsome features, looked a descendant of generations of men who had felt themselves to be superior beings and never experienced the doubts felt by ordinary people.

In a different, more rough-hewn way, her father had been the same. Probably somewhere far back in Namjoon's ancestry, there had been a man like her father: a rough-diamond unscrupulous go-getter who had founded the Park Fortune. Perhaps if Mr. Park had married someone better equipped to handle him than her quiet and easily cowed mother, her father might have been saved from becoming an overbearing braggart. Whether, at thirty four, Namjoon's essential nature could be modified was problematical. But it could be interesting to try.

She said, "I don't find you as transparent as you seem to find me. It takes me longer to make up my mind about people;"

"You haven't had as much experience of summing up people as I have."

The butler reappeared. "Luncheon is ready when you are, sir."

They ate in a smaller room with a view of a large garden, an oasis of well kept greenery in the heart of the city. The surface of the round Regency breakfast table had a gleaming patina resulting from years of regular polishing' It reflected the colors and shapes of the red-streaked white tulips arranged in a what Han Byeol recognized as an antique tulip pot, its many spouts designed to support the stems of flowers which had once been costly status symbols. The meal began with potted shrimps served with crisp Melba toast, tiny green gherkins and white wine, which they continued to drink with the main course, chicken with minty yogurt dressing.

While they ate Namjoon talked about plays and art shows he had been to recently. It was the kind of conversation made by strangers at formal lunch parties and although his comments were interesting Han Byeol thought his choice of subject was irrelevant to this particular situation. When the butler had withdrawn, leaving them to help themselves to a fruit salad with fromage frais, or to selection of more substantial cheeses, she said, "Why do you want a wife when you could go on having girlfriends and a change them when you get bored?"

Offering her elegant Waterford compote, its apparent fragility emphasizing the powerful but equally elegant form of the hands in which it was cradled, he looked at her with unexpected sternness. "I have a responsibility to my line. I need sons to carry on the traditions established by my predecessors."

She found this solemnly irritating. "Are you expecting me to provide proof of my fertility?" Before she could add that, if he was, he could forget it, Namjoon said, "No, I'm prepared to chance that."

"Big deal!" Han Byeol said sarcastically.

She had a feeling that Namjoon wouldn't hesitate to divorce her if she failed to live up to his expectations in some way. But although he struck her as a monster of cold-hearted self-centeredness, she couldn't deny that he was extraordinarily attractive. Every movement he had made since they sat down had heightened her awareness of the lean and muscular physique inside the well-cut suit and the long legs under the table. His hair was dry now but still had a sheen of health. There was nothing about him suggestive of stress or tension. He seemed entirely relaxed. Yet why did he need to arrange a businesslike marriage instead of falling in love the way people usually did?

Wondering, suddenly, if he might be in the same situation as herself, heartbroken, although it didn't seem likely, she said, "When did you dream up this scheme?"

"It's an idea I've had for some time...probably since my contemporaries started divorcing. I have about a dozen god-children, most whom now have step parents, some official, some not. I don't want that for my children."

"Did you parents stay married?" she asked.

It seemed to her that his face underwent a change. His lips didn't tighten. His eyebrows didn't draw together. But there was a subtle hardening and chilling, reminding her of the impression she had received that morning when they sat on opposite sides of his imposing desk/ Now they were at a table designed for a more intimate and relaxed conversation. But she sensed a change in the atmosphere and knew she had trespassed in an area of his where she was an unwelcome intruder.

"They separated. They were never divorced," he answered.

Han Byeol wanted to ask hold he had been when the separation happened, but something made her hold her tongue. Later, going back to the flat in the taxi he had laid on for her, she regretted her curiousity.

When-in-two people were going to marry, there shouldn't be any "No go" areas between them...or at least none of that nature. His past girlfriends were not her business, but his family life certainly was. She shouldn't have allowed herself to be put off. From now on she wouldn't be, she told herself firmly.

[yeaahishowedupatyourparty]

MORE ABOUT MY NEXT GEN BABIES. 

Adelaide ‘Addy’ Maeve Coleman - daughter of Zara & Danny. 

- scars to your beautiful - alessia cara   - july 1st, cancer  - actress, studying at diamond bridge (LA) - bisexual with no preference, single  - esfp, hufflepuff  - raised in lilac heights in zara & danny’s home they live in now  - ditzy, naive, energetic but also sensitive and insecure. she has a tendency to let herself be walked all over by friends and lovers. she also lacks the confidence to really accept that she has talent and is capable of doing things.  - she was painfully desperate to be one of the popular girls in high school, to the point where she would let her “friends” treat her like dirt. even though she’s now in college, the effects of the underhand bullying stay with her and it makes her very reluctant to trust and open up to new people.

Allison ‘Ally’ Marie Cortes-Smith - daughter of Adrian & Holly. 

- seven - sleeping at last - august 13th, leo  - model & athletics (surfing, figure skating & dance), studying at gold coast (australia)  - heterosexual, dating brett jackson - entp, gryffindor  - raised in violet springs (?), in her family home with adrian and holly - energetic, outgoing, adventurous but also explosive and stubborn. ally is constantly looking for family-like connections away from holly, adrian and haley. she craves feeling like somebody’s first choice because - particularly with holly - she felt like the back-up plan until she got custody of haley. she has one song about her, whereas haley has enough for an EP of music with holly worshipping her and she’s just always felt that subtle favouritism in her household.  - from an early age, she’s sought out love in all of the wrong places but is currently in a good place with brett, who is definitely her safety net. she’d be lying if she said living in australia made her homesick. 

Aurora Faith Kingsley - daughter of Soraya & Julian.

- boss bitch - doja cat  - january 17th, capricorn  - fashion designer, studying at rosewell (paris)  - heterosexual, bisexual dating peter romano  - entj, slytherin  - raised in violet springs (?), in her family home with soraya and julian. she definitely has a dual-citizenship like soraya, though, and often spends summers in cuba with her grandparents.  - outspoken, confident, witty but also explosive, judgemental and harsh. aurora was definitely spoilt with love when being raised by her parents; both soraya and julian doted on her in different ways, and while she knows the value of materialistic things, she’s not entirely used to not getting her own way or not having people adore her. that being said, she’s a fiercely loyal friend and shows the love she was given when she was younger to people she thinks deserve it. - aurora’s expectations and standards are impressively high and she’ll always credit her parents, who always modelled a healthy and secure relationship to her. she doesn’t take it for granted & always strives to find people who treat her the same way julian treats soraya.

Belle Cynthia Carmichael - Daughter of Anastasia 

- donatella - lady gaga  - november 3rd, scorpio  - dancing & modelling, studying in west ivys (london)  - heterosexual, single  - esfp, slytherin  - raised partially in los angeles and also in lilac heights with anastasia and her father (divorced) as well as her older sister, darcy.  - aesthetic, good-humoured, magnetic but also irresponsible, self-indulgent and superficial. belle is the baby of the family and took a shine to the socialite los angles lifestyle from around 12 years old. she’s a big spender, loves the night life of any big city and is a BIG fan of the attention that being a rising star brings her. unlike her sister, who’s a lot more lowkey, belle demands attention and will do anything to get her own way in any situation. - everyone was expecting anastasia and ryder to split from their (what would have been) their fifteen year marriage. everybody except belle and darcy, anyway. the girls were caught off-guard and it wasn’t easy. belle had the most extreme reaction, becoming very emotional and self-indulgent. her way of dealing with it has been to do everything in her power to go against anything either of her parents ask of her; she’s definitely out of control.

Daisy Louise Romano, daughter of Florence & Dominic. (tw: cancer) 

- style - taylor swift  - may 22nd, gemini  - dance, studying at liberty (new york city)  - heterosexual, single   - isfp, gryffindor  - raised in violet springs (?) in dom and florence’s family home, but i imagine they have a family home in italy because of dominic’s roots too. florence and dom spend a lot of time in italy in general, so it’d make sense.  - creative, friendy, warmhearted but also over-protected, nervous and idealistic. daisy is the only daughter in her family and it definitely shows. on top of dominic, she also has carter and peter who have kept a close eye on her growing up and has definitely been protected from things other girls her age may have learnt to deal with themselves, or without as much back-up. rather than rebelling against it, she’s very comfortable & probably relies on her brothers - especially peter - for more than she should. she’s very rooted in family and while she’s a hopeless romantic and loves flirting, going on adventures and seeing the world, her heart is with her family. - daisy’s pre-teen years were snatched away by the fact that she was diagnosed with cancer. she spent three years of what would’ve been her high school life in hospital and was far too weak to dance or do anything she usually did. she was put into remission at 15 and was cancer free for three years before it made a return, now she’s nineteen (pushing 20), she’s once again in remission but her anxiety and trauma from the sickness are very much alive.

Darcy Briar Carmichael - daughter of Anastasia. 

- nothing breaks like a heart - miley cyrus  - february 27th, pisces  - modelling, studying at st judes (violet springs)  - bisexual, single - infp, ravenclaw - raised partially in los angeles and also in lilac heights with anastasia and her father (divorced) as well as her older sister, darcy. - patient, imaginative, loyal but also argumentative, guarded and defensive. darcy has always been wise beyond her years in the sense that she’s mature and has a responsible head on her shoulders. anastasia used to worry that she wouldn’t enjoy her early twenties/teen years in the same way everybody else seemed to, but it just never appealed to her - she preferred to lose herself in art, reading and individual activities rather than going out to huge parties and festivals like her sister. she’s quietly confident and is happy to be seen as the ‘boring’ one if it means not having to be forced to sit at social events she’d rather not be a part of.  - darcy’s confidence was knocked by her parent’s divorce. it actually ruined her application to blossom bell academy - where she wanted to go and do art and photography. she was unorganised and just a mess in general, so she knew she’d get rejected. st judes, her second choice, also rejected her art portfolio but because of her looks, offered her a modelling position. she figured it was better than nothing but it’s never been her passion. only now is she starting to feel inferior in comparison to her little sister.

Dixie Gisele Carmichael - daughter of Disney and Brody. 

- god is a woman - ariana grande  - october 1st, libra  - fashion design, studying at rosewell (paris) - heterosexual, single  - estj, slytherin  - raised in new york but spends the summers in france & christmas in violet springs to be close to grandparents  - confident, hard-working, charming but manipulative, calculated and jealous. dixie has grown up in the spotlight due to being the child of arguably the most famous couple to come out of st judes in her parents era. she’s very used to it and it’s something she’s numb too. however, unlike her sister, who seems to just get things a whole lot easier than dixie, she has clawed her way to the top of everything she has, not caring who she scratches on the way up; being the most popular, young socialite on the upper east side, her fashion career and everything else are things she’s had to fight for out of the threat of otherwise being branded as ‘fleur’s twin.’ she holds herself and others at a viciously high standard. she’s been on dates and enjoyed attention from guys but she hasn’t slept with anybody and has never had a boyfriend; it’s not something she hides either. her main goal right now is to become the best designer there is, and she’s proven that she’ll stop at nothing to get there. - while at gallagher high school, fleur was already booking modelling jobs and becoming the more successful of the twins. dixie resented it. she couldn’t stand feeling inferior or lesser than and wasn’t happy for her sister at all. quite the opposite. the two of them applied for rosewell but unfortunately for fleur, when their acceptance letters came through, she was out at new york fashion week, leaving dixie to reject her offer and forge a fake one telling her she’d been rejected....and she’d do it again.

Dylan Samuel Powell - son of Janey. 

- fine line - harry styles  - february 15th, aquarius  - photographer, studies at west ivys (london)  - heterosexual, dating lily  - infj, hufflepuff  - raised in sweden until he was thirteen, and then moved to violet springs to be closer to his family with janey.  - patient, practical and compassionate but over-protective, nervous and sensitive. dylan had a quiet childhood. when janey graduated from west ivy’s, she moved out to a rural part of sweden where she started a new. her life consisted of writing and exploring until she had dylan with a man who’s no longer in the picture. dylan fell into janey’s lifestyle too; quiet, peaceful and creative. he enjoyed it for the most part, but the trauma of janey’s experiences definitely became his too. he grew up seeing his mother have anxiety attacks in public or not want to leave the house if she had a feeling she was being watched. in many ways, dylan became the parent. he was the one who made his mother feel safe. he was the protector. he never really understood until he finally met his grandparents at 15 and was told exactly why janey was the way she was. this only brought out an even more protective side of him, after having his eyes opened to how disgusting the world can be. - dylan was reluctant to study anywhere too far away from janey, but she pushed him to branch out at least a little, because she has a lot of guilt about holding him back for al of these years. 

Emmett Charles Hamilton - son of Imogen & Nate. 

- go stupid - polo g  - april 12th, aries  - actor, studying at st judes (violet springs)  - heterosexual, single  - entp, slytherin  - raised in london (south kensington) with imogen and has always been a city boy. he’s your typical private school kid; his father has been out of the picture only for a few months but it hasn’t had much effect. his younger brother, ethan, chose to move in with nate while he stuck with imogen. - intelligent, intuitive, social but lazy, restless and unmotivated. out of emmett and ethan, emmett definitely takes the crown for the family disappointment. his brother’s childhood was full of sports trophies, A*’s on report cards and being at the top of the social hierachy. emmett, on the other hand, would’ve happily lived in his parent’s loft and never seen the light of the day if he could. he did pretty wel in school and had al of the potential, but a life of getting high and falling back on to his trust fund seemed way more appealing. imogen was more willing to let him coast through life (being from wealth herself), whereas nate was always pushing him to go out and make something of himself, meaning naturally he prefers his mother.  - emmett is in the process of burning through his trustfund. he’s impulsive and careless and without proper guidance, will soon find himself with nothing. he has no respect for his dad - who is the stricter parent - and thinks he’s invincible. 

Jay Alexander Hamilton -  son of Park. 

- tonight you’re perfect - new politics  - september 17th, virgo  - athlete, liberty academy  - heterosexual, seeing sylvia(?)  - enfj, ravenclaw   - raised partially in the canary islands with his dad, running their hotel, but also in violet springs with his grandparents.  - friendly, ambitious, a deep thinker but also impatient, overly-critical and a perfectionist. jay was brought up on the canary islands with his father after losing his mother when he was eight. constantly being at the beach, the hotel and new people, he’s a social person with an active imagination and is always on the go. he’s both book and street smart but can at times hold himself to impossible standards; he definitely gets his perfectionist streak from his aunt. the loss of his mum has hurt him, but he buries his feelings as much as possible to avoid talking about them. jay’s always fit in with popular crowds seamlessly and it’s exactly the same story for liberty academy. - jay has already shown huge potential at liberty academy and has been given attention that first years usually don’t get. he’s currently dealing with the end of a friendship with ethan, though, his best friend for many years. it’s lowkey weighing on him but he’d never show that it effects him.

Kai Arden Powell - son of Louis & Lexi. 

- fireflies, owl city  - march 3rd, pisces  -  writer and actor, studying at willow house (cardiff)  - heterosexual, dating sofia  - infj, ravenclaw  - raised in violet springs (?) with louis and lexi, close to his family with good connections to both sides.  - imaginative, selfless, creative but pessimistic, self-pitying and emotional. kai is the perfect example of a high achieving burn-out. all through his school life, he boasted great grades and came at the top of the class for most things, but as the years went on, he lost momentum and started to rest on his abilities. while everybody else levelled up and got better, he declined and started to slowly stop caring about his academic achievements. he was more concerned with the social side and fitting in with people who really didn’t care much about him. when it came to college admissions, he was already failing many classes and got rejected from everywhere besides willow house. he hates it and refuses to even try to enjoy it. - sofia is his lifeline, at the moment. she’s trying to get her dad, wesley, to negotiate with people at st judes to get him a space, but it isn’t necessarily going to work. especially if kai can’t get his grades up and apply himself to his writing and acting seriously. 

Charlotte ‘Lottie’ Bradford - daughter of Drew & Annabel.

- first man, camila cabello -  june 30th, cancer  - singer-songwriter & musician, studying liberty academy (new york)  - enfp, ravenclaw  - raised with drew & annabel as an only child  - romantic, loving, protective and sympathetic but touchy, defensive and an overthinker. lottie grew up with both of her parents and spent a lot of time on the road with drew when he was touring. she’s used to big crowds, music and moving around a lot but grew up very attached to her mother, annabel, she’s her favourite person in the entire world and everything she does is to make her proud.  - lottie ended up dropping out of high school to go to a stage school in london when drew stopped touring; she was around 14, but eventually got homesick and returned, spending her last few years at springs park high before she got accepted into liberty. she’s really set on making memories and doing her absolute best in music - but she’s prone to falling in love with people and getting extremely distracted.

Sullivan Rosini - son of Ruby.

- song undecided  -  14th may, taurus�� - actor & singer (vc: frank ocean)  - esfj, gryffindor  - raised by ruby  - independent, humanitarian and sociable but also head-strong, stubborn and judgemental. sullivan was adopted by ruby when he was seven and settled very quickly into the family home. since around 12 years old, he’s been an activist and had a huge presence online for animal rights. he’s been arrested multiple time at different protests and it gives ruby the most anxiety but she’s also very proud of him. 

[friendofspidermannedleeds]

Fictober - Day 16

Prompt #16: “I never wanted anything else”  Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU) Rating: G Warnings: None Characters: Ben & Peter Parker, May Parker/Ben Parker, OCs Cleo and Mark Hudson.  Words: 2805 Summary: Raising Peter has brought some financial strain into Ben and May’s lives, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.  Author’s Note: This fic is to blame for my inability to catch up on these prompts. It was supposed to be nice and short, but ended up being quite the one-shot in length. Whoops.  Also, Peter going for a sleepover at a science museum was 100% inspired by my favorite field trip from elementary school. We really did get to camp out in the exhibits, and it was as amazing as it sounds. 

---

Incalculable Worth  

Cleo and Mark are coming over for the weekend, and Ben’s not looking forward to it.

“It’ll go by fast,” May insists the Monday before, “It’s not even three full days. Besides, it’ll be good for them to see Peter again—it’s been years, he’s probably unrecognizable to them at this point.”

Ben knows she’s right, and it will be good to see Cleo and Mark again, the couple who served as the Maid of Honor and Best Man at their wedding. They were best friends with the pair before moving to New York, and staying in touch has been difficult ever since. So when Cleo and Mark announced they were planning a visit to the city, May enthusiastically offered to let them stay at the apartment.

But if Ben’s honest, he just doesn’t feel much of a connection with the couple anymore. When the two of them were in his and May’s wedding, they had so much in common. They all loved traveling, trying foods from various cultures, and seeking out new experiences on weekend trips. Then there was the shared life plans that truly brought them together in the first place—neither couple had a desire to be parents one day.

Ben knew it wasn’t fair to Cleo and Mark to resent them for doing what they’d always said they’d do—living a carefree, kid-less life—but the fact that they were living out their plan while May and Ben had Peter made it harder to relate to the couple.

“I just feel bad that we don’t even have a room for them,” Ben says. “That’s my main concern.”

“Yeah, well, it’s only for a few days.” May says. “And they knew they were signing up for a futon when they asked to visit.”

Ben glances at upcoming dates on the kitchen wall calendar.

“The science museum sleepover next Saturday—you get that worked out?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, they were so understanding.” May smiles. “They waived the deposit and said we could just bring it all at once when we go to drop Peter off.”

“Thank goodness.” Ben breathes. “I know how much he’s looking forward to it. He talked my ear off last night about how he and Ned already have a game plan to make sure they get to camp out in the astronomy exhibit.”

It had been a difficult month financially. May’s car had broken down, and the repairs depleted their emergency fund completely. Peter’s overnight field trip was momentarily forgotten as they paid other bills, so Ben was relieved the school had made an exception to their rule that kids couldn’t sign up without paying the $50 deposit two weeks before. Peter didn’t deserve to miss out just because of a broken-down vehicle.

“I better go pick him up from Ned’s.” He leans over to give May a goodbye kiss. “Be back soon.”

---

Cleo and Mark arrive Friday after Peter’s bedtime and have breakfast with Ben and May Saturday morning. Peter’s taken to sleeping late on the weekends, and they decide to let him rest.

“So, how was your summer?” Cleo asks after finishing one of Ben’s famous waffles. “Did you guys go on a trip for your anniversary?”

“Not this year,” May answers, “It wasn’t in the budget. But we had a lovely dinner and Peter made us the sweetest card—it’s there, on the fridge.”

The couples turn to look at the masterpiece, and Ben’s heart still swells at the sight of it. Peter had obviously put so much time and effort into the card, writing “Happy Anniversary” in painstakingly careful cursive and drawing an adorable couple in a white dress and tux that bore a slight resemblance to May and Ben. It isn’t perfect—their kid’s a genius, but not an artistic one—but it isn’t a throwaway project that was patched together in the nick of time, either.

“So cute.” Cleo says, turning back to the table with a smile. “He must be so big now. What grade will he be going into?”

“Fourth,” Ben says proudly, “And he’s at the top of his class.”

“Good for him,” Mark nods. “And good for you guys for doing such a great job with him.”

“Thanks,” May replies brightly, “We do try. But he’s just always been such a wonderful kid, we can’t really take credit for him.”

Mark helps himself to another waffle. “So no anniversary trip this year—when’s the last time you guys traveled? Any good stories to share?”

Ben suppresses a grimace, not prepared to relay that their financial situation afforded no opportunity for such luxuries.

May takes on the question. “We haven’t been much of anywhere in recent years, actually. We’ve been busy here, with—” with Peter, Ben thinks “—with work, and school stuff, and everything. You know.”

“Yeah, of course. Totally understand that.” Mark grabs the maple syrup. “I mean, I guess we don’t really understand—not like you guys do, at least. Cause of the whole, ‘no kids’ thing.”

Cleo jumps in. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s hard to think about taking trips with a kid tagging along.” She’s speaking earnestly, not unkindly, but Ben’s still a little on edge. “Kids can tie you down.”

“It’s not that we can’t travel with Peter,” Ben says quickly, “that’s not it at all. He’d travel fine, it’s just…financial stuff. Can’t quite make it work.”

“I get that.” Mark nods. “My brother and his wife, they talk about it all the time. He wanted a boat, she wanted a trip to Italy, but now they have babies, and well—kids are expensive.” He catches himself as he sees Cleo’s mortified expression—it’s as if they’ve both noticed at once the insensitivity in their words.

“Oh, May, Ben,” Cleo says, “we didn’t mean to say you’re missing anything, or—or that you’re—”

“It’s fine, Cleo, don’t worry.” May smiles. “We totally understand. But the thing is, we’re just so happy. We haven’t been anywhere special in a while, and I miss it, sure, but Peter is worth it.” She looks at Ben, her eyes shining with sincerity. “Right, Ben?”

God, he loves her.

“Absolutely, May.”

“Speaking of Peter,” Cleo starts, clearly relieved to be moving forward from her gaffs, “where is that little guy? We need to see him before we go out into the city today!”

May looks at the time. “Oh wow, it is getting pretty late. I’m surprised he’s not up by now. Ben, do you want to wake him?”

“Yeah, I’ll go see if he’s up.”

Ben’s glad of an excuse to leave the table. The conversation had begun to sound too much like the ones he and May first had when Richard and Mary passed—could they take on Peter when they had so many other plans? Should they take on Peter when they’d never felt cut out to raise kids of their own?

It makes him feel incredibly guilty to look back on those uncertainties now that Peter is firmly a part of their family, and the central focus of their lives.

He knocks gently on the door of Peters’ room.

“Peter? Are you up?”

Hearing no response, he gently pushes his way inside. Peter’s lying face down on his bed, on top of the covers, with his pillow over his head.

Ben sits and pulls the pillow off.

“Hey, sleepyhead, wake up.”

Peter turns over, squinting almost a little too much, like he’s doing it for comedic effect.

“Morning, Uncle Ben.”

“Good morning, buddy. Why the pillow over the head? Could you even breathe under there?”

Peter sits up and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, I could. I just wanted to sleep more and the sirens were loud.”

Ben grins. “Ah, yes. I heard those.” He stands up. “Well we’ve got waffles for breakfast, and Cleo and Mark are here and would love to meet you, so get up and get dressed, okay?”

Peter nods, and Ben heads back out to sit with the company.

The truth is, Cleo and Mark were right. The unexpected nature of raising Peter has made finances tight. And Ben would be lying if he said he’d never thought about how their lives would be different if they hadn’t made the choice to adopt Peter after they lost Richard and Mary. Choosing Peter had meant sacrificing some of their previous life plans and goals, and it wasn’t always easy.

But waking up his kid with the ridiculously ruffled, messy hair and bright brown eyes solidified what he always knew—though they’d never planned to raise a kid, Peter was an absolute gift. Ben wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

A week later, Ben knocks on Peter’s door again.

