#she insisted the sun was out i must need new glasses

[sinnettini]

if anyone has been having sunny days can i borrow one for this stupid place please? just 24h?

[luveline]

hey! would you mind writing sirius black x reader (ole flame or something) when they meet for the first time since azkaban at a meeting for the order? thank you and happy holidays!

thank u for requesting, hope this is OK! ♡

—you and sirius both get to go home eventually, 2.2k. fem

You were still kids when Sirius… went away. You thought he hurt James and Lily, and it didn't matter that you loved him because he was evil and cruel and he hurt the people he loved most in the world, and then you were outposted thousands of miles eastward, your life a shadow. 

Remus sent you letters. You always answered, even when it hurt, but his last was too much to believe. You told yourself that someone forged his handwriting through a curse or some new gimmick, and then a second arrived with a smaller envelope hidden inside. 

No name written on it. No Dear anything to begin. 

Things are different to what you've been told. Please come home, it said. This penmanship was shaken like a hand out of practice, but something felt familiar in the curves and dots. 

If Remus’ letter (and the second smaller one too) were in fact telling the truth, it means you did something awful, and so, for a while, you don't go. 

Please, the next letter says, again enclosed within a larger explanation from Remus, I'm sorry. I just want to see you again. 

Getting home isn't as simple as he might think. You have to picture the destination very clearly to disapparate, and you have no sustained recollection anymore of the places you used to go. You remember silly things, slices of memories; the four of them laughing in a big green field, the sweet smell of hair oil to your left; the beige walls of a rented flat where you'd lay in bed for hours, sometimes days at a time, before things got too terrible to sleep; a string-lit garden that last summer, hands of poker on a glass table. These places aren't real anymore. You can't go back to them. 

Upon your request, Molly forwards you an address and a secret code. 

Trains, buses, trains again. A long walk through a cold street. Some secret this or that. You arrive in the night and a frowning face ushers you in, past a painting sealed away and up the creaking stairs. You spend hours sitting on the end of a bed coated in dust waiting for the sun to rise, your back stiff with nerves. You could slip out before anyone else knows you're here, it's not as if Moody would give you away. But why did you come, if you were going to run straight back to your outpost? 

You don't want Sirius’ betrayal to be true, of course. It took your breath away imagining what it would mean if he hadn't done what you thought. If it's all lies (as it seems to be), if he's innocent as he and Remus claim, it means you turned your back on him and left him to suffer, and he's still asking you to come home. 

A few people stir for breakfast. Molly, who's voice you remember, and some younger sounding ones that may be her children, or perhaps the newer Order recruits. Then comes Remus’ voice. He sounds different. Less Welsh, more tired. Homely anyways as he passes your door with someone beside him. 

“...any day now,” he's saying, “try not to worry.” 

“I do worry. I've worried about it every day for years.” 

You freeze up. 

The stairs creak, Remus’ voice moving further away. “She doesn't need worrying.” 

Sirius must stay at the top of the stairs for a moment. He sounds close. “I wouldn't know what she needs.” 

“Come have some breakfast.” 

“I'll write her again.” 

“After breakfast.” 

“What if she doesn't come?” 

“After breakfast,” Remus insists. “She can ignore you once we've had toast.” 

“I forgot how funny you are,” Sirius mutters. 

Hearing his voice fills you with doubt. He sounds nothing like he used to, no easy confidence to be heard, just fatigue. 

You look down at your hands. Hearing his voice has a new emotion sprouting, too. When you first learned what had happened to your friends, you felt anger like a knife everywhere you went. How could he do that to them? How could he do it to you, be that person, ruin everything you'd loved and made together? But later, when anger faded and grief ached, you'd missed the Sirius you loved. Shamefully, in longing pangs, you'd toss and turn to dreams where things were different. 

Now there's a chance he might still be that person, and you're hiding from him in his own house. 

“There's someone here,” Molly says as you leave your room, her voice nearly too quiet to hear from the kitchen. “Moody's told me this morning.” 

“What?” Arthur asks. 

“Who?” a younger voice says. 

A small intermission of quiet. “Well, I don't know,” Molly says eventually, though she must have guessed it was you from the letter you sent. “But I'll need another loaf of bread. You'd better go, boys.” 

“Mum,” one whines. 

“Come on now.” 

The stairs whimper as you descend, the bannister sticky with old gloss under your hand. Paisley wallpaper and drapes catch your eye as you pass the overflowing shoe rack. There must be more people here than you'd thought. The coat stand is similarly overloaded. 

You can see into the kitchen as soon as you take the last step down. Molly stands wringing a dish cloth between her hands, two teenage boys at the kitchen table. Remus stands near her right with a cup of tea, and when he sees you, he genuinely smiles. 

“Oh, good,” he says, the scar that bisects his lip pulling as he takes a sip of tea. 

The teenagers turn to see you. “Bread, boys! Arthur, you can go with them," Molly says.

Arthur doesn't complain. You falter in the hallway, quiet as the trio of Weasley's leave the kitchen in their slippers to take a quiet exit from the front door. They smile politely as they go, but the boys whisper as the door shuts behind them. You wonder if they have an inkling of who you are, and then you wonder what you might say now they're gone. 

Molly remains, inquisitive to know that you need privacy but also the security of her company. She was always smart like that.

“Come in, then,” Remus says. 

“I–” You clear your throat. “I'm not sure I should.” 

A startle of silverware against china. 

Remus gives you one of his looks. It has tears threatening to well. Why didn't I fight to see him more? you think. Suddenly years have passed and he's changed, but his reassuring glances remain. It's like he's saying everything is fine, why wouldn't everything be fine? Chin up, dove.

Sirius appears in the doorway. Dark circles beneath grey eyes, his cheeks gaunt with hunger rather than the sleek sharpness he once possessed. He's still pretty, if wounded. It's as though you've found an old photo of him that's been smudged with age. He's stepped out of one of your moulding albums to haunt you. 

“Angel,” he breathes, his hand clasped low on the doorway, “you're here.” 

You look past him to Molly and Remus. There isn't a reality nor dimension where they'd let him stay here if they didn't believe his innocence. Remus explained it all in the letter and still you worried if he might have gotten it wrong, and simply believed what he wanted to believe, but it's not possible. Remus loved James so much, he would've killed Sirius himself if he really thought Sirius was the secret keeper who betrayed them. 

So. It's a relief to be home. 

You stare at him. “You look tired,” you say quietly. 

“I'm fine. I am.” 

He seems alright, considering. You'd even say he was handsome with his hair pushed away from his face, a dark shadow of stubble around his mouth, but he looks exhausted.  

You're expecting him to say what you'd say. How could you ever think I'd do it? 

Sirius was prone to similar bouts of pride, or righteousness, justice, whatever you want to call it, but he doesn't bother with that now. He looks at you as though you're the only person on earth, gaze narrowed but eyes wide, pain between his brows as he asks, “What's wrong?” 

Your hand finches up to your cheek to wipe the sudden tear away. “I thought I'd never see you again.” Your Sirius. 

“Don't be upset,” he pleads. 

“How can I not be? I left you all alone for so long.” 

He laughs roughly. “Sweetheart, what were you supposed to do?” 

“Not just give up.” 

“You thought it was me. That's the only thing you could've done. Either of you,” he says, gesturing backward with his hand. “It was hard… to know who to trust, at the end. It's not your fault.” 

You really were only kids together, not half as in love as James and Lily, but that doesn't mean you weren't mad for each other. He looked after you. You would've had a life, you think. 

“You were just gone,” you say, looking down at the floor between you, eyes tracing lines of wood grain. “Everyone. There was nobody left. And I just let you go.” 

“Do you want to come here?” he asks. You lift your head. His hand is barely in front of him, fingers open, palm up. 

It's like taking a stranger's hand for the first few seconds. You keep them low between you both, unfamiliar to each other. But, you find, as his fingers wrap around yours in that selfish way they used to do, squeezing rather than intertwining to make all of them fit, he remembers you.

You step a little closer, your arm to his chest, and look up at him through your lashes. It would melt him like a candle near a furnace, this look. He'd be smug or seething about something and you'd sidle in to stand between his shoes, unsure of what to say but determined to be there for him. It's the same now.  

“What's wrong?” he asks under his breath. 

“I left you all alone,” you repeat. 

“It wasn't your choice, okay?” He smooths his free hand from your elbow to your upper arm. 

Molly says something to Remus. He chuckles and says something in return. Happier to admit it if it's only for Sirius’ ears, you say, “I'm really sorry, Sirius. I miss you every day.” 

“I miss you too,” he says. 

You push your arms around his waist and hide your face in his chest, feeling for the lines of who he used to be, the dip of his spine in his back or the soft cotton of one of his old t-shirts. You regret hugging him at all, until he puts his arm behind your head, a shaky breath released against your crown. 

I'm scared, he'd said. But I don't want you to be scared, okay? Barely twenty, he smelled of the sticky red powder on the end of matches after a night doing things he couldn't tell you about. You could tell him you loved him, and he you, but you weren't to discuss Order business. We'll be okay. 

But Lily–

Everyone's going to be fine. I promise. 

“You promised,” you say to yourself. Too quiet for him to hear, but he does. 

“I promised you so many things I'm not sure what one you mean,” he says with a disappointed laugh. 

You pull away, taking his face into two hands. “How do you feel?” you ask, ignoring the tremble working up from your wrists. 

“What?” His eyes are dark. 

“How are you? Did they– I mean, are you okay? Are you sick?” 

“Remus has patched me up. And Cordelia, the medwitch, you know her?” 

“I don't know anyone. I've been away.” 

He nods sadly. “Yeah. Well, you look the same.” 

“I don't.” 

“You do! You look the same,” —he almost sounds happy, his lips curling into a smile— “sweetheart. Sweetheart–” He closes his eyes. 

You push his hair behind his ears. “You don't look the same,” you confess, “you have wrinkles, right… here.” You touch the corners of his eyes. 

“You're still beautiful.” 

“Mm. You can't even see me.” 

“I don't need to see you. I knew you would be.” 

You rise up to kiss his cheek gently. “It's like you're back, like– like, I always felt like you were gone. And now you're home again. You are home, aren't you?” 

He covers your hand with one of his. “You're here, so–” 

You laugh together nervously. “Yeah, I'm here.” 

“I have stuff to do to make it right.” 

“Then we'll do it.” 

“Okay,” he says. He swallows a breath, and wraps you in a surprisingly tight hug. “Did you read my letters?” 

I don't want anything from you. Just to see you're okay. 

“I read them. I'm okay. Don't I look okay?” 

“You look perfect. Just like the last time I saw you,” he says. It startles you how suddenly he sounds like he did when you were young, his flirting drawl, voice velveteen. 

“Not like that,” you laugh. 

He pulls you as close as you can be, rough now, his arms solid around you. “I missed that,” he says, rubbing your back. “I forgot how you sound when you laugh.” 

You've led very different lives. “I didn't forget yours.” 

“You wouldn't. You love having things to hold against me.” 

You stroke his hair. “Maybe a little.” 

[stories-and-stars]

Traveling Liberators

Part 6 of Traveling Mages

Following the trail the next morning they did come across a small village, Guarded by high gates.

" Who goes! " A man yelled from the top of the gate.

" Is everything alright here? We're wizards" She called up. The old guard opened the gate as fast as he could. Eager to pull them inside.

" You've come for the job? Have you? " A shorter woman clapped her hands in front of them excitedly.

" Sure " Laxus said seeming to roll with it.

" Our saviors!" The near by villagers cried out.

" I'm y/n, This is Laxus " She thumbed to him.

" Mind running us through what's been going on?" She asks the man.

" I am chief Hikko, My wife is the village healer. Lovely woman, yes?" y/n smiled at his affection towards the woman.

" It started out as food or sheep going missing but escalated to damaged homes and travelers being attacked. We believe a group of bandits is holed up in ruins deeper in the forest, But any scouts sent out return with seeing no signs of any human life. The townspeople and traders have resorted to speculations of ghosts or supernatural causes, and stopped coming. We're losing all means of trade. We built these walls and I try to uphold the gate but what more can we try to do?" He grabbed his spear tighter. She could see he has never used it nor did he want to. This village must have always known peace and she intends to keep it that way.

" You need not defend your actions, What you've done for your people is admirable Chief. Please any other information you have, Let us know and we'll take care of it. On my honor" She placed her closed fist against her chest and bowed her head slightly. He bowed his in return and walked them around the small village, Introducing them to some of the others who could tell them more. They were invited for food with the chief and his family. A small fire and hearty meat stew warmed y/n to her bones, Her and Laxus' shoulders pressed lightly together. y/n laughed at something the chiefs wife said, The sound filling Laxus' mind and the corner of his lips lifting without his control. Liku, The chief's wife we'd asked her name, hands Laxus a cup.

" What is it? " He takes it in hand, It seems small in comparison.

" My strongest honey mead, for a big guy like you " Liku winks at y/n and her cheeks heat up. Laxus puts the cup to his lips and swigs some of it down. He lightly coughs from the sharpness of it,

" Now that is good " He and Liku laugh together. By the end of the evening he and Liku put down four glasses a piece, Acting feisty with one another and trying to see who can make a small ring onto a bottle. Both missing and insisting they won. After y/n and the Chief had laughed as much as they could take, The Chief bids his wife to retire for the night.

" How my wife can keep up with someone twice her size is beyond me " The chief laughs as he slings his wife over his shoulder.

" You two are welcome in any home of mine" Liku slurs over her husbands shoulder. y/n laughs to herself for a moment, She waves bye to the woman. Laxus is splayed on his ass, Jacket under him. She sits him up as he groans, Wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She gets him to his feet and leads him towards the tents they were given for the night. As she had him lay down trying to get his very heavy body onto the sleeping mat, She realized he was holding her close to him. She settled into his arms, Laying there for a moment with him,

" I need to get some sle-" He stopped her,

" Stay" He whispered to her. She nodded against his chest and slid to be next to him. She curled into his side and his arm rested against her back, Still a new feeling to her but a welcome one as she calmed into his warmth.

He woke up straining his eyes against the late morning sun, Some water and elixir next to the bed.

" Oh thank fuck for you y/n " He grabs the vial with heavy movements; Sitting up, He welcomes the relief the potion brings. The night's events coming back to him piece by piece, The games with Liku, The drunkenness, and why the tent smells so much like y/n; She stayed with him. She stayed with him with only a gentle ask, which wasn't his style either. How softly she'd infiltrated his mind staggered him for a moment. Pulling himself up, He looks out of the tent. y/n is nearby speaking with another villager and he walks over to them,

" And I'll take some of those as well " She finishes purchasing some meats and herbs. She smiles up at him, His eyes soften towards her.

" Thank you for the medicine " He pats her head as she swats his hand away, giggling.

" Chief said we can use the trail to the north, You ready? " She packed the wrapped food into her bag. He hummed in agreement and they set off towards the ruins. Keeping both their senses alert, He smells the ruins before they can see them. He diverts them into the forest and around the walls of what used to be the entrance. She follows close behind, Waiting to hear any signs of people within. They slow and crouch behind a grouping of bushes,

" Up there " She follows where Laxus is pointing, A man stands guard on what remains of the buildings walls. Seemingly normal but there is a black mist following his form as he moves. Laxus seeing the same,

" Both theories may be right " He says quietly. She nods and moves to go around the guard and continue along the outside walls, Finding more of the interior camp and its occupants. They seem to be gathering supplies and shipping them elsewhere; They are not consuming any of it. The workers, focused on loading the wagons, don't notice them slip into a curtained off room to the side. She starts searching while Laxus keep watch,

" Theres an operation going on, It's not just random bandits " She says flipping through papers. Realizing these bandits are completely unaware of their surroundings, Laxus relaxes against the wall.

" You smell really good " He teases her. She rolls her eyes and gibes back,

" Here? " She laughs lightly. Of all places to be distracted by one another.

" I can't help it " He smiles and looks back out the crack in the curtains.

" You find any helpful information yet? " He asks and notices quickly her erratic shuffling has stopped. He pushes himself from the wall, alert now.

" They're bane particles, They're made of them " The paper in her hand gives away her shaking, She places it down quickly.

" That explains things " He extends his hand to her and she places her still shaky hand in his, He squeezes her hand and keeps it still. The small pressure was reassuring to her and she smiles up at him.

" They can still be taken out though, The particles can't penetrate iron " She gathered her thoughts. Shuffling through a few more papers she finds what she needed and quickly sent the parchment and a written note to the magic council with a courier bird.

" The magic council will hopefully send a special enforcement unit to the dark guild responsible for these attacks. We'll handle the ones here " She looks to Laxus and he nods. Laxus grabs the edge of the curtain but she places her hand on his arm for a moment,

" If they release any particles, Don't let them touch you. They can't hurt me so just get out of there " She looks up at him and He nods, His brows furrowed. He pulls the curtain back and they walk out gaining their attention. She generates a magic circle and erects an iron rod near the group of men.

" Now " She looks towards Laxus. He generates a massive bolt of lightning and hits the rod, It amplifies the current and surges through the bandits. They seem to vanish and she hopes the voltage alone was enough to incinerate the particles but she can sense a small amount drifting through the air. Without thinking twice she uses the rod to lift Laxus and place him outside the ruins entrance. He hangs onto the bar but tries to tell her to stop, That he needs to help her. She shakes her head and holds the on coming bandit back with a second iron bar. She watches him find his footing outside the area and finishes fighting off the remaining guards. The air heavy with blackness but she knows they will eventually settle and absorb back into the ground. She makes her way to the entrance where a frustrated Laxus waits to pick a fight over her decision. She rounds the corner and Laxus lifts a finger to start but just as quickly reaches to catch her as she stumbles. Coughing, she falls into his chest.

" I didn't get my guard spell up fast enough before making sure you got out. I'm sorry - " She coughs again,

" But I'll be fine, I've dealt with this before " She dismissively waves her hand. He shakes his head and picks her up,

" That is never happening again y/n" He says sternly. She smiles and even in a weak state she taunts back,

" We'll see about that " She closes her eyes and rests against him. She'd lost consciousness but Laxus could still hear her heart beat and tried not to worry, It still beat strong. He would have to trust that she knew she could handle the small amount of particles she'd absorbed.

He makes the small trek back to the village, Finding the chief and Liku quickly.

" Liku, Please " His voice shows more worry than he'd meant to. She waves him towards a tent and he follows,

" In here quickly, What happened? " She asks and Laxus explains everything to her and the chief.

" You should all be safe again, y/n said she'll be fine but lost consciousness" He finished and Liku nodded.

" I gave her a healing potion, It will help speed up the process but her body will have to do the rest. She is strong and will be fine. " She pats Laxus on the shoulder and leaves the tent.

" You both have our deepest gratitude, I'll check back later " The chief bows and leaves the same. Laxus settles in next to her and places a hand against her cheek. She's still warm and some color has already come back. He shakes his head at the woman,

" You idiot " He smiles, Knowing damn well he would have done the same.

[babygirlispunk]

Summer Fling - PART FOUR

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: fun in the sun gets interrupted but Pedro has something new planned for you...

Warning: 18+ MDNI, drug use, oral (f receiving), fingering.

Word count: 5.6k oops

A/N: as always ily a milly to everyone sharing and liking the story, I look forward to writing this and posting for yall so enjoy 🧡

PREV - MASTERLIST - NEXT

"Why are you dressed like Adam Sandler?"

Standing at the doorway Syria eyes you up and down, looking at your borrowed outfit and last nights hanging over your arm, boots in hand. Pedro let you borrow a pair of his shorts and tee along with a pair of slippers provided by his hotel. You insisted on wearing your own clothes but he felt bad about you going commando in a dress when your underwear somehow slipped underneath the egregiously heavy and low couch.

"Jesus, is this couch made of cement?" you strain as you try to lift it up. "I'm starting to think you kicked them under there on purpose."

Pedro, already having given up with the couch, is rummaging through his luggage. He pulls out a pair of briefs and waves them your way. "Would you like purple or red?"

Rolling your eyes and also giving up on the couch, you slump down staring at the sunny city. Listening to him shuffle around behind, you look out the window seeing other people in the buildings across and wonder if you should be sitting naked in front of a large window.

"I'll just wear my dress, as long as I stay up straight, no one will see anything."

You rest your head back and look up to see Pedro looking down at you through his glasses with a goofy smile before your view is muffled when he drops some clothes on your head.

"I haven't had much trouble here with paps, but just to be safe. I'm sure you'd rather be snapped looking like a little boy than flash the world." The clothes slide down your face, allowing him to give you a smooch. "As pretty as it is."

You scrunch your face at Syria mockingly. "You know why."

Entering your shared apartment you bee line for the bathroom, Syria hot on your heels.

"The sex must have been life changing."You look great for someone who was munted last night."

You stop in your tracks to face her. "Trust me, my head is pounding."

"So was this a 'hit it and quit it' sitch? The way you were dancing together, I wasn't expecting you back for a few days."

"Me too." you say apprehensively.

"Did you have to sign an NDA?"

"No. I'm gonna shower now."

You try to make your way to the bathroom but Syria is eager to get answers out of you and is blocking your way.

"Erectile dysfunction?"

Your jaw drops in disbelief. "What!?"

"He is older... it's possible..."

"SYRIA! He didn't fuck me!" you say aloud, frustrated.

Before you can further explain yourself, there is a knock at the front door. Simultaneously turning your heads, you look at the door wondering who your uninvited guest is.

"I'll explain everything later okay? I have to shower and get ready."

You rush to the bathroom, letting Syria answer the door. You hear muffled conversation over the running water. It must be the postie with another one of Syria's thousands of online orders.

Wrapped in your towel, you leave the bathroom to your bedroom only to see a curly headed guest on your couch conversing with your room mate.

"I can't believe you left him out there to boil in the car, it's already 30 degrees out there!" she fakes being concerned, a very obvious snicker on her face.

"It's okay, I had air con. I just needed to use the bathroom."

While Pedro is looking your way, eyebrows raised by your lack of clothes and wet hair as if he hasn't seen you naked already, Syria is bouncing excitedly in her seat and you can only glare at her like a mother silently telling her child off.

"Well it's free now. I'll be ready soon." you awkwardly point to the steaming bathroom.

Levering himself off your couch, he makes his way to the bathroom, not before pulling your chin with his finger and kissing you. Once the door is shut, Syria is of course ogling you.

"A lot to unpack there." she says smugly.

"I'll pack your shit up and throw it out the window if you don't kick back." you whisper so Pedro can't hear you.

She throws her hands up in surrender, giggling maniacally.

Once you've changed into something beach appropriate, shorts and a top, you say your goodbyes to Syria and head back to Pedro's rental car. As you're placing your beach bag in the back seat you hear a rapid clicking sound in the distance. Your head whips around looking for the source but all you see are everyday people making their way.

"Maybe you should drive?"

"Huh?" Your attention is pivots back to Pedro.

"Not used to driving on the left side and you know the city better than me."

"It's weird how you drive on the right but it's wrong."

He sucks air through his teeth, holding back a smile. "I'm not even going to give you the satisfaction of a laugh. That was a horrible joke."

"Come on, you know it was funny."

He shakes his head, still holding in his laugh, gesturing you to take the driver seat. You do so not without him stealing another kiss from you, hand holding tight on your hip and the other cradling your face.

Slow, intimate... longing...

(For the vibe: Porcelain, Natural Blues and/or Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad? by Moby)

Windows down, warm breeze whipping through your hair and Pedro's ruffled curls, getting closer to the ocean and the smell of sea salt wafts into the car, the sun kissing your skin playfully, you are engulfed in a sense of freedom that only summer can summon.

You both bop along to music he has playing from his own playlist. Some Fleetwood Mac, Madonna, Pretenders, Moby and others. Driving along the esplanade, music pumping, the blue of the sky and the sparkle of the ocean connect on the horizon to your right and you peak Pedro admiring the view from your left peripheral.

