#sometimes her father and I kiss enthusiastically in her presence just to annoy her

[shywhitemoose]

Daughter [eleven years old, exasperated]: Why do I have to wait soooooooooooooooo long for the next Warrior Cats book to come out????????

Me: Well sometimes it takes a while to write a book. You can’t rush it.

Daughter [rolling eyes]: It’s not THAT hard.

Me: Oh? Have you written a novel?

Daughter: Well I wrote two pages and it only took me a day.

Me: That’s awesome! Sometimes it takes me a month to write two pages.

Daughter: You write?

Me: Sort of? But not very fast. I have a thing that’s over two hundred pages that I’ve been working on for over three years.

Daughter [unimpressed]: It has to do with Obi-Wan Kenobi, doesn’t it.

Me [called out, probably blushing]: Of course it does.

Daughter: Can I read it?

Me: Nope.

Daughter: Why not?

Me: I’m embarrassed and I don’t think it would interest you. It’s about Obi-Wan and Anakin and it’s kind of a love story.

Daughter: I mean. As long as they don’t make out or anything.

Me: Oh, they do. They make out.

Daughter: NEVERMIND THEN.

[rukiakwashere]

Chasing Last Summer

An amazing experience while working with talented artist for the @grishaversebigbang 

Corporalki: 

@gimmedafood

Materialki:  

@anubem (link to art), 

@bookish-ginger (link to art),

@wellwatersurprise  (link to art)

Summary: 

As Jesper is trying to settle down, away from cards on the Van Eck estate with Wylan alongside him as a work partner, wondering what to do with his father’s empire, they both start thinking of what they want. The Summer they left behind them went great so maybe it was time to get something serious going on. While busy reordering their priorities, Wylan receives a letter (more like hides it) and it all goes downhill after that...

Jesper boards a ship... The Wraith makes a visit and convinces some cane-dude to tag along... Some Grisha appear... And Wylan may or may not fulfil one of Kaz’s lifelong dreams

tl;dr Post-Crooked Kingdom Wesper making their best to figure out themselves and each other.

Ao3 Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/33678499/chapters/83698627

[Chapter one under cut]:

Jesper looked at the clock on the wall for what seemed like the twentieth time in the meeting. He fidgeted on his seat looking left and right spotting both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Men and women, mostly old, everyone much older than he was.

Wylan was on his left, completely still and focused on the woman speaking loudly,  moving her hands animatedly to make her point. Jesper thought that her hands were too distracting, he really couldn’t make what the point was with so much waving around. Wylan on the other hand seemed to perfectly understand. He nodded a lot when anyone paused, he offered his opinion when asked and he conversed easily with all the businesspeople around him. It suited him, Jesper thought. Wylan Van Eck looked like a businessman in his own right. His young and calm presence made people trust him and his ironed black and white suit made them believe he was one of their own, refined elite. 

Jesper, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of himself. His long legs never remained in the same place for more than mere seconds and his awkward posture as he tried to fit on the chair always brought on curious and sometimes annoyed stares. People weren’t used to seeing someone like him sitting on their expensive and elegant chairs. They simply weren’t made for him.

Still, Wylan never commented on anything. Sometimes he caught Jesper’s stare in a meeting and all he did was nod- like he was on autopilot. Jesper didn’t know what to make of it. Was he just another face in Wylan’s business-related crowd? Sometimes he wasn’t that sure if Wylan was only keeping him around because of the promise they had made months ago. Was he just pitying him? 

Jesper didn’t know if being Wylan’s secretary was the lowest or highest point of his life to date. 

Occasionally, he wondered what life would be like if he had never made that deal, not being Wylan’s eyes. Nina’s offer echoed in his ears. Ravka… Would he dare to leave home and become a Grisha? Probably not. 

He would have been back at the Barrel, sitting at a gambling table spending the money he had till it vanished. At least working with Wylan saved him from going broke again, he concluded. Still, was he happy with where his life was at now? Spending his days waiting for the next meeting, talking about things he had little interest in with people that didn’t interest him?

Wylan though… The ginger’s presence was steady and when they weren’t in a meeting, he was okay to be around. Jesper didn’t mind his presence, he rather enjoyed Wylan’s witty remarks and random facts. 

The past few days though, the ginger seemed less and less enthusiastic about anything. Dark circles seemed to have formed permanently below his eyes and he seemed to be sighing a lot – and it didn’t seem to be because of Jesper’s breathtaking presence.

“Wy?” Jesper mouthed, poking the ginger’s shoulder lightly. Wylan didn’t seem surprised, turning discretely towards him with a tired smile. 

“What happened?” Jesper read the ginger’s lips. 

“You cool?”, he mouthed back.

~~~

Wylan had the audacity to snort, suppressing his laughter at Jesper’s question. He opted for a small hands-up and a smile that nearly reached his eyes. Sincerely, he felt tired and spent.

He didn’t know business. Kaz had taught him the basics, which felt more like the principles of manipulation, bribery and theft – which Wylan had decided pretty quickly, were better than nothing.

His father had given up on him early on, realizing Wylan’s bad relationship with letters would make him a bad businessman and would let people exploit him freely. His father never imagined, though, his son would have found Jesper, the only person Wylan could put his trust on fully - and did so every day. 

Jesper was the one responsible for what came in and what went out, who might prove beneficial and who was to be avoided. He read stacks of papers daily, and even though his legs wouldn’t stop moving and tapping the floor, he read them all and reported every line he found even slightly useful back to Wylan. While all Wylan could do was sit and wait, pretending the numbers he could make out at the sheets in his hands were enough.

He didn’t understand why Jesper was still there. His awkward fidgeting at the meetings they attended together made it clear that he felt out of place. Wylan was sure Jesper was longing for action, his revolvers out, not hidden inside his jacket. Sure, they were sharing their profits but was Jesper missing the Slat? Did he want to go back to risking his life every day? To feel the thrill of chasing and being chased? Was Jesper still around him out of pity, trapped in a promise he had made while in action, when he wasn’t sure if he would make it out alive to see the next sunrise? 

Maybe, it was the same as his awkward confession, a stupid phrase that kept replaying in Wylan’s mind even though he had hit stop months ago. Maybe I like your stupid face. 

Wylan was annoyed with himself about how a six-word sentence that nearly insulted him made him feel so tingly and weird inside. He soon realized though, as the battle came to an end, as his dad backed off, as Kaz won whatever feud he had with Pekka Rollins, that some things that are best left unsaid can rise in the heat and uncertainty of a battle and what happened between him and Jesper had been one of them. 

We were fugitives, bounties on our heads. Of course, some emotions would be misunderstood, Wylan repeated in his head.

What happened with Jesper was one of them. Wylan was passable and the time they had spent together just- was like that. It meant nothing more. Jesper might have kissed him twice, or once – damn Kuwei – but as things calmed down and they went back to their lives, old and new, he didn’t approach him again in that way - apart from the occasional flirting - and Wylan… Wylan felt really stupid to have expected something more.

Wylan poked the side of his cheek, annoyed with himself. This wasn’t time for his thoughts to be drifting. The meeting… He had to speak with Lady Kadrir and make sure their agreement held,even though the head of the Van Eck family had changed and he needed to speak with that white haired man and give his condolences to that Lady and so many things he had never pictured himself doing ever before.

He never expected to be here. When his father still tolerated him, Wylan dreamed of a music school and maybe joining a theater orchestra with his flute. Even when his father decided otherwise, he still hoped for a demo-related work at the Crows or maybe someone reaching out and joining a traveling band… never business. His father had made it clear early on that he was not suited for that and it was the only thing Wylan and his father had agreed upon. He wasn’t sure he would like it… and he had yet to decide.

Business was… weird. Wylan’s perspectives of it had been two; one when he was growing up, seeing his father busy with paperwork he was always signing… and then, there was business the way the Dregs did it. Meetings under the fold of darkness, sometimes gunshots sounding along, a gambling parlor expecting tourists and sailors from far away…

Yet, what he felt he was doing on his own, was different. Sure, Jesper seemed to be writing and reading tons of stuff but Wylan thought of business as constant meetings, a lot of useless information in his head and a relentless bell ringing in his head reminding him to be polite yet entitled. That was the way. 

At first, he liked being good at it, memorizing estates, meeting people that didn’t look at him down their noses, because Wylan Van Eck possessed property the same way they did. He sat and talked and traded in the language they understood.

Still, that feeling had slowly drifted away, as the bell in his head rang louder and louder. He felt lost and disconnected, yet he wouldn’t stop. He was more determined than ever not to give up. Those meetings had come to be the only place where he felt like he proved his worth. The only thing he could be good at and be of use.

“Mister Van Eck.” 

It was his turn to speak.

“As my father retired and passed me on new property, I’ve made the decision to establish a reliable network around the Van Eck brand.” Words scripted and exercised in front of a mirror, delivered to an audience just like in a theater. 

It’s fine. I can work like this. At least that’s what he convinced himself as he went on with his speech.

~~~

[sohin-ace]

Jotaro - Sister

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

Y/N is Jotaro’s sister

I want to make clear that this fic is non romantic. I don’t write incest.

"Papa, since you're here, I have to show you Jotaro and Y/N's old pictures~" Holly cheered excitedly while dragging her father to the living room.

"Oohhh can't wait!" Joseph joined, enthusiastic to see some hidden treasures of his grandchildren.

The commotion of Holly and Joseph going through photo albums caught you and Jotaro's attention as you both walked past the living room.

"Look at this one, Papa! Their first time going to the beach together! Y/N was scared and Jotaro brought her a starfish!" Holly squealed and you furrowed your eyebrows.

"Uh, mom what are you doing...?" You carefully asked.

"Oh! I'm showing your baby pictures to your grandfather!"

You glanced at Jotaro next to you who had a pearl of sweat gliding down his forehead. Oh no...

"Oohh ohhh!!! This one is my favourite! Jotaro and Y/N taking a bath together~" You both flinched.

"Ooohhhh!!!! OH MY GOOODD!!! How cuuuteee~" Joseph cupped his face in his hands and was almost dying at the cuteness before him.

"You know! Y/N would always tell me this, 'When I grow up I want to marry Jotaro onii-chan!' " You blushed madly and gasped at the embarrassing memory.

"MOOOM!!!! WHAT THE HELL?! WHY WOULD YOU EVEN REMEMBER THAT???" Joseph burst into a fit of laughter while your mother had a sheepish look on her face.

"Yare yare daze..." Jotaro walked away with his hat resting low on his head, effectively covering his reddening face.

You were Jotaro's younger sister. Despite your age difference being negligible, your relationship was very complex. It changed and switched a lot throughout the years.

As children you used to be really close, nothing could separate you. You would share and do everything together, from toys, to beds and everything in between.You both took care of each other in your own way.

But as the years passed, Jotaro grew colder and more distant, which was to be expected from a male teenager who had been overwhelmed by feminine compagny, whereas you became calmer, more patient and less cheerful than before, trying to learn to not depend on your brother's presence as you used to in the past.

Despite your differences, you two still kept that unconditionnal kindness that seemed to run in the family.

Currently, you both lived your lives on your own ways. You couldn't really say you were close, or at least, not as much as before. You didn't think your relationship could progress any further from there, at least, not until a certain day.

You both walked out the door after receiving your usual goodbye kisses from your mother Holly, and went on your way to school.

You used to always make the walk to school together, but since highschool, Jotaro would just walk in front of you and leave you behind without even looking back.

The first few times, you'd run after him, calling him out to wait for you, but after a few days, you gave up and accepted to just make the walk on your own. You were used to him ignoring you even at school so you grew to not mind it anymore.

From his point of view, it was to protect you from having a stressful walk surrounded by fangirls, being the potential target of bullies who wanted to get to him, or to prevent you from being in the middle of a fight between stupid thugs who wanted to meddle with Jotaro.

But as you didn't know that, in your eyes you were just a burden to him. You didn't want to be the annoying clingy sister and as he was already very edgy, you left him be.

You continued your lone walk to school, your brother long gone before you and already out of sight. You heard voices behind you and you flinched.

"Oohh isn't that Kujo? Hey yeah it's her! Kuuujoooo~" You kept on walking, but they caught up to you.

"Hey, hey, babygirl, don't ignore us like that~ What's the matter, where's your big brother?" One of the guys said, sliding an arm around your shoulders and leaning a bit too close to your face.

"Yeah, where's your big strong bro? Not very nice to let his sister all alone in the street. It's okay though, you don't need him, we'll take care of you~" The other snickered, towering next to you and taking a strand of your hair between his fingers, playing with it as you looked down.

These two guys again, for some reason they had this weird obsession with you and just wouldn't take the hint.

"...Please go away, I don't have time for this." you quietly said, not even bothering speaking up. They wouldn't listen anyway, but you still tried.

"Don't worry sweetie, you're okay with us, we'll protect you!"

"I don't need protection, go away."

"Awww, don't be like that~ It makes me want you even more." The shortest slid his hand from your shoulders down your arm and laid it on your waist.

You sighed and swatted their hands off of you. "Shut up, you're so annoying!"

"Ooh she's trying to act all tough like her bro, how fucking cute!" The tallest one then forcefully grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him.

"LET GO YOU PSYCHO!" You pushed him as hard as you could, which sent him stumbling over a nearby parked car.

"You asked for it you stupid bitch!" He then slapped you hard across the face, so hard, the impact made you lose balance and you fell down on the ground, dropping your schoolbag.

"Dude! Stop, that's too much!" the short one quiered, overwhelmed by the turn of events.

"SHUT UP! I gotta teach her a lesson. Get up, Kujo."

He didn't even let you react and pulled you up by the arm, slamming you straight against his chest. You struggled, but he locked you firmly in his surprisingly strong arms. "So what are you gonna do? Where's Jotaro now, huh?"

"I'm here, motherfucker."

They flinched and both their jaw dropped. They slowly looked up to see the huge form of your brother, standing so tall he was blocking the sun behind him and casting a shadow over you three.

"J-j-j-.....JOTARO???!!" the shortest one stuttered, shaking like a leaf and sweating bullets.

"...What the FUCK do you think you're doing to my sister?" Your behemoth of a brother growled.

Before they could even retort, Jotaro grabbed you and abruptly snatched you out of the boy's hold, making you stumble against him and he caught you effortlessly in his arm. He sent a murderous glare to the two boys and they whimpered, taking the warning very seriously.

"I-I-.... Shiiit!!! I'LL COME BACK FOR YOU KUJO!!!" The tall one stormed off with his friend following close behind.