“Peter? You finished packing for the museum sleepover yet, bud? We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Um, no. I’m not ready.”

“Need some help?”

“No.” Peter’s voice sounds tight. “I’m good.”

Ben frowns. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” He says after a pause.

Ben opens the door to find an empty overnight bag on the floor, an unrolled sleeping bag, and no other evidence to suggest Peter’s been packing.

“Peter, what’s up? You really should be ready by now, let’s get a move on.” He kneels down and starts to roll up the sleeping bag. “I’ll do this while you grab the clothes you want to bring, let’s go.”

“I don’t want to go anymore.”

Ben stops what he’s doing and looks up at his nephew. He��s sitting on the edge of his bed, feet barely touching the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“Why not?”

Peter shrugs. “I just changed my mind. I don’t think it’ll be fun.”

Ben knows there’s no way Peter’s suddenly lost interest in science of all things, so he presses further.

“Are you feeling okay?” He lays the back of his hand against Peter’s forehead, and, feeling no heat, switches to his palm so he can brush the boy’s curls back. “Did something happen to make you nervous?”

“No.” Peter says, turning to look in Ben’s eyes for a brief moment. “I just don’t want to go, okay?”

Ben sighs and sits on the bed. “Peter, please. You were so excited about this, I know you wanted to sleep next to Jupiter. Talk to me, I want to help.”

His plea is met with silence, making him uneasy. It’s not like Peter to be so closed-off.

Ben’s about to speak again when Peter beats him to it.

“I’m expensive.” He says quietly, eyes glued to his lap.

Ben’s confused. “What do you mean, buddy?”

“Kids cost a lot of money, and then grownups can’t go on trips or have nice things or…or do what they want. Kids tie them down.”

The phraseology sounds all-too-familiar to Ben, but he asks for more context all the same.

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody,” Peter mumbles, “I just know.”

Ben brushes a hand across his mouth. Guilt sets in as he realizes why Peter’s sleeping stance had been so strange when he “woke him up” last Saturday. He hadn’t been asleep.  

“Did you…did you maybe overhear us talking with our friends last weekend?”

Peter shakes his head, but Ben can tell it’s a bluff. He waits, knowing his nephew’s inherent honesty will kick in any moment.

“Maybe—maybe I did,” Peter admits shortly, “But I already knew I cost money, I just didn’t think about how…how much.” His eyes remain focused downward, and Ben moves closer to put a careful arm around his shoulders.

“Peter, bud—”

The boy jumps up from Ben’s embrace and heads to his desk. Ben lets him go, watching with concern as Peter logs on to an old laptop they’d salvaged and repurposed together. He returns as soon as the screen has loaded, sitting back down, but noticeably further away from Ben.

He flips the screen around, revealing an Excel spreadsheet.

“I calculated the numbers. I know money is tight, and now I know why. It’s me. I cost more than $100,000 total to raise.”

Ben wishes momentarily that his kid wasn’t top of his class. No nine-year-old should know how to calculate their financial expenses on a spreadsheet.

“Peter, how did you come up with that number—”

“The internet.” He’s still not looking at Ben, just staring at the laptop as he points to the screen. “And that’s way more than you and May make in a year, so—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Ben interrupts. He sees a decent estimation of his and May’s salaries listed under an “income” column. Peter’s right, but he doesn’t know how. “Where did you get that information—”

“The internet.” Peter says impatiently. Ben’s stunned, unable to form a coherent reply to all of this, so Peter continues.

“May also lets me look at grocery receipts cause I like the math, so I know how much food costs us. And I looked everything else up and plugged it in here—”

“Peter, Peter stop, we don’t—”

“—and I know that it was really expensive when I went to the doctor so much last year, and I know special school trips are expensive,” Peter’s voice begins to waver, “and I just don’t want to go because you and May should get to go somewhere. You should get to go on a vacation like Ned’s mom and dad but you never have. And I know it’s because—it’s because of me.” He chokes out the last few words as tears come to his eyes. He quickly wipes at them with the back of his sleeve, and Ben’s heart breaks in two.

Slowly, gently, he takes the laptop from Peter’s hands and closes it. Peter doesn’t try to hold onto the device, his shoulders only slumping further. Ben moves off the bed and kneels in front of him.

“Peter, listen to me. I know how smart you are, so I’m not going to lie to you.” He sighs. “You’re right about a few things. Kids do cost money to raise. And maybe your spreadsheet math is right, buddy, I don’t know. You’re probably better at calculating all of that than I am.”

Peter’s still brushing away tears, and Ben wishes his kid would meet his eyes, but he isn’t going to force it.

“But here’s the most important thing, Peter. I need you to listen to me closely, okay?”

He’s still looking down, but nods with a sniffle.

“These numbers do not matter. Your worth, Peter?” He takes his thumb and softly wipes away some of the tears on his nephew’s cheek. “Your worth is incalculable.”

He exhales. “The thing is, buddy, it doesn’t matter how much it costs us to feed you, or to take you to the doctor, or to buy you new clothes, or let you go on a school trip. You’re worth all of it and more. We love you more than anything, and we are so lucky to have you. I’d trade every trip or fancy car or boat—every nice thing in the world—everything I own, all the time I have left, so you could be ours.”

Peter finally looks up at him, lip trembling.

“But I shouldn’t even be here. You and May didn’t want a kid. You didn’t choose me.”

The words catch Ben off-guard, but he’s not entirely surprised. He’s wondered if, or when, Peter would make that connection and bring it to light.

“But we did, Peter. We did.” He smiles, desperate to soften his boy’s broken expression. “You could have gone with Grandma Lorraine, or to another family. But we wanted you. We chose you, and we will keep choosing you, because you are worth it, Peter. We love you.”

“But you’re not sad you can’t go on trips?” Peter asks. “You don’t wish you had more money?”

Ben takes his hands. “I have you, and I have May. I never wanted anything else.”

Peter truly breaks at that moment, launching himself off the bed and into Ben’s waiting arms. He rubs Peter’s back as tears puddle onto his shoulder, and they trade “I love yous” unsparingly.

After they finally break away, Ben looks at the clock and startles a bit. He grabs for the sleeping bag.

“Come on, buddy, we don’t wanna be late! Grab your PJs, some clothes for tomorrow and your toothbrush, let’s move!”

Peter doesn’t hesitate for even a second, scrambling to do as he’s told and pack the overnight bag. Everything’s set in five minutes.

As they’re heading out the door, Peter grabs Ben’s arm.

“Wait—you’re sure we can afford this?” He asks earnestly.

“Yes, we absolutely can. But you don’t have to worry about that, okay? You’re worth it.” Ben kisses his forehead.

Peter relaxes. “Uncle Ben?”

“Yeah bud?”

“You’re worth all my money and all my time, too.”

[miracleboiz]

Making a Home Ch.12

Kita Shinsuke had experienced a lot in life. He had been raised with his grandmother, a loving foster parent and for some time he followed in her foot steps before finding his own path. He thought his foster care license had expired before getting a call at three am with two small boys thrust into his arms. Miya Osamu and Atsumu, from broken homes but still fighting. Thirty days before his license expires. Thirty days to make a choice, keep the boys or let them be separated into different homes. Thirty days to fall in love with them.

Words: 4k

Relationships: Gen

Warnings: Mention of past child abuse, non-graphic abuse

Not from Kita, but it is mentioned. I will post any warnings before any panic attacks or vague descriptions of abuse.

Aran shifted in the doorway, Lady waiting patiently beside him. She lifted a paw and placed it on the final step before turning to look at her owner in confusion. The softest whine came from her throat as she cocked her head at him.

“Shush, I’m panicking.” Aran told her quickly, not caring that she couldn’t understand him. The only other person he could talk to was Kiryuu and he was in the middle of a game in Italy and also would spend the entire time laughing at Aran’s cowardice.

 She sniffled at his leg, putting her paw back down and Aran knew he was being a baby. He was fine, he could definitely go have a normal dinner with his crush and his kids. He was a perfectly well functioning adult.

“I’m going to mess this up so bad,” He hummed, reaching out and knocking on the door.

It opened in seconds and Aran was treated to the sight of Shinsuke with the curve of a smile already in place. He was only in a shirt and slacks but Aran couldn’t help but think he was beautiful, especially when his silver eyes lit up at the sight of Lady.

“Hello, you must be Lady,” Shinsuke greeted, his voice soft and quiet as he offered his hand for her to sniff at. Her tail thumped against Aran’s leg but he didn’t say anything to her, amused by how excited she was at meeting someone new.

“Such a pretty girl,” Shinsuke cooed and Aran’s hand went for his phone almost immediately. He had never thought Shinsuke was the type to talk to animals like babies and he definitely wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to share it with Akagi.

He swiped his thumb across the screen, hitting record as Shinsuke leaned forward to kiss Lady’s head. She woofed softly, tilting her head down to try and nose at his shirt curiously. Shinsuke didn’t seem to mind as he cooed again at her, gently scratching through her curly fur.

Aran glanced through the doorway, spotting the twins. He waved his free hand at him, smiling a little as Osamu perked up and waved back enthusiastically. Atsumu, on the other hand, seemed to eye him suspiciously and Aran wondered if he’d done something wrong. It was possible, or perhaps Atsumu just wasn’t used to him yet.

“Okay, okay, I’m seriously starting to worry you’re going to steal my dog, Shinsuke.” Aran let his gaze drop back down to Shinsuke only to find the man had pulled Lady onto his lap and was blinking at him far too innocently.

“Whatever do you mean? I’m simply being nice.” Shinsuke stated in a monotone, before laying his chin on Lady’s head and both of them stared up at Aran.

My heart can’t take this, I’m going to die of cute and Akagi’s going to steal all my stuff, Aran thought, though he figured dying because Shinsuke was being cute was not a bad way to go. He reached down and patted Lady’s head, leaving Shinsuke to deal with her tail attempting to take down his house and stepped around him as he saved the video and sent a copy to Akagi.

“Osamu-kun, Atsumu-kun,” He greeted, smiling down at them. Osamu seemed to almost wiggle with excitement, bouncing on his heels as he gave a half bow and scurried over to him.

“Aran-kun! Come here! Come here!” The child ordered and Aran nodded, letting himself be dragged further into the kitchen the moment Osamu’s hands landed on his own much larger one.

“I made this, try it? I even was given a spoon!” Osamu chirped, blinking up at him with wide eyes as he pointed up at the slow cooker and tried patting the too tall counter edge for the spoon.

For a moment Aran was worried he was going to be poisoned, then he figured if Shinsuke hadn’t run in to save him he was probably fine. Or this was actually a plot to steal his dog. Aran eyed Shinsuke’s back for a moment before tossing the thought away, that was a more Omimi move after all.

He pulled the lid from the pot, stirring it once before grabbing the spoon and scooping some up. The burst of flavor took him with surprise and he turned wide eyed to look back down at Osamu.

“You made this?”

Osamu nodded, lips pinched together and a hopeful look in his eye as he bounced beside the counter.  He was already a far cry from the quiet scared kid who’d been hiding from his brother on Shinsuke’s leg at the beginning of the week. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitance right now though Aran noticed he stayed further back from him then he had from Akagi.

“It’s amazing,” Aran said, placing the lid back on the slow cooker and cleaning the spoon before returning it to it’s spot on the counter.

“Shinsuke let me do it all on my own from the recipe!” Osamu said, preening under the kind attention. His hands clapped together with delight, grinning broadly and Aran couldn’t help but feel his heart melt a little.

“You did wonderful, Osamu. You should invite me over more so you can cook for me more often. You might even get me to like vegetables.” Aran said and something seemed to click in Osamu’s eyes. He gasped and stumbled back from behind the kitchen island until he could see Shinsuke again.

“Shinsuke-san! Can Aran stay forever?” He shouted across the room and Aran wasn’t sure if he wanted to die from embarrassment or from laughing at Osamu’s pure naivety. Shinsuke looked absolutely confused from where he was trying to hold Atsumu’s hand up to Lady’s nose.

“Uhm…” Shinsuke blinked over at Aran, curiosity clear in his gaze and Aran couldn’t help himself. He burst into laughter, reaching over to gently pat Osamu’s head when he looked over.

“I… Think Aran-kun has his own house… Why does he need to stay forever?” Shinsuke said slowly, guiding Atsumu’s hand to stroke over the dog’s ears. Lady seemed to be enjoying the double attention, though she was slowly trying to slip off of Shinsuke’s lap and onto Atsumu’s.

“How else am I supposed to cook for him?” Osamu explained, looking confused as to why Shinsuke would have to ask. “What if he’s not eating his vegetables and gets sick?”

Aran tried to pinch his lips shut but he couldn’t, Osamu was far too worried about Aran’s supposed health concerns. Another laugh slipped from his lips, before he finally had to turn away to hide his snorts. He reached back to pat Osamu on the shoulder so he wouldn’t feel like he was being mocked but he couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping.

“Osamu,” Shinsuke said fondly, shaking his head with the barest brush of a smile on his lips. “Aran will be fine, he knows how to eat his vegetables.”

“But if he doesn't like them, then he might not eat enough,” Osamu insisted, frowning over at his foster parent. “And then he won’t feel good and then he won’t come over anymore and I like Aran-kun.”

“Osamu…” Aran was touched, his heart already feeling like liquid at Osamu’s bright smile he gave when he saw Aran looking at him again.

“You hafta eat your vegetables, Aran-kun, you can’t be like Oji-san.” Osamu insisted to him, still smiling as he turned at the sound of footsteps. Shinsuke stepped up to him, reaching down to ruffle his hair which Osamu accepted with an excited laugh. Behind him, Atsumu glared for half a second before looking away again

“Aran-kun has his own home he has to go to, but what if he promises to come over more often so you can make sure he’s eating properly?” Shinsuke offered softly and Osamu seemed to think it over carefully, looking back and forth to both of them.

“Mmm… Okay, but you have to pinky promise Aran.” Osamu said, looking uncharacteristically serious as he turned to Aran, head pressed up into Shinsuke’s hand.

Aran held out his pinky, waiting for Osamu to curl his own pinky around it.

“I promise I’ll come over more,” Aran hummed, flashing a smile over to Shinsuke too. “And you can cook for me each time if you’d like.”

Osamu squealed with delight, nodding and finally releasing his hand and turning around looking for something. He tilted his head and moved around the island before he finally spotted Atsumu with Lady.

“ ‘Tsumu! Aran-kun’s coming over more.” He cheered, tilting his head when Atsumu just glanced over and then returned his attention back to the dog whose head was happily in his lap receiving attention. “ ‘Tsumu~”

Atsumu still didn’t look up, gently stroking over Lady’s side as her tail thumped happily on the ground. Osamu seemed to take it as a challenge and immediately started making his way over to him, plopping himself down beside his brother and pawing at his shoulder.

“ ‘Tsumu, ‘Tsumu. ‘Tsumu.” He chanted, only getting louder when Atsumu continued to ignore him.

“Sorry about him… He’s not… not quite used to other people yet,” Shinsuke murmured over to Aran as he moved to stand beside him and watch the boys. Aran’s entire right side seemed to light on fire the closer Shinsuke got until they were only centimeters apart and he had to hold himself back from leaning against him like it was high school all over again.

“I don’t mind, I know it’s going to take some time… How are you doing? Adjusting to this again?”

“Yeah… I mean…” Shinsuke took a moment to collect his thoughts before he turned to look at Aran. “It’s a little different, getting them up when I’m used to being at work but they’re smart and they like being able to visit and help around the store. But I think I’m doing okay… My only worry is for the boys when they leave I don’t want them to be hurt again.”

Aran crooked an eyebrow at him, giving in and pressing their arms together for a second letting his weight increase until an amused twitch appeared on Shinsuke’s lips.

“You could always adopt them yourself, Shinsuke,” Aran reminded him slowly, wondering if it was worth mentioning that if Shinsuke didn’t there was going to be a three way custody battle from his old team.

“Ah… Michinari said the same thing… But they need a lot of support, and I’m often at work. Even with them joining me on occasion, soon they will have school work on top of everything and I don’t want them to be neglected.” Shinsuke murmured, glancing at the whispering twins until he was sure they weren’t planning on running off with the dog.

“I don’t think they could be neglected with you, Shinsuke. In the end it’s your decision,” Aran finally said placatingly, “however, I think giving them up would hurt you more than you seem to think… But I haven’t seen you in a while so maybe I’m… maybe I’m just thinking of the old you.”

“I don’t think we’re very different, the me you knew and the me now…” Shinsuke spoke slowly, like he was piecing together a particularly difficult puzzle in his mind and Aran couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes darted over his face. “I still value your opinion, unlike Akagi you are not biased by who I have become and have a clearer picture of what you think I will be.”

“Michinari has been known to have smart thoughts now and again, so perhaps you should listen to him. His opinion would probably be better than my own, especially if even I can tell you’re very happy to be caring for these boys completely.” Aran wondered often in his high school years if Shinsuke was aware of how stubborn he was. Most people didn’t realize it, seeming to think he was like water that flowed and changed direction constantly.

Aran always thought he was more like earth, standing strong even through wind and rain and absolutely refusing to move until you picked him apart. Even now, with something he so clearly wanted, Shinsuke was trying to hold onto the plan he had given himself for life as stubbornly as he had his own routine of cleaning the old gym. He would accept new facts for anything else, but trying to make him change his own decisions was a bit like pulling teeth.

Aran was well aware that the stubbornness didn’t bode well for himself. He’d allowed himself to fall out of touch and out of Shinsuke’s life and therefore out of his plan. Any hope for more than friendship was probably long since past and Aran had to come to terms with that as much as he didn’t want to. 

Though, being back with Shinsuke was enough now, just to see him again. Shinsuke was still his best friend first and that was the most important thing to Aran, anything else he could see how it came the closer they got to each other again.

“Mmm… Perhaps.” Shinsuke said, letting his gaze move back to the boys. “But whether or not I’m happy, my decision is solely based on how well they’ll be treated… I’ll have to speak with Oomimi about doing adoption interviews… If they leave my house I’d like for them to be going into a permanent home.”

Aran made an understanding noise, heart pounding when Shinsuke leaned back against him. He was sure Shinsuke could hear it but neither of them said anything more, just watched the two boys whisper as they pet through Lady’s fur.

“ ‘Tsumu, ‘Tsumu. ‘Tsumu.” Osamu’s chanting was going to drive Atsumu insane. He just wanted to sit here and pet the dog, was that too much to ask?

“What ‘Samu?” Atsumu finally snapped when his brother’s hand started to slap at his face instead of his arm.

“I said Aran-kun’s coming over more.” Osamu chirped, half crawling over his brother to get a response.

“I heard ya.” Atsumu grumbled, shoving him off and turning his hands back to the soft curls of the dog on his lap. She didn’t annoy him, and she didn’t want anything either.

Atsumu didn’t like Aran. Part of him knew he’d only met Aran once and the other part was only able to see that whenever Aran came around Shinsuke acted differently.

Even today, Shinsuke was standing and talking to him when he usually was with them. He wasn’t even looking at them, he was too busy looking at Aran of all people. He was talking softly too, almost whispering instead of his normal voice and it was… sweeter almost.

Atsumu didn’t like it. 

“Why aren’t you happy? Aran’s cool!” Osamu whined, as he tried to crawl over his brother again. “He’s tall and plays volleyball at the Olympics and he can teach us, remember Oji-san said he likes teaching kids and that he could teach us easy!”

“That would mean he has to like us first… Be nice to Lady, softer.” Atsumu ordered when Osamu had successfully sat on his knee and was leaning over to pat Lady's stomach. Osamu paused, watching Atsumu stroke her ears before trying to do the same.

“Well I think he likes us. He played minecraft with you and he was really nice at dinner last time… And he has Lady! He can’t be a bad guy if Lady likes him.” Osamu insisted, frowning at his brother’s shrug.

Atsumu always did this. He always looked at the worst side of things and waited for bad things to happen so he could say ‘I told you so’. Osamu didn’t want him to be right for once, but Atsumu was always right. This time, that would mean Shinsuke didn’t actually care about them that he was going to give him away the first chance he had. Osamu really liked Shinsuke, he really liked his new uncles and his new family at the shop. He didn’t want to leave them again, not again.

“So? Don’t you remember Rika-san?” Atsumu grumbled and Osamu winced, his heart aching at the name.

Of course he remembered her. She was the first one to promise she was going to adopt them. They’d lived at her house for almost a year until…

“You thought Saito-san was nice until they started dating and she sent us away because he ‘wasn’t ready for kids’.” Atsumu continued, shoulders curling inward when he spoke. He still remembered how much she cried when she dropped them off at the foster home. It had only been two years ago and he hadn’t really understood what was happening until he saw Moniwa-san again.

Even then, he and Osamu had asked for her again and again. Until enough bloody lips and stinging faces had taught them not to ask about anyone or anything except to Moniwa-san. Atsumu didn’t want Shinsuke to be the same, but Aran looked at him like… like people did on tv when they were married, like Rika-san had looked at Saito-san. Which meant they’d be sent away soon… all over again.

“Aran-san is going to take Shinsuke-san away. Stop being stupid ‘Samu, they don’t want us, nobody ever wants us.” Atsumu hissed, his chest squeezing in pain. He didn’t want to lose Shinsuke but it hurt more getting attached. Rika proved that. It was easier to get over if he just focused on the future no matter how much he hated being the kid nobody wanted, nobody was going to keep him and Osamu needed to understand that before… Before Shinsuke sent them away too.

“No!” Osamu barked, making Lady jolt as she scrambled to try and check on him. “No! It’s not happening. Not again. Shut up ‘Tsumu! Shut up!”

“ ‘Samu! I didn’t-”

Osamu was on his feet before he even realized, turning and barrelling forward until he hit something. A hand descended onto his back, gently rubbing in circles before a voice cut into the whirl of his mind.

“Woah, woah, Osamu, what’s wrong little one?” Shinsuke asked, slowly sliding down until Osamu could wrap his arms around his neck. “Osamu? You have to talk to me… Atsumu did you say something to your brother?”

There it was, the accusation. Atsumu was used to foster parents looking at him like he was an annoyance. Yet Shinsuke was still talking in his normal voice and he only looked confused, not angry or violent. Atsumu wasn’t sure how to take that, how was he supposed to react? Did he hide or cry? Shinsuke didn’t follow any of the patterns Atsumu knew so well from his foster parents before.

He stared at his crying brother for a second before turning away, shoulders hunched like he was waiting for a strike.

“Osamu, did Atsumu say something that upset you? I can’t help if I don’t understand.” Shinsuke tried to soothe the crying child but Osamu just shook his head, nothing coming from his mouth but soft choked cries. He glanced at Aran, wondering if he’d missed something but Aran looked just as confused as he did.

Carefully he picked Osamu up, letting him sob into his collar. He murmured quietly to him, trying to calm him down while watching Atsumu’s own shuddering shoulders. He couldn’t comfort both of them at once but Osamu was clearly much more of a wreck at the moment.

“Go sit down, let me see if I can talk to him.” Aran’s voice pulled him from his own thoughts and Shinsuke looked over at him when a hand landed on his own back.

“Thank you… C’mon Osamu, we’re going to sit on the couch okay?” Shinsuke murmured, barely getting a nod from the boy before he was gripping him tighter.

Aran waited until they were seated before he made his way towards Atsumu, only about a quarter of a plan formed in his head. If Atsumu told him to go away he would probably have to do it for lack of a better option.

“Atsumu?” He called softly as he moved to stand beside him. “Mind if I sit here?”

After a few seconds Atsumu shrugged and Aran let out a sigh of relief, moving to kneel beside him. Lady noticed him immediately and twisted onto her back only to fall so all four of her paws landed in his lap.

“Thank you honey, I appreciate that.” Aran said dryly, reaching down to stroke her fur while Atsumu seemed to stare at her shoulder vacantly. It felt stupid to ask if Atsumu was okay, after all if he was, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“Atsumu… can you tell me what just happened?” Aran asked slowly, watching the twitching fingers bury themselves in Lady’s fur. She lay completely still, as if she could tell how bad Atsumu was feeling.

“ ‘m sorry Aran-san.” Atsumu choked out after a minute.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Bothering you and Shinsuke-san.” Atsumu’s hands seemed to shake a little more but his voice was perfectly even, soft and unthreatening like he was trying his best not to irritate Aran.

“You didn’t bother us. Something upset you and your brother and we’re worried is all. We just want to make sure you’re okay.” Aran said, watching Atsumu’s face for any sign that could help him understand exactly what was happening here. Atsumu’s eyes flickered over to the couch before they were down again, avoiding Aran as best as he could.