When you arrive Pedro starts taking pictures of the view, even brining you in for a selfie together. Some goofy, some cute, you're glad he wants to memorialize your time together. You follow the path down the cliffs to the beach, passing a sign that catches Pedro's eye. You join him to see the hazard signs, wildlife info, beach history and acknowledgements.

"You are on Bunurong Country. Wominjeka. (Welcome)" He reads out. "What this?"

"It's an acknowledgement to Australia's Aboriginal People. The original custodians of the land along with the Torres Strait Islanders before it was... colonised."

"Oh that's cool that they do that."

"Its the bare minimum after what they've been put through..."

"Fuck the colonisers."

"Yeah, fuck them." You feel relieved that he understood your sentiments.

You tip toe your way through the scorching sand to find a spot near the water. Even though it was mostly families from the area that frequent this beach, Pedro suggested you two set your stuff somewhere more quiet. So you settled for a spot closer to the cliffs that close in onto the water.

Eagerly, wanting to be free from the confines of your clothes because it is quite frankly, boiling hot, you undress your self down to your bikini. Welcomed by the harsh rays of the sun, you reach into your bag for the sun screen and wasting no time to lather it on yourself. Looking over to Pedro, he has set his towel down and you feel yourself shy away as he watches you through his sunnies.

"Make sure you slip slop slap. The sun is pretty rough down here."

"Make sure I do what now?" he raises his brows high enough over his sunnies in confusion.

"Put sunscreen on?"

"So many weird words and sayings you have here."

You blow raspberries at him and continue lathering yourself down, squirting some into your hand and applying it to your chest making sure to be extra slow and meticulous reaching into the cups of your bikini. You hear him groan out a 'mierda' under his breath, leaning over and grabbing the bottle.

"Turn around, I'll do your back for you."

Seated on your knees, you face your back to him, so he can rub the sunscreen onto your back. His hands glide over with a nice level of pressure that feels like a massage making you purr with enjoyment. The pressure deepens as his thumbs press harder into your skin, closing your eyes and slouching your head down. His other hand lifting at your strap, you follow the feeling of his hand only for him to let go of it and snapping your skin giving you a sudden jolt, getting a titter out of you.

Hands move to your lower back, again, applying that nice pressure. His fingers skim at the hem of your bottoms almost tickling you, then grabs handfuls of you ass, diligently making sure to cover every part of them.

Once he's sure he is done, he moves in closer and hugs you from behind, pressing his hard on against your lower back. Lips next to your ears he whispers. "It's actually no fair how much you turn me on just from your existence."

"I'd be more than happy to help with that." you murmur back.

"Soon. But for now I need you to do my back too."

You swap positions and admire how lean and broad his back is, impressed with how well his taken care of his body over the years. Hands spreading across, you lather his back and make your way down. Sliding your fingers slightly under the hem of his shorts, you follow it around to the front, brushing the soft snail trail and just teasing to go lower before his hands move them away.

He was adamant on not letting you touch him. You start to feel like you might be coming on to him too strong and pushing his boundaries like a creep.

"What's wrong?" he asks when he notice your visible discomfort.

"Am I being too much? If me touching down there is uncomfortable for you, just tell me now and I'll stop. Just hard to tell when we keep feeling each other up." you feel slightly embarrassed.

He gives a soft laugh and kisses your forehead. "I like it, don't worry. Just keep it above clothes for now, okay?"

"Okay." you smile and nod back, now understanding where he stands but still unclear about his reasoning.

Not dwelling on the conversation, Pedro jumps to his feet and scoops you up in his arms, bridal style with a smile from ear to ear. Taking you by surprise, you squeal as he runs to the water. Hooking your arms around his neck not wanting him to drop you but you're soon startled by the cold as he plunges you both underwater.

Resurfacing, you gasp for air and rubbing hair and water away from your face, eyes slightly stinging. Pedro has his face half submerged in the water staring at you cheekily as bubbles pop around his face, giving off a boyish charm that keeps him looking younger than he is.

"The waters a bit fuckin' fresca." you say, splashing water at him that he chuckles away from.

Whipping his wet hair from his face, spraying you a little, he closes in to you for a hug. You're surprised by the warmth from his body, getting in closer, revelling in the friction as your goose bumped skin presses against each other. Wet and salty kisses are exchanged as water slaps around your enclosed bodies, sharing small moans into one another. You don't think you could ever get sick of kissing him.

"So tell me about yourself Soleada." he asks while grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist for better balance.

You had noticed every other time he had used that word for you. You just weren't sure what it meant and a bit shy to ask. He definitely knew your name, so he wasn't calling you someone else so you were curious why he kept calling you that.

"Sol... means sun... so-"

"Sunny or like sunshine." he intervenes your thought process.

"Why do you call me that?"

"Just have sunny disposition to you."

You blush from his compliment and look at him curiously, brushing the hair sticking to his forehead aside, wanting him to elaborate.

"You just seem like-like the type to really brighten up a room, like your presence c-could cheer anyone up and have that 'half glass full' type attitude. Yeah... like people would go to you, trust you. You have that type of vibe and would just have a natural attraction that people lo- gravitate towards."

"That... that's actually really sweet. Like such a meaningful compliment..." Feeling a warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest despite the cold waves slapping against your body, it's almost overwhelming how sentimental he is. "Thank you."

As the sun beats down and your body acclimates to the cold water, or just gone numb, you and Pedro never let go of your embrace as he listens to you talk about yourself while the waves pushed and pulled your bodies. You spoke of your career that you studied hard for and love to do despite the down days, you spoke of your family and your relationship with them, your friends and how you and Syria became besties in Uni despite your polar opposite personalities. He listened intently and asked questions, never turning the conversation onto himself, even keen to listen to mundane things like your favourite music and artists, movies, shows and what food you liked.

"-and I just really love the beach, you know? Growing up, I always had an affinity for the ocean. My family would call me a dolphin because I took every opportunity I could take to be in water. Even in the dead of winter I convinced my parents to let me swim in this outdoor pool." Pedro's lip quirks up, amused. "Regretted it of course, but you get the gist. Just felt like all my problems are gone when I'm in here. If I'm ever rich enough, I'd buy a nice boat and sail in some tropical archipelago country. Living off of the local islands and the sea."

"That would sound like a nice way of living."

"One can dream..."

After talking some more, you two finally decide to swim back to land and dry off. Walking towards your towels you notice some people, mainly girls and women looking your way. More so Pedro's way. You look at Pedro seeing if he's noticed but he's already getting himself comfortable on his towel, patting on yours to lay down with him.

Before you can say anything- "I noticed them. If they want to say hi, they will come. Otherwise I just go about my day."

Frowning at the thought of being a walking exhibit for the public, you think about when you kept gawking at him the first time.

You follow his lead and lay down on your stomach, ignoring the onlookers, pulling out a book to read while you soak some sun. Concentrating on the words on the pages, you're comforted by a hand placed on one of your ass cheeks. He just rests it there and you look at him, eyes closed and blinded by the sun with a lopsided grin, topped with wet curls frizzled on his head. You snort out a laugh and go back to reading your book.

If the waves and cawing seagulls weren't loud enough, you would've missed that clicking sound you heard before. It was faint but you could just make it out. Looking around through squinted eyes, trying to see where it is coming from you're distracted by a small group of girls making their way in your direction. You hope they are just heading for the cliffs to climb them. However, the hand resting on your ass slips away indicating he knows they're on their way.

"Hiiiiiiii. Sorry to bother you but can we get a picture with you? We're big fans!" A high pitched voice asks nervously.

"Of course." Pedro chimes.

The girls all huddle around him, each taking selfies with him. You admire him while he does his thing, impressed by how unbothered he seems by it. Guess he really does appreciate his fans. Though he does keeps his distance, holding his hands behind his back while posing. A few of the girls look your way and you just smile back not wanting to come off as hostile.

"Do you mind taking a group photo of us?" A blondie asks, slightly standoffish.

You nod your head and smile. Getting up, a phone is passed to you and watch as they crowd around him while Pedro stands in the middle of them. You press the button multiple times to make sure they have few to choose from knowing that one photo is never enough.

Once you're done, you hand the phone back to the girl and they finish off their praises and compliments to Pedro as he tries to humbly deflect them and thank them. Then they walk off, giggling amongst themselves.

"Hope you don't mind." he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his freckled chest.

"Nah, its cute seeing them get all excited to see you. And you're real sweet and attentive to them. All of them actually. Like that loser last night."

"Don't worry, I won't let them take all my attention away from you." his voice lowers and closes in to your face.

"It's all good, as long as you make it up to me." you flirt back, pouting your lips to invite him in.

He sees his invitation and accepts it, kissing you gently and you wrap your hands around his waist to feel his warm skin against your own.

Between pecks you ask, "Wanna check out the cliffs and rock pools? There's even a rocky pier we can climb to."

But again you here that sound that is so jarring against the sounds of nature and you notice the smile on Pedro face drop as well, jaw tightening and eyes stern. Looking over your shoulder, you see the source of the sound.

A guy holding a large camera and looking through the view finder was taking photos of Pedro. And you. Did this guy follow you all the way from your apartment? Fuck. You snap your head back to face away so the guy doesn't get a shot of your face. Having your face and identity plastered all over the internet was the last thing you wanted.

"Fuck me dead." You groan into Pedro's chest, knowing your time at the beach is now interrupted and invaded.

Pedro plants a kiss on your forehead for reassurance and starts packing up his stuff from the sand. "Time to go."

You stand there, annoyed, watching him pick up his stuff.

"We're just gonna let him ruin our day?" you pout.

"Trust me, he'll hover around and it won't be fun for either of us. I'm hungry anyways."

You reluctantly agree and pack up your belongings as well, placing your towel over your head to cover your face. You head back to the car, your hand in Pedro's as he lead the way and walking past the pap, who continues to snap away like you're some zoo exhibit.

When you pull up back to your place, you let out a big sigh, releasing the tension that had built up while you were driving and grovelling over the pap who cut your beach day short.

"So..." Pedro begins rummaging through his bag looking for something. "I was saving this for the beach but I guess having this now wouldn't be so bad."

He pulls out what you assumed was a rollie at first, only to realise it was bigger and more coned shaped. Your face drops and eyes widen when you realise.

"Is that bud?"

"Bud?" He quizzes back, again imitating your accent.

"Marijuana."

He nods seemingly proud of himself.

"You know that's illegal here right?" you utter in disbelief, glancing around the street to make sure no one is around. "Where did you even find that?"

"Some guy sold it to Nico that he met at a bar."

"Christ on a bike Pedro." you say it flat and he just shrugs a 'what'. "If its illegal here, that also means it's not regulated either! That shit could be laced!"

You have your fingers squeezing the bridge of your nose at the absurdity that he'd just buy some bud from a random. A random that could have also been an undercover jack.

"Oh it's safe. I already had some the other day."

All you can do is stare at him, deadpan, blinking rapidly in shock.

"I'm guessing you haven't tried it before. If you don't feel like it, I get it."

Eye flicking between the joint and Pedro's face, you think about it. There had been times you wanted to try it but never felt quite comfortable to do so. Especially knowing how messed up drugs can be, being unregulated here. But Pedro said it was fine, and he was experienced with it so there wasn't really anyone else you could trust more.

"Fuck it." You huff, rolling down the windows so you don't hotbox yourselves.

He lights it up, taking in a few puffs so it stays lit. The smell is strong and you start to get nervous, looking around to see if anyone is near or walking past. Especially keeping an eye out for that pap.

Pedro passes the joint to you but pauses. "Are you sure?"

Before you can chicken out, you grab it from him and place it between your lips. Inhaling it like you would a cigarette, you are taken aback by how rough it felt in your throat causing you to choke and cough aggressively. You shove it back to Pedro so you don't accidently drop it during your coughing fit.

He laughs playfully as you struggle, while patting you on the back sympathetically. Looking at him through teary eyes, his face is framed by a haze filling the car. You try to come off as intimidating for laughing at you, squinting your eyes at him but as he nods his upside down smile and raised eyebrows indicate you might already look high.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." you lie, head already spinning. Taking the joint back to take a another puff, more slowly this time as to not cough your guts out.

Eventually you get used to smoking the joint but Pedro makes sure to have the majority of it so you don't have too much on your first go. You feel as stiff as a rock, sinking into your chair while simultaneously feeling airy and like you could float out the car. You're becoming more aware of your surroundings, eyes darting around scoping the area and can feel every fibre of your clothes against your skin, you're even a little nauseous. When did it get so bright and loud around here? You don't even notice Pedro getting out of the car till he opens your door, putting the window back up and placing his hand in front of you to take.

"Let's get something to eat." his voice is low and scratchy from the smoke, bringing a giggle out of you because you find it hot.

You're not sure how you look to the public, but you're sure it's silly because you can't seem to the get rid of the smile spread across your face. Your cheeks hurt from laughing at nothing and everything as you two walk down the street to a local burger shop. Your mind is elsewhere and you can't even comprehend most of what Pedro is trying to say to you and you just giggle and nod in response repeatedly.

"You're being real cute right now you know." he whispers to you. His words are soothing and you nuzzle into his shoulder, taking in a deep inhale of his scent. That sweet musky scent that smells extra enticing right now.

Feeling his body come to a halt, you look around realising you had reached the end of the street in front of the burger shop. You scramble through your brain trying to remember how you got here so fast. You were just at the start of the street a second ago? Right?

Pedro speaks to the cashier and places his order.

"I swear we were still at the start of the street." you mumble.

Pedro chuckles, motioning you to the cashier. "Order what you want."

After squinting at the menu for some time, you tell the cashier what you want and he tallies up the price. "That'll be twenty-six forty, thank you."

You look over to Pedro to make sure he doesn't pay and thankfully he is distracted by a fan behind you in line. You peep into your purse and pull out 2 tens and hand it to the cashier before looking through your purse again to find the other ten note you swear you had.

"Here's your change, your order will be ready soon."

You look at the change in his hands disoriented and confused. "No no, I was suppose to give you another tenner."

"You gave me thirty dollars Miss." the cashier insists.

"No I only gave you twenty, just let me find the other-" you don't know why but you feel slightly panicked.

A pair of hands grab your shoulders. You hear Pedros voice thank the cashier who is smiling awkwardly back at you, grabbing the change and moves you to the side so the next person can order.

"I swear to God I only gave him twenty and I swear I had three tens in here." you ramble on as Pedro places the change into your purse.

He cups your face and lifts it up to look at him, immediately entranced by his deep brown eyes, that cheek aching smile forming back on your face.

"You're just really high right now Soleada." You shake your head aggressively not believing him. "Thank you for paying, but next time I'm paying okay?"

"How un-feminist of you." You joke.

He fakes laughs and rolls his eyes, squeezing your shoulder playfully and holds onto your swaying body while you wait for your order.

After comically scoffing down your burger, munchies coming in full charge, you walk back (more so Pedro is leading you back by hand like you're a lost child with your scattered brain) to your apartment needing to rest as the weed starts to really set in heavy.

"Syria?" You call out as you open the door. The room is quiet and there's no response. She must be out. Letting Pedro in, you lock the door behind you. "Looks like we have the pl-"

Back pressed hard against the door, you're almost winded by the sudden movement as Pedro leans his body into yours, hungrily kissing you. Your heart skips a beat, mind and body catching up with the moment and returning the feeling, kissing him back as deep as you can, desire immediately pooling your underwear.

The door shakes from the weight of your bodies desperately pressing into each other, your core yearning for the feeling of his hardening cock rubbing up against you.

Still high, the feeling of his hands grazing up and down your skin blazes with intensity you haven't felt before. You follow the fire trail down to the hem of your shorts, fingers roughly pulling them down along with your bikini bottoms.

He doesn't waste a second to slide his fingers through your folds, wetting them with your slick. Your breathe hitches when his finger tips find themselves on your clit, applying a soft pressure while circling slowly. You buck your hips forward to pressed harder against his fingers.

"Need. You. Now." he growls between hasty kisses.

You mewl in agreement, relishing in the most simple action; feeling tens times more pleasurable then if you were sober. He sweeps you off the floor, hooking his hands underneath your thighs and you wrap your legs and arms around him.

Sounds of furniture getting knocked and giggles echo in your empty apartment while he walks blindly to your room never letting go of the kiss. Stopping at the end of your bed, Pedro gently lowers you down.

Slivers of the sun shine on your body through the slatted shades on your window and he gazes down on your body, watching you slip your top off and undoing your bikini strings, eyes heavy with lust, licking his lips, breaths shallow.

Your heart rate accelerates when he lowers on top of you, one hand placed firmly beside you and the other tightly griping your hip, his thumb applying pressure into your pelvis. Haphazardly kissing up your neck, you wrap your legs back around to bring him closer and he grinds into you.

"So needy Soleada." he whispers into your ear, each roll of his hips into you building the tension.

Realising he is still at the end of the bed, you try to squirm up to make space for him to get on, anticipating what is to come but his grip on your hip holds you in place. You keep trying to wriggle underneath him so he'd get the hint but instead it just create more friction against your clit as he grinds on you, small whimpers slipping out of you.

He starts sliding down you, leaving a line of kisses down your chest. Watching him slowly leave wet spots along your torso, he gets on his knees. You hold yourself up onto your elbows to watch him continue to kiss around your mound, getting softer the closer he gets.

"Fucking tease." you say, sounding more like a beg than in annoyance of how he keeps edging you.

He reaches one hand for your nipple, rolling it between his fingers and nibbles at your thigh in response and your lips press together hard in a moan.

Lifting both your legs over his shoulders, he brushes his lips down your thigh and finally reaches onto your clit, throbbing and waiting for him. Expecting him to tease you further, you whine when his mouth takes you whole and his tongue swirls around your clit. Your head falls back at the welcome surprise.

Even with how gentle he is being, the sensation is already buzzing through your body from the added high off weed. Light headedness building as he laps his tongue around, down to your entrance tongue fucking you and up again, moaning into the extra sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Never... felt... like this... before." you struggle to speak while breathless.

Your moans deepen as you lift your head back up to look at him to see that he is already looking up at you while his mouth his planted firmly devouring every bit of you. You feel your pussy pulse from the intense but soft look, his signature puppy eyes putting you in a hazy trance.

As he continues to suck, lick and kiss you, it becomes a warm comfort making you languid. Lulling you and your body relaxing, you lay back down with your hand reaching to play with his hair with your eyes closed and whispering sweet praises to Pedro.

It just felt so perfect, you could lie there with his head deep between your thighs and eating you out for hours. Your body starts to sink into the bed, getting dozy.

"No falling asleep just yet beautiful."

His hot breath tickles against your exposed skin, you hum in delight only for you to gasp a moan when you feel fingers firmly pushed inside of you. Applying more pressure and speed with the point of his tongue now, you hold tight on his hair as he fingers you rhythmically.

He keeps the pace going as your legs begin to shake from the growing pleasure bubbling up inside you, moans and whimpers getting louder and more frequent. Both of your hands gripping onto his locks and your legs using his back as leverage, you pull him in closer while bucking your hips up so you can ride his face, getting closer to that high.

Pedro pumps faster inside you, curling his fingers and hitting in just the right spot, your lungs are burning for oxygen as you continue to moan, borderline sob at the unbearable pleasure that is begging to be released as you pelvis grinds harder into his mouth and your stomach goes taut.

"Soleada. Come for me."

On command, you let go of all the built up arousal inside you, moaning his name out loud. Your body slackens and simultaneously shudders from bliss, eyes shut tight, stars flashing. Pedro stops fingering you, arms wrapped around your legs and still licking your clit helping you ride your orgasmic wave.

Once silence settles and your breathing evens out, Pedro climbs on top as your body occasionally spasms. He pecks you on your satisfied smile, praising how delicious you taste, how beautiful you are and that he can't enough of hearing you moan his name.

"That was definitely a first." you happily sigh, words slurred and eyes heavy.

He climbs further up the bed and hoists you up to your pillows like a rag doll. Covering you with your throw blanket, he tucks himself behind you and wrapping his body around yours, nose nuzzled into you.

Sweet hums and kisses along your neck and shoulders comfort you, drifting into sleep...

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[neuroprincess]

Weekend in the Hamptons - Alex Cabot/Female Reader

Alex Cabot/Female Reader

Summary: A family weekend brings good surprises for Y/N, for Alex too. Or, Y/N finally meets Alexander Cabot.

Classification: Fluff

Warnings: Reference to past depression

Word count: +3700

Meeting the parents of your loved one is an important event, especially when you are in a queer relationship, which is exactly why Y/N feels nervous as her long-time girlfriend drives down the beautiful tree-lined road on a late Friday afternoon. The sun among the leaves hitting her pale face, reflecting off the dark glasses and leaving cheeks flushed. Growing up in New York, specifically in Manhattan, Alex never required or felt the need to get a driver's license, but recently the idea of taking the other woman to places or just strolling together beyond the city encouraged her. So she obtained one and is now driving for the first time beyond the block from their apartment.

"You seem nervous." she comments as she turns the steering wheel right "My dad isn't a seven-headed monster, I swear, he changed a little after mom died. Just a little… stiff… eccentric? He'll love you."

"I'm not so sure about that." Y/N whispers and tries not to stare at her, admiring the scenery around "Will Mr. Cabot like the mint liqueur?"

"It's his favorite, don't worry." they stare at each other and the blonde smiles "We're coming soon, take a deep breath and everything will be fine."

"Alex…"

"Sweetheart, the fact that I love you will already make him love you too."

In a few minutes the car parks in front of a two-story house, tall and cozy looking, there are large windows, white details framing the structure and a beautiful well kept garden, trees surrounding it. It's a pleasant, but intimidating sight. The Cabot family is wealthy by heritage and work, they are judges, lawyers, businessmen, deans and even art curators coming from a cradle with renown, raised for greatness. It was no surprise to Y/N when her girlfriend told her that they had a house at the address synonymous of money, but that Alexander Harrison Cabot himself invited and insisted on having Y/N, a simple paralegal, to spend a family weekend in Hamptons. This was a great surprise.

"You are amazing and kind…" Alex turns off the car and begins talking to her girlfriend, joining their hands together as they look at each other tenderly.

"Ah!" both shout in fright as a bang on the passenger side window disrupts the moment, Y/N turns around to find a gray haired, unshaven and blue eyed gentleman staring at her through the glass, hands above his forehead shielding him from the sun, wearing a blue striped polo shirt (similar to those bowling ones) and white shorts, full of pockets. Not the sight she expected, none of them to be honest. The younger nods and tries to smile "Honey, he doesn't look anything like you described." she manages to say between an awkward smile.

"Believe me, I am equally surprised as you are."

When they get out of the car they soon find themselves being hugged by him a triple hug, it's warm and friendly, he even messes up his daughter-in-law's hair nonchalantly. The ADA stares at the scene not understanding anything, her dad, even in the heat, would dress more formally like a light social t-shirt and not so flashy shorts, suddenly he has turned into her grandfather who spent afternoons fishing. And Alexander had never been so receptive with someone, even she had never been hugged like that before.

"I am Alexander, it's a pleasure to meet you, beautiful lady. And you, I bet, must be Y/N?!" he grabs her hand and brings to his lips in an unexpected courteous gesture "My daughter told me a lot about you. Welcome!"

"Thank you, Mr. Cabot! Very kind of you…"

"No no no no, just call me Alexander." he winks and turns to Alex "My girl, even at that age you still are the little girl I taught to sail. Y/N, did you know that? She couldn't drive, but she learned to sail at 9 years old. Which brings me the surprise of seeing her behind the wheel of a car."

