#sitting here crumbling into dust because it's been a month or so as though up until the last week and a half i wasn't busy with

[quitedisastrous]

supposed to be drawing grocery cart but my stupid mind can't compel itself to do so. sigh. perhaps later

[naesarangyunho]

Patronus- Jeong Yunho (Harry Potter AU)

[I don't own these images credits to the original owners]

SFW

Synopsis: Just a cute little piece of domestic Yunho and y/n but with magic. I've wanted to do a Harry Potter AU for so long so I decided why not write one with soft Yunho.

Contains: fluff, husband! Yunho, father! Yunho, Harry Potter terminology, Yunho is a professional Quidditch player because I say so

[Word Count: 2k]

Y/N had been slaving away in the kitchen for most of the morning, preparing a large meal.

Her in-laws were visiting for Sunday lunch and she wanted everything to be perfect.

Her feet ached from standing for so long and even though she knew that she could cut the time it took for her to cook and bake in half with the use of her wand, she was determined to avoid using magic. She'd always firmly believed that food should be made by hand and with love.

As she finally placed the two pies she'd been working on (one of her signature apple crumbles as well as a beautiful blackberry pie) in the oven she felt arms snake around her waist.

She was pulled back into her husband's chest and felt him kiss her neck. She chuckled and turned around in his hold to wrap her arms around his neck.

"What's up? Are you missing me?"

He nodded, "You've been busy all morning. You know you don't have to go through so much effort, my love. My parents love you and would probably be satisfied with meat, rice and that amazing kimchi you always make."

"I know; they've said so before but I still want everything to be perfect. It's not often that they come to visit us in England."

He cupped her face in one of his hands and pecked her lips, "I love you."

She smiled and pecked his lips, "And I love you."

He grinned and pulled her tight against him, leaning in to kiss her properly. She sighed happily against his mouth as she returned the kiss.

They kissed slowly and softly, just enjoying the embrace of their lover and the faint music that Y/n had playing softly in the kitchen to keep her motivated as she cooked.

He ended the kiss all too soon and kissed her nose and then her cheek as he began to slowly rock them to and fro in time with the music.

She rested her head on his shoulder and let herself be swayed, listening to him hum softly to the music.

Their warm, loving bubble was pierced by loud, high-pitched cries.

Yunho and Y/n both sighed heavily at the sound.

"Looks like someone still doesn't like naps," Y/n muttered.

"I think she just gets lonely," Yunho chuckled.

He gave his wife a quick kiss, "You finish up in here, I'll go and take care of Haneul."

"Thank you." Y/n gave him a grateful smile. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, too busy attending to their eighteen-month-old daughter who was still unable to sleep through the night. Usually, she and Yunho took turns to go and check on her but he'd been dead asleep last night and she hadn't had the heart to wake him. Being a professional Quidditch player was taxing sometimes, and he was always exhausted after matches.

Yunho left her to finish up in the kitchen and disappeared down the hall to their daughter's nursery.

It wasn't long before she heard the wails of her baby be replaced with giggles. She smiled to herself; Yunho had always been so good with kids.

She wondered what he'd done this time to get her to stop crying. Last time he'd Accio-ed a chocolate frog into the nursery and set it loose. Not ideal but Haneul had found it very amusing.

She set a timer for the pies and took off her flour-dusted apron before making her way to her husband and daughter.

She'd expected him to be doing something silly like making her toys float around the room like he often did but instead she was greeted by the sight of him sitting on the carpet with Haneul in his lap as his Patronus lit up the room.

She gasped softly as she watched the golden retriever bound through the air, tail wagging and mouth open with silent barks, casting a white-blue glow over the room.

It was beautiful and something she hadn't seen in a long time.

Haneul was mesmerised by the imagery and her little mouth was open and curved into a big smile.

Yunho was smiling too, looking between his Patronus and his daughter's face to watch her reaction.

She'd never seen his Patronus so strong and stunning. It had always been something he struggled with back in the day in school, earning him subpar grades in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It had never been a case of struggling to find a happy memory; he just had too many and could never really settle on one to focus on specifically. He would flip through his happy memories as if turning the pages in a photo album as he cast his Patronus and the constant changes in thought as he struggled to focus on one specific memory would cause the Patronus to flicker in and out of existence or have it fighting to stay lit up.

She wondered what had changed. Had he been practising or something?

He spotted her standing in the doorway and blushed. His Patronus faltered and then dissipated as he lost focus and looked at his wife.

Haneul let out a squeak of confusion at the sudden disappearance of the doggy she wanted to play with and she looked up at her dad.

He kissed her hair, lifted her and rested her on his hip as he walked over to his wife.

"Hey,"

"Hey," She responded with a soft smile, "That was beautiful, Yu."

"I… Thank you." He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, the tips of his ears red.

"And then? Why are you so coy all of a sudden?"

"Nothing. I suppose it's just been a long time since I cast a Patronus or since you'd seen it." He responded, bouncing Haneul gently on his hip.

"Why would you be shy about it though, darling?"

"I don't know… Your Patronus has always been so vibrant and unique, mine has never really been able to compete."

"Yunho."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not sure if you saw what I just saw but that was the most beautiful Patronus you have ever cast. You would have passed with honours in DADA with that creation."

"You think?"

"Yes, I do. And what do you mean yours could never compare to mine? Honey, my Patronus is a salamander, you know that. I think everyone would much prefer your puppy over mine."

She accompanied the last part with a chuckle and reached out to stroke his cheek.

He smiled softly at her, "But fire-dwelling salamander patronuses are so rare and beautiful."

She waved off his comment.

"I'm curious though, what's changed? You'd always struggled to keep your Patronus alight, but now it's brighter than half those nitwits we went to school with."

"I mean I haven't cast it since it happened but I found a new memory to focus on a few years ago."

"It must be a really beautiful one for your Patronus to manifest like that. Can I ask what you think of?"

His cheeks flushed slightly and his gaze softened as he looked at her. He always looked at her with such love and had ever since before they started dating in fifth year. It never failed to make her heart flutter.

"Our wedding night."

Her heart melted, "Which part?"

"Well, the whole thing I suppose. How beautiful you looked in that wedding gown and how I definitely didn't cry when I heard you say 'I do'. But also afterwards."

Her cheeks flushed. A certain someone had been conceived that night.

They both looked down at Haneul who was looking up at her parents with big doe eyes and her mouth hanging open.

Yunho looked up at Y/N again with a warm grin, "She is one of the best things to happen to us and I'm glad that we decided to have her."

She felt herself tear up, "Have I ever told you how much I love you, you big dummy?"

He gave her a cheeky grin and kissed her, "I don't know, maybe you should tell me again."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a quick peck, "Maybe later when your parents leave and a certain someone is asleep I'll show you."

"Oh?"

She ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Sweetheart, you've never told me what you think of when you cast your Patronus."

"Oh," It was her turn to blush, "Remember our first date to Hogsmeade?"

He grinned at the memories, "Yeah, we wreaked havoc in Zonko's before heading to The Three Broomsticks. How could I forget?"

"Well, I think of that. It was the first time you said 'I love you.'"

His grin widened as the memories came flooding back, "Yes! I remember. It was winter and your nose and cheeks were pink from the cold. You had taken a sip of your warm butterbeer and some of the foam stayed behind on your upper lip. You looked so adorable I couldn't stop the words from falling from my mouth."

She still got butterflies so many years later, "Our first kiss also took place that day. "

"Yup. I had to help you clean that foam up somehow.", He chuckled.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Their nostalgia was cut short when Haneul decided she wasn't getting enough attention anymore and started crying again.

"Oh no, don't cry, princess." Yunho moved her to let her head rest on his shoulder and rocked her in his arms. She was getting bigger every day but she still looked so small in Yunho's arms.

"Do you want mummy to show you pretty lights like daddy did?"

Haneul probably had no clue what he meant but the soft voice of her dad calmed her a little and she looked up at him through her wet lashes.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Drama queen."

But she took her wand out from her back pocket nevertheless.

"Expecto Patronum!" She said softly but firmly. Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to yell the spell out like your life depends on it, usually just being firm and having a strong intent works. Unless you're planning on visiting Azkaban anytime soon- yelling might be necessary there. Dementors don't discriminate.

No sooner had she spoken the words, a salamander appeared in the air in a brilliant blue glow.

It swam through the air and twirled as it did so, mock flames rising from it's skin. It was a pretty delightful sight. Haneul and Yunho thought so too, watching it with identical smiles and bright eyes. They looked so alike.

Haneul giggled and pulled Yunho's wand from his hoodie pocket. He took it from her just before she could stick it in her mouth. There were already a few teeth marks on the almond wood handle and his friends and teammates in his Quidditch team teased him every time they saw it.

He moved to hold her on his hip with one arm and held out his wand and conjured up his Patronus with firm words and a swish of his wand.

Haneul clapped her hands together in pure joy as Yunho's Patronus bounced through the air, silently barking as it chased Y/Ns.

Y/N couldn't help the laugh that escaped her as she watched her salamander scramble to get away from the big paws of the golden retriever.

Eventually, she started giggling so much that she lost focus and her Patronus faded away.

He stopped paying attention to his Patronus too, too busy lovingly gazing at his wife.

He wrapped his free arm around his wife, pulling her against his chest. He held both his girls in his arms and pressed kisses to each of their foreheads.

His little family would never lack in happy memories and he would make sure of it.

[ms-oswald]

timeless | chapter four

author's note: almost reaching the end with this one - the chapter was a little bit tougher, still emotional, but hopefully it's worth the read :) Lots of love and stay safe 💕

       The new year came and went, the season rolling towards its end as the city rested under its temperamental weather.

Some time had passed since the coven gathering, the events having become a simple dusted memory. 

Though that night was bittersweet, it had allowed Finan to lead the semblance of a normal life, engorging himself within the depth of her embrace. 

Becca had followed, wanting nothing more than to gift him the simplest of joys.

It carried them through the holidays, and over the lasting months of winter. 

And however strong it was built, cracks were starting to shake the foundation to its core, crumbling under the weight of fear and anger.

Survivors were still being assessed for damage.

       “Marcus.” Her voice carried across the wide room as they were the only ones left. “What do I owe this surprise visit, brother?”

The man in question had been sitting in the crowd, hiding himself at the corner top of the class while silently watching over Becca’s teaching. She had only noticed his presence when peering over her students, taking a mental note of the present volume. 

Breath stuck to her throat, she shook off the uneasiness and went on with her lesson of the day, focusing on her work.

When it came time to dismiss them, her brother had walked down the steps towards her, slowly until the room was empty.

“Am I not allowed to visit my little sister and see her in action?” He tried to tease, adding a little amusement to his tone of voice.

She saw right through it, knowing that his visit held a bigger agenda.

Becca loved her brother; he was one of the very few parental figures in her life she had a good relationship with. They bantered and fought like any other siblings, but at the end of the day, she knew their bond could withstand even the worst of storms.

“Marcus.” She pressed on his name, pushing him to reveal his reason for the sudden appearance. 

Standing in front of her, he sighed, giving up the pretense. “I’m here because I’m worried about you.”

She frowned at his words.

They were close but it never meant they were always talking to each other. They each led their own lives, which meant they were apart from each other more often than they were together. It was confusing enough to have him show up out of the blue, it was worse when he seemed genuinely concerned for her.

“Have you been spying on me?”

“I don’t have too to know what’s going on. You’ve been the talk over the holidays. We’re all worried.”

She dismissed him as she started packing her belongings, clearing her desk as fast as she could. “No need to be troubled, I have everything under control.”

He scoffed, his body tensing at her apathetic reaction. “Really? Does having everything under control include the nightmares you’ve been having, little sister?”

As shock dawned across her features, he proceeded with an answer to her silent inquiry. “Finan came to see me… You two haven’t been speaking, he says. Some kind of couple’s quarrel I gather?”

The grip to her bag had tightened, her gaze diverting elsewhere as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “It is none of your business.” Once again, she had tried to push her brother away, not wanting to be stuck in her current position any longer.

He grew annoyed at her demeanour, not understanding why she was taking things so lightly. She was struggling - he could see it, and yet she remained poised, too stubborn to concede. 

“You made it my business when you’ve willingly been giving away your life for a bloody curse that does not concern you!” The increased vocals had caught her by surprise. Dropping her bag, a light thud reaching the desk, she turned back to him, eyes wide. 

She remained still; he continued.

“You woke up with a sliced throat Rebecca! She almost killed you!” At the mention of the nightmare that had torn the couple apart, she held onto herself; hands on her stomach and gripping at her shirt, as if to stabilize her body in its stance. She looked down, avoiding Marcus’ worried stare. The bile had come back, an uninvited guest, crippling her.

He let out a heavy breath, the tension following suit. He tried to become calm, noticing she was starting to crack at the seam. “Finan told me what happened. You need to stop this madness. I know you love him. But you must stop.”

She tried to swallow, though it did nothing but trigger tears stalking the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t look at her brother, and so she stood still, her head down. “I can’t let her win.”

And she didn’t need to turn to him; he knew her like the back of his hand. He approached her, hand on her shoulder. “She wins when she kills you, sister.” 

Anger was surging, like an ember; the plea for her abandonment was dragging her patience thin, the way you drag a child away from amusement.

She pushed his hand away, finally lifting her head to him as bitterness scraped her tongue. “Then help me, brother.” The tone of her voice insinuated mockery of the title before switching to anguish. “Help me get rid of her. As the oldest in the next generation, you are powerful. Help me. I beg you.”

His shoulders dropped, beaten down by her plea. Had the situation been different, he would’ve offered her anything she needed.

But the consequences were too dire to meddle in the affairs of the old witch. 

It wasn’t worth his risk. 

And so, he had no choice but to solemnly turn his only sister down. “You know I can’t.”

She bit down the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to suppress her tears. She grew irritated instead, forsaken once again by one of her own. 

“You’re just like the rest of them, then.” She breathed in deeply, holding onto her bag as she looked away, no longer able to hold her brother’s pitiful gaze. “Just go. I’ll finish this on my own.”

He was unrelenting, praying that she would get hold of some sense of the danger she was walking into.

“What happens if you fail? What then?” 

She was about done putting her paperwork in her bag when she suddenly stopped at his words, the syllables of failure ringing in her ears. “I won’t fail.” She closed her eyes, a part of her ever so slowly succumbing; her hands gripped onto the desk, knuckles white from the strength, not ready to give up. “I cannot fail him.” Her breath was shaking, following the subtle tremors of her body.

He sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.

A moment’s passed, the silence hung heavy in the air as he watched her, heartbroken. 

He leaned against her desk, hand on hers, a brotherly gesture she had missed. 

He spoke gently, wanting to make her see what her stubbornness was causing.

“He is miserable. It doesn’t look like he has been sleeping and last I saw him, an elephant could have fainted at the amount of bourbon he was drinking.” He saw her jaw tightened - his words were getting through, creating cracks in the hopes the pieces would shatter. “He misses you, and he is terrified of losing you. Why can’t you understand that?

“I understand it, Marcus-”

Irritation had reached him, the stems pricking him.

“You just don’t care, is that it?”

And so now, she lashed out. Her voice carried across the wide classroom as she turned her body to fully face her brother, vexed and saddened. “Of course, I care! That’s why I’m doing this!” She went back to her bag, picking it up and ready to walk out. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“The witch won’t stop until you are dead. Know this.” She had her back to him, walking out when she halted in her steps. She then turned around, finding her brother standing right by her side.

“As long as I can defeat her, I don’t care what she does to me.” She stepped forward, staring him right in his eyes, her pain apparent in her pupils. “What she did to him was inhumane. It is cruel.”

His words had left without a thought attached to them. They had slipped out too quickly, unable to be caught in time. “No crueler than the reason she cursed him?”

She clenched her jaw, falling in disbelief at his remark. “Screw you-” She was ready to leave him again, but he caught her, his hand catching her arm and forcing her still. 

He regretted it just as quickly as they left, retracting his words with an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He lifted his hands up in a sign of a retreat before dropping them with a heavy breath escaping his lungs. “You’re my little sister, Rebecca… I’m just scared you’re out of your depth here.”

She still hadn’t caved into his worries, too angry to be subdued by his pity. “Which is why you’re helping me? Or is that still out of the question?” He didn’t speak up; she hadn’t let him. “Don’t say you are concerned for my safety when none of you are offering help.”

Once more, a sibling tantrum had taken over, distancing brother and sister from their bond - temporarily.

“I’m sorry I don’t want to be haunted and tormented for the rest of my life and beyond. I have a wife and children to think about!” 

Stubbornness ran in their family, the trait clinging to her like a child. Though, it wasn’t reason enough for him to give up; he wasn’t going to lose his sister over a fight that had started before their family was even born. “Drop whatever you’re doing and reconcile with him. Let this go.”

And just as such, she remained headstrong, not ready to give up - she still had a case to be heard.

“What if my dearest sister-in-law was in his shoes? What then? Would you still be so adamant to drop everything and leave her be?”

Disappointed she stooped so low, he looked back at her with the sentiment covering his features. “That’s not fair.”

“Exactly.” She stood her ground, not withering away from the upset gaze she was receiving. “I don’t care if she gets me as long as he is free from her. That’s all I want.”  Her gaze then softened, the echo of Finan’s pain resonating through her bones. “He needs it. He can’t keep going on like this.”

Once again, he sighed, exasperated, as his head dropped in thought. Becca knew her brother well enough to see the gears in his brain turning, contemplating.

It took a moment, and she let him be, her stance loosening away from the tension. 

He ran his hand down his face, his right arm standing at his hip. From the ground, he tilted his head back up to her, his chest letting out one last breath before gifting her with the possibility of a new avenue.

“Sacrifices need to be made if you want to succeed. Plead your case to them. Don’t do this on your own.”

She furrowed her brows, her own thoughts connecting the dots to his remark. “You mean-”

He nodded at her question, his shoulders joining in a composed shrug. “If she did it and invoked chaos, why can’t you do it as well and call for order?”

He shared a comforting smile as he backed away, ready to leave.

As he turned around and went for the classroom door, she stopped him, her own anxiety reaching the surface. “Marcus-”

He sensed the tears crawling to her irises, the colour shimmering under the weight of the water. Her voice cracked, her heartache resonating towards him. “Why is this happening?”

Walking back, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in protectively; the bear hug was the brotherly gesture that would always bring her comfort. 

This time around however, she was left with a dissatisfying aftertaste that clung to her, wearing her heavy.

“I don’t know, dear sister. I just hope you win this fight. For your sake.” He pulled away, his eyes finding hers as he shifted his head down. He remained gentle, wanting now to ease his little sister’s ache. “You are right. The man deserves peace.” And then, something shifted; the air surrounding them was suspended with a slight rift - invisible to the naked eye, though he still sensed it. 

It left a ghost of a smile covering the right corner of his lips. “Something tells me you will be recompensed for this.”

His goodbye left her confused, his words haunting her without understanding their meaning. 

Once he was out of sight and she stood alone, her gaze fell to the clock that hung above the door.

Her legs grew weak. She took a seat, her bag dropping to the ground. 

She leaned over, her elbows resting on her knees with her fingers grasping at her hair. 

Closing her eyes, the events that led to tonight were finding their path into her sight, blinding her. They hadn’t spoken nor seen one another since the night he walked out on her, since the night she had woken up with blood spewing from her throat.

It had been weeks.

She reached for her neck, rubbing the lingering ghost of discomfort that coated her skin; she had been forced to relive the death of Finan’s first love.

And it destroyed him.

Playing it over, and over again took its toll. 

Tears had smothered her cheeks, sorrow imbued into their purpose.

She had become a spectator of her own show, the scene displaying itself in all its gory details. 

It had happened in the middle of the night, all too rapidly. The way she woke up in terror, unable to breathe as she clutched at her throat, blood seeping through from the deep cut of a dagger, down her body to the bed sheets. 

She tried shaking the violent images away, the soreness still resounding over her limb.

Her amulet had protected her from instant death, the simulation growing weaker until it disappeared.

But it was the scene that followed that turned out to be more painful than its predecessor - Finan had walked out, furious and horrified.

The clock was quietly ticking away, the only sound vibrating within the walls of the wide room, becoming a haunting melody to her ears.

The longer it went on, the heavier her shoulders felt.

She couldn’t bear another minute dropping while being apart from him.

Without a second thought, she picked up her bag and ran for the door, desperate to shorten the stretch of time that separated them.

       “How did you find me?”

 “Locator spell.” 

She was standing by his side, facing his profile while he stared at his drink. Her words didn’t get a reaction out of him, which she half-expected. “You went to Marcus behind my back…” It was more of a statement than an accusation, or even a question. 

And yet, nothing came of him; from his glass, he simply looked up, his eyes landing on whatever the screen was displaying above the bar.  

She sighed, taking a seat next to him. She took a minute, fidgeting with her fingers as she looked around; the tiniest of smiles was itching across her lips.

“This is where we first met…”

“I guess it is.” It was barely a mumble, though loud enough for her to hear. 

He remained distant, avoiding eye contact with her.

He was still hurting.

He took a sip from his beer, giving himself the chance to look around as well - wanting to wander at anything but her. 

He wasn’t strong enough to face her; having brutally cut ties was one of the hardest thing he ever had done and it still gnawed at him from the inside out.

“Please, come back home.” The gentle plea was laced with grief.

Finan was expecting more light chit-chatter to dissuade the tensing thickness that had wrapped around them. Such awkwardness was strangling them. 

He tightened his grip to his glass, her words making his shoulders stiffened.

He was dying to go back to her, but lost the courage to do it.

He took another sip, letting the bitter liquid sit on his tongue before he swallowed. He still didn’t lift his head up to her. Instead, he was looking down to the counter, the corner of his eyes meeting her hands that rested on her lap.

“The night we met.” He wasn’t thinking about what to say, his mind having taken over his will to speak. “I felt like a different man… Like I was alive again, truly alive, and not just some poor soul wandering through the passing centuries.” 

He closed his eyes, gathering his strength to keep going. He felt like he was going to crumble and disappear under the rubble, his heart giving out from how deep his love for her ran in his veins. His mind then went back to the night they met, the impromptu connection that formed the second they had laid eyes on each other. “You gave me something that night that I still carry with me every single day. And yet, the closer we got, the deeper we fell-” He bit down on his tongue, trying to stop himself, but part of him pushed him out, the words stumbling. “I can’t help but wonder if all this was orchestrated by her, if…” 

By the end of it, she was in tears again, holding back a sob that lodged in her throat. 

She leaned towards him, placing her hand above his, the warmth of it humming against her skin. 

He turned his head just enough to see the interaction, still unable to meet her.

“We met because Fate made it so. Not because of the curse.” She then reached for him, her fingers delicately placed under his chin, turning his head to her. He had shut his eyes, pained scribbled furiously across his face. 

Her heart ached. 

She let him be, leaning closer as she spoke only to him. “When I first saw you, I don’t know what it was, but I just- it was like the world disappeared. Like it was just the two of us left. This makes me believe she had nothing to do with that night. That was us. Just us and no one else.”

“How are ya so sure?” He had pulled away, the weight of her words growing heavier. 

Her fingertips grew cold from the lack of touch; it pained her. 

She pulled her hand away, though her body remained close to his, adamant. 

“Because I can feel it.” Her nose itched, the urge to cry coming through like a wave. “I feel it in everything we do. It overwhelms me, and it’s exhilarating… It’s all from here.” She placed her hand on his chest, right over his broken heart. “There is no more powerful magic than that.”

He sat still, the warmth of her touch sending chills down his spine, his heart rate accelerating. 

“Finan, look at me.” He finally moved on his own, his head tilting to her, though his eyes only reached the counter once again. She remained gentle and patient. “What are you thinking about?”

He struggled to put the words out, his heart squeezing itself tight, suffocating from his mind’s wandering thoughts. 

“I-I lose the women I love… What if it’s part of the curse?” 

He finally gathered whatever strength he had left to look at her, meeting her eyes at last. They held sorrow, mirroring his own browns, though a drop of lingering panic had seeped in, curling itself with his words. “You almost died. I was holding you in my arms and ya were d-dying.”

He stopped, catching his breath. 

She was quiet, still - waiting.

“I cannot go through that again.” His eyes went to her neck; all he could see was the blood tainting her skin, freshly rolling down into oblivion.

It broke him. 

She had noticed where his gaze landed. She diverted his eyes back to her, her fingers resting against his cheek.

“And I am scared of losing you as well. You’re not alone in feeling like this.”

He said nothing.

Instead, a moment of silence encircled them - a few seconds too long before she eventually broke it. “When Marcus came to see me, he mentioned there is another way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to invoke some higher power…” She shared an attempt at a comforting smile, a little something to hopefully ease the discomfort that had been inhabiting him. “We’ll be alright, my love.” She gently ran her fingers through his hair before stroking his cheek, a tender gesture he quietly welcomed. “We’ll get through this. Just please come home.”

She pleaded to him once again, despair leaping. “Come home to me.” 

He was still hesitant; the fear had taken hold of him and so he thought it best to leave her be.

Becca grew annoyed, irritated at his lack of determination.

“Be selfish, Finn!” Her voice was just loud enough to catch some of the other’s attention, the ones closest to them in the vicinity. She breathed out and lowered her tone. “You’re allowed to want your freedom. To die at last and never having to wake up again. To be mortal… Be selfish with me. Come home.” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, drowning his insides with such ache. Tears in his eyes, he could only look away from her, the back of his head facing Becca.

He stayed mute.

The straws were falling - she was hanging on to the last one, splinters covering its body, close to breaking.

She clenched her jaw; his silence forced her out.

She walked away, her heart breaking, the shards cutting her deep. 

Finan saw her leave, her feet leading her to the exit and out of sight; it filled him with dread, regret soaking in his blood.

Had she finally given up on him?

The pain of possibly losing her had coated the depth of his soul, his own self unable to breathe from such suffocating thoughts.

Watching her walk away had made it worse.

Abandoning his drink, he ran for the door and out onto the streets, hoping she hadn’t disappeared completely out of his life.

Hit with a cool breeze, he found her facing the street at the edge of the sidewalk with her head down.

She had fallen apart, silently crying as woe overtook her limbs.

He watched her, remorse crowding him.

Ever so gently, he walked to her. Once he stood close enough, she turned around, having sensed his presence.

The sight hurt him.

“Finding other ways to tear me down?” Her tone was bitter, the sentiment coating the back of her throat. 

“Bex.”

She stepped back from him, her hand resting against his chest. “No. I’m not done.”  She remained tearful, her emotions spewing out like an overflowing sink. “We’ve been at this for months now, why the change of heart? And don’t tell me it is because of her because she has been coming at me from the start and you never ran.” Her voice trembled, just as her body was against the cold night.

He frowned, hand scratching at his beard. “Bex, she almost killed you. Do you not realize what this would have meant had she succeeded?”

“Yes, I know. I’m not as blind as you or my brother think me to believe. I know what she is doing, or at least trying to do.” 

The sour look in her eyes forced him to turn his head away from her, tears reaching his own hues. 

Her sullen behaviour had finally caught up, the chaotic swerve of emotions forcing her to the ground. 

She understood his pain, the fear that grasped him by the throat; if he was letting it win, why was she still fighting?

She tightened her hold around her coat, crossing her arms over her chest. 

The bitterness that coloured her irises had been replaced by angst, a tortuous feeling crippling her heart. 

“I don’t think I can keep fighting you on this…” He tilted his head to her, still without a word as her mouth moved for more. “You keep pushing me away and I feel like I won’t be able to hang on any longer. It’s like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff and one more push and I fall over.” 

She became a blubbering mess, like a teenager hyped up on hormones and over-heightened senses. 

She hugged herself closer, holding a firmer grasp to the fabric of her clothes. “You can’t leave me, Finan. Please don’t leave me over this.” 

They locked eyes, her plea cutting his breath short. 

“If not for me, at least, for yourself. You can’t-” 

She was growing impatient; letting go of her waist, she ran her fingers through her hair, her feet marching to him. She lifted her head up, her gaze set on his as hurt trapped her. “Finan, I love you.” She leaned closer, just enough to feel his breath as she whispered against his mouth. “Come back to me.”

He felt her press her lips against his, the kiss moving slowly, tenderly. It was almost shy.

She then pulled away, feeling just as broken as the night he walked away. They stood still for a second, the lingering stare squeezing the air that floated between them. 

He placed his hands on her cheeks, wiping her tears away and placing a kiss at the top of her head before resting against her forehead.

But it was only in passing, her cries still controlling her body as she mumbled under her breath her undying love for him. She broke away from his stare, her head dropping straight to the view in front of her. “Don’t leave me, don’t you dare leave me.” Her hands into fists, she had been lightly hitting him. It was a simple tug against his chest. He let her be, openly giving her the outlet she needed as he pulled away, though his hands never left her as they held her upper arms. He watched her intently, his heart never recuperating from the overdrive of emotions powering through them. “I know you love me, so please stay.”

Had he been further away, he wouldn’t have been able to hear the supplication crawling out of her. 

Being selfish had cost him. 

And he was terrified of doing it again, even though every cell in his body scolded him, pushing him to jump and take a leap of faith. To succumb to his want and simply be with her, amidst the chaos growing around them.

“Bex-”

The simple mention of her name, rolling down his tongue, carried such weight, such fright and dread, such terror.

She peered at him, catching the glint of sorrow in his eyes. She understood him; it was the way he had called out for her, it was all too evident, all to clear to miss.

Because she felt it too.

“I know.” 

He wrapped his arms around her, bring ing her back to him as she did the same, clinging on for dear life before they eventually parted.

       The way home remained quiet. 

Back at her place, the atmosphere within them still shifted between tension and awkwardness. They weren’t sure what to do now.

They were standing apart, just looking at each other, trapped in the stillness of their home.

Watching her attentively, he could see the gears in her head turning, her posture giving it away. “Do you want some tea?” She was nervous, the emotional breakdown from earlier having gone through her at a rapid pace, leaving her with an estranged aftertaste.

“Sure.” 

She took in his calm demeanour - unbeknownst he was dying inside, still ripped to pieces at the heartache they were drowning in.

She turned her back, walking to the kitchen, and went for the kettle while grabbing two mugs and putting them out. 

She sensed him move about until she heard the shower turned on.

Out of his sight, her shoulders slumped, head dropped as she leaned towards the counter, letting the hiss of the boiling water cover her ears.

He had slipped away, needing a moment to recuperate himself and a hot shower would help clearing the tension carved in his muscles.

Under the running water, eyes closed, his mind wandered to the moments he got to live with her, wanting to feel again like they were anybody else with no threat or doom looming over them. Like their world wasn’t ending and they were simply a normal couple going through a rough patch. 