Aran tried to piece it together, Atsumu had been… defensive when he arrived but not unhappy. Where Osamu had been happy to see him, Atsumu didn’t seem to be particularly happy but he hadn’t been upset either. Atleast, not until Shinsuke had left him alone with Lady-

Ah.

“Atsumu, you know Shinsuke likes you more than he likes me right?” Aran said conversationally as if he was speaking to Akagi about lunch. Atsumu’s eyes shot to him immediately and Aran knew he’d hit the bulls-eye. Atsumu looked away again, shrugging his shoulders.

“Like, so much more than me. He only invited me tonight because he wanted to meet my dog.” Aran chuckled, trying to keep the air light. He could only barely remember his nieces and nephews’ own tantrums and what he needed to do to calm them down.

“... Shinsuke-san likes you.” Atsumu mumbled, not wanting to deal with false pity.

“Well yes, but Shinsuke-san also likes brussel sprouts,” Aran said, smiling at Atsumu’s grumpy glare, “and I can promise you he mostly likes me for my dog. But you know what he likes even more than Lady?”

He waited until Atsumu had finally turned to him, a six year old’s curiosity weakening him.

“You and Osamu.” There was no hesitation in Aran’s voice and Atsumu twisted to stare at him again.

Atsumu wasn’t sure if Aran was lying or not. He hadn’t said it like Saito had all those years ago, he wasn’t upset or annoyed, he said it like it was a simple fact of life and Atsumu had no idea how he was supposed to take that. In what world could Shinsuke care about them so much after only a week? 

Nobody wanted them, that was a fact Atsumu knew. Yet here Aran was, saying the complete opposite without a hint of a lie. Atsumu knew that at the end of the month he’d be shipped off to someone else's house, that it was stupid to think otherwise.

His gaze drifted to the couch, where Osamu was tiredly clinging to Shinsuke who was still quietly talking to him.

Atsumu’s chest ached at the sight. He’d done that. He’d hurt his brother this time and that was unforgivable, he had to make it right. Had to play nice, even if he didn’t want to. For his brother, he would do anything.

“Oh.” Atsumu finally said, slowly moving to his feet and staring at the ground. “Thank you Aran-kun.”

Aran watched him make his way towards the couch, stroking his dog as they watched him bow and murmur something to Shinsuke and Osamu. Shinsuke’s eyes met Aran’s for a moment before he was focusing on Atsumu again and slowly nodding. Atsumu’s head fell before Osamu was reaching out and shoving his chest gently. It only took a few seconds before they were squabbling in Shinsuke’s lap and he was arguing with both of them to knock it off and for a moment Atsumu was smiling again.

It faded again as Shinsuke pulled Osamu off of himself and escaped to the kitchen and Aran couldn’t help but think that Atsumu was going to shatter if anyone sent him away again. Or he would turn completely to ice.

“Aran?” Shinsuke called and he looked up, taking in the man he’d fallen in love with so long ago. The boys had taken their usual places on either side of them, Osamu’s hand clutching Shinsuke’s pant leg.

“Help the boys set up the table?” Shinsuke asked, turning away and walking to the table. Both of the twins turned to stare at him, and Aran remembered last time he’d helped set the table he’d been ‘killed’ by cushions. He stood and brushed the fur off his pants, unable to suppress a grin at Osamu’s happy cheer.

“C’mon Atsumu, it’ll all turn out well, you’ll see.” Aran said when he caught up with them, gently guiding him forward. He couldn’t say anything more to the doubtful look on Atsumu’s face but he could work with Shinsuke to prove it.

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

FIC: MIO FIGLIO

So, this is something I wrote back in February from Anna’s (Nico’s mom) point of view. I’m very proud of how it turned out, so I hope you’ll enjoy it too :D... Despite the title, IT'S IN ENGLISH

Somewhere in Italy Early morning of a day in 1999

He’s so tiny. So small. So soft and breakable. Perhaps not the most beautiful, but surely the most precious creature on Earth. Her baby.

She can’t bear not to check on her son every five minutes, afraid he might have stopped breathing. It’s awfully stupid, and illogical, she knows that. The midwife she hired came with great recommendations, so there’s no reason not to trust her with both their lives, but... He took his sweet time coming into this world - a little later than scheduled, but who can blame him - and now it’s hard to tear her gaze from him. She keeps covering him in kisses, whispering how much he loves him already.

Ni. Ninì. Nico. Nicolì. Niccolò. Like the singer that brought her and Gioele together, on that sunny 1st of May in Piazza San Giovanni. It was the only name they agreed on, since her husband choices felt too extravagant - “They are going to be the ones having to live with a name like Gertrude, Genoveffa, Gervasio or Giosuè… what’s with you and names starting with a ‘G’, anyway?" - and all her favourites reminded him of people he couldn’t stand.

“We can name her Gertrude, okay?” She tilted her head back then, flashed him her cheekiest smile and pointed at the plush giraffe Gabriella - her sweet sixteen-year old sister-in-law, who had sworn she would make a great pianist out of her first nephew - had brought as a present.

“You don’t have to be a pianist. You can be a singer, a painter, a cartoonist… An engineer, a teacher, a doctor, a bricklayer, a plumber, an electrician… Whatever you wish, Ninì. I swear I’m going to do my best to help you find your call. And when you’ll stumble, mama is gonna be there to catch you before you get hurt too bad. Always.”

Empty promises? Is she going to turn into one of those ‘mother knows best’ ladies, who ignore their children wishes? Is she going to screw up - screwing him up, in the process - along the way? She’s so terrified of all that can hurt him, out there. Including herself.

*******************************

Rome, Anna Furlan & Gioele Fares Apartment Early morning of a day in 2020

He's happy. Happier than she's ever seen him in a really long time. And when she says 'happy', she doesn't mean the euphoric "LOOK, MOM! I'M ON TOP OF THE WORLD!!" state that always leads to a catastrophic crashing down… No, it's more like a calm soothing feeling that has him smiling fondly when she playfully slaps his hand - no, he's not allowed to have a taste before it's ready or, worse, dip his fingers into the batter: who raised him? - and shoos him out of the kitchen with a

"Go make yourself useful, Ninì. There’s some stuff in your old room that need to be sorted.” He looks touched, like he can’t quite believe he’s being trusted to actually know what can be tossed away and what should he should take with him.

He's content, yeah. But for how long? How can she soften the blow, when everything will inevitably fall apart?

She tried, so hard, to teach him not to rely on others when it comes to his own peace of mind… Made sure he'd give his best in trying to build a future for himself. But he's so… Spooked, and vulnerable, always on the lookout… Terrified he might end up alone. Unloved.

How… How can anybody meet her sweet, wide-eyed, cheerful Niccolò and not be instantly charmed by him? Not want to spend the rest of their life by his side?

Okay, he's got his flaws and his fluctuating moods can be hard to deal with. One might end up being his doctor, instead of a parent or a lover… She often catches herself going down that road, and she must admit it's nice to have Martino around to make her notice that. Maddalena would never have dared.

She might have not been exactly thrilled that Nico had fallen in love with him - up to the point she doubted the love itself, preferring to chalk it up to an obsession, an hyper fixation - but he sure won her over with his attentiveness, his willingness to learn from his past mistakes and not let the bad times spoil the best ones. Either the instants they would cherish for the years to come, or the momentary bliss that would be forgotten as soon as they closed their eyes. Both were worth being lived to their fullest.

He is human, imperfect, and proudly so.

And Niccolò wouldn't leave him just because he’s not infallible, would he? So why can’t he extend the same courtesy to himself?

Why, why would he think - even for a second - that he doesn't deserve all the best that the world can offer?

It must have been something she said. Something she did. The therapists have been pretty adamant on that.

‘Stop. Stop there. Stop making this about you. It isn’t. It never was. It will never be.’ She reprimands herself, as soon as she realises where her thoughts are leading her to. ‘Stop regretting what you can’t change, and work on what you can do better from now on. Remember he’s not your baby anymore, he’s an adult who will soon find out that being grown ups doesn’t mean you’ll get handed the answers and that everything will finally make sense in your life. He’s going to have to deal with that on his own… Or with Martino, who’s going through the same earth shattering revelation. You need to step down, step aside… And let him fall, let him live, Anna.’

It’s harder than usual to listen to the rational part of her brain, today, with him having just turned 21. He’s still so tiny… and small… Not weak, though.

She smiles, as she recalls the last meal they had with their relatives down in Gubbio - where her mother-in-law whispered into her ear “I like this one, he gives the best hugs. Reminds me of my dear Giorgio…” while looking at Martino - and all the teasing Niccolò had to endure from them… Until he got up, and said “Bet none of you can do this.” and proceeded to carry a disgruntled Martino over his shoulder. “Mh? What? Can’t hear you over the sound of my amazing strength, Marti. Told you I could do it, but you didn’t believe me…”

“Mom? Mom! You kept her?” Nico snaps out her reminisces, waving a tattered stuffed animal in front of her eyes. She jumps back, nearly dropping the baking tray. He saves it with his free hand, and together they put it in the oven.

“You kept her? Gertrude?” He asks, once again, after she has set the timer and sat down with him at the table. The poor giraffe has lost all of her spots - if she hadn’t seen her in her prime, back in 1999, she might have mistaken this Gertrude for a cow - and an eye. That had caused quite the scare, when she and Gio asked Nico where it had gone and he pointed at his mouth, giggling…

Poor chap, she had been dragged all over the floors and up on every tree that Niccolò had climbed as a child. And then she disappeared, after Maddalena's first visit. He needed to show her he was a man, not a little boy.

“Of course I did… I figured you might want to hand her down to…Another generation?”

“Mom, please…” He rolls his eyes, sighing.

“Hey, hey…” Fingertips on his cheekbones. A kiss on his forehead. Small gestures to reassure Nico that he’s not going to let her down because he won’t ever see himself raising a kid. “You know I don’t really care for a grandchild. It could be the gift from a cool uncle. Fitting, since you got it from your coolest aunt, right? Gabi wouldn’t want Gertrude to end up all alone, forgotten, at the bottom of a dusty box. Didn’t you promise them both a big adventure?”

“You... “ Niccolò whispers, tearing up a little.

“... remember? Of course I do, sweetheart. I’ve still got the birthday card you wrote them when you were five, after all… And what bigger adventure than the life you just started building for yourself?"

"I'm hardly doing that on my own."

"So? Don't sell yourself short. You're doing great..." Oh, is he really too old for a cuddle? Because she definitely feels like they should walk over to the sofa and just thread her fingers through his curls as he dozes off and forget all about his troubles.

The buzzing of the intercom has them getting up at the same time, racing to get it first. He's a damn cheat, no better than his father - what a pair of sore losers - and wins without breaking a sweat. She's hasn't been this silly in a long, long time... and she doesn't even know why.

"Marti?"

Well, maybe she can leave the cuddling to the expert.

[lilyvandersteen]

Out of the Blue: Chapter 4

Cover art: @redheadgleek​

Beta extraordinaire: @hkvoyage​

Links: AO3, FF.net

Author’s Note:

Snarky Kurt is coming out to play... Ooh, Blaine, you picked the wrong person to anger!

Chapter 4: Called Out

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

Kurt was quick to welcome their guest of honor, who’d apparently brought his BROTHER to the wedding -hmm… Did that mean he was single at the moment?

One quick look confirmed that Mr. Anderson was still the handsomest man in all of North America. And if the rumors were true, he dated men as well as women, so Kurt actually stood a chance with him. Therefore, he made sure to mention he was single and very available while bringing him to the brides and officially introducing them.

Kurt adjusted his cravat and checked his coif while Mr. Anderson was congratulating the brides, and then graciously accepted Mr. Anderson’s praise of the decorations as he steered him up the fire escape and towards the circle of chairs they’d set up for the ceremony.

“It’s going to be pretty informal, as you can tell,” Kurt said, “Santana didn’t want to make a big production of it. Wanted nothing stiff or formulaic. That’s just not them.”

Mr. Anderson grinned. “I’ll like it all the better for that.”

Kurt shot him a quick smile and dashed off to Elliott to tell him to start the ceremony, sent Rachel over to Artie for the procession song, warned Tina to start taking pictures and then told bridesmaids Mercedes and Quinn as well as Britt and San to walk to their assigned spot.

As Rachel sang “The First Time I Saw Your Face”, the brides walked into the circle hand in hand and smiling – Brittany widely and Santana tremulously. Tina’s camera shutter clicked at a fierce pace, and Kurt stood there taking it all in for a moment, his throat thick with emotion.

Then he jumped back into action, taking the ring box out of his inside pocket and tying the rings around the necks of Lord and Lady Tubbington. Carrying their basket, he moved to stand next to Elliott.

Brittany and Santana’s vows made Kurt tear up, and by the many sniffles in the audience, he knew he wasn’t the only one affected.

Thankfully, the cats were as good as gold and stayed put throughout the ceremony, and when the right moment came, he held out Lady Tubbington to San for Brittany’s ring and Lord Tubbington to Britt for Santana’s ring.

After taking the ring off of his neck, Britt pulled Lord Tubbington closer and kissed his head.

“Oh, was that supposed to be the groom?” Elliott quipped. “Then we’ll need to start over!”

The terrace rang with laughter, and Lord Tubbington wriggled out of Kurt’s arms and fled. Lady Tubbington followed suit, but seeing as their task was fulfilled, it didn’t matter much.

As soon as Brittany and Santana had shared their first kiss as wives, to loud applause, Kurt gestured to Rachel to follow him to the kitchen, where they arranged champagne glasses on trays and filled them with an excellent spumante Kurt had found in Little Italy. Kurt got out the first batch of hors d’oeuvres, too, and they went around the terrace with their offerings.

Mr. Billionaire Anderson did not seem snobbish in the least, eating Kurt’s finger food with relish and complimenting him on the spumante, even asking to write down its name and where he got it.

When Kurt brought out his masterpiece, a three-tiered wedding cake decorated with rainbows and unicorns, as per Brittany’s request, Mr. Anderson whooped and hollered the loudest of them all, and his moan when he started eating cake made the tips of Kurt’s ears redden. He left only crumbs on his plate, and clamored for seconds, which Kurt hurried to give him, beaming.

                        Now that everyone was on their second piece of cake, Kurt took a minute to eat something himself. There wasn’t much left of the hors d’oeuvres, but what there was, Kurt decimated in seconds, and he ate one of the marzipan unicorns as dessert.

He took a glass of spumante to wash everything down in style, and surveyed the party with satisfaction. Yes, he had done it once again. The wedding was a resounding success. Now there was only the first dance to go, but that was up to Britt and San themselves.

Kurt made another round to fill up the guests’ glasses again, and then told the brides to get ready for their dance, Mercedes and Artie to sing, and Tina to catch all the magical moments on camera.

“Oh, I LOVE this part!” Rachel whispered loudly in his ear as she wound her arms around his waist.

Kurt kissed her head and hugged her back as they both watched their friends shine in their first dance.

“Look how happy they are,” Rachel sniffled. “Ah, this is amazing!”

“It is,” Kurt agreed. “Worth all the work and then some.”

“True. Though I’m going to dance a bit before I start on clean-up duty.”

“All right, then. Off you go, Miss Berry! But you will help me later!”

Laughing at her grimace, he pushed her towards the dance floor and then picked up the cake tray to wrap up what was left and put it in the fridge.

The party went on, and his friends took turns claiming the microphone for a song, until Santana took it to give a speech, thanking her wife for her promise of forever, thanking the guests for coming to witness their union, and thanking Kurt nicely for all his work organizing the wedding. He sent her an air kiss, and she half-laughed, half-sobbed, overcome with emotion.

He’d just stepped towards San to give her a hug when another voice piped up. Mr. Anderson’s brother. And for some reason, he was LIVID, accusing Britt and San of faking a wedding to swindle his brother out of an expensive gift, seeing as their family wasn’t even there, ranting and raving at the fake brides for taking advantage of his brother that way, and taking advantage of their friend to organize the whole event, too. He dissed all of Kurt’s careful wedding planning and hard work, pronouncing everything too cheap for an actual wedding.

Brittany shrank away from the venom in the guy’s voice, and even Santana seemed tongue-tied for a moment. The rest of Kurt’s friends, who had all been dancing and laughing a minute ago, now stood staring at the younger Mr. Anderson in shocked silence.

Kurt, however, felt his hackles rise. No way was this guy going to ruin everything at the eleventh hour. No way!

He fixed the man with a glare and gritted out, “Way to make snap judgments, Mr. Snob! For your information, Santana’s family is homophobic. As in, they don’t approve of her choice of spouse. They threw her out when she told them she was in love with Brittany, and are still expecting her to come to her senses and marry a man. Santana was crying this morning because her abuela wasn’t going to attend her wedding, so thank you very much for opening that wound again.”

The Andersons’ eyes flitted to Santana, who swallowed with difficulty and looked down. Brittany put her head on Santana’s shoulder and squeezed her hand in sympathy.

“And Brittany’s parents told her only last week that they’re getting a divorce,” Kurt continued. “She was so mad at them that she uninvited them to the wedding. And she’s the only child of two only children, and her grandparents are dead, so no other family. Any more questions?”

Mr. Snob rubbed his hand over his neck, his animosity all but gone. “I guess… I guess I just don’t see why people would tie the knot when they’re only twenty years old. That’s something for when you’re settled, not when you’re barely starting out.”

Kurt chuckled. “Believe me, I told them exactly the same thing when they came to me and asked if I’d plan their wedding. But they said they were sure of each other, and they didn’t want to wait. So I agreed, and made it as fabulous a small, low-budget wedding as I possibly could.”

“You did a wonderful job!” Mr. Anderson boomed, clapping Kurt on the shoulder. “This place looks like a dream, the brides are gorgeous, the ceremony was perfect, the music is lit, and I never had better hors d’oeuvres in my life. And the wedding cake! Beautiful AND scrumptious! If you ever plan a wedding again, do invite me, will you?”

Other guests chimed in with praise for Kurt as well, and soon they were all laughing and chatting and dancing again.

Kurt sent Mr. Anderson a small smile, grateful to him for defusing the tension, and then focused on Mr. Snob again. “Your assessment of me was spot-on, though, bravo. Yes, I’m the pathetic single gay who lives vicariously through his friends. Yes, I’d rather focus on their romance than fail at it myself. So far I’ve planned a wedding for my father and stepmother, for my show choir teacher and the school counselor, and now for Santana and Brittany. Because it made me happy to see them happy. And maybe that makes me a silly romantic, but it’s certainly better than thinking yourself far above anyone and being sarcastic and mean.”

Mr. Snob bit his lip and lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked Kurt straight in the eye and said, “You’re right. I was in a bad mood, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on all of you. I’m sorry.”

Kurt nodded coolly. “Apology accepted.”

Mr. Anderson put his arm around Kurt’s shoulder. “Do you know, I wouldn’t even have cared if this wedding were fake! Blaine can say what he wants, but you throw a damn good party, worth every cent of the gifts we brought! So, I’m serious, any event you’re planning in the future, send me word of it and I’ll be there.”

Kurt smiled wider at him this time. “I promise I will.”

Then he leaned in and whispered into Mr. Anderson’s ear, “And if you want to help things along, encourage Sam to propose to Mercedes. He’s been thinking and talking about it for ages, but he never makes a move. They’re over there, both of them.”

Kurt surreptitiously pointed to Sam and Mercedes so that Mr. Anderson would know whom he was talking about.

Mr. Anderson winked at Kurt and whispered back, “On it!” He sauntered back to the dance floor, bowed for Mercedes and swept her away in a quickstep.

Sam, who’d been dancing with his girlfriend until Mr. Anderson cut in, glared at his perceived rival.

Kurt grinned, and granted Mr. Snob (Blaine, apparently) only the merest glance before turning his back on him and starting to collect empty glasses and plates to take them to the kitchen. The guy was back to looking sullen, but Kurt didn’t give a hoot about that. He could sulk the whole night through, as far as Kurt was concerned.

Only, he didn’t. On his second run to the kitchen, laden with plates and trays, Kurt felt a presence behind him, and suddenly, his load was a lot lighter. Blaine had taken half of the stack and was carrying it to the sink.

“Where’s your dishwasher?” Blaine asked.

Kurt snorted. “None of that here. We wash up by hand. And by that I mean I wash up, nine times out of ten. The girls only help out when I force them to.”

“I’ll help,” Blaine offered.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re a guest. The snooty kind that finds fault with every detail of the wedding I planned. Why on earth would you help me out now?”

Blaine had the grace to blush. “Hey, I said I was sorry. I was out of line, and I’m trying to make up for it. Throw me a bone, would you?”

Kurt stared at him until he started to squirm, and only then did he say, “All right, then. You wash, I’ll dry.”

They worked together in companionable silence, Blaine softly singing to himself as he scrubbed and rinsed. Meanwhile, the party petered out around them, and one by one, Kurt’s friends said their goodbyes and left.

Once the dishes were done, Kurt thanked his helper and offered him another piece of wedding cake as a reward. They sat down on the sofa and ate their cake.

Kurt felt his eyes droop, and hoped he wouldn’t have to stay up much longer. He wanted to lie down and sleep for a week on end.

He woke abruptly, because he got jostled and his head lost its comfortable pillow all of a sudden.

“Uhm, wha?” said a voice very close to him.

Kurt blinked his eyes open and found that he had fallen asleep against Blaine, who had dozed off too, if his slow reaction and slurring speech were any indication.

“You coming, squirt?”

“Don’t call me squirt,” Blaine snapped, rubbing his eyes like a five-year-old.

“Aw, Blainey, why are you still tetchy? You just got to spend some time alone with a gorgeous guy.”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “Washing the dishes.”

“You know what Nana used to say.”

“Yeah. ‘Share your life with someone you like doing chores with.’”

“And did you like it?”

Blaine blushed and lowered his eyes. Oh, wow, he had beautiful long lashes. In his own way, he was quite as handsome as his brother. While washing the dishes, he’d been singing under his breath, and his voice was lovely. And he’d washed the dishes efficiently and without complaint. Pity he was such a curmudgeon.

Mr. Anderson waggled his eyebrows until Blaine let out a plaintive “Cooooop!!”

“Blaaaaaaaine!!”

“Okay, let’s go before you embarrass me even more. And keep it down, will you. Don’t wake Kurt. He must be exhausted.”

Blaine’s eyes swept from Coop to Kurt, and he visibly started when he saw that Kurt had woken up.

“Too late for that,” Kurt drawled, sitting up. “But I can always go right back to sleep.”

Blaine looked shocked. “You don’t want to move to your bed?”

Kurt shook his head. “Nope. Whenever Britt stays over, she and San get my bed, and I sleep on the sofa. Usually, San sleeps here, but it doesn’t fit two people. When Britt stops touring with Mercedes, San and Britt will look for their own place, but for now, this works.”

Blaine bit his lip. “You know sleeping on a sofa is bad for your back, right?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t know how San has dealt with it for so long. One night here and I’m stiff and aching all over for a week.”

“So why don’t you buy an extra bed? Or at least a decent sofa bed?”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s on the list.”

“What list?”

“The list of things we need to save up for.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Why did you ask for a 25K pet pavilion for your cats as a wedding gift when you can’t even afford decent beds for yourself?”

There he went again, Sir Judgy McJudge-a-Lot! He did have a point, though.

Kurt grimaced. “The cat stuff was all Brittany’s idea. We should never have let her compile the registry. We didn’t notice what kind of silly stuff she’d asked for until after your brother had bought the pet pavilion. It’s a stupid waste of money, I quite agree. If you’d like your money back, you can cancel that gift. Please do. We’ve been feeling awful about it.”

Wasn’t that the truth…

Blaine seemed slightly mollified, but still continued his questioning. “Also, if you have no money for something as basic as a bed, where did you get the dough to plan a wedding?”

Kurt flushed. Rude much? “I did a lot of it myself. I also called in a lot of favors, and borrowed stuff. And we all worked extra shifts.”

Blaine nodded, seemingly accepting this explanation. Insufferable snob!

“Well, you did a wonderful job!” Mr. Anderson boomed. “I had a splendid time, so thank you very much! And Brittany can keep the pavilion for her lovely cats. Don’t you worry your pretty heads about that!”

Kurt got up from the sofa and shook hands with Mr. Anderson. “Mr. Anderson, thank you for coming.”

“Oh, please call me Cooper. Or Coop for short. I hope to see you again soon for another party. And it’s ME who should thank YOU!”

Kurt smiled at Cooper, and then turned to Blaine. “Thank you for helping with the dishes.”

“It was my pleasure,” Blaine assured him. “And sorry again for my rant earlier. I was wrong.”

His earnestly repentant face made Kurt feel a bit guilty.

The brothers left with a smile and a wave. Kurt pulled at the heavy door to close it and then sank down against it, whispering, “You weren’t, though. You were absolutely right. We did it all for the presents.”