The man bombarded them with questions and little facts, animatedly pouring out word for word right there in the parking lot. Excited to meet the woman who conquered and entered his daughter's closed heart, he had waited so long for this moment, knowing about her existence gave him a glimmer of hope after all that had happened in the past few years. The death of his beloved Madeleine months after their only child was supposedly murdered, then her return was the breath of fresh air that brought him back to life and brought him out of the depression he had been sinking into for over a year. When Alex, who usually doesn't make first contact, called and said there was something important to say he didn't care that the person she loved was a woman, that she wasn't of the same social status and even less that she was younger. It's his daughter's person and that's what matters to him, that this person makes her happy, feel loved and appreciated.

"Come, come in." Alexander signs with hands for them to come in through the front door "I've prepared a dinner, I hope you like chicken." he says to the girl as she walks through the door, followed by her girlfriend "Your grandmother's recipe." and cheerfully completes for her "I'll get the suitcases."

"No need, daddy. I got it." the two begin to argue at the front door about who will get the suitcases in the trunk of the car, so Y/N realizes that stubbornness runs in the family, after three long minutes of debating they come to the conclusion that they each bring a suitcase "I'll get the one belonging to my woman." she says grabbing the bigger suitcase.

"Of course!" he closes the compartment and smiles surprised to hear his daughter call her partner like that, she, who always was closed off, would never refer to someone in that way unless she really loved her "She's lovely and kind, you two are great together."

"Yes, she is."

The three are gathered around the round dining table, the glass door behind them open bringing a draft of cold air and the beautiful view of the garden with a large pool. The sun is setting a little later than usual, taking a while to get dark. The glass bowls are in the center, it's a vast menu of salads, meat and some desserts, the man has made everything to be sure it pleases the girl.

"I have a lasagna in the oven if you prefer." he says cutting a piece of chicken breast and placing it on her empty plate "But first try this one, it's my mom's recipe, Mary Cabot. Alex's middle name came from her, so we named her Alexandra Marie."

"It's a classic name."

"Of course, that's why my wife loved it, I wanted to named her Leigh or Claire, but my favorite choice was Margot. You know, women boss, when we thought we would have a boy wanted to call him Alexander II, but then a nice surprise came and Madeleine wished to keep it for her." he puts his hand on the daughter's shoulder fondly remembering her birth and the little battle to choose a name for her, eventually honoring him and her grandmother at the same time "She was the longest baby in the maternity room that day, the chubbiest too."

"Daddy, don't embarrass me like that." she puts a hand to face and blushes, trying not to face her girlfriend laughing at the conversation "And when did you learn to cook? Where is Helen?" the absence of the family housekeeper who always accompanies them is strange.

"She retired, end of last year. Just like me, that's why I learned to cook, I wanted to do new things. I learned to cook, I learned to skate, bought new clothes, even read the Harry Potter books. And I'm learning carpentry, look near the pool."

Alex narrows her eyes and Y/N lifts the neck curiously, trying to find whatever it was where he points with a finger, there is a small pile of cut dark wood, tools and what looks like add-ons for the thing.

"What is that?" the blonde asks confused and sips the wine, having no idea what it could be.

"A playground!" he announces happily and as if it was obvious to guess.

"WHAT?" she almost screams spitting the wine on the white tablecloth unintentionally "Why? There have been no children in our family for years."

"My future grandchildren." now it's Y/N's turn to spit out the wine "Apparently you aren't planning that yet…. Or are you?" they stare at him in disbelief "I mean, you already have 40, my daughter. I'm not pressuring you, it's just… the last few days I've caught myself imagining some kids running around the garden. Spending weekends as a family, maybe me teaching them to sail too, I just…"

"It's okay, Mr- Alexander!" the younger smiles trying to reassure him "Well, Alex and I haven't planned anything concrete about, but don't worry. It looks like a great creation."

"I'm improving my skills, but Edward and Patrick from the club will come and help me finish."

"My children are not going to play on a playground set up by those two, they always have their shoes switched every time I see them." Alex argues.

"It's their cataracts, but they are great at carpentry, even made a bird box."

"What if they nail their own hands? Or leave a nail loose and my children end up getting hurt?"

The third person in the room just stared at them while they started another debate, so she understood from whom Alex inherited many characteristics and qualities she possesses, which make her an outstanding lawyer. Both are good with words, stubborn and know how to contest like no one else, even a completely hypothetical situation that would be her children and his grandchildren. Y/N was amused as she finished eating the meal, trying a little of each thing until she realized she had eaten too much.

"Okay, I'll hire a professional carpenter to help me…" the man begins to dictate what was agreed between them.

"And you have to set it up away from the pool, maybe near that tree."

"Perfect! Which gives me the idea of a swing and maybe a tree house, with a slide." he adds.

"Too high for a slide, actually too high for a tree house."

"I can build lower." then the two reach a middle ground and smile, shaking hands to close agreement "Always good to deal with you Cabot."

"I say the same, Cabot." the blonde turns to continue eating only to realize how entertained she has become in this hypothetical debate that her girlfriend is already eating the dessert "It happened again. Oops."

"You mean this is common?" the younger asks confused.

"Yes!" they answer in unison "Since I was a kid, dad was my first worthy opponent."

"That's cute." she comments without thinking, eyes full of sweetness staring at both father and daughter, admiring the relationship.

"You didn't think we are… weird?" Alex asks incredulously.

"Or eccentric?" he looks even more incredulous.

"Or nerdy?"

"Nothing like that, just cute." she shrugs and takes another spoonful of ice cream.

The evening was quiet, no more debates beyond the playground for hypothetical children. After dinner Alexander led them to a guest room on the second floor, Alex's old room from her childhood travels and now completely renovated, looking larger than she remembered. It had been decorated in white, birch and shades of light blue. It's decorated with marine items like ships in glass bottles, seashells, sculptures of sea animals and paintings of beach landscapes. Hanging above the bed had been placed a framed picture of a hand painting of the Cabot family sailboat, named Arabella. The ADA pretended not to be surprised or delighted by what he had done, but once her father closed the door wishing them a good night she ran to the bookcase to get the seashells, recognizing them as those she had collected during the course of her life, which she had picked up on trips with her parents. It was one of the few moments when she could be just Alex or Lexie, as her mom affectionately called her, walking down the sandy lane hand in hand with both of them, looking for little colorful things together, this is how she became a collector of seashells, at least until age 15 when the memories of a more tender childhood gave way to thick books and piles of certificates. Alexander kept them all, even when she said he could throw them away. When she realized she was being watched coughed falsely and left the decorations in place, turning to girlfriend, kissing her affectionately.

"I told you he would love you."

Saturday is sunny, the heat hits the clear room and reaches Alex's naked back, the burning bothering the sensitive skin making her fully awake. The woman grumbles and extends her arm across the other side of the bed, only to find the sheets bare and smooth. She uses her elbows to sit up in bed and searches Y/N around the room, but there is no sign of her presence, the house is also silent. When she looks at the alarm clock on the bedside she is startled by the time, never on a normal day would she allow herself to wake up 1pm, she hasn't slept this late or this much in years. The night before she went to bed right after dinner, exhausted from working all day at the courthouse advancing paperwork and still driven, a short trip that knocked her out. The ADA gets up quickly, rushing to shower and get dressed for the day, opting for an unprinted white t-shirt, jeans and a comfortable slipper.

"Hey, where were you two?" Alex asks as she sees her dad and girlfriend walking through the garden door, she seems to laugh at something the man said.

"Your dad took me to lunch, we didn't want to wake you up. You looked so tired." Y/N approaches and deposits a kiss on the blonde's temple "Good morning, honey!"

"Good morning, sweetheart!" she murmurs and is about to kiss her on the lips as they do every morning when she remembers being in her dad's presence, then pulls away and blushes.

"You can kiss your woman, Alex." Alexander laughs and leaves some bags on the table "We brought you something to eat, we also got you your favorite ice cream."

"What time did you wake up?"

"Early, had coffee and went shopping, ended up at that restaurant you love." he reports cheerfully "Your girlfriend is great company."

"You are two traitors." she laughs and pulls Y/N to herself, making her sit on the lap "What are the plans for today?"

"We can go to the beach, maybe have dinner somewhere or go to Ed's house, the guys called you for a poker night."

"No way."

"Alex, please…" Y/N pouted and made puppy dog eyes, knowing the woman couldn't resist that.

"Okay." she rolls her eyes reluctantly accepting.

 "How about that one?" the younger asks running along the shore of the beach, picking up something colorful partially covered by the sand "It's orange."

"It's beautiful." the blonde smiles and takes the shell in her hand, admiring the coloring "You officially got your first seashell."

They exchange a quick kiss and continue walking around with their hands together, Alex holding a small children's bucket where what they find are being placed. There are a few shells, but the bottom is filled with different colorful stones they found along the way, the ADA carefully places the new addition on top. Alexander walks in front of them, admiring the scenery.

"I confess I never imagined you were someone who likes the sea." Y/N comments opening a silly smile, managing to materialize the image "Always surprising me."

"I think I got so caught up in my role in the troubled and stressful city life for so long that I almost forgot that part about myself. I'm sorry."

"For what?

"I don't know, maybe for not telling you." they stop walking and stare at each other for a millisecond, she embarrassed, Y/N confused.

"Alex, there's no reason for you to apologize, plus I love finding out new things about you." the younger smiles and takes her girlfriend's hand to lips, kissing the palm of the hand while looking at her lovingly "And each thing I find out makes me fall in love with you even more."

Before Alex could answer the man calls them over, pointing to a pair of shells brought in by the water, a white with blue larger and a slightly smaller yellow one. He picks them up off the ground and lifts the shells to show them.

"It's you two!" Alexander says running up to them "The big one is Alex, the color is reminiscent of your eyes. And you, Y/N, are the yellow one. Your aura has that color." he puts the shells in the bucket and runs back to where he was, looking for more shells.

"I used to think so, but now I'm pretty sure, my dad hit the head and changed his personality." Alex whispers and faces him, she had never seen him this way before "Like in those movies you make me watch."

"And that you like. Let's go, before we lose him on the beach."

They found some more shells and went home to take a bath after enjoying their day at the beach. The Cabots were the first to get ready, while Y/N finishes getting ready in their room. Then Alex sees her father neat and tidy again, he is wearing a social blouse and decent shoes, his hair is perfectly styled, beard trimmed, just like she always saw him before.

"I wanted to give you something, I never thought I would pass it on, but here it is…" Alexander pulls out of his pants pocket a small dark green velvet box "This is the ring my father used to propose to my mother, your grandparents. And when I saw how you and Y/N look at each other I knew instantly that it must belong to you."

"Daddy… I…"

"And I may have seen your research history on the laptop unintentionally when I borrowed it." he confesses and steps closer, handing the box into his hands "I would love to have her in the family."

"Thank you, daddy."

"Ah, here she is!" he announces turning his daughter around so that the younger can't see what's in her hands "Look, dear, your girlfriend looks beautiful…"

"Yes…" Alex is awestruck when Y/N comes out of the room dressed in party clothes, it's delicate, the outfit fits her body perfectly, each cut, measurement and the color, her favorite, highlights her as if she were glowing "Sweetheart, you look amazing!" she says approaching.

"I know, your dad bought it for me, in fact he insisted on paying for it."

"I couldn't leave the store without buying, her eyes sparkled seeing the window display." he says excitedly "I already made reservations at that seaside restaurant."

"I forgot to use perfume…" Y/N remembers and rushes back to the room, also to do some touch ups, that place is extravagantly chic, like the places her girlfriend takes her on special dates. She doesn't want to look out of place.

"It's for in half an hour, two places."

"I thought you were going with us." Alex frowns and faces him "You arranged the whole thing, didn't you?"

"Maybe so, I hope you two enjoy the evening. If you want we'll still have poker night afterwards, otherwise the house is all yours, the pool too. I have my plans too." Alexander winks and nods to the girl leaving the room, adjusting her outfit "You look perfect, beautiful lady."

"Thank you, Alexander." her cheeks turn rosy.

"Excuse me, girls. Edward broke the poker table, so I'm going over to help him fix it until the game, enjoy the restaurant for me." he grabs his jacket from the armchair and quickly puts it on without giving time for a reaction "See you later, dear. Take good care of Y/N. And Y/N, take good care of my girl. Oh, I'm bringing the mint liquor for the night, I love the treat."

"Right!" they reply in unison and look at each other as the man hurries out the door.

"I have to say…" Alex begins to speak, letting out the breath she barely realized she was holding, and places a hand on her girlfriend's waist "You look incredibly stunning today, you are beautiful every day, but today you shine. I am so lucky to have you as my woman." then kisses her gently, hands running up to reach her face and caresses with fingertips "And I can't wait to get these clothes off of you."

"And I your clothes, you look fucking sexy."

"Dirty mouth!"

"You love my mouth."

"You're right…"

They smile and walk to the door holding hands, fingers intertwined, Alex's thumb caressing the soft skin. The blonde stares at her girlfriend, the hair, clothes, the body she loves every part and small details, the gentle face with a smile that makes her melt, but nothing makes her weaker than the Y/E/C eyes that always make her body quiver passionately. Every single thing about Y/N delights her, her personality, dedication, how sweet and understanding she can be but also a beast to protect her, how they can be very different in some ways to the point of complementing each other, just as they share many characteristics and passions. She sighs after closing the passenger door, watching the younger settle into her seat through the glass and puts her hand in the coat pocket, feeling the soft little box against the fingertips. She moves the object and smiles. When she got in the car the day before the idea was still being seeded, but one day spent together away from everything was enough for ADA to know that she is the right woman and maybe her dad's, suddenly invasive, little push gave her the courage she needed. A simple family weekend in the Hamptons suddenly turns into plans to make Y/N a Cabot putting the family ring on her finger. Y/N Cabot. Alexandra Cabot's future wife.

[breakfastteatime]

Comfortember Day 12: Dreams

Water presses against him, fills his ears.  

Cal jolts, eyes springing open. Overhead is a bright blue sky. That can’t be right. Doesn’t feel right. He sits up, sinking slowly into the soft sand beneath the water. Far, far away he sees a beach and a figure waving and shouting. He knows her. He does. Who is she?

Someone moves at his side, the water splashing.

Cal watches a young man run past him and toward the beach. There’s something familiar about him too. Cal gets to his feet and hurries after him. Maybe he can explain what happen. Either him or the woman calling out on the beach.

Except Cal never makes it to the beach. The people shatter like glass and drift away, the world fading into –

Water presses against him, fills his ears.  

Cal jolts, eyes springing open. Overhead is a bright blue sky. That can’t be right. Doesn’t feel…

“I’ve done this before,” he whispers.

He looks over, sees a young man, probably his own age, flat out in the water beside him, eyes closed, grinning up at the sun. Facing the beach, Cal sees the tiny figure waving and shouting.

“Hey,” Cal calls, reaching out. “Hey, I think – ”

His hand passes through the other man.

The man’s eyes open and he sits, the water splashing. “Yeah, yeah, alright, I’m coming!”

Cal knows him. He knows his face. But there’s something different. Something…

…animated?

This time, Cal tries to keep up, make it to the beach, but…

Water presses against him, fills his ears.  

Cal jolts, eyes springing open. Overhead is a bright blue sky. That can’t be right. He was…

“I’ve done this before,” he whispers.

More than once. He takes a deep breath, ignores the sound of a person beside him. He needs to remember what he was doing before this. Right before.

Inside. He’d been inside. With the others. Stuck during a storm. Invited into a home. Log cabin. Simple. Homely. Welcomed to the table. Greez helping with the cooking. BD scanning. Merrin and Cere speaking with the friendly homeowner – Dyla. She’d taken pity on them, told them it was too dangerous to go back to their ship. Talk. They’d all been talking, until Cal was called upstairs, the Force insistent. A room. Medical equipment. A figure on the bed. Young. Unconscious. Shimmering.

An echo.

The man was an echo. And now, Cal is inside the echo. Not hearing. Not merely watching. Not even seeing it from within the man’s perspective. He is inside the echo. He is himself within in the memory, in the past.

“This is new,” Cal tells himself.

He can’t let the echo loop again. There must be more.

Cal looks. The man gets up, calls out, runs for the beach. This time, Cal goes with the flow, doesn’t allow the echo to reset. He pushes through, follows through, and this time when the people disperse and the beach fades to white, everything coalesces anew and suddenly he’s back in the cabin they’ve taken shelter in, except he’s in the past with its hazy, dreamlike quality, and standing ahead of him is the young man, arms held up, with Dyla aiming a weapon at him. Instinct tells Cal to get in between them. Before he can move, the pair burst into laughter, the man turns and walks through Cal, passing by like a warm breeze.

The scene replays.

Cal swears. He needs to get the hang of this, follow the man’s memory, not get stuck in it.

Not get lost.

He tunes in, hears the pair properly this time.

“It’s going to work perfectly,” Dyla says. “No one’s going to see us coming. No one knows about us. You go to work, same as always, we come in and launch the surprise attack, take you hostage and you let us in. No one will suspect you because why would they? You being such a loyal soldier.”

The past moves on, and Cal’s there, in the Imperial outpost they’d taken care to avoid today, staring at a stormtrooper with his arms raised, Dyla aiming a weapon at him, a crowd of others behind her.

“Give us what we want, and no one gets hurt!” Dyla bellows.

The stormtrooper – the young man – opens the door and beyond is a prisoner transport. Dyla and her people rush aboard, start freeing people, start –

The echo shifts. A firefight. Prisoners versus stormtroopers. Cal sees Dyla. Sees the fear on her face. It’s all gone wrong. Cal knows exactly which stormtrooper is the young man, can see him a sea of white.

Sees a prisoner behind him. Sees the prisoner holding a weapon – a slugthrower.

The prisoner doesn’t know he’s aiming at an ally.

He lines up the shot.

Fires.

The slug cuts through the helmet.

The young man drops.

The crowd moves past him, the fight heading beyond the prison. Dyla alone remains. Her, and Cal. He joins her at the man’s side, sees that despite the terrible headwound, he’s still alive. He’s still –

The echo fades and they’re back in the water, back on the beach. The echo has looped again. Cal sits, turns to the man, reaches for him.

The man looks at him, stares in confusion. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

No one ever noticed Cal in an echo before. No one. This man, this rebellious stormtrooper, is trapped within it. Stuck in his own past, going around and around and –

Cal holds out a hand. “Come with me. Come back. Dyla’s waiting.”

Their hands connect. The echo ends. Cal is back in the cabin, hand closed around the young man’s. The young man who is staring up at him from his nest of medical equipment. Cal’s head gives a nauseating thud. He can’t be sick. Can’t be. Not on this poor guy he just woke up. He takes a deep breath. “I’ll go and get your, uh, your – ”

“You were in my head.” The man’s voice is a whisper. “My memory. And now you’re here. How?”

The door opens. Dyla is there, staring first at Cal, and then at her partner in the bed. She rushes forward.

“You’re awake!” she cries out. “I never… I never thought it would…”

He reaches for her, hand trembling. She grabs it, sits on the bed, kissing his fingers.

Cal backs away, finding a wall to lean against. His head throbs, the migraine gaining strength. He’d never, not once, done that before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb him.”

She looks up at him. “You’re joking, right? Dev’s been in a coma for months. You woke him up. The doctors said he would never –” She trails off, stares at him, wonder in her eyes. “What are you?”

He’s going to be sick, that’s what he is. He rushes out of the room, almost crashes into Cere, finds the cabin’s refresher and just about makes it in time. A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door and Cere calls out. She steps in, crouches down by his side. “What did you do?” she asks.

He holds up a hand, begging for silence. He’s not ready. His head is in a vice, brain slowly crushing under the pressure.

Cere’s voice is next in his head, soft and soothing. It’s alright, she tells him. We’re still safe here. I’ll be back for you.

She slips out once again. The only sound is the rain lashing the refresher window. Cal sinks to the refresher floor, eyes closed, the cold tile the most soothing thing he’d ever experienced in his whole life. Slowly, surely, the nausea backs off and the migraine steadies. He sits up, massaging his head. He wishes he hadn’t left his sunglasses aboard the Mantis. They’d really come in handy right about now. Instead, he gets to his feet and washes off in the sink. When he steps out, Dyla is in the hallway, eyes swimming with tears.

“I know what you are,” she says.

Cal takes a breath, steadies himself with the Force. “And I know what you are. You and Dev.”

Dyla smiles. “Guess that means we’re on the same team.” She salutes him. It’s the Partisan’s salute. “I promise I’ll never tell a soul, not after what you’ve done for us.”

“Will Dev be alright?” Cal asks.

“Eventually,” Dyla says. “He’s got me. And I spoke to Cere. She told me offer you a bed.” She nods to the door on her right. “That’s for you.”

Cal thanks her, steps in, and finds Cere and BD waiting. There’s a bed with the covers turned down, and BD’s busy hopping on the pillow to fluff it.

“What did you do?” Cere asks.

Flopping carefully into the bed, Cal closes his eyes. Cere places a cold compress over his head. It feels so good. “It was an echo,” he tells her. “It called to me. But it wasn’t like others. It was a sequence, a chain of echoes, stuck on a loop.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “Cere, I think I walked through his dreams.”

“Your psychometry is strengthening,” she says. “This is likely the next progression of the ability.”

“Could have used a heads up,” Cal says.

“Get some sleep,” Cere tells him. “And try to stay in your own dreams."

[inzaynety]

him: stoic & sincere ⤫

➢ summary: random scenarios that tell you about what zayne is like

➢ content: zayne x fem!reader, 2306 words, not canon au but he’s in med school (college au bc i can)

➢ notes: pls i just saw a youtube short about ready-to-be airport dads lmao so it made it into this; also yes ur roomie’s name is that and yk why 😭 not beta read 👍🏼

When he walks down the street he’s not stopped by many vendors. His face is enough to draw them away and while he doesn’t get much of that in the hospital, all his patients love him, the same thing can’t be said when he’s just out and about.

The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up and Loren watches as the sky is relentless in its attacks. The concrete is barely visible with the streams of water passing by and she’s grateful to have worn her boots to work that day, however, she forgot her umbrella. The coworker who left before and brought the lost-and-found umbrella from the back and the others were still working and came in their respective cars.

She stays under the overhang for a little more until she really has no choice but to move. The sun, though it was hidden behind the thick clouds, was going down and she would have an earful from her sister if she returned too late.

Taking a deep breath, she steels herself before a hand comes into her view. She whips her head over to the side and comes face to face with a stranger. His face was visible and she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her, luckily muted by the rain and wind.

He was handsome, yes, and familiar.

Thinking back to earlier in the week, she was the one who served him during lunch. He seemed unapproachable when he walked through the door but spoke politely when guided to his table; sitting alone and reading over a small notebook he pulled from his coat pocket. His order was also something out of the ordinary for someone of his looks and she never saw him look up except to thank her for the meal and to wave over the check, but now that she was able to look him in the eye, she was speechless.

“Did you need an umbrella?” He offers the one in his hand and it must have been a few seconds too long as he asks again. Loren shakes her head after the second time and waves her hands.

“O-Oh, no thank you! I wouldn’t want you to get caught up in the rain either. The station’s not too far so it’s okay if I just run over!” She gives him a smile but the man raises a brow and shakes his head, insisting that she hold the handle.

“No worries, I insist.” Seeing as there was no way she was going to reject his offer, and seeing as how the rain did not let up, she accepted the umbrella with a nod.

“I can return this to you in that box,” she points over to the umbrella holder outside of the cafe, “I assume you come around this area quite a few times?” Loren thinks she’s imagining it when she sees a small hint of a smile on his face that disappears as quick as it comes. The man only nods and walks away towards the cafe’s doors. He must be having a quick dinner before he goes home.

Loren holds the umbrella tightly in her hands and rushes over to the crosswalk. Thankfully, his umbrella was sturdy and as she waits at the red light, she finds her gaze trailing over to the glass of her workplace. The lights inside make it easy to see who was in front and she’s surprised.