"Yare yare daze..." Jotaro sighed in annoyance as he turned towards you. "Are you okay?"

You nodded quietly, looking down at the floor. He harshly held your chin in his large hand and lifted your face up, inspecting your bruised cheek.

"Tch... That asshole...Can't wait to dance on his fucking grave." You put a reassuring hand over his arm and he relaxed slightly, letting you go.

"Don't. It's not worth it, Jojo. Let's go, Mom will be worried if we're late to school again."

You spoke softly and he stared at you in silence, not moving an inch, but before you could question him, he started.

"Stop looking at me like this."

"Huh?"

"I can't bear that melancholic look on your face. Wipe that out."

"That... That's just my face, Jojo..." You trailed off softly, quite confused with your brother's shenanigans.

"I know I made you like this."

You stared at him for a moment, then looked away, silently. Maybe you were colder than you used to, but you wouldn't put the blame on him, after all...

"I made you like this too..." You replied, looking off to the distance. "Your stone cold glare...Your burning hate for girls...It's all me, isn't it."

He fell silent. Your silences spoke more words than any of your actions, this is how it came to be. You finally looked up at him, both sharing the same stare.

"You're one to talk about a cold glare. Just look at you."

As he said that, Star Platinum manifested in front of you, surprising you as you let out a tiny gasp. He then held your cheeks and tugged slightly on them, forcing a smile out of you.

"Oh...! The spirit's back!" You were too fascinated by the weird spirit that started following your brother to even care that he was childishly playing with your face.

Jotaro cracked a tiny smile at the interactions of his Stand and his sister. He couldn't understand you sometimes, but at the end of the day, you two weren't so different.

The tall male pulled out his pack of cigarettes and brought one to his mouth before lighting it up.

"Girls are fucking headaches..." You looked up at him, deadpanning as Star Platinum and you were squeezing each other's cheeks.

"But your my little headache." He mumbled under his breath before puffing a thick cloud of smoke.

You wanted to scoff at his weird confession. Oh great. He didn't hate you as much as the others. How cute.

You looked down, your features softening into a smile as you held onto Star Platinum's arm who was now playing with your hair.

"Let's just go now, Jojo."

The moment you both started walking he noticed you wincing and limping a bit.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah... It's nothing, I just scraped my knee when I fell earlier." you tried walk again, but winced at the pain from the open, bleeding wound on your knee.

Before you could even step any further, you saw your brother crouching in front of you, his back turned towards you.

"Climb."

You stared at him in utter confusion. "It's okay Jojo I ca-"

"Yare yare daze, I don't have all day. Hurry up." He pressed on and you couldn't fight his stubborn nature.

You leaned over, putting your hands on his shoulders and let your legs rest on either side of his waist as he steadied them with his hands. He effortlessly hoisted you up and walked you both to school.

It felt so nostalgic, being carried by him. The world was so much more beautiful from the view of your brother's height. You didn't care for the view though, as you leaned further against his back, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Just like old times... Right? Oni-chan..." You uttered quietly, calling the name you stopped calling him for years now.

He chuckled lightly, which was also something that you didn't hear in years.

"Yeah... Just like old times. Except now you're cheesy as shit. You're starting to sound like Kakyoin."

"Hmm? What's wrong with Kakyoin? I like my men cheesy." You purred.

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned his head to glare at you. He suddenly felt angry as his brotherly instincts kicked in.

"...Take that back right now."

Bonus:

You were walking out of the nurse's office with Jotaro.

"See you later." He turned the other way towards his classroom.

As you were about to walk away yourself, you turned around to be met with a group of girls blocking your route.

"Y-you're Y/N Kujo, right?" Started a shy-looking girl.

"Oohh you're Jojo's sister? Cool!! Could you give him my number~?" added another one, excitedly.

"Actually, you do look like him a little bit!" Continued a third one, as they all interjected one by one.

"What? Noo they look nothing like each other, what are you saying!"

"Hmm they do have a.. Family likeness, kinda? Maybe it's the eyes, or the lips, I'm not sure, but there's definitely something!"

"Now that you say it, they do have the same cold frown on their face." they all giggled and your face was red with annoyance.

"Get lost. All of you. This is why you don't have boyfriends." And just like that, you stormed off, leaving the girls in a love-struck daze.

"Waaahh~ she's so cool~"

"She's kinda cute when she's angry."

"She could insult me all day~"

"Being hot runs in the family, so unfair~" they all squealed to themselves as they watched you leave.

Brothers kinda suck, but they're also a blessing.

[sloppy-butcher]

Whats your hcs for Frank, Evan and Herman?? They are my 3 loves so im curious... (love your work ya poes

how old are you sir? I must ask to see ur ID. a babey can’t be using language like that >:(

anyhow, the 3 boys eh? I’ll gladly write anything for them uwu. I’m going to be doing general relationship hc’s so things will probably get fluffy and maybe a little angsty. i can’t help myself sometimes. I’m going to try include one NSFW hc for each of the 3 stooges, so be prepared. it may be bad. the reader will be left as ambiguous as possible

edit: i write way to much :/ i think i should only do 1 or 2 character requests from now on T_T

hope you enjoy!

General relationship HeadCanons

The Legion (Frank Morrison)

With Frank, there was no real start to your relationship. There was no moment in time, no exact, pinpoint instance when one could say that that is when you two starting everything. It kind of just happened. Maybe it was when Frank first kissed you, it felt like fireworks and the snow in Mount Ormond was no longer cold. Or maybe it was when he first saw you dancing along with Suzie to one of her favorite songs, the twirling of your feet mixed with perfectly timed head slams dazzled him and he wanted nothing more than to have you give him a private dance. In the end, these are all speculations and the truth may never be known.

Around others, he was hesitant to show his emotion. You two could be sitting right next to each other your thighs all but alined when out of nowhere Joey sticks his head in. Frank snaps like a mousetrap, retreating back away from you as if he was embarrassed. You confronted him about this, you told him everything’s okay and that no one would judge him for being human. He refused you and, not to lie, it really hurt. But one day, just as you were walking away you felt his hand snake its way into yours. He hesitated for a moment, afraid you might reject him but of course, you gladly wrapped his hand in yours. You heard Joey wolf-whistle from somewhere behind you and Frank very enthusiastically tossed a middle finger at him. You couldn’t see it, but Frank was blushing under his mask.

Franks, not a romantic guy so don’t expect flowers or gifts or really anything nice. He grew up with virtually nothing so the idea of wooing someone with items of material affection is very foreign to him. He believes that if his presence and physical affection aren’t enough to prove to you that he appreciates you, then nothing will. But you never cared about gifts. All you ever wanted was Frank and he couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought.

!NSFW! Frank was a pretty vanilla guy. He doesn’t have much experience when it comes to the department of extremely intimate affection and therefore knew literally nothing about the pleasures of the flesh. But the keyword here is ‘was’. After meeting you and your guiding hand he blossomed into a very wild and very hungry individual. His favorite position though is when he gets to look at you. And if you call his name he will instantly crumble. Afterward, or during the act you need to reach out and caress him. Touch and explore his body, mainly his face and he’d moan even louder. Your hands are so soft and gentle and when you touch him he floats with elated glee. He feels alive when he’s with you.

The Doctor (Herman Carter)

You would have to be extremely special or out-of-the-ordinary in order to catch the eye of the Doctor. But somehow you managed to do it. Herman was a man unhinged, incapable of empathy and compassion. He never looked at other humans as people with feelings and conscious ideas and thoughts. He only ever saw them and you as test subjects. But something about you was off. You did something that made this machine of a man halt in his pursuit of human torture. What exactly did you do? Well, nothing really. As he approached you, electrical energy between his hands flexing and growing ready to turn your brain to mush, you never screamed, never flinched away and never took your tired eyes off him. The first few times when you welcomed death he didn’t notice and it was only after a significate amount of encounters that finally Herman realized he had never heard your cries of fear and pain.

He would amp up his power when he would find you in trials. He would kill you much more violently than he would the others, make your liquified brain ooze out your ears and make your heart stop and start like a busted old car. Sometimes he would even through away the whole trial upsetting his boss greatly, just to get to you. But no matter what he did, you never offered him what he wanted. You had seen and experienced much worse than him and when death never gives you a release, torture becomes mundane and repetitive. When Herman finally understood that you weren’t afraid of him, he relented, snuffed out his power and walked away. He had his attention now.

Whenever you would visit him during off-time he would follow you as you wandered around the massive mansion known as Léry’s. Sometimes he would lead you, taking you to the rooms which he liked the most (operation rooms). Herman can not talk, the contraption in his mouth has stretched his lips to the point that they can no longer function and his voice box is beyond repair, damaged thanks to his constant flow of electricity that would otherwise kill a man. But he doesn’t need to talk to you. You always seem to know what he wants without hearing a single word.

!NSFW! Sex with Herman is out of the question. The man is pumped with endless volts of electricity and if you were to so much as touch him, your body would recoil and spasm painfully from the contact.  If you ever wanted to experience pleasure from or with the man, he would have to try rein back some of that overflowing energy. But the man is too prideful and would never dare try to cull some of his ability. Unfortunately. But maybe after some time, he might learn to listen. There is no time in the Fog, only eternity and humans were never meant to live for that long. Our minds dull and our intentions warp from the time spent existing and maybe even someone as mad and determined as Herman could learn that it’s not so bad to let others into his life.

The closest you could ever get to kissing Herman is probably just planting a soft peck on his cheek.  A dangerous move considering the possible consequences of actually touching him with such a sensitive part of you, but a risk you were willing to take. One day, however, in the silence and fog of the mansion Herman would reach out for you. He would lean down to your height and very slowly take your hand. There was no static shook when your skins met. He was telling you that he was calm. He would then guide your hands to his mouthpiece and he would tell you to take it off.  Delicately you would peel away the metal from flesh and his mouth would furiously bleed and dretch his teeth with red. When he was free you would quickly meet him and you would hungrily kiss his chapped lips. He would kiss you back, his lips unable to keep up with yours but his tongue is wild and eager. However, after only a minute he would shove you away violently. As you feel the connection between you two break, the space around Herman lits up and crackles with mad energy. You would have to wait for him to calm down again if you wanted to continue your endeavors.

The Trapper (Evan Macmillan)

Despite being one of the most diligent and consistently brutal killers in the realm, when Evan is alone and the only eyes watching him are yours, he is a gentleman. He would speak to you softly, asking about your day already knowing that it was pretty shit. He would hold doors open for you and he would always make sure you were warm, either with a spare blanket or a seat extra close to a fire. He would fuss over you. Your soft skin, so clean and pure, untouched by the horrible and evil ways of the world made him marvel at how human you were. To him, you were what humans were meant to be, good and kind, whereas he was a monster charred and broken, unworthy and incapable of affection and of all those things that were meant to make life wonderful. He wanted to protect you, preserve that softness of you and although he couldn’t do anything to help you when the camera’s all turned back on, during this time he would smother you with whatever cautious and motherly behavior he could muster.

He was drawn to you because of your confident behavior. He found your energy alluring and would always find himself somehow infected by your hope and optimism. You were like a fire, burning everything in your path and he just happened to be close enough to catch alight. In the beginning, Evan would become very annoyed by your seemingly endless ideas of survival but as time went on and you never seemed to dampen like the others he found that his annoyance turned into curiosity. A part of him wanted to know what it was like to be under your light of hope. It yearned to be rescued but a bigger and much louder part of him, a voice oddly resembling his fathers, drowned it out. However, that didn’t stop his feet from walking towards you and it certainly didn’t stop you from staying with him.

In the early stages of your relationship with the mountain of a man, you had to the one initiating affection. You had to be the one to reach out and grab his hand. He would look down at you and you swore you could hear him gasp. And when you would want to hug him, you would either have to wait until he sat down or you would have to climb atop a box. It’s not that he was afraid to reciprocate your feelings, he just felt like he didn’t deserve it. He tried to remain stone-cold and distant hoping that it would detour you and make you give up on him but you weren’t known for ‘giving up’. Eventually, when you refused to leave and he had to accept that you wanted to be with him, all you needed to do for a hug was open your arms wide and beckon him closer with your hands. He would roll his eyes and very stiffly lean down for you. You would eagerly wrap yourself as best you could around his neck and, if you were laughing or in an infectiously good mood, he would engulf you in his own. Sometimes he would even stand up and sweep you off your feet. He would bury himself into your neck,  trying his best to smell you through his bone and metal mask.

!NSFW! This has been said many times before but Evan has handles. Those large pieces of metal piercing his shoulders and down his back. It scared you at first when he suggested you hold onto them, they looked so painful and the skin around the puncture wounds were all puffy and red. He reassured you and explained that he doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. When he said that you looked at him confused then, without thinking, you lean forward and gently place a kiss on the wound. He tries to watch you as you trail butterfly kisses over his exposed chest. “Feel better?” You ask pulling away for a moment. He couldn’t respond, his throat welling up with shook, disgust and absolute fascination. You clearly didn’t care about what he looked like, what kind of monster he had become, and it gave him so much more confidence. Hold on to his handlebars, pull and yank them as he thrusts into you, he likes to feel your weight vibrate through the bars into his ribcage. Evan enjoys the feeling of control he gets when he is the one giving you pleasure and also foundation.

BONUS! Drag your tongue along one of the bars. Make sure his eyes never leave you and when you finally lick the whole length of the metal, plant your lips firmly on his mouth. He will kiss back passionately, amazed at how dirty someone so pure and good like you could be.

[andiwanderer]

New Kid

Tony Stark x daughter!Reader

Overview: Frustrated by how Tony was treating the new kid, you felt like an outcast. After the outburst of your father, you finally told him your decision. Because no matter how hard you try to gain his attention, his sole focus was directed to this new kid, named Peter. Maybe parting ways from your father can finally make him notice you. a/n: i'm sorry for the poor written summary! please bear with me! XD

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fluff

MASTERLIST

a/n: my first fanfic post, please, pleeeassseee! bear with me✨

--

"Parker!"

"Hey Parker, look at this."

"That kid is doing his job. I commend that. And also he's my intern, so get yours."

"He said his name was quote on quote "Spiderman". You got that, Rhodey?"

"D'you think? You know you have a potential Pete,"

"That spiderling?"

"Peter, just contact Happy on that one, I'm on my way."

"Mr. Parker, the Avengers just wanted your safety. Courtesy of me, of course."

"Mr. Parker, Mr. Stark ask your presence in his office."