[ofwizardsandmen]

CHRISTMAS SERIES 

Keyword being ‘supposed’

This is definitely not how Enzo Saint-Pierre was supposed to spend Christmas Eve.

Characters: Enzo Saint-Pierre, Minah Delacroix, Tara Lee, Mark Yang. Mentions of other minor characters.

Word count: 3,6k

“I can’t believe them” Enzo Saint-Pierre huffed as he flopped on the pink velvet sofa, arms falling limp at his sides and his phone slipping from his hand before falling over a cushion.

Across the room, Enzo’s business partner and close friend, Minah Delacroix, stopped wrapping her brother’s Christmas gift for a short moment and took notice of his sour expression and the way his eyes glared at the device with resentment.

It was the day before Christmas and the friends had been chatting about pointless topics for nearly two hours now. Although the company’s premises had been closed for a few days now,  Enzo had forgotten some important documents in his security box and just happened to come across his business partner hiding in her office wrapping gifts and writing cards. For the past weeks, It had been difficult to even see Minah because apparently she was juggling all her duties as a Delacroix, attending parties, planning her own Christmas festivities and buying gifts for her endless list of family members, friends, and business network. Of course, Sienna, her ever-efficient assistant, had been really helpful —Enzo had already received a beautiful set of gold cufflinks with his family crest coat of arms carved by goblins, earlier that day, for example—, but Minah still had some last-minute tasks to fulfill, which explained why they had been chitchatting as she went on with the ever boring task of dictating Christmas messages to her Quick Quotes Quill and wrapping Christmas gifts in an old fashioned way.

Only a few minutes ago laughter filled the room. The friends had been talking about their holiday plans until a call interrupted Enzo from pocking fun at Minah’s choice of words to describe what she would be wearing that night for her one on one Christmas celebrations.

“What happened?” MInah asked. She knew Enzo was never the type to react negatively, choosing to remain blissfully —and even annoyingly— positive even at critical times (a behavior that had almost caused her to attempt murder several times the past year), so his expression made her raise one of her perfect brows. Minah carefully placed Suho’s state of the art quidditch glasses on the table (one of her husband’s most recent tech inventions) and leaned back on the chair.

“Nothing” Enzo deadpanned, but the scowl on his forehead told otherwise.

“Oh, come on, Enzo. The only time I saw you frown like this was when we were invited to the Olivier’s fashion show” Minah walked across the office and took the empty spot beside her friend, sitting cross-legged.  “And even then you looked slightly entertained”

“Would you blame me? Maude poured champagne on her hideous white dress. It was hilarious” Enzo smirked playfully at the memory. It never failed to amuse him.

“Then, what’s wrong? Minah insisted, her voice too sweet for Enzo not to detect concern filtering through her tone.

“Just my ever enchanting family,” The man said with a sigh “Cancelling dinner plans at the very last minute because their businesses are more important… businesses being a euphemism for affairs.”

It had never been a secret for Minah that Enzo’s parents’ only kept their marriage to protect their individual interests. Minah and Enzo had bumped with his dad lounging on yachts in the Mediterranean, with entourages of women younger than herself, during their business trips to the south of France and Italy. His mother, on the other hand, had been having an affair with a magizoology researcher for some years now and she never missed the opportunity to run away with him to some exotic place. Of course, Enzo never told her that, Minah had found out everything about it through her uncle, Jerome, who granted was not one to spread gossip but had accidentally spilled the beans when they crossed paths with Madame Huang at a gala from the International Dragon Foundation.  

“What?” Minah gaped at that. Enzo had been talking about his plans with his parents for nearly a month and he seemed quite excited about it given the fact he didn’t get to spend time with them very often. It had made Minah question how lonely and in need of love Enzo seemed to be, but she hadn’t said anything about it. Instead, she had witnessed him planing every detail for their Christmas dinner with minute attention. He had bought handmade Italian glasses and hired the executive chef of the trendiest restaurant in London for the occasion. Hell, he had even got her aunt Adelaine to design him a suit although she was as busy as a bee. “I’m so sorry about it. I know you were looking forward to spending time with your parents”

“Nah. It’s ok. It was too good to be true” He attempted to laugh it off, but Minah knew that for some odd reason, Enzo still held some type of respect and affection for his parents. She was still unable to understand his fixation on spending time with them, but she figured out that the situation was far from being “ok”.

“No, it is not. They should’ve canceled before so you could make some arrangements and plan something else” She said scowling and slightly raising her voice.

“I will be fine, Minah. I am going to crash any of the parties I was invited to or drop by to visit some friends” He said, putting emphasis on the last word and winking at Minah afterward.

“No, that doesn’t sound right” Minah protested “Why don’t you come and stay with me and Sungjae. We didn’t really plan anything special” Only once she had already made the offer, Minah realized the mistake she had committed by inviting someone to spend Christmas Eve with her and her husband, without even asking Sungjae first.

“I had no idea you were into threesomes, Min” Enzo joked, eyes flickering in pretended surprise.

Minah slapped his arm playfully. “Don’t be ridiculous! Haven’t you told me  he third party is always supposed to be a stranger?”

They both laughed at that, but Enzo became serious once again, moving on the sofa to look at Minah in the eyes.

“I really appreciate your offer, but I am pretty sure Sungjae won’t be exactly thrilled to have me there,” He said seriously.

“Oh no, Sungjae is in his Christmas mood, I’m sure he really wouldn’t mind” That last part was a blatant lie, Minah could only imagine Sungjae’s reaction and it was far from what she had described, but Enzo didn’t need to know that.

“Ha. As if” Enzo rolled eyes. “Minah, you’re newlyweds. I seriously appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to feel any better if I have to spend Christmas Eve at your place, knowing that you would very much rather be fucking with your husband than hosting unwanted guests.”

“Wow, what a charmer” Minah replied with a trace of sarcasm. She couldn’t deny that Enzo was completely right, but she was still convinced that she needed to insist. “But Enzo… Christmas has always been about unannounced guests. From day one, that is the whole purpose of the holiday. I mean, take the Wise Men, they just called in unannounced.”

“They brought gold, Minah, of course, Mary and Joseph didn’t mind” Enzo switched his position on the sofa scoffing.

“But still-“ Minah started, but her speech was interrupted before she could say another word.

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to give up Christmas sex only because of me” Enzo stated with a grin, causing Minah to huff “No, but seriously. I’m going to be perfectly fine, Min. I always have a plan B.” The male moved to pat Minah’s hand brotherly “Thanks for caring so much though.”

“Just wanted to give you a Christmas gift” Minah said, a pout forming slightly.

“You already got me these” Enzo said pointing at his wrists, showing off the cufflinks Sienna had delivered to his apartment that morning “Plus, you know I’m not expecting any Christmas miracle or present, Minnie. I’ve been a bad boy all year long” Enzo shrugged, winking for an added effect. “We all know I’d never make it to Santa’s nice list.

________

When Enzo showed up at Tara’s porch, she could barely hide the disappointed look on her face. Although she knew very well that Mark couldn’t make it home for Christmas this year, for some stupid reason she had been expecting it to be him. But then again, why would Mark even ring the bell of their own home? Tara thought to herself that the unreasonable hope she had been harboring inside was clouding her judgment and she felt like facepalming herself.

“You could at least pretend to be happy to see me” Cladded in the most Christmas cliched outfit Tara had ever seen him wear, Enzo smiled widely at her. He didn’t seem the least bit offended by Tara’s reaction, which made her feel even worse and instinctively step to the side for him to walk in.  

“I’m sorry, dear.” Tara tiptoed to kiss Enzo’s cheek and give him a quick hug “You just caught me off guard. I thought you were supposed to be home with your parents.”

“Keyword being ‘supposed’” Enzo said, handing Tara what seemed to be a present, wrapped in a silly paper with red-nosed female reindeers wearing hot-pink bows. “As per usual they canceled on me, so I supposed my best friend could use some company” He made a pause to take a brief look around “…Not to mention I could bestow some much needed Christmas spirit in this house.” He added once he realized the house was almost empty, which of course was to be expected given the fact Tara had just moved in there a few weeks ago. Yet, there was something truly depressing about it all. There was no tree, no decorations. Not the least sign of the joyful season.

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t planning anything special, I was expecting tonight to be just me and the Ghost of Christmas Past” Tara joked, noticing the pitiful look on Enzo’s face.

“I thought Mark would be here, that’s why I dressed down” he attempted to mask the question with a ridiculous joke, but Tara’s expression fell anyhow.

“He’s just busy. Apparently, a group is not enough work, so his company planned this whole “supergroup” project and if I haven’t lost track of the date, he must be stuck somewhere between Dallas and Miami right now” Tara forced a smile  “But it’s ok.”  She took a deep breath that suggested she wasn’t particularly ok. She then went on “I know how important his career is and how hard he’s worked for it, so I’m fine”

“I can’t believe you didn’t think of telling me about it, T. I seriously thought Mark was coming home tonight. If I had known-“

“If you had known, you would’ve tried o drag me to some crazy orgy in Las Vegas or Rome and I don’t know about you, but that’s not exactly what my Christmas spirit dictates me to do,” Tara said with an insincere laugh that made her best friend frown. “Ok, no, it’s just that you seemed so excited to spend time with your parents, I didn’t want to ruin it with my whining.”

“I’m almost offended you think that way, T.” Enzo clicked his tongue reprovingly before sneaking an arm around Tara’s shoulders. “You should’ve told me and we could’ve figured out an escapade to wherever Mark is and surprise him.” Enzo’s eyes lit up as though an idea had suddenly crossed his mind. “In fact, I think we’re still on time for that. Let’s go see Mark, we can Apparate and scare him off. Or we could scare the CEO of his company-“

“We are not going to Apparate in another continent just for Mark to spend his night performing for thousand of crazy women who fantasize about him-“ Tara stopped mid-sentence when she realized the bitterness in her words. “I-“ she let out a sigh, letting realization kick in.

“Wow” Enzo let out a deep breath before going on. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“Neither did I” Tara admitted, looking down at her shoes as though she were looking at them for the very first time. “I just-“

“You’re just a human, T. You would like to have Mark all for yourself sometimes, wouldn’t you?”  Enzo placed both of his hands on each side of Tara’s arms, making her look up.  She hesitated for a second, but then she nodded “And it’s understandable.”

“I would never change the fact Mark is who he is, but sometimes…” Tara trailed off.

“Sometimes you should just let him know the way you feel” Enzo replied simply.

________

Four hours later and after bending several wizarding laws and abusing of their personal connections at the Ministry of Magic, Enzo and Tara dodge a group of overly excited teenagers in Perry Street. As per usual, the street is busy and decorated in a close simulation of a cheerful winter wonderland. There are several muggle tourists taking pictures outside the iconic Carrie Bradshaw’s Apartment, but there’s also a growing crowd of young females in the intersection with the 10th. Tara feels her heart pound violently against his chest and Enzo seems to hear it as well judging by the supportive way he laces his fingers with hers.

“Everybody is gonna be ecstatic to see you” Enzo says vehemently, pulling Tara to give her a one-armed hug

But it seems that Enzo is mistaken when Taeyong, Johnny, and Doyoung open the door of the 79th 10th street, looking nothing less than confused.

“What are you even doing here?” Doyoung scowls in puzzlement and asks, looking at Tara as though her presence as equally unexpected as it was unwelcomed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in London?” Yuta joins the other three, panic evident in his voice.

“Keyword being ‘supposed’,” Tara swallows as she stares at the group with a frown.

“Oh God, what’s wrong with everybody today?” Enzo’s upper lip curls up in disgust “Can’t you at least pretend you’re somewhat happy to see us?”

“Is this about to take an unexpected plot twist that shifts this happy Christmas reunion from romance to horror, because I would appreciate it if you just told me if Mark is cheating on me with someone behind that door instead of giving me all these grievous looks”

“Gosh, no, this is definitely not about that” Johnny steps forward, his tall frame towering over Tara. “We’re very happy to see you, but-” He claims vehemently as he offers her a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite accomplish its purpose.

“It’s just that…” Taeyong manages to interrupt “Mark is not here”

“What?”

“He left at dawn” Yuta explains “He wanted to surprise you, but apparently missed the obvious fact you’d want to do exactly the same.”

Before the news can actually down on them, Enzo turns to Tara with rounded eyes and an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry… this was a terrible-”

“It’s ok. We can still make it back to London on time” Tara says, biting the inside of her cheek.

The suggestion makes Taeyong raise a brow skeptically, but Doyoung doesn’t even bother hiding his exasperation.

“Sorry to break it up to you but the flight to London will take you at least 11 hours” he points out, eyes rolling almost involuntarily.

“Not to mention you won’t possibly be able to book a ticket on Christmas Eve” Someone else objects, peeking through the open door.

“Oh, no, Don’t worry, we have connections” Enzo laughs, brushing the comments off with his signature overconfidence “it’ll take us 3 hours tops”

___________

The 14 hours it took Mark Yang to land in London are probably the most anxiety-inducing hours in his life. Considering he gets to spend most of his time on planes with the bunch of dorks his group mates are, that’s saying a lot. But the flight delay, the terrible weather conditions and the overly sensitive travelers trying to make it home for Christmas are the perfect recipe for disaster.

To complete the already disastrous scenario, Mark’s phone decided Christmas Eve was the perfect time of the year to act up and die on him, so by the time he made it out of the airport, he had to gather all his self-control not to snap at an elderly couple who stole the cab he had hailed. And when he finally managed to get in a taxi and everything seemed like it could finally work, the traffic jam and questionable driving style of the driver —who seemed to be lacking in festive spirit and cussed at everybody who tried to get past them— delayed his arrival two additional hours.

When Mark steps into his 19th-century residence in Kensington, where Tara and he had moved in after their engagement, he’s surprised to recognize he still finds the place oddly unfamiliar. It probably is the little time he has spent in it or the heavy Christmas decorations adorning pretty much every inch of surface, but he can’t help but feel an immense amount of guilt. This was supposed to be his and Tara’s first Christmas together after getting engaged and he truly wanted it to be special, but in between his group and solo promotions, multiple interviews and upcoming projects, he had been less than a stellar fiancé.

It’s snowing outside and it’s so cold his teeth start chattering as he makes his way in, the nostalgic scent of pine and sandalwood mingled with that of gingerbread filling his nostrils.  Tara has never been particularly into Christmas so the fact everything looks so pristine and festive makes Mark wonder how lonely she had been feeling. Feeling guilt shot through his body once again, Mark’s first instinct is to rush to their room upstairs, but when he slams the door open hoping to wake up Tara, he finds out an empty bed. Sure, Tara had made sure new bed linens graced their bed and to place a bottle of champagne on the side table, but there are no traces of Tara.

Mark tours the house simultaneously looking for his fiancée and discovering how big it is, he finds freshly baked gingerbread cookies in the kitchen and watermelon cut in the perfect shape of stars and his heart clenches painfully. He wishes he could’ve prepared something for Tara other than a lame necklace from Tiffany’s.

The man finally walks into their living room and stops in his tracks as he notices two figures curled up on the burgundy couch. It takes Mark a few seconds to recognize the chiseled features of Enzo Saint Pierre, but what he notices right away is the way his arms are firmly wrapped around Tara and her head resting on his shoulder. Mark stands there not knowing what to do next. He could wake them up, but Tara looks like an angel when she’s sleeping, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. And even if Enzo can be annoying sometimes, he is pretty sure there’s some reasonable explanation as to why he is sleeping in his home on Christmas Eve.

Mark is about to turn around to find a cover for them when Tara faintly calls his name.

“You’re home” she says groggily, eyes half-open

“T…” Mark mutters, not sure of what to say.

“Am I dreaming?” Tara asks and Mark laughs at that.

“No, I’m home,” he says walking up to her.

“We were waiting for you” Tara whispers. She doesn’t move and her voice is barely audible over the sound of logs blazing the fireplace.

“Doesn’t look like it” Mark jokes, taking the empty spot beside Tara and resting his head against the back of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Mark Yang,” Enzo speaks, eyes still closed. “We’re just tired after a six-hour round up to New York City, so if you appreciate your life, you better let us sleep.” Enzo moves bit tightening his hold on Tara and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“You did what…?” Mark asks in disbelief. But what sounded like a truly obnoxious lie from Enzo ends up being confirmed by a nod of Tara’s head.

“Enzo thought it’d be a good idea to surprise you, but when we got there the guys told us you were on your way here” Tara chuckles a bit although the actual experience was not as nearly as amusing as the memory is “Poor Taeyong, I’ve never seen him panic so badly, he was pale when he saw us.”

The three of them burst into laughter, but silence follows afterward. Enzo falls back to sleep, Tara drowsily reaches for her fiancé’s hand and Mark looks completely lost in his own wold. And it can’t be otherwise. Even in the simplest of the situations, it appears to Mark that Tara’s existence is the manifestation of every beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed in life and no words would ever be enough for him to describe the wholesome feeling he gets just by staring at her.

“I’m sorry,” He finally breaks the silence, after minutes of looking at her wordlessly. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long” he adds as he pulls her hand to his lips and plants a kiss on her knuckles.

Tara hums something incompressible and then untangles herself from Enzo, moving to straddle Mark and giving him a passionate kiss that takes him completely off guard, but he responds to with the same fervor. He holds her waist, pulling her closer to him and preventing her from moving. It seems like a lifetime since he last kissed her, so he doesn’t let go off her easily.

When they pull away minutes later, gasping for air, they look at each other amused.

Tara holds her boyfriend’s face with both hands and giggles happily. “Merry Christmas, Mark”

“Merry Christmas, my love” Mark is about to dive in for another kiss when Enzo lets out a groan.

“This is not how I was supposed to spend Christmas Eve, you two” he complains throwing a cushion at them.

“Keyword being supposed” Tara repeats once again, before pulling Mark in for yet another kiss.

It is definitely not how Enzo Saint Pierre was supposed to spend Christmas Eve.

***

[quiet-onset]

Time

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Word Count: 4k+

TW: vague mention of bullying and abuse

A/N: I had to fight the urge to make this a series, I’m doing the Most™. SO this fic is written under the assumption that Infinity War happened, but because I don’t have the heart to leave it at IW, assume that the remaining heroes find a way to free everyone from the soul stone a year later. Alright y’all, enjoy!

It was a long five years before Sam Wilson was able to go back to Harlem. And man, was he happy to be back. Not that he didn’t love being on the run from the authorities all the time — he just missed being home.

When he first walked through the door, a smile graced his face. Everything was just as he left it. The picture of his parents sat proudly on the wall alongside the picture of him and Riley, looking as if they didn’t have a care in the world. He could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the living room that his father had left him before he died. Time waits for no one, he’d always say.

If only Sam had understood back then.

He reached out to touch the wall, seeing that the paint was just beginning to chip. He made a note that he’d have to do some detailing around the house. That was when the smell hit him hard. The stale air almost overwhelmed him, but there was something else. A smell that made no sense.

He smelled coffee.

Sam’s ears immediately perked up, listening for anything unusual. His eyes roamed around carefully as he slowly pulled his pistol from the waistband of his jeans. After he clicked the safety off, he stopped at the doorway of his living room. There was a brown leather jacket draped across the back of the couch. It was definitely his. Riley had given it to him for his birthday a while back. But he didn’t leave it there when he left.

He quietly followed the scent of the coffee, his finger steady on the trigger. He pressed his back to the wall outside the kitchen at the sound of glass clinking together. He took a deep breath and steadied his heart when he stepped out and pointed the gun at the intruder.

“Jesus, Sam! Put that away!”

He gaped behind the gun, lowering it with an incredulous look on his face. “Y/N?”

With his favorite mug in your hands, filled to the brim with coffee, you smiled. “Hi.”

Two and a Half Years Ago…

Sam sat in the booth adjacent to Steve in an obscure little restaurant, one without cameras. He ordered a black coffee, their code to make sure they hadn’t been compromised. He lowered his hood, but kept his hat low on his head. “How was Ecuador?”

“Humid.” Steve replied.

“I told you. You should’ve went to Uruguay.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sam Wilson is right once again.” Steve said, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. “You know where you’re supposed to be headed next?”

“Yeah. Off to be the only black dude in Italy.”

“Well, after Italy, you’re up next for Wakanda, so just hang tight.”

Sam thanked the waiter when his coffee arrived, taking a sip before sighing. “So what about Natasha? How’s she?”

“Good, good. Dyed her hair again. Blonde this time.��

“She’s a little too good at this. Where’s she headed?”

Steve cleared his throat and pulled the brim of his hat down a little lower. “Actually, she’s coming to Iceland. With me.”

“I knew it.” Sam said smugly after making a noise that had Steve’s cheeks burning red. “Guess I’ll have to stop dreaming about her, won’t I?”

“Shut up.” Steve took the joke with a grain of salt. “You’ll find someone.”

“Yeah, I’m sure dudes that are running from almost every conceivable government agency on Earth are exactly what the ladies are into right now.”

Steve sighed, not knowing how to comfort his friend. He knew first hand how hard it was to be on the run, how lonely it was. But it was different for Steve. He had Natasha. When Steve was feeling low, Nat would be there to pick him up. Sam, on the other hand, was alone. Steve wished he could magically find the right words to say, but his watch would not grant him the time.

“Time waits for no one, Steve.” Sam said, his lips pulled to the side as he shrugged. “It’s alright.”

Taking another deep breath, Steve left his tip on the table. “I’ll meet you in Italy to give you the quinjet.”

“Be safe, Cap.”

“Always.”

Sam waited a few minutes after Steve left before leaving himself, so as not to draw suspicion. Little did he know, a pair of intriguing eyes had been following his every move since he entered the restaurant. Sam was walking back to his inconspicuous little rowhouse when he heard footsteps behind him. At first, he thought nothing of it, but as he turned a few corners, he realized he was being followed.

He walked a bit faster to get ahead and turned a corner, dipping into an dark alley he knew was there. He waited until his little follower turned the corner to reach his hand out and silently drag them into the alley. His hand over their mouth, he asked, “Who do you work for?”

You, allowing your fight instinct to take over, headbutted him before kneeing him in the groin, sending him to the ground. Your foot on his chest as he groaned, you looked down at him, “Myself, asshole.”

“What the hell do you want?” He grunted through the pain.

“Sam Wilson?”

“Depends.”

“I’m trying to help you.” You said bluntly. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

Complete shock overtook his features, “Y/N Y/L/N, as in…”

“Fortune. The PI.”

Not much later, Sam was sitting across from you in his temporary home, a cup of coffee in your hands. Sam leaned forward in his chair, his brow raised. “So you’re sure no one followed you?”

“I’ve been doing this since I was eighteen, Sam. No one followed me.”

He couldn’t believe that you were real. You were a legend in the Air Force, and pretty much every other government agency in the country. You’d never worked in the government, but you were contracted by them from time to time for top secret relocation issues. Over the years, stories of you and the impossibly high quality of your work had been passed around so much, no one knew your real name. Sam only knew thanks to Bruce Banner; you were the one that got him off the grid all those years ago.

“So how did you know who I was?” You asked, setting your mug on the coffee table.

“Bruce Banner. He said you were the one who got him out.”

“He would’ve stayed out, too, if he hadn’t given himself such a high profile in Calcutta.” You muttered. “But that doesn’t matter now. What matters right now is you.”

“What about me?”

“They know where you’re going.”

“Who?”

“The CIA. They tapped into some of Steve’s old records, and he left a very, very rough draft of your travelling plans. They’ve already alerted Italian authorities.”

“Shit.” Sam said, standing as he felt a small sense of panic set it. “Shit, I gotta tell Steve.”

“He knows. Or rather, will know when he gets to Iceland. But I want to offer my help.”

“Your help? How?”

“I have a safehouse in Norway. Unnoticeable, untraceable, in the middle of nowhere. As long as we can get there safely, which I can handle, we should be safe for at least the next three years.”

His eyes bulged from his head. He hadn’t stayed in one country for more than ten weeks at a time for the last two years. Now, someone had offered him somewhere to live for three years, possibly longer. It wasn’t home or Harlem, but it was something. It all seemed too good to be true. He shook his head, “We?”

“If you want to do this, I have to come with you to keep the place off the grid.”

Sam bit his lip as he thought about it. If it was all a trap, he’d never forgive himself for falling for it. “How do you know this’ll work?”

“You know why they call me Fortune?” You asked. He shook his head. “Because everything I do seems like a stroke of luck to them. Truth be told, I’m just good at what I do.”

He felt a small smile pull on his lips, “And how do I know I can trust you?”

“If hating the Accords and the hypocrisy of the government isn’t enough, I think you’re pretty cute.” You grinned playfully. You stood up and placed your card on the coffee table. “If you’re coming, be ready and at this address at dawn.”