The man had his arms around a girl who looked excited over something she was saying and upon looking at his face, it was filled with nothing but adoration. The coldness was gone and replaced with a sight she felt she was intruding on.

Loren blinks and turns away, walking briskly when the light turns green.

What a gentleman.

Tara hasn’t seen you for the longest time due to your busy schedules, and what better than to have a double date with you, her, Zayne, and her new boyfriend.

You haven’t seen much of him except for the pictures she would send, but from her words he was a nice guy who genuinely loved her, and that was all you could ask for for your friend.

It’s a small family owned diner that you both settled on meeting and with Zayne’s hand in yours you guide him over to the table Tara and her boyfriend were seated at. Upon this being your first official meeting, he politely introduces himself as do both you and Zayne. You notice he’s a little nervous but that could just be due to first impressions; you are one of Tara’s closest friends.

But no. While Jack was nervous about meeting you, the piercing gaze and stone-cold features of the other man were enough to make his palms sweat a little. While you did most of the talking, Zayne would look between you, Tara, and him and with just a glance he could stop talking all together. He had this aura about him, but he just met the man for crying out loud.

Tara talked about you and Zayne from time to time mostly just about when you’d be seeing each other and all she gave about him was “He’s a doctor, tall, really nice, and I think you guys would get along!” That was clearly not enough information.

Being the best girlfriend with the ability to read his mind, Tara squeezes the back of his hand and he looks over to see her smile for his comfort. She suspected he’d had the same reaction she did when you first introduced him. She was skeptical at first from his expression being the most jaded thing she noticed, his actions around you were far from that.

“So, Jack,” Zayne says after you point out the things you wanted from the menu to him, “I heard you’re also into medicine.” Their conversation flows easily and he sees how well-spoken he is. There aren’t any awkward pauses or words he regrets saying: it’s all natural and nothing like how he felt only moments before.

When the waiter comes to the table in the middle of Jack’s story, Zayne recites your order perfectly along with his own all the while holding her hand beneath the table. And when the waiter leaves after going through everyone, he returns to the conversation, “What were you saying about the…”

What a nice thing to do.

Your roommate Xavia thinks Zayne is funny. Not in a funny “haha” way but a funny “he’s an interesting guy” way. You both were friends since diapers and moving into your shared apartment was a childhood dream. Where you were going for school, how you were going to decorate, and what things you guys could do were endless.

When you moved in now both in your last two years, Zayne, who had been your boyfriend for a years now since the beginning of college, helped unpack. He took the heavier boxes along with Xavia’s brother who made it into a friendly competition. You would think Zayne would have brushed it off, but he accepted the challenge and soon both men were walking up the steps with about five boxes in each arm. Even you had stopped and stared at them as they looked ridiculous coming up the steps with nothing but the top of their heads visible. In the end, unloading was probably the quickest thing done that day.

You offered to go down to the grocery store to pick up some drinks and Xavia’s brother was also tasked with helping when Zayne took a phone call in another room. Xavia was unpacking one of the living room boxes when he walks out from the hallway and asks about your whereabouts. After she tells him, he nods and asks her if she needed any help. She expected that he would be a lot better than her brother, which he was, but he was also meticulous. It was like he knew where things were supposed to go to look the best and honestly, she was thankful that he did.

A few minutes passes and you texted that you were on your way back. Xavia stands up and pats down her jeans but a small sounds stops her. She turns around and on the balcony is a kitten pawing at the glass. The sliding door was slightly open and it looks like it saw it as it quickly made its way over and squeezed through.

She panics a little as a small animal running through all the new furniture and boxes wouldn’t be the most ideal. Zayne sees it too and crouches down when it practically splints inside, quickly scooping up the kitten in both of his hands. It looks surprised but doesn’t move, the two of them watching at it nuzzles down into his palms and closes its eyes.

The door opens and both you and Xavia’s brother see her and Zayne frozen with a small ball of fluff purring loudly. Your boyfriend cranes his head to face you and darts his eyes from yours over to the kitten. Xavia can’t help but laugh at the sight.

What a funny guy.

Zayne’s apartment might as well be yours now too with how much time you spend the night. It’s gotten a lot more familiar with your presence from the drawer filled with you undergarments, the vanity cluttered with your skincare and makeup, and even the pantry overflowing with snacks he says he would never get but for you they’re there.

The heater is turned up for your sake, and since he runs a bit cold as well it’s for him too, but it’s just a little too hot for him though you never complain when he walks around without a shirt.

And you also rarely sit on the couch alone. Your legs are always placed over his as he massages your calves while watching your favorites. His attention is split between the dialogue between the main characters and your commentary should you have any, and you don’t usually need to repeat yourself because he listens to every word.

“This is such a dumb show, I love it,” you mumble after your breath and Zayne’s quirks his lips into a small smile upon looking you way. You mumble something about spine magic and creampuffs and he can’t help but let out a small chuckle. Humming in response, you don’t pause the episode but you do turn your head slightly his way. “What?”

“Nothing.” He comments and reaches down to roll out the tenseness in your muscles from the day. You watch in silence for a few more moments until he gets a text. Reaching for his phone, he unlocks it with a few quick taps of your birthday and looks up towards you again. “Are you packed for tomorrow?”

There’s a few beats of a pause and you’re rushing to your feet and down the hall to his (your shared) room. He’s got some suitcases you left there and practically a whole wardrobe of your stuff anyway. “I knew I forgot something!”

Zayne sighs, reaching over to the coffee table to pick up the remote and pause the show before getting up from the couch and following in suit.

The airport is surprisingly not as crowded at this time but you’re a bit upset. Zayne would laugh if it wouldn’t put you in a worse mood but you looked very cute in sweats and his hoodie, standing beside him as he got your bags dropped off at the terminal. But anyway, clearly you were not a morning person.

Winter vacation was a perfect time to see family and friends back home and he was more than happy to accompany you this time like you had for him the year before. At least the upside to arrive at the airport nearly five hours before your flight was that you were flying with him.

The attendant finishes up checking your larger bags in and hands Zayne your tickets. He thanks her and puts away your passports and papers into his coat before taking his carry on in one hand and your hand in his other, after making sure you have your own bag, and pulling you along to the security.

You don’t know exactly why he’s in a rush considering there’s not many people and your flight is literally a few hours away, though it’s a little endearing. You lift your phone to record a few instances.

After security, he grabs a cart to place your bags on and follows you around to the duty free stores so you can shop hands-free.

“You can sit down, you know?” You tell him and he only shakes his head.

“I’ll follow you around. Where are you going next?”

On the flight he’s clutching tightly to your passports as you know for sure you’re going to lose it, and when you land he’s already taking both of your carry ons down from the overhead compartments. You make it to the carousel for your bags and there’s an elderly couple who seem to be having trouble picking up their luggage and he rushes over without delays to get it for them.

Zayne leans down to hear one of them describe what their bags look like and he grabs it all, receiving a pat on the cheek and a bag of sweets from the elderly woman.

“You’re a kind young man,” he only shakes his head and thanks her for the treats as they go about their day. When he walks back to you, you smile and press a kiss to his cheek. Looking behind him here’s a lot more people around now waiting for their stuff. You beckon him to you and he leans closer.

“Our bags just passed by. We have to wait for it to turn around another time.”

©inzaynety 2024

[cupidologys]

aizen - moth to a flame

+ aizen x reader 

+ ch. one of my two part aizen fic inspired by ‘moth to a flame’ by the weeknd!

+ UPDATE !!!! ch 2 (the sequel) is right: here

summary: aizen’s betrayal may have shaken the foundations of soul society, but it completely shattered your marriage. you try to move on, with both heart and mind, but the effects of your husband’s presence still linger in every aspect of your life. aizen’s hold on your heart will never truly fade, and the worst part is... you’re not sure you want it to. 

It was the week before your upcoming wedding anniversary when you received the news that Sosuke Aizen was found murdered and displayed for the whole of Seireitei to see. 

The gut-wrenching pain you felt then at your husband’s loss only increases tenfold as you find him alive and healthy in the midst of betraying Soul Society. 

“Sosuke,” you whisper. 

The captain—former captain—gazes back at you, not a speck of emotion found within his eyes. He looks different, not just in his new hairstyle or lack of glasses, but in the way he carries himself. He scrutinizes the shinigami the same way a king would his slaves—ants under his feet, living only to be crushed. The worst part is he spares you no exception. The man you have been with for centuries regards you with only disinterest. 

He stands so far up in the sky… so far out of your reach. 

“Y/N, Stay back!” You barely register Byakuya’s voice nor his arm around your stomach as you pull ahead, desperate for answers. You struggle against Byakuya’s hold, eyes brimming with tears as your husband turns his back to you and disappears without a parting glance. 

I am dying, you think. It is the only explanation for what you feel at this moment. Byakuya’s grip tightens as you surge forward again. You have to get to him—to your husband. 

“Sosuke!” You’re screaming now. Screaming his name… pleading for him to come back, but it all falls on deaf ears. You collapse from exhaustion into Byakuya’s arms, throat raw and aching from your cries. The last thing you see before the world turns black is the glint of your wedding ring against the unforgiving sun.

The first thing you see as you blink back into existence is an unfamiliar ceiling. As you slowly rise and get your bearings, it becomes increasingly clear that you are not in your own bed. Unohana’s presence is the final piece of the puzzle of where you are; a private room in the medical ward.

“Retsu… that wasn’t a dream, was it?” You hold your breath, even if you already know the answer. 

“I’m afraid not,” she says. Your heart sinks with those three words, disappointment and grief gutting you anew. Sometimes it is more painful to mourn the loss of someone who is still alive rather than dead. 

Unohana continues: “Byakuya brought you back. The shock must have been difficult and quite fatiguing,” she pauses as she adjusts the IV strapped to your arm. “You’ve been asleep for over twenty-four hours.”

You bolt upright, only to immediately regret that decision as a sharp pang runs through your head without a destination. An oncoming headache. Just what you need. 

“Twenty-four hours?! I need to get back. I–I have to—”

Unohana interrupts you with a placating hand on the shoulder. “The only thing you need to do right now is rest.”

She’s right, but the anxiety crawling up your spine thinks otherwise. You need answers, and the only way to get them is to get the hell out of here. You need to get back home—the one you once shared with your husband. 

Husband…

The word is almost foreign to you now. 

“I’m fine, Retsu. I can rest at home,” you insist. 

Unohana spares you a knowing look but relents anyway. To try and convince you otherwise would be like conversing with a brick and expecting it to reply. Utterly useless. 

After a couple of hours, you are promptly released from Unohana’s care and sent home, where you now stand. Alone. The emptiness of the space is alien to you, and the warmth that usually encompasses it is completely gone. 

Night has fallen and encases Seireitei in a dark haze. The moon shines bright above the wispy clouds, almost in the same place where Sosuke disappeared. Its glow spills across the furniture, coating it in an otherworldly sheen. The four-poster bed you shared with Sosuke stands in the center of it all, cold and empty. Despite your reservations, your exhaustion takes hold of you, and you lower yourself onto the mattress and sit with your back against the headboard.

The last few days’ events finally take their toll on you again, and you are overwhelmed with a mixture of grief, shock, and anger. Anger. Anger at Sosuke leaving you, but mostly anger at being manipulated and thrown away by the person you trusted most in the world. The dam breaks, and before you know it, tears stream down your cheeks as you struggle to hold in your sobs. You are so lost in misery that you almost don’t notice the shift in the air. Almost. 

Someone is here. 

In a split second, you’re upright and alert. The Zanpakuto hiding beneath your clothes is grasped firmly in your hand. The room is silent, eerily so. You scan the space for any movement or indication of another presence. The air around you is thin, but a different frequency lingers… an all-too-familiar one. 

“Did you miss me, my love?”

Sosuke steps into view, and the sight almost brings you to your knees. Your husband stands before you, safe and sound, smiling like he always used to. A smile you used to think was full of love and care. How wrong you were. 

“Tell me—no tricks or sly words—the truth. Tell me they’re wrong. Tell me you didn’t do… all of it. Tell me this is some fucked-up nightmare and that we’re still happy, together and in love. Tell me!” Panic seizes your throat on the last note, your words getting louder and louder with each breath.

He draws closer. Your fingers tighten around the handle of your blade. Your husband notices this and stops, folding his hands behind his back, much like he would back when you had started dating. 

“We are still happy, together, and in love,” he soothes. It would be mocking if it was anybody else. 

But even now, you cannot trust his words. That realization opens up a line of sorrow and soft acceptance in your heart. This man in front of you is nothing but a stranger and an enemy. You finally see it now, and it breaks your heart once more. 

A single tear rolls down your face as you place your Zanpakuto down to remove the ring from your finger. The glittering diamond shines even in the dark. You hold it out to him and wait. Aizen’s eyes flit to it and then back to you. He takes a step back, the refusal clear. 

“Take it, Aizen. As a final courtesy,” you swallow, not daring to look into his eyes. “I’ll be throwing it away otherwise.”

After a moment of deliberation, his hands wrap around yours, warm and comforting. The sensation is so painfully intimate that it almost burns. You feel him take the ring from your hand, but his touch doesn’t disappear. 

“I know you are trying to manipulate me. It will not work,” you warn. Your voice is steady, a stark contrast to the unease in your chest. He is playing you and has been doing so for centuries. It is beyond irritating that you almost fall prey to it again. You want to melt into his arms and bury yourself in his chest, just like you always do after a long day out. Unfortunately, this is not just a simple long day out. 

“Manipulate is such a strong term,” he muses.

“It is the correct one. What would you call everything you’ve done up to now?”

Aizen gently tilts his head, and lets go of your hand. “Necessary. Everything was necessary,” he takes a small step back, and a flit of turmoil flashes across his expression. “Even the painful parts.”

“Painful? For you?” You laugh, though it’s void of humour, “Quite hard to believe.”

His hand comes up to touch your cheek but stops short at the resentment in your eyes. “You are the only thing that could ever hurt me.”

“My god, Aizen. Enough!” Grief turns to red-hot rage as he continues with sickeningly sweet words—cunning phrases that work to tear down your guard. You refuse to fall for it, no matter how sincere he looks. No matter how badly his presence is a comfort. “You can quit acting. It wasn’t real for you, I know that. But at least I can find solace in knowing everything on my part was real. That I wasn’t so desperate as to fake happiness in my life.”

“Fake? You fail to understand, Y/N. Yes, I lied to you—” Your chest tightens at the blatant admission. “But my feelings for you… our relationship was and is as real to me as it is to you.” 

“Then why do this? Why hurt me?” Your voice cracks. 

“An unfortunate but inevitable consequence. My goals are bigger than us. Bigger than Soul Society,” he claims. 

“That’s the difference between you and me, Aizen. You choose power over me, while I would have chosen you above all else,” you swallow. 

His brows furrow as confusion splits his features. “I can have both. You are important to me as well.”

You can only shake your head and sigh. The fight has all but disappeared from within you. “No. You can’t. You’ve made your choice, and I have no place in it.”

“Y/N–”

“No,” you snap. “You need to leave. The next time we see each other will be on opposite sides, so consider this a last show of respect for our previous marriage.”

Aizen narrows his eyes so imperceptibly any other person would have missed it, but you’ve been with this man for the better part of your life. “We are still married.”

“From this moment on, you and I are nothing but enemies,” you declare. 

“You will come to see sense—that we belong together. But until you do, I will keep this safe and wait for you. However long it may take.” He holds up your ring, and it briefly glints under the moonlight before he pockets it and disappears, leaving you alone and a victim of your own swirling mind.

[imtryingmybeskar]

Pedrotober is now Pedrovember but I've still got a few fics to share. Day 26 was Oberyn.

Oberyn x OFC (no descriptors other than having eyelashes and hair). Word count: 954. Mentions of arranged marriage, mainly this is just fluff 💜 Canon divergent and set before he meets Ellaria.

Sunlight streamed in ribbons through the stained glass of the temple, painting the floor a patchwork of colours. Oberyn subtly shifted his weight from one foot to another, the new leather boots not as comfortable as the ones he preferred to wear day to day. He picked listlessly at an imaginary bit of thread on the sleeve of his opulent marriage robes - the shining golden sun of Dorne pierced with a crimson spear a fitting analogy for how he was feeling.

Outwardly he was as calm and unruffled as ever. Inwardly he was incandescent, raging at the injustice of what his brother was about to inflict upon him. The only sign that anything was bothering him was the knitting of his black brows at the crease in the centre of his forehead, and since he had his back to the assembled congregation the only person who could see that was the Septon.

That a Septon had been invited to perform this ceremony was an insult in itself, he mused blackly. He was not religious himself and he knew not and cared less about those inclinations in his future wife. But his brother had insisted. Had said that this wedding needed to appear as legitimate and binding as possible to all of Westeros. His actual words to Oberyn had been "You have four bastard children. I couldn't care less how many more you father but you MUST produce at least one legitimate heir."

He could feel the sullen, petulant anger rising like bile in him at the recollection, showing itself in the pout of his lips and the set of his shoulders in this restrictive tunic of woven gold that his brother had picked out. Doran had organised everything, had chosen everything. Oberyn had insisted that he wanted no part of the wedding, not even choosing his bride. Spiteful, yes. But it had given him a savage sense of pride that he would not be contributing to his own gilded cage.

Speaking of...

He could the soft scrape of shoes and the rustle of fine silk behind him as she slowly approached where he stood. Oberyn trusted that his brother would attempt to make a...pleasing match for him, after all they loved each other despite their differences. But he also knew that Doran would ultimately act in the best interests of Dorne, and if that meant marrying him off to some hideously dull yet obscenely rich dowager he would do just that with no hesitation.

What if she was a coward?

What if she was cruel?

What if she was a Lannister?!

No. No he couldn't think like that. He couldn't assume the worst. He could find beauty in almost anyone, and there was no reason to think his brother would deliberately make this harder for him. But Oberyn couldn't stop the nagging worries swirling around his mind, and he knew it was because he deeply begrudged losing his liberation in this way. Because surely he would not be so fortunate as to have a wife that would understand his desire to love freely, much less some of his other...preferences.

He felt her presence next to him as she arrived at the foot of the dias where he awaited his life sentence. He turned his head away, studiously not looking at her, childish though it was. He focused instead on breathing exercises, maintaining his calm exterior, controlling what he could of the situation. He barely heard the ceremony, nor the joyful songs that punctuated it so intense was his focus on just getting through the nightmare. And when the time came for them to face each other, to speak their vows, he turned to his left with military precision and...hesitated.

She was still facing forward, her head turned from him in a mirror image of how he had been standing. Her dress was in the style favoured by the ladies of the North, but the fabrics used to make her gown were clearly Dornish and more suited for the heat. The pale cream of it was subtly woven through with golden thread to create stylised suns all over, making her glimmer and sparkle with only the smallest movements. A full veil covered her face and hair, and even if she had been facing him, Oberyn would have been none the wiser as to what lay beneath.

She turned to her right slowly, gracefully and he could see her reluctance for this rigmarole too - in how her head was bowed, in the weight of a future she had not chosen lying heavy upon her shoulders. She didn't want to be here any more than he did and that realisation softened his heart.

He noticed how she exhaled deeply, trying to release her fears much as he had. He noticed how she twisted the lace of her veil between her fingers before lifting it over her head with shaking hands. He noticed that she had long, dark eyelashes and that her eyes were still downcast. It was with the utmost gentleness that he reached out for her, his long fingers slipping under her chin to raise it softly to him, and when her eyes finally met his it felt as if the breath had been stolen from his body.

They looked at each other, the Prince and his betrothed. They stared. They gazed. In fact, they looked so long that the congregation began to shuffle their feet and the children present began to giggle and the Septon cleared his throat pointedly, yet still they went on looking. And after a lifetime and a second had passed by, when he felt as if he could breathe again, Oberyn smiled and took her hand in his.

@thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities

[sporksarejustspoonswithafork]

Talk of the town

A/n: Hi everyone, Thys here. So this story has probably been in my mind for like a month. I wanted to try something different and i really hope it works out and comes out great. Also i really liked that you guys enjoyed my first story and yes there will be more in the future. Anyways i hope you like this one too. So enjoy, bye bye. PS: if you want to be added to the tag list let me know.

john bonhamx female!oc

Summary : John and Michelle Bonham are a newlywed couple who move into a small English town to lead a quiet life. But all that is ruined when they get to know their neighbors.

Chapter 1

England ,1974

The morning sky was blue and the sun stood at its peak.  John Bonham was busy moving boxes and tables into his new house. Standing in the doorway was wife, Michelle, yelling and scolding the movers her husband had hired to help them move. This was a new beginning for them. They've just gotten married three months ago and now they are moving into their new home.

But Michelle was anxious for what was to come.  She didn't want to leave their one bedroom flat to go live in the countryside but John insisted that it would be a great idea. 

"Less noise, more room." John told her. But Michelle liked the noise. She liked the small flat. It was home. But John insisted. Besides, they wanted to start a family soon so they had to get a bigger place.  So after a lot of talking Michelle gave in.

"Sir, be careful with that glass coffee table, It costs more than this house." Michelle said to one of the men. "How is it going, honey?" she yelled out to her husband, who was clearly struggling with one of the boxes. John gave her a thumbs up. All of a sudden an old English sheepdog ran into the house, almost knocking people over. 

"Gus!" Michelle yelled. "John, it's about time we teach him some manners." 

"He's a dog, let him be." John said as he walked past her. 

As Michelle walked outside she noticed a woman staring up at the house. As soon as she saw Michelle, she gave her a bright smile and waved. Michelle waved back and walked over. 

“I hope i’m  not bothering you, I thought it would be nice to come  down and greet the new neighbors first.” the woman said. 

“Oh no it’s fine, i needed a break from all this anyways.” Michelle said. 

“Oh well, let me introduce myself, I’m Maureen Baldwin.” She held out her hand. Michelle shook it.

“Michelle Bonham.” 

“I must say, I'm very happy that we finally have new neighbors, this house has been unoccupied for a year.” Maureen said. 

“Well i’m happy to be here.” Michelle said. 

“ I brought you this cake, I didn't make it myself but I wanted to give you something as a welcome gift.” 

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Michelle said and took the box. 

Just then Michelle heard a familiar bark. Before she could even turn around, Gus jumped on Maureen, licking her in the face . She let out a shriek. Not of joy but of pure terror. As Michelle tried to help the poor woman, she heard John rush over to them.

“I’m so sorry.” He said and pulled the dog off Maureen. Michelle noticed that she was a bit angry but tried not to show it. 

“It’s alright.” She said, whipping the dirt from her dress. “You must be her husband?” 

“Yes, John Bonham.”

Maureen looked up in shock. “Well will you look at that, my husband's name is also John.” she smiled. “Nice to know we have two John’s in the neighborhood.” 

“And it’s nice to be the second John.” He smiled. “Call me John Henry so that there is no confusion.” 

“I think that’s better.” Maureen said. “Well I'm off, my girls will be home at any minute and if you need anything and I do mean anything, I live right across the street.” She pointed at a big but cozy looking cottage-like house. 

“We’ll come straight to you.” Michelle said. Maureen said her goodbyes and walked back to her house. As soon as she was across the street John whispered: “you think she’s the nosey neighbor?”

“Definitely.” ************************** 

By night time John and Michelle were exhausted. The house looked beautiful. Michelle didn’t expect to start liking the place so soon. It was cozy, had the right amount of space and it really brought peace. Maybe this place wasn’t going to be that bad after all, right? Michelle began to have mixed feelings about this. 

“Michelle?”

John’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see her husband, who was laying next to her, looking at her.

“What?” 

“I asked  if you liked the new bed we bought?” John asked.

“Oh, it’s uh. It’s different.” Michelle said.

“Different?”

“Yea, the first mattress we had was a bit hard.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just that-” Michelle sighed. “It’s just that, I'm having second thoughts about this place.” She said. “One minute I like it then the next minute I don't, I mean what if I never end up liking it here.” 