Y/N had enough. It was like 4 in the morning and she hasn't got her proper sleep. She reached for her pillow and pushed it to cover her entire face along with her ear. Now, silently hoping she can finally sleep.

She really had enough not just because of exhaustion. But because of the 'New Kid' from Queens, Peter Parker.

She can't have a full day without hearing that kid's name uttered by her father, Tony.

Not that she was jealous of him but she's getting there. She used to be her father's apple of the eye. She used to have that same praises and care from Stark, then this Sokovia Accords began to ruin it.

Y/N knew what's right from wrong, Tony taught her that. And being controlled by the government, it was as though not having the freedom to have your own insights expressed. You can't do that because you're their personal puppet, the only thing that is right for them is their own judgment.

So she joined the Captain's team and learned the knowledge that Barnes wasn't a killer and he was controlled by HYDRA, the organization that they've been chasing, and it was not him who killed the T'challa's father, T'chaka. He was framed.

The encounter in Germany happened, there entered the new mighty intern of Stark, Peter Benjamin Parker also known as Spiderman.

They seemed pretty close for her liking and from that moment on she knew something is about to change.

They went back to the compound after what happened, finally having a truce. Understanding each side, well a majority of them, but there are two certain people who are still not on speaking terms.

Here's the thing, Y/N, and Tony fought regarding the accords before parting ways. And both of them seemed to heightened their pride and refuse to apologize to each other. They still think that their own opinion is better than the other.

Living in one compound doesn't help, it's difficult to not cross paths when wandering around. The only advantage of this was finally they're having small talks.

"Mr. Stark, I just went to grab my bag."

"You go ahead on the lab, I'll just..." Tony's voice trailed off as they walk towards their destination.

Y/N's eyes peeled open. Why can I still hear their voices in my sleep?

She knows drowsiness already left her and this will take a toll on her later on.

Now that she's awake, might as well start her day. With that, she sat up and stretched her arms out with a yawn. Grabbed her phone and hoodie before making her way into the kitchen.

When she got there the lights turned on, it was motion-sensored. "Good morning, Ms. Stark."

"What's good in the morning," she murmured as she open the cupboard and reaches what she needed. "The sun hasn't even peaked yet."

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, miss?"

"More like woke by an annoying voice."

"I apologize for that, it seemed that I was the one who is guilty-"

"Geez FRIDAY, I was only kidding. Can't take a joke?"

"Your voice was monotone, it was hard to tell."

"Not a morning person..." she sat on one of the stools and continued stirring her cup of milk as she entertained herself by scrolling onto her phone.

"You're up too early." Bucky's voice filled the room slightly startling the lone girl in the kitchen. He removed himself from leaning against the frame of the doorway. Making his way to Y/N, he sat beside her.

Glancing up from her phone she met his gaze, "I could ask you the same question."

"Don't smart ass me, doll." he gave her a stern look. "I got back from the bathroom and you weren't on the bed."

That made Y/N's voice back down and instantly felt guilty. It's dawn and she's giving her man an early headache to nurse for the entire day.

So she wrapped her arm around his waist, hugging him, nuzzling her face on his chest. She felt him responding to the embrace, hugging her fragile body against him tighter.

"I'm sorry..." she mumbled through his chest.

He kissed the crown of her head while caressing the back of her head, "I'm sorry too. I was just worried... I thought you were gone."

"That won't happen. I'm a pain in your ass remember, it's not easy to get rid of me." she chuckled, taking in his warmth.

"Is there a problem? Did you have a nightmare, Hmm? You can tell me everything, I'll listen."

Bucky knew about her struggle seeing the two, namely the man of iron and the kid with the sticky web, having a bond like father and son. Every day he sees the look in her eyes, that hostile look that she gives the kid. If staring is deadly, Peter would've been cold meat. So this topic isn't new to him. And every day it reaches a different level.

"Not really..." she pulled herself from the hug, grab his hand into hers, and intertwined them. "Is it I or Peter and my father are so close right now, even mom can't break the two apart. If I didn't know them I might've assumed they're connected by blood."

"In my perspective, I don't really pay much attention to anyone except you."

His statement brought a smile to her face. "You're crazy."

Bucky leaned in until his lips are ghosting into hers, "Only crazy for you." leaving a peck on Y/N's slightly parted lips that made her cheeks burn. She lightly shook her head on his lame comebacks and partly to somehow ease her flustered face.

"But seriously, Buck. I-" she inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. Her next words came out as a whisper, "I'm jealous...I'll admit. I am now..." she finished her drink and went to the sink washing the things she used, Bucky still eyeing her waiting for her next words. "There's not much to tell, Peter was the son he never had. He was always enthusiastic about it when he talks to mom," pertaining to Pepper "I can't blame him..." when she was done, she turned, her hips leaning against the sink. "I don't want to think about it but I don't know, Buck. Sometimes I just want to d-"

"Disappear, disperse, die?" her head whipped to where the voice came from. Tony walked into the room, screwdriver in hand.

He was headed to his workspace when he heard her daughter talking, her voice was serious so he got curious and got sidetracked.

Tony's eyes shift from Y/N to Bucky, confusion was etched on his face. He can't read either of their expression so he made his own conclusion. "You're thinking about killing yourself?"

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at his statement. I was going to say disappear. Which also has the same meaning by the way. She was about to interject when Tony immediately cut her off, not wanting her to say anything. "Is that it?" He arched a brow at her, he was starting to get pissed. "Aren't you even grateful you're alive? Many people die every single day. It wasn't their choice, hell they'll do anything they can to be alive. And here you are having the opportunity to live thinking how to end your life? Why did that thing even cross your mind."

Bucky sensed Y/N's tense composure as her hand began to fidget her shirt in habit when she's nervous or scared, Bucky noticed it but Tony didn't, so he got between the two. "Tony..."

"Shut your mouth, metal man. We're in a conversation as you can see. Can you please-" the guy waved his hand dismissively, gesturing him to vanish, then turned to Y/N.

He pointed the screwdriver at her, "What happened to your smart mouth, young lady, did that also died?" firmness laced his voice, she can't even decipher if that man was still the father she grew up to. It was like this moment, he became a cold jerk father to her.

Not wanting to deal with his shit, she grabbed her phone at the counter, and without saying anything she walked out.

How did he even think I want to die? I had only said 'D-'! How that does make any sense. I can say dance or whatever d-verb I can apply to my sentence!

Almost stumble to the new arrival, Peter Parker. She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him before making a beeline to her room.

As to Bucky, he just stared at Stark who shook his head as he brought his free hand up to massage his temple.

Peter shot a question, "Mr. Stark, Mr. Barnes, what just happened?"

It was Barnes' turn to shake his head with amusement because of the two. Before Tony could utter a word, Bucky left and followed Y/N to her room.

***

"What the hell was that?" he angrily spat at Y/N as he left his suit.

"Tony-"

"Rogers this is between us so get lost."

Steve looked in Y/N's direction whose eyes were glued on the floor. He wants to get between them because there has been a misunderstanding and Tony had been declining to listen to the captain ever since the time they finished the mission. Turning off his earpiece and blasting off defeating them on getting to the compound first. He didn't want to be rude, Tony was right and he didn't want to meddle with them, afraid that he might get the topic even worse. But if anything goes wrong he'll step in no matter what. So he ushered the team to leave and go to the med bay to have their wounds treated.

"That doesn't mean it excludes you, Barnes."

That made Y/N lift her gaze, meeting his steel-blue eyes that were full of concern and love. She gently nodded at him, giving him the idea that she can handle it and Bucky did what she silently asked.

Tony paced around the room. "You are well aware of what you just did, correct? And you know that it was gonna put you in danger!"

I was just trying to save you. She wanted to say those words to him but witnessing how riled up he is right now, made her heart race. Yes, she's afraid of him whenever he's angry that's why she never gave him a reason to be angry at her. The first was with the accords, and the list might continue because of this.

"What were you even thinking! It doesn't mean that now you're a shield agent, you should put yourself on death's door! Or just because you're fulfilling your task of getting yourself killed. You're taking every mission as an opportunity!"

It's not like that... Tears are now falling freely on her face.

"I will talk to Fury about this. And Y/N," his eyes were cold when she gained the courage to look at him, "you're out of the team. Sooner or later SHEILD will kick you out too. Believe it or not, this is for your own good."

She stared at him in disbelief. This was her entire life, he can't take that away from her, for the first time she had the urge to argue but her father cut her before she can speak.

"If only you're as obedient as Parker this wouldn't happen."

That made her heartbreak into many pieces. It was like hearing her own father saying that if only Peter was his son.

Y/N eyes were now red and puffy. Cheeks and nose flustered because of her crying. The tears are making their way down her cheeks uncontrollably and seemed that it's not stopping any time soon. Biting her lips to stop the whimper from being heard. She averted her gaze to the ceiling to somehow stop the flow of her tears.

That's why she didn't see the reaction of her father upon seeing her in her state at the moment. Guilt was already eating him.

Assuming that their conversation was over, she turned her heel and took her to leave with low shoulders. Even though she wanted to be angry at him because of his statement, she can't. Tony Stark raised her well and disrespecting isn't one of those.

"I--" suddenly his voice died. Was really apologizing for that hard?--

"I'm leaving..." She said with a tiny voice.

What?

Y/N swallowed the lump on her throat before saying, "I'm going to fix my things, maybe I should give you some space. I don't like s-seeing you angry. I will join Bucky on their trip to Wakanda. This might give you some peace of mind. And don't worry, I won't kill myself, I'll let a natural death fall on me."

She waited for him to respond or anything but when he didn't she ran towards her room with only one thing in mind, He didn't even try to stop me.

Bruce who was headed to the med bay heard a little of their conversation--he didn't mean to eavesdrop--he approached Tony. "Was that really necessary?"

Tony who felt guilty answered, "She was having suicidal thoughts, what was I supposed to do!"

"Understand her! What the hell, Stark! You only made it worse!"

***

"What the--what are you doing here?" Y/N eyes widen when he saw her father who has the same expression as hers, and a red floating cape behind him.

"I'm the one who should ask you that, missy." he frowns at her. "It's dangerous here! How did you ev--you should've stayed at your house. You could have get yourself in danger!--you know what screw this--" Tony snarls at her clearly he cared for her well-being, however, Y/N didn't acknowledge it instead took it negatively.

"I can handle myself just fine, Stark." she rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, so it's Stark now. I didn't teach you how to disrespect, young-"

That's when Peter came swinging in and landed beside Tony. Y/N's eyes narrowed at their suit, how can she not recognize it. It's nanotech just like hers, and it was originally her idea by the way. Formulated when she was 12 years old, being fascinated by technology and all that stuff.

She felt insecure because of Peter... She was the daughter she didn't even know if creating a suit like that for her crossed her father's mind. She made her own damn suit, okay.

"I thought you were a spiderman, so why do you always follow him like a good little soldier? What are you a cat who's having fun and chasing his tail?"

"Y/N, mouth."

Peter became tense but quickly composed himself, ignoring Y/N's sarcastic statement, "Miss Y/N, I want to apologize-"

"Apologize? For what?"

Tony is sure, she can be stubborn as him. She's his daughter after all.

When the kid didn't reply she huffs, "See you don't even know what you're apologizing for. So if I were you just step back, I'm had to get Dr. Strange from that two-foot Squidward."

Squidward, huh. He can't help but remember what he had called the alien-like antagonist that they had been chasing. Turns out they gave him the same nickname. That's my daughter.

"Wait, you know his name?" Tony questioned, pertaining to the magician.

"Long story, years passed, things changed, many things happen but--whatever."

"We have a plan actually..." peter said meekly, completely intimidated by Y/N. He thought that Stark's definition of her was all too good to be true, cause he can prove it's all the opposite but maybe he just met her at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Oh yeah?" she arched a brow at them as she cocked her head at the side. "What is it?"

***

"I want to protect the stone."

"And I want you to thank me, now. Go ahead I'm listening."

"For what? Nearly blasting me to space?"

"Who just saved your magical ass?--Me."

"I seriously don't know how you fit your head into that helmet." Y/N bit her lower lip to prevent her chuckle from erupting. Cause Strange said was so true.

"-flying donut, billions and miles from Earth with no backup."

"I'm back up." Peter raised his hand.

"No, you're still away. The adults are talking"

"I'm sorry, I-I'm confused about the relationship here. What is he your ward?"

"No-"

"Stark's son," Y/N interject. She's bitter alright.

Strange lift his gaze from where she was sitting on the ceiling. Looking confused, "Your looks don't resemble."

"Exactly! cause I don't have a brother and I am nobody's daughter." her feet swaying back and forth as she answers and it echoes all around the ship.

"Please don't mind her that's not true. I'm Peter by the way."

"Dr. Strange."

"Oh you're using made-up names, I'm Spiderman then."

"Y/N can you please go down, you might get yourself hurt up there." Tony pleads.

"You said you two can handle it. I'll just stay here thank you for the concern, but no thank you."

She watches them on her spot, not really paying attention to what they're saying but she senses Strange and Stark's topic was serious.

Y/N was acting like a slightly drunk lady, that's what the others' observations were, but she wasn't. She's just sleepy and she acts cranky when she does. And she's missing her guy who at the moment might be pissed at her because of her sudden disappearance. Oh, Bucky... I could use a hug...

After their conversation, Tony approached Peter, and like what the highest person does to proclaim a knight, he does it with Peter along with the lines of 'You're an Avenger now.'

Letting the guy recover from his shock she calls him, the kid met her gaze. "I hold no grudge, really."

Parker was having second thoughts on her statement either it was a half-hearted claim or not, regardless he answered. "Thanks." giving her a shy smile and Y/N returning a tight-lipped smile.

***

"Mr. Stark, I don't want to go.. I don't want to."

Y/N stared at them as she sit on the ground, tired and weary. She doesn't need to ask them what it felt to disappear, she herself can feel it inside of her. That weird feeling seemed hard to explain.

Witnessing this moment in front of her shattered the little part of her heart left. That should be her in his father's arms, that should be her having that last moment with him before she disappear-but no. It's always Peter.

At that moment she felt numb, as a lone tear made its way down her cheek. She never thought that she'll welcome death open arms. Y/N is done, she knew that.

"Sorry..." was the last word Peter uttered before he turned into dust.

Good riddance.

The older Stark can't still register what happened so when he turned his head, his eyes looking for a certain someone. He was filled with dread when he didn't found her.

"Y/N?"

"He did it." Nebula stated pertaining to Thanos that his plan on wiping half of the planet has begun.