Sam was there before you were.

A few months later, you and Sam had fallen into a graceful, domestic pattern. You were just finishing up the laundry when you noticed the fire was dying down. You shouted for Sam. “Can you chop some wood?”

Sam came into the living room, shrugging on his black leather jacket. You groaned at the sight of it. “What?” He asked defensively, a grin on his face.

“You’re really gonna wear a leather jacket to chop wood? You wear that thing all the time.”

Sam shrugged and answered with his usual answer, “Sentimental value.”

“Yeah, yeah, just go chop the wood.”

“Why can’t you?” He sassed.

“My dainty woman arms won’t let me.” You joked.

“Yeah, okay.” He chuckled sarcastically. “I’ll believe that when I see you lose a fight.”

You smiled as he left through the backdoor, reminiscing on the warmer days. You and Sam trained outside back then, to keep yourselves ready in case of an emergency. Every time, you had him on the ground, at a loss for words. Although he was speechless, his eyes shone with admiration, a look you weren’t very familiar with.

Sam could tell that you weren’t all that in tune with that part of yourself. After all, he had been flirting with you to no avail. Sometimes, he thought you weren’t interested, but other times, he realized you might not have noticed.

Either way, he couldn’t help telling himself to back off. He couldn’t just like every woman that was nice to him. But as time went on, he realized you weren’t just any woman. You were you. Confidence, skill, intelligence, beauty and all.

When he returned with the wood, he began to place it into the fireplace as you looked through the DVD collection for the night’s movie of choice. You couldn’t risk using the internet or cable, so movies and your collection of TV shows were your only option. As Sam finished up, he plopped down onto the couch next to you and plucked the collection from your hands. “Hey!” You protested.

He held it out of your grasp, “Nope, you chose for the last two weeks. It’s my turn.”

You pouted and crossed your arms, leaning into the cushions. “This is my safehouse, ya know.”

“Sure.”

Before the movie started up, you two fell into the all too familiar pattern of getting dinner together. That night, you were eating leftovers. It was almost as if you’d been living together for years. You swiftly ducked under his arm to grab the cups while he got the bowls. “On your left.” You joked.

“You’re not funny.”

After heating up the food and grabbing the drinks, you both sat on the couch, sitting together in a comfortable silence as the movie started up. A few minutes in, Sam noticed he was still wearing his jacket, so he shrugged it off and draped it across the arm of the couch. Suddenly, part of you wanted to know what was important about that jacket. You knew you shouldn’t have asked him about it. If he wanted you to know, he would’ve told you by then. However, your mouth opened before your brain could stop you. “Can I ask you something?”

Sam hummed, the opening scene still having half his attention.

“What’s so special about your leather jacket?”

His head snapped toward you, his eyes trained on your sheepish ones. He could tell that you were only asking out of curiosity, but he still felt the pain from his memories creep up on him. He watched as you looked down at your food, pushing it around in the bowl. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no.” Sam said. He sat his bowl on the table and wiped his hands on his pants, the movie long forgotten. “It’s okay. I just…, um, my best friend, Riley. He gave it to me for my birthday before he, uh…”

You lowered your head, “Before he died. Sorry, I really shouldn’t have pried—”

“No.” He repeated, giving you a small smile. “Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to talk about it with someone sometimes. Kinda miss that.”

You returned his smile as he placed his arm around the back of the couch. You noticed how the hairs on your neck stood at attention as his fingertips just barely grazed your shoulder. “Well, it’s only fair that you answer a question now. I’m not gon’ be the only one getting deep around here.”

You chuckled, setting your bowl next to his. You unconsciously leaned into him a bit when you sat back. “Hit me.”

Sam knew his question already. It was one that had burning in his mind ever since he’d first heard of you. “How are you so good at fighting? I mean, I’ve taken you down all of four times.”

Just like your question did to Sam, his hit you hard. You blinked and cleared your throat. “I, um, have an older brother.”

Sam noticed the change, proceeding cautiously, “So he taught you how to fight?”

You shook your head. “Actually, um, he hated fighting. He was bullied a lot after he, uh, after he came out.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” You continued. “I taught myself how to fight so he wouldn’t have to. He’s actually the reason I became a PI. When I was seventeen, he had this boyfriend. The worst kind of man you could ever imagine. He was controlling, abusive… just disgusting. My brother didn’t realize how bad it was until he came back home with a black eye.”

Sam watched you intently as you wiped a tear away, beginning to cry at the memory. He gently placed a warm hand on your shoulder, rubbing your arm up and down to soothe you. You continued, even still, “His boyfriend threatened to kill him if he stepped out of line, and I just knew he was serious. So I spent the year studying and planning. And I got him off the grid.”

“I’m sorry.” He told you quietly.

“‘S not our fault.” You wiped away another tear. “Just hurts to think about, ya know? But you’re right. It’s nice to talk about it with someone sometimes.”

You allowed Sam to pull you closer as you fell into a comfortable silence. Your head seemed to fit perfectly on his shoulder as you snuggled into him, refocusing on whatever movie you were watching. You weren’t sure why, but even though you had been crying not five minutes earlier, you were content now. With you curling perfectly into Sam’s side, the scent of the wood he had chopped not too long ago overwhelming your senses in the best way, you felt happy.

That night, you and Sam fell asleep on the couch.

A year and a half later, you and Sam were closer than ever. There was no room in the small safe house for secrets, so you told each other everything. You took care of each other when you were sick and pulled each other out of pity parties. Not to mention, you flirted with each other every second of the godforsaken day.

Recently, though, it seemed like things were become real. Like you both were aware of each other’s feelings, but said nothing because once it was said, you both had the ability to reject the other. So you didn’t say it. You just pecked Sam on the cheek when you told him good morning. He just hugged you from behind while you folded the laundry. You just fell asleep tangled together on the couch while watching a movie.

You wanted it, and you wanted him. But you weren’t sure if you wanted this life of hiding forever.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about what could happen if you weren’t on the run?”

“What do you mean?” Sam said, finally placing the pan aside. After turning off the stove, he turned to you. He figured you had been staring since you seemed a little distant. “Y/N?”

You snapped out of your fantasy as he walked over to the island, leaning onto the counter. “I mean, I’ve just been wondering. It’s been like 3 years, and they’re still looking for you.”

Sam felt his heart sink. He’d been so caught up in his own feelings, he never even thought that maybe, just maybe, you missed living your own life. Maybe you missed being a PI and taking cases. Maybe you missed going out whenever you wanted without having to cover your face for fear of being caught. Maybe you didn’t want to do this anymore. “Do you want to leave?” He asked, praying to God that you didn’t. “I’ve watched what you do to keep everything under the radar. You can go, if you want.”

“I don’t want to go” You said quickly, settling his thoughts as you took his hands in yours. “I don’t know. It’s just that, sometimes, it feels like we could be here forever.”

He shrugged and looked down at your joined hands. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“What?” You looked up. Your eyes held a mixture of hope and fear as your heart skipped a beat.

“If you don’t wanna stay here, we can go. Anywhere. Shit, we can go to Antarctica or China or Madagascar. I don’t care. As long as you’re with me, I could care less.” He said, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

A short silence overcame you both as you realized what he was trying to say. You’d both been dancing around your feelings for the past year, but it was finally out there. It was out in the air, in plain view. You both belonged to each other, and running from the government couldn’t take that from you.

Your playful grin reach your eyes as you looked back up at him, “So if I chose Madagascar?”

“You just gotta ruin a romantic moment, don’t you?”

Suddenly, the lights flickered. You both froze as you heard the creak of the front steps. You turned your head and saw your computer screen flashing, realizing you’d missed the silent alarm. Three sharp knocks on the front door made the both of you move in tandem.

Sam reached under the counter and pulled the gun from its holster, tossing it to you. As you cocked the gun, Sam pulled out his own from the kitchen drawer. You made your way to the front door as Sam went to the computer to check the camera on the porch. Just as you open the door, Sam called for you to stand down. “It’s Steve!”

Lo and behold, Steve and Natasha stood on your doorstep. Steve had grown a beard similar to Sam’s while Natasha was sporting blonde hair once again. They were both wearing their suits, which worried you just a bit. However, you smiled at the sight as you lowered the gun. “You couldn’t have called?” You joked.

Steve pulled you into a hug, “Nat broke it.”

“Well, I didn’t trip the silent alarm.” She returned, embracing you as well.

Sam made his way to the front, grinning at his best friend. “Well, aren’t y’all a sight for sore eyes.”

“What do you mean, sore eyes?” You said playfully, crossing your arms. While Sam tried to think of a response, you turned to Steve and Nat. “Seriously though, Sam’s not scheduled for Wakanda for another three weeks? What’s up?”

Steve looked at Nat grimly before looking at Sam. “We need you.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Bruce called.” Nat said.

“Banner? Where the hell has he been?”

“Around apparently.” Steve answered. “Some weird aliens stopped by in New York. Said they were looking for something called infinity stones. The time stone is guarded by some guy named Dr. Strange, but it’s only a matter of time before they come for the other.”

Sam’s brow raised, “You mean the one in Vision’s forehead?”

Nat nodded. “We have to go protect him and the stone.”

Sam took a deep breath, “When do we leave?”

“Suit’s waiting for you in the quinjet.” Steve said. “We’re ready when you are.”

Only moments later, you were following Sam to his bedroom, protesting loudly. Part of you knew he had to go, but you couldn’t help but worry. It wasn’t like he, or anybody, for that matter, knew what he was up against. He could very well die, and you weren’t sure you could handle that. “Sam, you can’t go!”

“I have to, Y/N. Vision’s my friend.”

“So you’re gonna go fight aliens after being three years out of practice.” You stated incredulously. “Do you know how crazy that is?”

“If I don’t go, and they get that stone, all kinds of crazy shit might happen. I can’t just stand by while the world goes to crap.”

“The world is after you right now, Sam.” You muttered sadly. “Why do you still care?”

Sam paused as he zipped up his duffle bag. He wasn’t sure why he walked over to you so quickly. He didn’t what possessed him to take your cheeks in his hands and pull you into a passionate kiss, a kiss that could very well be his last.

He tasted like the tea you’d made him earlier that day, and you remembered how you had cuddled into him as he drank it. You remembered how he pulled you closer and didn’t hesitate to place a kiss on the top of your head. And you remembered how you smiled and buried yourself further into him so you could be immersed in the smell of essence of him. You wanted that kiss to last forever.

Then, he pulled away. His russet brown eyes peered into yours as he spoke. “I’m not fighting for them.”

“I love you.” You whispered with tears in your eyes.

“I know.” He said, smiling when you laughed through your tears. “But I’m coming back, alright? I swear.”

You nodded, trying to convince yourself. You couldn’t help but have a sense of doubt in the pit of your stomach, but you tried your best to put on a brave face for him. After all, that’s what he was doing for you.

The rest of it was quick. He’d zipped up his duffle bag and walked out the front door with Steve and Nat. They boarded the quinjet and took off for Scotland. You wiped away your tears as you watched it fly off way past the clouds, completely out of sight.

Slowly, you walked back into your once lively safe house, now an empty, unfulfilling replica. You walked into the living room and sat on the couch. You weren’t sure what to do now. You couldn’t just leave all your memories of him behind, like the never existed. Like he never existed. That was when you saw it from the corner of your eye.

That damn leather jacket.

Once the object of your arbitrary hate, it was now your favorite thing in the whole world. After clearing out the safe house, you left a note for Sam’s return. Because he was coming back.

He promised, after all.

Now...

“The safe house.” Sam said. “I went back, but it was gone.”

“After Steve told me what happened to you,” You started, setting your coffee on the counter. “I was so distraught. I could barely get out of bed. I let my guard down and the government found out about it. Steve yanked me out of bed and took me to Wakanda before they could catch me.”

“And you came back here?”

“Once I saw people start to reappear out of thin air last week, I knew you were coming back. So I’ve just been coming everyday to check.”

He smiled at you. “You waited a whole year for me?”

“Time waits for no one.” You grinned. “But I’ll always wait for you.”

You giggled as Sam rushed over to you. Dropping his gun on the counter next to your mug, he lifted you into his arms and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Leaning down, your lips pressed against his in a fit of passion and happiness. He could feel you smiled against his lips as you pulled him closer. It was as if all was finally right in the world. When he pulled away, he looked at you mischievously. “How long you been practicing that line?”

“Oh, all week.”

Forever Tags:

@kimmy-h-life, @ben-platt-deserves-the-world , @thewordofthenerd, @wishuponastarlana, @yumel21, @here-for-your-bullshit, @bethbat, @iamafangirlofeverything, @loveisloveandmorepeopleneedit

Sam Wilson Tag:

@the-phantom-author

[sophisticated-angel]

The Night We Met

Character: Dean Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warning: mention of Alzheimer’s and parent death

Word Count: 4,915

Story

   The first time they meet, Dean is pretending to be her father’s work associate. A series of suspiciously similar deaths – her father’s included – warrants an investigation. He won the bet that let him be the one to canvas the wake while Sam spends the night looking at bodies in the morgue. It’s a cool evening, summer; the wake goes into the night, and he feels out of place the whole time. Everyone has money and they act like it. One can tell by the way they talk that they’ve never seen a number with fewer than five digits in it. Dean suspects they were all weaned on some fancy food with an unpronounceable name.

   She has no answers to his usual questions. There haven’t been any cold spots or strange smells in the house, and nobody was acting odd around the time of her father’s death. “Everyone was a little off, if that’s what you mean,” she tells him. “Nobody wanted to talk about Dad but still felt like they had to. It was uncomfortable.”

   “Alzheimer’s, right?”

   She sighs. “That’s the thing . . . don’t tell anybody, but the doctor couldn’t conclusively figure out what it was.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “He said the symptoms were similar, but they came on too fast and too strong. Instead of forgetting the little things, he started forgetting whole days right off the bat. Whole events. It started with the recent ones, but then he forgot the time he took me to Paris when I was eight, going to my high school graduation, the time in college when I brought home that boyfriend he hated . . .” She goes a little misty-eyed at the thought of it all, and Dean feels bad for committing this necessary evil. “Anyway, the doctor said the severity progressed too quickly to be Alzheimer’s. That disease takes years, but Dad was gone in three months. We needed something to put in the obituary, though.”

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Thanks. So, um, how did you know my father again?”

   “We worked together. I’m in . . . advertising.”

   “You must be a new hire. I never saw you around the office.”

   “Yeah, I’ve been working some from home. Dealing with some . . . family stuff.”

   “Well, that means you haven’t had a chance to network. Come on. I’ll introduce you to some people of note.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The second time they meet, she’s in her father’s private office. In the week following their CEO’s death, the family has banded together to keep their company afloat until the replacement gets here – some distant cousin who’s been honeymooning in Italy. She’s changed out of her black dress and into a blue skirt suit and a pair of heels that, especially with her hair pulled back in a neat bun, make her look incredibly professional. When Dean enters, she greets him with a polite smile and invites him to sit down.

   “What brings you back?” she asks.

   “I have another question for you. I heard there was a nurse who took care of your dad, but I don’t know his name.”

   “Jedediah Coombs. He was a godsend, showed up when Dad was homebound and made the whole thing easier on all of us. You looking for somebody?”

   “Yes,” Dean lies. “I’ve got an elderly uncle who could use some looking after.”

   “Jed’s the best there is. Expensive, but worth it. I should have his card still.” After digging in her purse, she finds a tattered business card and hands it to him. It bears a name, a number, and a short list of some of the services provided.

   Later, he talks his way past the daytime maid service and has a look around the house. Due to its sheer size, it takes him a while to do much searching, but he focuses on the father’s room and the bedroom where he assumes the nurse was staying. There’s nothing out of the ordinary that he can find – no hex bags, no EMF, no sulfur, or the like. It’s starting to look like these identical deaths are nothing more than a freaky coincidence, and he says as much to Sam when he gets back to the motel.

   “Actually, I think you’re wrong,” Sam argues. “That nurse you had me look into? I think he’s been with every one of these victims. The obituaries mention a caretaker, and when I talked to the wife of the last family – the Hathaways – she said hiring the guy was the best thing they ever did.”

   “So he’s our guy. How’s he doing it?”

   “No clue. If there’s nothing on the house or the bodies, maybe it’s psychological. Some kind of djinn?”

   “Djinn put people to sleep, not suck out their ability for higher functioning.”

   “Something new?”

   “Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

   “And get this. I can’t track Jed, but Mr. Hathaway was seeing a therapist, and I’m pretty sure all the other victims were, too. Problem is, nobody can remember anything about anybody, so I’ve got nothing else.”

   “Jed’s got an accomplice. Great.” Dean’s cell phone rings. The number is (y/n)’s which worries him at first, but all she wants is to meet him for lunch tomorrow. She explains that if he’s still interested in hiring Jedediah, she could give him a firsthand account to see if it’s what he’s looking for. He’s aware it’s a personal offer. A letter of recommendation would do the trick, but instead she wants to meet with him for lunch. He knows what she wants and because he rather wants it too, he takes her up on the offer.

*    *    *    *    *

   The third time they meet is the next day for that lunch. There’s a private restaurant at the top floor of her father’s company building reserved for higher ranking employees and their guests. As with the wake, Dean feels drastically out of place among all the fancy business people despite the fact that he’s wearing his ‘Fed threads’. By the time he arrives at the restaurant, (y/n) is already at a table and offers him a menu when he sits.

   “Not late, am I?”

   “No, I’m early. Dad always insisted on punctuality.”

   Dean notices now that she’s wearing the same outfit as yesterday. All that’s changed is that her hair is a little bit messier. “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday? Don’t get me wrong, it looks good on you, but you strike me as the sort of woman who has a different outfit for every day.”

   “I am when I think about it, but with all that’s been going on, Dad, the business . . .” she makes a gagging motion.

   “You don’t like working here?”

   “It’s not my thing. Everything thinks I’m the best one to take over the company because I’m the boss’s daughter, but Chris is the better choice. I’m just filling a role until he gets here.”

   “Chris?”

   “The cousin. Second cousin, technically.”

   “Ah.” Dean clears his throat. “You said you wanted to tell me about Jed?”

   She gives him a confused look. “Did I? I don’t remember that. Then again, I would have forgotten about lunch if the secretary hadn’t reminded me. Stress, I suppose. What can I tell you?”

   “What’s he like?”

   “Kind, understanding, patient even on the worst days. Dad started sleeping well after we hired him. Mom always said Jed had a magic touch.”

   “Where’d you hear about him?”

   “Well, running a company is stressful, so Dad was seeing a therapist. When he got sick, his therapist told us about this guy who did hospice care.” She laughs and toys with the corner of her menu. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

   “That’s why we’re having lunch, isn’t it?”

   “If I’m being honest, I have . . . other goals.”

   “I’m a ‘goal’ now?”

   (y/n) blushes. “I just meant – I’m sorry, this is . . . this is very suddenly a mess.”

   “Would you feel better if I said I have ‘goals’ too?” This bring a smile to her face. Dean likes it, and he moves away from the subject of Jedediah. “So, what’s good at this place?”

*    *    *    *    *

   The fourth time they meet, it’s for dinner at her house only two days after their lunch date. Without saying anything, they agree to keep their meeting up a secret. They’re not sure how her mother would react to her daughter exploring a relationship so soon after their loss, but family friends have been stopping by every day since the funeral. He brings Sam along as well. They wait on the doorstep after ringing the doorbell.

   “There’s something else I noticed about these deaths,” Sam tells him in a low voice. “There are more that follow. First, it’s the CEO, then a couple months later the spouse dies. Cops rule it a suicide every time, and then the heir disappears. Trail always runs cold, and then the company capsizes. I didn’t notice it before because the second obituary comes so long after the first, but then the Hathaways . . .”

   “What about them?”

   Sam sighs. “I went back there today. Mrs. Hathaway was found dead two days ago, and their son disappeared this morning.”

   “So these monsters . . . they’re going after families? Why?”

   “I have no idea.”

   Before they can discuss it further, (y/n) opens the door, smiling at them both. She introduces them to her mother, and then she turns to a well-dressed man with a long but well kept beard and hair to match. He looks like a hippie. “Dean, this is Mr. Coombs,” she explains.

   Dean forces himself to be polite through the introduction and the appetizer course. He fakes it well, but all the time he’s wondering what exactly the hell Jedediah is and where his friend is. And also how to kill them both before they get to (y/n) and her mother. Sam actually attempts to make conversation with him.

   “So, Mr. Coombs-”

   “Please,” Jed says in his Southern drawl, “call me Jed.”

   “Jed, I don’t mean to pry, but why are you still here? You don’t have a job here anymore.”

   “Well, these kind folks have been through quite a lot lately, and I want to do what I can to help them in their time of grief.”

   “Oh, he’s being humble,” says (y/n)’s mother. “He’s been such a help to us, connecting us with that therapist.”

   “Therapist?”

   (y/n) cuts in, “It’s nothing.”

   “Honey, it’s not nothing. You know it could be serious if we don’t get a handle on it.”

   Dean asks (y/n), “What’s going on?”

   Rolling her eyes, (y/n) explains. “Mom and I, we’ve been forgetting little things more often than usual. Jed thinks it’s stress related, and he’s asked a friend of his to come in and teach us a few stress management and relaxation techniques. That’s all.”

   “Why not see your dad’s therapist?”

   The two women look at each other. “Dad never had a therapist.”

   Dean glances at Sam. “I guess I’m mixed up. Who’s the therapist?”

   “Paul Walker. Jed can give you his information, I’m sure.”

   “I’m good, thanks. We actually have to be going. There’s a . . . thing, I forgot about.”

   “The business world waits for no one. I’ll walk you to the door.” She does exactly that. Before Dean can leave, though, and when no one is looking, she sneaks him a kiss on the cheek. He would float on this, but there’s a more serious matter to think about.

   Dean stops halfway to his car and looks back at the door. “We’re too late. I don’t want to leave her in there with him. God damn it.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The fifth time they meet, it’s the same night. He’s in his motel room looking for anything to help him take down Jed and his accomplice, but whatever they are, they’re either novel or obscure. It’s a break when his phone rings and uplifting to recognize the number.

   “My mom went to bed early,” (y/n) says, “so I’m all alone in this big empty house.”

   “Are you asking me to come over?”

   “Hell no. I need to get out of here and have a little fun.”

   “It’s almost midnight.”

   “Bar’s open ‘til two. You game?”

   “Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll swing by your place in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he grabs his jacket and his keys, assuring Sam that it won’t be all fun and games tonight.

   That was sort of a lie. It’s a lot of fun and games even though he keeps an eye out for questionable characters. First, this pretty Daddy’s girl gets into his car wearing jeans and a simple blouse, and her hair is down and loose. The simple change affects her in such a way that he has to make a comment about picking up the wrong girl. Second, she shows him the side of her that isn’t all about business or wrapped up in grief over losing her father. He meets the pool-playing, beer-drinking girl she was in college. They talk as friends rather than grieving daughter and pretend businessman. All too soon, the bar is closing, and he has to drive her home. In the stillness after parking the car in her driveway, it goes from no words to her leaning in for a kiss with a hand on his cheek. When their lips part, he smiles, smelling the lingering scent of beer on her breath.

   “I knew there was more where that came from,” he murmurs.

   She furrows her brow. “What are you talking about?”

   “The kiss you gave me earlier after dinner. I suspected you were saying something with that.”

   “You didn’t come to dinner. Mom and I ate alone, Jed stopped by a little later, but that’s it.”

   “(y/n), I was there, we – what did Jed want?”

   She scoffs and pulls away from him. “What is it with you and Jed? It’s all you ever talk about. He wanted to set up a good time for Paul to come over, okay?”

   “I don’t think you should meet Paul, and I don’t think you should hang around Jed either.”

   “What are you talking about? Don’t do this. Don’t ruin the entire evening we just had.”

   “I’m sorry, but this is really important. I don’t trust him.”

   “You wanna talk about important? My dad couldn’t sleep, couldn’t take care of himself, and he was angry and scared all the time. But then Jed comes along and makes his suffering easier. Jed knew what to do when the rest of us didn’t, and now he’s helping my mom and I get through the worst thing we’ve ever experienced. If you don’t think that’s important, then . . .” She trails off, fuming.

   “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

   “Go to hell.” She climbs out of the car and stalks into the house.

   Dean drives back to the motel in silence.

*    *    *    *    *

   The sixth time they meet, he’s broken into her office searching for anything on Jedediah Coombs and Paul Walker. It’s after the work day is over, after dark – even the janitor has gone home. He sent Sam to watch the house for signs of Jed, so he’s all alone here. Over the years he’s found this to be a peaceful moment in any hunt even if his search is fruitless. Whether the monsters have wiped evidence of themselves or if it got screwed with in the mess of the last week, there’s nothing about a nurse or a therapist. Frustrated, he shuts down the computer and leaves the office and runs blindly into another human being.