Whether the recollections were lighthearted, romantic in nature, or even the ones that soaked in lust, he buried himself within the past months, wanting to get away from his predicament and the last couple of weeks.

The nightmares had swaddled him, the fabric of fear and paranoia gripping him like second skin. 

He feared for her life and had thought that walking out, running away, would make all of this stop.

He should have known she wouldn’t given up. 

How could she, when all she ever wanted was to grant him his freedom? The thing he longed for the longest, but never the most.

Not anymore.

Once done, feeling like he was waking up from a long sleep, he walked out to find her at  the kitchen table, a simple wooden round and small enough to contain two seats; one for her, one for him.

She was lost in her thoughts while staring at her cup, the steam floating and roaming around.

He silently joined her, the air thick with tension. 

Taking a seat, he sipped his tea, the warm liquid running through with a new wave of physical renewal pecking him.

She didn’t move, her body sticking to her chair, her eyes away from his.

He watched her, his pulsing heartbeat vibrating within him; there was a subtle beauty to her sadness, and he couldn’t look away. It moved him, the feel of her grief stretching him to the ends of the earth, grounding him as her vulnerability reached the deepest part of his soul and shaking him awake.

It was beyond everything he’s ever known.

He saw her strength, but she was barely hanging on by a thread. 

The realization, the seismic events that had occurred in these last few months - he was wrong. 

He was so wrong, he cursed at himself. 

He loved her. With everything that lived inside him, he adored her. 

And it pained him to know he was the cause of her sorrows.

“I’m sorry.” His apology was spoken as a whisper, his voice still carrying weight to her ears. 

From her mug, her eyes lifted to him. She was no longer angry, only empathetic. “You don’t have to apologize-”

“Of course I do.” His shoulders had dropped, his back resting against the chair, defeated by his own self. “Becca-” He exhaled deeply, running his hand through his beard before his arm fell to the table, his fingers gripping at his mug while trying to find the courage to relive that forsaken night. 

It took a minute, but he eventually found his footing and kept going. 

“I thought I had lost ya. I thought I was reliving one of the worst moments of my life.” He stopped, the memories of his past crawling into his skin with a ghosting ache. “I lost her, I lost my wife- now you-”

Once again, he cut his breath short, the last of his words hanging, like a noose around his neck. He turned away, his head facing the darkened view through the kitchen window on his right.

She had remained quiet, waiting ever so patiently for him to say his piece.

He swallowed the bile lodged in his throat, wanting to erase the decaying imagery from his mind. 

His voice was hoarse when he spoke again, his gaze finding hers once more. “I told you, months ago, that I wouldn’t run if she got to you, that I would stay and not let her frighten me, but-”

“That was before she tried to kill me…” The compassion in her voice over took him, beating himself further into the ground. 

“Aye.”

She leaned against the back of her own seat, hands on her mug as her fingers played with the string of her tea bag.

“I’m sorry for being a coward, for running away. I should’ve stayed-” The pace of his heartbeat was accelerating, matching the growing rhythm of his knee shaking.

“You’re not a coward.” She was still sympathetic, yet hurt.

“I left ya-”

“And you came back.” Her hand reached for him from across the table. The movement was quickly met by a quiet breath out of his mouth. “You’re here with me.”

“I’m so sorry.” He could feel the lump in his throat rising up with force and speed.

“Stop.” The word was gentle, wanting to calm him.

She got up from her chair and approached him just as he pulled her in. She sat on his lap, her left leg crossed over while the other dangled, her toes touching the floor.

She ran her fingers through his hair, still misted from the shower, until she held him by the jaw, her nails scratching softly at his beard.

She met his eyes, the dark colour drowned in guilt and self-wreckage.

It tore her apart.

“Oh, my love…” She muttered softly between their lips, wanting nothing more than to ease the misery that was haunting him.

She then kissed him, her lips pressed desperately into his. 

His arms curled around her, pushing her closer to him, needing to erase any traces of open space between them. 

She whispered ‘I love you’s’ within their shared breaths, revitalizing him like fresh air into his lungs. The caress deepened as hunger and longing thrived rapidly, catching up to them after weeks of being apart. 

It was consuming every part of him. 

He tightened his grasp around her, the pressure of her presence creating relief flooding through his veins.

From her lips, he then trailed down to her neck, attaching himself to her limb with desperation as he kissed every inch of her exposed skin.

She let him be, knowing it was reassurance that she was alive and not injured, that she was safe and sound in his embrace as she held onto him, bodies coating in heat and desire; the pulse residing under her jawline was the nectar to his survival.

The rest of the night had been soaked in adoration, in the dire need of drowning into each other and yield under bruising passion.

The couple fell back into their own little bubble, the rest of the world pushed far away.

It was just them; entangled in Fate’s strings, bound to one another. 

       He was lying on his back, his head placed at the junction of her chest and her left upper arm where her hand brushed his hair softly. His head tilted towards her, resting at the swell of her breasts, the sound of her heartbeat becoming the soundtrack to his lull state as a lazy smile formed on his lips. 

The simplest of joy; he closed his eyes, memorizing the music that played through his ears, engraving the notes into his own heart.

She was on her left, her leg wrapped around her lover’s stomach, the sheets barely covering the naked skin. 

Her nose against his hair, she breathed him in, the scent soothing her into pure calmness.

His left hand on her right thigh, he caressed her limb in an absent-minded manner; both of them savouring the elegance of this little interlude.

Her right arm, joint with his, their fingers kissed intimately while resting in the crevices between their bodies.

The moment stretched, their breaths were dancing under the silent melody.

Even the gods themselves, watching from the heavens in wonder, defined this moment as a masterpiece; the painting was etched under kaleidoscopic light, the movements of the brush calling out for romance as colours were formed by the tenderness of a lover’s touch. It could have been depicted by one of the greats; the tangle of limbs, the quietness of the seat, the posture of models sitting to be memorized in an everlasting picture.

It was tantalizing, alluring to the naked eye, how such simplicity could be bathed in pure, unadulterated, sense of love and devotion. 

The warmth seeped through the bed sheets, lasting effect from the carnal heat coating the flesh. 

And then the new day was rising, gracing its skies with the hues of budding spring. 

They eventually fell back asleep, the heavy breaths evident in the air. 

Though light shone above them where the window faced the bed’s headboard, the curtains still protected them from the sun’s glow, gifting the couple further moments of peace.

It was just them.

       The universe’s tied shifted, as if the world momentarily stopped turning on its axis, gifting them peace.

Later the same morning, a few hours passing, they were still lying in bed.

Becca was the first to escape her slumber; she had woken up with sudden hunger cramping at her stomach.

She attempted to slip out quietly when she felt an arm snaking its way around her, pulling her back in just as quickly.

The smile came on naturally, glowing across her. He sneaked in closer, tickling her as he pressed soft kisses against her naked skin, from her breasts up to her collarbone before he lingered on her neck, and eventually meeting her lips.

She sighed into his touch, the feel of his hands traveling around her body making her forget for that one moment what she wanted to do.

She happily sunk into the sensation until hunger had cried out, echoing inside her. 

She gently pushed him away, nudging her nose against his before she left her bed. 

He watched her move as she grabbed his discarded shirt on her way out, her naked backside disappearing from his view.

He readjusted himself on the mattress, resting his back against the headboard, his chest bare with the sunlight warming him from behind. 

He couldn’t help the smile that glued to his lips. Once she came back, it had widened, his heart swelling at her appearance; her hair was messy, his shirt hung from her body with her legs naked, the lingering traces of his hands imprinted on them. He could still feel the ghostly pressures of her limbs around his hips, over his shoulders, and the taste of them lingering sweetly across his tongue.

She stood in front of the bed, holding a spoon on one hand and on the other, a small pint of ice cream.

Finan frowned, intrigued by her choice of food. “Ice cream for breakfast?”

She sported a small smile, playfully challenging him. “Mhmm. Want some?”

A gentle gleam on his face, he stretched out his arm, calling for her. “Come here.” She shyly approached him until she was close enough to be pulled by the hem of his shirt, making her sit comfortably on his lap. She scooped up another serving and presented the spoon for him to eat; he took a bite, his stare stuck to her. He teased, the playful look in his eyes, palpable. “You’re a menace.”

She matched his energy all too easily. “That’s why you are naked in my bed.” She then took another mouthful of her dessert, letting the utensil linger between her lips, taunting him. 

His eyes dropped to her mouth, his own going dry. A low rumble from his throat escaped him, his hands reaching for the shirt. “You look starved.” He pulled her closer until she was flushed against him, her breath tickling him. “Your fault.” The low whisper she shared invoked a smirk across his face. “Another round before lunch?”

Not giving her the chance to answer, he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her firmly, while his eyes never left hers; it had become a staring contest, some amusement to add to their morning.

She then yelped out of shock when she was so suddenly pushed against the mattress, her legs almost dangling off the bed as he hovered above her, still holding the small tub with one hand.

Giddy as a teenager, she chased his lips for a kiss until she felt something dripping on her skin.

She gasped, the sudden feel of the cold sending shivers down her spine. She quickly pulled away while trying to grab the dessert from Finan. “You’re making a mess!”

The moment of bliss had then been suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. The laughers died out, Becca’s gaze moving away from Finan to where the sound had come from as it repeated. 

Reluctant, she moved away, forgetting about the way she was presenting herself to the intruder. 

Opening the door, she had the breath knocked out of her, shocked to see who stood in front of her.

“Mum.”

And just like that, the whole world came crashing down as time was torn away from its suspense, proceeding to weave its way through the universe and forcing the couple back into reality.

Her mother stood still at the entrance, her eyes peering over her daughter’s dishevelled look from the mess in her hair down to the large shirt she as wearing, forcing Becca to tug it further down to hide her embarrassment though the cloth was big enough to conceal any unwanted attention. The elder’s gaze then shifted to the background where she saw Finan, half-dressed himself with only sweats, as he leaned against a wall with his hands joint at the front while he sported a discerning look straight back at her - as if ready to jump, to defend Becca.

The daughter grew timid at her mother’s inquisitive look until the other woman spoke, wanting to bypass the moment she had obviously disrupted. “Rebecca.”

When she was about to speak, she stopped. 

Something had changed; the aura was brighter around the couple, warmer.

Something new had come upon them. 

The young witch jumped, desperate to cut the lingering short. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“No, well not really…” Becca looked back at Victoria, confused. “One of our elders had a vision of you. With her-”

“You were worried about me?” Furrowed brows, she was touched, an estranged feeling she was never able to associate with her mother.

Victoria ignored her question, the grip on her bag tightening as she gazed down. “Your father wanted me to bring you this. From her purse, she pulled out a ceramic urn encrusted with nordic symbols.

Becca gently took it in her hands, the item rough and old between her palms. “Freya’s urn?” From the urn, she lifted her head up back to her mother, not understanding the reason for the gesture. “How?”

“Marcus told us.”

She scoffed, leaning slightly against her door. “Didn’t waste any time, did he.” It was more of a comment than a question, a remark Victoria ignored, her heart tugging at her chest when quickly glancing between the couple again.

“You’re really going through this…”

It was stated as a matter-of-fact, her mind settling into an ungodly reality.

But like her, Becca was stubborn and determined, not wanting to give up. “Yes.”

Victoria’s gaze shifted up to Finan again, long enough for a swallow. 

The thread tying the couple was strong, something she had hoped would never be.

From the Irishman, she looked back at her daughter, worry slowly scribbled across her facial features. “Are you sure about this? Do you understand what this would entail?”

“I am. And, I do.”

She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she knew she had lost the fight. “Then may the gods be with you.” She attempted reaching out, her hand placed on top her Becca’s, the affectionate gesture coming off as green. “Good luck, Rebecca.”

“Thank you, Mum.” She had a sad smile on her face, sported simply across the one corner of her lips.

Her mother grew hesitant, not sure on what to do next until she eventually pushed herself to walk away, giving her daughter one last look, tinted in sorrow, before leaving.

Once gone and the door had closed softly, Becca’s eyes turned back to the urn. It stood tall despite its small size and lightness, as runes were scribbled along the ceramic surface calling for the goddess to all witches. 

She was lost in thought, her fingertips tracing the valuable artifact - believed to have disappeared from mortals and witches alike - until she felt Finan standing behind her, his arm around her shoulders as he gently pulled her in, kissing her hairline. “Ya alright?” His tone was low, worrisome.

“She cares…” She was speaking more to herself than anyone else, realization slowly dawning on her.

“Bex, love?” He remained concerned as he squeezed his hold on her, the frown on his face meeting the urn she still held. She lifted her head up, the sweetly nickname bringing her back to him, giving him a small smile of comfort. “I’m fine.” 

“Ya sure?”

She nodded, humming in response. She then leaned again him, head against his chest where his warmth soothed her trough the twinge of pain that resided in her.

She felt him press his lips on the top of her head before letting her go. He grabbed the  shirt she wore, tugging it his way, a teasing glint in his eyes catching her attention. “Come on, I think I know how to cheer you up.” 

She chuckled at his comment, thinking he would be leading them back to the bedroom; he knew where her mind had gone, a playful grin plastered on his face. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

Laughter had slipped from her tongue as she gave him a light backhand slap against his chest. She placed the urn on her kitchen table before reaching for the fridge, desperate to nibble of her dessert again.

Once the small chocolate pint stood in her hand, she took a seat on her counter with Finan quietly settling between her legs and watched her eat with appetite, a subtle grin capturing his lips.

From a spoonful seeping into her mouth, she lead the utensil towards him, giving him a bite while purposely leaving a trace of the ice cream on the tip of his nose. A low groan escaped his chest at her antics. He leaned in, pushing it back to her as he left his own stain. In response, she only giggled while he kissed her nose before she, herself, wiped  away the small mess she left on him.

His hands, resting on her thighs, were stroking her skin tenderly, his mind focused solely on her; she reached for the cross he wore around his neck, her fingers tracing the Celtic patterns silently. His eyes stayed on her, in awe and taking in the features she bore while lost in thought once again.

Her arm stretched out, he reached for it, placing small pecks across her limb until he pulled her to the edge of the counter and went to kiss her lips.

She let him take the lead, her legs tightening around him as she fell into his loving caresses.

And slowly, they turned hungry. Small open mouth kisses traveled to her forehead, down her closed eyelid, and then down to her cheek before reaching her lips again. All the while, she revelled in his touch, loving the way he held on as his hand traipsed to her hair with the other slid under her shirt, his thumb brushing at her flesh. 

She whispered sweet nothings to him, begging him with her life to ‘never stop’, to never end the tortuous pleasure he gifted her, to hold on and never let go; she strengthened her grip on him, the scenery shifting to simple wanton desire.

Desperate to give in to her craving, he pulled away, asking her softly with a lustrous voice. “Whatever it is you need to do. Does it have to be done today?”

“No. We don’t have to do anything today.” Her words were honey, sweetly coating his skin as she placed her hands on his cheeks, stroking his beard. He rested his head upon her chest as she curled her arms around his shoulders, her fingertips wandering on his back ever so gently. “Good.”

She felt him smile against her shoulder, leaving her to mimic the sentiment as she closed her eyes, his scent overwhelming her in the sweetest way.

The gleam lingering, she spoke to his ear, earning a low chuckle from his throat. “I would still like to eat as I am a bit peckish.” 

“And you would think having such a substantial meal for breakfast would have been enough.” The cheeky tone made her laugh. 

“I will not apologize for wanting something cold and sweet after a hot, hot night.” She teased, her fingers grasping a handful of his hair from the back of his head. He reciprocated her tone, taunting her. “Then bring that pint to bed, love.”

He grabbed her, pulling her off the counter. Just as he turned around, wanting to walk away, he slipped and swiftly fell straight on the floor, his back sliding across the cabinet doors. Having been in his arms, she ended on the ground as well, her legs over his as a heavy laugh escaped her lungs.

She resettled on his lap while Finan caught his breath. She placed her fingers under his chin, tilting his head to her. “Are you alright?”

A small smile on his lips, he caught the amused look on her face, making him chuckle lightly. “Yea, I’m fine. Was that funny to you?”

“Very funny.” She giggled once again, the sound slipping with her words, until it eventually died down, pushing herself flush against him. She ran her fingers through his hair, her hand trailing down his cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” 

She kissed him sweetly; a pleasurable groan came out of him as a response. “Mhmm, that’s better.” She repeated the gesture, his gentle smile growing wider. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her as he laid her down, her back resting on the kitchen rug. 

A devilish smirk painted across his face, his eyes met her own as she felt the hem of her shirt pushed up.

A low grumble coming from the back of his throat, he spoke against her lips. “I’m starving, love.”

He nipped at her bottom lip, and felt his teeth against the pulse point on her neck. Her heart raced against her chest, anticipating where he would move next with heightened senses.

Her voice quivered, her words stumbling across her dry throat. “Lunch?”

His chuckle vibrated across her naked stomach, trailing his lips down her body as he looked up to her, the spark in his eyes igniting lustful cravings of his own.

“You read my mind.”

       It was the dead of night when they reached their location.

The moon was casting her glow across the field, the couple bathing under her light.

Getting out of the car, they remained quiet as their hearts tremored within their chests, slight fear shadowing their movements. 

Finan, closing the door, walked over to her quickly as he reached out for her hand. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“No.” It was softly said with no intended harshness, only simple tenderness.

“Does it really need to be done?”

She could hear the worry in his tone and feel it in his grip, her hand squeezed in slight fright. “I’m at the mercy of the gods, Finn.” She met his gaze, wanting to offer him nothing but attempted comfort. “I need to do this if we want their help.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, bringing her hand to his lips. “I wish you didn’t have to.” The gentlest of kiss, she watched him with renewed conviction. 

“I know… I’ll be fine. Just wait for me here, please.” She couldn’t let him see what she needed to do, not wanting him involved in the specifics of the ritual.

He brushed strands of her hair away from her face, his eyes trailing across the couple of primroses that were embedded in her locks. His sight shifting back to her, he sighed once again, calming down the trembling inside him. “Be careful. I beg ya.” 

“I will, I promise.”

He kissed her, his lips lingering against her own as he readied himself to let her go. However reluctant, he eventually did and pulled away, his gaze meeting hers once more as his heart ached. 

He stood by the car, waiting as she disappeared from his sight, her body meshed within the darkness of the woods. 

She held only a flashlight as a guide, her other hand pre-occupied with her wrapped up ingredients. Her steps bringing her further away from prying eyes, she was led to stand by a small stream, the running water creating some melody to the quiet surroundings.

A small altar stood further into the darkness, leaves and vines engorging the stones with the shadow of the moonlight seeping through ever so shyly. It was old in its age though never forgotten. Carved into the stone was the goddess of witchcraft, beautifully designed as if she was here herself; her stature stood tall, her long hair braided twice as they hung by her left and her right, knots hovered above her the way of a halo and at her feet rested her feline, watchful and protective of its owner.

Becca took her place, sitting on her knees, and opened her bag to fetch out her required items.

She started with a small athame, unthreatening in its design though still lethal in its purpose, the small urn her mother had brought her, runes contained in a drawstring pouch, three candles and homemade honey.

And then, hanging around her neck alongside her stone, was the Celtic cross; a piece of Finan.

The moon stood high above the altar, creating the perfect space for her ritual; it was as if the gods knew she was coming.

From the flowers intricately woven into her hair, she also placed a handmade bouquet on the altar, as well as the honey, pouring it into an offering bowl.

At the deity’s feet, previous offerings still lingered all around, making Becca’s seemed trivial. 

Looking over her surrounding, taking everything in as she prepared herself to take on the next step, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

Six seconds later, she breathed out, her body slowly relaxing.

Looking down, she picked up the first runes-carved candle and started calling out for the goddess in all her might as she lit up the wick.

To the second candle, one breath later, she repeated the process and called for Freya a second time; light came to be once again.

To the last one, one last breath later, Becca called out Her name again and was ready to light up the candle. Instead, it had done so by itself, on its own volition. 

A gentle breeze glided through, its wind waking the leaves. The snow had started to melt with the shift of the seasons, making way for the grass to peak through the white coat.

Sitting up, she brought her hands to her lap, palms up.

Her amulet’s glow grew within the darkness, the purple hue giving purpose to her call.

And then, head up towards the carving, the language of the gods reverberated through her vocal chords, her words chanting and summoning the divine for a favour.

The force of the breeze increased, just a note above its predecessor, Becca’s hair following its dance. 

She shut her eyes once more, her spell floating through her with plead. Her blood pumping rapidly through her veins, her magic swirled inside her the way a babe makes its presence known inside the womb.

As a humble servant, she called for balance, for strength, for help; to undo the chaos that had seeped its way through the earth, and to restore peace and heal Mother Nature from the disdain that was caused.

Her voice trembled within her throat, her body quivering from her words.

She reached for her runes, pulling three pieces; the gods were listening.

Becca continued with another breath slipping through her lips.

Dagger in hand, Freya’s urn sat in front of the young witch, its carcass void until soaked with drops of blood. 

She then removed her amulet, holding it by its golden chain as it slipped inside the cup.

The Celtic knots had joined the ritual; borrowing Finan’s cross, she offered it to the goddess for a blessing, begging for peace to the owner’s soul. And just like her stone, the cross slipped inside the urn, coated within the witch’s power.

Tears had started their act, staining the corners of her eyes before silently trailing down her flushed cheeks.

An itching started to carve itself on her back, emanating a wail which escaped her with shortened breaths. Her spell interrupted, she could feel her birthmark burning her skin in searing pain, the symbol glowing in ember.

They were testing her willingness to sacrifice, she thought.

She could feel it. 

The affliction deepened into her bone. She leaned forward, grasping at the hint of grass as her fingers dug through the earth with the muffled cries dripping through clenched teeth.

She could only push through - and so she did, with her heart racing, the muscle ached from the weight of the ritual.

She picked up wear she left off, calling for the gods once again in supplication. 

The wind still alive with fervour, wrapped its arms around her, somehow easing the sting she was imbued with.

And then, for a split of a second, she felt naked - as if her powers had gone into the void and disappeared.

The candles shut off as quiet surrounded her, eerie and deadly.

The pain covering her shoulder blade was dissipating though left a ghostly trace of ichor running down her back.

And then, nature’s voice came back; the water of the stream brushing the rocks, the leaves grazing the trees, the crickets creating their music. 

The wind had gone.

It was done.

Catching her breath, she sat back up with her head falling back. Her eyes met the night sky, the stars shining just a little bit brighter above her. 

From up above, she then turned her gaze down to her hands, etched in blood, as they rested on her dress.

She remained still for a moment, her mind empty from thoughts while her eyes never left the scarlet stained skirt. 

A little sniffle made it through the air, she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, her cheeks dry from tears. 

Flapped wings caught her attention. 

Under the dark skies, she lifted her head up to meet a bird perched on a tree branch.

The falcon glanced downwards, its eyesight fixated on Becca; chills ran down her spine.

It then flew down, gravitating towards the god’s shrine where its sharp talons echoed against the stone as it marched towards the bowl full of honey.

A gentle song from its chest, she watched the predator bending over the offering, its eyes staring as its beak hovered above it, the sweet nectar filling its nose with delight.

One dip in, the bird then turned towards the bouquet.

The falcon lingered; between the ambrosia and the flowers, it did not seem offended by such gifts. 

Anticipation arose in the pit of her stomach. 

The animal then turned to her, tilted head as its sharp eyes stared at her with another song escaping its mouth. It was a gentle coo, melting into the night. 

Becca awaited patiently.

Then majestic wings spread wide and far apart, the falcon’s head lifted up, calling at the present constellations; she slightly jumped at the suddenness of its movement, but none the less remained put, still waiting for the final verdict.

The bird, giving its attention back to her, stepped forward with its claws still on the ground. It stood in front of the urn, the head falling to that direction before leaning towards the rim, the beak disappearing inside.

The strings of her amulet and cross came into her sight; attached to its mouth, the falcon dropped both necklaces onto the woman’s lap.

Her sacrifice had been accepted by her god, her connection to Freya established.

It watched her, noticing tears layered across her irises. It gave her one last song, an affectionate coo, before backing away.

It moved to the altar again, pecking at the honey another for taste, before flying away and disappearing into the woods.

Becca stared at the jewelry pieces that covered her hands, her emotions getting the best of her once again. 

She silently cried, overwhelmed by the events of her night. Her body growing heavier, she leaned forward until her forehead rested atop the wet grass with her arms wrapped around her stomach. She thanked the goddess, her whispers carried through another wave of gentle breeze, its hands drying her cheeks.

Once she felt well again, once relief was slowly grasping at her bones, she sat up and reached for the water bottle that rested inside her bag. She poured the liquid over her hands and dress, wanting to wash off any signs of the ritual before meeting up with Finan again as she did not want to scare him.

She cleaned her cuts, her stone, his cross, and proceeded to pick up her stuff, leaving the candles, honey and flowers behind.

She then undid her braid, removing the primroses that stood in there, and delicately placed them along side the bouquet. 

She took one last moment for herself and got up, ignoring the weakness in her knees.

       After almost digging a hole into the ground from his constant pacing, Finan finally saw her come back.

The suspense of waiting finally washing off him like a storm, ease gripped at him as he ran to her. The second she was at arm’s length, he pulled her in and curled his arms around her, nestling his nose into her hair.

And the second she was pressed against his chest, she dropped her bag, her arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, seeking comfort.

“Are ya alright?” He spoke with a soft undertone, the words almost muffled against her head.

“Mhmm.” It was all she could muster. He placed a kiss at the top of her head before pulling away slowly, wanting to look at her properly. “Is it done then?”

She nodded, exhausted.

“The empowerment ritual worked. All we have to do is wait for the call.” Her arms fell by the sides of her body as she offered him a tired smile. “She will let us know when it is time.”

Without a word, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. Heavy breaths out from his lungs, his thoughts were rapidly racing.

She felt the tension in his shoulders, the frown upon his brows. She did not move and only spoke, her voice low within his breath. “What are you thinking about? What’s on your mind?”

He took a moment before answering her. “You… You’re on my mind.” He broke the embrace, wanting to look at her again. The worry was palpable, tingling at her fingertips as they ran through his hair before settling across his jawline, stroking his beard. “She’ll find us out, won’t she?”

Becca nodded, her hues glued to his own; she could never tire of his eyes, of their emotional depth. “She will, and to be honest, I don’t care.” She quickly kept going, having seen his lips pursed to speak up. “They accepted my offering, Finn. I’m in.”

Sadness still rested in his brown’s, breaking her heart. She slid her arms to rest around his neck, brushing his nose with hers. She spoke softly. “Trust me. Have faith in me.”

“I do, Bex.” He kissed her, a simple stroke of his lips against hers. “I just don’t want all of this to take you away from me.”

Her doubts were crawling back into her mind, small whispers blowing through the wind, taunting her unworthiness to the cause. Day and night they haunted her, but after tonight, she had hoped they would vacate and vanish into thin air.

Another stroke of lips to lips, she lingered into him, tightening her hold around his neck as she felt his fingers digging into her waist, desperate.

Same as her.

And so she reluctantly pulled away, her hands trailing down to rest on his chest. Heartache in her stare, she looked up at him, her emotions seeping through her voice. “I know. And I don’t want all of this to take you away from me either.”

“God, I love you.” He kissed her once more, the caress harsher and held with anguish as he clung to her.

She fell into his embrace, her knees buckling under the weight of the world. Her fingers grasped onto the fabric of his jacket, knuckles whitened at her strength. With a hint of despair, the melancholic feeling crippling her, she whispered her own declaration, her own feelings for him pouring out of her. “I love you too.”

He pulled away, his thumb tracing over her swollen lips. “I know ya tell me not to be worried. But I can’t help it… What if it’s not enough?”

She smiled at him, a simple and small upward curve from her left side. “Then I’ll find another way.” She was pushing through her fear - for him. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not giving up.”

A moment of silence hugged them close. His eyes trailed from her own, down to her lips before settling over her amulet, the purple stone remaining in the dark without its glow, coupled with his cross.

He smiled.

“It suits you.” 

She reached for the lace of the necklace and pulled it off, the golden crucifix shimmering under the moonlight. 

“I like it better on you.” She placed the item around his neck, the cross resting on top of shirt. 

He kissed her forehead once again, both of them ready to leave and head back to the cottage.

Stepping back to the car, she stopped herself at the ghostly sound tickling her ears. She peered around her, not seeing anything despite the haunting calls.

Furrowed brows, she turned her head back to Finan. “Are you hearing this?”

“Hearing what, love?”

She tried to decipher the noise, her eyes searching all around; her arm stretched towards him, she was reaching for him out of instinct. He quickly came to her, holding her hand while she remained elsewhere, her focus devoted to the faint calls.

A slight gasp escaped her.

“A babe, I think? I thought I heard a child…”

Finan looked around as well, confused. “There is no one but us.”

She shook the sound away, giving her notice back to the present as she started walking.

But once again, she stopped; a crinkle, a crunch of steps upon leaves pulled her away. Her hand still holding on to Finan’s, her halt echoed to him. He turned to see her back at him, her sight facing the woods. 

A pair of golden flecks caught her attention. She stared into them until the figure came out of the shadows.

A wolf was staring at her, a mother with her cub. Her heart stopped, the colour of her cheeks draining.

How could she have known that her spell had summoned the animal, the distant call having been carried by the wind across the forrest? She stood still, forgetting for a moment where she was; Finan noticed, giving him worry. “Bex?”

She could not hear him, her focus solely placed on the gentle beast.

The cub, playful in its small size, was running between its mother’s legs and nibbling at her paws, her fur, anything to attract her attention. The longer Becca stared between both wolves, she could feel her heart starting to pick up its pace, racing against her chest as her breath was unable to leave her lungs. 

“Becca?” Finan tried to follow her stare but saw nothing but void. 

Only when he squeezed her hand, did she seem to have propelled back into reality. “Is everything okay? What were you staring at?”

Her eyes had remained on the mother, until the wolf nodded her way and disappeared with her babe in toe.

They held many meanings, representing two sides of the same coin. The question was, which side would befall on the witch and her lover?

“N-Nothing.” She turned back to him, shaking off the ill feeling creeping on her back.  She placed her free hand on her stomach, swallowing the burdening nausea that left her perturbed. 

Meeting Finan’s gaze, she gave him a reassuring smile, desperate to leave.

“Let’s go home.”

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

a/n: for those who watched BTVS S6E01 (Bargaining), the urn described in the chapter is pretty much based on that one :)

xoxo,

@fangirlninja67, @gemini-mama

[stxrmylxve]

Could you do Tokyo Revengers Mikey x reader (Hinas friend) x Dark Izana. Finds out Mikey has a GF and goes all Yandere or evil.

so im going to be honest, it might be because it’s late, but i had a hell of a hard time figuring out exactly what you wanted.. so i did the sort of thing where y/n wanted mikey ofc but izana jumped in and kinda made it a threesome but not really? i noticed there were three people in your request so that’s how I got to that lol. Hope this serves!