John moved closer to her. “Look at me, love.” He lifted her head up. “You need to give it some time, I know you’re going to miss our old place but trust me in a few months this place will feel like home.”  

 Michelle gave him a warm smile. She then felt John's hand on top of hers. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. 

"Everything will be alright, I promise." John said.

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

Tag list: @foreverandadaydarling @jonesyjonesyjonesy

[taechaos]

Freaky Idea

Pt. 2 of New Idea

pairing: Stepbrother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, pseudo-incest, smut

synopsis: The last guaranteed day you have with Taehyung is spent with his choice of adventure. You learn a lot of things about the history of freakshows, and how much of a freak your brother is as well.

warnings: mention of murder and somnophilia, riding, manipulation

word count: 3.8k

When Taehyung agreed to being your slave for a month, he wasn’t lying. He was attached to your hip throughout the whole time span, obeying your every command without complaint. You didn’t deem him forgiven, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy his company and compliance. The whole month was a bliss for you.

The first week, the morning after the… event, you had him prepare breakfast for you and your mother walked in on him cooking an omelette for you. She was perplexed, and with her morning drowsiness asked, “You’re home?” before smothering him with a hug. Your father gave him the minimum acknowledgement, and it went by quickly with your mother being surprised every time she saw him in the morning.

The second week, he drove you around and paid for your every need. You don’t know how he has so much money, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he sells drugs or had robbed a bank. You decided to reward him by kissing his cheek every time he bought you clothes and jewelries per your request. He realized he enjoyed spoiling you, and took you shopping in different malls for 7 days straight.

The third week, you met his friend. You had insisted, and he gave in after a short while of you begging because it was difficult to say no to you and rules are rules. His terms were: 1. You're going to act like his girlfriend, and 2. You sit on his lap. Maybe you didn't get it, but his friend Namjoon didn't seem dangerous enough for you to be behaving the way you were forced to. Sitting in front of a burning barrel in the middle of nowhere, Taehyung and Namjoon smoked weed together while you watched them. The conversation was fun, and you wanted to see him again. Taehyung didn’t allow you to question the ordeal. Rest of the week went by a breeze.

Fourth week was relatively calm as well, and now Taehyung is on his final day of slavery. It’s somewhat melancholic for you because you don’t know if he’ll vanish once the clock hits 12. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your dangling legs while your step-brother inspects the fridge to find you something for lunch. The two of you woke up late this morning, well, afternoon, and you don’t know why you feel so exhausted and sore. You’ve been feeling this way for a whole month now, but you’re growing somewhat used to it. 

“This bitch is empty,” Taehyung grumbles before closing the fridge and standing up straight. When he notices your soft pout, he slithers his way between your legs. “What’s wrong princess? Are you tired?”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” you blurt without beating around the bush and peek at him under your lashes.

His brow ticks as he tilts his head. “Did you want to do something?”

“Well, no,” you drawl, “I just wish… you were here more often.”

"You know I can't stay away from you for long," he counters your worries, "especially if you allowed me to…"

"Stop." You distance yourself by pushing him away; you don't want to think about what he was implying. You made it explicitly clear that anything remotely sexual wasn't allowed to be brought up when you were around, and he’s been sticking to that rule until now - to your knowledge, at least. 

“Stop teasing your sister, Taehyung.” your mother enters the kitchen while tying the knot of her robe, now checking the fridge herself. 

He rolls his eyes before turning to her and retaliating, “I didn’t even do anything.” You giggle to yourself and bite your fist. “Did I tease you?” he asks innocently with his neck craned in your direction.

“Yes, he doesn’t even make me breakfast,” you joke with a grin. 

“The fridge is fucking empty!”

“Language,” your mother warns strictly before taking out a box of frozen pizza. “And it isn’t empty. Could you turn on the oven for me, love?” You nod and arrange the heat to 200 degrees while Taehyung scoffs, “I can’t survive in a house with women.”

“Man up,” your step-father butts in monotonously. “You have to rely on your mother to cook to this day. When will you move out? Act your age Taehyung, you’re 21.”

The light-hearted atmosphere dims with the presence of Taehyung’s father. There’s a distinct contrast between your two parents, and you can understand why your step-brother is so rebellious around them. The only thing holding them together is their dedication to religion. 

He only huffs and crosses his arms in response as his dad grabs a carton of juice and a glass from the cupboard. It’s tense in the room until Taehyung leans into your ear and whispers, “I’m only here because of you.”

A light blush tints your cheeks at his sweet confession, although it also makes you guilty. He later convinces you to eat with him in your room, and it’s comfortable in your bed as you chomp on the slices hungrily. 

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Taehyung asks as he chews on his pizza.

“Let’s do something you want for a change,” you answer after swallowing. 

Though he hasn’t been showing any lack of interest around you, you are aware that you haven’t been doing anything fun by his definition. You’re worried that you’ve bored him throughout this whole timespan of being together.

A smirk grows on his face and there’s that glint of mischief in his eyes that you’ve missed. Fair, the last time you saw it was before he traumatized you, but you try not to think about it much like you ignore the constant ache between your legs. 

“There’s this circus,” he begins slowly, “I hear it’s interesting. Would you want to come with?”

You know he’s leaving something out, his cautious tone and aura implicit he knows something you don’t. But you nod anyway, because you still stupidly trust him.

Taehyung’s car is old and retro, but he must have upgraded the engines for how fast he is driving. You like admiring his side profile as he holds the steering wheel, but the view is much more interesting when he catches you looking. It’s a far location, and you’re out of the city by the time he parks his car in the woods. How did he memorize the directions when it took an hour to get there?

“We’re here,” he announces before shifting the manual stick gear with a screech. You exit the car and he is not gentle with the way he slams the door closed, so you do the same. You can see hints of red colors between the cracks of the thin trees. 

“Is it open?” you question apprehensively. The sun hasn’t set yet, but it should be getting dark soon in the evening. 

“Hasn’t been open for a century. You wouldn’t believe the amount of history this place has.”

He takes the lead in his steps, and you follow behind though your gut doesn’t approve. The path isn’t long, and only then do you see the circus when Taehyung moves aside. It’s run down, worn out colors in the curtains, broken glasses on the ground and the circus barely holding itself up. There’s a huge cannon in the middle of the stage, the tip balancing itself on the ground. It’s kind of creepy, but Taehyung doesn’t leave you in the dark for long.

“A lot of crazy shit happened here, you know,” he piques your curiosity, “the clowns were fucking freaks. Any type of physical disorder landed you in here, whether you liked it or not. Even for babies,” he picks up an idle shard of glass, “these were jars. They had deformed fetuses on display on a stand, but the wind must have fucked it up.”

“Deformed fetuses?”

“Yeah, like, conjoined and some other stuff.” You grimace at his description, although it stirs empathy in you. The 20th century sounds inhumane. 

“Are these real stories?” 

“Yeah. And the cannon: they rocketed people from this very bad boy,” he points at it before standing under.

Your stomach sinks as you panic, “It could fall on you!” You pull at his hand and the force makes your chests meet. He smiles down at you before pecking your lips. You stammer, a little mad as he chuckles before walking to a wooden wheel. He makes a star pose after stepping on the metal stand, stretching out his limbs to fit the whole circle. 

“This was the Wheel of Death; they threw knives at targets on this. I think they only targeted females actually...” He nods at you to replace him as he hops off. You go along with his idea and climb on the stand, though it creaks weakly. He takes out a pocket knife from his pocket and you’re about to yell before he hurls it at you. It lands above your shoulder and you immediately scold, “What the fuck, Tae?! Why would you do that! I could’ve died.”

He shrugs with a bright grin, clearly unbothered by your stressing. “My aim isn’t too bad.” He walks over to you and collects his floating knife. “Besides, when have I ever hurt you?”

You bite your tongue and purse your lips with a glare. 

“See?” he whispers. “You can’t even name one time…”

He’s teasing your silence, how you can’t even dare to voice the specific night. You haven’t even told your parents and slept with him right after, and he finds that so interesting: that you trust him with your life. 

“You actually can’t? Wow, I didn’t realize I was such a good brother,” he grins lopsidedly before snapping his fingers. “On with the tour.” He is enthusiastic as he struts past the circus. You shake your head with a sigh but follow him regardless. “So there were sword swallowers, acrobats, strongmen, anything that drew attention. They had a shit ton of accidents and deaths, but you would die if you got boring as well.” Taehyung holds back a bush to let you pass; the place he’s leading you to is a lot more crowded with sages and trees than the previous path. “Once the initial attraction wears off, you’re a goner. They couldn’t survive in that society with those deformities, so it was suicide either way.”

“That is so cruel,” you mumble sympathetically. “This place was like a fractured fantasy.”

“At least they lived for a bit… up until someone ended it.” When he pushes away the woodruffs, you’re met with another rundown site with a few… cages? “This is the trailer. Where they stayed and got ready for their shows. Some were held against their will, and slept with the animals in those cages.”

You gape at your surroundings in shock. The trailer is missing one side of the wall, and the rest have been vandalized with random phrases written in spray paint. You don’t give much attention to the torture cages, because the trailer has a lot more to show. It still has couches on the incomplete hardwood flooring, and Taehyung plops on one. The fabric is torn and dust rises the moment he’s on the seat. “That’s so dirty, Tae,” you pull a displeased face.

“Don’t be rude to the past occupants. Their ghosts might still be around.” He wiggles his fingers as if imitating a monster. He then pats his thighs, beckoning you to sit on his lap. You begrudgingly do so, and he wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you flush against him. “Any theories on how this shitshow ended?”

“Police intervention?”

“Something like that, I guess. One of the acrobats went nuts and shot everyone, so the place was shut down.”

“What?” you widen your eyes at him. “Why did they do that?”

“He was going to be replaced, so he got rid of the competition. Very chilling,” he casually states. “There must be some bullet holes in the walls, but we can check that out later.” His head snuggles into your neck while you’re still processing his words, but you go blank when he starts leaving feather light kisses on your neck. “Right now,” he murmurs, “I just want you to ride me.”

“Ride you?”

“Don’t act innocent, you know what I mean. You said I could choose what we did today… and I want to fuck here.”

“Taehyung… I specifically told you we aren’t allowed to do anything sexual. You hurt me last time as well,” you frown at the mention. 

“I asked you if I ever hurt you earlier. Did you say anything?” he asks condescendingly.

“No…”

“Why are you saying I hurt you now? Don’t tell lies, baby. Besides,” his hand slides down to your thigh as he speaks in a low, sultry voice, “I’ve been loosening up your cunt. You don’t even wake up at night anymore. It won’t hurt this time, I promise.”

You had an inkling, the stupid inkling that you tried so damn hard to brush aside. “You fucked me in my sleep?” you force out, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. “And you brought me here just to–”

“Christ, no,” he cuts you off offendedly, “I’m not that sick in the head. I didn’t plan it, but I can’t say I wasn’t hoping. It’s not like I’m going to rape you.”

“You did it once!”

“I was on a lot of drugs then! I’m clean now,” he huffs in irritation. “I’m sorry about that, and I know my apology is long overdue or whatever, but give me a break. I’ve been into you since I was like 16.”

You turn to look at him - really look at him. There’s not a trace of guilt on his face; the roots of his messy teal hair have grown out; the beauty of his naturally downward lip corners; you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess because you don’t know what to make of his confession. He has manipulated you countless times, coerced you into doing things you would never do, and for once you reflect on his personality. This could be one of his schemes in order to get you to do what he wants, and ironically, he was supposed to be doing that for you. Through all of your scrambled thoughts, you only muster a meek “really?”

“Yes,” he affirms, “that’s why I want to be intimate with you.”

Lies, lies, lies, you think before gently pressing your lips against his. Despite your attempt at kissing him softly, he doesn’t cooperate by instantly sucking on your nether lip with vigor, his hands immediately meeting at your hips to gently rock them against his crotch. He bites your lip before swiping his tongue against it, coaxing, “Suck on my tongue.” The awkward angle from where you’re kissing him makes him turn your body to completely face him, your knees landing on either side of him on the uncomfortable chair. It doesn’t matter, because you’re starting to forget the whole setting, just about everything except for him as arousal begins to seep in. Heat pools in your stomach at the switch in mood, and he’s enjoying your compliance as he quietly moans into your mouth. 

While you’re busy relishing in his swirling tongue, he starts tugging down your pants and you help him without looking. You sit up to push it down your ankles and throw it on the floor along with your panties. “What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles breathlessly before leaving wet kisses on your lips and pulling away to take off his wrinkled shirt. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, equally breathless.

“I don’t know, you’re just… so hot when you’re horny.” His boyish smile grows on your flustered face as he says, “Take off your shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits again.”

You bite your lip to suppress your insecurities, but it doesn’t help when you’re left in your bra as you cover your chest. “Don’t be shy now,” he teases knowingly and removes your arms before unclasping the garment. “Take out my cock now.” His tone is gentle with encouragement. You unzip his jeans timidly, but your eyes grow in wonder at the outline of his erection. “I’m so hard for you,” he assures you in a whisper and takes your hand in his to rub himself. “You’re so pretty, and sexy. I fucked you every night because you’re just so irresistible. You understand, don’t you, baby?” 

“I… Yes,” you agree and finally push down his briefs. His throbbing cock stands proudly and you’re intimidated by the size until he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you.” He lightly touches your bare pussy, slick with your arousal as you shudder. He coats your vulva with all of it, giving special attention to your clenching hole as he inserts a single finger. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, and you’re confused by the lack of pain and the desire for more. It feels good and that is a surprise for you as you sink down lower on his finger. He curls it, adds another finger and stretches your walls, emitting a moan out of you. You’re liking it, and you don’t know why; he was so cruel the last time that you were convinced something would go wrong now. Nothing does, and if anything, his fingers make you feel the best you have ever felt though it is not enough. “More,” you beg and he replaces his fingers by pulling you to the head of his cock. He’s staring right at you with hooded lids as he rubs it up and down, making you release a needy whimper. “Please, Taehyung.”

And like the slave he was meant to be, he shoves it in with a grunt. Your scream catches in your throat at the initial sting, but it’s worth it when he screws his eyes shut in pleasure and bites his lip to hold back a groan. He looks angelic under you, although he is anything but. You realize he is waiting for your cue to move, and it flutters your hearts because he is more attentive to you this time. Rather than letting him take the lead, you act on your instincts as you roll your hips. It’s unsteady at first, the foreign position making it difficult for you to adapt to so fast. His audible quick breaths encourage you to take your time in angling your pelvis comfortably, and when an involuntary moan leaves you, you place your hands on his shoulders before sticking to the current stance and going up and down on him. 

“Oh shit, you’re doing so well,” he praises you between gasps, supporting your body with his hands, “feels so fucking good. My good girl.”

It gets to your head, how much he’s enjoying your motions. He meets them with thrusts of his own, perfectly hitting your cervix and blinding you with pleasure. What is it that makes you feel so wonderful in this situation? Is it the touch, or the complimentary fact that you’re the only person Taehyung wouldn’t get bored of? 

Could it be that you’re two of the same?

Maybe he’s the one desperate to please you, you think as he massages your breasts, flicking your hard nipples with his thumbs so graciously. The eerie silence is broken by both of your loud moans, ecstasy sensually building up in knots in your stomachs. Sweat accumulates on your forehead, your hair sticking to your face but not hiding the sight of his erotic expression. You arch your back and grind down on him, and he’s limp on the loveseat as he takes all that you give him so submissively.

It’s your turn to use him, and you actually start understanding what makes him so rash and impulsive in hopes of receiving this amount of serotonin. It’s worth it, the release of control and morals to be with him. “Taehyung, h-how did you do it?” you moan. “Every night, what did you do?”

“I,” he tries to catch his breath, “I used my fingers to stretch you out. One finger, then two, then three.” He groans and thrusts into you fast and hard, “I fisted you at some point, and you came in your sleep, and then on my cock. Moaning and whining every fucking night, like some filthy whore.” You mewl at his crude words. He’s so obscene with you, and you clench your walls in response. “You like being my whore, hm? Little freak.”

“Yes, yes,” you confirm in a whimper, nodding your head as you pass the dominance onto him. He’s fucking into you while you stand on your knees, eyes rolled back with drool about to drip from the corner of your mouth. He starts to rub your clit and kisses your neck for you to tighten around him over and over again; it’s heaven in an empty graveyard. It’s so fucked up, yet he can’t stop. You’re panting as he manipulates your body to mold with his. “I’m close.”

His hands fall on your ass, greedily kneading it as your hips begin to stutter, your orgasm climbing up just as your energy is falling down. It hits you like a truck: the peak of pleasure, accompanied by a silent scream, nails digging into his skin as your muscles tense. “Fuck,” you breathe once his thrusts begin overstimulating you, but it’s not for long as he shoots his load inside you with a groan. He’s twitching as his erection becomes flaccid, and you feel it as he pulls out. 

“Bet it didn’t hurt,” he jokes while you recover from your climax. You’re leaking with his cum and he uses his shirt to wipe you clean, making you shake from how sensitive you are. “I’ll buy you the pill on the way home.”

“Thanks,” you plainly say and stand up to pick up your clothes. You’re trembling slightly and a little achy, but it’s nothing compared to losing your virginity. 

“What? You gonna give me the cold shoulder now?” He’s only in his loose pants and has his shirt thrown over his shoulder. He buckles his belt while you put on your bra. 

“Why did you make us act like a couple in front of Namjoon?” After hearing his confession, the interaction before bugs you.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it because you didn’t want him to think I was single? Because you like me?”

“No, he’s a convicted felon. Crazy motherfucker killed his ex’s new boyfriend,” he reveals with a scoff. “Besides, if you like me, you’d like him as well.”

Putting your shock aside, you realize one thing: Taehyung doesn’t want to be replaced. Does that mean you hold power over him? Or will he do anything at any cost to be in your life?  Regardless of your internal monologue, you only reply with, “who says I like you?”

It’s a joke, and he knows it. As promised, he buys you an emergency pill and another shirt for himself on the way home. His days of slavery are over, and you wonder: where will he be tomorrow? Maybe take his father’s advice… 

[dividawrites]

Something from an untitled Tomarry WIP where Tom is Al’s and Scorpius’s age. Divorced disaster Harry with a slutty twink Tom seems to be my obsession.

Tom drops one sugar cube into his tea and stirs it while Narcissa Malfoy disciplines the house elf for bringing only six different types of pastries for them. Because only the best is good enough for darling Tom, as she usually says.

“So, do you have any new juicy gossip for me?” she asks. “I heard you spent the weekend with my sister.”

She purses her lips and arches an eyebrow rather accusingly, but Tom knows she’s not serious. After all, she was the one who introduced him to Andromeda Tonks in the first place, saying she was a little lonely and depressed now that her grandchild finally moved away.

All of Tom’s relationships with the ladies are strictly platonic, but if he flirts a little he gets bigger gifts. “I did,” he says, and then leans a little closer with a small, flirty smile on his lips. “But Mrs Malfoy, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

Narcissa snorts and covers her mouth. “Please, darling, it is too early for such uncouth jokes. And haven’t I told you to call me Narcissa?”

“You’re so admirable my tongue gets twisted when I try to use your given name. I’m afraid I don’t have anything interesting to tell. We went to that spa in Bath. Spent most of the time getting rubbed by strangers. I can still smell the cucumbers on my face.”

“That must have been boring for a young man like you.”

Tom loved it. He loves the spa weekends—lying in the mud bath doing nothing while people around treat him like a king. “It was fine,” he shrugs.

Narcissa smiles at him, her wrinkled, tired eyes much warmer than what she usually lets people see. She opens the small jewellery box on the table and takes a golden pocket watch out. “Thank you for taking care of my sister,” she says, handing it to Tom.

It looks old and very expensive. “I couldn’t—” Tom says, only because he knows what Narcissa will answer.

“I insist,” she says.

And Tom accepts the watch. He’ll need to get it appraised before he decides whether to keep or sell it.

Tom stays at Malfoy Manor for the day. It’s a beautiful and warm summer day, so when Narcissa heads inside to take her afternoon nap, Tom throws his shirt and trousers off and takes a quick dip in the pool to cool off. He dries his pants before settling on a sun lounger and calls a house-elf to bring him drinks. The hot sun feels nice against his hot skin, so he closes his eyes and just enjoys the moment.

He’s just finished his second cocktail when suddenly the tall double doors bang open. Tom doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“For Merlin’s sake, there are children in the house!” Draco shouts, marching to the patio. “Put your clothes on.”

“I have my pants on and your child is nineteen,” Tom says. He would know—he went to school with him. That’s how he met Narcissa. “He’s also seen my dick already so there’s—”

“Pansy is visiting with her twins, you gold-digging twit,” Draco hisses.

“You shouldn’t talk to me like that. Imagine what would happen if your mother found out.”

“And you shouldn’t spend time with women four times your age!”

“Maybe you should spend a little more time with your mother then, so she doesn’t have to come to me.” Tom hopes he won’t. It would be a big financial loss for him. Besides, he kind of likes her.

Draco clenches his jaw. “Get out of my sight.”

“Look elsewhere,” Tom answers and takes a sip from his drink after a house-elf refills his cocktail glass. It tastes like cherries. Tom loves cherries.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 20, Story #2 is by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: Dittany Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Neville/Hannah Prompt: Bravery Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Discussion of maternal death, mentions of violence. 

Hannah's mother had been a muggleborn, and that had been her death sentence. 

Or rather, she had been a muggleborn with the audacity and bravery to be proud about it. 

Most muggleborns ended up slipping entirely into wizarding society, and as much as they might say that they would keep in touch with their roots, the magic took over. Jeans became robes, electronics didn’t work in their homes so their pop culture references grew stale, the effort involved in keeping the statute of secrecy for extended family and old friends was too exhausting to sustain, so they saw them less and less and eventually… 

This had not happened for Mum, even though the Abbotts were a very old family, well rooted in the magical community. She had agreed with Dad to live in Godric’s Hollow, because the Abbotts had lived there for many generations, but she had insisted on Hannah attending the local primary school, where she could make muggle friends. She was adamant that they make regular trips to Liverpool, to visit her side of the family, who believed that she worked in HR (which she did, but for a potion manufacturer, not for a haulage company as they believed) and that Hannah had received a scholarship to an exclusive boarding school, and that Dad owned a pub (which he did, but they neglected to mention that it was frequented by witches, wizards, goblins, the occasional hag and a half giant). And when the Stephens side of the family came to visit, they would have a flurry of activity where they would hide away anything magical-looking, and from the loft they would bring down the big television, and they would speed read some muggle newspapers so they could give their opinions on Tony Blair or Men Behaving Badly or Charles and Diana’s divorce or whatever else they thought might come up.  

That was life as Hannah knew it, and it never felt complicated or brave or shocking or daring or any of the things she later found out it was. 

She remembered certain details from the day very clearly. She’d been easing sneezewort plants out of their pots, the last repotting before winter, her fingers shaking at the long, pale roots, creating a rain of soil. The last of the cream coloured petals, curled and brown at the edges, fell onto the potting bench. There was a sudden shock of cold air, a breeze from the door opening that hit their faces and whipped through their hair.  

‘Professor Dumbledore’s here,’ said Susan with surprise, and Hannah had glanced up to see him closing the door to the humid greenhouse, his long white beard tucked into his belt, Professor Sprout hurrying over to him. 

Hannah looked back down at her plant. The roots were all tangled together. Professor Dumbledore was probably here for Harry Potter, there were all sorts of rumours flying around about secret meetings between the two of them. 

The plant needed a much bigger pot, but the roots were strong, there was no rot there. 

‘Hannah.’ 

There was no hiding the bewilderment on her face. She had never had a direct conversation with the Headmaster before, and here he was, speaking kindly, gently, softly, one hand touching her shoulder and the other, black looking, gesturing to the door. 