   “Dean!” (y/n) exclaims. “I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”

   “I, uh, forgot my keys.”

   “Oh. I left my phone here.” An awkward pause fills the space between them.

   “I . . . should go . . .”

   “Wait, Dean. About last night . . . the whole thing was stupid.”

   “No, don’t-”

   “It was. I mean, I can’t even remember what we were arguing about, so it had to be stupid. I overreacted.”

   “I was annoying. I should’ve let the Jed thing alone, I was just-”

   “Who’s Jed?”

   Dean’s stomach drops. “Your dad’s hospice nurse.”

   “I know Dad had a nurse, but . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t really remember him. I suppose that’s another thing Paul can help me with.”

   “Have you met him yet?”

   “No. He’s coming over tomorrow. Listen, I’d like to see you again sometime. Maybe we could try ending on a more positive note.”

   “Yeah, sure. You know, we could go now, we could have a couple drinks, maybe we’ll end up at my place this time.”

   “That’s sweet, but I should get home. Maybe Friday?”

   “I don’t want you to be alone. We could just drive for a while, if you want.”

   She looks down at her feet. “I guess just one drink won’t hurt.”

   He isn’t watching the clock, but it doesn’t feel like more than an hour before they’re making out behind the wheel of the Impala. They didn’t make it inside the bar. Distracted by conversation, they let time pass, and they kept moving closer and closer together until their hands touched. From there it only took one little sloppy kiss to push them both over the edge. She took a breath to comment on how deftly he was able to pull her shirt off but promptly started working on the buttons on his. He thought they would at least make it back to his motel, somewhere safer than his car, but obviously they wanted each other too much to wait. After it’s over, he reclines across the seat with his head against the window and hers on his chest. He feels the warmth of her skin on his and the press of her ribs when she takes a breath. One of her hands rests on his collarbone, and one of his is stroking her bare shoulders.

   “I like you, Dean,” she confesses. “I haven’t felt like this since college, and I’ve only known you for a week. There’s something about you.”

   “I’m pretty attractive, I know.”

   “And so humble.” She lifts her head to meet his eyes.

   He smiles back at her. “I like you too.”

   “So . . . when can I see you again?”

   “Whenever you want, sweetheart. You’ve got my number.”

   Dean doesn’t do dates. He does bar pick-ups and one-night stands that maybe last while he’s in town, but he doesn’t date. That’s for people who are looking for a relationship. These last couple of times he’s been with her, he’s told himself it’s for her own protection. She knows nothing about Jedediah and what he’s done and will do to her family, but he does. If he’s being honest with himself, he really has enjoyed their time together. Two dates and one dinner don’t exactly say she’s soulmate material, but for the first time in a while, he wants to stay with her. But first he has to kill a couple of monsters.

   “(y/n), I have to tell you something, and it’s gonna sound insane.”

   “Okay, what is it?”

   “There’s . . . things you don’t know about me. I’m not who you think I am.”

   “I’ve known you for a week, so that not surprising.”

   “That’s not what I mean.” He takes a deep breath. “There are things out there, bad things, and they go after people.”

   “Like a serial killer?”

   “Worse. And I’m not in advertising. I . . . I hunt these things. I’m kind of like a bounty hunter without the bounty part.”

   She’s silent and stares at him. There’s no way she could understand this, but he’s said too much to cut it off now. Either he stops talking, or he pushes forward.

   “There’s a couple of them after you. They’ve killed other people, ruined their lives, their companies-”

   “And now they’re after me? Do you know how insane you sound right now?”

   “Yes, I do, actually.”

   “So, what, I’m being stalked by a killer and you’re here to save me?”

   “I’m here to stop them from hurting anyone else. That includes you. I like you, (y/n), and I don’t want you to get hurt. The nurse is one of them, and the therapist you’re planning on seeing is the other.”

   “What is that supposed to mean?”

   “Your dad didn’t die from Alzheimer’s. The nurse did something to him and passed it off as a disease. Now they’re coming after you and your mom.”

   “Shut up.” She sits up and heaves a breath. “Is this what you’re like? You pick on people who mean something in my life and then tell me lies to make me believe you? To make me stay?”

   “I’m not lying to you. I promise.”

   “Don’t promise me anything.” Angrily, she pulls her clothes back on. “Just drive me home.”

   “I can’t. You’re not safe there.”

   “Take me home, Dean. Now.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The seventh time he sees her is at her house again. He’s going to get her away from Jed and Paul if he has to carry her away from here himself. It’s still early when he gets to her place, and he pounds on the door relentlessly until it opens. Rather than (y/n) or her mother, a maid opens the door and chides him for his rudeness. Seconds into his argument with her, (y/n) rounds the corner into the foyer and stops cold when she sees him standing there.

   “I’m a little busy, Dean,” she says coldly. “Why don’t you come back later, and you can tell me more lies in my free time?”

   “I need you to listen to me! You are not safe here.”

   “Miss (y/n)?” A familiar southern drawl echoes from another room, and a moment later a horrifyingly familiar face pairs itself with it. “Is everything alright?”

   “I’m alright, Paul.”

   But it isn’t Paul. It’s the face of Jedediah Coombs, and he’s wearing the same suit he wore to dinner. The minute their eyes meet, Dean knows he’s been remembered. Jed – or Paul – doesn’t act as if he knows Dean, but rather he takes his hand and shakes it warmly.

   “I’m Paul Walker.”

   “Pleasure to meet you,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

   “Likewise. Now, you seem like a man who could use a few tips on anger management. I am happy to help you, but I’m afraid I’m with Miss (y/n) at the moment. I’ll have to ask you to leave so we can get back to our session.”

   “(y/n), please, you-”

   Jed/Paul closes the door in his face, and he’s left standing on the porch like an idiot. The first thing he does is call Sam. His message is clear: he’s been recognized, and they’re out of time. As he hangs up the phone, a scream echoes from inside the house followed by a sob. It’s all cut off by silence. Dean doesn’t even bother calling her name, he just slams into the door shoulder first, twice until it bursts open. He races inside and doesn’t have to go ten feet before he almost steps on the body of the maid who opened the door. She’s sprawled facedown across the bottom of the stairs with blood pooling beneath her from a hidden wound. He steps over her and heads up the stairs. At the top is (y/n)’s mother in the same shape as the maid.

   “(y/n)?!”

   There’s no answer. Fortunately, he finds her in the first bedroom Unconscious, but she’s got a pulse. As he presses his fingers to her neck, her eyes flutter open, and she starts to scream at him to get out. Something strikes the back of his head, and the world goes black.

*    *    *    *    *

   The eighth time they see each other, (y/n) is in Dean’s line of sight when he comes to with a throbbing in his skull. She’s crying silently and trembling, and her hands have been tied to the bannister behind her. They’re on the staircase, rope binding them both and two dead bodies at the top and bottom. The knots are good and tight, too.

   “Dean,” (y/n) whimpers. “What’s happening?”

   “Just stay calm, okay? I’ll get us out of this.”

   “And how do you think you’ll do that?” Dean looks up, and there’s the monster watching them from the top step. “You aren’t exactly free at the moment.”

   “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

   “Tell me when you do.” Jed/Paul leans against the wall and folds his arms. “You don’t even know what I am, do you?”

   “I can think of a few fitting names.”

   “Oh, good. Because I don’t exactly have one. I like to think of myself as an energy vampire. You know what happens to my victims. The deterioration, forgetting themselves, losing themselves – I sucked their essences out. Now, here’s the clever part. Forgetting yourself is a stressful experience, but all I have to do is make them forget about being stressed out. All of a sudden they’re sleeping better, more at peace then ever before. And it’s all because of Jedediah Coombs.”

   “And when the family is grieving their death, you turn on them.”

   “Turn on them?” Jed/Paul chuckles. “No, Dean. I help them. See, losing a loved one is hard. They get so stressed out and lost in grief that they start losing their minds a little bit. They need help, and then Paul Walk is there.”

   “Is that what you did to my dad?” (y/n)’s voice shakes. “You sucked out his soul?”

   “Not his soul, my dear. His thoughts, his feelings, those things that make us who we are. I’ve been doing it to you, too.” He descends the stairs until he’s in front of (y/n) and crouches in front of her. “Normally, I like to do this slowly, over months. I get more out of you that way. But unfortunately, I have to leave today, so I’m a little short on time. Just hold still, my dear. This won’t hurt . . . much.”

   He covers her face with his hand, and his eyes roll back in his head as a white glow lifts off (y/n)’s face. It soaks into his palm like water to a sponge.

   “No!” Dean strains at the ropes with all his might. He’ll be next if he doesn’t get free, but worse, (y/n) will die. With a yell, Dean breaks free, and the bannister splinters with it. Now he’s loose and he’s got a jagged weapon in his hand. Without thinking, he jumps on the vampire and knocks him over. He plunges the sharpened wood into the monster’s chest, and it lets out a shriek of agony. Still, it’s able to rise up and shove Dean down the stairs.

   Dean feels every step on his way down. Now he’s got a concussion and a pissed off energy vampire after him. The next attack is quick, but he sees it coming and rolls out of the way. He scrambles for his weapon that has become dislodged and swings it in front of him. Only the whites of the monsters eyes show, and it hisses at him.

   “You want me?!” he taunts. “Then come get me!”

   The monster rushes him, and this time it gets the upper hand and pushes Dean down to the floor. It moves its hand to his face, and Dean fights to hold it back. Suddenly, the door bursts open and the monster is startled enough for Dean to get out from under it. He sees Sam in the doorway wielding a shotgun in one hand and a blade in the other. Bullets do nothing but stagger the white-eyed vampire except stagger it a bit.

   Dizzy, Dean shouts, “Head! Cut off it’s head!” He jumps the creature from behind, knocking it to the ground and giving Sam the opportunity to sever head from neck with a single machete swipe. Finally, the creature stops moving, and both brothers exhale. Then Dean staggers back up the stairs and pulls the ropes off (y/n)’s hands. Her head lolls, but she’s breathing.

   “Hey, wake up. Come on, (y/n).”

   “Mmm,” she murmurs. Slowly, her eyes open, and she picks her head up. “Who – where am I? What’s going on?”

   “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

   “Who are you?” The look on her face is honest, truthful. He didn’t get to her in time. She doesn’t recognize him anymore. Then she looks at the bottom of the steps, sees the bodies, and screams.

   “Hey!” Dean grabs her by the shoulders and steadies her. “It’s okay! He was a monster!”

   Her screams subside into terrified sobs. Her body tenses up and is wrought by tremors, and she becomes catatonic. No matter what he says, she can’t be brought out of it. All she sees is the blood, the bodies, the bloody spike that used to be a bannister.

   “Dean, we should go. Before she sees her mom.”

   “I can’t leave her. I can’t leave her like this.”

   “I know.”

   “This isn’t fair.” With a lump in his throat, Dean pulls the shaking woman close and kisses the top of her head. She doesn’t respond, but he whispers, “I like you, (y/n).”

   Slowly, he lets her go. He stands, and he steps over the bodies at the bottom of the steps, and he follows Sam out the door.

@pureawesomeness001 @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogaruke @mrswhozeewhatsis @hexparker @kdfrqqg @little-castiel13 @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

[nobodys-pearls]

Visions and Virtues Ch 7

Haven’t updated in a while *sweats nervously*

Plot Summary: When Nathanael is attacked by an akuma and loses the peacock miraculous on his way to Master Fu, a new hero is born. But how can Lila win the trust of Ladybug, Chat Noir and Renard when she wasn't meant to have the miraculous in the first place? And how can she trust Renard when she has visions of him betraying them for Hawkmoth? Tensions rise as the heroes of Paris work together to do what they never imagined - save Hawkmoth. But what choice do they have when saving the villain means saving Paris?

Pairing: Tomatofox

Read on [AO3] :)

There was one place in particular that Lila had missed while she was away, and she’d been itching to go back ever since she returned.

“Come on, we’re almost there.” Lila urged, squeezing Nathanael’s hand as she led him down the sidewalk, passing the small pâtisseries and gift shops on their left.

“Are you sure my eyes should be closed?” Nathanael asked, taking cautious steps as his free hand covered his eyes.

“Don’t you trust me?” Lila asked, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

She watched the dopey grin spread across his face. “Always.”

Lila felt a warmth in her chest and then she stopped, careful not to get in the way of the other pedestrians. “Here we are. You can open your eyes.”

Nathanael opened his eyes and Lila watched as he looked at the Ponts de Artes bridge. There was a fond smile on his face. “This is where my parents went on their first date.” He said, adjusting the strap on his bag.

“I always knew it was a special place.” Lila said, smiling. Then she led him onto the bridge, stopping somewhere in the middle. She put her free hand on one of the streetlamps and breathed in the air. The sky was an endless blue.

“You should’ve seen it before they took down all the locks.” Nathanael said, looking towards the oppostive end of the bridge. “It was amazing.”

“Did you parents have their own lock?” Lila asked, turning to look at him. Their faces were only inches apart, the space between them their own world.

Nathanael laughed, some of his hair falling in his face. “They tried, but my dad dropped it as they were trying to put in on and it fell into the river.”

Lila giggled behind her hand. “I feel like that’s got to be bad luck.”

Nathanael shrugged. “That’s what my dad was worried about, but I’ve never seen two people so in love.”

Lila smiled to herself, looking out at the water, seeing where it caught the sunlight.

“They really like you.” Nathanael said. Lila scoffed. “I’m serious.” he insisted, nudging her shoulder with his own.

Lila remembered the first time she met his parents. She had to explain how it wasn’t really Nathanael that she threw off of the roof, it wasn’t really even her, for that matter. It was not the kind of first impression she was hoping to make, but they seemed like understanding people.

“If you say so.” Lila said. After a moment she looked at Nathanael, and saw that he was already looking at her. “I believe you.” she said with more certainty. “My parents loved you before they even met you, for the record.” She watched the red in Nathanael’s cheeks darken as he hid behind a lock of hair. Lila laughed and gently tucked his hair behind his ear. “You did save me, after all.”

“That was Renard, not me.” Nathanael protested. “I was at home.”

“No, you were with me.” Lila insisted, putting a hand on her chest. “You made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

Nathanael looked at her fondly for a moment, and then he leaned in to kiss her. Lila’s heart fluttered like it always did right before they kissed, like the sky was filling up her chest.

“Ah! Two lovebirds I see!” A voice said. Lila and Nathanael pulled apart in surprise. They turned around and saw a man with a wide smile, standing behind an ice cream cart a few feet further down the bridge. “Such a beautiful couple, please let me offer you some free ice cream!”

Lila looked at Nathanael, and then she shrugged her shoulders. “What kind of person says no to free ice cream, right?”

“Hawkmoth probably does.” Nathanael said, and Lila laughed and nodded her head.

“Well we definitely aren’t villians,” she said. They walked up to the ice cream cart, and the man smiled even wider.

“I’m André and my ice cream causes people to fall in love,” he stated with a flourish of his hand. Nathanael looked at Lila and raised his brow, and she hid her smile behind her hand.

“For the lovely lady,” André began, and then he looked at her thougtfully for a moment. A moment later his eyes lit up and he pulled out a cone. “For you I have orange creamsicle and cherry.” He added two scoops and put a tiny spoon on top. Lila held up her ice cream in front of Nathanael and looked at them both.

“It captures your tomato head perfectly.” She teased. Nathanael rolled his eyes and grinned back.

“And for you young man,” André began. “I have my special blue mint chip ice cream and chocolate.”

Nathanael looked at it thoughtfully, glancing at Lila. “I wonder where the blue came from.”

Lila resisted the urge to touch the brooch that was fastened to the inside of her jacket pocket. “Maybe it’s the color of my aura,” she offered.

Nathanael shrugged, content with her response. “Thanks André. Are you sure you don’t want us to pay?”

André clasped his hands together and smiled. “Seeing true love is the only payment I need. Enjoy your date.”

Lila tried not to blush at the words ‘true love’ and looked over at Nathanael, whose cheeks were bright red. She felt a rush of affection - he always wore his feelings on his sleeve. He couldn’t help it. She grabbed his hand and smiled. “Have a nice day,” she told André as they walked further down the bridge to sit on one of the benches. She thought she heard André let out a contented sigh.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying the water and looking out on the river, just enjoying each other’s company. It was comfortable and easy and all that Lila needed. Just to sit here with Nathanael made her feel so much less out of place than she did anywhere else. There were no reporters, no Parisian citizens who still saw her as Volpina, no classmates who didn’t quite trust her - it was just Nathanael, painting pictures in his head, his gaze a million miles away. He was one of the only people that Lila knew who saw what really mattered. People too often got caught up in the little, unimportant, superficial things. The lies, the fluff, the masks. He didn’t.

Lila finished her ice cream and opened her bag, rifling through it. Finally she pulled out her blue notebook, the one that Renard gave her before she left Paris. She looked at it for a moment, thinking about the fox-themed superhero. She didn’t understand Renard. First he saves her from that creepy man who was following her, then he tricks her into thinking that she threw her crush off of the Arc de Triomphe, then he comes by her house and gives her a farewell gift, and then she sees a vision of him helping Hawkmoth. All that she knew for sure was that she really didn’t trust him. But that wasn’t important right now.

“I’ve been writing again.” Lila finally said, looking up at Nathanael, who was looking at her notebook before he quickly glanced back up at her.

Nathanael smiled and finished his ice cream as well. “I’m happy for you Lila. What have you been writing about?”

Lila shifted closer to him on the bench. Then she opened the notebook and began to flip through the pages. “I’ve mostly been writing journal entries to myself, about Italy, about Paris, about the people I’ve met.” she glanced at Nathanael. “Mostly I’ve been writing about what I want to do, who I want to be. I guess I’ve been thinking about the future a lot.”

She felt Nathanael’s hand cover her own. “You sound happy.”

Lila thought for a moment. “I am happy. Things look, I don’t know, clearer to me now.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Nathanael leaned over to open his own bag. “Since we’re sharing, I’ve actually been drawing a lot more, almost as much as I used to.”

“Really?” Lila asked excitedly, looking at his old black notebook. It was odd, art was such a big part of Nathanael’s identity, and yet when Lila met him he wasn’t creating anything. He refused to, even though it was what he loved. Lila was sad that she never got to see that part of him, a part that was obviously very important. But now he was showing her.

“It’s just a sketch, but I hope to paint it one day.” Nathanael said, flipping open the notebook to a particular page. Lila’s eyes widened when she looked at it. The page was divided into two parts - one part was a blue sky with the sun and some clouds, but as her eyes moved across the page the clouds slowly turned into stars and the page became darker. At the other end was a sliver of the moon. It looked like the two sides of the sky were blending into one another, distinct yet the same.

“Wow.” she breathed. “Nathanael, this is really good.”

“I don’t really know what it means, it just kind of came to me, I guess.” Nathanael said, his hair falling into his eyes. Lila pushed a lock of it behind his ear.

“I think it can mean a lot of things.” Lila said, turning to the next page.

“Oh, um, I didn’t -” Nathanael said, reaching out his hands and then pulling them back. Lila looked at the page and her eyes widened.

“Is this...me?” she asked. It certainly looked like her, sitting at her desk with a faraway expression, obviously lost in thought. She looked - well, she looked beautiful.

Is this how Nathanael saw her?

“Sorry, I guess this is kind of weird, it’s just that I missed you and -”

Lila grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss, feeling the warmth on his cheeks. He moved to cup her face. Lila pulled back a moment later, and saw the dazed and happy look on his face. She giggled behind her hand.

“It’s amazing,” she said. “You’re an amazing artist, Nathanael.”

Nathanael looked down bashfully. “And you’re a great writer Lila.” While she was away they decided that text messages didn’t feel quite right and decided to email each other. She would write him long letters about what she was doing that day and he would tell her what he’s been up to with their classmates. It was more intimate than a text, more personal. And Lila always felt more at ease explaining what was on her mind to a computer screen.

Lila twisted her long hair between her hands. “Maybe we can collaborate sometime?” she said with a smile, nudging his shoulder. “We could tell the story about Paris and all of the horribly dressed villians and goofy heroes.”

“You think the heroes are goofy?” Nathanael asked, sounding amused.“Just a little bit, but it’s endearing. It makes them seem more human.” Lila admitted. Working with Paris’ heroes to defeat the akuma helped her understand a little better that they were people just like her, trying to do the right thing. Or at least she hoped that they were all doing the right thing. She still couldn’t get that vision out of her head.

“Yeah, they’re just like us.” Nathanael said quietly, looking out at the water. He seemed to be frowning a little.

Lila put her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I have to be honest, I’m looking forward to the day when Hawkmoth isn’t around anymore. Then we can all breathe again.”

“I know what you mean.” Nathanael said. And Lila knew that he did.

Lila wanted to learn how to fly.

She wasn’t quite sure how she did it when she ran away from Renard, but she thought it would be helpful if she figured it out before there was another akuma.

She took a deep breath as she looked at the skyline. It was nighttime, and there was a nice breeze, one that smelled like summer. She walked carefully to the edge of the building she was standing on, and looked down at the alley.

It was only two stories, but she felt like she was way higher.

Lila felt something twist in her stomach as she quickly stepped away from the edge. “Why am I doing this?” she asked herself, looking up at the stars and clenching her fists nervously, trying to summon her courage. She tapped her fan against her thigh, trying to remember how she did this last time.

But she had no idea how she did it last time. She just knew that she needed to get away.

“Okay Lila, you’re going to run across this rooftop and jump. It’ll be fine.” she said to herself, nodding her head. “If you want to fly you need to jump.” She looked at the building not too far from her. “On three,” she said, bending her knees a little. “One -” she wondered if she was even supposed to bend her knees for something like this. “Two -” maybe the whole flying thing was a one time kind of deal. Maybe it was a fluke. She tried to remember if real peacocks could even fly. “Three!” She decided to leave her worries behind as she ran towards the edge of the building, never tearing her eyes away from what was ahead of her. She leapt off of the building and could feel herself getting lighter as she flew through the air. Her eyes widened as she took in the darkened city before her, and then she began to laugh.

“This is amazing!” she yelled, flying over the building she planned to land on and gliding through the air. The whole city was there in front of her. She took a risk, she put her faith in magic, in this city, and now she was actually flying. She never realized that there could be power in vulnerability. Then she noticed a familar roof in the distance. As she got closer, the wind whipping around her, she realized that it was Nathanael’s roof. She remembered the first time she sat up there with him. She remembered the view, his expression when she told him that she had to leave, the moment when he leaned in to kiss her for the first time -

She realized that she wasn’t gliding through the air anymore - she was falling. She watched with wide eyes as the ground was getting closer.

“No no no no no no.” Lila said to herself, shutting her eyes and trying to will her body to fly again. But it wasn’t working. Panic had a firm grip on her lungs as she waved her limbs wildly.

Then she hit the ground. The air was knocked out of her, but to her surprise she realized that she was okay.

“Okay, that happened.” Lila groaned, moving to sit up on her elbows. As she moved to get up she realized that the ground wasn’t flat. Actually, it wasn’t even the ground at all.

Lila put her hand on her forehead and sighed. Of course she would end up on Nathanael’s roof. She was just lucky that he wasn’t out here tonight. She didn’t know what she would do if Nathanael ever met Blu. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she also didn’t know if it would be better to tell him who she was. Either way it would be a mess.

Lila moved to stand up, making sure she hadn’t crushed her fan during the landing, even though she was pretty sure that it was indestructible. Then she looked down at the street.

Now how was she going to get down?

She tried to see if she could get that light, floaty feeling again, but nothing happened. She knew that Nathanael’s window was right under her, but she didn’t know if she should risk it. Having Nathanael see Blu during an akuma attack was something she could handle, but Nathanael waking up to see Blu sneaking across his room could not happen.

Then the roof decided for her. One of the shingles came loose and Lila slipped and fell.

“Oh, come on!” she yelled, falling through the air. Suddenly she felt branches poking into her costume.

She had fallen in the Kurtzberg’s bush. Lila laid there for a moment and looked at the stars, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Ow.” she said, looking at the sky in disbelief. This was not how she planned for her night to go. She thought being a superhero would make her cooler. Obviously she had a lot to learn. Then she had the feeling that something was watching her. She glanced over to the street and saw a shadowy figure. Someone. The figure moved forward into the light of the nearest streetlamp, a confused expression on his face.

“Um,” Nathanael said, clutching his sketchbook to his chest, “did you just fall off of my roof?”

Lila groaned and looked back up at the sky. This was really not how she planned for her night to go. She lifted herself out of the bush and came to stand in front of Nathanael, staying out of the light of the streetlamp.