“Look, I told you, he has a girlfriend, y/n. I’m sorry to tell you!” Hina explains as you glare at her.

“No way he does.” you mutter as you munch on some chips, pondering the thought no longer than a second.

“But he does. It’s hannah!” she exclaims.

“hannah..?” you say in disbelief as you scoff.

“No way he would date that trash,” you say as you dust yourself off and collect your things, “cya.”

As you kicked a few rocks, you heard walking and as normal, you expected a quick glance at most. However, this was mikey and hannah, which lit a fire under you very quickly.

She was clinging onto his arm, something he never allowed, even with you. Why the hell could she?

You jog up to them with a sour smile as you greet them both.

“Hi mikey! Who’s this lovely lady?”

“Hannah, my girlfriend.” he says with an affectionate smile as your eyes go wide.

So it was true? They were a thing?

“How long have y’all been together now?” you ask with a forced smile as you look between the two.

“A few days now. We’re so happy together!” Hannah exclaims as she rubs mikey’s forearm.

“ew.” you mutter under your breathe as you ajust your backpack and say goodbye, making sure to kick a bit of dirt onto her new shoes as you turn.

This was just a stupid crush, it would wear off right?

—————————————————————————-

Watching them was sickening. You watched for days, weeks, months. It got to you. He said that you would be his first girlfriend when he turned 17, why was hannah the first and not you?

Izana had been there for you, letting you yell and say any angers about her/him and their relationship whenever you went over to their house. You never realized he had heard most of it though.

“Hey y/n, can we talk..?” mikey asks as you glare.

“What?” you ask simply as you put your pens away.

“uhm.. I don’t know what I did but I can tell you don’t like me.” he says awkwardly.

“Listen, can we just like… not? I was having a great afternoon studying here.” you dismiss.

“I heard you and izana.” mikey utters as you stop at the doors of the classroom.

“so?” you say after a while.

“I know you don’t like my girlfriend, but why the hell does it give you the right to ignore and hate me?!” he yells as it ticks in your brain second by second.

“Why? What the fuck are you on mikey? You knew I have hated her, for years! I told you, I cried on your shoulder about the damn things she did and said to me! And you’re going to sit here,” you point to his chest as you push him back with your index finger, “and ask why I hate your girlfriend? Save it you man whore.” you spit as you turn around and walk out.

Mikey couldn’t stop the blush that formed on his cheeks but the words still hurt. He saw the tears forming, that’s the whole reason you left. He didn’t even like hannah, but that’s what they all say.

—————————————————————————-

”But.. izana! He.. he’s dating my e-enemy. He knows that!” you blab as new tears continue to stain his grey shirt black.

“Maybe he forgot. If he is, there’s no reason to cry. You deserve better than manjiro, y/n.” izana says as he draws shapes on your back.

“He wouldn’t ever forget! Do you know the things I did for him? I got rid of his bullies, scared potential crushes away, helped him everyday, and he still went and is dating someone!” you beat his chest as you continue to crumble on Izana’s lap.

”He might have moved on. All I’m saying is that he was just cruel to do that.” Izana says as he lays back and allows you to whimper in quiet to calm yourself.

“I’m here for you, y/n.”

[sioster]

oh god, you activated the rambles again. i'm sorry, i already know this is gonna be long.

first of all, yeah. tommy no.1 and tommy no.2 are the only people who know about... well, pretty much everything. that wil and dream are spiderman, that the multiverse is real, that there's a way to travel between dimensions, that dreambur are in love. they are very pissed about the fact that they can't tell anyone about it. (but they're also amazing friends. they know when to keep a secret.)

i think the four of them are the ones that know about the extent of it all.

doesn't mean dream and wilbur are alone though.

i do think they have relationships and friends outside of it, even if they can't always be completely honest with them.

for dream, it's george, a guy he met during his first day at work, and sapnap, who rents the apartment next to dream's, and karl, the nice, chill barista from his favorite coffee shop. he also gets along well with his family, especially his sister.

wilbur doesn't really have friends besides tommy, too scared to let anyone close again after he lost niki. but i imagine him having a very tight relationship with his parents and his bandmates (lovejoy is canon in this au because i say so lol).

all of them notice that something changed in dream and wilbur, even though no one knows when or why it happened.

in the end, it takes almost two years for them to see each other again.

wil's tommy is the first one to figure it out, engineering a save, stable portal that allows travel there and back whenever you want.

when wilbur stumbles into dream's room for the first time in 20 months, dream thinks he's hallucinating. it's only when wilbur's hands come to rest on his jaw, skin warm and fingertips gentle, that he realizes that it's real.

no one can stop him when, for the third time, he pins wilbur against a wall, hands gripping wilbur's hips tightly, scared that he could disappear again at any moment.

he doesn't.

they sit down on dream's bed and talk for hours, sharing everything that happened in the months they didn't see each other.

tommy's portal finally gives them the chance to date properly, and they visit each other whenever they can, sometimes staying a few days if their schedules allow it.

and omg the villain idea has so much potential!!! maybe a villain from wilbur's dimension accidentally crossing over into dream's and partnering up with their counterpart to take down spiderman. or a villain in dream's universe having noticed how important the new spiderman seems to be to the old one and kidnapping wil for blackmail and/or torture purposes.

So:

Imagine having to manage between being a superhero and in an active band,,,, hell nah I'd never, I would crumble into dust

Spiderbur our favourite rag doll getting slammed into walls👍

I hear torture and my mind immediately reverts to pandora. Ough.

Now seriously, mmmm. Lots of things to play with here :D how does it look like from their families'/friends' point of view? Both of the heroes have always been.. interesting people. But then suddenly one of them disappears for a month, and the other is constantly occupied and when someone does catch a glimpse of him, he's uncharacteristically happy.

Then they both go back to their 'normal' life and it's like all colour has been sucked out of them.

Mmm when they reunite they hate letting the other out of their sight

[aurevoir-sammie]

Long time no see.

Life is a funny thing. Traumatic things from the past have an interesting way of effecting our future in ways we didn’t think possible. I’ve been in a healthy relationship for the last almost two years…until today. It was long distance, which is something I’ve sought in the last couple of relationships I’ve been in. We agreed from the start that if we found something closer, we’d respect the other’s choice and part amicably. A part of me figured it would happen but damn, it had been almost two years together (2 months away).

He never said anything about finding someone close to him before today. But I knew it was a possibility. One we discussed openly.

Literally everything had been perfect. Communication was fine, we were making our usual jokes since our love language was roasting each other. He’d been quiet the last 24 hours, which was unusual since we were almost always in communication. Then today, a novel of a message landed in our chat. The end of something that I had almost considered a forever thing. A relationship I considered a safety blanket that I had some semblance of control over, because I feel like my own life has spiraled so far out of control that I’m in a tailspin with no parachute.

I knew it wouldn’t be forever though. We both had a lot of baggage from past relationships. Long distance felt safe because we didn’t have to deal with the real, raw nitty gritty parts of being in a relationship, I think. The honeymoon phase could last forever in a sense.

I can’t fault him though. I’ve also been struggling with not having him here. Not having someone to hold me after a particularly hard shift when I’m crumbling. Not having someone to chase the nightmares away when I wake up panicking and out of breath. Not being able to hang out with my friends and have them there when everyone has their partners with them. Someone here during big events that I want to celebrate.

I should be sad. I should be devastated. I should be sobbing my heart out or screaming or breaking things. Instead, I’m just numb. I’m sitting listening to sad music, watching fucking Nicholas Sparks films and I just can’t. It’ll hit me soon I’m sure, but I think I’m just truly trying to navigate my own headspace now that I’m alone. Again.

I won’t lie and say I’m okay though. There’s a part of me spiraling and stuck with my trust breaking, life altering first heart breaker’s words telling me it’s my fault again. That I wasn’t enough despite pouring my literal everything into it. Giving my heart away to only get the remains crumbled into dust handed back to me. I know it wasn’t me, not entirely.

Everything will be alright eventually, I’m just going to exist without feeling for a minute. I feel the same way he did, truthfully I could have sent the same text. I almost have a few times now when I just needed to have someone here and felt alone despite being in a relationship.

Maybe love just isn’t for me.

[waynes-multiverse]

Muddy Waters

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Musician!Reader

Summary: After a mud run and several drinks, Jensen finally gathers his courage and makes a move on a longtime friend he’s been crushing on for a while. Are his feelings reciprocated, though?

Warnings: +18/NSFW!, smut (shower sex, grinding, fingering, p in v, oral m, spanking, competitive dom/sub vibes), sassy!reader (my little rascal 🖤), friends to lovers (they’re drunk, giggly idiots), a lot of teasing, bantering & dirty talk (cuz words make the collective tumblrhood go horny), minor angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months. First RPF and it’s 80% dirty, so I hope you’ll ruin those panties. 😜 When I got Aud’s @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​ dirty, dirty gif, I remembered the mud run again, so here it goes. Written for Aud’s Make Me Horny Challenge! My gif was a steamy shower scene that depicted some soapy grinding from behind 😏💦🧼

Main Masterlist || Tag List

The door falls shut behind them, a row of never-ending laughter spilling from the porch into his otherwise quiet home as they clumsily stumble inside. She’s clinging onto his broad shoulders for dear life as he cages her between his body and the door, his mouth latching onto her pulse point and drawing a needy moan from her while he simultaneously tries to fumble the keys back into the lock.

The drunken laughs almost force her onto her knees, close to tumbling to the floor and clutching her stomach, but Jensen’s arms elegantly weave around her middle and hold her in place before his lips crash against hers in an attempt to stop the giggles, even though he can barely contain his grin himself.

He loves when she laughs like that. She always laughs with her whole heart, zero fucks given about how ridiculous, silly, or embarrassing she might look. He loves when she throws her head back with full force, has seen the many times she crumbled to the ground when she’d visit him and Jared on set. He’s seen the mascara-stained cheeks and has heard all her snorts and chokes. She laughs exactly like she loves – carefree. He loves her authenticity, admires it even.

She’s breathless when he parts for air and traps her bottom lip between her teeth, mischief twinkling in her gorgeous eyes. Her chest is heaving with each labored breath, and for a moment, she just stares at him and worships his beauty.

Okay, maybe she needs to backtrack a little and explain exactly how she ended up here – being devoured by the most handsome man on this planet.

She met him about seven years ago in her hometown of Vancouver. She’s known Jared a couple years longer and when her friend told her he was moving to her city for a job, she invited the guys to one of her concerts at a local bar. The rest, as they say, is history.

She’s always liked Jensen, mostly because he’s easy to tease, his freckle-dusted cheeks blushing adorably whenever she cracks an inappropriate joke. The first time she made him snort a drink through his nose, she considered it a huge win. It’s not like he’s particularly shy, though. He’s just the quiet type, humble and solid during any storm. She can still recall his baffled face when they met for the first time and she asked Jared, “Who’s the boy scout you brought?”

Honestly, she’s surprised a guy like him is into a girl like her. But maybe that’s exactly why he likes her. She’s been on the road since she was a teenager, sharing closed quarters on tour busses with a bunch of guys. She’s used to the elaborate pranks and the dirty jokes. At this point, she considers herself a part of the boys.

Especially Jared has a whole repertoire of dick jokes that she finds hilarious and the first time he’s cracked one in front of her, she remembers how Jensen’s pupils enlarged to an almost comical degree, telling Jared, “C’mon, man. Not in front of a lady,” to which she only replied, “Why? My dick’s bigger than yours, Ackles.”

He smirked at her after that and she knew exactly why. Yeah, he’s practically wearing BDE on his sleeve, and the way his large erection is currently rubbing against her thigh, she only feels her suspicions confirmed.

After the ice was broken, he’s gotten used to her big mouth and now laughs just as loudly as her. And listen… it’s not like she never knew he harbored a small crush on her throughout these years.

She recalls how he gazed at her the first time he’s heard her sing on stage – mostly because it was super hard to concentrate on the lyrics while he was shooting her doe-eyed looks all night. She also knows he specifically seeks out her company, always choosing the closest seat next to hers when they hang out together in the studio, on set, or at someone’s home.

So yeah, she kinda knew.

Still, she was shocked when he finally fessed up to his feelings tonight after all these years of saying nothing at all.

The guys had invited her to a mud run for charity in Austin and Jensen was the first to offer her his place to stay – he always was, which in retrospect, should’ve probably given her a clue from the beginning. After the run and covered in dried dirt from head to toe, the group went out for drinks at the bar that had been set up for the event. They drank until everyone’s vision started to blur and speaking coherently became a task in itself.

She’d been chatting with Jensen for over an hour at a little table in the corner, all their friends scattered around the bar and busy with themselves. She’d just convinced him into his eighth shot of tequila and was in the middle of her long rant about how sick and tired she was of dating clout-chasers and Hollywood douchebags after her recent fling with a horrible DJ had ended when he suddenly leaned back in his chair with the coolness of a thousand men and just said:

“What about me?”

She giggled and finished her tequila shot, placing the glass upside down on the tabletop. “What about you?”

“Date me,” he simply shrugged, his forest green eyes pinning her down as his muscles stretched underneath his shirt, the thin layer of dirt on his biceps cracking with every tension.

“Uh-huh, funny,” she laughed because honestly, he had to be joking, right?

“Oh, I’m not joking, Y/N,” he stated without a quiver of insecurity and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Jens, c’mon,” she laughed and playfully rolled her eyes, trying to brush him off. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, though.” And while his green eyes showed nothing but seriousness, there was still a small teasing smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. “What? Not your type? Would a neck tattoo help?”

She snorted loudly, tilting her head back with a laugh, and kicked his chair with her sneakers a little, “God, stop! Shut up.”

“Is that a yes?” he wiggled his eyebrows and leaned closer to her face, their voices only loud enough to be heard in close proximity.

She rested her chin in her palms and gazed at him with a flirtatious smile, “Oh, my sweet boy scout, I think you’re everyone’s type. Wouldn’t worry about that.”

“I don’t care about everyone. I care if I’m yours,” he argued and she bit down on her lip, contemplating for a moment, because admittedly, it was a very dangerous game the two of them started playing.

Their gazes were still locked on each other when she felt his hand encapsulate her knee. It lingered there for a heartbeat, testing the waters, and when he didn’t receive any protests, it slowly trailed higher underneath the secrecy of the table and caused goosebumps on her bare thigh.

God, what she wouldn’t give to feel those thick fingers inside of her.

“C’mon, Y/N, you can say it,” he egged her on with a cute smirk.

She let go of her bottom lip then and matched his smile, leaning closer to his face until they were only inches apart. “Fine, I’d fuck you, sure.”

He chuckled in amusement at her reply and took a casual sip of his whiskey, “Okay, good.”

“So what? You’re angling for one fuck here to get it out of your system?” It was an honest question and whatever answer he’d give her, she’d accept it without offense. Hell, if he asked her for a night of fun, she’d say yes in an instant. It wouldn’t be the first time she agreed to something like that.

And before you judge her – it’s hard to date when you’re always on the road or trapped in a recording studio. She’s still a woman with needs, okay?

He laughed again, “Oh, far from it. But my whole plan would probably throw you for a loop, so let’s just stick to tonight for now before I have to chase you down over the hills in a few seconds.”

“Ackles,” she sighed with a silly eye roll and shook her head at him. Yeah, Jensen was probably too gentleman to ask her for a fuck. After all, the guy bought a house a year ago for his future wife and kids, so really, what did she expect?

“What?”

“Why would you wanna date me, huh? This is just tequila-induced insanity,” she countered. She’d do him a favor by letting him down easy. Honestly, he’d be making a huge mistake – according to her.

She’s a fuck-up, alright?

“Actually, I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had,” he grinned stubbornly, confidence oozing from every pore, his fingers still lazily drawing circles on her thigh. “I know you and you know me. We’re already friends. You know I’d treat you right and not like those assholes you usually pick. What’s so crazy about that, huh?”

“Yeah, but I deserve to date assholes – you don’t. I’m a messy bitch and you’re-”

“A boy scout?” he arched an eyebrow and smiled a little. She twitched her shoulders and nodded. “Well, maybe I’m just a masochist and you’re the only one who can scratch that itch. Ever thought about that? ‘Sides, you should really stop calling me a boy scout.”

With curious amusement, she leaned closer, “Really? Why is that?”

His tongue poked out to wet his plump lips, shrinking the distance between their faces even more, “Because all the things I wanna do to you would surely get me kicked out.”

Needless to say, she was already a goner when he decided to attack her with his whole array of suave poise and she stared into his hypnotizing apple green eyes for a tiny bit too long. Biiiiig mistake on her part. “Yeah? Like what?”

He then leaned in close to her ear, his breath tickling her earlobe and sending shivers down her spine. “Come home with me and find out how I’d take care of you. Make you feel what I feel when I’m with you,” he purred, voice deep and velvety smooth. “But I’m warning you – once I sink my thick cock into that cunt, you’re mine, baby girl.”

Yup, that’s the story of how they ended up making out in Jensen’s foyer, because fuck, she didn’t believe boy scout Ackles really had it in him and could keep up with her twisted mind. But then again, it’s just like him to prove her wrong and he’s certainly proving her wrong a lot tonight.

“We’re getting your door dirty,” she giggles amongst his kisses. They’re still in their workout clothes from the run, dried mud sticking to every inch of their skin and hair and dusting to the ground.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles into the crook of her neck and pulls her tank top down enough to free one tit, catching the nipple quickly in his mouth and letting his tongue roll over it until it hardens. He’s already aware she’s not wearing a bra – a little fact that’s been torturing him the whole day.

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers when his teeth graze her skin, her arousal close to dripping down her legs. She threads her fingers through his short locks and gives them a rough tug, the wanton groan he releases almost making her come on the spot.

He comes up for air soon, kissing his way back up her neck and pecking her lips once. His hand then caresses her cheek when he rests his forehead on hers, noses nuzzling together. “You can still back out if you want, you know? Doesn’t change anything between us. I promise.”

She bites down on her lower lip, hiding the smile because it’s just so him to say stuff like that, and cups his jaw, her fingers sweetly playing with his off-season beard, “Jens?”

“Hm?”

“Fuck me in that steam shower you got,” she grins broadly and he lets his head fall onto her shoulder for a brief chuckle before he catches her gaze again.

“Alright,” he nods, smiles in the most adorable way, and claims her lips in a searing kiss as he lifts her up under her asscheeks, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

He carries her upstairs and through his bedroom till he reaches the master bathroom, leaving dirty clothing items scattered around the house in their wake.

Y/N’s practically naked once he sets her down and her feet feel the cold tiles underneath her soles, only a pair of black panties left to cover up his holy grail. Jensen’s down a shirt too and shivers slightly when her hands land on his abs, trailing their way up to his chest. One arm snakes around her waist to keep her steady as she tiptoes up and starts to suck and nibble on his neck while her hand sneaks into his shorts and palms his hardened cock, its weight only making her panties soak more.

“Fuck,” he grunts and squeezes his eyes shut in pleasure as she pumps him slowly, her mouth sucking a hickey into the skin by his collarbone.

Her tongue then licks from his neck to his ear as she mutters hungrily, “God, I can’t wait to taste you.” She then sucks the skin behind his ear between her teeth and bites into his earlobe, tugging on it a little before she lets it pop back, coaxing another groan from him. Maybe he was right – he is a masochist.

“Hey, that’s my line,” he chuckles and hooks two fingers under her chin, pulling her lips onto his again.

“You’re gonna keep talking, boy scout, or are you gonna make me choke on your cock now?” she sasses with a grin.

“Shit, yeah.” The words only come out in a stumped breath before he hurriedly turns the water in the shower on.

When he spins around a mere second later, she’s already got her fingers hooked in the waistband of her panties and slowly drags them down her legs before she stalks closer to him and does the same to him. She then cups his neck and pulls him flush against her, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth.

“Oh, so you’ve decided you’re gonna be the boss tonight, huh?” he teases with a chuckle.

She backs into the shower, steps into the stream of water, and innocently twitches her shoulders, “I don’t know. Who’s gonna stop me?”

The little wink she gives him is what finally sends him storming after her as he joins her under the hot spray. She squeals loudly when he tackles her and presses her firmly into the wall, looking deeply into her eyes with a smirk playing on his pillowy lips that feel just like the softest cloud. He then notices how her eyes wander down his frame, teeth and tongue dragging over her bottom lip.

“Like what you see?”

Her gaze shoots up at him, but she’s not embarrassed. Instead, her face has written mischief all over it and it’s like she’s turned it into a competition of who can break who first and he has to swallow some of the heat down. Luckily, the trickling water hides the building sweat on his hairline. He knows he has to play his cards right or his chances become bygones.

“You tell me,” she says and grabs his hand, spreading his fingers a little as she drags two through her slick.

The grunt that leaves him then is almost primal as her arousal collects on his fingertips and he has to steady himself with his free hand on the tiled wall next to her head. “Mmm, fuck, so wet for me, baby,” he hums, resting his head between her breasts as he starts moving his fingers on his own, two digits rubbing slow circles on her clit before they slip into her tight channel.

She gasps when they enter her, finding just the right angle and pace as he thrusts them into her pussy, his thumb rubbing her clit until her frantic curses become wordless moans. She locks her arms behind his neck for support as his other hand holds her in place by her waist.

“Oh fuck, Jay,” a breathy moan escapes past her lips as the coil in her stomach threatens to snap.

“Not so talkative now, huh?”

Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have challenged her because now one of her hands is reaching down and grabbing a tight hold of his cock, making him hiss and his rhythm slightly waver.

“Fuck, alright. Two can play that game. I got the message,” he tells her and places a wet kiss behind her ear, hearing her winningly giggle.

He’s speeding up his ministrations then while she eagerly strokes his length until they’re both panting, lips faintly brushing against each other. When he slides a third finger in, it’s enough for her, and she comes harshly around his digits and with repeated chants of his name, her nails digging into the flesh on his shoulders and the hand wrapped around his cock giving it a light squeeze, causing it to twitch in her grasp. He catches her in time before her wobbly legs give out and steadies her with a strong arm around her waist and a smile on his freckled face.

“My turn,” is all she says and pecks his lips with a grin as her palm glides along the thick vein on his underside and down to his balls. She starts to massage them, gives them a gentle tug or a roll every odd second while her mouth works from his jaw down to his torso, nibbling and sucking on every inch of skin in its way. She halts at his navel, teases it a little with her tongue, and is amused when the tickling makes him slightly chuckle. She then drops onto her knees fully, Jensen’s hand finding its way into her hair as she peppers the remaining road down with kisses.

When she arrives at his pubic bone, she pinches the skin between her teeth slightly, soothing the little sting with a wet kiss immediately after. The hand on his balls wanders then back to form a ring around his base, cutting off his blood supply a little, which only makes him swell more. Her other hand finds its place on his perky asscheek and her nails dig into his skin as she pushes him a little closer to her face.

He swears he’s never been this hard before in his life and her lips haven’t even touched his cock yet. He’s completely enthralled as he watches her work with precision and when she sticks her tongue out and gives his pink tip a few teasing kitten licks, he almost blows his load right then and there. She notices he’s close, though, and stops her teasing.

Her tongue licks a stripe up on his underside before her lips engulf his head, taking him in full with one swift motion until he hits the back of her throat, the tip of her tongue massaging his vein a little and her nose brushing his skin.

“Fuck!” he exclaims loudly at the sensation and tightens the grip in her hair because she’s caught him so off guard. He releases a shaky exhale to ground himself again or he knows he won’t fucking last.

She slowly draws back up, a string of saliva connecting his dick to her lips before it’s broken by her laughter.

He chuckles lightly himself and shakes his head at her, “Geez, a little warning next time. You’re gonna kill me in like a second if you keep doing that.”

Her eyes form a puppy dog look as she blinks up at him through thick, black lashes. “So slower? How slow?” she asks in feigned innocence and places a tender kiss on his head.

Before he can answer, though, she slowly kisses down the left side of his cock till she reaches the base. “Like that?” she asks and meets his hooded gaze before she kisses her way back up to his tip. Her tongue then teasingly dips into his slit, her hand following her mouth and her thumb trailing up his underside with just the right amount of pressure before her lips give his head a good suck. She lets it go with a pop and looks up at him again, “Or like that?”

“Fucking hell,” he hisses and grits his teeth. “Okay, mm-mm. You’re no longer allowed down there.”

He grabs hold of her arms and pulls her back onto her feet like she’s just a feather he’s picking up from the sidewalk. He’s greeted by her shaking frame then because she’s laughing so damn hard and he can’t help but join in before he pecks her lovingly on the forehead.

One hand then wraps around her middle and falls down to her ass, roughly grabbing a handful. His lips capture hers and drown her giggles, his tongue invading her mouth and exploring every inch of it.

“I hope for your sake you had fun. You do know bad girls get punished, right?” he whispers into her ear, his baritone voice vibrating in her drum.

She giggles through pressed lips, “Do they?”

“Mhm,” he hums and nuzzles her nose briefly with hers while his hand snakes around her throat and his thumb starts applying light pressure. He kisses a trail along her neck and down to her collarbone, sinking his teeth into her soft flesh and sucking bits of skin between his lips.

“I think it’s time someone teaches you some manners,” he continues as his tongue reaches her hardened bud, swirling around it, and his hand leaves her hip to join it, slowly brushing up her side to knead her boob.

“What, you think just because you’re Texan, you can tame me?” she cheekily raises an eyebrow, the next laugh already waiting in her chest to erupt.

He chuckles briefly before he swiftly turns her around and presses her into the wall, pinning her hands above her head. She shudders when her cheek meets the cool tiles and her nipples harden at the abrupt temperature drop. She feels his erection rub against her ass and needily tries to grind herself against it.

“Wanna repeat that for me?” His breath ticklishly fans against her ear and she can still smell the whiskey and tequila shots from earlier. His tongue tastes like it, too, and she’s not sure she can ever get enough of it.

“No, I’ll be good now,” she promises quickly and gazes over her shoulder at him, although she’s not sure he’s buying into her sudden act of innocence. But she might as well let him win now because her pussy is begging to be filled at this point. She’s always been impatient.

He playfully narrows his eyes at her, suspecting she might just work quietly on her comeback. “Hm, funny how the silence suddenly scares me more.”

She snorts and hides her face in her elbow, her shoulder blades shaking a little. He kisses the back of her head with a chuckle and removes his grip on her wrists then and is surprised when she doesn’t dare to move them back down. Maybe she’s learning after all?

She hears him opening a bottle of shampoo behind her and soon feels his hands connect with her skin again, soaping her up from her neck to her shoulders and down her whole body, taking his time on her tits, thighs, and ass as he gently massages each inch of skin between his fingers.

Only whimpers leave her lips now that soon bleed into moans when he starts to grind his cock between her globes and his lips mark up her shoulder. One hand wanders to the front and cups her mound before his middle finger dips between her folds and circles her bundle of nerves.

She’s not thinking about winning anymore and just enjoys his touches, her gaze focused on how the muddy water running down the drain becomes clearer with every clean drop. Her mind cleans itself too under the warm spray trickling down her back as she loses herself in everything that is him. She’s so in a trance she doesn’t even notice when his palm smacks her left asscheek till she feels the burn on her skin.

“Fuck,” she gasps and curses in her mind a little that he managed to get one over on her. The small laugh she hears behind her only confirms he’s won this round.

“You know, you’ve been teasing me all day,” he mutters into her neck, his palm soothingly curing the burn on her aching globe. “Well, all day and seven years.”

She sucks in a breath and bites down on her lip, tasting the iron on her tongue when he hits her right cheek this time.

“How so?” she carefully questions once she’s gained a little more composure again.

“Well… first of all, you crawled through mud today,” he starts but gets cut off by her.

“Is that why you were behind me all day? Just wanted to peek at my ass a little? That’s not very boy-scout-y of you,” she taunts him and he can practically hear the wide smirk on her face.

The third smack lands on her left cheek again, slightly harder than the previous one, and she jumps up in her spot a little before Jensen’s hands ground her hips into place.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this, Y/N? To turn you into a whimpering mess underneath me? Make you shut that filthy mouth for once?” His hands roam her entire body, his thick cock still rubbing sinfully against her back, and she’s sure she could come again from his words alone.

“Look at you,” he chuckles lightly, his fingers starting to torturously tease her clit again as his grinding intensifies and he listens to her little whimpers like it’s his new favorite song. “Y/N, don’t tell me you’re gonna come again from me just grinding my big cock against you?”

“I-I don’t know. Would be news for me too, buddy,” she croaks, her vocal cords strained. “Jens... fuck, please.”

“Please what, baby girl? Tell me what you want me to do to you. Want me to eat you out? Want to come on my tongue? Lick you clean till you scream my name, hm?”  

“Shit,” she squeezes her eyes shut when the tension in her belly rises. “Need you inside me, please.”

“Oh, you want that, huh?” He drives his dick further into her back and she instinctively starts grinding her whole body against his, desperate for her next release. She’s not even sure if it’s water or her own arousal that’s trickling down her thighs at this point.

“Mhm, yeah,” she nods and moves with his rhythm. “Want your long, thick cock inside… split me open. Want you t-to fuck me… as hard as-as you can… And then fill me up… c-cum deep inside me… make m-me feel you for days.”

“Fuck,” he curses at her words, his plan of torturing her backfiring a little.

She can feel how his knees spread her legs a little more and she knows he’s getting ready to take the plunge, his tip teasing her entrance and coating with her slick. His hand rests steadily on her hip when his cock slowly enters her inch by inch. The pleasurable burn makes her nails claw at the tiles and she arches her back when he’s fully seated within her, driving him in even deeper when she pushes her ass back.

“God, you’re so tight. Wish you could see how your cunt sucks me right in,” he coos into her ear and grazes his teeth on her shoulder when he withdraws a little before thrusting harshly back inside, his tip pressing against her cervix.

“Please move,” she pants. Honestly, she doesn’t know how long she can hold this up. She wants to kick his ass for teasing her so goddamn much but still loves every second of it, wondering why she hasn’t done this sooner.

“Feel what I feel yet, Y/N?” He doesn’t wait for a reply as he starts to fuck her relentlessly, his hips snapping to hers and pushing her body further into the hard wall.

His cock hits every little spot perfectly and it doesn’t even take her a minute before her walls squeeze his length and her legs begin to shake uncontrollably. He draws out then when she comes down from her high and spins her around to face him, his hands steadying her trembling frame.

He tenderly brushes a few strands of wet hair out of her face and entangles her lips in a sensual kiss. Her eyes look wearily up at him as if he’s finally drained her of all her energy, no fight left in her anymore.