‘I need to-’ she started saying, as he led her out. Everyone was staring. 

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Professor Sprout, and her voice sounded so strange, ‘I’ll finish up here for you.’ 

Perhaps part of her had known then. She knew it was something terrible. She was too afraid to ask. No one was ever pulled out of class for a good reason. She walked up to the castle alongside him as though in a dream, her heart beating up through her throat and into her mouth.

She was not sure how it happened, but suddenly she was in the warmth of his office, staring at Professor Dumbledore’s grave face, his lips moving, without really hearing, except for that first, terrible, world destroying little phrase. 

‘I’m so very sorry to tell you that your mother has been found dead.’ 

There would be no worse event, no greater loss, no stronger pain in her entire life. 

There was still dirt under her nails and in the creases of her palms, she noticed, as she reached into the silver box of floo powder. 

It had been so long since she had seen Godric’s Hollow like this, golden and red in its autumn. Fallen leaves tumbled and floated down the river that rushed through the village, or collected in the gutters along the cobbled roads, damp and heavy. The sun stayed a little lower each day, casting long shadows across the beer garden of The Lost Owl, and the wind ruffled the sign on the door which read ‘Closed due to family bereavement.’ 

During the days, she wondered what to do with herself, stuck between boredom and terrible, overwhelming grief. When she could cry no more, she wondered if there was something wrong with her for wanting to find something interesting or fun to do, but when she tried to read, she could not focus. When she tried to listen to the radio, she would fall asleep. She could not bring herself to ask her weeping father to play cards or chess or anything with her. She thought of going back into school, but how could she see other people? Now that the world had ended? She wanted to tell people about it, wanted to say the words enough until they made sense to her, or until someone found the right words to say back that would make it OK, but she did not want to do this to her friends. 

At nights, she would cry herself to sleep, and her whispers, please come back please Mummy please come back, would grow and grow and grow into sobs, begging into her pillow as the agony of it tore at her, the desperation, the feverish thought that there had to be something, that this couldn’t be it, there had to be a way, a special way, just for them, just for her, because it was her mother and there was no way she could live without her. Mum wouldn’t leave her like this, there was no way Mum would allow it, she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that Hannah was happy, she had always said so, she had always promised… 

But Death was something parents could not protect their children from, it seemed. The more Hannah thought on it, the more she became crushingly devastated, horrified to realise that each and every human on Earth had to endure this at some point. In different ways, at different times, with different feelings, but the mere act of bringing a child into the world was to condemn that child, one day, to the unbearable pain of loss. Every person she passed, she wondered, have you suffered as I have? Or is it yet to come for you? She wished she could spare them from it.

The aurors said she was probably targeted because she loudly and openly discussed her muggle heritage in the pub, and it must have been heard by the wrong people. That was what passed for bravery these days. 

In the church of St Jerome, the stained glass window pattered with rain, and Hannah looked up at the colours of red and yellow and green rather than looking at the coffin with the splay of lilies, and she wondered when this nightmare would end, when Mum would come back, and tell her that everything would be all right. 

***

Months passed in unbearable agony, worse than she could have imagined. But there were glimmers of light there too. 

Here, at the school she thought she would never return to, in the place that was filled with unimaginable horror and oppression, she had purpose again. More purpose, in fact, than she had ever had in her life. And with it, new friendships that ran deeper than she had ever expected. 

‘This way,’ Neville whispered, and they ran low across the lawn of the grounds. Some of the windows in the castle behind them blazed with light, so that she thought for a terrible moment that they must be visible from the Great Hall, but, of course, the windows would be black with night to anyone who looked out from them. 

It was the summer term now, but the air was still cold as they panted, as though Dementors were close, which, she reasoned, they might be. She could feel the dew of the grass, left to grow long since Hagrid had left, soaking the bottoms of her jeans, seeping through her ratty trainers. 

Following the dark shadow of Neville’s figure, she ran through the grounds until she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot, and, ahead, the slight shine of starlight reflecting off the greenhouses. 

‘They’re in greenhouse three,’ Neville muttered, and her stomach dropped. 

He did not notice, and continued to hurry along the garden path, past the raised beds for the hardier plants and herbs, and she followed, but at a walk now, dread gnawing at her. 

He stopped at the door, holding his hands up to the glass to peer in. ‘OK…’ he said, still breathless from the run. ‘OK, looks clear… Now, while I talk to the venomous tentacula, you grab a tray, and fill it with perlite and only a few handfuls of compost, it’s a mountain plant so it likes it nice and rocky.’ 

‘OK,’ she said, and though she thought she sounded normal, he turned to her. She could barely make out his expression in the darkness. 

‘Are you all right?’ 

‘I… I’m sorry, I just… I haven’t been in the greenhouses for a long time… especially not this one. I should have thought before I volunteered, I'm sorry.’ 

She felt immediately embarrassed for blurting it out, and she had no idea if Neville would even grasp what she was getting at. He had been in the class, yes, but did he even remember that day? What had been the worst day of her life had been a perfectly ordinary school day for the rest of her classmates, and so many terrible things had happened since then. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you out here.’ 

She thought he was telling her off, or saying that they had to go back, but before she had the time to feel hurt or ashamed, he was holding out his hand towards her. 

She swallowed, and then placed her trembling hand in his. She was not unaccustomed to physical touch with him, or many others. Over the past year, she had tended wounds and comforted people as they cried, she had grasped hands and arms and knees under desks to soothe people or tell them to control themselves, she had passed secret notes and morsels of food and whatever else needed smuggling, slipping it nimbly from her fingers into their palms as they passed in the corridors.  

But now his fingers pressed firm and reassuring against hers, and there was something very different about them holding hands. 

She let him lead her into the greenhouse; the humid, warm air surrounded them at once, like an odd sort of hug that sat heavy on their lungs. Tall, leafy plants towered above them, brushing the domed glass high above their heads, which magically reflected the brilliant stars above them and lit the place in glorious silver. 

Now that she was in here, she felt a little better. The dread that had stopped her ever returning here, that had caused her to drop herbology and pretend that this part of the castle no longer existed, had not come to pass. It was, after all, simply a greenhouse, and Mum could not die again. 

‘Are you all right?’ he said gently. 

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’ 

He nodded, and reached for some gloves on a nearby bench. She missed his hand around hers. ‘Let’s move quickly, and get you out of here,’ he said, donning some goggles and a thick leather apron.  

She went to the potting tables where Professor Sprout always stood, and seized a large seedling tray. As she took handfuls of compost and perlite, she could see Neville wrestling with the venomous tentacular, saying, ‘I’ll bring you doxy granules tomorrow - I’ll move you to a sunnier spot - I already checked with Professor Sprout - come on, you knew this was part of the deal, we agreed-’

Eventually, when he had tied enough of the writhing vines together with garden twine and stroked the shoots into calmness, he gave a nod to Hannah, and started to remove his protective gear as she hurried over and they squeezed behind the plant

There, on a table surrounded by blue lanterns to make up for the blocked light caused by the tentacula, were long, deep pots, stuffed with dittany. Their slender, arching stems were clustered with pleasant green leaves, with a dusty sort of whiteness, and they were dotted with pink flowers. She had never seen the plant as it was before; she had only ever remembered the little vials of dittany kept in their first aid kit, good for scraped knees and cuts from any broken glass in the pub. Mum had always said it was good to be prepared in an emergency, it had been one of her funny little things like that, along with being a bit of a hypochondriac, and so Hannah had had a vial in the bottom of her trunk when she returned to school. That, combined with her good potions knowledge, had helped her stumble into a kind of mothering role that she found had rather suited her. 

‘I just need the flowers, the book says,’ she said, as Neville started gently pulling some up by the roots. 

‘Yes, but I think it’d be good if I can grow another set somewhere, as a back up so we don’t have to keep sneaking out here. It’s just me and Seamus in the dorm, I don’t think he’d mind if I put them in the window between Harry and Ron’s beds. Here, take these, cut the flowers where the stem splits off - yeah, there - so it’ll grow back.’ 

‘It’s really pretty,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty. It’s usually that the most useful plants are the ugliest.’ 

‘It is,’ said Neville absent-mindedly. ‘It’s from Crete. The healing properties were only discovered in the 17th century - people used to think it was an aphrodisiac, and it’s still used in some love potions.’ 

She looked at him, and though the light in the greenhouse was white starlight only, she could still see his cheeks burn red. 

‘It’s… it’s not, though,’ he mumbled. ‘Well… a little bit, but I… I don’t know why I said that.’

‘Because it’s interesting,’ she said quickly, as he busied himself repotting the seedlings. He nodded rapidly, and cleared his throat a little, and she cast around for something to say. ‘You… you should be careful, growing these in the dorm. If you’re caught-’

‘There’s no rule against growing plants,’ he said. ‘I’ve had plants up there loads of times. Especially my mimbulus mimbletonia, that’s had pride of place for a while.’

‘You know they don’t need an explicit rule,’ she said quietly. ‘They do what they want. If they think you’re… doing anything good, anything kind. That’s enough.’ 

He nodded, looking down at the delicate, thin roots of the dittany. There was a reason that he and Professor Sprout were growing such an innocent plant in such secrecy. ‘I know… but… it’s worth the risk.’ 

‘That’s very brave.’ 

‘Is it? Just growing a plant? Is that what passes for bravery these days?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said honestly. ‘Anything good does now. And it’s not just that.’ She paused, still cradling one of the delicate, rose pink flowers in her hand. ‘I mean… what were you thinking in muggle studies the other day? I hated seeing you screaming like that.’ 

‘Well I had to say something. It was repulsive, what she was saying about muggle children.’ 

‘No one believes her, no one really thinks-’

‘We don’t know that. Maybe some people might start believing her, because it’s easier. And anyway, it’s not just about that. Remember Umbridge?’ 

‘I try not to,’ she said dryly, and in the pale, washed out starlight she saw him grin. 

‘I know it’s stupid, but as Ginny and Luna haven’t come back, and Harry and Ron aren’t here, or Dean, or loads of other people… I’ve been-’ he sighed, as though frustrated he couldn’t find the words, ‘I’ve been trying to think about what they would do. I can’t afford to be Neville Longbottom, I’ve got to be someone braver. And Harry used to just completely go off on her, used to tell her straight in lessons that You-Know-Who was back, and, yeah, it got him more trouble than it felt like it was worth at the time, but you know what? I always found it really inspiring.’ 

‘I did too,’ she said quietly. ‘I remember thinking… well… why would he stick to a lie through all that?’ 

‘Exactly. He had principles, and if he was here he wouldn’t stand for any of that rot. There’s a lot of times over the past few months where I’ve just tried to…’ he shrugged helplessly, ‘pretend that I’m Harry. That I’m brave.’ 

‘I don’t think you’re pretending at all,’ she said. ‘You are brave. You always have been. You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?’ 

‘Somehow.’ 

‘No somehow about it. You’re the bravest man I know, and that includes Harry.’ 

‘How on earth does it include Harry?’ he asked, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughter. 

‘Because he’s had to be,’ she said. ‘I’ve grown up in Godric’s Hollow, you know, I’ve seen the ruined house that he lived in. He’s had to be brave all the way from when he was a baby. But I didn’t. You didn’t. You’ve chosen to be brave, you’ve chosen to channel him. You're a pureblood, you could choose, every day, to keep your head down and get on with things, but you don't. You stand up and call her a bigoted liar in class and get tortured and you never back down. I find that more inspiring than anything.’ 

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said quietly.  

‘And you were brave lots of times even before. Don’t you remember winning those points all the way back in first year?’ 

He beamed, and looked at her directly, for the first time since he had blurted out that dittany was an aphrodisiac. ‘You remember that?’ 

‘Of course I do. Dumbledore pointing out about standing up to your friends - he was so right, that does take a lot of bravery. I tried to do it next year, when Ernie was telling me that Harry was the heir of Slytherin. I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t as brave as you, but at least I tried, I suppose.’ 

‘I think you’re very brave too,’ he said. ‘Looking after everyone like this, handing out essence of dittany, running out here with me to get more… I’m sorry that you’ve had to come back in here. I didn’t think.’ 

‘I didn’t either,’ she said, and she started cutting more flowers. ‘I was just so focused on the idea of more, I didn’t really think about where I’d be getting it from… But, you know, I’m OK, actually. The thought of it was worse than the reality. It’s just a greenhouse.’ She looked around. The white starlight bleached the dark greenery into shades of silver, bounced off the watering cans, sparkled in the droplets of water from the sprinklers. ‘A very beautiful one.’ 

‘I like to think so,’ he said, a little hoarsely. ‘I always found this whole place beautiful, but now it… sometimes feels like only the greenhouses still are. They’re the only place I haven’t seen people being tortured.’ 

She paused. ‘I’m secretly thankful my mum isn’t alive to see this. Is that awful? I’m just glad she never had to worry about me being here. I feel bad enough for Dad.’ 

‘It’s not awful,’ said Neville. ‘I know what you mean.’ 

‘Do you?’ 

‘My parents don’t know anything about what’s going on, and for the first time in my life, I’m glad,’ he said, and for some reason his words seemed to surprise him. 

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, and without thinking she put down the little secateurs and touched his arm. He breathed deeply, not quite meeting her eyes, pressing down one of the seedlings quite firmly into the tray, before finally turning to her.

‘I live with my gran, because… my…’ He took another deep breath, and suddenly there was a clanging from outside. 

They froze, and heard a low voice swearing. 'Bloody wheelbarrow…' 

Hearts thudding, they ducked down and stayed silent, Neville silently mouthing for Hannah to get onto the large empty shelf under the potting table, where bags of compost were usually kept. He reached up, fumbling for the secateurs, and then started crawling along on his belly. 

'What are you doing?' she whispered, horrified. Alecto Carrow was opening the door to the greenhouse, still muttering and swearing about the wheelbarrow he had tripped over. 

He put a finger to his lips, and then pointed at the venomous tentacula, which had begun to writhe against the twine. The snip snip snip of the secateurs seemed unreasonably loud, but from the other side of the greenhouse Carrow did not appear to hear them, rifling noisily through the plants and shrubs, sending terracotta pots crashing to the floor. 

'Anyone in here?' he demanded. 'I saw your footprints in the gravel. Hello?' 

The vines of the tentacula waved threateningly, and Hannah watched with trembling fear as one of them reached out to Neville, still prone on the ground, and started to wrap itself around his throat. 

'Don't be cheeky,' she heard him mutter to it, and he calmly prodded it with the secateurs until it released him. 

It kept one tendril around his ankle, but Neville seemed to allow it as a compromise, and instead watched through the vines as Carrow upturned a table, still shouting and swearing. 

After several, agonisingly long minutes, Carrow came close to them. The venomous tentacula silently released Neville’s ankle, and raised it's spiked tendrils. 

'OW! Son of a bludger-' 

A long line of expletives followed, and the venomous tentacular shook noisily, whip-like noises echoing through the greenhouse as it reached after Carrow, now bolting from the room. 

'Grab the tray,' Neville told Hannah. 'He'll be heading straight to the hospital wing, we should have a clear path back. Quickly, before the tentacula gets over-excited and turns on us-' 

She did so at once and he held back the spiked vines as she squeezed past the plant, and hurried safely out of range. 

She stood there, holding her tray of little dittany plants and the heads of the flowers. She watched as Neville easily unentangled himself from the tentacula, patted it, said, 'thanks mate,' and grabbed a clear cover for the tray. He came close to her as he fitted it over the dittany, protecting them from the cold night air they would have to hurry back through.  

His face was inches from her own, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat a little as she looked up at him. There was a slight clunk as the lid of the tray found its place. For a moment, they were perfectly still, just their breathing in that humid place, and his eyes, shining light blue in the pale light, lifted from the tray of dittany to meet her own. 

'Do you really think I'm brave?' he whispered. 

She nodded, and he seemed to be steeling himself for something. Please, she thought, please make this place good for me again. Her hands gripped the edges of the tray.

Very gently, very slowly, he leaned closer over the tray. His hand moved as though to softly move her face to meet his, but he didn't need to, for she was already naturally tilting her head, and her heels were lifting a little off the ground without her bidding them to. 

Their lips met, soft like the petals of the dittany between them, sweet like the fragrance. His fingertips were trembling slightly as they caressed against her cheek, but then they calmed as the kiss deepened. 

The tray pressed into them as he tried to move closer, and it reminded them where they were. They broke apart, panting and gasping as though they had just finished the run down from the castle. 

She had never kissed anyone before. She was glad, unbelievably, overwhelmingly, joyfully glad, that her first kiss had been with Neville, in this place where the warm air was scented with damp soil and sweet flowers. 

'We… we should take these back,' he said, his voice slightly hoarse. ‘Let - let me take them.’ 

He took the tray from her, and in her happy daze she allowed it, and let him lead the way out of the greenhouse. Joy had returned to her again, beneath the fogged glass, amongst the green plants, bursting with life. 

[theimpossiblescheme]

Through a Glass, Shining

Inspired by a prompt from @the-cat-at-the-theatre-door, here is my entry for Old Deuteronomy’s day of Oldies Week!  I hope everyone enjoys!

There was a face right at the edge of his memory… a blurry, frosted-glass sort of face.  All in shadow, no eyes or discernible features… just a long shape with long whiskers, cast in greyish-blue.  No matter how much he squinted, he couldn’t make it out.  Was it his own face from long ago?  The face of a mate or child or dear friend?  There was no telling.  But he could tell by the lurch and rush of heat through his chest that it was supposed to mean something.

This was always the worst part… what kind of Keeper of Memory didn’t even know themselves?

Stirring very slightly from the elegant curve she’d folded herself into, Maladeen glanced at him sideways. “You’re starting to glimpse your last life,” she drawled, her voice slow and deliberate as ever.  “Can you make it out?”

Deuteronomy shook his head. “Nothing… I see a face, except it isn’t really a face.  It’s like… one of those human dolls that hasn’t been painted yet.”

Maladeen nodded sagely, as if that was all she needed to know.  “Perhaps you might look again.  You have so trained yourself to look for differences between old faces, you might not notice the similarities.  Some cats carry the same eyes through each of their lives.  Others might carry a coat pattern or… a certain set of their ears. I remember a very good friend of mine… he had been reborn with the same scar across his nose.  Even with no explanation for it in his new life.  The Everlasting Cat must have a sense of whimsy.” She pulled her paws underneath her, leaving nothing but silvery fur draped across the stone.  “You may be able to glean something of this life… from the one previous.”  And she fell silent again, eyes drifting shut as if she were about to fall asleep.

Well… that didn’t prove useful.  Deuteronomy sat for the next several minutes trying to pull the greyish-blue face back to the forefront of his mind, but what was he supposed to look for?  How could he see past the shadow?  What… blockage couldn’t he clear in his mind that was stopping him?  Eventually he gave up trying and just fell to watching a beetle crawling near his feet. Maladeen never looked down.  She didn’t look at him at all—just sat, trancelike, face tilted toward the sun.  Let her sit like all day, for all he cared.

There was a part of Deuteronomy that both loved and dreaded his training as a Keeper of Memory. Loved because he knew how important it was… but dreaded because it could be both terrifying and tedious by turns. The first time he had met his father’s Keeper, Maladeen, the look she’d given him—like she was looking past his face into the bones and sinew underneath—was one he’d never forget. She had the sort of pale, staring eyes that seemed to shoot small bursts of lightning down your back every time they met yours, and he only barely got used to them the more time they spent together.

Every so often, she would insist on sitting alone, but most days she would invite Deuteronomy to join her, and that would be the bulk of their training.  Just sitting on the Junkyard wall like this, not a sound between them but the faint static of each other’s thoughts.  Whenever his couldn’t organize into anything important or even coherent, he would just watch the world around them—the cars on the road, the bugs dipping in and out of cracks on the sidewalk, the shadows in the shop windows. Sometimes he’d just look over at Maladeen, to see if she’d move beyond the flick of an ear.  Watching Maladeen was like trying to watch for fish swimming under a frozen lake: maybe there was some sign of life deep down, but it was impossible to see under the ice.  And he felt that cold every moment he was with her, even if some days it gnawed a little less than usual.  The only time it seemed to thaw was when she spoke.  If she could sense something burning at the corners of his thoughts—a fragment of a memory he couldn’t recognize, or a voice he’d never heard before, or even just a flash of foreign emotion stealing his breath—she would attempt to give him some context or advice on how to rein it in.  Key word being attempt, of course, since she spoke so slowly and would sometimes trail off into rambling tangents or even long stretches of nothing, and Deuteronomy would end more confused than when he began.

Some days, he found himself trying to actively suppress his thoughts around her.  If she couldn’t sense them, she couldn’t lecture him… and she couldn’t be disappointed in him.  And he knew how wrong it was, how much it went against the point of his training, but some days he just couldn’t bring himself to care.  It was too much.  Every single day.  His mind was too sharp, too raw, a rattle of broken glass he couldn’t shape.  What use did was there for faces he only saw centimeters of, an eye or a nose or a whisker he couldn’t identify?  What comfort did he have whenever waves of grief or fear or even joy that he couldn’t parse choked him, and anything Maladeen said only made them heavier?  At least if he smothered them, banished everything that didn’t make sense to the corners of his mind, they couldn’t hurt him.  But even there, the muffled voices and softened stings remained.  He couldn’t be like Maladeen, silent and still.  Not a single emotion showing on her face, the serenity of the moon reflected on snow.  She didn’t care.  She never had.  He wanted that, and yet he didn’t… maybe he just wanted the ice to crack.  To know there was something underneath.

He didn’t expect to actually find a crack.

He hadn’t gone looking for it, nor did it occur to him that perhaps Maladeen had meant for him to find it. But as they sat, apparently out of the blue, he felt more than just her usual chill reserve a few feet away. Like a gust of real wind, salt-tinged and frosted from the northernmost oceans, blowing at his fur.  Maladeen didn’t move, but all at once, even as he was looking at her, he felt a rush of sensation greater than any he’d felt in the past.  Some kind of fissure had opened between them, and he was falling through.  This was greater than any shards of faces and places… he could barely understand his own lives after all this time, but he could see hers.

He could see long cobblestone roads coated in snow, across which floated horse-drawn carriages full of fur-wrapped humans.  In one woman’s lap sat a contented grey queen.  The luster and length of her fur was different, but there was that same opalescent shine in her eyes… it was definitely Maladeen.  He saw that same queen surrounded by kittens and an adoring mate one moment, only for them to be wrenched apart the next, held away from a squirming bag by the scruff of the neck as she yowled and writhed in another man’s grip.  He saw the same eyes in a brown tom stalking through dense forests, nursing a crooked leg before resting next to a doe in her nest, who nuzzled his head as she would her own fawn.  He felt the same rush of affection toward a large fluffy dog as a tabby kitten gamboled between his legs and rode at breakneck speed on its back, and he felt the shock of pain through his own chest as the dog was struck by a milk truck. He shuddered as a black cat jostled in their humans’ arms as she raced through darkened streets to escape distant screams.  He felt his own cheeks dampen as a golden tom helped his mates clean off the faces of some abandoned kittens, and he could just make out their names from voices muffled in each other’s fur.  He could hear long streams of names all rushing past him, voices that faded in wisps of smoke between his claws when he grasped for them.  He could feel the warmth of fire, of soft carpet, of gentle hands, of familiar flanks against his fur, and he could feel unbearably cold when they withdrew.  

He felt… everything. Or what felt like everything, and it wasn’t until the flood faded that he thought to feel overwhelmed.  Every memory welled up in his throat, and it was a moment before he could catch his breath.  He’d glimpsed a single crack, and the entire lake came rushing at him all at once…

How had it happened? Did Maladeen want him to see all of that?  Was he always able to see, and he’d never thought to try?  He looked over at Maladeen and saw her ears give the slightest twitch against the breeze… did she know what he’d seen?  Did she suspect at all?