“Wait, you’re that new, uh, hero, aren’t you?” Nathanael asked. Lila noticed him tense a little. She also noticed how he hesitated on the word ‘hero’.

Lila put her fan in front of her face, only showing her eyes. “Um, kind of,” she said, mentally smacking her forehead.

Nathanael nodded his head. “What were you doing in my bush?”

“I was, um, patrolling, you know, like the other heroes do. Have to keep the streets of Paris safe.” Lila said. She was wondering when she had become such a bad liar. Then she sighed and slumped her shoulders, snapping her fan shut and dropping her arm. “I was trying to fly.”

“Trying?” Nathanael asked. She was getting the feeling that he was a little amused by all of this. Lila crossed her arms.

“It’s not easy. Can you fly?”

“No.” Nathanael admitted, and he seemed a little annoyed by that fact. Lila thought that she heard a noise coming from his bag and he began to cough.

“Well, it’s hard and I’m going to go now, sorry about your bush, and your roof -” Lila began, turning to leave.

“Wait what did you do to my roof?” Nathanael asked, looking upwards. There was an adorable whine in his voice.

Lila felt the urge to lie again, but she realized that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “It’s not bad.” she eventually said, moving to walk past him. “Have a good night! Stay safe -”

“Wait.” Nathanael said, gently grabbing Lila’s arm. Once they made contact Lila’s eyes blew wide. Images sped across her vision, fast and hard to dintinguish. She saw that room full of white butterflies again. She saw vines spreading across everything, blocking the sunlight. She saw Nathanael, calling out Lila’s name as he was being covered in branches and thorns.

“Are you okay?” Nathanael asked, taking his hand away from her arm as she took a few steps back. She looked up at his face. She could see the branches surrounding him. She could hear the panic in his voice.

“I-I have to go.” she said, still looking at him with wide eyes. She turned to leave, but then she moved back to grab his hand. “Stay away from the branches.”

“The what -?” Nathanael began to ask, but Lila was already running down the street and into the next alley. She jumped on top of a garbage can and flew into the air, landing lightly on the roof of a nearby building. She realized now how this power worked. She needed to be looking forward in time, not backward. She couldn’t fly if she was stuck thinking about the past. Thankfully she was able to fly home without any problems.

Because all that was on her mind was the future, about her vision, about Nathanael being in danger.  

She refused to let that happen.

[hellomissmabel]

The worst in us - part 4

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader, Steve x reader

Warnings: Cheating. Lots of pics from Chris Evans/Steve Rogers. BuckyNat.

Word count: 4.250 - ish (not counting the recap from the last chapter)

Summary: Y/N and Bucky continue their conversation at the café and make a huge decision regarding their relationship.

A/N: Inspired by the word “Onsra” (Boro) - that heart-wrenching feeling you get when you realise a love won’t last. Written for @howlingbarnes her “languages of Love” challenge.

A/N p.2: my favorite chapter!!!!!!!!!!

Series masterlist

Previously

“She actually didn’t tell me that much. She did however tell me you stole her boyfriend away from her. But what happened after that, I had to find out myself. You see, I have enough money to hire a private investigator and guess what he found, hm?”

You close your eyes, dreading the accusation that is about to come. This is it, this is your judgment day when you’re called upon to make amends for your sins.

“You lied to Nat,” he says in an harsh tone. “You didn’t lose your baby, you had an abortion.”

She briefly looks like all the wind is knocked out of her lungs, struggling to hold onto one breath to survive. “Keep your voice down!,” you hiss at him. I can see that she is devastated, her eyes glistening and her lips curling into a sad smile. “And if you must know, know that I didn’t have a choice.”

“That’s why you really left the Hamptons. I’m not saying you’re a bad person. If it was the right thing to do at the time, it was the right things to do. I’m not going to have an opinion on whatever you do with your life. It’s your life, your decision and your body after all.”

“Thank you for saying that, but it doesn’t change a thing.” You push away your plate, half-eaten pancakes already gone cold and your appetite long gone.

“But a boy named Peter Quill took advantage of me and I should’ve known better than to let him. He wasn’t as stuck-up as the other boys from the Hamptons, which is what I really liked about him. Yet he was such a sweettalker, a real charmer. Natasha always fell for the charming ones,” I chuckle at the irony.

“So when the morning sickness started and a positive pregnancy test followed… I asked my parents what I should do. They contacted the boy’s parents who didn’t want anything to do with the baby or with me. They said it was my problem to solve and not theirs, claimed that I had seduced their son and that it was my own fault that I got knocked up. Ultimately, the decision was made for me.

I never heard from Peter or anyone else ever again, until my aunt one day called me up and told me he knocked up another poor girl. Some banker’s daughter, Dot or something like that. He was forced to put a ring around her finger and I heard the wedding was all hush-hush. So you get it now? Why I didn’t feel particularly keen on sharing the truth with your lovely wife?”

Bucky looks pale in comparison with the pristine white table cloth. He didn’t meant to piss you off, he only meant for you to let your guard down. Perhaps he had taken quite the offensive approach, but he was never a man to waltz around the matters that interest him the most. He seizes the things he desires and doesn’t appreciate walking on his tiptoes.

But you, now you look so small in comparison to the self-assured woman that delivered his baby. He wants nothing more than to make it up to you, knowing he crossed a very sensitive line. “I guess now it’s my turn to apologise. I should’ve have brought it up. I’m an asshole and I know it.”

You give him a sad smile and he reaches out across the table, gingerly placing his hand on yours. Instantly, an aching desire ignites in his veins, a feeling he can’t quite put his finger on. He wants to know her favourite colour, her hopes and her dreams. He wants to hear about what makes her laugh, what she likes to do when she wants to relax, what helps her on a bad day. He wants to know if she likes to be wrapped up in his embrace or if she prefers cuddles instead. He wants to know if she sleeps better when it’s raining outside or with the window open. He wants to know if she likes to spent the summer backpacking in the woods or strolling through little streets in Italy.

And all her life, she’s been looking for someone se can give his heart, body, mind and soul to. Someone that will treat her with all the love, care, tenderness and respect they possess. Someone that can give her that extra ounce of love she needs when something’s bothering her and she just needs to be held. Someone to buy cheap bottles of champagne for and kiss under the mistletoe at Christmas. Someone to travel the world with you during a long summer break, someone to share the most intimate corners of your mind with.

He gently squeezes your hand, prompting your eyes to meet his. “Thank you for telling me, though.”

The truth is, that from the moment he stepped inside the café, and even long before that, when he saw her walking hand in hand with another guy, he realised there’s no getting over her.

“I guess we both have skeletons in our closet, right?,” he offers with a weak smile, his thumb caressing her soft skin.

He knows she’s searching for a safe space, a place to go to when the world gets a little too scary. And he wants to be that place for her, he wants to be that somebody she can confide in about her fears. Because she’s complicated and he wants to understand, he wants to cherish her. Respect her. Protect her. Take care of her. And love her.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” you wave off his apology, retracting your hand from under his. “We’ve both been pushing each other’s buttons.”

At first, you believe Steve would be that person for you and in some ways, he is. Steve is a pure romantic and that’s what you appreciate so much about him. Yet, even though your relationship with Steve has known more up than downs, the downs have been very exhausting and you’re not sure if you’re ready for another back-to-back fight. Aren’t you supposed to fall deeper into love after such a trial, such a tribunal has been put behind you?

Bucky calls for Scott, asking for the check. “Let’s get out here, shall we?”

He insists brunch is on him and after the bill had been paid, you both venture out onto the streets of Brooklyn. You still haven’t quite recovered and try to bring some more distance between you and Bucky.

“Where are you headed to?,” Bucky asks, already fishing out his car keys. He seems to have made it his mission to walk as closely to you as humanly possible.

“I stayed over at my boyfriend’s apartment but he’s got an emergency surgery, so I think I’m gonna crash at my place until he gives me a call.”

You try to keep your voice level, but it starts to waver as soon as his pinkie finger brushes yours. Could it even be remotely possible that Bucky can be that person for you, too, even more than Steve already is? Is it possible that you’ve been led to Bucky at this particular time in your life so you can conquer the sweltering guilt?

“I can drive you, if you want,” he offers gently, smiling down at you.

“No, it’s fine, really. It’s only a half-hour walk from here.” Bucky shrugs and soon his footsteps fall in line with yours, much to your annoyance. He is persistent, you must give him that. “I don’t remember saying it’s okay for you to walk with me.”

Steve obviously loves you, shouldn’t that be enough? Shouldn’t that be enough for you to let Bucky go? And how can it be that, even after you’ve confessed to him the filthiest stain on your soul, he can remain so unaffected by it all?

“I always walk the ladies home.” And on that note, he puts the matter to bed.

You walk in silence for a couple minutes until you come to a stop in front of a red light, watching the cars chase by. The weight on your chest has slowly diminished and you find yourself actually enjoying the walk back to your apartment. But your anxiety is throwing shade. You can’t break up with Steve, you can’t let go of something good in the hopes of something better that might never truly fulfil its potential.

“Bucky?” He hums and turns his head to look at you. The way his eyes flicker in the afternoon heat is enough to give you an immediate heart attack.

But he will only ruin your life and that of Steve, Natasha and more importantly, whatever it is that dallies between the two of you will also disrupt young Ellie’s life. You can’t live that, you can’t live with another unremovable blemish on your soul.

“I don’t think we should run into each other again.”

As if struck by lightning, Bucky comes to a standstill. Turning your body towards him, you find him staring at the pavement, mentally retracing your step in an attempt to fathom your change of heart. Your eyes lock and a certain sorrow flashes past those blue depths.

“But what if I wanna see you again?,” he murmurs to himself, quickly sealing his lips when you’re close enough to hear it. “What if I wanna see you again?,” he mumbles again as his hand reaches out to take yours, yet it falls limp halfway.

You hear what he’s saying, but now is not the time to act unwise. “Bucky,” you take a step closer, unsure if you should take his hand or not. “You have a wife and a baby. I have a boyfriend.”

The message is clear. Even if he wants to see you again, even if you want to see him again, you can’t. There are too many variables in the equation to make it work, to make it simple to see each other again without causing any trouble. There’s no leeway here, this is not a case of serendipity. Only an unfortunate twist of fate.

“It was good seeing you again, though. Take care.”

You muster up a warm smile as you walk towards the familiar brownstone, unlocking the door with the intention of stepping inside without looking back. But a warm hand on your shoulder, pulling you in to meet a firm chest, puts a stop to whatever you had intended to do. Your heartbeat picks up when you crane your neck to see who it is, already knowing it’s Bucky.

“Please, Y/N. Don’t you feel it, too?,” he whispers into your ear, “I’ve been trying to get you off my mind, but I’m stuck. I can’t seem to forget about you.”

You want to resist him, struggling weakly as he locks his arms around you, wrapped into an embrace you don’t know you ever want to escape. “I can’t… Bucky… You have a wife and a baby. I have a boyfriend,” you repeat soullessly, any intonation lost on you.

Bucky turns you around in his arms, placing both hands on your shoulders. “Now try and say something you really mean.”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a sob erupting from the back of your throat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me whether or not you want to find out what this is between us.” You know it, deep down in your bones you know it and he’s damn sure you feel it too. “Do you want to find out what this is between us, Y/N?,” he tries again, this time more insistent.

There’s a chance he’s just buttering you up, ready for a taste only to decide you’re not his type. But his eyes give light to so many possible outcomes, his eyes are the colour of home and the voice of love. With Bucky, one touch is enough to make you doubt everything.

Taking a deep breath, you conjure up enough strength to make a possibly life-changing decision. “Yes, Yes, I do. I want to find it out, too.”

And in that moment, Bucky feels like he can take on the world.

It’s hard keeping your relationship on the down low. It’s hard finding time for each other when you’re juggling a double life. On one hand, there’s your boyfriend Steve who has made it his mission to spoil you. Soon the entire hospital would be buzzing with rumours about how the young and successful trauma surgeon Steve Rogers lost his heart to a newbie gynaecologist. And you hate being the centre of all attention.

On the other hand, there’s Bucky. You have no idea what to call him, who he is to you now. Is he your lover? Shouldn’t that require some kind of sexual intercourse, which definitely hasn’t occurred yet. And doesn’t that also make you a cheater, if you call Bucky your lover?

“Penny for your thoughts, Y/N?,” Bucky says softly as he tucks you into his side and closes his eyes, listening to your heartbeat.

You went to the small festival at the park two blocks from your apartment, a low-key celebration that goes on every year and loads of teenagers attend. Steve loves these little events, especially the food trucks, but as per usual he had another mind-blowing surgery to perform. So you suggested to Bucky that he’d come with you instead, just to see what it would feel like to go somewhere together, somewhere nobody would know him and you could just introduce him as a friend and nobody would ask any additional questions.

Since Wanda was out and about with her brother, who’d invited her to tag along to some new bar that had recently opened uptown, you had the house to yourself. Bucky had shown up at your doorstep at least two hours earlier, heading straight to you after work, carrying a box filled to the brim with colourful cupcakes. Steve’s quite the health freak and doesn’t allow many splurges, much to the disappointment of his sweet-tooth of a girlfriend.

“Just thinking about how much fun we had yesterday”.

Bucky hums in thought and presses a light kiss to your hair. During the night, you gravitated halfway on top of him and now you’re snuggled up against him like he’s your pillow and you’re never getting out of bed ever again.

“Only too bad that couple kind of spoilt the mood.”

You had found an empty bench at the edge of a drinking stall and not too far away from the concert and other activities. When both your drinks were finished, you had leaned in close to Bucky, resting your head on top of his shoulder with his arm slung loosely around your waist. You didn’t talk much, just listened to the music coming from the stage. And just as you were about to call it a night and go back to your home, they played one of your favourite songs. As it was a slow song, you invited Bucky to dance with you.

Initially he had wanted to turn down your offer, afraid of stepping on your toes and putting you off for good. But then again, who turns down an offer to dance with a beautiful girl? So he had wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush to his chest, prompting a blush to form on your cheeks. To him, everything about you was irresistible. He would hang onto nothing as long as he could be with you. Not to mention the ardent yearning burning up in his chest, a lust for those luscious lips of yours to be kissed by him.

So he pulled you closer, flush to his chest, and hovered his lips over yours as you two shuffled to the languid melody. You took advantage of this to brush your lips against his every time you spoke, teasingly slow to build up the suspense between you and Bucky.

“I really like this,” you whispered softly, getting lost in his ocean blue eyes.1

Bucky chuckles and nudges your nose with his. “I really like this, too, doll.”

Your lips found his in a chaste kiss. “I really like you,” you said as you pulled back slightly to gauge his reaction.

“That was really smooth, Y/N,” he grins cheekily, “And yes, I really like you, too.”

Not paying any more mind to your surroundings, you two continued to kiss each other tenderly and lovingly, until you felt the eyes of a stranger tug your lips apart. You looked around in bewilderment, searching for whoever had the nerve to interrupt you and you found yourself looking into a young boy’s eyes.

“Peter, come on, you’re clearly interrupting something special.” A teenage girl said from behind him, tugging on his arm to get him to come with her. “I’m so sorry,” she apologised sincerely. “You see, Peter Parker here doesn’t have any manners. But we’re already on our way.”

They disappeared again and you laughed into Bucky’s chest once they were out of earshot. “Let’s get outta here,” he mumbled into your ear, “Find someplace more private.”

“My place?,” you suggested, biting your lower lip anxiously until he nodded his head and smiled at your adorable insecurity.

He took your hand in yours after you had detangled yourself from him, intertwining your fingers. Bucky followed closely as you wormed your way through the thick crowd that had gathered in front of the stage. Eventually your feet found familiar territory and soon guided Bucky inside your apartment.

“Living room or bedroom?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, doll.”

His nickname for you always made shivers run up and down your spine, making the decision so much easier. “Bedroom.”

While maintaining your focus on Bucky, your fingers fidgeted with the lock on your door. He walked backwards to your bed, the back of his knees hitting the frame of the bed as he sat down on the edge. You contemplated perching yourself in his lap, until a much better idea popped into your mind and you straddles his hips instead. Then, you took his wrists and planted his hands on your ass cheeks. Such a gesture amused him and so he squeezed your bum affectionately as you placed your hands on his shoulders to gain a steady stance.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any clothes for you to sleep in…,” you told him in between stolen kisses.

“That’s okay, babe,” he smiled into another quick kiss, “I can sleep in my shirt and boxers.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you slept in just your boxers,” you giggled and nipped at his bottom lip.

“Now, now, Y/N, don’t tempt me,” he warned you playfully, “I’m trying very hard to keep my hands to myself, doll.”

Connecting his lips with yours once again, you tugged on the hem of his shirt, hoping he’d get the hint and take it off. Bucky immediately caught up with what you were thinking and albeit unwillingly, detached himself from you shortly. “As you wish, princess,” he smirks victoriously.

Bucky’s chest is all hard lines and sharp edges, bulging muscles and tanned skin. He’s not a work of art, far from it. He’s the very definition of art and it made you slightly uncomfortable, especially since you’re not feeling as good in your own skin as he seemed to be.

As if sensing your timidity, Bucky smiled softly in understanding. His eyes asked for permission before he allowed his hands to roam underneath your loosely fitted shirt, his thumbs circling your skin with the utmost tenderness.

“You have nothing be afraid of, Y/N. There might’ve been a time I was only interested in runway models, but I’m not that kind of man anymore. You are mesmerizing and I love your curves. You are so soft, nothing compared to me. To me, you are a goddess.”

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Bucky continues as he pecks your lips first before trailing a path of butterfly kisses down your neck. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Lulling your head back to give him more access, you card your fingers through his half-long chestnut hair. “Isn’t that a bit too early to say? I mean, I thought we were just starting to explore whatever this is between us…”

“Explore indeed,” he hums to your pulse point and it doesn’t take much more for your mind to get foggy. “But I think we should stop here…”

Bucky runs his fingers and his lips over your flushed skin one last time before picking you up and getting up from the bed. A high-pitched squeal slips past your lips as he twirls your around. “I love your laugh, doll.”

“Why did you stop?,” you inquire in between fits of giggles. “And it’s you that makes me laugh! So I guess I just gotta keep you around, hm?”

“Because you’re right. It’s too soon to say I love you, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I just don’t wanna rush anything. And you bet I’m going to stick around, young lady! You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

Bucky lays your down on the bed and hovers on top of your, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before rolling over next to you, holding out his arm as an invitation you gladly accept. You fall asleep in his warm embrace, listening to his breathing levelling out. His bare chest radiated warmth but you just don’t care if it gets too hot during the night. You didn’t even bother changing into your pyjama’s because all that mattered that moment was that you’re with Bucky.

That night you slept like a baby. You usually have problems sleeping in, but it seems that with Bucky as your pillow, his body keeping you warm and sheltered, that problem might already be in the past. You give Bucky another kiss, another one in a very long set of goodbye kisses, before you eventually part ways.

“You know I would drop you off if I could, babe.”

“I know,” kiss, “babe,” kiss, “but you can’t,” kiss, “and that’s alright.”

Yet as you get into your car and head for Stark hospital, too many questions start to take up too much space in your mind, leaving no room for more important matters. Is it? Is it alright that Bucky can’t drive you to work like any other boyfriend would? Is it okay that he’s not like any other boyfriend? You repeatedly punch the steering wheel once you’ve parked your car, your forehead meeting the leather fabric soon thereafter. Groaning, you push yourself up again, both physically as mentally, and make your way to your office with your head held high. There’s no place for your private life at work, so you procrastinate the issue.

Your next clients, Peggy and Sharon Carter, aren’t like any other pregnant women either. They’re half-sisters and when they were kids, they made a pact to get pregnant together. Fast forward 20 years and here they both are, pregnant. Both women have chosen an anonymous sperm cell donor and will be raising their kids together as well. Over the course of the past 8 months, you’ve become close friends with both women and have developed a tight-knit relationship. Which is how they know something’s up with you the moment they walk into your office.

Peggy is the first to pick up on your change in demeanour. “Y/N, honey, you don’t look very well. Have you had breakfast this morning? Have you eaten anything at all?”

“I’m totally fine, Pegs.” You gesture for them to take a seat and offering them something to drink.

Sharon asks for a glass of water but Peggy doesn’t fall for your attempt to bullshit around her prying questions.  “Y/N, cut the crap.”

“Pegs, leave the poor woman be. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s okay,” Sharon comes to your defence.

“It’s alright, Sharon.” You circle your temples with your fingers. “Work is just crazy and my life has changed quite a bit as of late.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about the hottie you’re trying to hide from us,” Sharon winks before Peggy slaps her elbow with the back of her hand. “That hottie must have a name, no?,” Sharon continues, unfazed by Peggy’s sideway glare.

You clear your throat and cough a soft “Steve.” Their eyes light up like stars in the night sky when they can finally put a name to the mystery man.

“Tell us more,” they chime simultaneously in chipper voices

Instead of telling both women how Steve looks like, you pull up a photograph on your phone and show it to them. “I took this one a while ago, when we were waiting for our coffee orders. This is also before his bearded phase kicked in. We weren’t together yet, just sleeping together.”

They gasp exasperatingly, exchanging elated looks, snatching the phone from your hand and going through the -cough- album full of pictures from Steve and you.

“This man hit the genetic jackpot, Y/N,” Peggy whistles appreciatively.

A bright red blush adorns your cheeks. You must admit he is most definitely one of the better-looking guys walking planet Earth. “Took that one a few weeks back when we went grocery shopping and ran into one of my friends from work, Clint.”

They go through a couple more, from when you were going out for lunch to celebrate another one of Steve’s successful surgeries…

And you snuck in a candid pic of your boyfriend for future reference…

“Look at that cutie!,” Sharon laughs as she hands you back your phone. “He doesn’t seem like your type, though.”

“That man is everyone’s type,” Peggy assures her half-sister. “And who cares about types anymore? She’s obviously in love with the guy!”

Sharon turns her attention from her sister to you and it’s as if the whole worlds is suddenly conspiring against you. “Are you?,” she pipes up excitedly, “Are you in love with Steve?”

Part 5

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @myserium @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @bovaria @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @nenyakj @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @mellifluous-melodramas @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @jurassicbarnes @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs

Onsra tag list: @melavale @debzybrazy @supernaturaldean67 @tomboyk @shadowhunter7 @allyp1023 @sophiedarting @movingonto-betterthings @magicintheelements @seeyainanothalifebrotha @redroomproperty @dsny87 @aquabrie @shortiiqt16 @mmauricee @lost-in-the-stories @themanwiththemetalarm @passiononfire @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @lbouvet @sugardaddybarnes @c0ldhearted @soymikael @ourdreamsrealized @aletheladyinred @mileysebschmidt @evyiione @nerdyandproud9 @mizzzpink @salty-holographic-stickers 

[quentinsquill]

“Those Magic Changes.” (For the 2017 Welters Challenge, Week Four.)

Author: Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

Fandom: The Magicians/Those People (Crossover)

Rating: R

Warnings: Discussions of suicide, depression

Genre: Crossover: (The Magicians/Those People) 

Word Count: 5,248

Summary: During Quentin’s second year at Brakebills, the twin he never knew is tapped to take the exam, but he may also alter Quentin’s life in ways he never thought possible.

Author’s Notes: This is for Week 4 of the Welters Challenge: “Crossovers,” and because of my obsession with Those People. I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy. For @thewelterschallenge

Read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11513553

 Those Magic Changes

By Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

 Studying magic at Brakebills taught you many things.

 It taught you how to prepare spells, how to cast them according to the environment around you, and what kind of magic you were most adept at according to your discipline (when and if they could find it.)

 But what it didn’t teach you is that magic wasn’t good for squat when a personal crisis or tragedy turned your life upside down. And that, Quentin reflected as he sat on the couch in the Physical Kids cottage with a thick manila folder in his hand, was a lesson that the faculty should teach above anything else.

 The couch tilted slightly as someone sat down next to him and then a long, elegant finger tapped the folder.

 “What’s this?”

 Quentin looked up to see Eliot watching him expectantly. Quentin lifted a hand, began to speak, then faltered.

 “I . . . I don’t even know where to begin, El!”

 “May I?” Eliot took the folder from Quentin before he was even finished nodding and flipped it open. Inside were some official-looking documents and Eliot’s eyes widened as he read through them.

 “Quentin . . . holy shit!”

 “See what I mean? I don’t even know where to begin! Dean Fogg gave me those when he called me to his office because he didn’t think I’d take his word for it, and I know they’re real, but—how could my parents have kept this from me? And now Fogg says I have to meet him? Christ, Eliot, what am I supposed to say? What’s he supposed to say to me?”