“Jens?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, which surprises him, considering she even managed to belt out My Heart Will Go On today as a distraction while fighting her way through tons of mud.

“Yeah?”

She caresses his cheeks with the softest touch and searches for his gaze, “I think I feel it now.”

The corners of his mouth rise into a warm smile before their lips connect once more. He dips his head, lowering down to her forehead as his hands cup her cheeks and his thumb trails the outlines of her pink lips. “Yeah? Want me to make you really feel it now?” he asks in a low and husky voice.

She nods silently in his palms and sucks his thumb into her mouth. His features soften and his pupils blow wide with lust, the luscious green replaced by endless black. It’s when the game stops and love wins.

There’s no teasing, no words spoken when he lifts her up and she drapes her arms around his neck. His cock plunges back into her hole, setting a steady pace as his mouth tries to pay attention to every body part it can reach. Their kissing is only interrupted by their need for air, their gazes only focused on each other. It’s passionate, gentle, and loving, and it probably drives her madder than any roughness ever could.

“Cum with me one last time? Can you do that?” It’s a miracle he can still form words, and when she gives him a few quick nods, his movements speed up a little with the remaining energy he has left, the sounds of trickling water joined by salacious moans and grunts in the quiet bathroom.  

When her third orgasm hits her, he spills into her and coats her walls with his seed as she milks him for every drop. She clings tightly to his body, panting heavily into the crook of his neck, and he cups the back of her head, placing a tender kiss on her temple.

“You’re gonna fall asleep on my shoulder now?” His question is accompanied by a small chuckle because he finally managed to tucker her out.

“Maybe,” she sighs weakly against his skin.

He turns off the water then and carries her to his bed, gently laying her down on the mattress before he slips under the covers next to her and pulls her onto his chest, his bedsheets drying off the excess water glistening on their skin.

He peppers her head with kisses, his fingers stroking up and down her arm as her eyelids become heavier with every passing second.

“Are you planning your escape now?” he checks curiously, although his heart is nervously hammering in his ribcage as he waits for her reply.

“No, I’m yours now,” she states simply, cuddles deeper into his chest, and drifts off to sleep on top of him, her mind finally as clear as the clean water.

I’ll be honest – they’re cute as shit and I might have fallen a tiny bit in love with them. (So much so my head started planning a little fluff-fest series, but you know, all in due time... probably... maybe... who the fuck knows? 😉)

Tags:

Real Heroes (Dean/Jensen Tag): @deanwanddamons @flamencodiva @panicking-outside-the-disco @deandreamernp @avanatural @eevvvaa @writercole @gshade22 @poptart06294 @supraveng @sexyvixen7 @that-one-gay-girl @lyarr24 @msmarvelouswinchester @akshi8278 @spnbaby-67 @xlynnbbyx @mimaria420 @thoughts-and-funnies @dark-night-sky-99 @wittyboldsoul @awkward-and-indecisive @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​ @leosandbuckysgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester​

[wickedscribbles]

An Unexpected Muse: Part One

Masterlist, Join the Taglist

Summary: There’s a cowboy in your Intro to Drawing class. You’re not exactly sure why he’s here. Not because he sticks out, all broad shoulders and grizzled beard amongst the kids who barely count as adults. But because he’s so, so much better than what the class requires. 

Requested by @so-may-you-all​! 😊

If terfs or transphobes come within ten feet of this fic, it’s on sight. 🔪

Pairing: Trans Arthur Morgan x Art Teacher AFAB Reader, she/her pronouns (Second Person Perspective) I gave her a last name for the purpose of being addressed, but other than that, there are no descriptors! 

Rating: Explicit

Tags: modern AU, college/university AU, small town/rural setting AU, trans Arthur, high honor Arthur, fluff, crushes, lust at first sight, flirting, getting together, dom/top Arthur, smut, very explicit consent, pet names, dirty talk, begging, vaginal fingering, teasing, banter, nipple play, falling in love

Word Count: 11.3K

Requests are currently closed! Thank you for understanding!

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Eight students in your Intro to Drawing class.

For a summer enrichment course, that’s an impressive number. You glance over the names on the sheet of paper slid into your little campus mailbox, relieved to have more than two in attendance. (That had been an awkward couple of months.) For now, though, the classroom is empty save for you, smelling of paint and dust as it always does. The ancient tabletops are stained and splattered from decades of masterpieces come to life under fledgling fingertips, the linoleum floors cracking under the weight of time.

It’s an old room, the only one in this entire building still accessible for classes. The running water feels like a miracle. It’s sweltering in the summer, freezing in the winter, and one of your favorite places in the world. Separate from the rest of this little campus’ collection of buildings, it’s a decent walk to get to what’s now known just as the art room. No one really minds at the start of summer. Your set of keys gets you access to the rest of what the two-story has to offer. A crumbling gymnasium and an empty pool, the top floor full of files and records that won’t fit in the main administration building anymore. The art room’s storage area, small and stuffy.

This campus is a magic place. Okay, you might be biased. Despite being raised without religion, this tiny Catholic college gave you some of the best academic years of your life. Such a relief after the bluster and chaos of high school, to find this hideaway tucked in the woods. The small class sizes and the relaxed nature of the instructors were…well. To call it all a blessing might be a little too on the nose. You’d made friends here, excelled in every course, and four too-short years later, graduated magna cum laude with your Bachelor’s in Arts Education.

Then it was off to the next university, to earn your Master’s, but you’d never forgotten this place. When you were licensed to teach, you were thrilled when they’d called you back to be a full-time instructor. Sure, the pay isn’t phenomenal, but it’s close to home – and every day you get to come back to your old campus. To the old, tall trees and the faded brick, and the library with its secret rooms perfect for studying (or coffee breaks). The family of ducks at the pond recognizes you now when you sit down to sketch them, quacking and waggling their tails as they swim circles on the surface.

Yes, you’re happy to be back in the art room after a few weeks away. Taking a sip of your latte, you lean against one of the tables as you pick up the attendance sheet. Enrichment courses are even more casual than your usual classes. Open to the public, they’re non-credit courses, given for fun for those interested or for the local population who might find themselves bored. There’s not much to do in such a rural area. Along with Intro to Drawing, there’s a creative writing workshop, a self-defense course, and a basic photography course.

“Let’s see…” you mutter, scanning the list of names. Jessica. Emily. Nicholas. Kayla. Amber. Alyssa. Arthur. Cody. Ooh, that’s a lot of A names. You’re bound to get Alyssa and Amber confused for at least a week or two. Lord help you if they look anything alike. For a teacher, you’re not the best with names; you assign a discerning feature to the students to help the name stick in your head. One year you had identical twins whose names both began with K and almost lost your mind.

Well, this is it. You look around the room with a happy sigh, anxious to open the windows and get it all aired out. For the next nine weeks – eighteen meetings spread across Mondays and Wednesdays – this will be a place of still lifes, charcoal smudges on fingertips and elbows, eraser shavings and intense study. Music playing through the windows and light conversation, getting to know one another, talk of current events (but no politics). Inside jokes formed, memories made, and at the end of the course, their proudest work hung up in the hall of the main building. Starting the semester gives you a giddy feeling every time.

Little do you know that one name on your list is going to stand out like no other, and flip your life around in ways you never even considered.

—-------------

They file in, some coming alone, others in pairs. Most show before the class is due to start at nine, and you give them bright smiles, maybe a little wave. You’re overdoing it, but you can’t seem to help your excitement. It’s the first day of the enrichment courses, and these people want to be here. Not because their parents think it’ll look good on their resumes or they need an arts credit. They’re here because they want to create, and enjoy doing it, and something about that makes your heart swell with joy.

You’ve got light acoustic music playing from your phone in the background, because you have no clue what this group likes to listen to yet. With the twenty-somethings, it’ll usually be the latest pop hits. Sometimes it’s movie soundtracks or musical numbers. Either way, you try to keep it cheerful. Classical music is always something nice to fall back on, if no one can decide.

As nine o’clock passes, you count the heads in the room, and come up one short. That’s okay, you think. We’ll wait for a minute. There’s little pressure to be strict with time, after all. You’d bet that almost everyone here is nineteen through twenty-five at most, fresh-faced and somewhat nervous in their introductions to one another. The bright sounds of awkward laughter colors the air as they exchange names.

The clock’s hands show 9:10, and you decide to begin the class with hope that your last missing student will show. You shift on your stool at the front of the room, and the low buzz of conversation dies down, the eyes in the room going to you.

“So we’re going to go ahead and get started,” you begin, clasping your hands together. “We’ve got a straggler, but that’s okay. So! Welcome to –”

BANG.

With a sound so loud half the people in the room jump, the outer doors to the building slam open. From the doorway of the art room you can see someone who just might be your straggler fall inside. Oh, shoot. You’d forgotten to put up that sign about the door sticking in the heat. Good old fifty-year-old buildings. Had he gotten himself stuck out there?

As the whole room stares, in walks a man who almost has to duck to enter the room. He has to be at least a decade older than everyone here, you think, giving him a sheepish half-smile as he edges his way in. He wears a light blue button-down rolled up at the elbows and worn jeans, looking like he could’ve stepped right out of a Wranglers ad. Oh. Oh, no. He’s hot. Even with his face tinged with the faint pink of a blush, he looks like the kind of man who works with his hands, rough and calloused. The kind of man you’d very much be swiping right on had he shown up on your phone’s neglected dating app.

“Sorry,” he says at once. “The – the door – well. Sure y’all heard it.”

There are amused smiles and snickers exchanged among the group at his self-deprecating comment, and you wave his apology away. His low drawl puts your heartbeat in your throat, and you grit your teeth behind your smile, kindly telling your brain to shut up.

“Oh, you’re fine. That thing sticks in the heat – we usually have it propped open – I should have remembered. That’s my fault. Please! Have a seat.”

He does, picking a spot at the edge of the table. The satchel on his shoulder meets the ground, and that’s the end of it. All the students are at your attention now, the incident in the past, and you have to remember what you were in the middle of doing before he walked in. Right. Teaching. Concentrate, moron!

“Well, like I was saying,” you try again with a little laugh. “I’m Miss Parker, and welcome to Intro to Drawing.” You look around the room, at the paint-stained tables and the elbows and faces, filled again with that familiar thrill. A new semester. New faces and new art and new minds. You take in a deep breath, your head clear once more. “And we’re here to have fun. Art isn’t about exact theories and perfect circles, though those things can help you. The beauty of creativity, to me, is that everyone sees the world differently. I can put, let’s say, an apple in front of everyone here, and the end product on everyone’s canvas is going to look a little different.

“And I love that! If everyone’s art looked the same, can you imagine how boring the world would be? So don’t worry about being perfect. I’m going to teach you some things that’ll improve your technique, but please don’t ever think that one of us is better than the other because we draw a certain way.” You suck in a breath, dizzy. You’re famous for getting out-of-control with your first day speeches, swept away in loving what you do, and you hope it makes sense to everyone.

“Does that – you know what I mean?” You laugh again, and a few people laugh with you. You get some nods. “Okay, cool. Now, I have to take attendance so I know who the heck you people are.”

Pulling the attendance sheet from your cluttered desk, your eyes dart over the list of names again, and you do wonder who everyone is. If the names match the faces. “Since this is our first time doing attendance, just say here, and give me something about yourself, if you want. Okay?”

You start down the list.

Nick has big brown puppy dog eyes despite the fact that he’s built like a linebacker. Okay, you can remember that. Jessica brought a gigantic water bottle. Cody’s backpack is covered with Star Wars stickers. Emily has not one but two library books on the table for the mid-class break. Kayla has a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. Amber has glossy black hair that falls to her shoulders, while Alyssa, thankfully, has a buzzcut. A small victory for forgetful teachers.

And Arthur, well. Arthur’s making you blush just by existing, so you’re not likely to forget who he is.

Nick’s family rehabilitates injured wildlife (Which makes everyone go aww.) Jessica is a brown belt in jiu-jitsu, though she turns red when someone asks her to get up and demonstrate some moves. Cody develops mods for Skyrim, and even put his two dogs in the game – everyone asks to see pictures of the dogs. Emily is going for her Master’s in Library Science, taking this class as a way to de-stress; that explains the reading material.

Kayla’s visiting her grandparents for the summer – she lives in New York City and was excited for something to do. Amber is a new mother to twins and needed some time for herself. That earns her some sounds of sympathy. Alyssa’s family owns a ranch, and she jokes that she spends most of her time with horses, so talking to people is weird. (You see Arthur’s eyes slide sideways with interest at that.) Arthur says that he spends a lot of his time outdoors, and thought that this class might be fun to try, though he’s never taken any college courses before.

The latter thought seems to come out like a confession, like guilt, though you don’t linger on that to make him feel any worse about it. You only nod, thanking him for saying his part. Poor guy seems nervous. You know the type – you’ve been the anxious one. Now that the introductions are out of the way, you can get into the lesson, and that’ll take the spotlight off. With any luck, he’ll settle once there’s a pencil in his hand and a subject to concentrate on. Most seem to.

Without further ado, you start the familiar routine of handing out the pencils, erasers, and sketch paper. If this were your beginner’s painting course, there would be the extra fuss of basic colors squirted onto paper plates, stained aprons passed out and tied on, weary brushes dug out and wetted. But for now, a pencil will do. Later, you’ll let them experiment with charcoal, but the goal of this class is to nail down the very basics of drawing. Sketching, creating shadow, giving their art a feeling of depth.

Their first subject is a classic; an apple. Something nice and simple with a good, round shape, you place it in the center of the room on its own stool so everyone can see. You demonstrate how to get a rough circle out of its shape before filling in the details. After that, you’ll come around and see how they’re doing on blending in shadow. For this type of thing, you complete your own piece beforehand, and do one along with the class, so they can see how you work.

“Any music requests?” you ask after you’re done explaining. The question is met with shrugs of uncertainty, but that’s fine. As you get to know them better, they’ll feel more comfortable making suggestions, so the light acoustic tunes stay. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it.”

You settle at your desk, clearing aside a stack of art books so that you can see your subject, and get started. Very quickly, your hand goes through the instinctive motions of hashing out the rough shape, capturing the right angle. This isn’t the first or even the dozenth apple you’ve drawn along with a beginner’s class. Your mind almost fuzzes over as you draw, wondering how this group will prove to be in their first session. Often you have a fair spectrum of ability, and that’s fine. Unlike a math course, you don’t grade by skill – only participation and effort.

A glance around the room a few minutes in tells you that everyone is taking their apple seriously. There are still a few mutters of conversation here and there, but they’re scarce, often relating to the matter at hand as far as you can tell. Kayla has the tip of her tongue stuck out in concentration, and you struggle not to laugh at that. Cody is glancing up at the apple so much that you think he might think it’s going to disappear if he doesn't look at it often enough. Arthur has his free hand spread flat to hold the paper steady as he moves his pencil, brow furrowed.

Your face goes hot, because you’re a moron. Oh-kay, time to get up. Moving as quietly as you can, you start a slow circle around the room, only giving out compliments. If someone wants your help, they’ll ask. Jessica calls you over because she’s having trouble getting the angle right, and you crouch beside her section of table, helping her eyeball it. It’s a tricky one, where the apple looks short on one side and long on the other. Mostly, though, everyone’s work looks like it should, the same apple drawn through different eyes, steady progress on a basic concept.

And then you get to Arthur. You do an outright double-take, gripping the edge of the table so you can turn around and get a closer look. He hasn’t drawn a rough outline or started in on the shading; he’s drawn what can only be described as a near-perfect, complete, realistic still life of an apple. He’s even gone through the trouble of adding the little freckles in the flesh of the fruit, a detail that you wouldn’t even have been able to see from so far away. The light shining on the front of his subject is flawless. The shadows at the base give you the impression that the apple really is sitting there on the paper.

What on Earth is he doing taking an Intro to Drawing class when he’s possibly more talented than you?

It takes you too long to realize that you’re lingering. He’s watching you watch the paper, probably anxious about why you’re just standing there, and it’s beginning to catch the rest of the class’s attention too. Oh, my God. Why are you like this. Struggling to get ahold of yourself, you meet his eyes, giving him what you hope is a reassuring smile. His eyes are so blue, he looks nervous, it’s making me nervous, I can smell his cologne oh hell oh damn –

“Arthur, this is incredible,” you say. “I mean, this is really – wow.”

“Yeah,” adds Nick, who’s the closest. “That’s insane, man.”

“Aw, well,” he stammers, ducking his head a little. “Thanks, I mean – it ain’t perfect –”

Realizing you’re putting too much attention on him, you turn your back, addressing the rest of the class. “But this is also a great opportunity to address how we can draw in a variety of styles!” you add quickly. “There’s realism, abstract, composite…and while we’re going for a sense of semi-realism today, don’t be afraid to add abstract elements to your work!” You alight on Amber’s paper. “Like Amber. See, I love how you added the apple blossom.”

A few minutes later, you work up the nerve to glance over at Arthur again, but he seems to have recovered from the incident. You aren’t sure who’d blushed harder once you realized your mistake of attracting so much attention to his work – him or you. God, you need to get a grip on this.

You invite everyone to share their experience getting familiar with drawing a still life, and congratulate them on their first official piece. The clock tells you that you’re halfway through the class, which means it’s time to disperse for a fifteen minute break. People flood out of the room, no doubt anxious to get to the vending machine in the main building or to simply sit outside and soak in the sunshine. Arthur is the last out the door, leaving you alone with the completed apple sketches.

Well, no point in sitting in an empty room. You follow the group out, thinking that you might grab a snack too, sit in the shade by the picnic tables. As you'd predicted, at least half the group is headed up the hill. One or two go to their cars. With the apple from the still life in your hand, you go to the nearby picnic tables, finding them dappled with sunlight and shade. In the summer, the campus is so quiet, and no one else takes advantage of the spot.

The first juicy bite of the apple crunches between your teeth when you notice Arthur standing alone, under the shade of one of the big oak trees. He's leaning on the trunk with his arms crossed, looking somewhat…you don't know. Lonely? Wistful? He seems like a reserved sort of man, and you don't know him well enough to read him like an open book.

All you know is that guilt squirms in your stomach at the thought of embarrassing him earlier. You should go over and say something, clear the air. As a teacher, you try to always have a straightforward and honest relationship with your students. You want them to know that they can come to you with a problem, even if this class is a simple nine week enrichment course. You eat a few more bites, trying to gather some courage. If you go over there, there's a strong chance you're going to make a fool of yourself.

Eight minutes left in the break.

You know you're clutching the apple tighter than necessary as you walk into his circle of shade. He looks up as you get close, eyebrows raised a little in surprise, and you wave in greeting. Moron. He can see you.

"Hey," you say, keeping your tone bright. "How – um – how're you liking the class so far?"

Arthur smiles a little, shy, his eyes flitting away from yours. "It's nice," he muses after a moment. "Calmer than I was expectin', guess you could say. Though I don't know exactly what I was expectin', now that I think back on it."

"I know what you mean," you say with a laugh. "In high school I had an art teacher who thought she was leading army drills. She timed us for every sketch, and would lecture us for half the class if we were talking. It was awful." She was the thing keeping you from pursuing a career in art. Thank goodness that the atmosphere here had been so different – otherwise, you have no idea what you would've chosen to do.

Arthur chuckles at that. "Well, that's jus’ plain cruel." You're fascinated with the way his voice forms around words. His accent is warm and open, intelligible yet comfortable. "Don't know what I woulda done if I'd walked into all that."

"Yeah, she's the number one reason I don't have rules," you reply, grinning, almost dizzy on the fact that he's still smiling too. He’s so good-looking. He smells nice. Why am I here again? Oh. Right. Apologizing. "Hey, Arthur – I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

He looks surprised. "What for?"

"Well, for putting so much attention on your still life. I was just – caught off guard," you admit. "Normally I don't see that kind of skill unless I'm teaching my advanced courses. I could've reached down and grabbed that apple off the page!"

Arthur scoffs. "Well, now you're jus' flatterin' me."

"I'm not!" You insist. "It was gorgeous work."

"Well, thank you," he says again, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not – I'm not – anything special. It's always been a hobby."

"I think you're selling yourself short." You take another bite, letting the silence settle between you for a moment.

Five minutes until the break ends.

Arthur seems a little calmer without a group to watch his every move, content to stand out here with the sunshine and the breeze. You, too, feel more at ease, now that a simple conversation's been had. Maybe you can get through these sessions without making a fool of yourself after all. That would be nice. You've never had this kind of reaction to a student before, and hope you can keep it under wraps. Even if you're both technically allowed to pursue any interest, you can only imagine how awkward it would make the next few weeks if you can't get a grip.

"Ma'am?" Arthur says, and from his slightly confused tone, you can tell it's not the first time.

"Shit – I mean shoot – sorry." You look at him, all honest face and gentle eyes and open shirt collar, and feel your cheeks get hotter than ever. "I was thinking."

"About art?" He offers, a little playful.

"About handsome men who make it impossible to think," you shoot right back, going full flirt without any damn regard for the time or the place. "Oh shit," you add, horrified.

"What?" His eyebrows may as well be in his hair.

"What?" You echo, sweating through your nice blouse.

"You said somethin' about handsome men, if my hearin's right," says Arthur, and the obvious delight in his tone goes right between your legs. The smirk on his face only makes him even more good-looking, though you didn't think it was possible. He leans against the oak tree, regarding you, teasing you, and you feel about three inches tall in the best way.

"I am so sorry," you say, the words coming out a garbled moan between your fingers. "I've been stupid all day and I don't know why – if this makes things awkward for you to take the class, I completely understand –"

"Well, wait a minute, hold on now." You peek out at Arthur, and his expression is earnest, understanding. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Okay?"

"...Okay."

He shuffles from foot to foot, deliberating. Looking down, you see the tips of scuffed cowboy boots peeking out from his jeans, a detail that only attracts you to him more. "Say that this so-called 'handsome man' had already been attracted to the sweet and – and pretty art teacher. What would happen then?"

You glance up at him abruptly, eyes going huge. No way, you think. No way was he looking at you and thinking about you in the ways you were thinking about him. That's far too good to be true. This isn't real. It's not happening. It's –

"Um, Miss Parker?" Jessica calls over. "It's been fifteen minutes. Should we head back in?" A group of them are gathered nearby, awaiting your instruction. Damn it.

"Yeah, you guys go on in and wait!" You answer, putting on a smile. "We'll be right behind you." Luckily, the class turns, mindful now of the sticky door. Letting out a heavy sigh, you turn back to Arthur. "Well. I would say that the art teacher – that I – would be interested in something, provided that this particular handsome student is as single as I am."

"It's possible I might be even more single," he quips, and you break into a grin. So he's got jokes, now that he's loosened up? You could be into that. You could be very into a shy, sweet, playful cowboy who happens to like you back. "Shoulda seen how hard it was to focus on that apple with you sittin' over there. And I liked what you said at the start – about creatin’?"

"Oh, stop it," you say, covering your face with a hand. "Any more of that and I won't be able to think for the rest of the class."

Arthur puts his hands up in mock apology. "Well, forgive me, then. Shouldn't we be heading back, anyway?"

He's right. The extra time you'd bought for the tail end of this conversation has run out. It's time to get back to the group and do what you actually drove here to do, for goodness's sake. What they pay you to do. If you had any clue that you were walking into this sort of situation this morning, you might've bothered to do something with your hair or makeup. But alas – fate doesn't care when it strikes. Handsome cowboys can happen to you at any time.

As you walk back to the art room with Arthur, you try your hardest to focus on the talk you'll give the group about their next sketch. This next one is an empty wine bottle, and it'll be a little trickier to capture how the light reflects through the glass. When you get to the open double doors, he stands aside, and you hesitate.

"After you," he says, nodding for you to walk through first.

With a flustered thanks, you trudge in, greeted by seven eager sets of eyes seated around the old tables. "Sorry about that," you say, taking your place at the front of the room. "Now, let's go ahead and take a look at the second sketch we'll be doing today. We're a little behind, so we might not finish, but that's okay. Life doesn't always go according to plan, does it?"

You glance across the room at Arthur, who's sliding into his seat. He gives you a warm smile, reaching for his next blank sheet of paper. No, it certainly doesn't.

The rest of the class passes without incident, thank goodness. Wine bottles are sketched through, and as noon comes to pass, you wave them out the door with the promise to keep going on Wednesday. After you help Emily pick up the books she’d dropped, it’s only you and Arthur in that old, quiet room. He’s all packed to go, his exemplary (of course) second sketch tucked away. The worn satchel sits on his shoulder by its strap, and he pulls something from it as you watch – a notebook.

Holding the leather-bound thing open with one hand, Arthur retrieves a pen from the depths of his bag as well, ripping off the corner of a page and scrawling something down too fast for you to see. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “My number. If – if you wanted to call, or text, or anythin’.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that he even had a phone, but sure enough, he’s pulling that out of the bag as well. There’s no case, you note, but it looks new enough. For some reason, you expected someone so rugged and old-fashioned to be sporting a flip phone. Maybe a Nokia, like what you had back in the day.

“Of course,” you reply, thrilled at the thought of exchanging any sort of communication with this complete wonder of a man. His earlier praise is still bouncing around in your mind; he’d watched you instead of concentrating on the sketch, even with your messy hair. He’d liked your breathless speech about art and creativity. He’d called you sweet and pretty. What are you getting into? Where has he been all this time? “Here, I’ll put my number in yours too –”

The exchange goes without a hitch, and you don’t let him see that you put him in your phone as Arthur with a little heart eyes emoji and a paintbrush. Waving goodbye from the doorway of your empty classroom, you hold a hand to your chest once he’s out of sight. God, what a day.

—---------

In the classroom, you and Arthur try to act like there isn’t anything going on. No prolonged eye contact, no lingering touches, and absolutely no hand-holding. (Unless you can find some privacy during the break.) He addresses you as ma’am or miss, and you try not to think of all the times outside the art room when he’s tried out calling you sweetheart or angel. Every time you see your pet names in a text, your heart falters, let alone hear it in his honeyed voice over the phone. No, in the art room, things are professional. Mostly.

But outside… Well, could anyone blame you?

He’d kissed you for the first time three weeks into class, when neither one of you could seem to say goodbye. It’s Wednesday, and you both know how long the rest of the week will feel. The other students are long gone, and both of you linger by your car, finding any excuse to keep the conversation going. Talking about the weather, about the campus, about the day’s still lifes. About the wildlife and about yourselves. Anything to make it all last a little longer.

You’re leaning against the side of your hand-me-down sedan, brushing stray hair out of your face and acting like a total teenager whenever he takes a step towards you. Inch by inch, it seems like the space between you is disappearing, and you’re more than okay with that. Once he’s close enough to reach out and touch, you lose track of what you’re saying mid-sentence, the words falling away one by one.

Arthur doesn’t tease you for it. He smiles at you, reaching out to cup your face in one hand, and you blink up at him. Part of you wishes you could freeze this moment in time, memorize every detail, if only to draw the way he looks. Handsome. Hesitant. Affectionate. Both of you seem to lean in at once, and he places his lips so gently to yours. The lightest kiss, beard scruff on your cheek. Like you could pull away at any second, tell him no. As if you’d ever. Your pulse is rocketing in your ears as you put your arms around him, squeeze him closer, and Arthur hums against your mouth in approval.

His soft exhale puffs on your skin as the kiss deepens, and you press yourself even closer, needing the touch, craving it. His mouth opens against yours and you all but whine. It’s been so long since anyone did this with you, and Arthur pushes you back against the car, and –

And you’re standing in the parking lot of a Catholic college, where you are an instructor.

You tense a little, and he follows your cues. Winding down, Arthur pulls back, giving you one last chaste kiss before parting. He looks sheepish as he steps away, more like the man you met that first day of class, and you laugh out of nerves, out of giddiness.

“That was –” you struggle for words. “Wow. Arthur.”

“Not a five star review, but I reckon I’ll take it,” he answers, taking your hand and lacing his fingers through. “You – was that alright? Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so carried away.” His eyes dart off again, then back to you, so blue and earnest that your chest aches a little. All this sweetness aimed at you. “I don’t know what it is about you, sweetheart.”

“Hey, no complaints on my end,” you joke. “Except that I’d love to be somewhere more private next time.”

“I believe I c’n arrange that.” Arthur gives you another sweet look before dropping your hand, bringing his own to his chest to rub near his ribcage with an irritated sigh. You’ve seen him do that once or twice outside of class, but didn’t think much of it until now. A sensation of worry settles in your stomach at the thought that something could be wrong with someone you care about, and you voice your concern without thinking.

“Are you okay?”

He waves it off. “Oh, it’s fine. Jus’ the binder. ‘Bout time to take it off for a while, is all.” You blink at him, lost. Arthur looks back, his expression equally nonplussed. After a few seconds of this blank staring, he opens his mouth again, and what comes out befuddles you even more. “Y'know…for my…boobs?”

When you still don't catch on, Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, seeming unnerved. Wait a second. What he’s trying to tell you finally sinks in, and you feel like a moron for not catching the implication. “Oh – gosh, Arthur, I’m an idiot – Jesus –”

He grins wider than you’ve ever seen him, showing teeth. “Wait. You didn’t know? Really?”

“No, of course I didn’t!” you admit, blushing. “You’re just this – I don’t know – handsome, rugged cowboy. I never would’ve guessed. You said the word boobs and my eyes crossed.” That gets a genuine laugh out of him, something you’ve never quite heard before, and it makes you smile so hard your cheeks ache.

Arthur takes your hand again, eyes bright, and kisses every knuckle. When he meets your glance this time, there's uncertainty behind it. “This – does this – change anythin’?”

“Arthur, no, hell no,” you say at once. “I don’t care. I like you.”

Like your first day of class speech, there’s nothing eloquent or polished about that particular statement, but Arthur doesn’t seem to mind. It’d come out fast, straight from your heart, and you mean every word. And oh, you can’t take the way he looks at you now. Like you’re every good thing, sunlight and fresh bread and chocolate. He opens up your hand and presses another kiss into your palm, though it’s smudged with graphite and charcoal, and you shiver as his eyes turn darker with a shade of passion.

“Then I think,” he says, “if you’d be willin’, I’d like to continue what we started.”

"I'd like that," you reply, throat gone dry.

—-------------

Arthur’s home suits him. You follow his truck down a long path through the woods, finding its end at a little house with a wraparound porch. There’s life all around the front door and path – a garden off to the side with tomatoes, corn, squash. As you get out of your car, you can hear the familiar cluck of chickens, though they’re invisible from here. Despite the insistent heat of summer, the air is cool and gentle. From beyond a fence, a horse pricks their ears up at you, curious.