I know more than just your name, he wanted to tell her.  He wanted to cry out until his lungs collapsed from the force of everything he’d seen and felt.  I know every name you’ve ever been called.  I’ve seen every life you’ve lived, every home you’ve claimed, every love in your heart…  and he suddenly felt very ashamed.  How could he have assumed she didn’t care, that she didn’t feel?  What had he ignored in the past—those flickers of light beneath the ice’s surface that showed where her heart beat?  How could he had been so arrogant, so inconsiderate of his mentor… so caught up in his own struggles that seemed like only a drop in the ocean now…

Then another thought occurred to him.  Was this part of a Keeper’s duty, too?  Was he supposed to have quite this much insight into the thoughts and memories of other Jellicles?  It seemed like certain things were meant to be sacred, and he’d just violated that sanctity… but what if somecat had a problem they were too ashamed to talk about out loud? What was he supposed to do then?  Could he just shut it off—everything he could see and feel?  Would it be right?  Tears stung at his eyes, both from the runoff of sensation and the overwhelming guilt from what he’d done, and he tried to wipe them away before Maladeen could see.

But she did see.  Of course she did.

And when she looked over at him this time, there was a smile on her face.  Only a small one, but it was summer in a moment there on the Junkyard wall. “It’s only another facet of your gift,” she said.  “One you’ll learn to control… in time.  I shall help you with that as well… perhaps it can help you past your own blind spots,” she added with what Deuteronomy could have sworn was a wink.

Deuteronomy couldn’t think of a time he’d been comforted by Maladeen’s presence before now.  There truly was a first time for everything.

[hotdamnhunnam]

Frontier of Anarchy – Chapter 4 –

Pairings: Jax Teller x OC || Will Miller x OC

Rating: M (swearing, sexual content, violence)

Summary: Two brothers separated at birth... bound by one woman they both love to death. This SoA / Triple Frontier crossover series alternates between the Charming high school love story of Jax Teller and Aera Lee, and Aera’s encounter with a face all too familiar—Will Miller—years later in New York City. When Jax learns that he has a twin brother... he sets out across the country with no clue that he might find him in the arms of Jax’s ex-lover. The love that he never got over.

In the FoA playlist, the three scenes of this chapter correspond to songs 10-12 – “Hometown Glory” // “Need the Sun to Break” // “Feeling a Moment”

Link to Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist

____________________

Chapter 4

🎵 Song 10 from the FoA playlist:      “Hometown Glory” by Adele

New York, New York || 2014

“... and then I said ‘I’m sure it’ll happen if it’s meant to’ as I ran out of the bar.”

Aera cringes at the memory; expectedly, the story gets the same reaction from her friend too. “I’m sorry, but ‘I’m sure it’ll happen if it’s meant to’…?” Stephanie repeats incredulously, wincing hard as if the words had left a scar. “Damn I’d forgotten what a bitch you are!”

“I know it was a shitty thing to say,” Aera admits with a self-deprecating laugh at what an idiot she’d been the other day. “I just freaked out and had to say something before I ran away.”

Steph takes a deep sip of her Big Apple martini, the bright green drink she always orders when she visits New York City. Licks her lips cleanly. “I mean I guess it’s not that shitty. You just probably shattered all his manly dignity.”

“Oh he’ll be fine,” Aera replies then thanks the waiter who arrives with a big bottle of red wine, to fill her nearly empty glass. “Will was just buying me a drink because I saved his ass—if there was ever any interest from his end I’m sure it’s gone now I came off like such a spaz. The loss of dignity’s all mine.”

“You know, this is just like those years ago, when you refused to get it through your head that Jax Teller could ever really want you,” Steph points out. “Though there was no reason to doubt. You’re still the same stupid smart girl that I once knew in high school aren’t you?”

“In some ways, yes,” Aera says, eyes rolling in exasperation at herself for being such a fucking mess. “Some days it feels like I’m that same dumb teenage girl whose heart’s still stuck on her first love somehow. You’d think that I’d be done with her by now.”

“We all move on at different speeds. Guess running into this Will guy was the last thing you need.” Stephanie reaches for the little menu standing on the table as she’s hungry for some snacks. “So when you say he looks like Jax...”

Aera for one has still been struggling to recover from her hunger for the walking talking snack known as Will Miller. “I’m serious. It’s not like oh he looks a little bit familiar. He legitimately could be Jax’s twin or clone or something and at first I thought that I was just delirious.”

Lately she wishes Will weren’t real—wishes she didn’t have to deal, with all this crazy shit she feels. And yet the racing of her heart won’t let her run from just how fucking real he is.

All she can do is fucking try to keep the door shut hard and tight.

In the meantime Steph scans the appetizer list and forcefully resists the urge to order every snack in sight. She likes to make the most of being in New York splurging on food and drinks and shopping trips and everything, and yet she knows that Aera will insist on treating her while she’s here visiting; if only just to be polite, she must fight back her appetite. “But you’re a hundred percent sure it wasn’t Jax right?”

Aera’s head bobs in an immediate nod yes. “God yes. A hundred thousand to be honest. Could just tell that he was someone else from right when I crashed into him that night.”

“And you had said that when you’re with him you feel things, but you can’t separate them from your high school feelings?”

“How am I even supposed to? When I talk to him it feels like the connection that we have is something new. But then I look up at his motherfucking face and have to wonder if that’s true.”

“So you’re just gonna stay away from him for good ‘cause that’s the smart girl thing to do?”

This ‘stupid/smart girl’ thing has been a running joke through all the years Aera and Steph have kept in touch. “Yeah pretty much. Though it’s the stupid girl thing too.”

A server with a tray of starters passes by and Steph tries not to watch. “Fine—well if you’ve made up your mind about Jax Teller Version Two, I guess it’s time to change the subject and catch up on work and such. How’s everything at Noble Stine? Still overworking you?”

Given that Steph already talked for hours earlier tonight about her recent move to San Francisco and the new job that she’s started in the time since her divorce, Aera won’t have to feel unduly self-absorbed now as the flow of conversation shifts its course. All of the focus on the nonexistent love life and the overbearing working life of hers.

“The hours will always be awful but what bothers me the most is that the culture’s gotten worse. There’s more bullshit under the surface now that more women are taking spots as partners, and more prejudice than ever as the workforce becomes more and more diverse,” she tells her friend about this job that she now carries on her shoulders like a curse. Lately a thought has crossed her mind she’s only mentioned to her mother... but she mentions it tonight since Steph’s the kind of friend with whom she can share anything. “For years I’ve tried to tell myself that I could rise above or even be a part of changing things, but honestly who am I kidding? Staying with this firm’s not worth it if I’m not even enjoying what I’m doing and so busy that I’m barely even breathing. Recently I’ve started thinking about quitting.”

Stephanie’s hazel eyes go wide like that’s the most amazing news. “Wait oh my God Aera that’s huge!! I’m so happy for you. For like the past five years I’ve been trying to hint that this is what you have to do, but wasn’t sure if you were picking up the cues.”

Aera just lets out a light laugh and shakes her head, seeing her friend get so excited. “Please don’t start planning a party for me yet—I mean it’s not like I’ve officially decided.”

“All the stars are lining up for you and you can’t even fight it!” Steph is totally convinced that her good friend is finally gonna get a chance at being happy. Psyched as fuck and doesn’t even try to hide it. Carries on ecstatically. “This is the year you’re gonna have the time to finish writing Anarchy. And at the same time you’ll start realizing the universe sent you the spitting image of the love you lost so tragically, because it’s meant to be and this time everything will work out fucking magically.”

Apparently, Steph has it all mapped out with crystal fucking clarity. Aera can only wish that this bright vision of her future were laid bare for her to see... and yet her tendency is always still to process things realistically. Maybe a little pessimistically.

Whereas for Stephanie, the outlook tends to be so optimistic it’s not even funny. Nothing seems to dampen her good mood. “And girl I don’t mean to be rude—but honestly, you’re really lucky that you won’t have to worry about the money. You can take any new job you want or even just retire early, or go off all full-time writerly, and you and your family would still live really comfortably. You’ve more than earned the right to focus on your quality of life and maybe that involves exploring possibilities with this Jax-looking dude.”

“Oh God that’s so not what I had in mind, when I said I might finally leave this job behind...” Aera dismisses the idea that her encounter with Will Miller had been cosmically designed. Then quickly pivots to the menu as she notices that every passing plate of appetizers has her friend’s attention glued. “But yes it’s true I have a lot of dough and you know that means we can order all the food.”

She lets her hungry friend pick—from the cheap classics, like loaded fries and nachos and hot wings and mozzarella sticks—knowing she also loves indulgences like these, which Steph encourages so Aera can add more meat onto her ‘skinny girl curves’. Soon afterward they venture down a couple blocks to a wine bar that offers pricier hors d’oeuvres: small plates featuring fresh imported truffles and artisanal cheese, whatever the palate may please, and innovative combinations of consistencies and flavors showcasing some of the culinary creativity that New York City proudly serves.

The two girls eat and drink till their stomachs are on the fucking verge. Aera Lee doesn’t always splurge, but Stephanie loudly convinces her that this is what a hardworking lawyer like her undoubtedly deserves.

Though Steph is only in the city for a few days, Aera knows she’ll make the most of it as always. Soak it in before she heads back to the sunny California coast where she was born and raised. And Aera’s glad to host her friend in her guest bedroom for however long she stays.

By the time they get back to her Tribeca penthouse well past 2:00 A.M., Aera has two dozen new work emails that popped up on her phone throughout the evening and she leaves them all unread. Won’t bother checking any of them. By the time the sun is up it’ll probably be over two hundred, but she’ll save them for when her hungover ass rolls out of bed.

Her happy guest is just a few drinks short of absolutely shitfaced. “She’s beauty and she’s grace,” Steph says about herself sarcastically, tripping over her stiletto pumps disastrously. Can’t even be bothered to make it to the guest room as she staggers through the foyer and sprawls out on the designer chaise, admiring the urban chic aesthetic of the space. “Have I told you how much I fucking love your place?”

“My home is yours!” the host assures her as she leaves her Jimmy Choos by the front door, abiding by her own no shoes rule that her visitor forgetfully ignores. But unlike some wealthy New Yorkers, she’s not too much of a stickler for this rule of hers; she knows there’s more to life than the condition of her high-end hardwood floors. 

“Maybe I’ll finally move my ass in now that I’m fucking divorced.”

“You’re more than welcome to of course,” Aera laughs while fetching a velvety throw blanket to drape over the chaise as makeshift bedcovers. Steph tends to fall fast into slumber as her booze-infused system tries to recover.

In a wink the bouncy blonde is sleeping tight. Given that it’s a weeknight, Aera drank a little less so that she wouldn’t have to stumble to the office too hungover. So she feels mostly alright. Hopefully she won’t wake up feeling as if she just got run over.

The good thing is that she falls asleep quickly... but the downside is come morning light she feels a little sickly. It’s the worst headache she’s had in fucking years. Reminds herself why she was never a big drinker in the past no matter what pressure she faced from all her peers. But it was worth it to unwind last night while Stephanie is here. At any rate, she has to clear her mind and take on all the shit that’s on her plate, as Noble Stine always requires her to fire on all gears.

She leaves a note for Steph who’s still deeply asleep—pretty damn deep—inviting her to help herself to anything she wants, for breakfast and for lunch. Notes that she’ll probably be at work till late, but that she’s happy to go for a Friday dinner date and drinks again if Steph won’t mind the wait. There are still tons of bars and restaurants; while she’s here over the weekend they can plan to try a bunch.

For now though, just as Aera’s mornings often go, she has to rush into the office to address a pressing matter that’s apparently imposing quite a time crunch.

Moments after she arrives Douchenozzle greets her in the hallway. From one look at him it’s clear to her already that some stomach-turning bullshit is about to come her way, and at the sight of his sharp silver hair and slime-blue stare she has to fight the urge to puke as always. Which is even harder now given that she drank more than usual just yesterday.

“Ah there you are! Our shining star.” Doug Noble strides presumptuously up to her and cups her face between his clammy hands, ‘cause he just never understands, the concept that some types of physical contact between colleagues constitute taking it too far.

Aera tries not to cringe for even though there’s nothing physically violent about his touch it seems to leave some kind of invisible scar.

“I was just talking to my guy at MKR,” he makes reference to a premier prospective client that Noble Stine has been trying to woo. Doug’s ‘guy’ at MKR happens to be a total creep who hit on Aera at a networking event not long ago and tried to pressure her to share a ride with him in his black car. When she refused, he made some weird comment about her pretty little feet not being able to escape him in her fancy high-heeled shoes. “He asked about you. If you’d join in our next pitch meeting or even just a call, I think that we might have a chance to seal the deal once and for all, I really do.”

Sometimes Doug Noble is honestly too ignoble to be true. He knows about her past experience with this guy, but he’s acting like he doesn’t have a clue. So she reminds him looking him dead in the eye. “That is never going to happen and you know why.”

He shrugs and frowns as if the memory’s not one that he can find. “Must’ve just slipped my mind. Whatever happened though, I’m sure it was some time ago. Why can’t a strong woman like you just leave the past behind?”

The slimy eye he turns is so willfully blind.

Doug goes on talking in that voice that never fails to make her squirm. “You really are a priceless asset to the firm. But our business is client service and sometimes serving our clients means agreeing to their terms.”

“MKR’s not a client yet.” She’s made it clear to the whole firm to which she’s such a ‘priceless asset’ that she doesn’t think winning MKR’s business is a worthwhile goal to set. It’s an unpopular opinion that most of her fellow partners just conveniently forget.

“They will be in a week or two. With just a little help from you,” he tells the future as if he has any right to. For a man like him it’s always in wide view. “It’s gonna be huge headline news.”

His gaze then lowers to the floor because he’s always looking for another low-down form of power to abuse. 

“I like your shoes. Those Jimmy Choos?” The sharp cut of his smile is sadistically amused. “I’m sure you’ll come around and understand that some offers simply can’t be refused.”

Aera is two seconds away from throwing up yesterday’s booze.

Unlike the heels that she had worn last night these shoes aren’t even Choos, but Doug assumes based on the Asian-sounding name. He really has no fucking shame. Douchenozzle honestly reminds her of Rich Dalton as the vibe that they give off is just the same, although the culture of this time and place requires Doug to be more underhanded with his views. On the surface he’s been supportive of diversity initiatives and has often advocated for advancement of minorities and women in the workplace just to play the fucking game.

That’s all this is to him—this whole entire system—just a game he’s rigged to win and all those under his position are his victims.

As he finally leaves while Aera heaves a sigh standing alone out in the hall, she realizes she doesn’t feel sick from the prior evening’s alcohol: she’s fucking sick of him.

She’s always been yet feels it now more so than ever as the weight of all her hate for him sinks in. Although his ‘Noble’ family name stands at the forefront of the firm’s very identity, Aera has tried for years to see the individual as separate from the entity. But at times like this it’s hard for her to cling to that distinction.

Something tells her in this instant to commit to finally quitting and it feels like she has sealed the fucking deal on that decision.

She can’t wait, to share the news with Steph and celebrate. Even if she is committing to go through with this—which in her gut she is—she won’t be giving notice until next week at the earliest, so for today she focuses on tending to the tasks still on her plate. Was just on her way to a meeting to attend to urgent business; thanks to Doug’s very unwelcome interruption she’s running a minute late.

Can’t help but wonder if she’s running more than just a minute late for her new chance at a clean slate. If maybe Stephanie was right in saying destiny is sending Will her way so that her heart can finally open up its gates.

And as she hustles through her day she can’t help wishing she had let him ask her on a fucking date. ********************

🎵 Song 11 from the FoA playlist:      “Need the Sun to Break” by James Bay

Charming, California || 1996

… Jax Teller asked her on a date?

Jax Fucking Teller asked her on a fucking date.

Hours have passed since that went down and Aera still can’t get her head on fucking straight. She’s pretty sure that she’ll combust before the clock strikes fucking eight.

Right after school she rushes over to Steph’s place where Steph has been busily packing up her stuff, taking the schoolday off. Though thankfully the damage Bryce did last night wasn’t too terribly rough, so that she didn’t have to head into the hospital, the incident was bad enough—it’d shaken her up more than just a little. And she knows that there’s no hope of feeling safe here in this town where the police would sooner shoot off their own heads than ever dare to put Rich Dalton’s boy in cuffs. Stephanie’s aunt lives in the next town over and agreed to take her in so that her niece can hopefully keep a safe distance from it all.

As Aera helps her friend get packed, she wonders how Steph manages to keep her grace and her composure so intact, after she’d just gotten attacked. Her long blonde tresses frame her face with bruises covered under layers of concealer while she talks about her plans to transfer school, like everything’s just fine and cool. Her tone is calm and casually matter-of-fact. Then shifts to warmhearted sincerity when she makes Aera promise that no matter what they’ll always keep in contact.

It’s a promise Aera’s glad to make as she picks up a cardboard box crammed with accessories and handbags. She then catches sight of something silver glinting in the midst of Steph’s belongings that makes her stop in her tracks.

Steph follows Aera’s gaze, then reaches to pull out the blade her friend had spotted stowed beside a can of mace. “These are from Jax.”

Aera’s heart stops just at the name.

“He came by earlier today; I guess he skipped school for the afternoon once he heard what Bryce did. He told me how sorry he was and that he feels like he’s to blame.” Steph hefts the little silver switchblade and the can of pepper spray, before she shoves them away somewhere deeper hid. “I reassured him it was fine since I had told him I was single so he really didn’t have to be ashamed. Either way he insisted I should have this knife, and that next time some scumbag lays a hand on me I should blind him or even take his fucking life. I thought it was sweet and I’m really glad he came.”

In Stephanie’s bright hazel eyes and chapsticked smile, Aera sees heartfelt fondness and yet can tell her friend no longer has a crush on Jax the way she used to for a while. Steph had actually told Aera once last week, that the few times they’d tried to speak, he was all broody and more moody than she thought he’d be and that vibe didn’t really suit her style. He also never seemed that into her ‘cause even when he was in her it somehow felt as though his soul couldn’t be seen for fucking miles.

“Jax is really a great guy, you know. Not just some empty-headed man hoe. When he showed up I thought maybe he would want a fuck goodbye—turns out we were on the same page though. That boy’s dick is seriously fucking epic but we both felt like the sex was getting old some days ago. Switching from fuckbuddies to friends seemed like the only way to go.”

Sometime before she leaves today, Aera intended to tell Steph that Jax had asked her on a date so this seems like a natural segue...

But Steph still has more to say, stuffing a bag full of CDs she loves to play. “By the way, I never mentioned this but now I’m leaving town I kind of want to: I don’t really have hard evidence but something in my gut gives me the feeling that Jax has a crush on you.”

No fucking way?? Aera’s mouth falls open then shut. Closes her eyes and tries to shake her disbelief away. “Okay, you know what—any day before today I would’ve told you that you’re straight up fucking crazy but...”

... but now she kind of can’t.

And once she tells her friend what happened Steph gleefully claps her hands and goes on a big happy rant. “You guys would be so good together! I’ll admit that before Jax and I hung out, I’d assumed he was kind of stupid and he only cared about bikes or whatever. I was wrong without a doubt. He’s secretly like sort of smart?! I get the sense he’s really into books and art, though if the town found out he probably thinks they’d all rip him apart, but most importantly he has a real good heart...”

It means a lot to Aera knowing Stephanie is so supportive, giving all the positive vibes she can give. Yet Aera still can’t help but fear that any chance of something blossoming between herself and Jax will end before it even starts.

Steph’s optimism is contagious though and she’s seriously over the moon. They could go on talking for hours this fine Friday afternoon, but Steph’s aunt is dropping by to pick her up soon, so they part ways with a big hug as they pledge to keep in touch. For all the popular kids Stephanie supposedly befriended—in her time among the crowd that’s seen as cool, at Redwood High School—none turned out to truly care about and help her in the way that Aera did. She thanks her and expresses that it really means so much.

The only thing that Steph regrets as she leaves Charming, is that she won’t get to see Aera and Jax’s romance blossoming; she would’ve loved to stick around and watch.

At any rate, it’s getting late, and Aera has to work her usual shift right before her date. That slot from six to eight. Her mind is elsewhere, as a faceless blur of customers fly past her. Barely there, answering questions anyone might want to ask her. These two hours could not possibly go faster...

It’s about seven forty-five, when the worst kind of goddamn customer alive, strides in and suddenly the whole store is pervaded with the stink of rotten motherfucking bastard.

Richard Dalton—‘Rich’ or ‘Filthy Rich’ or ‘King Richard’ or ‘Dick’ or ‘Satan incarnate’ as folks in town have called him—doesn’t come around here often. When he does appear, Aera wishes she could be anywhere but here. Would dig her own damn grave to hide inside her coffin.

The ceiling lights almost seem scared, to shine off the slick of his silver-grey hair. To reflect in the cold steely glare of his same-colored stare. Maybe they’d flickered, like a scene out of a paranormal horror flick or some shit, or maybe she’d just imagined it, she figures, since her field of vision shivers in his presence and she honestly can’t stand it. There’s no reason for his teeth to be so razor-sharp and bright. Although his features are so pale they hold no light. Hold so much dark, it’s fucking stark—threaten to bite worse than their bark, to prey on everything in sight. To cast a shadow that turns any day to night.

Filthy Rich is a fucking shark. Great fucking white.

Aera is shelving products in one of the aisles, close enough to see Rich walk up to the front counter and flash his great white smile. Minah is at the register and part of Aera wants to stand beside her if only in solidarity. But her mom has always urged her to stay far away from Rich, for she herself would rather draw all the attention from this sick son of a bitch, than to let any of it fall on Aera Lee.

“Now there’s my Madame Butterfly,” Rich greets the storeowner’s middle-aged daughter as his eye flits from her pretty face and petite figure to the fresh batch of baked goods for sale nearby: Minah had just whipped up her homemade version of the Korean chocolate-coated marshmallow-filled cakes called choco pie. “And some of those exotic oriental treats. How sweet. Everything in this place looks good enough to eat.”

Aera just grits her teeth and hopes that Rich won’t make one of his crude comments about Minah’s affinity for white meat. When he learned some time ago that her ex-husband was a white guy, he assumed that she’d fallen wildly in love with an American who married her and knocked her up only to leave his Asian plaything and their child high and dry. Just as the story goes in Madame Butterfly. Rich refuses to see it any other way of course. And yet the truth is Aera’s father had still been in love with Minah when she asked for a divorce—there was no bad blood and no reason why; he was a good man but she’d simply fallen out of love with him and didn’t want to live a lie.

Rich Dalton doesn’t care what’s true. As far as he’s concerned the world only exists to cater to his great white view.

He grabs himself a choco pie, digging his fingers into the dark chocolate shell which leaves a residue that he proceeds to lick. Minah quite clearly wants to die, as Rich leans over the counter to whisper words that make her sick.

Chan Lee emerges from his office having sensed this shit that he can’t let continue, and he cuts it off real quick. “My daughter has no interest in you, Dick.”

Even across the room from where Dick Dalton is, Aera can almost hear the intake of a hiss.

Nobody dares to talk to King Richard like this.

He pauses as his fist clenches down tight, around this piece for which he hasn’t paid until the marshmallow inside the yellow cake squeezes out white. The blunt edge of each nail upon his hand cuts like a knife. He’s come to Lee’s to scope the scene after the incident with Bryce—but while he’s here, if there’s any chance to reassert his power over people whom he sees as so inferior, then he’ll snatch it and will not even think twice. “You know I liked your wife. Back when she was alive. She was always so... polite. When I would come by every night.” That filthy tongue speaks about Aera’s late grandmother as if he has any right. Stares at the owner of the store, reminding Chan that Rich owns more, and threatening the Lees to live by his advice. “In honor of her memory I’ll let this slide, alright? Just to be nice. Just know you’re skating on thin ice.”