Now that it was all sinking into him, he can't help but blame himself for not doing his job in stopping that grape titan, and maybe if he wasn't an asshole enough to his daughter, maybe he still has her in his arms like when she was still a baby. He was a complete dick towards her. It was all coming back to him, all the times they had been together.

It broke his heart when he watched her ran to her room that day. He can't speak because his pride was fighting off his conscience. He didn't want to see her cry, and the idea that it was his fault for making her leave dreaded him. He tried to follow her to Wakanda but he was afraid she might ignore her, afraid of the instances that might happen if he does one wrong move. Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were his only contact on asking how Y/N has been and their answers were always the same.

Peter and Y/N were almost alike, maybe that's the reason why in doing so his relationship with her drifted.

If only he'd stopped Y/N from leaving maybe this wouldn't have happened. If only he didn't sign the accords maybe things didn't change the way they were...

If only...

a/n: i'm really sorry for the crappy plot..

[headoverjojo]

Hewwo Tri 👀 ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ Ssssooo... I’ll just keep spamming your askbosx with those xD it’s sweetness time! What about Melone and Fugo holding their first born baby? :3

Esteeeeeeee 💛💛 hhhhh this request is a blessing, thank you :,)

Melone and Pannacotta Fugo holding their first born baby

(Under the cut for length!)

Melone

Melone always wanted a child. Since he was old enough to grasp for real the idea of a family, he wanted it. He wanted to love and respect a person who would have loved and respected him back, live with them, have… children, with them. Their, adopted, every choice was fine. He just wanted a family.

“And so, a blessed day, I met your mommy! And she didn’t slap me!” you laughed, hearing for the umpteenth time Melone telling the story. The fact that he was enthusiastically whispering it to your belly made it also so tender that you felt like melting. Since the moment he knew you were pregnant -and he knew even before you, but the confirmation arrived just with the test- h had been even more attentive and caring than usual, checking you regularly, helping you around, doing his best to make you happy.

When you found out that you were expecting not one, but two babies, he was ecstatic. Twins!! You were going to have twins! His heart was about to burst out. His attentions doubled, as, now, he had to make happy not only you and a baby, but you and two babies. You never saw him so enthusiast and happy. it was so beautiful seeing him like this -and you knew the kind of childhood he had, he told you, one day, and his job, his stand…-, finally… serene. As he had finally realized his greatest dream.

And now, after almost nine months spent spoiling you -and pestering the other Squadra members talking non-stop about you and the babies-, they were about to arrive. Melone managed to stay calm ‘till last second, even after your waters broke and he drove you to the hospital, but, as the contractions became more frequent and the moment grew nearer, his cool was crumbling down like a sand castle. It was all real. He was going to be a father of two. The family he always wanted was about to arrive. But… was he ready?

He had to exit for some minutes from the delivery room, not to panic right in front of you. Formaggio, the first of the Squadra to have arrived at the hospital, after Melone’s call, arched a brow, surprised.

“What, already finished?” Melone shook his head, fidgeting with his hands.

“Then what? Shouldn’t you be with Y/N?”

“Yeah, just… some panic. Formaggio, c’mon, we’re… what we are, could I be for real a good dad? What if the kids will come to hate me for my work, when they’ll be old enough to understand-” Formaggio grabbed his shoulders, giving him a good strong shake.

“Quit with the bullshits, Melone. It’s a little too late to regret about it, don’t you think? And christ, they’re still not even born and you worry for what they’ll think when they’ll be older? Crap! You’re gonna make yourself sick worrying so much. Now stop with such thoughts and go back to Y/N, she needs you. And if you don’t, she’ll kick your twink ass.” he said, shoving him back in the delivery room. Melone almost hadn’t even the time to register where he was that a muffled scream snapped him back from his frozen and panicked state. He ran immediately at your side, grabbing your hand and letting you squeeze it as you liked. When the first, a healthy and beautiful boy, started to whimper and cry, while Melone was cutting the umbilical cord, the first tears of happiness washed his cheeks. And then the doctor was encouraging you again and he had to go back to your side, encouraging you and giving you the breathing rhythm. His heart burst again when the second baby -a girl!- started to vehemently cry. She already had a powerful voice!

He could cut the umbilical cord again and, finally, after she too had been all cleaned, she was given to the mother, as the boy, for some fundamental skin to skin contact. Melone’s eyes were misty and a smile of pure happiness and ecstasy stretched his lips, as yours. He kissed devotedly your forehead and cheeks and lips, murmuring a “thank you” on your lips, before laying his eyes on the kids, safely nestled in your arms. You smiled at him, encouragingly, and, finally, he picked up the baby boy. Thanks to all the training done with Babyface’s sons, he was capable to hold him in the best way and the baby nestled on his father’s chest, sneezing a bit, cutely, as his eyes opened a little. He had your eyes…

“They’re perfect.” he whispered, gently kissing his son’s forehead, rocking him, slow and delicate, keeping him warm and safe. You smiled, holding your daughter and softly brushing her little chubby cheek.

“What a luck that we had already picked both male and female names, uh?” you murmured, with a tired but happy smile. Melone nodded, humming at the little boy, before turning to you, his eyes still glossy.

“Yes… and now we can welcome them properly.” he replied, in a low and sweet voice, the kind that he reserved just for you -and now for your children too-.

“So… welcome, Giulia.”- he kissed the girl’s small forehead, chuckling when she whined and frowned at him, shifting a little in her mother’s arms- “and welcome too, Gabriele.” he kissed as well the boy’s forehead, lulling him, with a deep, happy sigh, enjoying the moments of peace before his teammates came to check. You all were perfectly gine, you were a family…

It was all perfect.

Pannacotta Fugo

Never, even in his wildest dreams, Fugo ever dared to imagine the life he was living now. The old Boss had been defeated, a new one, Giorno, ruled over Passione, the drug trade had been stopped and successfully eradicated, he won the bet when he had decided to challenge every evidence and probability by going anyway with his teammates and betraying the Boss, he was now one of Giorno’s Consiglieri… and he had you.

You were his most precious treasure, the only one he loved with so much sheer force to be able to do everything for you. You were his best friend, the one who never even thought about leaving him behind, the one he trusted with all his heart and soul… his lover. His everything.

Life wasn’t perfect, of course. Fugo was still fighting with his anger bursts and sometimes he slipped, but, even after your quarrels, you were stronger than before, more unite than before. You both learnt more about your relationship, yourself and the other, managing to transform a moment of rage in a moment of understanding and learning. This was such a positive approach and it was helping him so, so much.

But, even if he was changed a lot in good, he still had some unresolved questions, as his deeply low self esteem and the conviction that he was dangerous. That’s why, when you first told him you were pregnant, he was more scared than happy. It required him a bit to adjust, to slowly convince himself that he would have done fine, that he would have been a good father, not like his own. You spent countless evenings keeping his head on your lap, gently caressing his hair, as your belly slowly grew day by day, murmuring that he was a good man, that he would have been a good father, that their child would have loved him. And, when, for the first time, he felt the baby moving in your belly, you saw his face beaming in pure, touching happiness. That was the moment when he truly accepted his role as father.

From that moment on, he was the most organized father-to-be around. He was attentive and scheduled all his various meetings and missions to stay as much as possible with you and the same he did with yours, to give you the right time to rest properly. He was protective, glaring even at Narancia or the others if they were too loud in your presence, annoying you. He had read tons of books such as “How to be a dad in nine months”, “Waiting to be a parent” and so on, to learn as much as possible. In the end, however, he just concluded that he’ll have to find out on field. And he decided to just enjoy the moment, as you often had suggested, helping you through the pregnancy.

And now, after all that way, your baby was about to see the light. Fugo was scared and excited at the same moment, he couldn’t wait to hold his baby and at the same time he didn’t feel ready. You noticed his turmoil -you always noticed- and took his hand, as you breathed regularly, to fight the pain of the contractions.

“Panni, it will… go all well. Out baby is coming. Please… stay with me. I need you.” those words had the effect to snap him back from his own self doubts, putting your and the baby’s safety in front of everything again. He nodded at you, swallowing, trying so much to find his cool, the calm he needed to transmit to you too. You were now pushing and pushing, as the doctor was telling you, gritting your teeth and muffling your screams. He held tightly your hand, his eyes glued on the doctor in front of your open legs, how they were encouraging you to push, push, that the head was visible, just a little more, a little effort…

And, finally, it was like a the whole delivery room staff sighed in relief, as a clear baby cry erupted from the small bundle in the doctor’s hands. It was your baby. They were fine, they were here… Fugo never felt his knees so wobbly. This was something so… overwhelming, incredible… he never felt something like this. And, for once, it wasn’t a situation of life or death.

“It’s a girl! Congratulation!” one of the midwives, after gently taken care of the baby girl, handed it to Fugo, with a smile. The young man swallowed. The moment had finally come.

Hesitantly, he picked the baby girl, as the midwife adjusted his grip on the toddler. Fugo finally looked down at his baby and…

His heart was immediately stolen.

How could he had been doubtful? How could he, in the beginning, thinking that the baby wasn’t good? Now that his eyes reflected in his baby’s ones, violet as his, he could feel just love and adoration for her. His little girl. His baby.

He gently held her on his chest, lulling her, as silent tears ran down his cheeks. He felt overwhelmed. It was all… too beautiful to be true. It all seemed just a dream.

As the baby sneezed, Fugo lifted his head a bit, kissing her small head, with extreme sweetness, turning then to you, a teary smile on his lips.

“She’s perfect, like you.” he murmured to you, going to your side. You smiled, tired but happy, nestling on his shoulder, smiling at your little one. Here she is…

“Panni… she needs a name.” you murmured, bending to softly kiss her rosy cheeks, huffing a small laugh when she scrunched her little nose and touched your cheeks. Fugo smiled, sweetly, kissing your hair as well, while gently holding your daughter.

“What about Ginevra?” you smiled, recognizing in the name his taste for classic. Ginevra… it was unusual, but it sounded so well. It fitted her, you thought. Ginevra Fugo… yes, it definitely fitted.

“I like it. Our Ginevra.” you murmured, happy, as Ginevra frowned and pouted adorably, making your both chuckle.

Once more, Fugo promised to himself, to you, to Ginevra, not to be like his father.

He would have been a father Ginevra would have been proud to.

[carreraleigh]

Old Demons

Pairing: Drake x Riley (MC)

Words: +1.7k

Rating: G (General)

Summary: Liam's proposal brought to the surface old demons for Drake and Riley.

A/N: Hi y'all! 💜 This is my first Drake fic so I hope I did him justice. I really like this fic. Tysm @duchess-ash-flame for being my beta, I love you.

I wrote this listening to Everytime by Britney Spears, and I highly recommend read the fic with that music as well.

Tags: I don't have tags for this couple so I'm going to tag people who I knew are drake stans/friends, sorry if this bother you.

@nazariortega @choicesaddictedd @lahelalove @dukedrakes @drakeswalkers @courtesan-of-garage @queenkaneko @vienroose @client-327 @desiree-0816 @ccolz88-blog

I’m not a native english speaker so I apologize for advanced errors.

Riley gently closed the door once all her bags were inside the room. Her honeymoon had been unforgettable, but there was something about being back there, being there with Drake, that made her feel happier than ever before. After all, it was a place the two of them could call home. Their home.

She looked up, looking for her husband's presence. Her eyes rested on the windows that guided her to the balcony, where her husband was lying, looking towards the horizon. She sighed, Riley knew exactly what this was all about.

After Liam arrived on the island, just in the last day of her honeymoon saying that he wanted Riley and Drake's baby to be placed as heir to the throne, that was the moment she could notice the change in her husband's behavior. No one noticed, but Riley did. He knew him too well to know that the whole situation wasn't something that made him feel comfortable, or happy. She wasn't sure about the proposal from the beginning, even with Drake's enthusiastic response that only confused her more. There was no way Drake would have agreed to it, not with that expression full of happiness and joy, not without talking to her first. Riley knew there was something else there, and she was willing to find out.

She slowly approached him, not sure how to begin the conversation. Drake seemed to be totally immersed in his thoughts and had not even noticed that Riley was standing behind him. Riley laid her head on Drake's back, hugging him from behind. He looked at her sideways for a moment, and took one of her hands, beginning to caress her tenderly.

"What are you thinking?" Riley asked.

There was a long silence until Drake answered the question.

"It's nothing."

Riley moved to Drake's side, who was undoubtedly trying to fake a smile for her. She took his hand, and he fixed his eyes on her.

"Please, don't try to hide it."

Drake laughed bitterly. He knew that there was nothing he could hide from his wife. One way or another, she always managed to see through him, she could always see beyond the cloak of hostility and sarcasm with which he protected himself.

It was very annoying sometimes, how she had him figured out, but it was one of the things he loved most about her. The truth was, he didn't know what to say. There were so many feelings invading him, happiness, anger, guilt. Liam's proposal had been a surprise to both of them, and it was something he wished had never happened.

"I don't even know where to start." He admitted.

"How about you start by telling me why you accepted so hastily and happily?"

Drake thought for a moment.

"It's the right thing to do." He responded and avoided her gaze, his eyes back on the horizon.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Liam is right. Cordonia without an heir is an unstable Cordonia. Liam needs us, Riley."

"And what do you need, Drake?" Riley could see the vulnerability in Drake's eyes. "I want to know what you need. No Liam, no Cordonia, you."

She smiled at him, trying to give him the courage to open up to her, it had never been so difficult anyway. He smiled and intertwined his fingers with hers, feeling her so close made him feel a little calmer.

"All I need is you and our baby, I don't need anything else."

"And you have nothing to say about your baby being heir to the throne?"

Drake closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, he felt more willing than ever to express his feelings.

"I hate it." He said without looking at Riley. "There's not a single thing I like about this situation."

"That's what I thought."

"I don't even know what to think of him, you know? He knows I'm not a fan of all this nobility stuff." Drake brought a hand to his hair. "And yet he comes the last day of our honeymoon waiting for us to be willing to accept an offer like that."

"And you accepted it, and without complaining." Riley said. "I just want to know why."

Riley took Drake's face with both hands, making him pay all his attention to her, and she could see how her husband's eyes began to water.

"Because I am the reason Liam is in this mess."

She frowned. "Why would you say something like that-"

"Riley!" Drake raised his voice and took a step back. "Don't you see?" Drake shook his head with a clear false laugh. "If only I hadn't fallen in love with you. If only I hadn't told you how I felt-"

"Don't you dare, Drake." Riley lifted a finger toward him, trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall. "Don't you dare."