 “I don’t know.” Eliot replied after a moment, and Quentin ran a hand over his face. Eliot offered up his flask and Quentin shook his head.

 “No, thanks, I don’t think even that is going to help.”

 “When are you supposed to meet him?”

 “Dean Fogg said he’d have Professor Li escort him here—” Quentin turned his head at a commanding knock at the door. “—Oh God, that’s him. El that’s him, what am I going to do?”

 Eliot got to his feet and smoothed out his silk vest before tugging Quentin up.

 “You’re going to answer the door and invite him in.”

 Quentin walked to the door with Eliot shooing him along from behind. He opened it to find Professor Li there, his expression enigmatic and serene as always, and behind him, a young man of average height with collar-length sandy hair like his own, not quite brunette but not light enough to be truly blond. Dark eyes stared at him over Professor Li’s shoulder, who stepped aside without comment until Quentin and the stranger who wore his face were eye to eye. Eliot nudged him from behind, and Quentin took a deep breath before offering his twin brother his hand to shake.

 “Welcome to Brakebills, Sebastian.”

 _____________________________________________

 “But this must be some kind of joke.” Sebastian Blackworth said for the third time as Eliot offered him a martini. The young man accepted it with air of one who was used to handing liquor glasses, one of the dozen things Eliot noticed he didn’t have in common with his twin in the twenty minutes he’d been in the cottage. Professor Li had done one of his trademark fades, but Eliot knew he’d show back up to escort Sebastian back to the first-year dorms before the evening was out.

 “It’s not a joke. Magic is real, and you were offered the preliminary exam, just like I was last year. And also like me, you passed. You could be a magician.”

 “A magician.” Sebastian sipped his drink. “Top hat, cape, sawing ladies in half? I may not have many options for a lucrative career thanks to my father’s dealings, but that’s rather scraping the bottom of the barrel, isn’t it?”

 “That’s not what magic is.” Quentin said, and Sebastian tipped his head to one side as he set his glass aside.

 “I suppose anything’s possible, seeing as how the man I thought was my father, isn’t, and my real father, who I’ll never meet because he died from cancer six months ago, chose to give me up for adoption.”

 “Look, I know it’s a lot to take in . . . it is for me, too! My parents never told me about you, but according to the records Dean Fogg gave me, my—our—mother had severe post-partum depression and they couldn’t care for us both.” Quentin glanced away and tucked a lock of hair behind his right ear. “They made a decision that they thought was the best for everyone, I guess.”

 “Giving me away was the best decision?” Sebastian snapped, and Quentin looked up, his eyes widening.

 “I was two days old when it happened! It’s not like I had a say!”

 “I think we can agree that you were both innocent in what happened.” Eliot put in. “You were at the mercy of people who weren’t expecting two children, thanks to the inferior sonogram technology of the early 90s, and a decision was made without you ever knowing.”

 “And who are you, again?” Sebastian asked, peering up at Eliot, and Quentin bristled.

 “He already introduced himself.”

 “That’s all right, Q. Clearly, your spare wasn’t raised with manners.” Eliot rose from the couch in one fluid movement and headed toward the bar, leaving Sebastian flushed.

 “His spare? How dare you!”

 “And how dare you!” Eliot shot back from behind the bar as he shook up a cocktail with a bit more force than was probably necessary. “You passed the Brakebills exam, brava, but that doesn’t mean Quentin had to speak with you or even meet you! He did it out of the goodness of his heart, so maybe blaming him for your parents’ choice in which baby they gave away isn’t the best way to show your gratitude!”

 “I didn’t ask for that either, or to be brought here!” Sebastian countered. “I wasn’t doing anything more extraordinary than trying to learn how to use the goddamned subway when I went down a corridor and ended up on the front lawn of wherever this is!”

 “Brakebills. The same thing happened to me last year.” Quentin said. “Only I came from Brooklyn.” He shook his head. “This is so bizarre . . . I mean, neither of our parents were magicians but we both have magical ability?”

 “Having magical—whatever—is the least of my problems right now!” Sebastian glanced away. “But as it happens, I need housing. I recently sold my apartment building.”

 “You owned an entire building?” Quentin asked, and Sebastian drained his glass.

 “Yes. In Manhattan.” He set the glass aside. “You’ve never heard of Richard Blackworth?”

 “We’re kind of insular here at Brakebills. News doesn’t always filter in.” Quentin said.

 “Do you parents know where you are?”

 “I told my dad. Uhm. Before.” Quentin gestured. “I didn’t want him to die without knowing who I really am.” He paused. “I’m not sure where my mother is. She went on some painting sabbatical last year. Italy or Greece, I think? She didn’t even make it back for the funeral. She sent a telegram, though.”

 Eliot sat beside Quentin and pushed a glass of scotch into his hands. Sebastian nodded and tapped his fingers on his knees. His fingernails were finely manicured.

 “Well. I suppose I should see to my living situation.” He said, and Quentin glanced up as he got to his feet.

 “You’re staying?” He asked, and his twin smiled, no trace of humor reaching his dark eyes.

 “If you knew who Richard Blackworth was, you’d understand how little I have to go back to.” He walked toward the door and Quentin turned to Eliot.

 “Can’t he stay here? We have two empty rooms thanks to those two first-years who didn’t pass the trials last winter!”

 Eliot frowned.

 “Quentin—I don’t know. Not only is he already grossly behind, he has an abhorrent personality! No offense.”

 “I was the same way when Fogg moved me to the cottage! I’m amazed you or Margo didn’t strangle me in my sleep!”

 “Don’t count it out yet.” Margo said from a nearby chair, where she pouted at being usurped from her usual place at Eliot’s side on the couch. Quentin ran both hands through his hair.

 “Eliot please . . . he’s my brother!”

 Eliot glanced over at Sebastian’s retreating form, hesitated, then rolled his eyes.

 “Curse my bleeding heart,” He muttered, and Margo rolled her eyes.

 “I’ll say.”

 Eliot shot her a look and she gave him a knowing smile before getting up and leaving the room, to presumably pursue gossip, a sexual conquest, or to assume her final form. Eliot knew she’d be back to torment him some more later. Quentin jumped up.

 “Wait!” He said to Sebastian, who paused at the door. Quentin went to him.

 “You can stay here. The dorms are cramped and you won’t have any privacy. Here, you’ll get your own room and there’s three bathrooms. And it’s fun! Well . . . most of the time.”

 Sebastian regarded his twin for several moments, noticing his lack of eye contact, his sleeve pulling, and how obviously smitten he was with Eliot Waugh. Either the other magician didn’t feel the same way or he was oblivious, thanks to his hedonism, something Sebastian could appreciate, even if he was an arrogant ass.

 “We’ll have to arrange it with Dean Fogg,” Quentin was saying, “but I’m sure it’ll be all right. So. Will you stay?”

 Sebastian glanced around the room until he and Eliot locked eyes and he saw the challenge there.

 “Sure.” He said at last. “Might as well make the best of it.”

 ____________________________________________

  A few hours later, Sebastian moved into the Physical Kids cottage with a meager yet tasteful collection of clothing and a few other possessions. He put his things away in an orderly manner and crawled into bed in a way that suggested he hadn’t slept well during the previous weeks. Quentin closed the bedroom door and started hard as he nearly ran into Margo as he turned away.

 “Creep much? Jeez!” He said, and Margo lifted her chin.

 “Do you want to know more about your brother?”

 “What do you mean?”

 Margo shook some printed pages at him, and Quentin gaped at her.

 “You went and looked him up?”

 “Christ, calm down, it’s nothing anyone can’t find on the USA Today site.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him into her bedroom, which smelled like exotic flowers and her vanilla skin scrub. He glanced around and she shooed him over to the bed, where she sat down with him. He stiffened, poking his hands between his knees, and Margo pursed her lips.

 “Relax. This isn’t The Erotic Awakening of Quentin Coldwater, starring us.”

 “I’m not—”

 “You’re not a virgin, right, got it. ANYway . . . here’s the lowdown on Jay Gatsby over there.” She jerked her chin at the door and handed Quentin the papers. He took them with a frown and Margo narrowed her eyes at him.

 “You’re welcome!”

 Quentin sighed and began to sift through papers, slowly at first, then more quickly, his eyes widening.

 “This is who his adoptive father was? A thief and a criminal?”

 “A thief and a criminal who hung himself right after a holiday visit from his only son. Imagine dealing with that action!”

 “But Sebastian tried to right all his father’s wrongs. That’s why he sold almost everything he owned!”

 “I guess so. I mean, I would have grabbed what I could and made tracks for the South of France, but that’s just me.” Margo materialized a nail file into her right hand and worked on the nail of the other index finger. “I hate to say it, Quentin, but it looks like your twin has more baggage than a Beyonce world tour.”

 Quentin read through the second scandal sheet.

 “Did you read all of these?”

 “Only some.”

 “This one says he’s gay!”

 “You didn’t work that out?”

 “Well—no. I mean . . . Eliot didn’t say . . .”

 “It’s not like a boy scout troop! They don’t all know each other!”

 Quentin felt his cheeks heat with a deep blush.

 “I know that! It’s just—how do I deal? Do I ask him about it? Or about any of this?” He held up the papers. Margo shook her head.

 “I was an only child. I honestly have no advice for you in this area. Just—just don’t Quentin out over anything and try to be his friend, I guess.”

 Quentin got up from the bed.

 “Thanks for this.” He motioned to the papers. “Usually you’re not this invested in anything I do.”

 Margo lifted a shoulder.

 “Slow week. Now get out of my room before someone sees you and assumes we’re sleeping together.”

 ____________________________________

 Three days passed. The new semester began, and Sebastian proved to be a competent but antisocial student that walked to his classes alone and ate his meals with his nose in a book. He had none of Alice’s obvious brilliance or Eliot’s natural gifts with magic, but by the third day, as Quentin paused by the door to his brother’s room, he noticed that his Poppers were coming along nicely. Sebastian was working his fingers as he sat on the bed, flexing them to bend the way he wanted. Sebastian glanced up and saw him watching.

 “Something I can help you with?”

 “I don’t know . . . can I come in?”

 “I suppose so.” Sebastian nodded. Quentin stepped into the room. It looked the same as the day it had when Sebastian had moved in, except now there was a simple 70s-style turntable on the nightstand, the kind with a square acrylic cover. The cover was cocked back, and a vinyl record spun on the spindle. Quentin listened and recognized “Oh, Better Far to Live and Die” from The Pirates of Penzance soundtrack. He raised a set of mental eyebrows: his mother had loved musicals.

 Our mother, Quentin reminded himself. The one who was so depressed after our birth that she gave one of us away.

 “Your friend loaned me the record player when he noticed I had a collection of vinyl.”

 “My friend?”

 “The tall one. Maybe he felt badly about how he treated me the other day.”

 “Maybe?” Quentin allowed, although he knew from experience that Eliot didn’t spend a lot of time pondering past actions. He sat down on the bed. “So, what do you think of Brakebills so far?”

 “It gave me a stay of social execution. So there’s that.” Sebastian took a cigarette case out of his nightstand drawer, along with a slim sliver lighter. He offered one to Quentin, who shook his head.

 “What do you mean?”

 Sebastian lit the cigarette and exhaled a rich plume of smoke a few moment later.

 “I told you about my father. He was the most hated man in New York City, and as his heir, I was pursued by photographers, harassed by reporters, and denied service at most bars and restaurants in Manhattan. It got so bad that after awhile I refused to leave my apartment. My friends came to stay with me, at least until the press began to associate them with me and they became social pariahs as well.”

 “But it was your father who cheated all those people! Not you.” Quentin said, and Sebastian took another drag of his cigarette.

 “I knew about it. That was enough for them to crucify me.”

 “Oh, Better Far to Live and Die” gave way to “What Ought We to Do?” The player’s needle gave a satisfying crackle in between songs.

 “You tried to do the right thing.” Quentin said, and Sebastian gave him a wry, twisted grin.

 “Maybe in the end I did. That’s usually when I tend to come through.” He exhaled another cloud of smoke. “He likes you, you know. Your friend. He talked about you almost non-stop when he brought me the record player.”

 “Eliot did?” Quentin felt his face warm. “Well . . . we’re good friends. I don’t think I would have made it here without him and Margo.”

 “Do you blush like that when you talk about your other friends?” Sebastian asked, and Quentin frowned.

 “What are you talking about?”

 “I said, he likes you. You obviously feel the same way. Why don’t you go for it?”

 “Go for—no! I’m not—I’m not that way!”

 “You mean you’re not a homosexual.”

 “No! It’s—no offense or anything, there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not like that!”

 “You realize I am.”

 Quentin folded his arms across his chest.

 “I didn’t. Not right away.”

 “Does it offend you?”

 “Christ, no!”

 Sebastian watched him for a long moment. “Sexuality isn’t a fixed point on a chart, Quentin. It’s fluid; it’s changeable. If you have feelings for Eliot that you don’t understand or that are new to you, it’s not unusual, you don’t have to feel badly. Even people like me fall for their friends sometimes.” A shadow crossed his face. “It doesn’t always work out, but if they’re strong enough you should act on them!”

 Quentin tucked his hands up under his arms.

 “Even if I did have those feelings, even if Eliot does like me that way, which I seriously doubt—there’s no way I can.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because I’m—I’m me! I’m a mess, Sebastian . . . before I came to Brakebills I was a depressed, anxious dumpster fire. I was hospitalized for it more than once.” He looked away. “I guess I’m more like our mother than I want to think about.”

 Sebastian leaned forward.

 “I’m going to tell you something about myself.” He said, and it caused an echo in Quentin’s memory, an echo of Eliot telling him the story of how he’d discovered his telekinesis. “I’ve tried to commit suicide before. The most recent time was last New Year’s Eve, shortly after my father killed himself in prison. My feelings about him, and about my best friend Charlie were so fucked up that it seemed like the easiest thing in the world. Just close the book. End it with a dramatic flourish. It was Charlie that talked me down off that ledge.” He crushed out his cigarette. “So. You don’t corner the market on being mentally fucked up, Quentin.”

 Quentin glanced up at his twin and nodded.

 “Thank you. You know—for telling me that.” He said softly, then took a deep breath. “I just don’t know how. When it comes to approaching people or telling someone that I like them or flirting.” He admitted, and a smile curved over Sebastian’s full mouth.

 “Then let me help you.”

 “How?”

 “Leave it to me, Mr. Higgins . . . leave it to me!”

 ___________________________________

 One Week Later

 “Oh, Goddamn it all!”

 Margo turned her head, frowning, as she heard the curse ring out from the depths of Eliot’s closet.  

 “El? What’s the problem?” She called, and Eliot came to the doorway, his long arms laden with clothing, his face uncharacteristically flushed.

 “I can’t find my Perry Ellis jacket! The blue one with the darker trim!”

 “That’s a little showy for a walk to PA, isn’t it?”

 “Oh—you wouldn’t understand!” Eliot snapped as he stormed back into the closet, and Margo rolled her eyes as she got off the bed.

 “Okay. When you make statements like that, it’s time to pull the emergency switch on the train to Hysteriaville.” She walked into the closet and tugged on his arm. “Eliot! What is it? Really?” She asked, and Eliot turned to her. For a moment Margo didn’t know if he was going to open up or order her out of the room, but then he ticked over into sharing mode.

 “I think Quentin is getting involved with someone.” He folded his long arms over his chest. “A man.”

 “A man? Okay, and we think that why?”

 “Because I’ve seen all the signs, Margo! He’s pulled away from Alice, he’s not spending nights alone in his room anymore—and he’s wearing his hair differently!” This last bit was said as if Eliot was revealing the Holy Grail of Really Relevant Information for her, and she tapped her fingernails on the closet wall.

 “Hmm. Those are all pretty unusual signs, I admit. Especially the part where he’s not sitting up in his room mooning over Fillory.”

 “Exactly! I just know it’s a man, Margo! Q has finally realized what he’s all about! I just thought when he did, it—” He clamped his teeth over his bottom lip and Margo took his hand.

 “You thought he’d realize it because of you. Well, maybe it’s not too late! Maybe we can shift his attention away from this person! We really should find out who it is anyway, give him our stamp of approval. God knows we can’t let him date some first-year loser. He might be a mess, but he’s our mess, and he’ll need guidance.”

 “I don’t think I can do that, Bambi.” Eliot said softly, and she tugged him out of the closet.

 “Don’t grieve yet, sweetie. It could be we can nip this in the bud!”

 “Eliot? Can you come out here?” Sebastian’s voice called from the hallway, and Eliot frowned.

 “What could he possibly want?” He asked, crossing the room to open the door. Sebastian smiled up at him.

 “Sorry about the intrusion, but I need your expert opinion.” He went into Quentin’s room and dragged his twin out. Eliot felt his jaw unhinge and hang open before he forced it closed with a snap that almost severed his tongue. Quentin was wearing a designer suit in a soft shade of dove grey with slightly darker trim and an open-throat white silk shirt. The dark loafers on his feet carried a high shine. Eliot struggled to find his voice and willed his cock to stay soft at the same time. He mostly succeeded.

 “Is—is that a Prada suit?” He asked, and Sebastian nodded.

 “It is. It’s mine . . . one of the few things I brought with me from Manhattan. I’m loaning it to Quentin for a special occasion.”

 Quentin adjusted the collar and Sebastian slapped his hand. Quentin gave him a look before tipping his gaze up to Eliot.

 “Eliot? How do you think I look?”

 Eliot looked him up and down. The cut of the suit revealed everything his frumpy sweaters and baggy dad jeans usually hid: his lean chest, his arms, toned from months of casting, his pale, perfect throat. Sebastian tapped his twin’s shoulder.

 “Give us a spin.” He coaxed, and after a moment, Quentin relented. Eliot watched and noticed how even Margo’s eyes widened as the tailoring of the slacks showed off Quentin’s round ass in a way they’d never seen it displayed before. Eliot cleared his throat and put both hands behind his back so he didn’t give into temptation and squeeze Quentin’s ass, preferably until the younger magician gasped.

 “You look amazing, Q.” Eliot said at last, and Margo gave a wolf whistle.

 “What’s the special occasion?” She asked, and Sebastian smiled and patted Quentin’s shoulder.

 “Tell them.” He said, and Quentin squirmed a little.

 “Well, uhm . . . I’m—I’m going to ask someone out. For the first time.” He admitted, and Eliot mustered every emotional trick he knew to keep his expression neutral.

 “That’s wonderful! Anyone we know?”

 “It’s—kind of a secret. So it doesn’t get out before I can do it. You know.” Quentin muttered, and Sebastian nodded.

 “But it is someone here at Brakebills?” Eliot asked, and Quentin nods.

 “Yeah.”

 “Well. That’s . . . it’s wonderful news, Quentin! I certainly wish you luck.” Eliot said, and Sebastian snapped his fingers, as if suddenly recalling something.

 “That reminds me, Eliot! We have another favor to ask. Could you loan us the cottage common room this Friday evening? Quentin wanted to invite his would-be beau here to ask him out. I thought I’d whip up a bit of dinner for them, set a nice table. Give my brother the benefit of my experience?”

 “Yes! Yes . . . of course, and if it’s a chef you need, I’d be glad to offer my culinary services.” Eliot replied, and Margo gave him a look that suggested if he was headed to the gallows, he’d probably offer to help the hangman measure the noose. He ignored her. Sebastian smiled.

 “That’s very kind of you! Friday night then, shall we say . . . seven?”

 Eliot indulged himself with one more glance at Quentin in that suit, perfectly housing everything he’d never get to discover, and nodded as he shoved his emotions down to the soles of his feet.

 “Seven, then.”

 ___________________________________________________

 Eliot moved like a sleepwalker through the rest of the week as he attended classes during the day and spent a lot of time in his room at night with a bottle or two of Moscato as he listened to Sebastian and Quentin play records and Sebastian coach his twin on how to talk to his date, how to move to catch his attention, what kind of wine to serve. It was obvious that Sebastian knew what he was talking about and his recommendations were flawless, but Eliot hated him for leading Quentin down a path that led him anywhere but his own arms.

 Friday evening came, and Eliot cleared the cottage before meeting Sebastian in the kitchen. Sebastian wasn’t much at hands-on cooking, but he knew which foods complemented each other and soon Eliot had a pan of chicken marsala and braised asparagus going. A gilded table was set in the other room, complete with a blindingly white tablecloth and muted, colored lights swimming across the ceiling, thanks to a spell Margo had taught Quentin the night before.

 Everyone’s a Goddamned traitor, Eliot thought to himself as he shook the pan of asparagus and watched Sebastian pour two glasses of wine.

 “So who is it? Surely you must know.”

 “Oh, I know.” Sebastian smiled. “But I promised Quentin I wouldn’t tell.”

 “Why do you want to help him so badly? You don’t seem like the type who enjoys pleasing people.”

 “You’d be right on that account. I usually don’t care for people, and they don’t care for me. But I owe Quentin one. He gave me a place to stay, someplace where no one knows me and where I might be able to form a future.”

 Eliot tried not to snort as he reflected that he’d given Quentin permission to allow his brother to stay in the cottage and hid his gall under stirring the marsala. Sebastian took the wine into the other room and Eliot plated the food as he glanced at the clock above the stove. Everything was ready but he hadn’t heard anyone knock at the door yet.

 “Eliot? I need you a moment!” Sebastian called from the other room, and Eliot went, tossing his apron aside, praying that Sebastian hadn’t spilled the wine. He stepped into the room, blinked once, then stared.

 Quentin was standing in front of the table, two dozen white roses in his arms. The colored lights played across his face and hair, and he wore his brother’s Prada suit. He smiled, and Eliot finally found his voice.

 “What. Ahmmm . . . what is this, exactly?” He asked, and Quentin took a few steps forward.

 “It’s exactly what I told you. I’m asking someone out for the first time.” He said, and offered Eliot the roses. Eliot’s heart rode a dizzying, high-speed emotional elevator up into his throat and crouched there. He swallowed it back down.

 “Are you trying to tell me that all this—all this planning was . . .”

 “It was for you. Uhm . . . I’m sorry you had to cook. I didn’t want you to but Sebastian said you’d suspect if we didn’t let you because you’re smart and he knows these things better—”

 “Quentin.” It was a gentle reminder, a tone that let Quentin know he was rambling. Quentin took a deep breath and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

 “So. Will you, Eliot? Will you go out with me?” The question came out a bit rushed and shaky, but Eliot had never heard more glorious words.

 “Like you even had to ask. Yes, Q. Yes of course.” He gasped laughter even as he felt tears sting his eyes. Quentin blinked like Eliot had slapped him, then seemed to realize what he’d said. He hugged himself and took another shuddering breath, and Eliot set the roses aside.

 “Hey! Hug me, not yourself! Christ, you’re such a dork!” He drew the younger magician into a fierce hug and Quentin slipped his arms around Eliot, pressing his cheek against the soft satin of Eliot’s vest, realizing that their differences in height made them fit together like puzzle pieces. Eliot pushed a hand through Quentin’s hair, something he’d always wanted to do, and Quentin pulled back slightly to look up at him.

 “You’re not mad that Sebastian and I tricked you?”

 “I may have to punish you both later, which might actually be kind of hot, but for now? I’m so relieved that no one’s going to knock on that door and take you away from me that I don’t give a shit. I honestly don’t, Q—”

 This time it was Quentin that silenced Eliot, only he did it with his lips, rising up on his toes a little to press his lips against Eliot’s in a long, slow kiss. Eliot melted into it and they stood there for a long while, tasting each other, the genesis of their discovering each other. Up on the steps, just out of sight, Sebastian watched, his chin resting on his tucked-up knees. A hand fell on his shoulder and he glanced up to see Margo crouched there. She nudged him over until they sat on the riser side by side.

 “You did a nice thing.” She said softly. “But I won’t count it against you this time.”

 “Thanks.” They watched the two men kiss. “I screwed up my own love life so badly . . . doing this makes me believe I could almost start over. Charlie did. Maybe I can too.”

 “Are you kidding? You’re the anti-Quentin. The men on campus will want to eat you up with a fucking spoon when they realize you’re single!” Margo said quietly.

 “I think I can live with that. And with being a magician.” He smiled. “It’s almost like a snake shedding its skin and becoming something better. Something so beautiful that no one would ever know what it might have been before.”

 “Now you’re getting the idea.” Margo nodded. She floated one of the bottles of Moscato on the table into her hand, took a swig, and offered it to Sebastian, who grinned at her and took a drink of his own.

 Quentin said he’s not sure what magic really is, he thought as he watched his twin kiss the man who was clearly and for all intents and purposes, his soul mate, and felt it heal something inside his own heart, something that had been broken ever since the night Charlie kissed him back in Manhattan.

 But whatever it is, if it can fix a Blackworth, it must be something special.

 FIN