“That’s Ginger,” he says, catching where you’re looking. “And Moonshine’s around here somewhere, I’m sure. And that’s –” he leans down in time to keep a small but very eager basset hound from placing their muddy paws on your jeans “ – Lily May.” He sighs at her, and she peers up at him with droopy eyes, her tail wagging madly. “Girl, what did you get into? I only been gone three hours.”

She gives him a whine in response, as if to say it isn’t her fault the world is big and fun and muddy. “A little mud never killed anyone,” you say, squatting down to let her at you. Lily May strains forward with crazed enthusiasm as you sink your fingers into her freckled fur.

“You’re gonna spoil ‘er,” he laughs, dropping her collar.

“Oh, I would never,” you say, struggling to hold yourself steady as she barrels into you, dirty paws and all. “You’re just a happy puppy, aren’t you, girl? You like seeing your daddy come home with new people to meet? You do, don’t you?” Lily May lets you know how much she likes the sweet talk by licking a stripe up the side of your face, and you burst into laughter, wiping the slobber off with the shoulder of your t-shirt.

“Don’t know who’s gonna need hosed down more – you or this dog,” Arthur says, taking in the state of you.

“Arthur, I couldn’t tell her no,” you insist, moving to stand. “Look at her!”

“You’re so soft.” He smiles, tipping your chin up with only his thumb. Breathless, you let him kiss you again. This time is slower, more heated, right there in his driveway amongst the clucking of chickens with Lily May at your feet. Without saying a word, Arthur tells you everything he’d like to do to you, bringing a hand down to the small of your back to pull you closer. The two of you are far quicker to open your mouths into it, and Arthur’s tongue traces your bottom lip.

It pulls a tiny sound of need from deep in your throat. Arthur doesn't miss it – he only nudges deeper, his nose brushing your cheek as his tongue mingles with yours. Your grip his sleeve tight, arching against him for more, though it's hard to concentrate with the dog at your feet wanting in on it all. Hesitantly, Arthur pulls away, looking from you to the troublemaker with a look of resignation.

"I'm guessin' we ain't gonna get much accomplished til the two of you are clean," he teases. "I've got some clothes you c'n borrow if you wanna use my shower. As for Lily May, well." He tsks. "She's got a date with the garden hose, don't you, miss?"

With your face still hot from the sudden kiss, you follow Arthur inside, barring the dog from following. She gives one sharp woof! before settling on the porch with an audible sigh, and you laugh, looking around at the room you've been led into.

His home is as cozy-looking on the inside as it is on the outside. A bookshelf on the far wall takes up most of the space in the living room, and the couch looks like the kind that'll suck you in and eat you the moment you sit down. An old leather cowboy hat hangs on a hook by the door. The coffee table is covered with loose pieces of sketchbook paper – the sturdier canvas kind you like to buy for your own personal projects. Across the pages you can see herds of horses, their muscles rippling as they gallop. You have to restrain yourself from picking one up so you can examine it at length. Just a hobby, he'd said. Right. He's amazing.

Arthur keeps going through to the kitchen, where there's a rickety table and chairs sitting in the corner across from his fridge and stove. The whole room is painted in robin's egg blue, and there are a few aloe vera plants thriving in the windowsill. On the fridge, you notice, are drawings done by children. A thought hits you – does Arthur have kids? He's never mentioned kids. Upon closer inspection, the scratchy handwriting on the pictures is addressed to Uncle Arthur.

"Bathroom's through the hall, first door on the left," he tells you. "If you wanna hop in, I'll toss some clothes in there for ya. Got some sweatpants and old t-shirts. They'll probably be huge, but." Arthur grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Guess that's the price you pay for lettin' the puppy jump on ya. Or did you wanna end up wearin' my clothes?"

You splutter, feigning offense. "Wh–! What an implication! I am a lady! But…maybe."

That earns a snort from him, and you make your way down the hall, passing framed pictures of Arthur with various other people. A little kid, maybe the one responsible for the drawings on the fridge. A handsome, dark-skinned man with long hair. A grinning redhead with crooked teeth. An older man with an arm around Arthur's shoulder, looking proud. A man with a series of long, wicked scars down the side of his face next to a dark-haired, freckle-faced woman. All of them smiling, looking happy.

You close the bathroom door and undress, going through the perpetual ordeal of trying to work someone else's shower for the first time. Luckily, his isn't too complicated, and you get the room steamy with hot water in no time. Stepping into the tub, you let the grime of the day wash off of you. Not just mud from the eager dog, but charcoal and graphite from your hands and arms, the sweat of summer. You're pleased to be washing with Arthur's soap, heart beating a little faster to get such a strong whiff of him. Now you'll smell like him too, and a little part of you loves that.

There's a knock at the door.

"Yeah?"

"Jus" puttin' the clothes in," says Arthur. You hear a whumpf as they hit the sink, and the click of the door closing again. Such a gentleman, you think, getting to work on your hair. You've gone out with plenty of men who wouldn't think twice about coming over and trying to slide the curtain aside given the opportunity, or hell, not even knocking. But with Arthur, you just feel…good. Comfortable. You'd trusted him to do as he said and toss the clothes in, and that's exactly what he did.

A few minutes later, you finish up, toweling yourself dry. The clothes he's chosen for you are a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a shirt that is definitely way too big. It slips off of your shoulder despite all attempts to fix it, but that's alright. The pants are drawstring, at least.

You're afraid he'll think you're insane for laughing so hard when you see what's written across the shirt; DILF. Damn I Love Frogs. You have to cling to the counter for support after a few seconds of staring at yourself, imagining him wearing it. When you finally find the strength to walk out, you find Arthur in the living room, grinning.

"Well, hell, you c'n keep it if you think it's that funny," he says.

"Only if you won't miss it," you reply, wiping your streaming eyes with the heel of your palm.

From where he's sat on the worn brown couch, Arthur shakes his head. "Nah." He gestures for you to come closer, holding his arms open and spreading his legs a little. "C'mere, sweetheart. You get all freshened up in there?"

You almost trip in your haste to get over to him. This is your first real private time together, and sitting in his lap has been at the top of your to-do list since those first cautious, flirtatious exchanges over text. Arthur smiles as you get comfortable, pressing a kiss to your temple once you're settled. His strong arms wrap around you, swallowing you up, and you hope he doesn't notice how fast your pulse flutters just from sitting here.

He leans into the corner of the couch, which indeed sinks with your combined weight. "That's better," he purrs, voice low in your ear. You don't know how three simple syllables can make you break out in goosebumps. All you know is that you want him to kiss you again, now, and the look on your face must say it. Closing the distance with a groan, Arthur presses his mouth to yours for a third time.

The passion flares like a firework. You lean into the kiss as hard as you can, hearing yourself pant in the quiet room. Arthur twines his fingers through yours, squeezing. After a frantic tangle of breath and tongue, he arranges both of you further down to lie on your sides. His leg wraps around your hip, and you arch into him, wanting friction, knowing you're already wet. He presses right back, trailing his mouth down the line of your neck. The sound you make as he kisses the sensitive skin is nothing short of pathetic, little more than a mewl, but Arthur doesn't seem to care. He does it again, painting his tongue down your throat until you're begging.

"What do you want, sweet girl?" He whispers, fingers playing with the exposed skin around your t-shirt collar.

"Touch me," you tell him, the words a gasp. "Please, Arthur."

"Oh, darlin', you don't have to beg." Arthur lets his hand roam down, down your chest, until it rests between your legs. "Right here? You want me here?"

"Yes!" You say at once, and he smiles as his fingers slip under the waistband. You're naked underneath them, and Arthur moans a little at the slick he finds waiting on your exposed folds. You lean into him as he runs a single finger up and down your wet pussy, feeling, experimenting. Tangling a hand in his hair, you gasp as he nudges the first digit inside, feeling like you could vibrate out of your skin at any second.

"That okay?" He pauses, waiting for your answer.

You nod into his shoulder. "Mmm, yeah – it just – feels good," you manage weakly, and he hums in appreciation. "Please don't stop."

"Course not," he mumbles, seeming equally distracted by your lips so close to his own neck. Taking the hint, you lavish attention on the spot right under his ear, and his breathing goes shaky even as he crooks his finger inside your walls. "Hitch your leg up there, darlin', there we go."

This angle gives him better access without losing you curled up on his chest, his breasts pushing into yours without the binder. You gasp out his name when he adds a second finger, then a third.

"So tight, ain't you?" Arthur's voice is warm and rich as he turns his head to meet your eyes. "Well, how 'bout we fix that? You want me to move, sweetheart?"

"Yes, oh God Arthur –" Your hand tightens in his hair, and he obliges you within moments. No one's ever talked to you like this. So dirty but so sweet all at once, leaving you sucker punched. He's told you that he's the kind of man that likes to treat a woman right, but you didn't know he meant all this.

Your mouth hangs open as he gives the first experimental thrust three fingers deep, finding that sensitive place in your walls within seconds. The sound you muffle into his neck is very loud, almost a wail, and he shushes you gently. Again, he asks if you're alright, and again, you beg for him to keep going. You bury your face against his collarbone as he sends shocks of sensation through your lower stomach, seeming to know just where you need to be touched.

"Aw, look at you," Arthur says. His voice drips in butter and honey, eyes warm even as his hand down your pants works you into what can only be a violent orgasm. "Sweetheart. You gonna come for my hand, pretty girl? You gettin' close?"

“Y–es,” you gasp, fucking against his palm. His free arm curls around your back, encouraging you to get closer. “Arthur, I – oh –!” Whatever you were trying to tell him falls into incomprehension as you reach that giddy climax. He holds you steady as you arch up, up, your toes curling against the couch cushions. Breathing so hard you’re dizzy, you let yourself melt against him as the sensation dies down, your wet hair getting his shirt collar damp.

“You okay there?” he asks, light humor in his tone.

You feel drunk on pleasure, smiling up at him. “I am phenomenal.”

He hums at that, slowly extracting his fingers from your body. “Well, I’m glad.” After a minute, he chuckles, looking down at you with a teasing grin. “Good thing I live all the way out here. You sure was makin’ a fuss about it.”

“Wouldn’t give you anything less than my genuine reaction, making me come that hard,” you reply, not missing a beat, and he blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Jesus, girl,” Arthur mutters.

“We don’t need to get him involved.” You rest a gentle hand on his side, running your palm up and down the material of one of the many worn flannel shirts you’ve come to love on him. “Can I return the favor, Mister Morgan? Hate to leave such a gentleman hanging.”

His breath quickens, pupils dilating as you watch his eyes dart to where you touch him. “I’d – I’d like that,” he answers, looking up at you through eyelashes so long they brush his cheeks. Gorgeous man, you can't help but think. He'd stunned you from the moment you'd seen him, and now you're here in his living room, still reeling from bliss given with only his fingers. Paying him back is the least you can do, and you can't wait to see him fall apart.

Your hand goes higher, tracing the outline of his breast, and his breath hitches. "This okay?" You ask, stopping until you're sure.

Arthur's quick to nod, squirming. "Mm, yeah, that's fine, darlin'." He huffs out what could be a laugh. "They're jus' – sensitive."

"Sensitive?" There's a smile in your voice as you repeat the word, resuming your ministrations. "Oh, I will use that information to my advantage, thank you." You lean in to brush his lips against your own, soft at first, harder when he makes a little urgent sound at the touch of your hand. Not breaking the kiss, Arthur reaches down to undo the buttons of his shirt, working each between nimble fingers.

"Somebody's eager," you comment.

"Shut it," he growls back, though the words are breathless enough to hold no malice. Once the button-down is open, you place your hand on the material of his thin white t-shirt, squeezing his left breast once in your hand. Arthur's lips seek yours again, desperate, and he arches into you as your touches become firmer, more intent.

"Gonna take this off," he tells you, leaning up to shrug out of the button-down. It hits the floor, forgotten, and he's pulling the t-shirt over his head next. All that stands between you now is a plain sports bra, the comfortable wear-at-home type. Once you watch him fight out of it, a thrill of arousal goes right back to your core.

His boobs fall free and you don't wait to take one in your hand, kneading the malleable flesh with your fingers. He looks so good like this, shirtless and flushed and eager for what you want to give him. Arthur settles back down beside you, wrapping a leg around your waist as you cup his chest in your hands. Curious at just how sensitive he is, you swipe at a nipple with your thumb.

Arthur jolts forward with a little whine, the bud hardening under your thumb and forefinger, and you get your answer. "Sweetheart," he says, his voice rough. "Please."

"How do you like to be touched?" Your mouth travels to his neck as you ask, hands still cupping his tits. You can feel his heartbeat thudding away as he considers the question, hear his quick swallow. "I'm flexible."

"I like…" his voice comes in soft pants as the pad of your thumb swirls in his nipple once more, playing with it. "That. I l-like havin' em played with and – and sucked on. If you do it long enough I might come."

That last confession prompts a whimper of your own, and excitement rushes through you at the thought of making him come like this. Your chest can be pretty sensitive, too, but not that sensitive.

"Let me know if anything's too much," you murmur, and he nods his assent.

Moving slow, you kiss down the line of his neck, his bare freckled collarbone, marveling at all the new skin he's letting you see. Though his arms and face are darker from the outdoors, he's pale here, a hard-earned farmer's tan. The thought amuses you a little as you scoot down the couch, feeling his hand pet the top of your head. Glancing up, you're met with his affectionate gaze, and you can't help but smile back.

Cupping his breast in your hand, you place the lightest of licks over his nipple, urged on by his warm moan. His fingers burrow in your hair, loose, and you take it as your cue to keep going. Bit by bit, taking your time to drive him crazy, you lick up and down what's in front of you. In only minutes, Arthur's a mess, squirming and arching against your touch. When you finally put his nipple in your mouth and suck, toying with his other breast with your free hand, he gasps out your name in a way you won't soon forget.

"Please, sweetheart, please," he begs, the rasp of his voice sending more slick between your thighs. "Fuck, I – that's so – fuck –"

And to think that he'd had the nerve to tease you! Oh, you'll tell him about himself. Afterward. For now you only hum in response, gazing up at him, your eyes darkened with lust. From the way he looks back – brows drawn together and mouth open – you're not certain he's going to last much longer.

Drawing off of his nipple with a wet pop, you tease them both between your fingers, pinching and pulling. "Yeah? You like that, cowboy? That feel good?"

"Yes –"

The single word is desperate, and his hips thrust up into nothing as you tug harder, faster.

"Please," he says again, nothing more than a breath, and you commit the face he's making to memory. "Please, please, sweetheart, I'm there, I'm right there I'm comin' oh Jesus Christ –"

Something in your chest flutters as he tenses beneath you, saying your name again and again as you scoot back up. You’ll admit it – there’s no shortage of pride as you watch him ride it out. He catches his breath, and when you make eye contact, he buries his face in the pillow, laughing. Oh my God he's so cute.

"You okay there?" You say, imitating his gruff voice. "Only you was so loud it's a good thing I live out here in the country…"

Arthur emerges from the pillow, red-faced and grinning. "You shut your mouth!"

"You sure was makin' a fuss," you continue, and that's the final straw. Arthur jabs a hand under your arm and tickles you, and you go flying off the couch with a shriek. He follows you to the ground with a thump that shakes the house, grabbing your ankle and tickling you anywhere he can get to. You're howling with laughter, kicking out to try and fend him off, unable to catch your breath.

"Stop it, I'm gonna pee!" You manage to get out, but he's relentless.

"Shoulda thought of that!" Arthur has you pinned to the carpet under his broad frame, still naked from the waist up. He presses his weight against you, enough for you to feel but not enough to break your bones. Now that the tickle assault’s come to an end, you’re full of childish delight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve just had fun like this, and you’re giggling helplessly against his neck, clinging to his back. “Now I gotcha.”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “You do.”

“Hey.” Arthur pulls back to look at you, suddenly shy. “I jus’ – I wanted to say somethin’.”

“Then say it,” you tell him, smiling a little at the change in his demeanor. You don’t know how he can go from teasing you to acting so bashful, but it tugs at your heartstrings, only endears you to him all the more. He’s a sweetheart, through and through. “I don’t bite.”

Arthur traces one of the frogs on your borrowed shirt with his fingertip. “I like bein’ with you. Whether it’s in class or afterward or what we jus’ did – well. Yeah, I really liked that,” he confesses with a laugh. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate everythin’, I guess.” He gives you an apologetic look. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re fine at it,” you insist. “And Arthur, I love being with you, too. You’re the nicest man I’ve been with in a long – no. You’re the nicest man I’ve ever been with.”

“You mean that?”

“I do.” You lean up to kiss him, slow and soft.

The ache in your chest now is all too familiar. The words you want to tell him are longing to burst out, but you know it’s far too soon. The last thing you want to do is scare him off. This is the great struggle of loving, you’ve found; the fear that the one you’ve staked your heart on won’t return that feeling. So for now, you let this be enough, keep it quiet.

“Do y’wanna stay over?” Arthur asks. “I ain’t got nothin’ goin’ on tonight. If you’re free, we could order somethin’, watch a movie?”

He looks at you, all hope and blue eyes, and even if you were busy you might’ve found a way to wriggle out of it. That being said, you’re as free as the horses he’s sketched on the coffee table. And though you’ve already spent close to five hours together already, you can’t help but want even more time with him. Dinner in and a movie sounds like heaven.

"I can't think of anything else I'd rather do," you tell him, and it's the truth. "Yes. What're we having?"

—-----------

Five hours later, you and Arthur have demolished a pizza and breadsticks. You could've gone into town to pick up something a little more varied, but neither one of you really felt like leaving. Now you, Arthur, and Lily May are cuddled up on the couch watching what he insists is a classic Western, though it didn't come out until the nineties.

"Now see what he does with this fella here? Walks right into the bar and –" Arthur stops mid-sentence when he sees how Lily's arranged herself in the cradle of your arms, passed out fast asleep. "Now that's jus' pathetic. Can I take a picture? Charles is gonna love that."

"Sure," you say, and Arthur takes his phone from the coffee table, snapping a quick shot of Lily May with one ear drooping the wrong direction as you smile. "Who's Charles?"

"Old friend of mine." Arthur taps out a quick text before getting comfortable with you again. "I work with him and a few other good friends. You mighta seen him in the hall." He scrolls through his phone's gallery and shows you the long-haired man, the handsome one, and you nod.

"The Van der Linde ranch, right?"

He nods. "Right."

You've heard of it. Big business not too far outside of town owned by two older gentlemen, and it's been making steady profit for a while now. That explains why Arthur spends so much time outdoors, and why he perked up with interest when he heard that Alyssa's family owned a ranch. He probably knows them, with this being such a small town. Ranching suits him, you think. It's clear that he adores animals, especially horses, and being out in nature.

You settle back into the movie, watching Wyatt Earp flirt with the new woman who's just rolled into town. They race their horses down a meadow path, but all you can think about is how big the man's mustache is. Incredible. Intimidating.

"Do you think I could?" says Arthur, and you blink back to reality. You lost it for a minute there, wondering if people actually still grow facial hair like that these days.

"Grow a mustache like that? I mean – I don't know why, but yeah," you answer, and he starts laughing.

"No, woman, weren't you listenin'? I was askin' if I could draw you."

Damn. "Sorry, Arthur," you say sheepishly. With your stomach full of pizza and the warm weight of him and Lily around you, you'd grown a little drowsy. "I didn't mean to drift off. Can you say it again?"

He rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling at you tucked under his arm. "All I said was that it'd be nice to have a little more practice with human anatomy. I do portraits plenty, but not a lot of full-body."

"We probably won't be getting into that in the semester," you say. "At the most, it'll be architecture. The chapel is a nice complicated piece for the last couple of classes."

"Well, there goes the surprise," says Arthur jokingly. "I don't wanna do it to get a leg up in class, sweetheart. I jus'...want to draw you. I think you're beautiful. Is that okay?" He takes your hand in his, brings it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

Here you thought you couldn't melt any more.

"Even after you saw me eat four slices of pizza like a wild animal?"

His grin widens. "Especially then."

That's how you wind up draped naked across the couch after the movie’s over, after he’s put the animals up for the night, wondering how you should arrange yourself. You've sketched nude models in college plenty of times, but actually being the model is a little different. You overthink about exactly which pose would be best, how he wants you posed, as Arthur settles Lily in the kitchen to sleep. The blanket he's gotten out for you is soft, an old quilt patterned in blues and whites. You're running your hand over it as he comes back into the room with a lamp for some extra lighting.

"Don't you look lovely," he says, his voice soft. Arthur settles on the kitchen chair he'd dragged in, sketchbook and pencil ready on the coffee table. You can see his expression shift into that look of concentration that you've become so familiar with over these past few weeks. Watching him sketch has become a secret pleasure of yours; he's always so detailed, so dedicated to what he does. "You comfortable, sweetheart?"

You shrug, resting one leg out while putting your weight on your palm. "How do you want me?"

Arthur tilts his head, considering. The pencil in his hand taps against the page as he thinks. "On your side," he says finally. "Lookin' at me. If that's alright," he adds quickly.

"I think I can do that."

Adjusting to the position he’s specified, you let yourself relax, watching his face. Much like you do when you’re working, Arthur’s put some quiet music on in the background, something soulful and deep you don’t recognize. The singer’s voice raises goosebumps on your arms – it’s somehow sexy and sad and mysterious. Between the low drumbeat and the vocals, you’re lost in it.

Through it all, Arthur looks back at you, studying your every line and curve. Every time your eyes meet, you smile at him a little, feeling less self-conscious as time goes on. You resist the temptation to look down at his paper before he’s finished, knowing how dissatisfied you can be with your own works in progress. You’re already poking your nose in at all his sketches during class, so you give him privacy here. Letting the minutes slide by is enough, letting the soft material of the quilt caress your skin. Watching him watch you.

It’s different, being the subject of his attention. For one thing, he’s not behind a desk, and you don’t have seven other students to concentrate on. There’s something intimate about being the only two involved. Perhaps it’s the lack of professional setting, or the adoration you can see in his eyes as he focuses on the details of your face. Either way, you can feel your heart beat faster, and the intense focus on Arthur’s features has never been more attractive.

“Finished,” he says after a few more minutes. “Care to see?”

“Of course.” You sit up, and Arthur hands you the sturdy sheet of paper.

You’re not ready for what looks back at you. The woman he’s drawn is elegant, draped across a rendition of Arthur’s couch, and she looks comfortable and happy, smiling back at you. The quilt wrinkles in all the places it’s supposed to, bending under her weight, but that’s not the impressive part. He’s captured your anatomy to a T, every dip and curve and wrinkle and scar.

“Arthur…” you start, laughing a little. “You’ve…you’ve never taken any classes? You’re the most talented self-taught artist I’ve ever met.”

“You ain’t jus’ sayin’ that?”

“I promise that I’m not.” Placing his drawing on the coffee table with the horses, you cross the room to slide into his lap. His eyes go wide as he spreads his legs to accommodate you, hands eager to grab you by the hips. Your breasts press up against his chest, and watching him struggle not to fixate on them amuses you. “You could make good money off of commissions, if you offered ‘em.”

“Off of –” He clears his throat, blinking. “Sorry, what?” It’s obvious that he’s far too busy taking in the lack of space between your bodies to absorb a word that you’re saying.

“Now who isn’t listening?” You break into a grin.

He laughs once, caught. “Well, you know…” Arthur trails a hand down the curve of your breast, thinking. “There are better… acoustics…in the bedroom. Might be able to hear you better there.”

You pretend to consider that. “Oh, I guess we’d better go see, then.”

Arthur’s lips nudge up against your own, curious and full and hungry, and you let him devour you right there in that kitchen chair. The thing creaks underneath the two of you dangerously, and it’s only then that he gets to his feet, leading you by the hand to the safety of his bedroom. Behind the closed door, he pleasures you with every bit of attention and care he’d put into the first time, and then some.

When you’re both spent, you fall asleep in his borrowed pajamas, tucked under his arm. Everything about this feels more natural than it has any right to, but you’re not going to worry about that now. All you care about is how warm he is to cuddle up against, how he holds you like he never wants to let go. To think that he was out here all this time, and you never knew until he signed up for summer classes.

You hope to keep him long after summer’s gone.

Users Tagged: @bandersnatchmywigho​, @hansonveggieclub​, @amorgansgal​, @chalkicharli​, @bamiwijf​, @farbenfux​, @mrsarthurmorgan7​, @6-gallons-of-sparkles​, @vanderlinde​

[softrenjunnie]

the battle of hogwarts l pj

pairing: reader x jay

characters: boyfriend!jay, friend!jake, brother!sunghoon, chosen one!heeseung, death eaters, voldemort, other small characters

genre: hogwarts!au, angsty angst (maybe a little speck of fluff somewhere? but i wouldn’t bet on it)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, pain, death, torture and broken bones; swear words; character death.

note: spoilers !!!! i reference/talk about a lot of the stuff that happens in the battle of hogwarts, aka spoilers from the “harry potter and the deathly hallows” book (and movies), but i mean it’s a different story so it’s not super spoilery? note that heeseung plays the part of harry potter here !!!! also, the ending is rlly bad and weird (just like many parts of this oop-) but also pretty open so i guess there could be a pt 2? if i ever get the inspiration to write it heh

“stupefy!”

you heard the voice from behind you and managed to leap to your side to avoid the spell just in time, letting the red light instead hit the wall in front of you. you turned around, and instantly noticed the death eater who was standing many meters away, his wand by his head and ready to strike. “petrificus totalus!”

“protego!”

the beams shooting from his wand met the shield yours had produced, blocking it and letting its light die out. closing the distance between you, he lunged forwards and kept casting a variety of spells, which you, with great difficulty, blocked. you couldn’t hold your protection much longer, it was getting too tough - so instead, you turned around and made a run for it. a green beam of light missed your head by only a few centimeters, as you turned around a corner and kept running. you knew he was following you, and you knew you couldn’t keep this up; just as he rounded the corner, you pointed your wand to the roof above of him. “bombarda maxima!” you tried your best to keep your voice as steady and strong as possible, despite your wild nerves. the spell worked; soon, the death eater lay buried underneath the heavy stones that had just fallen.

you let out a sigh as you determined that he wasn’t going to rise, but you remembered to not let down your guard. there were perhaps hundreds of others inside and around the castle, and you knew from this little incident that they weren’t afraid to attack. so as you ran ahead, on towards the great hall where you hoped to find the people you were looking for, it was with your wand raised high and your eyes listening for every small sound in your vicinity.

you had been taken aback at first when that death eater had arrived; you hadn’t expected to meet anyone the moment you stepped out of the room of requirement. you thought everyone ought to be in the great hall, or perhaps outside of the castle - not lurking around on the top floors of the building. but none of that was what was going through your mind at the moment. you were focused on finding-

“jake, watch out!” you could recognize his voice from miles away, and especially when he was calling out for his best friend, but you don’t think you’ve ever heard such desperation in his voice ever before. at the end of the hallway, you spotted him - jay’s wand was shooting rays of all colors as he leaped forward, shooting down the woman in black, long robes who had just a second ago had a good grip around jake’s neck. she lay still on the floor, and for a few moments the boys stand as if frozen, until jake crouches down next to her and declares that she’s still alive, just fainted, to which both boys seem to calm down for a second. that is, until a scream is heard from a bit away, and the both of them run to where it came from, out of sight from you.

you were surprised that you had stopped in your tracks to watch the scene ahead of you, and you shake yourself before starting to run forwards again. reaching the end of the hallway, you turn to the way jay and jake had just gone. through the big entrance to the great hall, your eyes scanned over your two friends who were helping a ravenclaw girl, who you recognized to have been in your charms last year, fight off two death eaters. sprinting towards them, you watched as the girl, who you now remembered is called yewon, got hit by a spell right in the stomach, launching her into the wall behind her with great force.

as the wizard cheered his own accomplishment and was left unfocused on the other students, jake used the opportunity to strike. “expelliarmus!” he yelled, and the death eater’s wand flew out of his grip and onto the floor, close to where jay was currently standing, fighting the other death eater. as jake stunned the wandless wizard, jay did something he shouldn’t have - he bowed down to pick up the wand from the floor, but in that exact moment, the witch in front of him aimed towards him and was surely about to jinx him-

“levicorpus!” you yelled with all your might, now only standing a few meters away from them both, and the witch too dropped her wand, now hanging in the air upside down. 

jay turned his head to where your voice had come from, and his jaw dropped once he saw your face. “y/n?!”

“petrificus totalus.” the witch now dropped down onto the floor, head first, and you almost felt bad for her for a moment before you started thinking about what she could’ve done to jay if you hadn’t jumped in.

“what are you doing here?” jay exclaimed, coming closer to you. “are you completely crazy?”

“a small 'thanks' would’ve been nice,” you scoffed, and before he had the opportunity to say anything else, you turned your head to where your former classmate had crashed into the wall, and spoke again. “yewon? are you still there?”

you didn’t hear an answer, and you ran over to where you suspected she was - and she was right by the wall, lying on the floor and sobbing as she held an arm to her chest.

“hey, are you alright?” you crouched down next to her, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder.

“my arm...” she managed to get out in-between sobs. “it hurts...”

when you looked at it, it wasn’t bleeding nor did it have any visible curses on the skin. you turned your head around to jake, who was now standing behind you. “do you think it’s broken?”

“likely. with that force, i’m surprised more isn’t,” he said, and you nodded agreeingly, pulling out your wand and tapping it to her forearm.

“brackium emendo.”

yewon gave out another cry, but this time it wasn't out of pain. “thank you! thank you so much-”

“y/n,” you heard jay’s stern voice from behind you and you turned around once again. his arms were crossed over his chest, and if you had been anyone else, you likely would’ve crumbled under his gaze. but you couldn’t, not now, there were much more important things to do, people were still screaming on the other side of the castle walls and- “please, can’t we talk?”

you stood up, dusting off your knees with your hands before speaking to jake. “make sure she’s okay, please? and pick up that witch’s wand from the floor, and make sure neither of the death eaters get up.” jake nodded at you, flashing you a small smile, before you walked over to where jay was now standing, two tables away from the others.

the great hall was completely empty now, except for the four of you and the two stunned death eaters, and the atmosphere was almost tranquil, even though there was a full-on war going on just a small distance away.

“what are you doing here?” he asked, the desperation clear in his voice. “i thought they made it clear that-”

“i didn’t get to choose what i wanted to do, i was just forced into the room of requirement like everyone else, and-” you took a deep breath. “of course, i escaped. did you really expect me to just follow the others?”

“yes, because you’re underage, y/n!”