"My point is…" He sighed. "We wouldn't be in this mess if we hadn't fallen in love." Drake's voice now sounded calmer. "If I hadn't let this happen you'd probably be married to Liam now, a baby on the way, with everyone happy."

"Yes, everyone happy except us." Riley said, taking a tentative step towards him. "We're married, Drake. It's you who I want to be with, it's you who I want to start a family with and have our happy ending. I chose you."

"I own him, Riley." Drake looked directly into her eyes. "I fell in love with his girl and married her. I owe him this."

"We owe Liam nothing!" Riley shouted in a moment of despair. "I was sure you accepted for other reasons and not because you really agreed." Riley tried to calm down. "And now I know I was right."

"You don't understand-"

"Of course I understand, Drake. I know what it's like to feel like you somehow owe others for being where you are."

Riley's thoughts had gone away for a moment, thinking of everything that got through to be there. She came to compete for the prince's hand and ended up falling in love with his best friend. She didn't say it, but sometimes there were days when she also felt guilty for it, but what she felt for Drake was stronger than anything she had felt in her life. To walk this new path, Riley knew she had to leave all that feeling behind. She knew that following her heart was what she had to do, and in her heart, there was only one man, that same man who was standing in front of her, the same man she married one month ago.

"You earned this, Drake. You're one of the most loyal and protective people I know, and all that paid you off."

"Do you think that's enough?" His question sounded sincere.

She looked for his hands, he let her take them. "Drake, listen to me." She took her husband's chin and made him look at her. "You don't owe anyone anything, do you understand me?" She smiled through her tears. "I know that Liam is very important to you and that you two have been there for each other, but now I am here for you too. And we don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Drake smiled weakly. He still couldn't believe a woman like Riley was next to him. He carried one of his hands to her hair, her blonde hair was shining brighter in the sun. He wiped a tear that fell from his wife's eyes and wrapped her in a hug. He felt all the tension dissipated in a matter of seconds, and suddenly all his insecurities were gone with the wind that hit their faces.

"It's complicated." Drake said before breaking the embrace.

"I know." Riley said leaving one hand in her husband's neck.

"It's just that I'm so scared. I want to be the best father to my baby, our baby." Riley was about to speak again until Drake continued. "How am I supposed to do that if our kid is going to be surrounded all day by people who are going to tell them what to do and what not to do? How are we going to find time to spend if our kid will spend their time learning how to be a queen or a king? What if all this goes to their head and they start behaving like all those arrogant nobles?"

"We're not going to let any of that happen, okay? Our son may be heir to the throne, but they will never forget where they come from." Riley looked toward the horizon. "This is going to be his real home, and you're going to be their father, Drake. Nothing and no one can take that away from us, let alone a stupid crown."

Drake took his wife and placed a tender kiss on her lips, which tasted slightly salty from the tears that fell on her cheeks. Riley intertwined her arms in his neck, deepening the kiss, a sense of peace and security ran through her body. She was certain that at that point there was nothing she and Drake could not overcome, as long as they did it together.

"You know what," Riley said, leaning her head over Drake's shoulder, he held one hand to her waist. "Every weekend we can do something totally normal, you, me, and our kid."

"Like go fishing and camp outside?" Drake asked with a smile.

"Like go fishing and camp outside." Riley repeated with a laugh, Drake squeezed her harder against him.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"So, are we going to do this?" Riley asked.

"I guess so." Drake replied. "If I'm with you, I think we can handle it."

Riley smiled and returned to Drake's arms. She still wasn't sure if that's what he wanted, but what she did know was that he wasn't going to step back, she knew it from the determination she saw in his eyes. There were many things that still remained to be discussed, but the most difficult part passed. She raised her eyes toward Drake, trying not to make him notice that she was looking at him. His face was much more relaxed than at the beginning of the conversation, a genuine smile formed on his lips.

Now the two of them were in the race, willing to do everything possible to be the best parents regardless of the circumstances, and Riley knew they could do it.

In fact, she never doubted it.

[defineguilty]

FULL CHARACTER INFO SHEET

BASIC INFORMATION

♛┋FULL NAME: Neal George Caffrey ♛┋NICKNAME(S): Do aliases count as nicknames? ♛┋OCCUPATION: FBI Consultant / Former Con-Artist ♛┋AGE: 32+ depending on verse ♛┋DATE OF BIRTH: March 21st ♛┋GENDER: cis male ♛┋PRONOUNS: he/him ♛┋ORIENTATION: bisexual biromantic ♛┋NATIONALITY: american ♛┋ETHNICITY: white ♛┋RELIGION: catholic, but not really practicing actively 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

♛┋FACE CLAIM: Matt Bomer ♛┋EYE COLOUR: blue ♛┋HAIR COLOUR: brown ♛┋DOMINANT HAND: right ♛┋HEIGHT: 5' 11½" // 182cm ♛┋BUILD: athletic ♛┋TATTOOS: none ♛┋SCARS: none to speak of ♛┋PIERCINGS: none ♛┋GLASSES: occasionally when undercover/under an alias, but he has perfect vision ♛┋STYLE: Sophisticated & elegant. He very rarely leaves the house without a suit, often accessorizing with a hat. Usually somewhat vintage, but styled on the modern side. The most casual he usually goes is suit pants with a T-shirt or sweater.

FAMILY

♛┋PARENT #1: James Bennett (father) ♛┋PARENT #2: Angela Caffrey-Bennett (mother) ♛┋SIBLING(S): n/a ♛┋CHILDREN: n/a ♛┋PET(S): n/a ♛┋RELATIONSHIP WITH PARENTS: Non-existent. His father was a corrupt cop who killed a fellow cop and was arrested for it. Until his 18th birthday, Neal was led to believe his dad was a hero who died on the job and knowing the truth about his definitely messed up his entire world view. Add to that the fact that James tried to use Neal to get off after running from authorities for a murder he did commit and Neal certainly has all of the daddy issues. His mother, Neal feels less strong dislike and anger for. She was never a very stable presence in his life and the arrest of his father didn’t exactly help her. Instability and substance abuse made her a rather unfit mother and even though Neal would never say she was bad to him, Ellen was always the only real mother-figure he had. He hasn’t talked to his mother since he was eighteen and she hasn’t reached out either.  ♛┋RELATIONSHIP WITH SIBLING(S): n/a

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

♛┋HOMETOWN: St. Louis, Missouri ♛┋CURRENT: New York City, New York ♛┋LANGUAGE(S): English, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, French, German, conversational Italian & Swahili ♛┋SOCIAL CLASS: middle class ♛┋DEGREE: three MBAs and two doctorate degrees but... none of them legit. (in reality, Neal never graduated High School) ♛┋RAP SHEET? bond forgery (at least that’s the only thing they caught him on) ♛┋PRISON TIME? 4 years for bond forgery, another 4 years after breaking out of prison just before his sentence was up -- to be served as a consultant for the FBI

PSYCHOLOGY INFORMATION

♛┋JUNG TYPE: ESTP ♛┋ENNEATYPE: Type 3 -- The Achiever: Focused on the presentation of success, to attain validation & 7w8 ( Type 7 -- The Enthusiast: Pleasure seekers and planners, in search of distraction & Type 8 -- The Challenger: Taking charge, because they don't want to be controlled) ♛┋MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral / Chaotic Good ♛┋TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine ♛┋SCHEMA: Insufficient self-control (very strong). Other contenders include  Unrelenting standards, Emotional inhibation, Abandonment and Entitlement  hahaaa ♛┋INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Linguistic & Visual are at the same score. Interpersonal is second place. ♛┋NEUROTYPE: Neurotypical

PERSONALITY DETAILS

♛┋POSITIVE: charming, witty, inventive, creative, intelligent ♛┋NEGATIVE: sly, dishonest, distrusting, guarded, detached ♛┋DREAMS/AMBITIONS: Neal’s main goal is always a sense of fun and adventure. he doesn’t have a set end-goal either way -- not the white picket fence life, but also not the life of the fancy villa in some country that doesn’t extradite as some sort of crime lord. He likes the thrill of a con, so if he can make it happen, keeping that alive is what he cares about most. ♛┋FEARS: Among is main fears is definitely turning out like his father. Having idolized him for so many years before he knew who he really was and then seeing a few similarities between them after all really does scare him. He’s aware he’s far from the most honest person alive, but he likes to believe he would never turn to murder or betraying his own closest family and friends the way his father did.

RELATIONSHIPS / SEX

♛┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Verse dependent ♛┋PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: Several ambivalent on-off relationships (see Alex Hunter), plenty of casual affairs and only a few more serious relationships. The first big one being with Kate which, obviously, was something he was incredibly serious and passionate about. Also the only relationship to date he was so open about and had no shame admitting he’s deeply in love and would do anything for her. The only other (canon) relationship, although also without labels attached, was with Sara which remains his most healthy relationship, though it was foiled by circumstance and perhaps, just Neal’s inability of honesty at the time. ♛┋LEVEL OF SEXUAL EXPERIENCE: high ♛┋STORY OF FIRST KISS: Technically, it happened in the third grade after he drew a girl in his class a nice picture and they then proceeded to date for three weeks, which really just consisted of them holding hands twice, Neal drawing more pictures and that one first kiss at recess. Showed Brittney Nicole too -- his tooth gap clearly wasn’t that bad. ♛┋STORY OF FIRST TIME: Neal had just turned 17 and at the time, had his first more serious girlfriend. They’d been dating for a few months at the time and it happened after a night of plenty of shenanigans on a random Saturday. For Neal, sneaking out was never an issue anyway since parental supervision wasn’t exactly a thing, so no sneaking had to take place, and she’d told her parents she was staying at a friend’s place. Originally, they’d planned to just do whatever they felt like, something they both enjoyed very much (usually that meant Neal rigging the games at a local Arcade and winning her a bunch of stuffed animals or them hanging out at his favorite pool hall where he’d regularly earn a little extra by making some older guys who underestimated him play for money) but that night, they decided to up the stakes a little. They stopped by a second-hand store in town, bought complete outfits (suit and a cocktail dress, respectively) and then proceeded to drive to one of the fancier hotels in town. Somehow, they convinced the guy at the reception that they were relatives of the owner and should have been announced. They ended up getting one of the nicer rooms in the hotel for the night (and, for free!) and the exhilaration of the con pulled off well led to both of their first time.

VICES / HABITS

♛┋SMOKES? No (unless it’s part of a cover) ♛┋DRINKS? Yes, but preferably something respectable and only for taste and enjoyment, not specifically to get drunk ♛┋DOES DRUGS? No ♛┋IS VIOLENT? No ♛┋HAS AN ADDICTION? Well, technically he did say that a con is an addiction and that he hasn’t kicked it yet, so. That. ♛┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? Yes. I think while he comes off very confident and considers himself very confident too, there’s a couple things he just doesn’t believe will happen in his life for him. Among those are stable relationships, so he can sometimes subconsciously be destructive towards those and therefore proof his belief-system. ♛┋HABITS: He likes to have something to do with his hands, especially when he’s nervous. Be it throwing something and catching it again, or just twirling a pen between his fingers. ♛┋HOBBIES: Art, Reading, Cooking, Languages ♛┋OBSESSION(S): Depends on what’s currently important. Kate and the music box definitely developed into a sort of obsession at the time. I think in general, when intense things come up, especially when they threaten his loved ones, Neal has the tendency to get obsessive about them and let those things take over his life (or at least his private life) for the time being.

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

♛┋HOUSE: Raveclaw, though a serious contestant for Slytherin  ♛┋VICE: Pride ♛┋VIRTUE: Willingness to do almost everything to protect/help those he cares about ♛┋ELEMENT: Air ♛┋MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Siren or Centaur ♛┋ANIMAL: Fox ♛┋WOULD SURVIVE POST-APOC? Probably not. He’s very smart and would probably find a way to survive for a little while by somehow securing food and the like, but he has practically no combat skills and the second he needs to fight for his life, he would die ♛┋SONG TO DESCRIBE THEM?: Alibis by Marianas Trench

DETAILS / QUIRKS

♛┋PET PEEVES: All of the pet peeves. For someone with an affinity for the illegal, a lot of little things really annoy him. Some examples: the toilet seat being left up, gum on the sidewalk, people eating very fragrant food in confined spaces just to name a few ♛┋NIGHT OWL OR EARLY BIRD?: Night owl ♛┋LIGHT OR HEAVY SLEEPER?: More on the heavy side ♛┋FAVORITE FOOD?: He couldn’t pick. But he does have a real soft spot for cheese. Also risotto.  ♛┋LEAST FAVORITE FOOD?: Deviled ham ♛┋FAVORITE DRINK?: Red Wine ♛┋FAVORITE BOOK (GENRE)?: Non-fiction for genre. I don’t think he has a single favorite book though. ♛┋FAVORITE MOVIE?: He likes classic Hollywood movies, ngl. Sunset Boulevard is among one of his favorites. Romantic movies, in general. ♛┋LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE?: Anything super action-heavy or overly crude. ♛┋FAVORITE PLACE TO BE?: Not in jail is a great start. France, though, if he could have his choice. ♛┋COFFEE OR TEA?: Coffee. ♛┋FAVORITE COLOR?: Navy blue. ♛┋CUSSER? No. Shit is probably the worst thing he’ll say

[artificialqueens]

Something Borrowed 3/? (Witney) - Miss Bianca & jazz

Summary: This was going to be Courtney’s first visit to her childhood home in five years, and she’d made a lot of plans. Obviously, none of them had included falling into a whirlwind, summer love affair with her father’s 28-year-old fiancée, three months before the planned wedding. But sometimes, things just happened.

Miss Bianca’s A/N: We did it again, folks! Another week, another chapter - this time with more plot. For those of you who don’t know and are interested, jazz and I have tags on both of our blogs for things that remind us of this fic, here and here. Also, @alaskasthrone made an absolutely fantastic Spotify playlist for this fic, which jazz and I love, so definitely check that out for a soundtrack. As always, tell us what you think - here, on ao3, or through either of our blogs.

jazz’s A/N: More sexual tension! More denial!! More drama!!! Also, thank you x a million to everyone who’s been invested in this fic, it means the world to us <3 Here’s Chapter 1 & Chapter 2 if you missed them!

“Courtney!” Willam’s voice filtered up the stairs, and Courtney groaned, rolling onto her side.

“Courtney, c’mere!”