With that he turns and leaves the place. The hate that fills the space left in Dick Dalton’s wake is strong enough to taste, and thick enough to slice.

For Aera Lee the only thing that could feel stronger... is the rush she feels about that boy who asked her on a date. The utter opposite of hate. And now it’s ten minutes to eight, she might not have to wait much longer.

As for Jax... he feels like he’s been waiting way too fucking long. As he pulls up to Lee’s and parks his bike he tries to tell himself to just relax, but he’s impossibly high-strung and scared of choking on his tongue. His heart has never beat the way it beats tonight. He’s terrified that after two minutes with him she’ll realize everything about him is just wrong; fear makes his stomach twist up tight. In all his life he’s never wanted so goddamn badly for something to go right...

Then through the window there he sees her and his fear fades at the sight. Just as it had when they’d first spoken in the hallway, earlier today. The nerves are there but in a way that just excites—there’s no anxiety or fright—she drives him batshit and yet somehow makes the bad shit go away. It feels like nothing could go wrong when his heart’s flooded with such light.

Brown eyes look up at him the moment he walks in and though it’s eight o’clock at night, no sun could ever shine so bright.

And Aera finds the sun shines in his hair of gold, those sky blue eyes that seem to stare into her soul... she has no idea what to say, as Jackson Teller comes her way, and without thinking she just blurts out something bold: “...So will it be another extra large tonight?”

Oh shit—the words escape her mouth before she even knows it. Aera bites her lip to close it.

Holy fuck, he thinks—bashfully blinks—run over by a truck—this damn date hasn’t even started and already she’s pushed all of his emotions past the brink... 

Embarrassment about his go-to-box-of-XL-condoms habit. Happiness because that means she’d noticed every time he grabbed it. Confidence because that means she knows he’s big, and maybe that’s something she digs. Excitement too because he wonders if she wants him just as much as he wants her and maybe they’ll spend senior year fucking like rabbits. Circling right back to embarrassment again because the thought makes him feel like a horny pig. 

Mostly he feels this intense rush that feels like more than just a crush. His insides turn to fucking mush, something he’s never felt before. Based on her words just now she seems to be playful and fucking flirty, and just like himself Jax wants a girl whose mind is more than just a little dirty... and yet ultimately all he wants is something fucking pure. With her, he just hopes that he’s worthy.

“Nah I’ve got plenty,” he replies, to her question about the king-sized condoms he usually buys. Both of them know he’s bought too many. Standing in front of her now he smiles soft and shy while wondering how somebody could be so fucking pretty. “God I hope you’re not regretting this already.”

This guy’s too cute to be true. She smiles back into those eyes so big and blue. “Saving your ass or going on a date with you?”

“I really don’t know which is stupider between the two.”

Aera blushes just imagining what stupid shit she’s getting herself into. Still feels like the only stupid thing to do was to believe that Jax would ever ask her out. He must have been joking she’d thought, no matter how fiercely her heart tells her he’s not... yet now he’s here and all she feels is hope and trust without a shadow of a doubt. She wishes she could understand the way she’s feeling but she can’t even begin to.

Jax then glances at the clock up on the wall. Time hardly seems to pass at all, yet beckons him to heed its call. “I guess it’s eight,” he reckons as the second hand stands straight. “Time for that date?”

“Yeah I guess so. Let’s go.” She reaches for the open hand that he extends and—oh—at first touch suddenly she feels like a whole different person than she was seconds ago. Yet at the same time she feels more herself than she has ever been. Like home is written in his skin, built in the heart that beats within. It’s this whole fucking thing that happens; doesn’t make any damn sense. It doesn’t really have to though. “I don’t regret a single stupid thing you know.”

He beams at her and holds her hand tighter and everything inside her feels aglow.

The feeling fills him too, and kills him through and through. His heart feels so full like it’s gonna fucking blow.

As they step outside, Aera’s gaze lands on his ride. Reminds her of the many times she’s heard the engine roar. She’s never seen the prince’s steed up close before. It looks like such a fucking beast yet such a beauty with its signature design and striking shine and at the sight her eyes go wide...

“She’s a real beauty of a beast,” Jax says as if he’d read her mind, one hand gesturing at his Harley while his other hand in hers remains entwined. “You ever been on one of these?”

She shakes her head and on an anxious impulse clutches his hand tight. “First time for every damn thing right?”

Blue eyes blaze bright, as he can tell that she’s excited to try out something that’s so thrilling and new. He wasn’t sure if she would be right off the bat, yet now he’s sure of that, and makes a note in case he earns date number two. “Yeah but I’m not planning to take the bike tonight. I wasn’t sure if you would want to.”

“I would love to ride the beast someday.”

Apparently when she’s around Jax Fucking Teller Aera’s inner slut has quite a lot to say.

Of course those words have him feeling some kind of way, but it’s too soon to get so dirty. He just hopes and prays his dick will make it through the night okay. “I made a reservation for eight thirty, just a few blocks down. We can show up a little early, or go on the scenic route around this charming little town.”

“Either sounds great,” she answers honestly ‘cause anything sounds great when he’s taking her on a date. “By the way—how’d you know to pick me up at eight? You said you’d come by after my ‘usual shift’ as if you have a clue.”

“I do,” he states like it’s so obviously true. They start to stroll along the sidewalk hand in hand and the same old pavement beneath his shoes feels totally brand new. “I promise I haven’t been stalking you, but yeah there are a few things I already knew. For years I’ve seen you from afar and always wanted you. Badly.”

Her heart somehow feels steady even as it’s off the tracks, pounding madly. “J-Jax, you never even looked at me.”

“That’s such a lie. Just never looked you in the eye. ‘Cause staring straight into the sun can blind a guy.”

Those words make Aera want to die. “Jesus you’re cheesy. You should know you really can’t fool me that easy.”

“Fool? The smartest girl in the entire fucking school?” Something about uttering ‘fucking’ in her presence makes him clench. The curse just slipped as he clumsily licks his lips and hopes she’s cool. “Excuse my French. But seriously it’s not fair that you’re also so fucking beautiful.”

“Look who the fuck is talking,” Aera laughs lightheartedly to reassure him that she’s way past caring, fond herself of swearing. “Mr. Sex God Walking.”

“Not my fault I’ve got a flawless face and body made for fucking.”

With that Jax throws her a wink, and for a second she can’t even think. He makes her feel so dumb. “Um,” she mumbles and uncomfortably fidgets. “Let’s stop rhyming like a couple of fucking idiots.”

“You started this now I can’t quit it,” he tells her though he’s not sure who first did it. Flashes her a smile so warm that she quickly forgets she ever felt uncomfortable. “And hey—d’you just say... ‘couple’?”

At the thought she’s floating on a cloud of butterflies and bubbles. Just their first date and it’s only just begun, yet any chance of Aera ever wanting anyone but Jackson feels like it’s over and done. She stares down at the starlit concrete sparkling underneath her feet and struggles not to stumble. “Y-you’re trouble.”

His smile brightens ‘cause with Aera Lee the whole damn world feels sparkly. “I’m a fucking Son of Anarchy.” 

And then a thought crosses his mind he doesn’t speak: ...but here with you for the first time I feel like maybe I don’t have to be. 

It’s the first time Jax hasn’t felt bound by a legacy so strong the pull of it makes him feel weak. First time his future hasn’t felt like something small and predetermined in a way that’s so damn bleak. As if she holds the key that flung it open magically.

As if she is the key.

As if the prince just found his queen-to-be, and now he doesn’t even need the crown.

They end up going on the scenic route through town, for they’re in no rush to sit down. It happens to be quite the lovely autumn night with just a slight chill in the air. That perfect kind of weather so mild it’s barely even there. His heart thumps wild yet so calm, warm in the comfort of her palm, as they go on talking about nothing and everything and cracking jokes that anybody else would think are dumb, but he feels home being her stupid little clown.

Around eight twenty-five, he guides her to the restaurant he’s reserved. It’s Ristorante Amore which happens to be Aera’s favorite spot in town and all her hungry tastebuds come alive as soon as they arrive. A maître d’ with a thick Scottish accent who attempts to mask it with heavy theatrical Italian escorts them to a cozy courtyard where their dinner will be served.

She doesn’t recognize him from her prior visits to Amore. That’s because he isn’t actually an employee but rather one of Jax’s closest friends—the Sons of Anarchy are chummy with the owner of the restaurant so they’d pulled some strings today, to help their boy snag a last-minute reservation at the most romantic table in the place and Jax is mortified to find that Chibs is not the only Son who’s in the house to play pretend.

Well damn. Tig is their waiter for the evening and Bobby is standing tableside with a fucking accordion as he sings “Bella Notte” from the Disney classic Lady and the Tramp.

The moonlighting musician doesn’t know all of the lyrics but he does his best with it. Jax is clearly embarrassed as shit, but he’s heartened to see that his date really digs it.

“What a beautiful night... have some noodles tonight...” Bobby butchers the words.

Aera smiles big and bright. “These guys are Sons right? Friends of yours?”

Jax feels so fucking awkward yet can’t help but mirror that smile of hers. “Yeah of course.”

“I don’t know why you look so embarrassed. Your boys are the best, I’m so fucking impressed. I’ve never seen bikers so spiffily dressed.”

Tig arrives right on cue, asking whether they need some more time with the menu.

Aera figures this Disney romance game is worth playing into. “Do you have spaghetti and meatballs for two?”

“We most certainly do.”

She looks over at Jackson, gauging his reaction. “That sound good to you?”

That exact dish is what he was going to ask about too. Aera already knew. It’s like every damn thing about him is just open to her in full view—all the shit that he never tells, hidden from everyone else. With this girl there’s no secret he keeps and no image he sells. He just wants to be true.

And the whole night he is. He’s himself and he never knew it’d be as easy as this.

The two ramble on effortlessly about their favorite movies and books and artists. Jax tells her literature is his favorite subject yet he finds it the hardest. Feels there’s an ineffable X-factor common among brilliant writers—and brilliant minds like hers—some secret code that he just never gets. He has this crazy pipe dream of someday becoming an author and that’s what the worst fucking part is.

With each word he utters, Aera comes to realize Jax Teller is more than she’d ever imagined in every damn way that matters. Of all the guys she’s ever met at Redwood High he seems the most thoughtful, and though he’s humble, honestly the smartest. She’d never have guessed. She reassures him that his ‘crazy’ dream is worth chasing and his chance at success is just as good as hers. That he’s a sex god with a big beautiful brain who shouldn’t see himself as any fucking less.

From experience as of tonight Aera knows all the best dreams seem crazy at first; that’s what makes them the best.

As they plow hungrily through their platter of sauce-smothered pasta they’re both well aware, that the last piece is meant to be shared... just until their lips meet in the middle and lock in a kiss. For that right there would be amore, in the Disney cartoon way. Yet as the noodles dwindle down it dawns on Aera that she doesn’t want a threesome with a damn string of spaghetti when she has that first experience of total fucking bliss.

The same thought hits Jax in this moment too. “I gotta say I didn’t really think this through. Mouthful of marinara meatballs wasn’t how I had imagined my first kiss with you.”

The fact that Jax Teller has pictured kissing her just can’t be true. His words just now have got her squirming in her seat—if only he had any clue… how many times she’s imagined having a mouthful of his meat... his balls... on impulse, she grabs the dessert menu to order something innocent and sweet. “Are you into tiramisu?”

He’s into anything that she could ever want. 

Just wishes he were in her—

Cuts that train of thought up front, with a suppressed grunt. Feels like such a fucking sinner. He respects her way too much to let his eyes fucking undress her and envision her, begging for him to ruin her, to make her come undone right in the middle of this restaurant... 

That’s the only damn dessert he really wants, after this dinner.

Yet for once, Jax doesn’t want it now and fast. ‘Cause once the moment comes it’s passed. With her he’ll wait for fucking years, if the wait buys some time from fate before the moment disappears. With her he wants to make it last.

All through dessert, they’re smiling till their faces hurt. Constantly hanging on each other’s every word. Jax happily insists the bill is his to pay, as Tig returns to clear their plates away. Aera thanks him but the corners of her smile start to lower, as she realizes the date is almost over—all she wants to do is stay...

Her date has something more to say. “So I know dinner and a movie is cliche, but—”

“No it’s not!” Aera’s ecstatic at the thought. She’s well aware that she sounds way too overeager but so what. “I mean it is super cliche but in a charming way, you know? I’m craving popcorn anyway, so...”

“Perfect then let’s go.” Jax grins and grabs the hand that she extends. As they head out he flips the bird at his three friends, for putting him through such embarrassment. He’ll get back at them someday but deep down he’s glad and grateful that they’d helped him score a table in this fine establishment. What matters is that she seemed to enjoy the show. Maybe it wasn’t a total fiasco.

Charming Cinemas is just a couple of blocks away. When they arrive Jax guides her to a private side entrance instead of taking her through the front doorway. “So you know how they have rooftop movie theaters or whatever in big cities like New York and LA?”

She’s heard of them but never been to one; from tonight’s dinner conversation, Jax now knows that Aera hopes to make New York her home someday.

Of course this crap town doesn’t have nice stuff like that. But Opie works at Charming Cinemas and earlier this evening, he had helped Jax to set up a makeshift screening: a projector and a loveseat on the rooftop of this building made for two to watch in private.

The setup even includes a classic red popcorn machine off to the side. Jax turns it on and gets a batch popping while Aera just takes in the sight with absolute delight—the space is bright with strings of decorative lights, as if so many stars have fallen from the California night. She smiles a million miles wide.

“Jax, this is so fucking adorable,” she gushes wondering when all the butterflies inside her will relax. They’re fluttering way more than normal. It’s a problem. It’s too early for these feelings to be here but she can’t stop them. Hides behind the joke she cracks, pretending she still thinks his womanizing habits are so horrible. “So is this where you take all your girls to charm the pants right off of them?”

“Yeah pretty much.” He gestures at the cushiony pink sofa with a grimace like it’d be icky to touch. “Watch where you sit ‘cause that’s a really sticky couch.”

“Oh God you’re gross...!” she laughs though honestly he’s not, not even close. It’s super cute and pretty hot, the way his lower lip looks even more delicious as he pouts and mouths a quiet little ‘ouch.’

Jax clasps her hand in his again so she can feel the truth in every word he tells. “I’ve never done anything close to this for anybody else—I promise. You can run away right now if you don’t trust me on this.”

Those lips look so damn delicious when he’s being so damn honest...

Then he smirks a little bit and surely that’s the most delicious-looking anything is ever gonna get. “You’re not running yet.”

Suddenly she’s so fucking wet.

His body aches to take her now if he just asks and she says yes—but his head tells him to hold back or else it’d be a desperate mess—rushing a chance like this is something that he knows he would regret.

There’s still that feeling that he gets, deep in his gut of a whole lifetime of regret paving the reaper’s road ahead. But at eighteen the part of him that hopes against hope isn’t dead. At eighteen Jax Teller is open-fucking-hearted. Hasn’t smoked a single fucking cigarette.

He calms his dick and promises himself the night won’t end with both of them undressed. “Why don’t you settle in on that squeaky clean loveseat and I’ll get the movie started.”

Aera does as he suggests. For at the tension she had felt, her heart was just about to burst out of her chest. Brain cells were all about to melt. Stepping away from him for just a couple seconds is the best way she can let her bubbling hormones get some rest.

Images start to play across the standing screen Jax had set up, and in no time he plops beside her on the sofa with some freshly buttered popcorn in a red-and-white striped tub.

“That smells so good,” she says supposedly about the snack he’s brought, then reaches in and grabs herself a bigger handful than she should. If she just drowns herself in popcorn maybe she’ll forget that Jax’s signature man scent is mind-numbingly hot. It’s not a heavy shot of body spray like all the jocks in school have got—it’s clean yet earthy with strong overtones of leather, and an undertone of something even better, rich and raw and rugged as a cut of wood...

It makes her dizzy, so she tries to focus on the goddamn movie which is when she realizes that he’s continuing the evening’s theme of Disney.

“Are we really watching Beauty and the Beast?”

Jax chuckles playfully and nods as if it shouldn’t be surprising in the least. “A girl who’s beautiful and smart, and the big beast who wins her heart.”

He really is the Prince of Charming and he’s proud to play the part.

They cuddle closer to each other all throughout the film. It’s not even deliberate but just something that happens when she’s with him. Just one date and it’s already like her heart is calibrated to his rhythm.

A while later Aera realizes how buttery her fingers are and absentmindedly decides to lick them clean. Jax struggles not to watch ‘cause he’s already hornier than he has ever been. 

Turns out the moment is just right for him to tell a flirty joke now as Belle looks up at the beast in that iconic ballroom scene.

And so Prince Charming licks his lips and lets the beast inside of him come out to play. “This is where she’s about to say: she’d love to ride the beast someday.”

Aera stops mid-chew. God it’s true, without a doubt. Her own suggestive words from earlier tonight have been shoved back into her mouth. 

Her laugh is warm and full of buttery popcorn and butterflies just at the thought that she might someday ride the beast too. There is nothing in the world she’d rather do...

But will it be tonight? She’d rather wait than rush it when the timing isn’t right—though she already feels like everything is right when they’re together. Maybe it’s all the enchanting fairytale energy buzzing through the night and that intoxicating scent of lust and leather...

Whatever it may be—no matter how crazy—Aera Lee already feels like every single part of her is bound now and forever, to Jax Teller. ********************

🎵 Song 12 from the FoA playlist:      “Feeling a Moment” by Feeder

New York, New York || 2014

He’s not Jax.

He’s not. He’s not.

The way he looks and talks and acts—there’s some damn other thing about him that attracts—that binds her to him like a lot. There’s this whole sure-and-steady-soldier vibe he’s got. That isn’t Jax by a long shot. Whereas Jax always burned red hot, the heart of Will Miller burns blue. Not to say he isn’t hot too. Fact is he’s too hot to be true. In some ways blue is even hotter, flame still blazing all around her, even when she’s underwater, when his beauty and his power fucking drown her… break the cage locking her heart and cut right through…

But that is not the point at all—she beats it into her own skull—the point is just that he’s not Jax and she’s aware of all the crucial differences between the two. Will simply shares some facial features with her memory of a teenager who just happens to be the only love she ever knew.

And she’s still mortified that after they first spoke, when he told her he wanted to see her again her brain just broke... and she responded like a fool ‘I’m sure it’ll happen if it’s meant to.’

She had no clue how to handle her reaction, to this man looking uncannily like Jackson. Couldn’t trust herself around him and couldn’t even pretend to.

But as Stephanie would say, Aera Lee really can’t keep living life that way. Even if something’s meant to be, she’ll never know it if she shuts the door on destiny. So fearfully and desperately just runs the fuck away.

And so of course tonight she ends up right back here. At Tribeca Fucking Frontier. She spent the past weekend with Steph, then once her friend left, gave two weeks’ notice to Noble Stine on Monday. The announcement of her imminent departure caused a stir throughout the firm but that’s okay. For once the outlook on her life feels fucking clear. Steph said she can’t wait to see how everything’s changed when she visits Aera again sometime next year.

This Friday evening, Aera leaves the office several hours earlier than usual because she fucking can. The sun’s not set; the night’s young yet. Though it’s beyond believing, this time next week she’ll be done with Noble Stine and never have to set foot in a big corporate law office again.

The only thing that’s even harder to believe is the idea that Jackson Teller isn’t somehow biologically related to this man.

She really shouldn’t be surprised at the resemblance between them, now as she walks up to the bar and glimpses Will chatting with some folks at a table near the window. It’s the third time that she’s seen him, so by now she ought to know. Still fucks her up every damn time though.

She’s in the middle of mustering up the courage to walk in, when Will’s eyes meet hers and lock in. She’s had this impression before but the sheer force of this man’s gaze is seriously like an anchor. Fucking sinks her as he shakes her. Yet it feels so safe and comforting and so... so fucking... strong like she’ll go anywhere he takes her.

With a warm smile and a subtle gesture, Will signals he’s gonna step outside to get her. Or to greet her or whatever. So she does her best to pull herself together.

In a few seconds then he’s standing in front of her; she freezes up again and can’t recover. Wishes she could bash her head into a wall.

The bastard smirks at her which really isn’t fair when he’s so big and blonde and beautiful and tall. “I guess it’s meant to happen after all?”

Aera can feel her cheeks flush red, as she sheepishly shakes her head. “Please don’t remind me of that stupid thing I said... I’ve just been dealing with some shit ever since we first met, and in that moment I just felt the worst of it, and totally overreacted.”

Will’s casual button-down shirt brings out his eyes’ deep ocean hue. He looks amused a little bit, but in a heartfelt way that doesn’t make her feel like such an idiot. “It isn’t stupid if it’s true. Things tend to happen if they’re meant to.”

So damn blue, she thinks enraptured as his gaze swallows her whole like she’s the only thing in view. “I guess they do.”

“Honestly though—if anything about me makes you feel uncomfortable I promise you won’t hear from me again. I get that sense sometimes but then... hell I don’t know.” The captain loses his composure and command over himself all of a sudden. Face goes just a little rosy as he stares down at his shoes. “I’m usually better at picking up on cues, but I’ll admit I get a little bit confused, when I’m with you.”

And his confession is her cue. It makes her feel fuzzy to know that Will gets all screwed up when they’re together too. “Well, as I’m sure you can already tell, the feeling’s mutual. I used to have a few functional brain cells but with you I lose them all.”

She wants to reassure him that he doesn’t make her feel uncomfortable yet fumbles for a second ‘cause he does but it’s totally not his fault. She’s just not certain how to phrase it without sounding like an insult.

But before she can manage, Will speaks up playfully referring to the way his presence leaves her brain cells ravaged. “You gonna sue me for that damage?”

“Sue you?” she echoes, as the slight edge to his tone summons her own inner slut savage. Words let go, before she even has a chance to slap a filter on that bitch. “Hell no. There are way too many other things I’d rather do to you.”

... did she just say that. She needs to obtain a muzzle for her big stupid mouth stat.

Or maybe he could do the trick... shutting her up real fucking quick, with his big dick...

Will reads her mind and while the thought of that excites, he also senses that she’s struggling to keep her dirty impulses at bay. He helps her out in her attempts to stow her thirst safely away. “You mean like take me out to dinner right? ‘Cause if that’s what you had in mind I’m free tonight.”

Oh wow. Like now?? When she came over here to talk she had hoped things would go okay; she didn’t think they’d end up going on a dinner date today. In spite of everything it seems like Will is truly understanding and still into her somehow. “You’re not put off by all those times I ran away?”

“It was just twice. Although that second time was cold as ice,” he winces as if it had hurt him physically, but reassures her with a chill lighthearted smile pretty quickly. “Hey, I get it though. You had your reasons and it doesn’t put me off if you feel weird about me looking like someone you used to know. Just means I have to hope that someday, you won’t run away if I give you enough reason to stay.”

Well fuck this guy for being literally perfect.

She would like to fuck him right now on the New York City streets or up against the brick walls of his bar then take him home to fuck on every single surface…

California sky-blue eyes flash in her mind for just a moment but she can’t let them back in—it’s just a fleeting glimpse of Jackson—flame already fading farther in the past the more she falls into Will’s presence and she wants to be present with him and only him ‘cause he fucking deserves it.

If she takes this chance today, of letting old love slip away… braving the risk that this bond too is bound to break, ‘cause nothing good in Aera’s love life ever seems to fucking stay, ever since that first endless love that blessed her heart only to curse it… she just has to hope and pray that it’s a chance she’s meant to take. And try to make herself believe that it’ll be worth it. ____________________

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[aquilaofarkham]

title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought. 

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️  Thank you so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity. 

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.” 

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

--

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician. 

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

 “I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough. 

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.