“by two months,” you spat, having a hard time controlling your anger at jay’s stubbornness. “i’m two months too young to fight? that doesn’t make any sense, you know i’m better at charms than most of your classmates!”

he shook his head, his eyes wandering around the room. “they were the rules, y/n. i can’t believe you-”

“can’t believe what? that i would want to fight for my school? fight for my friends? fight for this world to not go under-” you let a few tears fall down your cheeks, and you weren’t sure if it was out of exhaustion, frustration, or despair; likely a combination of them all. but you didn’t bother wiping them away. “fight for you. did you expect that i would just sit at home, just hoping that my friends, family, and boyfriend would all survive? not knowing anything and not being able to affect it would’ve killed me, i think you know-”

you were cut off as he pushed his lips onto yours. your eyes fluttered closed instinctively, and your hand that wasn’t currently holding your wand went up to cup his cheek. he tasted of blood from a small cut on his bottom lip and you tasted of salt from your tears, but neither of you minded. kissing jay felt so familiar; it felt like you were home again. it felt like you were back in your common room with him like you’d been a year ago, when no war had been going on and no dark lord was preparing for his final battle. jay’s lips smoothed over yours with such ease and such softness that if you hadn’t been standing, you could’ve fallen asleep from it.

“hey guys,” jake’s voice made you jump into reality again, and you moved your hand from jay’s cheek to his chest to push him away from you far enough for your lips to part from his again. “i hate to be the one to interrupt your moment, but uh... we should really get going.”

you nodded towards him, before looking back over at jay again, who did not look like he had wanted to stop his previous actions, a tiny pout on his lips. now that you were standing so close to him, you could study his face; there were several smaller wounds all over it, and he winced slightly when you reached up to remove a small piece of glass that had been stuck in a cut below his right eye. you used your thumb to wipe away the blood which had leaked down from a bigger wound by his jaw. “episkey,” you whispered, watching as the skin melted together and soon looked as if nothing had ever happened to it.

there was a loud bang, and the glass of the windows behind the staff table shattered everywhere - and in through the hole ran at least a dozen new death eaters, followed by students, teachers, parents, and other adults who were fighting for your side. and amongst them, you spotted none other than your brother - sunghoon was dueling a death eater, whom you’d seen before in the newspapers, all alone, but as he struck the other wizard with a jinx that seemed to have an extreme force, the death eater flew and slammed into a wall just like yewon had done.

in the few moments that you had stood watching your brother, the people around you hadn’t stopped like you, but instead started helping out in battles. you instantly joined jay’s side again, helping him battle a tall and broad man whose wand was producing beams of light at a faster speed than you had ever seen before. “incarcerous!” jay roared, and ropes appeared out of thin air which wrapped around the death eater and held his limbs tightly together.

“good one,” you told him, and turned around to find someone else to help - but standing right behind you was none other than sunghoon. 

“jay, are you dumb?!” he screamed at the boy standing next to you. beads of sweat were rolling down his face and his dark eyes made him look of a mixture between exasperated and exhausted. “forcing my baby sister into a war?!”

“he didn’t force me, you idiot!” you frowned up at him, groaning. “i chose it myself. and what part of me is baby, sunghoon? i’m almost of age, start treating me like it!”

“either way, you can’t be here! you have to get back to the room of requirement!”

you shook your head and took a step closer to him. “in case you haven’t noticed, they’re fighting in here. if we don’t help out soon, we will all be dead. i’d rather die helping out than die arguing about this!”

you walked past him and raised your wand, ready to strike at a witch jake was taking on at the moment, but sunghoon grabbed your arm and pulled you back. you were about to shake him off and complain when he pulled you into a hug. holding you close, he muttered, “i can’t lose you. please, please, take care. never battle alone.” you squeezed him back and nodded into his chest, before pulling away from him. you heard how he told jay to protect you, and the two of them were just about to hug when a red light missed the tops of their heads by just a few centimeters, almost as if it was a signal that you all needed to get back to the war.

you and jay took on one death eater each, throwing spells and shooting colored jets through the air as quickly as you could. but after stunning your opponent, and helping jay do the same to his, you overlooked the room and realized just how many people there were. it was extremely crowded, with injured people crying for help while lying on the floor and voldemort’s helpers assaulting other wizards and witches with both their wands and their bodies. it was overwhelming, there were too many of them, how would you ever win this? your breath became uneven, and you felt like you weren’t getting any air. your head was spinning, and the ground felt like it was shaking below you - it likely was, to be honest - and you couldn’t stay in your place a second longer.

you turned around slowly, before moving towards the opening of the main hall and looked for the best place to go. to your left, your defense against the dark arts teacher was fighting two robed, tall men all by himself, though he seemed to have no problem doing so; to your right, the hallway was empty, so that’s where you went. you found a hole in the wall a bit away, and you could almost hear the fresh air of the night calling for you, so you climbed out through it. instantly, your lungs were filled with the cold air, making you close your eyes in satisfaction and sit down on the ground, relaxing fully. you instantly felt better, and you felt like you wouldn’t have to be out here for a lot longer before you could back inside, just-

“look at who we have here,” said a female voice from beside you, and you opened your eyes and flew up to stand on the stone debris from what had formerly been the wall. you recognized her instantly - she was one of voldemort’s most faithful followers, and you had read about her and her escape from azkaban in the newspapers before. “isn’t it the little mudblood who’s been helping lee heeseung in his plans against the dark lord?” you raised your wand to attack, but she was quicker. “expelliarmus!” your wand flew up into the air and landed right by her feet. you didn’t even bother trying to fetch it, you knew it would be to no avail. “tell me where the boy is hiding, and i shall spare your life.”

“i don’t know!” you cried out.

she raised her eyebrows. “hmm. maybe this will make you remember. crucio!”

you had never experienced pain like this in your life. you crashed down onto the ground, unable to control anything in your body. the pain was obliterating, intense, all-consuming. you screamed, but you couldn’t hear yourself, all your senses being dulled out by the pain. 

and suddenly, she broke off the curse, though your muscles were still throbbing from the curse. “do you know where he is now, then?” she sneered.

“no-” just as you had managed to whimperingly utter the word, she flicked her wand once again. the second hit of the spell felt a lot like the first, but this time she held it for much longer. your bones were on fire, a million knives were pushing into your skin, boiling water was being poured over your body, your head was about to explode-

the relief you felt when she stopped the curse for the second time was indescribable. high-pitched, horrifying laughs were flowing from the death eater’s mouth before she once again spoke. “i think you know now.”

you wanted to slap the grin off her dark lips, but you had no energy to even stand up. instead, you gathered your last bits of power, and said, “i don’t. and even if i had known, i wouldn’t have told you.”

she chuckled, before shaking her head at you. “you silly girl... you deserve this.”

the third time the spell hit you, it was much worse than the other two times; she must’ve gone extremely angry by now. it felt as if you were in space, there was no air for you to breathe. your lungs weren’t working properly. you wished to do anything to make this extreme pain go away, anything... even disappear or... die...

though it had felt like an eternity for you, there were only a few moments after she’d cursed you that the curse was interrupted once again. you couldn’t even look up; you were curled into a ball on the ground, eyes shut tight, wishing that everything would just be over...

soon, there was a shuffle beside you, and soon a hand lay on your shoulder, shaking it gently. “y/n? are you alive? please, be alive...”

by now, you were just barely breathing; it was too hard, it took too much energy from you and you already had very little left.

“hey, it’s all fine now,” a voice told you, as a hand caressed your cheek. “she’s gone. you’ll be fine. please, just-” the voice paused, and when it returned, you could tell that the person by you had turned around and was now yelling towards the entrance of the castle. “jake! get some water, quick!”

you were too exhausted to listen clearly to his voice and try to recognize it, but from his wording, you could easily tell who it was. slowly, you opened your eyes, looking up at jay who sat crouched next to you. he had more bruises and wounds all over his face now than he had had when you had left him, and he was looking down at you with eyes of such panic that you’d never seen before. “fuck, y/n,” he mumbled. “you can’t just go off like that. do you realize how-”

he stopped in his tracks when you reached up with a hand to thread your fingers through his hair, pushing his fringe back and out of his eyes. “i’m fine.”

“a-are you sure?”

you nodded slowly at him, closing your eyes once again and letting your arm fall to your side. “i just need to...rest a bit...” jay let out a sigh of relief, and his hand went from your shoulder and up to your face, letting his thumb wipe away a few tears that you hadn’t noticed shedding. “what happened to her?” you hummed, voice low.

“oh, you didn’t hear it?” you furrowed your eyebrows. “i stunned her at first, but then voldemort spoke over the grounds and told his forces to retreat, to give us one hour to treat to everyone’s wounds and to say our goodbyes to those who are leaving us. he said that heeseung has an hour to give himself in, or else the war is on again.” 

you were surprised that you hadn't heard voldemort's voice, but then again, you even now had to put in all your force to hear jay properly. you looked up at him. “he’s not going to, is he?” you questioned, to which jay merely shrugged. “he can’t, that’s-”

“y/n, are you okay?! someone told me what happened,” said jake as he came up to you two, an empty plastic bottle in his hand. “i only found this, it’s empty, i know, but i mean you can always-”

“aguamenti,” jay said to cut off his friend’s rambling, filling the bottle quickly before handing it to you. thanking them both, you sat up straight, although every muscle and every ligament in your body screamed as you did, and drank a couple of sips.

deciding that you wouldn’t get anything done sitting there all night, you put away the bottle and pressed your hands into the ground, trying to push yourself up, but instantly failed. jay saw your struggling and bolted up, offering his hand down to you and helping you stand up once you took it in yours. “how’s your balance?” jake asked as you froze for a few seconds when you were trying to figure out if you were blacking out due to the stinging feeling in your head or due to your blood pressure dropping from standing up too quickly.

“not good enough,” you chuckled. “will you guys help me?” they both nodded, and soon they were by your sides, letting you throw your arms across their shoulders to steady you.

as you walked into the castle again through the hole you had come out from a while ago, you couldn’t help but to think about what jay had said earlier. say our goodbyes to those who are leaving us... he made it seem like there are many who were too injured to bring back. there couldn’t be a lot, could there?

“where is heeseung?” you asked, moving your head between them to look at their faces. “he knows we are fighting, right? he can’t give up!”

jake stopped in his tracks, which made you jump back too even though you all were just a few meters from the main hall by now, and he gave jay a very specific look. “you haven’t told her, have you?”

jay rubbed his hand that wasn’t holding you up against the back of his neck. “i- i haven’t found a good moment to do it!”

“wha-” was all you could let out before jake spoke again.

“and you think this is a good moment?!” he almost yelled, shaking his head at jay.

“i don’t think we’ll find a better one, nor that we have any choice,” jay groaned, and just as your confusion and frustration of not being allowed into the conversation peaked, someone ran into your view.

“oh my god, y/n!” cried yewon, running up to you. “i’m so sorry for your loss, i wish there was something i could’ve done-”

and that’s when it hit you. you realized what jay and jake had been referring to, but you refused to believe it. she must’ve been confused, it can’t have been true, nothing was wrong-

you pulled away your arms from the boys and ignored their calls of your name when you sprinted forwards, past yewon and into the hall. you pushed away your thoughts of your aching muscles and how it was likely unwise to do this; nothing was more important right now than making it all the way to where the dead bodies lay in the middle of the room. they had removed the tables by now, and people were gathering in groups around the wizards and witches on the floor, though you couldn’t see anything other than the one body you were aiming towards. and as you reached him, the world turned black.

“sunghoon,” you whispered, crouching down to the floor and shaking him by his shoulders. “please, sunghoon. you’re not dead, you can’t die, not now, you...” before you knew it, your sobs were uncontrollable, your face buried in his dusty cloak. this couldn’t be real. there was no way. “wake up... i beg of you...”

you felt someone sit down next to you, and then a hand on your back. you instantly turned around and threw yourself into jay’s embrace, crying out loud. your hands clutched at the material covering his chest and once again you had trouble breathing, your breaths unnaturally short and rapid. jay held your trembling body to him as tightly as he could, hoping that if you felt that he was there with you he’d be able to hold you down in reality, to make sure your mind wasn’t floating away. 

but as time passed, and you started realizing that sunghoon wouldn't come back, your sorrow turned into something else. vengefulness. they weren't getting away with this. 

[stopeatingwhales]

second chance x damon albarn

i'm surprised i haven't written anything about dilf damon yet bc i've been so obsessed with him recently wtf. anyways enjoy x

i might do a second part to this, idk yet tho

Pairing: dilf damon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.786

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Do you want to come over?” I abruptly asked, the silence pouring through the line deafening my ears as my fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. The desperation and moment that led to me ringing my ex-boyfriend at what was nearing eight in the evening seemed as though it was a fever dream, the words rolling off my tongue so delicately out of apprehension only a fragment of that trance. In all honesty, I had no idea as to why I rang Damon, or to what extent the string of thoughts guided me towards the action of calling - we had been broken up for around a year, and it came as a much larger shock that I was able to muster the amount of courage to tap his contact on my phone and attentively listen to the thunderous rings as the landlines attempted to connect, instead of quickly shutting the phone off before he was able to receive a missed call alert.

“Uh, um - are you sure?” he questioned, the stutter escaping his mouth insinuated that he was just as dazed at my sudden offer as me, the demeanour of his voice accentuating the idea that he was entirely finished with the ephemeral chapter of his life which had me intertwined inside as his partner; that he had gotten over me quicker than the momentary period our relationship lasted. My heart sank, realising how indigent I sounded, as if I had never gotten over him throughout our time apart - which I did, learning to live with myself was easier than I had thought it was going to be; the weeks leading up to the breakup stemming from the distance we shared apart due to Damon consistently being on tour and never providing enough time for me, for us, to consider one another as more than romantically acquainted, though that didn’t mean the gap in my heart had been sealed shut, it was simply brimmed with other, unspecial fragments of things which could only distract the thought of him for so long, until I’d discover myself adventuring for something else to hyperfixate my thoughts upon, though he always returned.

“Yeah…” My voice trailed off, so quiet that I struggled to sustain the volume. Though we had only just spoken, the trance that he had obtained over me for all those months we were with one accord, returned in an instant, having the same rush that a recollection of memories, pastimes that were once forgotten, crumbled to dust, had been reborn; ignited into a new bloom in the height of a harvest, resulting in the scolding of yourself upon how you granted the ability to forget such a thing. It seemed as if all those thoughts, ideations convinced to the point that I had gotten over him, were myriads of masks attempting to say it enough to believe it. Without a doubt, I had never overcome the strains of the acquaintance we shared - and I could only hope he felt the same way.

I heard his throat clear itself before his voice echoed through the telephone speakers once again. “Alright… I’ll be there in a bit.” he mumbled, those words bringing a soft, yet apprehensive grin to my lips. I had no idea what I was doing, or why, but it felt right.

It felt as if only the sum of a few minutes passed when I heard a distinguishable knock on the door; one that had not rang through my ears for an interminable amount of time, one that was able to send me months back in time to a period where he had significantly been a figurehead dictating the story. As I jolted up to answer the door, it felt as if things were normal again, back to how they used to be so many nights previous; me waiting for him to come home after he spent a long day at the recording studio, crafting what could only be assumed was the pure essence of talent, unlocking the door to allow my arms to envelop into an embrace cherished with affection and warmth, proving he longed to have my presence just as much as I craved his. Once my eyes met the sight of him, my heart dropped at the overwhelming feeling of my reminiscing about what once was, the nostalgia for a moment so authentically shaped with what could only be described as true love, my body yearning to relish in the sensation of his arms protectively wrapped around my body, a feeling which could only fulfill one’s heart with all that it desires. "Hi..." I trailed off, stunned by how similar, yet different his appearance was from when we last saw one another. His hair had the same shape, though it seemed a little shorter, his eyebags still prominent on his features, though it seemed as if they had sagged down slightly, posing the idea of whether he had been sleeping alright. His torso still adorned shirts with dark colours, amplified with one of his leather jackets which only made me more attracted to him. Widening the door, he set foot into the apartment, nodding his head lightly as a greeting. Although I was very elated to the fact that he was in my apartment, it felt eerie having him back here after so long, stepping foot into the space that was once served merely as a homely and secure space where we both could simply live and enjoy our time together, no distractions included.

Once I had followed him into the living space, he took a seat onto the couch facing the television. I attempted to make my footsteps omit as little noise as possible, as if to avoid damaging the awkward silence that had been shared between the pair of us. It went without saying that neither of us knew how to break the ice, or where this was going to head. One could only hope that the outcome of this meeting was positive. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, ushering over to the cabinet adjacent to the television, supplied with all sorts of alcoholic beverages in which I had not touched, simply there as a point of manners to offer when somebody had come over. “White?” I offered, pulling out an almost-full bottle of white wine. I knew he hated it.

"You know I’ve always hated white." he mumbled, a small smile playing upon his lips. Something about that little grin plastered on his lips made my stomach flip and turn, welcoming a swarm of butterflies to accentuate the nervous pit that had formed within myself. The intense feelings reminded me of the same bewilderment your body undergoes during the first date; there is such a raw attraction to somebody that you know far too little about, but you are so hypnotised by their presence it is as if they’re the only thing in the world that matters, to the point that they obnoxiously overtake your mind, every little thought occupied with their name, wondering whether they may like such and such, like an infection spreading without you knowing such cure for it. The atmosphere was intense, carrying the same ambience of two strangers meeting for the first time in an isolated space, though there was also a refreshing element of familiarity that neither of us wanted to admit that we appreciated so deeply.

"Red?" I asked, snatching the half empty bottle as I placed the other wine bottle back in its designated place, turning my head back to fix my gaze onto Damon, raising my eyebrows as a form of derise for the drink. Nodding his head in response, I quickly took two glasses from the cabinet, brimming them both with the alcoholic liquid before slowly making my way to sit next to him on the sofa, handing him one of the glasses as he thanked me in response. The same devilish silence echoed in the room once again as we granted the situation to truly sink in - thankfully alcohol was present. As I took a sip of the beverage, I tried to gulp down as much liquid as possible before I spoke once again. "So... how have you been?"

"Good... Just came off tour actually. Was a really successful one." he replied, his voice laced with a slight tone of doubt, edging the regret of so eagerly returning back into a place that was once so attached to his occupancy. He carried on talking about how the tour had been, my head subconsciously nodding, attentive to what he was talking about. Each time he had told me about something new they had added, or something they had changed surrounding the live performance set-up, it never failed to blow me away. Him and Jamie together, working on such a creative idea and putting it to life on stage was truly something out of rare virtuosity, disregarding the lengthy old ramblings from Damon almost every night he had returned home about how much Jamie had pissed him off, having a petty argument as if it was a be or end all in their friendship. It was actually a good form of entertainment, seeing how riled up Damon had gotten simply because of something that Jamie joked in an interview.

Once he had finished talking, our eyes connected, uncertainty clouded in his eyes as he searched for the reason behind him needing to come over. "Y/N, why did you ask me to come over?" He said, abrupt, almost as if those words had been lingering at the back of his mind the entire time we had been in one another’s acquaintance; the ease of the sting of words rolling off his tongue softly implied that, perhaps a try to prevent the harshness of the asking from offending me in the slightest. "We haven't seen each other for a year, why now?"

Both gazes never dared to break contact as if we had attempted to communicate telepathically - the ideation of instigating a conversation as awkward as how this had become, the two of us simply wanting the ground to swallow us whole. His gaze had the ability to put me into a trance upon which I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else except for the utter magnificence that was birthed into his loving eyes. Inhaling sharply, I tried to collect the thoughts in my brain that had been travelling in all directions, searching for all sorts of different possibilities that the conversation could reach. "Can we give it a second chance?" I asked absentmindedly, the realisation of what had just rolled off my tongue not settling in my mind until his eyes widened, speechless and shocked at my sudden questioning.

Sighing, he cocked his head to the side. “Love, we didn't work out the first time..." he began, my heart dropping to my stomach as the thought of him breaking my heart again entered my mind. His expression quickly softened once he saw my face drain colour, explaining all that he needed to know about how I had coped since he had left the picture. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Breaking away from the stare, I gawked at the dark shades of red that had adorned the transparent glass clasped in my palm. Holding in my emotions wasn’t going to do me any justice, and since he was here, it would not make sense for me to stupidly avoid the whole reasoning behind me needing him inside my apartment after so long. “It’s been so hard trying to get over you,” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible out of embarrassment, though I knew he could hear me. “I need you.”

What I didn’t see from my shameful gaze at the ground, was the miniscule beam that broke out across Damon’s features. What I was unaware of, my body encompassed in such a impotent state of pure isolation, was that Damon had been as dependent on hearing those words escaping my mouth before he could admit the same to himself. Though it had all been answered to me as he softly brought his arm to caress my arm, gently squeezing the skin as a form of reassurance, implying the notion that he understood, that he felt the same way, after all this time. We broke up not because we lost feelings, but because the emotions we carried for one another were too strong to handle, too intense to progress with, that when he was gone for those long hours it had left me in such a stupor of helplessness and melancholy that it was unbearable to handle without it tarnishing my health. Unsurprisingly, at this point we knew where the conversation was headed; my desires to be swathed in his arms once again that I had tried so hard to banish to the back of my mind, to the depths of my distant memories in which by reliving such a hug came flooding back, my body leaned into his touch almost instantaneously, a subconscious reflex that I had craved, such an embrace that no other person could give, the mere side hug from him was able to banish all the pain that I had tried so diligently to mask away for the past few months.

We sat there for a short while, taking in the moment as it had played throughout, our breathing syncing together as comfort relished in the atmosphere, our minds now finally at peace while all the conflict that had battled our minds over the time we weren’t together. "Let me come on tour with you." I said, my head resting against his shoulder.

A chuckle erupted out of his throat. “It’s not that easy love.”

"Why can't it be? You're literally the frontman!" I exclaimed, lifting my head off his shoulder to connect eyes with him. "Damon, it would be so fun!" I exclaimed, attempting to encourage him.

It was as if things had mended back together, all the cracks in the pavements had been glued together to mend the time lost, as if it had never occurred. Through all the hardship I had faced trying to find the remedy to my heartache, I was dumbfounded to realise that it had been sitting in front of me, at the top of my phone’s contact list, right in front of my eyes this entire time. His eyes were calling out to me, enveloping my heart in comfort and warmth, the hunger radiating out eager to the ideation of starting anew and preserving the time in which we had lost, building new memories, unfastening the lock on the clock dictating the length of the relationship, allowing it to elongate, carry on as long as we could. My heart brimmed with homeliness - the house I was inside finally feeling normal to me once again.

"I'll see what I can do," he grins, the beautiful sight causing a small smile to erupt on my face as my body melted back into his arms once again. "No promises though."

It felt nice to wake up next to someone again the next morning, on the mattress that once was a carcass of many tears of sadness and melancholy, authentically conveyed by the essence of nihilism embodied from isolation, the kind of philosophical beliefs one could only develop an understanding towards subsequent to irrational thinking as the hours fell still, leaving you sat there, reliving the last moments from your memory bank with the significant other you had soiled ends with, a person who had supported you from the very beginning, even when things formed a bitter congestion to the relationship devoured by both participants, perhaps from the acceleration of argumentation shared, or the distance that had started to weave its way between, leaving you both stranded to conclude, as if you were both on separate, desolate islands fighting against the starvation of progressing through your lives and starting anew, departing from the old knots and attachments formed once epitomising pure adoration and love, though over time spawning to be the offspring of the devil. A person whom you knew would make your bed every morning, cradle you in his arms at the darkest hours to baptise the negativity coiled in your brain, whispering what seems like sweet nothings, merely sounding like soft raspy groans due to them being exhausted out of their mind, but you knew they were saying something to you, you could hear it, acknowledge it in a language that nobody else was able to understand. I relished in concession that he who lay beside me was the one that bestowed and epitomised all the things that I once lacked a night before. A lover.

[xxreader-writerxx]

Red Haired Boy

Word Count: 3.6k (sorry got carried away)

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of death (happy ending tho), panic attack, graphic violence at parts, mentions of blood, cursing (maybe?), tell me if I need to add anything

Y/N= Your Name L/N= Your Last Name Y/H= Your House Y/N/N= Your nickname

I get shoved sideways by a red haired boy and run into the wall. I let out a small gasp feeling my shoulder run into a sharp brick. I hold the cut with tears in my eyes. I see the boy turn around and run back worried. "Bloody hell! I'm so so sorry!" He tells me and I shake my head firmly. "It's alright." I mumble trying to make it seem like I'm not crying. "No it's not, you're bleeding!" He tells me and I see another boy run and stop seeing us. "Fred! He's on my tail!" He tells him tugging his arm. "Go on then! I need to handle something!" He tells him angrily getting his arm free. "Whatever..." The other boy mutters. "Does it hurt?" He asks and I shake my head shyly. "No... I'm fine. Really."

"WEASLEY!" I hear and see its our groundskeeper. "I'm going to enjoy this one..." He mutters to himself as he pulls the boy by his arm harshly. I look at him and he looks sad but smiles weakly at me. "AH MY ARM. OH IT HURTS!" I say not thinking. "What?!" He asks and I clutch my arm. "AH HELP HELP!" I yelp and he drops Fred, as soon as he's freed I silently tell him to run and he smiles at me. He runs and Filch is still distracted by my wailing. I stand straight and smile. "Its gone now. I think I just need to get patched up." I say calmly, walking to the infirmary.

"What do you mean?" I hear as I get wrapped up by Madam Pomfrey. "It was bloody amazing. She started screaming her arm hurt and let me run off!" A nearly identical voice replies. "Well good for her but karma must've came to bite you." The voice replies. "Yeah... But- No way! It's her!" He says and I look up to see the boy I helped earlier. "Hey- What happened!?" I ask seeing his eye covered in blood. "When he was running he was distracted and fell face first into a statue, cut his eyebrow pretty good." His identical brother tells me. "Oh no!" I say and he walks over and Madam Pomfrey groans.

"Sit there, I'll be back in a moment... Foolish boy..." She mutters and he hops up next to me. "Fred Weasley." He introduces and I smile shyly, shaking his hand. "Y/n, Y/n L/n..."

"I wanted to say thank you, for not only saving me but I also wanted to say thank you for saving me despite me hurting you." He tells me shyly and I smile. "My pleasure."

***

I wake up to my boyfriend kissing my shoulder as I sleepily wake up. "Hi baby..." I whisper groggily. "Hi darling..." He smiles at me and I notice he's kissing my scar from how we met. He places his cheek against mine as I wrap his arms around me. "Whatcha thinking about?" I ask and he sighs. "I never payed you back for saving me the day you got this..." He tells me and I laugh. "How bout..." I say pushing him lightly so I'm on top. "Five minutes, whenever I choose to use it, you have to do whatever I want." I whisper and he smiles cheekily. "Yes ma'am..." He tells me and I chuckles. "Yay that one day I will be doing no dishes." I tell him and he scoffs. "I was thinking something more sexual but ok." He tells me and I kiss his nose.

***

I look around frantically for my loved ones, happy I am a half witch so my family isn't here, blood related though. I look for the Weasley Family trying to see through the falling dust and rubble. I see a messy ginger hair and get excited. I limp over as quickly and see its not my Weasley but Percy. He's screaming for help. I ignore the pain coursing through me and run the best I can.

He's digging through rubble and I freeze in fear. "W-who is that?" I ask seeing a hand underneath it all. "JUST HELP!" He screams and I rush over moving each piece of rubble. I finally help drag the body out. I lay him on me to support his head and moves his hair from his eyes. "Freddie?" I ask softly and he looks at me smiling. "Hey..." He barely says and he gasps slightly for air. "Hey, stay awake for me... Percy get help, he's bleeding a lot..." I cry and he runs. I feel Fred's weak and cold hand wrap around mine. "I hoped you were in my last moments ya know?" He tells me smiling, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Well let that be another day. Freddie you are going to stay alive you idiot." I tell him chuckling through my worry, combing his hair lightly. "I want you to be happy. Don't wait for me to come back. Find someone who makes you happy. Alright?" He asks and I scoff. "I would if you were dying. But you aren't." I sob and he holds my hand. "You'll be ok..." He whispers closing his eyes but I grab his head shaking my own. "Hey remember the time we met?" I ask smiling at him and he nods smiling. "You cut my shoulder so deep and I saved you minutes later, remember that?"  I ask and he scoffs leaning his head back weakly. "Didn't think my last moments would be getting guilt tripped." He tells me and gasps at a pain in his side. "Well because of that you told me you would give me five minutes of anything I wanted. I want to have five minutes, after this war, dancing with you. You understand? I want to get married and dance for five minutes." I demand and he chuckles, then cringes at the pain.

Wizards swarm us and help him onto a stretcher as we finally let go of each other's hands. People help me up saying I need to heal my injuries. I keep my eyes on him scared..

***

Three months.

Three fucking months and nothing is better. They said it would be better by now. But I still miss him, miss my fiancé. He died shortly after I saw him. His dead body being the only thing on my mind every single day. Today I need to collect his belongings so I throw myself out of bed sadly. I walk out to the room to the empty, quiet, kitchen. I look for my mug and think George must have put it away when he was cleaning. The twin of my passed fiancé constantly stops by to help around the house, he says it helps pass the time.

I climb on the ladder and see he just put it far back in the shelf. I look right above it and look at it shocked. It's Fred's mug.

I hold it and tear up. "Why couldn't you stay? You promised you would stay! You promised! Wh-why did I have to loose you?!" I scream and fall to my knees feeling my heart crumble. "You promised..." I whisper against the mug. I put it down and feel the ground rumble from the nearby train. I ignore it until it makes my mug fall from the counter and drop on Fred's. "No... No no no no no..." I sob picking up the pieces.

George's POV:

I walk into the building to see Y/n yelling at the landlord angrily. "NO YOU CALM DOWN GARRETT! THAT BLOODY TRAIN BROKE MY FIANCE'S MUG! HE FOUGHT IN A WAR YOU WOULD NEVER IMAGINE! HIS MUG IS IRREPLACEABLE! HE FOUGHT DEATHEATERS! DID YOU FIGHT DEATHEATERS GARRETT?! NO! SO YOU WILL GET THAT BLOODY BLOODY TRAIN TO STOP OR PUT A DAMN SPELL ON THIS BUILDING SO I DON'T HAVE TO THINK I AM ON A CRUISE EVERYTIME IT PASSES!" She yells at him holding a bag to her chest, tears streaming down her face. I grab her arms holding them to her chest as she continues to yell at him. "Sorry mate its just a horrible day." I explain as I wrestle her into the lift. "Y/N!" I yell at her and she sobs clutching the bag. "All I had left George! I didn't even know I had it! And it was gone just like he's gone! It was practically a reenactment!" She cries and I hold her close. I kiss the top of her head knowingly.