Sighing, Courtney kicked off her comforter, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment longer as she adjusted to the soft light filtering into her bedroom. She begrudgingly slid out of bed, running a hand through her messy hair and shuffling over to the doorway.

“What?” she yelled back.

“Just come down!”

Courtney leaned against the wall, debating. She could stay in her room and ignore Willam, which was very tempting. But the other woman would just keep calling her, and potentially come up and bother her, if she didn’t go down. As Courtney had learned, avoiding Willam was impossible.  

She grabbed her phone, heading down to find Willam lying on her back on the plush rug in the big, open foyer. Her hair was spread out under her, she wasn’t wearing pants, and she looked slightly pouty.

“What is it?” Courtney demanded, stifling a yawn and leaning against the banister. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Oh, hi!” Willam kicked her legs, smiling up at Courtney. “Nothing. Cute pajamas.”

“Willam!”

“I love those little shorts,” Willam added. “Turn around, I wanna see your butt.”

“I was asleep!”

“I was bored,” Willam said with a shrug, patting the floor next to her. “Come sit.”

“No!” Courtney crossed her arms. She wasn’t usually grumpy in the mornings, but Willam was especially skilled at irritating her.

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” Willam rolled her eyes.

She stretched her arms over her head, and the shirt she was wearing rode up her waist. Courtney spotted the hickey she’d left below Willam’s bellybutton, and couldn’t help remembering how Willam’s skin had tasted, crushed between her teeth. She swallowed.

Willam hooked her fingers under the hem of the shirt, tugging it up a few inches higher and shifting her hips so her abs flexed invitingly. Realizing what Willam was doing, Courtney managed to shake herself out of her trance, her gaze drifting up to Willam’s face.

“Sure you don’t wanna sit down, kitten?” Willam’s smile was mischievous now, and as her hand moved over her chest, Courtney recognized the pattern of her shirt.

“Wait a second,” Courtney said. “That’s my shirt.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Why the hell are you wearing my shirt?” Courtney griped, her voice still thick with sleep.

“It’s comfy,” Willam said, as if it was no big deal. “What, you want it back?”

“Yes!”

“Come take it off me, then.”

Willam’s smile had gone from playful to dangerous, and she straightened one of her legs, laying it flat against the floor and dragging her fingernails slowly over her bare thigh. Courtney wanted to replace Willam’s hand with hers, scratch up the smooth tanned skin and snap the waistband of her panties against her hip.

“Oh my god,” Courtney exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. “Stop that, it’s too early for this.”

“Come on, Court,” Willam said, half whining, her pout reappearing. “You know you want to.”

“It’s not gonna happen,” Courtney insisted, rubbing her eyes. “Can I go back to bed?”

“No. Come sit with me.”

“I’m not gonna sit with you,” Courtney said, turning to go back upstairs.

“I’ll tell Dave I’m worried that we’re not connecting,” Willam called, and Courtney stopped. “Get him to send us out on another girls’ shopping trip, or maybe to the spa this time. That would be fun, hmm?”

Sighing, Courtney spun back around. She could handle sitting next to Willam on the floor for awhile if her only alternative was another excursion with her to god knows where.

She dropped down next to Willam, cross legged, stifling another yawn. Almost immediately, Willam’s hand was on her knee, rubbing gently.

“I’m gonna need you to not, Willam.”

“Stop being so uptight,” Willam complained, her hand returning to her stomach.

“Stop seducing me,” Courtney retorted.

“See, I would,” Willam said. “But I have this thing where I cross lines that I probably shouldn’t. It’s like, my brand, or whatever.”

“Oh, my god, do you know how dumb that sounds?”

“Also, nobody eats pussy that enthusiastically without wanting to do it again,” Willam added, ignoring her. “I’m not stupid, Court.”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Okay, let’s talk about how you’re blushing again.”

“Shut up!”

“No. It’s cute.”

Courtney groaned, her head in her hands. Willam was right, she was blushing, as usual. It was hard not to, when the other woman took every opportunity to fluster and proposition her.

“Look,” she said. “How about we just pretend that it… never happened?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Why?” Courtney demanded, annoyed.

“Because I didn’t get to eat you out.”

“Willam!” Courtney exclaimed, folding her arms protectively over her stomach, as if somehow, Willam might notice how heat was pooling there. “You have to stop! This is wrong on so many levels. You’re engaged.”

Willam slid off her ring, letting it fall onto the carpet carelessly.

“Not right now,” she said, smirking.

“You’re engaged to my father.”

“So what?”

“You’re impossible,” Courtney muttered, shaking her head. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Can I come?”

“No!” Courtney insisted. She stood up, tugging her shorts down to cover more of her thighs. “I got it out of my system, Willam. It was a one-time thing.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Willam retorted.

“Just let it go,” Courtney said, turning around and starting to walk towards the stairs.

“Wait!” Willam said. “Here’s your shirt.”

Her eyes widening, Courtney looked over her shoulder to see Willam propping herself up on one elbow, now entirely naked aside from her panties. Courtney’s shirt was in her outstretched hand, and she was sporting a satisfied smile.

It took everything in her not to give in again, chuck off her tank top and cover Willam’s body with hers. Images from only days agoflashed through her mind, memories of Willam moaning and tugging her hair and kissing her until she didn’t know which way was up.

But Courtney was responsible. She had self-control.

Snatching the shirt out of Willam’s hand, she strode up the stairs, resisting the urge to look back and get a bird’s eye view of her father’s fiancee spread out nearly naked on the carpet.

“Those shorts really do look great on you,” Willam called after her. “They’d look better on the floor, though.”

Courtney ignored her, rolling her eyes and suppressing a smile.

—–

The more Courtney tried to keep Willam off of her mind, the more difficult it became. Their relationship had been like a game since the beginning, and Willam was still playing to win – which, to her, seemed to mean being able to fuck Courtney whenever she felt like it.

Courtney, for her part, wasn’t entirely sure she was capable of continuing to play.

After another encounter downstairs, this time in her father’s presence, a frazzled Courtney had resorted to taking a cold shower, cliched as it was. Willam had quite literally been breathing down her neck, resulting in her body reacting in all sorts of ways that it shouldn’t have been.

She’d been preparing dessert in advance, or trying to, with Dave sitting at the bar and reading a newspaper. Apparently deciding that the way she was cutting the peaches wasn’t efficient, Willam had come up behind her to demonstrate, her chest pressing to Courtney’s back and hands covering hers.

Courtney shuddered, and turned the water colder.

She could still taste peach juice from the slice Willam had fed her, watching her lips hungrily, before licking off her own fingers.

Dave, meanwhile, had been delighted that the two were finally getting along, completely oblivious to the fact that Courtney was crumbling from the inside out.

Huffing irritably, Courtney turned the water off. Whoever had claimed that cold showers worked was a liar.

She wrapped a fluffy towel around her body, wet hair plastered to her neck, and wondered at what point she’d become someone who resorted to standing under a stream of freezing water in an effort to squelch the not-so-appropriate thoughts she was having about her father’s fiancee.

A few weeks ago, her largest concern was whether or not her luggage would be overweight on her way to Los Angeles. Now, as Courtney moisturized her face, she couldn’t believe such a time ever existed –  when she wasn’t envisioning the curve of Willam’s calves in her Louboutins and repeating the pet names the other woman kept calling her over and over in her mind.

Courtney needed to get a grip, and fast.

She flicked on her hair dryer, and stared at herself in the mirror, hoping that if she kept herself firmly fixed in reality, the ghost sensations of Willam’s body pressed against hers might go away.

She had no such luck. It was like her brain was permanently trapped in a feedback loop, replaying whatever encounter had happened most recently until it drove her insane. Courtney could only hope that, with time and space, she’d be able to kick this phase that she was clearly going through.

She set the dryer down, fluffing her hair. Letting the towel slide partially off her body, clutched against her chest with one hand, she opened the bathroom door.

As soon as she stepped back into her room, Courtney was greeted by the sight of Willam in a thin camisole and yoga pants, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of her closet and humming absentmindedly. She nearly dropped her towel.

“What the hell?” she exclaimed, trying and failing to wrap the towel more tightly around herself again. Willam looked up at her.

“Just putting some crap in your closet,” Willam said nonchalantly, picking up a shoe by the ankle strap. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“Interrupt me doing what?” Courtney demanded.

“I dunno, getting dressed,” Willam said, shrugging. “Or not. I don’t know what you do in your spare time.”

“Get out of my room!”

Willam rolled her eyes, and leaned back on her hands, giving Courtney a look.

“Alright, well, at least look away,” Courtney said, doing her best to sound scandalized. “I’m naked!”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, girl.”

“Willam! I told you, we’re not talking about that.” She shifted uncomfortably, goosebumps rising on her skin.

“You look kinda cold,” Willam observed, tilting her head to the side.

Courtney watched helplessly as Willam stood, starting to close the gap in between the two of them slowly.

“Uh, maybe a little,” she managed to say, her eyes wandering to fix momentarily on the sway of Willam’s hips.

She wanted to move backwards, cover herself up, yell and curse at Willam to get out, but the words wouldn’t come. Immobilized, she wet her lips, trying to figure out what she was supposed to be feeling in this moment.

Willam was in her space now, and both the air and her towel felt much too thin. The space between them was heated, and even though Courtney might’ve been a tiny bit cold before, she definitely wasn’t anymore.

The look on Willam’s face was still surprisingly innocent, and Courtney was positive that it was a mask for something else. Willam parted her lips slightly, her hands brushing over Courtney’s arms and making her shiver again. A small smile was forming in the corner of Willam’s mouth, and her gaze traveled down Courtney’s neck to her chest, where she was still clutching the towel desperately.

“Lemme take that,” Willam said, her voice just a breathy murmur. She rested a hand on top of Courtney’s, her fingers cool on Courtney’s heated skin.

“I…” Courtney started, and Willam tugged lightly on the towel.

“I just wanna warm you up, sweetheart,” Willam said, her eyes flicking up to meet Courtney’s.

And there was the seduction, hiding under the innocence – the slight quirk to her lips, the bedroom eyes. The pet name. Courtney’s grip loosened, and the towel slid from her hands.

Willam caught it and cloaked it around Courtney’s shoulders, using her hold on the towel to pull Courtney ever so slightly closer. She was even more exposed than before, but Willam was so close now that it almost didn’t matter, their noses nearly brushing together.

“See?” Willam whispered. “Isn’t that better?”

Her lungs refusing to work, Courtney gave a small nod. Willam tilted her head, her breath ghosting over Courtney’s lips, and Courtney was relatively sure that the only thing keeping her on her feet right now was the hold Willam had on her.

Willam was intoxicating, and she smelled like sex and coconut, and it was impossible to resist her like this.

If it weren’t for Dave’s booming voice calling out for Willam down the hall, Courtney probably would’ve given in.

“Willam! Come and look at this!”

Courtney could feel Willam’s little huff of frustration against her lips, and then the other woman was backing away slightly, one finger playing with one of Courtney’s blonde curls.

“Duty calls, kitten,” she murmured, her tone almost wistful. “You know where to find me.”

With one last playful tug of Courtney’s hair, she spun around, and headed for the doorway. Courtney deflated, her body already missing Willam’s closeness, her electrifying touch.

“Coming, honey!”

The door slammed shut behind Willam, and Courtney collapsed back onto her bed, her head spinning.

Sleep wouldn’t come easy for her tonight, she could already tell. There was heat pooling low in her abdomen, and she was flustered all over again, still slightly weak from the sheer sexual tension that Willam managed to create with every movement.

Not bothering to get dressed, Courtney turned off the overhead lights and flicked on her nightlight. Attempting to tuck herself into bed, she lay there with the blankets pulled up to her chin for mere moments, before kicking them off of her completely. She felt hot and restless and uptight, and it was all Willam’s fault.

Despite her protests, Courtney wanted Willam back in her room desperately. She wanted her pressed close and invading her personal space, wanted her lips against her skin or whispering in her ear, and she despised Willam for making her want it, making her crazy.

She knew that her pride would never let her seek Willam out, but for a moment, she wondered what might happen if she did.

She imagined Willam sneaking back into her room, quiet and alluring, shedding her clothes at the foot of the bed and crawling up Courtney’s body slowly, breath leaving a trail of goosebumps up Courtney’s bare chest.

The thought made Courtney ache, and she couldn’t help running her own hand over her chest, tracing the path with light fingertips. Willam’s mouth would feel so much better, on her stomach, her ribs, her nipples. Palming her own breast, she bit her lip, letting her eyes fall shut.

Willam would keep her quiet, catching Courtney’s soft moans with her tongue pressed against Courtney’s teeth. Or, better yet, she’d tell her to keep quiet like a good girl, demanding it from her in a husky whisper, lips grazing across Courtney’s earlobe.

And Courtney could be good, if Willam wanted her to. She whimpered quietly, pinching her nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

She wouldn’t make much noise, but Willam would kiss her dizzy at the slightest sound anyway, pull on her hair and nip at her lower lip and make it even harder not to moan. She’d dig her hands into Courtney’s hips roughly, kiss her neck and leave marks like before, only darker and spreading down to her chest this time.

And when Willam finally settled herself in between Courtney’s legs, she’d have to stuff Courtney’s mouth with three fingers just to keep her from crying out.

Courtney snaked a hand down her body, her thighs spreading instinctively, and dipped her fingers into the wetness pooling at her entrance, dragging it up to rub around her clit. A quiet groan escaped her lips, back arching.

She was so wet that it was embarrassing, and she thought Willam might mock her for it as she touched her, fingertips teasing over her hole as she called her princess or sweetheart and laughed quietly into her neck.

Courtney wanted to whine at the thought, and she could feel her face getting hot. Pressing two fingers inside herself easily, she struggled to catch her breath, squeezing her eyes shut.

With the way Willam ran her mouth regularly, Courtney knew that she’d be skilled with her tongue. She’d open her up, have her writhing and whimpering on the sheets, grabbing fistfuls of the Egyptian cotton in a hopeless attempt to maintain some kind of control.

Willam was a tease in conversation, and Courtney was sure that she’d be the same way in bed, difficult and stubborn. She forced herself to slow her movements down, sliding her fingers out of her clenching channel and back up to play with her clit instead. She’d never been particularly good at self-restraint, being used to getting what she wanted quickly, but the idea of Willam teasing her mercilessly with her tongue until she was on the edge of tears drove her wild with arousal.

Or maybe Willam would let her come, and then keep going. Hold Courtney’s jerking hips down with one hand and press three fingers into her with the other, spreading her open, tongue still hot on Courtney’s over-sensitive bundle of nerves.

Courtney rubbed herself more frantically now, every muscle in her body tensing up. She felt the familiar coiling in the space between her hips, and Willam’s voice echoed in her head.

“Come for me, kitten.”

Her head snapped back against the pillows, and she bit down on her fist as lights flashed behind her eyes, her orgasm rushing through her and leaving her a sticky, shuddering mess.

As her breathing started to even out, Courtney slid her hand back up her torso, sucking her fingers into her mouth lazily. She could already feel her eyelids getting heavy, comfortable warmth spreading through her body and a small smile on her lips.

She thought of Willam as she fell asleep, soft skin pressed close and cool fingers tracing her collarbone, light as air.

—–

Courtney woke up the next morning – bordering on the afternoon – with the distinct feeling that she’d made a terrible mistake. It took her brain a few moments to catch up with her body.

“Oh my god,” Courtney breathed.

It all came flooding back to her then, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks.

She pulled the covers up over her head, ashamed of her lack of control. What had she been thinking? How could she have become so desperate that she’d lost herself in fantasies about Willam and gotten off on them?

Courtney wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. Clearly, she was more hopeless than she’d originally thought. She had no idea how she was going to face Willam now, with all the things she’d imagined her doing the night before.

She couldn’t stay in bed forever, though. Eventually, Courtney knew she’d have to put on a brave face and step back into reality, look Willam in the eyes knowing full well that she’d pictured her face buried between her thighs.

Courtney figured she might as well just get it over with. Slipping on a robe, she made her way down the hall, resolving to brew herself a cup of coffee and interact with Willam as little as was humanly possible.

Of course, the first thing Courtney heard as she walked downstairs was Willam’s music playing from the kitchen. Groaning, she rubbed her forehead, already dreading the impending confrontation.

“Jesus Christ, can you fucking turn that down?” Courtney exclaimed as she walked through the archway into the kitchen.

Willam, who was lounging on a stool at the bar, made a face before lowering the volume.

“Damn, what crawled up your ass last night?”

“N-Nothing!” Courtney caught herself starting to stammer, and shut her mouth, striding around Willam to the coffee maker.

“You sure about that, princess?”

Courtney clenched her hands into fists momentarily, before opening the cupboard with a lot more aggression than was probably necessary and grabbing a mug at random. What was that rule she’d been taught as a child? If she didn’t have anything nice to say, she might as well say nothing at all.

“Don’t break that,” Willam said. “It’s Tiffany, and I haven’t even used it yet.”

Taking a deep breath, Courtney put the mug back, and grabbed a different one.

“Ooh, she’s petty,” Willam commented.

Trying her best to forget that Willam was behind her, Courtney continued to go through the motions, appreciating how the coffee maker nearly drowned out the hip hop music.

“Can you make me some?” Willam asked loudly.

Courtney rolled her eyes, and continued to ignore Willam.

“Rude.”

There was a pause, and Courtney shut off the coffee maker.

“Why aren’t you talking back?” Willam wondered out loud. “Was it something I said? Something I did?”

Closing her eyes, Courtney huffed out a sigh.

“Are you still upset that I had to run out on you like that last night?” Courtney swore she could hear the smirk in Willam’s tone. “You know, we can pick up right where we left off. You just gotta take off that robe, and we’re in business.”

The idea of Willam cornering her against the sink, untying her robe and pushing it open, sent a flash of heat straight down to her core. Furious at herself, she spun around, glaring at Willam.

“You know this is borderline sexual harassment, right?” she demanded angrily, her voice coming out louder than she intended. “I told you to stop!”

Willam’s lips parted, and a quick range of emotions flashed over her face, from surprise to alarm to a confused expression that seemed slightly hurt.

“Court, I…” Willam just stared at her for a moment, before shaking her head. “I wouldn’t have… I thought you, um…”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Courtney snapped. She poured the coffee with shaky hands. “I’m not fucking interested.”

Picking up the mug, she walked back around the bar and towards the stairs, not wanting to stay in the kitchen any longer. Willam was still silent, and when Courtney glanced at her briefly on her way past, she could see the slight crease in Willam’s brow, the uncharacteristic softness of her eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” Willam said quietly behind her.

Courtney’s breath caught, and she nearly stopped walking. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she continued, taking the steps as quickly as was possible with her coffee mug in hand.

As soon as she reached the upstairs landing, the guilt hit her like a train.

Willam had no idea of what Courtney had spent her night doing, and without that context, Courtney had practically gone from nearly giving in and kissing her again to claiming harassment overnight.

And the fact that Willam had dropped the seductive act and genuinely apologized, just because Courtney had overreacted and accused her of something she wasn’t even guilty of, made Courtney feel even worse.

Aware that the damage had already been done, she took a scalding sip of her drink and retreated to her room, her chest tight.

She’d already lost half of the day to sleeping in. At this point, she didn’t see much of a reason to do anything productive, and leaving the relative safety of her room seemed like an invitation for disaster.

Courtney did everything she could think of to distract herself. She rearranged the photos on her wall, and unpacked the remainder of her clothes. She sat in her chair and checked every social media platform she knew of, multiple times, and lay on her stomach on her bed watching Netflix, too preoccupied to pay even the slightest bit of attention.

She stripped her bed bare, just to remake it with fresh sheets. When the sun started to set, she changed out of her robe and into pajamas, in hopes that it might make her feel better, cleaner.

It didn’t. When Courtney stared in her mirror, she was still the same girl she’d been earlier, taking her anger at herself out on someone else. Only now, the guilt was weighing more heavily, contorting her face into something ugly.

Eventually, Courtney found herself perched on the edge of her bed, frustrated and fidgety. She knew she needed to apologize to Willam, but she was stubborn, and, if she were being totally honest, a little bit scared.

She’d been avoiding her closet, knowing full well it’d be the opposite of a distraction. It was practically bursting with reminders of Willam, from her shoes to her lingerie to the stupid fur coat Courtney still hadn’t been able to lose for longer than 6 hours.

With a sigh, Courtney walked over to it and slid open the doors. As she rifled through the hanging clothes, she could hear the front door open and slam shut again, the sounds of her father coming home late from work.

It was a Wednesday, which meant he’d be leaving again soon for his office’s weekly night out - their destination probably a strip club or something similar. His footsteps came up the stairs, assumedly heading towards his office.

Making a split second decision, Courtney grabbed the fur coat out of her closet and opened her bedroom door. Returning Willam’s clothes was a good excuse to go talk to her, and she figured she’d probably have a few minutes to apologize, with Dave nearby as a buffer if necessary.

She was padding down the hallway in bare feet towards the master bedroom when she heard her father’s raised voice spilling out from behind the partially open door, and she slowed to listen.

“What do you mean, you lost it?” Dave was saying.

“I didn’t lose it, I left it on the kitchen counter,” Willam said, her voice far quieter. She didn’t sound like herself, and it made Courtney anxious.

“Oh, you left it there, did you?”

“Yeah, I –”

“And did you leave your brain down there, too?” His voice turned cold, and Courtney’s stomach lurched. “No, wait, you’d have to have a brain to lose it.”

“Dave –”

“Do you have any idea how much that ring cost?”

Courtney took a small step closer, tilting her head and peering through the doorway to see her father standing at his full height and glaring. Willam wasn’t visible.

“Do you?” he demanded. “No? Well, let me give you a hint. That ring cost more than all your stupid shoes put together, and more than you’ve made in your entire life.”

He stepped forward, out of Courtney’s line of vision.

“And it’s definitely worth a hell of a lot more than you are.”  

Flinching, Courtney listened helplessly, silently willing Willam to fight back, to say something, anything.

“I’ve given you everything you own, and you think you have the right to be careless with it?” He was practically yelling now, and the tone of his voice was familiar enough to trigger very unpleasant memories in Courtney’s mind. “You were whoring yourself out at a cheap bar when I met you, and you’d still fucking be there if I hadn’t taken a liking to you!”

Willam murmured something that Courtney couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, a bartender, sure,” Dave said spitefully. “I’m sure every bartender trades blowjobs for tips, huh?”

Courtney’s blood was boiling. She’d started to think that maybe her father had changed since she’d last seen him, but that obviously wasn’t the case: it seemed that he was worse than ever.

“I have to leave, the taxi’s nearly here,” Dave said, his voice still cold and venomous. “I don’t ever want to see that ring off your finger again, unless I take it off myself. And believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”

Her eyes widening, Courtney glanced around, trying to figure out where to hide when her father left the bedroom. There was an empty guest room behind her, the door slightly ajar, and she slipped inside.

Courtney waited with bated breath as Dave’s heavy, quick footsteps passed. She tentatively poked her head out into the hall, assuring that the coast was clear, before gingerly approaching the master bedroom.

Pausing at the doorway, she clutched the fur coat tighter to her chest. For a moment, she contemplated just walking away, figuring there was always the possibility that her presence would only make things worse. But then, she heard Willam take a shaky breath, and she bit the bullet and rapped on the doorframe lightly instead.

“What is it?” Willam sounded younger than Courtney had ever heard her, and she pushed open the door, stepping inside hesitantly.

Willam wasn’t looking at her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped loosely around herself, staring almost vacantly into space. The strap of the black negligee she was wearing was sliding off her shoulder, and despite her heavy makeup, she looked so small that Courtney thought she could probably pick her up and hold her like a child.

Walking over to her slowly, Courtney set the coat down beside her. After a moment, she hopped up on the high bed as well, the fur forming a divider between them.

“You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that,” she said finally, looking down at her hands.

“Why not?” For once, there was no edge to Willam’s voice, no glint in her eyes. “He’s right.”

“He’s not, though,” Courtney replied.

Willam let out a short, humorless laugh.

“And how do you know that?” she asked rhetorically.

“I just do. You deserve better.”

“Oh, get off your high horse,” Willam said. “I know exactly what you think of me, Court, and it’s not all that much better than what your father thinks of me.”

“Willam, I…”

“It’s fine,” Willam said, shaking her head slightly. “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Courtney said, reaching for Willam instinctively and then thinking better of it, her hand dropping to rest on the fur coat between them. “You’re a human being, Will. Not a possession, or a punching bag, or a blow-up sex doll, or whatever else he’s trying to turn you into.”

“He had a bad day,” Willam said, her voice small.

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Courtney objected. “He’s been having bad days and taking out his anger on the woman in his bedroom for as long as I’ve been alive.”

Willam looked at her for the first time, a hint of curiosity on her face.

“I didn’t mean to do it, too, though,” Courtney added.

“Didn’t mean to do what?”

“What I said earlier, in the kitchen,” Courtney said, taking her time. “I didn’t mean it, but I think I did exactly what he does.”

Willam stared at her for a moment, her expression unreadable, before looking down at her feet.

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Courtney continued. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For snapping at you.” Courtney closed her eyes momentarily. “For playing the victim, and making you think you’d read all the signs wrong, when you didn’t.”

“Oh,” Willam said. When Courtney glanced over at her, the corners of her eyes were crinkled slightly, the beginnings of a small smile in her upper lip.

“I don’t know you that well,” Courtney said. “And I’m not even sure that I like you very much.”

The smile widened, and Willam looked over at her again.

“But I do know that you’re smart,” Courtney said seriously. “And independent. And charming, when you want to be.”

Willam nodded slightly, crossing her legs at the ankles and swinging her feet a little.

“And you’re definitely worth more than a fucking shiny rock,” Courtney finished, biting out the last words. “No matter how big and fancy looking it is.”

Lifting her hand from her lap, Willam rested it on top of Courtney’s where it lay on the coat. Courtney nearly jumped, her gaze darting up to meet Willam’s. The spark that had been missing from Willam’s eyes was returning, her smile soft and the farthest thing from dangerous.

After a long moment, they pulled their hands away simultaneously, noticing the palpable shift in the mood. Willam cleared her throat.

“I should probably go get that dumb rock, before I forget,” Willam said.

“And I should probably leave your bedroom,” Courtney added, rubbing the back of her neck.

Sliding off the bed, Willam got to her feet, tugging down the hem of her negligee. Courtney hopped down as well, and before she could leave, Willam was pressing the fur coat into her arms.

“Um, goodnight,” Courtney said, awkwardly hugging the coat to her chest and heading for the door.

“Goodnight, Courtney.”

It wasn’t until Courtney had returned to her bedroom that she remembered the coat wasn’t hers, and that the whole reason she’d gone to visit Willam in the first place was to take it back. The other woman had managed to get it into Courtney’s room again, without even having to do the work herself.

She hung it back up in her closet with a slightly exasperated smile on her face, discovering that she didn’t really mind at all.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Office Crush

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff and light angst

Word Count: 4385

CW: Alcohol

Summary: Baz has been pining after his boss' son for ages. Office crushes are just the worst, huh? Based on "a kiss given to the wrong person" request.

Read on AO3

AN: Sorry this took so long! I've had some bad writer's block but I think I've kicked it. Hope you all enjoy some pining angsty Baz :D

Baz

Most people despise their jobs. I count myself lucky that I mostly enjoy it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have it’s... disadvantages. One particular disadvantage actually. And he eats far too many cherry scones.

Mage & Associates is a very recent financial firm. It was started by David Mage (definitely not his real last name) and practically exploded. Now they manage the money of companies across the UK. I feel lucky to work here, despite my mother and father’s personal dislike of Mr. Mage. (Some old feud I really don’t care about.) What I didn’t expect was for Mr. Mage to have a loud, obnoxious, devastatingly handsome son.

I’m sitting at my desk, trying to finish another report, when someone crashes into the chair next to me.

“Hey how’s it going Bazzy?” he says, scone crumbs around his mouth.

“I told you not to call me that,” I mutter.

Simon hangs his head back with a groan, bronze curls falling back over the chair. “God why are you always so serious?”

“One of my last names is Grimm.” I brush some crumbs off my desk. “Why are you bothering me, Salisbury? I actually have work to do. Unlike you.”

“I have work! I’m just taking a cherry scone break. Want some?” Simon rips off a piece of his sour cherry scone and shoves it in my face. I swat his hand away.

“If you did your job with the same enthusiasm shown in your pastry eating, this company’s work would halved.”

He juts out his bottom lip. God why does he have to be so adorable when pouts? It’s maddening. My resolve almost falters. “You’re always so mean, Pitch.”

“‘Still so constant, lord.’”

“Pfft! Only you would insult me with Shakespeare.” I turn to stare at him. “Yes, I know Shakespeare. I went through the same school system as you.”