"He's gone!" She sobs and I nod not wanting to add to it. As much as I miss Fred, she misses him more. She has had everyone in her life leave her and he was all she had besides our family but we weren't even close to him. She trusted him with her life and it was ripped away so quickly. Her love for him was more than a man could describe.

"Let's get you washed up..." I whisper and she nods silently.

***

Fred's POV:

I limp inside the home I once knew and look for my mother, brother, anyone. I can barely see through my bloody hair that has overgrown. I climb the stairs harshly noting the pain in my ribs. I open my room and everything is empty on my side. I walk over to George's bed and nothing. "Mum?" I barely croak. I keep searching ignoring the pain.

I hear a teacup fall and break behind me, I whip around to see my mother as pale as possible. "George? What's wrong?!" She asks and I try to smirk. "Mum wrong twin, but before I yell at you about that I need to find- well myself..." I say drawing my wand. "What? George are you alright? Please don't tell me my boy is gone too." She whimpers. "Mum, where have you last seen me, or well Fred?" I ask and she walks over, tears filling her eyes. "Georgie... Fred died. You remember don't you?" She whispers, combing my hair, I nearly relax at the sensation, haven't been able to see my mother in a year. Only being tortured.

"Mum? I died?" I ask and she sobs, holding me. "C'mon Georgie! Don't tell me we have to go back to St. Mungo's!" She sobs into my chest. "What?! George went to St. Mungo's?!" I ask getting worried. "Oh Godric... Georgie! Y/n! She snapped! Please stop this!" She cries and I freeze. "What do you mean mum?" I ask and she cries more. "You know what happened!" She clutches my shirt tightly. "Mum!" I say grabbing her wrists. "It. Is. Fred. I have been tortured for a year. I need to go find Georgie and Y/n. Where's my girl?" I ask getting worried. She places a hand on my cheek and looks at me carefully. "Freddie?" She asks and I nod, cupping her hand. "Yes mum. Freddie. Can you heal me up and show me where my girl and twin is? I haven't seen them in so long, I miss them." I ask and she smiles. "ARTHUR COME HERE!" She yells as she helps me to the den.

***

I walk into George's apartment with him and my parents slowly. "Why's she living here?" I ask and George sighs. "Please be calm alright?" He asks and I nod. He unlocks the door and looks around. "Y/n?" He calls and sighs. "Don't know why I try anymore..." He whispers mostly to himself. "Please show her slowly George. We can't have her getting worse." My mum tells him and he nods.

I walk into a room across from his and see her laying on her bed. "Hey Y/n! Got you a surprise..." George says and points to the corner. "Let me get her used to seein me first." He whispers and I look at him confused. She turns around and smiles at him silently. "Still no talking?" He asks and she tears up. "It's alright. Can you trust me real quick?" He asks and she nods confused. My heart breaks seeing her, she looks broken.

"C'mere Fred..." He tells me and she whips her head around. I walk over and she tears up. "No..." She whispers and I back away. "Hey Lovey..." I whisper. "You're dead." she tells me and I chuckle. "Turns out. A lot of people think that..." I joke and she walks over. She pokes my chest and I poke her shoulder playfully. "What was that for?" I ask joking and she says nothing but wrap her arm around me.

"Hey Y/n/n, want some tea and we can explain?" George asks and she nods. "Alright me and Fred-" He begins but she shakes her head, holding me tighter like a toddler with a teddy. "I want Fred to stay." She says and I kiss her head. "Y/n, you need to change." He tells her and she grips on my shirt. "I want Fred to stay." She repeats and he sighs. "George. She can just change while I'm turned around. I don't think she'll let me leave, right lovey?" I ask and she nods, nuzzling her face into my shirt. "He'll leave again." She states and I kneel. "Never again. I promise." I tell her and she starts to cry. "You said that." She tells me and my heart breaks. "I know, but this year was temporary. I promise." I tell her.

George finally leaves and she changes as quickly as possible and races back to hug me again. I pick her up and she stays hugging me. "Freddie..." She whispers and I nod. "I gotcha baby." I tell her and she shoves her head in the crook of my neck.

I sit down and George is tearing up. "You got her to talk." He tells me and I look at her confused. "What do you mean?" I ask and he wipes his face. "She was ok at first... Then she saw a Scrapbook of you guys. She realized that you were actually well- You know what I mean. And she stopped talking. We brought her to St. Mungo's in hope she'd start talking but after a month I just took her in here. Hoping one day she'd talk again. Then you came back. She talked for the first time today. Only because she saw you." He explains. "Your turn." She says and I nod, rubbing circles on her back.

"They thought us twins were the only two who were important enough to be in the army but slightly unimportant to kidnap one and try to get answers. They replaced me with a soldier using Polyjuice. Luckily... I had the memory of you guys keeping me strong." I explain kissing her neck. I feel tears on my shoulder and I move to see her face. "What's wrong lovey?" I ask and she hides in my neck again. "My fault." She cries into my neck. "Hey... What do you mean?" I ask and she nuzzles her face into my neck. "I didn't notice..." She cries and I kiss her neck up and down softly. "No baby, they took some of my memories so it would be impossible to not notice." I explain and she holds me tightly. "But I love you so much. I should've." She explains, taking breaks, every time trying to remember a word or at least how to say it. "I'm going to pack her things, I think your flat will be more comfortable." George says and I nod.

"I'm sorry." She mumbles and I kiss her again. "Me too..." I whisper.

***

"Good morning darling." I say as I sit on the couch next to Y/n. She smiles at me slightly and I grab the newspaper. "Want me to read for you?" I ask and she nods,  laying on my lap. I run my fingers through her hair as I read the news, showing her the cartoons. I'm smiling and laughing for her until she gets up and grabs a grape. She eats it and I pop up straight. "Sorry did you want that?" She asks and I smile at her. I kiss her all over her face and she giggles. I start kissing her even more causing more giggles. The sound I haven't heard in two years, right before the war.

"Freddie!" She giggles and I smile at her with the dopiest smile I can muster. "I love your laugh..." I sigh and she smiles at me. I get a call and answer it seeing its George.

"Hey could you come down to the shop? Ron set off fireworks after falling and there might be a hole near your office. We tried fixing it but your Magic Blocker is being a pain" He tells me and I sigh. "Alright coming. You two are very much interrupting the best day of my life." I say kissing the crown of Y/n's head. "Why? What happened?" He asks and I smile at the girl in my hold. "Y/n both ate and I heard that gorgeous giggle of hers." I say smiling proudly at Y/n. She blushes slightly and I kiss her nose.

I get up to change with Y/n following closely behind after hanging up and change in our shared room as she fiddles with the sensory knickknacks. With my ADHD and her PTSD we got them to keep our minds healthy. I laugh when she throws the dollar bill squishy at me playfully. I pick it up and she smirks at me. "Pass me my wallet." She tells me and I sigh knowing what I'm getting myself into. I toss her the wallet and she opens it looking for something.

I continue getting dressed when I feel a coin hit my back. "Hey! Dollar bills!" I say tossing the coin back. "I see no such rule." She replies and I smile. "How can you annoy the hell out of me but make me fall so much harder..." I mumble and she smiles. "Its cause I pay good." She quips, tossing a coin at me. I finally get my belt fixed and I walk over. I pick her up and drop her onto our bed. I kiss her neck and she giggles as I tickle her lightly. "I love you so much..." I whisper and she kisses my cheek. "Not as much as I love you." She whispers back.

I get fully dressed and I watch as she disappears into the closet and returns, first eyes searching for me quickly and when she finds me she walks over hugging me. "Ready to go?" I ask and she nods.

Y/n's POV:

I walk into the shop with Fred as we walk out into the streets of Diagon Alley. "Busy street today." He mutters worried and I nod, holding onto his hand tightly. "Don't worry. If we lose each other, meet me at the shop. You know the way." He tells me and I nod silently.

We set off and halfway I lose him in the crowd. I look around scared. My heart beats faster and faster as the seconds pass. "Fred?" I say loudly and get no response. My heart starts to go faster than I've ever felt. "Fred?" I say, tears forming in my eyes.

What if he gets kidnapped again?

What if he's hurt?

What if I get kidnapped?

What if Fred has to go through the same as I did?

What if-

I rush to the shop and go into the bathroom, locking the door as I fall to the ground crying. My heart beating faster than it should. I try to breath but no air is allowed down my throat. Tears fall from my eyes and I cry harder.

I need to go back and look for him.

Stop being a coward.

He could be hurt.

God I can't move.

What if me being a coward causes the last of the Deatheaters kidnap him again?

I can't lose him-

"Y/n? Darling?" I hear and I wipe my tears, quickly standing up shakily. I unlock the door and smile at a distressed Fred. "Hey I just had to fix my makeup." I say and his frown deepens. "C'mere." He says holding his arms open. I stop before hugging him and take a step back. "How do I know?" I ask and he sighs. "I got some Veritaserum in the back if you'd like that." He tells me and I run into his arms, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry." I cry softly into his chest and he kisses my head. "I'm here for you every step of the way. For better and worse." He whispers into my head softly.

"Now it's time to deal with my idiot brother's mistakes."

***

Fred comes into the apartment and smiles happily. "Lovey!!!" He says and I smile brightly at him. I hold up my now empty plate and he wraps his arms, one hand holding his briefcase, around me. "I made you some too!" I tell him and he looks at the coffee table. "I can't believe I was lucky enough to marry you..." He whispers in my ear and I smile. "I can agree." I tell him, kissing his nose. It's been two years since he got back and I finally got better. I started talking again, laughing, hugging, all because I had my loving husband next to me the whole time. I still have some issues with him leaving but not as bad as before.

"How was work?" I ask as he sits down, starting to eat. "Good. Missed you though." He tells me and I smile, laying on his lap as he devours his food. I unbutton his shirt and pull up the t-shirt underneath, I put my head under the cloth and kiss his scars lightly as he rubs my hair lightly. "I love you my crazy lady." He tells me and I pull my head away, smiling at him goofily. "I love you my red haired boy."

[adorethedistance]

9 P.M. - Alive!Luke Patterson x Reader Modern Day!AU

JATP masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of suicide, painful breakup, and angst.

Words: 1991

Summary: Luke breaking up with you made your world stop turning, and when it finally starts moving again after four long months, Luke is back in typical agitator fashion.

A/N: Not requested, and I wrote this in about two hours so bear that in mind. I’ve been toying with an angst idea for a little bit now, and because all of my requests rn are fluff, I decided why not give Luke a little love since it’s been a minute since my last Luke fic. This isn’t proofread so proceed with caution.

“What are you doing here, Luke?” Dana’s voice cuts clear over the mindless chatter in the busy diner. She tucks a stack of menus under her arm to brush a loose strand of sandy blonde hair out of her face.

“I’m here to talk to Y/n. She isn’t returning my calls and she only has her phone on silent when she’s working.”

A solid four months ago, Luke Patterson had broken Y/n Y/l/n’s heart into a couple billion pieces in this very diner. After Luke requested to meet up as soon as possible, Y/n told him she’d be clocking out for the night around 9 PM, and true to his previous request Luke had arrived at 9 on the dot. He considered taking her to his car for more privacy but in fear of forgetting his long, crafted speech, he opted for a secluded booth in the very back corner of her diner.

He still remembers the evening, clear as day. They sat down across from one another on the red vinyl seats with nervous tension exponentially rising between them. He remembers the way she ruffled her loose hair after having it pulled back for an 8-hour shift. He remembers the way she rested her right ankle on her left knee to massage away the calf pain from 8 hours of waiting tables. And he remembers the way her warm smile disappeared after he uttered the words “I think we should break up.”

Y/n was so shocked she couldn’t respond. Everything seemed to be going well between them. They had said their first ‘I love you’s and she had even opened up to the possibility of giving him her virginity. And here he was, a mere week later, claiming that he had fallen out of love with her over the span of a month.

Tears clouded her vision. She was quick to wipe them away before they fell, something Luke noticed that she only did when she was crying out of anger. With her normal sadness or even stress she just lets her emotions run their course. But the anger swelling inside of her at that moment, she so desperately wanted to hide. As a result, she brushed them away. She bit her tongue. She saved face, not wanting to let Luke know just how much he had hurt her.

Luke expected a full-on interrogation. He knew Y/n’s mind was one of insatiable curiosity and she had to have at least a million questions. However, if she did, she didn’t show it. The only question she asked, “Is this really what you want?” Her voice was steady, but Luke knew how badly she wanted to tear him apart, to ravage him right then and there. But after losing such a huge part of herself, Luke, she held onto her dignity so tight it nearly crumbled into dust and blew out of her clenched fingers. Without asking for any more information, she slipped out of the booth and hurried to her car as fast as her walk could take her.

At the time, Luke felt guilty for making her cry. Now he feels guilty for ever having let her believe she wasn’t good enough for him. The only problem is she wouldn’t give him the chance. And her best friend, Dana, didn’t seem like she would give him one either.

“Well, she’s not here. Have you ever considered she’s not returning your calls when she’s off of work, too?”

“Dana, I need to talk to her-”

“What could you possibly have left to say, Luke? Whatever you said to her that night broke her, it absolutely destroyed her. She hasn’t been the same since.” Luke had no trouble believing that was true, which is why it hurt so bad to hear, granted it didn’t hurt as bad as how Y/n felt that night.

“What? No- I-I really need to talk to her.”

“You really don’t.”

“I have to get her back, Dana!” A tornado of shock and anger consumes Dana to the point where all she can do is let out a bitter laugh. The look in Luke’s eyes indicates how hurt he is by her laughter, and Dana’s desire for vengeance has never been so strong. So, she continues to tell the truth. The ferocious, unabridged, hurtful truth,

“You don’t deserve a second chance. You don’t even deserve an attempt at a second chance. Knowing her, Y/n would never tell you this, but I will: you fucked up so bad, you made her almost make the biggest mistake of her life.”

“What?” Luke almost hesitates to ask, knowing he won’t like the answer.

“That night, she came to my place and cried so hard for three hours before she could even get a coherent word out. She stayed with me for three days and, had my shift not ended early that Tuesday, she wouldn’t be alive today.” The dumbstruck look on Luke’s face is only more motivation for Dana to twist the knife, “She almost didn’t survive losing you, Luke. And god forbid she gives you a second chance because she won’t survive losing you again.”

The diner is just crowded enough that no one is paying the two of them any mind as they faceoff by the hostess stand. Dana spent four long months consoling her best friend back to life, and she was not about to let Luke destroy all the hard work Y/n had put into healing.

“I can make this right.”

“How could you possibly make this right?”

“I know more now than I did before. I’ve changed!”

“So has she.” Dana’s biting words render Luke speechless. Once she realizes her work here is done, she continues setting up tables as they’re disinfected.

__________________________

Luke’s conversation with Dana in the diner left him shellshocked, but it also lit a fire under his ass that he needed to move forward. Rather than discouraging him, Dana’s words gave him a greater incentive to win her back: proof that he was willing to do what he said he would. At least, that’s what Luke told himself. Rather than stepping into the future with greater clarity, Luke went into the world with confidence so large and blinding, his actions may sabotage his true intentions.

That’s how he found himself so determined to win Y/n back. And that’s how he found himself face to face with the front door of her home. It’s 9 PM, just early enough to where she’d be home for the day, just early enough to where she wouldn’t be asleep, and hauntingly just the exact time he had broken her heart all those months ago. Before giving his conviction a chance to back out, he was raising a steady hand to ring the doorbell of her residence.

Y/n opened the door without much thought, expecting a food delivery; she was drastically off-put by Luke’s presence at her doorstep this late.

“Oh.” Was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“Hi. Can we talk?”

There it was. The phrase that was a paradoxical toss-up regarding her emotional state. Half of her has been waiting for this day for so long, dreaming of the boyfriend she once knew to come genuinely heartbroken and remorseful to win her back. The other half was terrified of this impending day as she realized she wasn’t nearly as emotionally strong enough to handle the situation as she thought. 

‘Oh’ was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please just give me five minutes and if you never want to hear from me for the rest of your life, I’ll never bother you again,” he rushes out, knowing his time is finite. For what short period of time he thought it over, Luke always imagined pouring his heart out on her front doorstep. That’s why her silent sidestep and opening of the door caught him so off guard. He hadn’t anticipated her to actually give him a decent chance. Why would she? He broke up with her in the very diner she works in full time and crushed her heart so completely, the only things left behind had to be contempt and resentment.

Luke crossed the threshold of her small, cramped LA home with his heart on his sleeve. Reluctantly closing the door behind him, Y/n walks to her living room and sits on the couch amidst a mess of popcorn, her favorite chocolates, used tissues, and a bottle of Advil. The night Luke broke up with Y/n was four months ago and she’s still spending her Friday nights alone crying on her couch with a rom-com on the tv. A sharp pang of guilt cuts through Luke’s chest like a machete and his previous confidence completely dissipates into sadness. Though, he can’t tell if it’s actually remorse or just general pity.

“What did you want to talk about?” Y/n asks as if she doesn’t know what conversation they’re about to have. Luke takes a deep breath to prepare himself as best as he can before explaining what’s been on his mind.

“I am so sorry, Y/n.” His hopes for any sort of reaction are crushed once her blank stare doesn’t waver. In spite of everything that’s happened thus far, this is the moment Luke realizes this would be a lot more difficult than he anticipated. “That night, you asked if taking a break from… us was what I really wanted.”

“I remember.”

“I said yes and you left right after that. I know you’ve blocked my socials, but you haven’t blocked my calls, you just don’t answer. I’m sure you’ve got to be interested in why, you’re a very curious person.”

Luke wasn’t wrong there, Y/n had been wondering why. She had been wondering why since the words left his mouth that night, but she repressed that curiosity. She repressed it because she knew that whatever the answer was, it didn’t make any difference. Luke wasn’t hers to have anymore and that was what really mattered.

“I did it because I thought I was falling out of love with you.”

“You thought?”

“I wasn’t actually falling out of love with you.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you break it off?”

“I thought I was falling out of love with you but really my attraction was just changing. Instead of just spontaneous and passionate and exciting, I began to see our relationship as comforting and secure as well as those other things. I thought my comfortability was falling out of love, but really, I was falling in love. I was no longer just super infatuated with you, I was in love with you. Genuine love.”

“Luke…” Y/n trails off. She has no real idea of what it is she’s thinking so she opts to let Luke continue until she can figure it out.

“I love you, Y/n. And I broke things off because, before you, I didn’t understand love. Hell, with you I didn’t understand it was love, but now I do! I love you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“So, what does this all mean?” Luke draws in a nervous breath, identical to the one he used to soothe his nerves as he stepped into the all-too-familiar house.

“I know I don’t deserve it because of what I put you through… but all I’m asking is for a chance to prove that I really do love you.” The looking shimmering across Y/n’s eyes tells Luke how her thoughts are running wild. She’s experiencing a new train of thought at a mile a minute and it terrifies both of them.

“You hurt me, Luke. And I want to hate you so much for everything that you put me through, but I don’t, and I hate myself for that. But, I’m sorry. I can’t give you a second chance.”

***

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[milliethekitty27-writing]

The Ladder

In a hole in the ground, there lived a lonely hobbit. It all started when Bilbo grew tired of his empty kitchen.

He hadn’t been fond of eating alone since the dwarves destroyed his pantry, but he hadn’t after Frodo joined him in Bag End. He’d eaten with the elves in Rivendell, which had been full of lovely music and pleasant conversation, and then he’d eaten with the elves, Frodo, and Gandalf when they’d traveled to the Undying Lands.

Now he was here, in Yavanna’s Garden, living in what was basically Bag End. (the actual Bag End was right next door for his parents) He had his beautiful garden back, which only mattered really because he’d been brought back to his youthful self with working hands. The house was always clean (and he’d never really liked cleaning, so that didn’t matter much to him) so he had all the time in the world to work on his maps and his stories. He got the occasional social call from neighbors or family. He ate dinner with his parents on Thursdays and went over to their home on Sundays for family nights with many cousins and aunts and uncles, but he spent the rest of his time alone. He got the same whispers he had in the Shire, but he was satisfied with his cooking and working in the garden. Except… on the days there were no social calls, no family dinners, Bilbo Baggins sat in a very quiet house and talked to nothing.

“You know-” Bilbo said to no one in particular as he weeded a particularly stubborn patch of grass out from underneath his rose bush. There was a basket of tomatoes ready to be made into a sauce, or maybe used the fish tonight, but he’d seen the weeds and wanted to deal with it before it spread. “-I would have expected the garden to take care of itself when I died. Not to be doing the same tasks as before. But here we are, fighting with weeds, aren’t we Tho-” Bilbo stopped, shook his head, and pushed that thought aside. 

He made dinner for fourteen but only ate for one. The rest got put away for the multitudes of meals of the next day, but almost five years after he’d died he found himself looking at the empty table with a frown.

The next morning he perused his bookshelf until he found a collection of stories. From there, he found tales of the dwarves. He sat in his armchair until a collection of cousins knocked on the door and pulled him away, but he found what he was looking for when he was waiting for a peach pie to bake.

Dwarves belief that they return to the halls of Mahal upon their deaths. From there, they await the Final Battle. Upon the arrival of that day, they will be sent back to rebuild Arda, but until then the dwarves rest in their creator’s halls. 

Bilbo hemmed over that. He wandered down to where most of the Tooks lived, asking if they had any maps or had heard of the Halls before. It was a bit of a long shot, and he wasn’t surprised when they all said no. He returned to his smial and examined his garden. 

“Well-” he said to the same problematic patch of clover that refused to leave. “-I know that dwarves do like their underground tunnels and their mines. And if the Green Lady is married to the Smith, then it stands to reason that they might go underground nearby. I don’t think there’s any harm in looking, I’ll just get a bit dirty and ruin my garden, and I do that on the regular. Or I’ll fall into a great underground river and run back into Gollum.” Bilbo sighed, then went to see if he could borrow Hamfast’s good shovel.

There was a patch of yard in the back Bilbo had been planning on planting carrots in, but he had a better idea now. He wiggled his toes in the cool earth, nodded, and stretched out his shoulders. Then Bilbo Baggins put his shovel into the soil and started to dig.

It took quite a bit of time, but he didn’t get as tired as he had in his old age and he didn’t have to take as many breaks. Death might mean you didn’t have to eat, or sleep, but it was routine, and he had dinner with his parents that were tradition. One day, maybe, he’d be able to bring more than just himself and whatever his mother wanted him to bring for dessert, but he pushed the idea of muddy boots and braids out of his mind in favor of helping his mother finish up the roast. 

“What are you doing, Bilbo?” his father asked during one dinner. “Gorbadoc says he hasn’t seen you at the Green Dragon in some time.” 

“I’m digging a tunnel.” Bilbo said matter of factly. “I’m going to try to find the halls of Mahal.” His parents looked at each other for a minute. 

“What for?”

“I… suppose it’s just because I can.”

“Have you considered asking the faunts?” Belladonna suggested as she took a second helping of mashed potatoes. “I’m sure they’d be more than thrilled to be asked to ruin a garden.” Bilbo considered that.

“I think this something I want to do myself.”

Bilbo digged and digged. The hole was big enough for him to stand in rather comfortably, though he had to dig some stair-like notches into the side so he could get in and out. It took almost a week of non-stop digging to reach literal rock bottom, and then he was left with a conundrum. He’d dented Hamfast’s good shovel, so he returned it with an apology and a promise to pay him back, but would Hamfast please lend him a good pickaxe?

Bilbo woke up that next morning with arms that were incredibly sore and demanded he take a day, if not more, off. He agreed. The dwarves had waited this long, they could wait a bit longer. Bilbo went to market, got a drink, avoided questions about what he was up to, dodged a few nosy grandparents, and returned home with arms full of goods. The next day he baked an apology pie for the Gamgees and sent his mother and father cookies, lounging for the rest of the afternoon with a good book. On the third day his arms didn’t yell at him for raising them above his head, so Bilbo hoisted his pickaxe. 

“How’s your hole going?” Belladonna asked as she took out a tart to cool. It was nearly time for the harvest festivals. Hobbits loved to work in their fields and grow their goods, and that meant the harvest festivals of the Shire still went on. That meant competitions (his mother was entering a lovely pumpkin she’d been growing all year, while his father was entering in a poetry competition) and baking, canning for the winter, and family time. 

“Rather well, I like to think!” Bilbo gave the bread he was kneading one last good push. “I think I’ve nearly reached it, the rocks started to change to the next type of rock underground that I read about in the book that Adamantius lent me last week. It’s supposed to mean you’ve gotten to the next layer or… something. The book was rather complicated. I suppose I’ll just have to see what happens.”

“Maybe you’ll have it fixed in time for the summer planting competitions.” His father brushed his hands off on an apron as he came in from the garden with a basket of potatoes, placing them on the counter and taking a moment to kiss Belladonna’s cheek. For a moment Bilbo wondered if soon he’d be seeing his dwarves, be able to kiss one particular cheek, but he pushed those thoughts aside. It was possible he was nowhere near being able to see his dwarves, but that was a thought he’d deal with when he came to it. He was nothing if not practical, as a Baggins (no, Baggins weren’t actually practical, he knew that now, but don’t bother telling the Baggins side that) and he didn’t want to consider that what if.

“Maybe.” he ceded. “But I’m hoping that I’ll be able to make it a permanent feature.”

Bilbo returned to his hole the day after the festivals had finally finished. His larder was filled to bursting, along with all his storage rooms, and he was just planning on doing a little bit of work before settling in with a nice book. 

That plan fell a bit short, though. He drove his pickaxe in rather deeply and the earth suddenly crumbled all around him. Bilbo let out a yell as he fell through a suddenly rather large hole, landing with a rather sharp thwack on something… surprisingly soft. 

When he looked around, he found that he was surrounded by an incredible amount of short, bearded people wearing multiple colors and gems. 

Dwarves. 

He looked up and found an incredible amount of sunlight falling on him, along with a decent amount of dirt. 

It seemed he’d found the Halls of Mahal. Now the question was how to get back to Yavanna’s Gardens. 

...he’d cross that road when he got to it. For now, he had dwarves to find, and, uh, oh dear. The dwarf he was sitting on didn’t look very happy. He jumped off of the poor dwarf’s back.

“I’m so terribly sorry-” Bilbo offered the dwarf a hand. They were covered in braids, with long black hair, and Bilbo tried to dust them off once they were up. “-I had no idea I’d almost broken through like that, I would’ve given some warning.”

“You’re what’s been making all that noise?” a dwarf behind him said. Bilbo turned on his heel. This dwarf was dressed like a miner. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“The noise-” the dwarf gestured at the ceiling. “-for the past month, we’ve been getting this awful banging- that’s coming from you? But you’re a halfling!” There was a great deal of yelling at that as the crowd of dwarves surrounding Bilbo all realized what he was. Bilbo felt his cheeks heated up with rage. 

“What do you mean a halfling fell through the ceiling?!” someone bellowed after several minutes where Bilbo couldn’t get his voice loud enough. There was a great deal of pushing through the crowd and Bilbo offered another apology to the poor dwarf he’d probably concussed in his fall. 

“I’ll have you know I’m not half of anything!” He said loudly into the suddenly silent hall, but there was a further commotion.

“That’s not just a halfling that our halfling!” Bofur, that was Bofur, he knew that voice. A bald dwarf covered in tattoos practically rammed his way through the crowd and there were all his dwarves, looking alive and well and whole, no blood or funeral garb, no sorrowful letters or tearful tales from Frodo about bodies and ancient stone walls. He was hugging them, pinching cheeks and smiling as wide as he had in some time. He did a quick head count - twelve. Where was thirteen, where was-

Oh.

There he was. 

Thorin was standing at the other end of the mass of dwarves in the hall, firelight glinting off the silver in his hair and around his neck. There was no sign of gold or bronze, just silver. He practically blended into the cave wall in his nearly black clothes but Bilbo met those beautiful blue eyes and something just clicked. He was covered in dirt, and in his gardening clothes. He looked a mess, he was sure of it, but Thorin was looking at him in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. 

“Master Burglar.” Thorin’s voice rumbled across the nearly silent crowd. 

A moment later he and Bilbo met in the center of the path, both having run as fast as their feet could carry them. Bilbo’s fingers curled into the thick, wiry hair and he inhaled the smell that was undeniably Thorin. 

“I thought I told you to call me Bilbo.” he said in a thick voice after a moment. “Or should I be calling you your majesty?”

“No.” Thorin said instantly. He shook his head and Bilbo felt the gentle thuds as beads connected with his skull. “No. Never you.” 

They looked at each other for a moment. Thorin didn’t have the wrinkles around his face anymore, the silver in his hair was less than it had been, but there was still that shadowed look in his eyes. Bilbo took a quick breath, then leaned up and kissed his cheek like his father kissed his mother’s, like he’d been thinking about for ages and ages. 

“Hello.” he whispered. “Hello, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Hello, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.” Thorin’s face was flushed now, but he reached up and brushed his thumb along Bilbo’s jaw. 

“That counts as a kiss!” someone bellowed. There was a loud thud and the dwarf, definitely Nori, yelped. “That hurt!” 

“Bilbo can we get a boat through your hole?” Fili called. A moment later there was a thud and both Fili and Kili were there, smushing Bilbo into the center of a Durin family hug. 

“A bo- what do you need a boat for?”

“I want to find Tauriel.” Kili sounded elated. “If you could get through, then she-”

“Boys, I have to get back up myself, I can’t just pull up a boat-”

“What about cheese?” Bofur piped up. Bilbo realized that the entire company had encircled him. He was surrounded in a mass of dwarves. Stinky, hugging-too-tight, wonderful dwarves that he’d missed. “Bombur’s been talking about that recipe you sent him-”

“He sent me dozens of recipes, you’ll have to be more specific-” Bombur started. 

“I told you he could break in, I don’t know why you’re still not giving me money!” that was Nori again, directed at Balin.

“These are the Halls-” Balin began.

“Bullshit, this is Bilbo, he stole from a dragon! This is all in a day’s work for him!” 

“Have you seen my Gimli up there?” That was Gloin. “You know, my beautiful laddy, with the curly red hair and the most beautiful eyes, I haven’t been able to find him and we haven’t heard anything about him in a long time for a while, I’m starting to get worried-”

“He just got here, Gloin, don’t start yelling about your kid again-” that was a voice he didn’t totally recognize but he saw Bifur without an axe and grinning widely as he spoke. 

Bilbo looked back up at Thorin, who was smiling at him in a way that made him come into focus and drown everything else out. 

“I’m glad to see you, Bilbo.” 

“I’m glad to see you too.” Bilbo smiled back at him. His dwarf reached up as if to touch his face again, but faltered.

“We’ve… we’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

“We do.” Bilbo agreed. “Bu-”

“Bilbo?” Someone shouted down the hole. He recognized his mother after a moment. He struggled out of the throng of dwarves much like a whale breaching for air. There was a shadow over the patch of sunlight from above, bits of dirt trickling in. 

“I’m fine!” he yelled back. “Be careful, it’s a pretty hard landing at the bottom, I don’t want you to slip!”

“Wait that’s the burglar?” someone in the crowd said. There was a loud shushing noise, a thwap, and an ow. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No, Mum, I’m alright!”

“Wait is that your mother?!” Kili and Fili said together. 

“Did you find your dwarves?”

“I’m going to regret this-” Bilbo sighed, then he pitched his voice back up high. “I fell but I’m alright, I just didn’t realize how far down I was!” He paused for a moment, then shouted back. “Do we still have the apple picking ladders?”

“I’m sure we can dig one up-” there was his father. Poor Bungo was probably tearing his hair out. “-are you hurt?”

“No, he’s not, he said he’s alright-” his mother’s voice was muffled. “-we’ll go check, darling, stay out of trouble!” 

“Can you throw down some cheese?” Bofur shouted. 

“Bofur!”

“Oh some apples would be lovely.” Dori sighed. 

“And some apples!” Bofur yelled a bit louder. 

“Just send down his whole larder!” Kili yelled. “And a boat! I need the hole to be big enough for a boat!”

In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. This hole was comfortable, and warm, and cozy. It was also full of Bilbo Baggins’ things. This hobbit had lived a remarkable life and thus his home was quite remarkable in many ways, but the most intriguing bit about this hole was the larger hole in the backyard. It was surrounded by stones, with a lovely set of carved steps going up to the house. It led to a sturdy but worn wooden ladder that had been used for apple picking but now served to connect the Halls of Mahal to Gardens of Yavanna. This ladder fell in the center of a massive stone hall, which was filled with flowers that hobbits would come down to tend to. The two races regularly wandered through Bilbo Baggins’ garden to meet - dwarves would come up for market day bearing gifts and coins, eyeing steaming bread and crisp red apples, while some of the more adventurous hobbits would slide down the ladder to inquire about repairs for their tools. 

For Bilbo, though, this hole meant so much more. It meant thirteen dwarves crashing into his house ridiculously early in the morning to nag him into making them breakfast. It meant having his family, blood and not, over for dinner. It meant listening to his mother talk with Dori and Balin about tea, to his father engage Fili and Ori into long tales of age-old tales. It eventually meant Kili tugging a tall, red-haired elf into Bag End no. 2, covered in water while a tired Fili collapsing into a chair complaining that Kili and Tauriel hadn’t stopped making doe-eyes at each other. 

It meant that, after a long conversation with tears and laughter and shy touches, Bilbo made dinner with a dwarf that made him laugh as he stole pie filling and got flour on his nose and in his beard. It meant that Bilbo would come back to market to find someone frowning on his porch with little metal bits twisted in his lap as he worked on making ornaments for Bilbo’s garden. It meant that Bilbo Baggins woke up next to Thorin Oakenshield, one hand tangled in that beautiful dark hair. It meant that they sat on the bench under the oak tree and blew smoke rings into the setting sun, holding hands.

When Frodo Baggins finally entered Yavanna’s Gardens, he found his uncle beaming like he hadn’t in years, with a braid in his curls and a ring on his finger. There were thirteen dwarves in the living room, and Frodo was just in time for tea.

---

Thanks for reading!

This is based off of a post made by @wheeloffortune-design about Bilbo digging his way into Halls of Mahal, which has literally been living in my brain since I read it. (and @gallusrostromegalus put down some delightfully funny comments that also made my day) So… here we are. You can find the post here, assuming the link works!

The AO3 link is here!

man i love bagginshield. 

[hotshotsxyz]

fundamental pieces

buddie (1.6k) (read it on AO3)

Eddie’s knees hit the ground with a dull thud that he doesn’t feel.

He doesn’t feel anything, actually. He can’t. Because if he feels something, he’s going to feel everything, and if he feels everything, he’s going to come apart at the seams.

He can’t look away from the smoldering pile of rubble in front of him. Dimly, he’s aware that there are other people around, people who could be hurt, people who might need his help. He’s frozen, though. Stuck on his knees, might as well be fossilized in amber.

Buck.

Buck is—

Fuck, Eddie can’t even bring himself to think it. The house was standing and now it’s not. The ground was stable and then it wasn’t. Buck was—

And now he’s not.

The flashing lights from the fire engine cast strange moving shadows across the debris. Eddie tracks each one of them, unable to stop himself. It can’t have been more than a minute — the dust from the collapse still lingers heavily in the air, and no one’s started shouting orders yet — but time is stretching and folding in on itself and Eddie’s pretty sure he’s going to be stuck in this moment for the rest of his life.

And then, his radio crackles to life.

“Buckley to 118, I could use a little help down here.”

Eddie can’t help the wounded noise that falls from his lips. His entire body sags, a marionette with strings cut.

He allows himself a count of three, then stumbles to his feet. Buck needs him. He shoves the past few minutes in a box he knows he’ll never want to open again. Buck needs him.

The next half hour is a blur filled with structural engineers and thermal cameras and half hearted jokes over the radio. Buck’s okay, just trapped in a pocket beneath one of the house’s sturdier beams.

It’s maddening, knowing that Buck is less than a hundred yards away and not being able to get to him. Eddie feels trapped in his own skin. He wants to say to hell with it and just start digging, but the engineers say that any wrong move could collapse the bubble that Buck’s in. So he clenches his jaw and waits.

His radio crackles again. “Hey Eddie?”

Eddie fumbles to press the button down so he can respond. “Buck? What’s wrong?” Eddie can hear the tension in his own voice, barely covering the panic that lies beneath.

“I’m fine,” Buck answers immediately. “I just… never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Tell me what it is,” Eddie says, as soft as he can manage right now.

There’s a long pause. “Can you talk to me?” Even over the radio, Buck’s voice sounds small.

Eddie lets out a breath. “Yeah, Buck, I can do that. What do you want to talk about?”

“What, uh, what’s Christopher doing at school this week?”

Eddie knows damn well Buck already knows the answer to that question, but he indulges it anyway, telling Buck about the history fair coming up and the diorama Chris wants to build.

“I’m pretty sure he’s going to conscript you for that one,” Eddie chuckles. It’s a little forced, but it’s the best he can do under the circumstances.

“Well someone’s got to help him with the papier-mâché, and we both know it’s not going to be you,” Buck says.

“Hey!” Eddie says, mock-affronted. “I helped on the last one! With the solar system?”

“Eds, you popped the balloon before the sun was dry. It looked like a weird yellow raisin.” The amusement in Buck’s voice is good to hear.

He’s about to defend himself when Bobby claps him on the shoulder. “We’re moving in,” he says. “Let Buck know.”

Eddie swallows. “Buck? Still there?” It’s a stupid question. Nothing’s changed in the last 30 seconds, but waiting for Buck’s response still feels like standing on a precipice.

“Nowhere else to go,” Buck confirms.

“We’re on our way to you,” Eddie says roughly.

“Roger,” Buck replies. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just hang tight and keep your helmet on straight,” Bobby says.

“You got it, Cap.”

—

Digging through the rubble is delicate, and frankly terrifying, work. They’ve got airbags holding up the points that the engineers identified as load bearing, but every time something in the structure shifts, Eddie’s breath catches. Eventually, though, they’ve got a path cleared right up to where Buck should be.

“Nash to Buckley,” Bobby says into his radio.

“I read you, Cap.”

“We’re right on top of you. Keep your face covered and don’t try to help.”

Eddie swears he can hear the cheeky smile Buck must be wearing when he says, “No help from me, got it.”

It’s another agonizing ten minutes, then finally, finally, Eddie’s got one of Buck’s hands clasped in his, and he’s pulling him from the house’s crumbled remains.

“Shit,” Buck says, surveying the damage. “You must’ve thought—“

Eddie unintentionally tightens his grip on Buck’s hand. It’s the opposite of what he should be doing, but he can’t let go. Buck squeezes back.

“I’m fine, Eds,” he says softly.

And Eddie knows, he does, but he’s not going to believe it until he’s checked every inch of him over himself.

—

“Thank you,” Buck says, out of the blue.

It’s a few hours later, and they’re back at the station. As intense as the call had been, Buck had gotten out of it without a scrape, so they’re all still on duty.

“For what?” Eddie asks.

Everyone else is asleep, so it’s just the two of them sprawled out on the loft’s couch. There’s some nature documentary playing on the TV, but Eddie’s fairly certain neither of them is watching it.

“For distracting me. Earlier, I mean. I, uh. It helped.”

Eddie gives up his pretense of paying attention to the hyenas on the screen and turns to look at Buck.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispers. It gives away far too much, but he’s so far past the point of worrying about that.

Buck swallows heavily, like he’s heard everything that Eddie didn’t mean to reveal with those five words. He shifts until he’s pressed against Eddie, ankle to shoulder.

“I was scared,” Buck admits, toying with the sleeve of the LAFD hoodie he’s wearing. Eddie wants to take his hand all over again.

“I thought—“ Eddie can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “I was scared, too,” he says instead.

Buck looks at him. He bites his lower lip and frowns. “I just kept thinking that I didn’t want to tell you over the radio,” he sighs finally.

“Tell me what?” Eddie asks.

Buck looks away again. He’s starting to hunch in on himself the way he does when he’s feeling vulnerable. Eddie gives into his earlier urge and takes Buck’s hand in his own.

“Whatever it is,” Eddie says softly, “you can tell me. I promise.”

Buck’s eyes shoot back up to Eddie’s, searching. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find.

“I love you,” he says simply.

He can’t mean it the way Eddie wants him to. The way Eddie’s wanted him to for months, years probably. He squeezes Buck’s hand tighter for want of words.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck clarifies. “I just… couldn’t not tell you.” His expression is almost resigned.

Eddie’s frozen all over again, but this time he let’s himself feel it all. Because Buck’s okay. Buck’s sitting right in front of him. Buck loves him.

“Evan,” Eddie breathes, unable to keep the name from slipping between his lips.

The resignation on Buck’s face shifts to hope, and he holds Eddie’s gaze. Lit by the blue glow of the television, he’s never looked more beautiful.

Eddie can’t wait another second. He ducks forward and brushes a feather light kiss across Buck’s lips. His intention is to lean back, to assess Buck’s reaction, but then Buck makes a strangled noise and surges forward, capturing Eddie’s mouth with his own.

The hand that isn’t otherwise occupied lifts of its own accord to cup Buck’s jaw. Buck’s free hand fists in the material of Eddie’s uniform. It’s like no kiss Eddie’s experienced before, fire and passion underlined by aching tenderness, and over all too soon.

Eddie leans his forehead against Buck’s breathing harshly.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Buck pants.

“I think I might,” Eddie says.

Buck pulls back, just far enough to look Eddie in the eye. “You…”

Eddie wants to laugh. Even after that, of course Buck’s still not sure. Eddie’s not one for speeches, but Buck… Buck deserves to know exactly what he means to him. “Earlier, when I thought… it was like the whole world stopped. And I didn’t want it to start again, because I was terrified it’d be starting without you. I can’t do any of this without you. I don’t want to. I’ve been in love with you for so long it’s a fundamental part of who I am.”

It’s Buck’s turn to freeze.

“I love you,” Eddie says. He squeezes Buck’s hand.

The soft pressure must break him out of his stupor, because he lunges at Eddie again, this time throwing his arms around Eddie’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder. Eddie wraps his arms around Buck’s waist and buries his nose in Buck’s hair.

“I love you,” he whispers again, just because he can.

—

Bobby finds them the next morning, tangled together on the couch and snoring softly. He smiles, and resolves to make breakfast quietly.

[chaoticrumii]

FIRESIDE

summary : while on the way to albedo’s, you and diluc end up in the midst of a nasty blizzard.

genre : fluff

perspective : second person pov

pairing : diluc x gn!reader ( they / them pronouns )

word count : 2.3k

warnings : mentions of hypothermia / mentions of death / fight scenes / mild sexual references

“i still have a lot to do at the guild, how about you take a rest while I go back ?” - diluc ragnivindr ( in-game voicelines )

Visiting Albedo was practically a hobby of yours at this point. As a long-time friend of the genius alchemist, you had decided his icy home in Dragonspine had to be lonely when only a mere few would muster up the guts to enter.

It wasn’t a problem with Albedo specifically, just the location he had chosen to make his experimental grounds. The low temperatures in Dragonspine already warded away most adventurers, but surprisingly Albedo had chosen that desolate place to become his man-cave, if you could even call the bones of an old beast and danger-filled mountains that.

He had found a certain exquisite beauty in the freezing cold climate, sketching icy flowers whilst the chilling breeze was numbing his face. Knowing Albedo, he had probably already gotten used to it and had made a potion to warm himself up to boot.

Knowing the lonesome man was probably up in the mountains with his beautiful Geo flowers, you had decided it was time to visit, and bring some warm food for him.

The temperatures in Dragonspine were unsettlingly low, so bringing a Pyro-vision wielder along with you was most likely the safest option when traversing those rigid peaks.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem right for you to ask of Bennett’s assistance every time you were to go. He loved a good adventure, and strived to explore the entirety of Dragonspine with you, but only last week he had come home, staggering up to Katheryne at the Adventurer’s Guild all banged up. You would see Fischl eyeing you sometimes when the two of you passed along the streets of Mondstat as well, and it just didn’t sit right with you if you were putting the young adventurer in danger.

To be fair, you had somehow come out of each and every wreckage with Benny unscathed, and with Benny all beat up, but it was most likely his horrible luck. Most likely.

Regardless, it wasn’t like you were about to ask for the help of Klee. She’d probably run to the Yetis first thing. Although, bringing her to visit her big brother wouldn’t be a bad decision. Alas, that would have to be left for another adventure.

Who else to ask of in Mondstat for assistance travelling through the icy blizzards of Dragonspine? Of course, you were able to convince your loving boyfriend to go with you.

When you had told Diluc you wanted him to go with you to meet Albedo instead of Bennett, he didn’t give much of a visual reaction, but you could sense that he was probably quite excited. You had never actually asked him to go on a trip with you even though you had been together for a few months. And how wonderful the months you had together were.

The day of the trip, you had waited for him at the Angel’s Share, swinging your legs at the bar table. Your boyfriend was a successful bar owner after all. And a bewilderingly dazzling one at that.

“Would you like an Apple Cider, Y/N? The traveler stopped by and purchased one earlier, but there’s still another in stock. It’s on the house, of course.” Charles offered, wiping the counter with an orange towel.

“Charles, you really need to stop spoiling me with drinks because I’m dating your boss.” You said, laughing.

“Doesn’t that mean I have even more of an incentive to do it now?”

Just then, Diluc strode into the bar, Wolf’s Gravestone heaved over his shoulder. He headed towards you with an expressionless face, but you could see the corners of his eyes softening when he saw you waiting for him.

“Good afternoon, Charles. I’m here to pick up my lover.” He announced, stoic as ever.

“Have a nice time then, to the both of you! Safe travels.” Charles said, bidding us farewell as we headed on the way to the dragon’s final resting place.

The two of you walked along the overgrown path, chatting about the tiniest of things, and you could see that Diluc was smiling just the smallest bit. He rarely tore down his blank mask, but when he did, it was only during times when you were the sole person that could see him. To you, his smile was sacred, and the one thing you would have over any person in Teyvat and beyond. That besides his heart and undying devotion.

But of course, that part of it was mostly already implied.

Waving at the team of adventurers camped out beside the frost-coated bridge, you carefully stepped between the broken planks with Diluc’s hand in yours.

“Be careful, if you fall into the water you’ll get too cold. You of all people must know how Dragonspine is.” He mumbled, his brows creased.

You chuckled, slowly hiking up the steep mountain path. You were admiring the scenery around you, the snow falling gracefully from the sky as you trekked up the marked path through the centre of the mountainous area. You felt a tug from the hand intertwined in yours.

Diluc pulled you behind a rock as he poked his head from the side, surveying a group of what looked like members of the Fatui that were positioned by a small camp on the side of the path. His mouth curved into a snarl as he watched the overly dressed Fatui holding their weapons menacingly.

“Stay here.” He whispered gently, pulling the hood of your coat over your head.

He hefted his black claymore, the crimson lining evident against the cascading snowflakes. As he dragged the huge weapon along the ground, the Fatui looked towards him, unsheathing their respective weapons. With two guns aimed at his head, Diluc simply brushed a hand through his hair and charged.

Wolf’s Gravestone sparking, fire ignited along the blade as it collided with the side of the Electrohammer Vanguard. They were thrusted backwards as a result of the overload, their hammer dropping to their side as they raised the weapon once more, slamming down onto the ground that Diluc had just stood on. Your boyfriend dodged the bullets from the Pyroslinger Bracer and the attacks from the hammer swiftly, getting a small distance away as he hefted the claymore over his shoulder once more.

The weapon burst into flames, and he thrust it forward as a great Phoenix rushed forward, trampling over the Fatui enemies. The Electrohammer Vanguard crumbled to dust before your eyes, their body disintegrating into blue and yellow.

Diluc walked back towards you, grasping your hand in his as he lifted you up onto your feet from your sitting position behind the rock.

“The Pyroslinger Bracer got away, must’ve been because of Pyro resistance.” He muttered.

“Diluc, we don’t have to go hostile on them. It’s fine if we let them go.” You scolded, hitting him on the arm lightly.

“I just didn’t want them to hurt you.” He mumbled, looking away.

You laughed, placing your cold palms on his cheeks, squeezing. He smiled gently, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.

“You really are adorable when you’re all soft. But seriously, the Fatui aren’t as bad as they’re made out to be. I had a talk with Childe the last time I visited Liyue with the traveler. He’s not all that evil, just flirty and mischievous.” You comforted your boyfriend, nuzzling into him.

“What do you mean by the Harbinger being flirty?” He asked, his lips curving into a frown.

“I mean he’s a flirt. The first time we met, he said ‘Hey cutie, hold still’. It was a little hilarious, but there are relatively good people in the Fatui.” You explained.

The wind picked up, snow glazing over your view. You looked towards the sky, and the grey emptiness only responded with darker clouds and harsher winds. Diluc opened up his black coat, tucking you under what he could as the two of you continued your journey into the mountains.

“A blizzard is approaching. We need to get to shelter, and fast.” Diluc quickly explained, grabbing a hold of your hand and dragging you towards the nearest cave.

As barrels of snow plummeted towards the ground, the cold made you shiver down to the bone. The storm itself was grappling with your clothing as you struggled to walk forward. How much longer would it be? Your body couldn’t handle the cold for too long, hypothermia wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for wanderers in Dragonspine. Diluc only grasped your hand tighter, and you continued to make your way towards the small opening in the rock face.

Once you had ducked your head and entered the small cave, Diluc pulled out some sticks from his coat and proceeded to use his elemental skill to light up the small campfire he had created. You huddled close, rubbing your hands for warmth. It wasn’t a lot, seeing as the opening in the rock was just that. The cave was about as small as a cave could be. There wasn’t really a back area you could lay in and shield yourself from the cold. It seemed as though the storm could blow out the fire instantaneously.

“Are you alright?” Diluc asked, seemingly concerned as his fingers ghosted the skin of your cheek.

“It’s just really cold.” You stammered, trying to keep the cold air from entering your mouth.

Your teeth chattered, and you were sure that Diluc could hear it too. The subtle noise was invading your brain, and you couldn’t do much about it. The small fire just wasn’t enough to keep you toasty. Diluc didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He was leaning against the rock face, keeping his eyes on you.

You curled up into a small ball on the rocky floor of the cave. Wrapping your arms around yourself and keeping the body heat was the best option you could go for, other than setting yourself on fire. But Diluc definitely wouldn’t stand for that. As time passed, the blizzard that had you trapped only got worse. Was there anyone that could save you? It wasn’t safe to leave the cave.

Without realizing it, Diluc had crouched down next to you, placing his large coat over you. His brows were creased, but his face was still stoic as ever. It was Diluc’s way of saying he cared. He gingerly wrapped his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the blizzard raging only mere feet away.

“I’m almost out of energy particles, and there aren’t any enemies out here in this storm. I won’t be able to light another flame.” He confessed, sighing as he looked out towards the bleak spread of white.

He squeezed you tightly, but you could barely feel it from the numbness of the cold. Maybe it was because of Diluc’s pyro vision that he could last so long in the barraging snow. How could you even begin to do that?

Struggling in that state was futile, the air only getting thinner and thinner as the cold got harsher and harsher. You closed your eyes for a moment, and let yourself have a brief respite. Diluc’s guttural shout could be heard, from someplace far away, as red flashed so bright you could see the glow behind your closed eyelids.

And for just a while after, it was dark.

You opened your eyes once more to a rocky ceiling, and an incessant noise, the scribbling of a pencil on paper. You gazed to your left to see the chalk prince in all his glory, sketching mindlessly. You quickly recalled the events of what happened previously, and you carefully sat up.

“You need your rest, Y/N. Your body temperature is below what it should be. Besides, I haven’t yet completed my drawing.” He said, continuing his art piece.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Diluc, who immediately leapt forward and encased you in his arms. You sighed, snuggling into him as you felt the warmth radiating off his body.

“He sent a Phoenix to my laboratory, nearly singed Timaeus’ eyebrows off. If given the chance, I’d like to study it. It’s not exactly a familiar, nor a beast. Although, I’d have to run some tests first to be sure.” Albedo muttered, tilting his drawing towards you, which displayed a great Phoenix, much similar to Diluc’s elemental burst.

“The food! What happened to our food?” You realized, looking around the floor for any sign of your rucksack.

“Timaeus, Sucrose and I were able to find you two in the cave. Unfortunately, the food was not a fortunate as the two of you. It’s been taken in, don’t you worry.” He said, smiling gently.

You let out a sigh, flopping back down onto the bed Albedo had prepared for you, with Diluc in tow. Diluc lightly pressed a kiss to your temple, hugging you even tighter and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You chuckled, leaning into him as you peppered his neck in small kisses. Gentle ones, that left your face burning at the heat of his skin. You could feel his heart beating in the veins below your lips.

“Unfortunately, I don’t really do many biological experiments or observations of the human sort, so you two can have the laboratory to yourselves. Please get rid of the samples as well, I won’t need them for my tests any time soon.” Albedo said, his cheeks slightly red as he watched you and Diluc, leaving the cave with his sketchbook, presumably to meet up with Timaeus and Sucrose.

“Did he just—”

“He’s definitely got the wrong idea.” Diluc huffed, his face flushed, as he pulled away from you.

He picked you up, carrying you bridal style as he lowered you both next to the nearby fire. You leaned your head against his, and he wrapped an arm around you gingerly.

The wholesome moment by the fireside could only be described as incredibly heart-warming, as the fire gently cracked, and Diluc leaned in to press a kiss to your lips.

::

written = 07.08.2021

proofread = 09.08.2021

© chaoticrumii 2021 ; all rights reserved ; please do not copy / reference / utilise my works without credit

[paperpocalypse]

crackers and jam.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 41. Overhearing they have feelings for you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,703 words

Warnings: Swearing

Some time back, not long after he got stranded in the post-apocalyptic world and perhaps a year and a half before running into you, Five’s only companion was Delores.

It had been a meeting of chance (as everything is) in the middle of a destroyed department store. She had been looking at him. And maybe that’s why he was so drawn in – that stare; it was a lifeless stare, yeah, but it was not by any means a dead stare like the ones he had met too many times before. No life had been lost to create that stare. She was smiling, too.

Five had lifted her carefully out of the chunks of concrete, greeting her because there was no one else. For the first few weeks, he just placed her at the corner of her store and visited every once in a while, then took to occasionally toting her around the City when he needed to talk. He liked to pretend that she answered back – sometimes. After a few months, he named her Delores.

Then he met you.

Unlike Delores, you were human. Breathing. Alive, somehow. And you had thoughts and feelings that weren’t always connected to his and – and it was weird. It was home.

You didn’t question his friendship with Delores. Five had seen the half-burned stuffed frog in your wagon, so you wouldn’t have had anything to hold over him anyway. He knew that you knew that he still went to the department store in the middle of the night. And, shit, deep down Five also knew that Delores was, in the end, just a hunk of plastic with eyes. But after a year and a half of having nobody else, she had become something of a comfort. And a confidant. Burdening you with his issues was not an option, so when things became a little shittier than usual, he would slip out from underneath his blanket, make sure you weren’t having a nightmare, and head downtown to voice his thoughts aloud.

Over time, though, he learned that you were willing to listen. You listened, and you were always kind about it even if you didn’t always understand. His nightly visits decreased. And it was okay for a while.

But then Five began to struggle with a new issue – one that was a little different than the usual mess of stress and anxiety – and one night, he finds himself looking down at Delores again because talking to you about it is definitely off the table.

Unfortunately, Delores’s kindness is different from yours.

Well, here we are. Again.

“I’m just here to think,” he snaps, combing a grubby hand through his tangled mess of hair. The lantern beside him glows weakly as he plops down onto a slab of concrete. “Mind your business.”

Your business is everyone’s business here, Five. And to put my own two cents in, I think that you’re scared of your own feelings.

Blood travels to Five’s cheeks, unwarranted, as he narrows his eyes at Delores. “For the last time, that’s not what this is about. It’s – Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get over it. This isn’t a life-or-death issue.”

Then why have you been ranting about it like it is?

“I’m not.”

Ha! Rich.

He grits his teeth. She stares back at him, unperturbed. Bastard.

You know, maybe you’ll feel better if you say it out loud. Air it out. Test to see if it’s real.

“I’m not doing that.”

Do it.

No.

Say it.

No.

For god’s sake, Number Five, take a goddamn look at yourself –

“Fine!” Five hisses, though it feels more like an explosion. He throws his hands up. “I like [Y/n], alright? We’re the last people on this goddamn planet and I like them, and I shouldn’t care this much but I do. Happy?”

Delores pauses. Five looks away.

Very.

Ugh.

Did it feel real?

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms, and doesn’t answer. The smile on Delores’s face seems a little smug, and it makes him want to hurl. He shouldn’t have said it out loud. Relieve some of the pressure and everything starts to boil over …

Breathing in deeply, Five forces his shoulders to relax. He bids a soft goodbye to Delores, then heads back to camp.

—

A week later, Five’s visit comes back to bite him in the worst way possible.

You’ve been having a hard time starting the fire for tonight, so he finishes splitting the evening rations to help you out with the bow drill. As he does so, you watch in silence, both of you waiting patiently for the smoke and dust.

“Do you think we have enough wood?” you eventually ask.  

“It’s enough,” he murmurs, only half paying attention. After a while, a few chalky wisps of smoke begin to rise from the charring wood. He leans in to blow the ember carefully once it forms, then puts it into the tinder and coaxes out a flame. “Get the kindling?”

You oblige, and within a few minutes, a healthy fire starts to dance atop the wood, scorching his face and fingers with heat. Five stares intently at the oranges and yellows for a moment, lips pressed together, intrigued in a tired sort of way. Warmth. Then he backs off and grabs a portion of crumbled up crackers, handing it to you.

You spread the cloth over your knees. “Now all we need is some jam.”

“What kind?”

A soft hum escapes your throat. You contemplate unhurriedly, dabbing up some stray crumbs with a finger. “Blackberry,” you reply after a few moments. “Or strawberry. The kind that’s sort of chunky.”

It’s been a long time since he’s tasted either of those things. The simple thought of whole crackers spread with fresh jam, sweet and dark and sticky, is a luxury in and of itself. Five tries not to think about it too much, munching on his third fragment of stale cracker. It makes his mouth dry. “Hm,” he says, picking up the canteen for a few drops of water.

The fire pops. A few sparks fly out into the air and die just as quickly. You finish your supper and wipe your mouth, stretching your legs out in front of you as you sigh.

Five tilts his head at you. “What?”

“What?” you parrot back, though he sees the way your fingers fidget.

“You have something to say.”

Your facial expression shifts just the smallest bit. “How can you tell?”

(Simple – because he knows you. He knows your ticks; knows how you tick. He knows your smiles and all the subtle ways that your voice rises and falls. He’s memorized you because he fears forgetting, and it’s a problem.)

“Kind of hard not to,” Five replies.

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek, still seeming unsure. “Well, um … I just wanted to talk to you about something. And please don’t be mad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Um. A couple nights ago, I had a bad dream.”

“I know.”

“Not the one you woke me up from. A different one,” you mutter. “The night after we found the pillows.”

“Oh,” Five says.

“Yeah.” You look down at your hands. They’re dusty and rough, littered with small scars from climbing and falling and holding. “I … um, that night, I woke up and you weren’t there. And I sort of panicked, and went looking –”

The blood drains from Five’s face.

“I went looking for you, and I found you. Talking to her.” You glance at him for a split second. “About me.”

Oh, fuck.

Five stares at you as you fiddle with the scrap of cloth on your lap. You know. You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to ever know, and now you do.

“Five?” Your voice is curious and small.

His voice is raspy. “How much did you hear?”

“Almost everything.” You grab the cuff of his coat sleeve as he attempts to stand up. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I really didn’t mean to, but –”

“It’s not your fault. Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies tersely. “We need more firewood, anyway.”

“We have enough,” you say, though you relinquish your hold when he tugs a little harder away from you. You sound hurt. “Five, it’s okay to feel like that.”

“It’s not. It makes things more complicated.”

“How?” Standing up, your brow furrows. “I like you too, Five. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

His chest tightens. “That just makes it worse.”

“I like you,” you repeat. Your hand moves down to take his gently. “A lot. And it’s okay.”

(Did it feel real?)

Five meets your gaze solidly despite not quite wishing to, a familiar sense of guilt washing over him when you squeeze his hand.

Sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t met you. Then he would’ve gotten what he deserved for his recklessness – nothing – with nothing to concern himself with other than equations and survival and time. That, he’s fairly sure, would have been easier to manage. He hadn’t been taught to care for someone else. Not like this, at least.

But you. You. Five swallows the lump in his throat.

“I might have to leave you behind,” he murmurs, more hoarsely than he’d like to admit. The words burn like ice on the roof of his mouth. “One day.”

You don’t reply for a few seconds.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, you step a little closer. “But not tonight," you say. "Right?”

For shit’s sake, you’re so optimistic. Five chuckles dryly, hand still engulfed in yours, blinking away the vague stinging in his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then I forgive you. If you feel like you need it.” With a mild exhale, you smile at him. Your eyes are glossy. “So can we sit back down? I like doing that.”

He quietly agrees.

So you bring him back down to sit before the fire, closer to him than before. No more words are left to be said. A heavy silence settles in their place, neither good nor bad, and almost comfortable. For the first time in a long time, Five tries not to think.

You lean against his shoulder. He welcomes it.