“You’re just full of surprises, Salisbury, I’ll say that.”

Simon grins. He has a very beautiful smile. I picture it in my head at least twice a day. “Thank you for that sort of compliment, Baz. Now,” he claps a hand over my shoulder (I try to ignore the jolt of sensation that runs through my arm), “I’m going to do your oh so beloved work. See ya later.”

He walks off with a little skip in his step. I lean slightly out of my cubicle, just watching him move, and sigh under my breath. God I’m pathetic. What am I, a bloody teenager? Here I am, 25 years old, with a bloody crush. This is my daily routine. Salisbury comes to my desk, I insult him because I’m too nervous to do anything else, and then I watch him longingly like a pining idiot. It’s my own personal hell.

“You’re so obvious, mate.”

“Gah!” I nearly jump out of my chair. I turn to glare at Niall, who’s leaning his head over my dingy grey cubicle wall.

“For fuck’s sake, Niall,” I huff, “give a man some warning.”

“Sorry for not announcing my presence while you were ogling Mage Jr’s arse.”

I look down, hoping to hide my blush. “I wasn’t ogling his arse...”

“Alright, casually observing his backside. That more appropriate?”

“Oh shut up.”

Niall makes his way to stand at the entrance, leaning against the side. I don’t look over in fear of seeing his definitely judging expression.

“How long have are you gonna keep pining after Salisbury and do absolutely nothing?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Um, it is if I have to keep suffering through your annoying infatuation. Every day I hear you two make jabs at each other, then listen to you whine about how hot he is and how he’s probably straight. C’mon Baz, just ask him out.”

I hunker down at my desk. Of course Niall doesn’t get it. When you spend years in the closet, crushes are hard enough as is. But crushing on your boss’ son? That’s a bloody minefield. What if he rejects me? What if he freaks out and tells his father? What if he just, never talks to me again?

“No,” I say flatly.

Niall just sighs. I can hear the exasperation just in his breath. “Fine, whatever. Just ogle his arse for the rest of your life.”

“I was not ogling!”

Christmas time rolls around very quickly. The office is decorated in horrendously bright reds and greens. Some of my more enthusiastic co-workers are wearing antlers or Santa hats. And we all know who the most enthusiastic man on the planet is.

“Ho ho ho! Happy Christmas one and all!” Simon shouts, bursting into our floor in a red hat.

Everyone claps. Except me. I just keep staring at my monitor instead of him.

“Now I’d like to cordially invite all of you to Mage & Associates’ annual Christmas party. There will be tunes, there will be booze, and there will be holiday cheer!” They erupt in whoops and hollers. (God, sometimes it’s like working in an American frat house.) “This Friday, floor 8, 9:00. Hope to see you all there!”

My overly excited coworkers give a last cheer. I wander up to see Simon bows extravagantly, the little pom-pom of his hat falling forward. I look back at my computer with it’s comforting emotionless numbers.

“So,” Simon’s voice rings in my ear, “you coming, Baz?” Of course he has to come sit next to my desk. Why does this man insist on torturing me?

I snort. “What do you think?”

He throws his arms on my desk and leans his chin on them. “I think you’re a ginourmous stick in the mud, with an even bigger stick up your arse. So you’ll be skipping it. Like a total Scrooge.”

“I’m not a Scrooge. I’d just prefer to not watch my co-workers drunkenly sing Christmas carols.”

Simon throws his arms up for effect. “But that’s the best part! People having fun, getting into the Christmas spirit.” He knocks my arm with his fist. “C’mon, Grimm-Pitch. Loosen up a bit.”

My eyes flick over to his. His sunshine grin makes my heart stutter. Fuck, I’m weak. I sigh and shake my head.

“Fine, I’ll come to the party.”

He squeals and claps. (It’s adorable.) “Awesome! Make sure to wear something festive.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What counts as festive, Salisbury?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Something green, something red, something red and green? If you own anything that’s not grey or black.”

I glare at him. “Very well. I’ll find something... festive.”

“Awesome!” He stands up, hands on his hips. “Can’t wait to see you there, Baz.”

He walks away again, but I don’t stare. All I can do is replay his words in my head. He can’t wait to see me, he can’t wait to see me . Dear lord, I have to stop over analyzing.

Salisbury is wrong. I do own something “festive”. A simple pine green button down shirt. I think my mother made me buy it because she had the same concern about my penchant for monochrome suits. (I wear colour, just not a lot)

The party decorations are nuts. Tinsel is strung up on every light fixture. Paper Santas are taped to the wall. A giant Christmas tree covered in sparkly ornaments is in the corner. Everyone is dancing and/or drinking. However, I am against a wall, deciding whether to roll my sleeves back up or leave them down. I can’t figure out which looks better.

“Oh my god, stop fidgeting!”

I turn to see Niall, holding two cups of eggnog. He hands one to me. “I’m not fidgeting.”

“Your shirt is fine . You are fine . Now stop picking at your damn shirt and try to have fun.” He raises up his glass. “Happy Christmas, Baz.”

I sigh, and clink (more like clunk) our plastic cups together. “Happy Christmas, Niall.”

We both take big sips and look out into the crowd. People are dancing and jumping to the remixed Christmas carols. Salisbury’s out there somewhere, I think. I haven’t seen him yet though. I know I shouldn’t be nervous (of course he’s going to be here) but my stomach is like a swirling thunderstorm.

“Are you going to dance?” Niall asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” I mumble, drinking more eggnog.

Niall chuckles. “Hey, that girl is wearing the same shirt as you.”

I look where he’s pointing, which is seemingly at Penelope Bunce, the purple haired woman in accounting who’s friends with Simon. She’s jumping around happily. We exchange witty banter in the break room constantly.

“Niall, what do you mean ‘that girl’? That’s Bunce. And she’s wearing a dress.”

Niall shakes his head. “No no, not Penelope. The blonde one next to her.”

I tilt my head head, then I see her. She’s dancing just behind Bunce and I have no clue who she is. (Guess she’s someone’s friend or date.) She is very pretty and very blonde, hair long and bouncing with the beat. Niall is right, sadly. We are wearing similar green button downs. Her’s is a woman’s version though. Still, I’m wearing the same shirt as someone else.

“Shit,” I groan. “Someone call the bloody fashion police to arrest me.”

“Oh stop it, it’s not that bad. C’mon, let’s dance!”

I sigh. “You go. I’ll join later.”

“Fine. Stand here, being a stiff. Simon will love that.”

I give Niall one long glare as he goes to the makeshift dance floor. He’s right though. I’m a total stiff who doesn’t know how to have fun. What the hell would Simon see in me?

“Baz! You came!”

Speak of the Devil, Simon comes rushing towards me. He’s wearing a ridiculously ugly bright red Christmas sweater. (Rudolph with a sparkly pom pom nose? My god.) The flush in his cheeks tells me he’s had more than one cup of eggnog. He swings an arm around my shoulders, making me tense up more than I’d like.

“Well I said I would, didn’t I?” I say as calmly as I can.

He rolls his eyes lazily. “Well yeaaaaah. But I wasn’t sure you were gonna show up. But you did! Which I’m very happy about.”

My cheeks almost flush as red as his. “Happy to be here, Salisbury.”

“Please, you should call me Simon. We’re all friends here!’

My heart tightens, nearly breaking. Of course we’re just friends. What else should I have expected? I shift uncomfortably and look down. “Yeah of course. We’re all, friends...”

“Let’s go dance!” He tugs roughly on my sleeve. Maybe I’m finally feeling confident, or maybe it’s the look on Simon’s face, or maybe it’s the eggnog. But despite my better judgement, I go with him.

Whoever picked this music (probably Simon) has terrible taste. Dubstep jingle bells? I move slightly to the beat. Salisbury jumps up and down, pumping his fist in the air. The multicoloured lights catch in his hair. God, how can it sparkle like that?

He reaches forward to lazily drape an arm across my shoulder, pulling us closer together. My heart threatens to beat out of my chest. Tolerating his presence so close to mine during work is hard enough. Now there’s less than half a foot between us. I can see his every beautiful mole, every glint in his blue eyes, every flash of that gorgeous grin. It’s almost more than I can stand, but like hell if I’m going to waste this opportunity.

I cautiously place my hands on his hips. Just lightly touching the material of his stupid jumper. He doesn’t shove me away. Instead, Salisbury lets his other arm fall on me. He smiles at me lazily, then pulls himself forward until I can feel his hot alcohol laced breath on my ear.

“You having fun Baz?” He whispers, making me shudder.

“Yeah,” I reply shakily under my breath.

“Good.”

He moves his hips back and forth under my grip. We’re so close I can feel every shift. I’m surprised my brain hasn’t exploded yet. Simon Salisbury is dancing with me. He’s almost dancing on me. Our bodies are so close together. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s intoxicating.

It’s too much.

I pull away. Simon looks at me confused.

“I’m uh, thirsty,” I say weakly. “I’m gonna get more eggnog. Want some?”

He smiles drunkenly. “Sure.”

I power walk away, trying to catch my breath. God what was that? I haven’t danced like that since my club cruising phase in first year uni. And I’m not a bloody teenager anymore! I shouldn’t be doing this, especially with a co-worker, especially with my boss’ son. But... it felt so damn good. I finally had Simon so close to me, the way I’ve wanted for months. Sadly, I’m a stupid coward, who is scared of his own feelings.

I put my hands on he eggnog table and hang my head. I’m such an idiot. I just threw away my chance. Maybe that was Simon’s way of telling me he has feelings too. And maybe I can fix it.

I pour two red cups full of eggnog, and turn to look for him. My eyes catch on an annoyingly red sweater wobbling around. With my nerves steeled, I walk towards him.

I’m a only few feet away when I see it. Simon, under that damned mistletoe, snogging the blonde woman I saw earlier.

I almost drop the cups. If my heart nearly broke before, it’s certainly breaking now. I fucked it up, like I fuck everything up. I ran away and he found someone better. A normal person would scream or cry or something idiotic like that. But I’m Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, dammit. So I just calmly turn around and walk away.

“Hey man,” Niall says as I pass him, “where are you going?”

“Home,” I reply coldly.

“Really? Why?”

“Because I want to alright?!” I snarl at him. He looks very taken aback. It’s not fair to him. I sigh and look down. “Sorry. Just, something happened and I really want to go back to my flat and be miserable, alright?”

Niall’s eyes soften. I think he knows it’s something to do with Salisbury, but he’s not going to say anything. (Good man.) He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Alright, mate. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

I grab my coat and make my way out of the building. I try not to think about everything, but my self destructive mind keeps pulling me back. How could I be so stupid? Of course Simon doesn’t feel the same. I’m a cold, mean, asshole coward who’s too scared to talk to him without sarcastic insults. The dancing meant nothing. He was drunk off his ass. He probably didn’t even realise what he was doing.

The second I get home, I’m going to open a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and feel sorry for myself for exactly one hour. Then I’ll move on. Hopefully.

I try to avoid my desk all of Monday. I do my work in the kitchen, or the lounge, or anywhere else that isn’t my cubicle. If Salisbury can’t find me, I don’t have to talk to him. Yes, I have adopted the logic of a toddler trying to avoid bedtime, but I have few other options.

I’m sitting in the breakroom for lunch, which I never do. Luckily no one else does either. There are far too many much nicer cafe for them to go to. Which leaves me alone with just my thoughts and chicken sandwich. A whole weekend later and I’m still thinking about that party. Dancing with my crush, then watching him kiss a girl under the mistletoe. Maybe that was his girlfriend. I know she doesn’t work here. That’d make sense. But then why was he dancing with me earlier? To mess with my head?

“Baz?”

That voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I look away and will my face from turning beet red.

“Hello, Salisbury,” I mutter.

Simon walks over to me and sits across. I regrettably look up slightly, only to see him in that grey suit he always looks stunning in. Fuck me, I’m screwed.

“What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you eat in the breakroom before.”

“I don’t usually.” Keeping my words brief almost keeps my blush from appearing.

He pulls out one of those blasted scones and munches loudly. “I, uh,” he says with mouth still full, “went to your desk this morning. You weren’t there.”

“You must’ve missed me.”

“Oh. I just uh, haven’t seen you since the party. You kinda disappeared.”

I scoff slightly, and say something despite my better judgement. “Didn’t really enjoy watching you snog your girlfriend. PDA is disgusting.”

His brow furrows, but in confusion rather than anger. “Girlfriend? What the hell are you talking about?”

What the hell is he talking about?! My blood is almost boiling. He can at least own up to it like a decent person. “That blonde girl you were kissing under the mistletoe. Who else?”

Simon hangs his head with a loud groan. “Ugh you saw that? Fuck.” He looks up with an apologetic expression. “That was Agatha. She’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we dated when we were 15, but of course that was a long time ago. Really, we’re just old friends. Her, Penny and me all went to school together. She lives in California now and we barely see each other. But she’s back in town for Christmas so I invited her to the party. For old time's sake.”

“Is that why you kissed her? For old time's sake?” Crap, I hope I don’t sound too defensive.

"No! Of course not..." He starts picking at his nails (a nervous habit I've noticed.) “Well, um, you see, this is embarrassing, but I can’t hold my liquor very well. And I saw her under the mistletoe and my drunken brain thought she was... someone else.” He turns bright red this time. Shit, Simon has a his own stupid crush. Guess we’re not that different after all.

I scoff again. It keeps me from totally losing my cool. “What, thought she was some other blonde? You must have a type.” I can’t avoid the nervous timbre of my voice near the end.

He shakes his head vigorously and looks away. “No, uh actually... I saw the green shirt, and for a second, I thought she was... you...”

I blink rapidly. My mind goes completely blank, and my heart just stops. I’m a hurricane of thoughts and emotions, trying to process his words. He thought it was me? Does that mean he wanted to kiss me? Me? As I’m going through this crisis, I don’t realise I’m staring blankly at a very confused Simon.

“Um, Baz?” he says, waving a hand.

With a head shake, I come back to reality. “Sorry. Did you just say, you thought it was me under the mistletoe?”

Simon keeps picking at his nails. “I, uh, yeah... look Baz, I know I should've said something before. I’ve been meaning to ask you out. But, you’re just so cool and stuff and I’m not! I-I can’t bloody think around you, let alone ask you on a date. I took a shot with the dance at the party, which seemed to go great. So when I saw the mistletoe I was like ‘hey, why not?’ But then Agatha pushed me off and you were gone. I realised I'd really lost my chance.” He starts running a hand through his curls, pulling at them nervously. “I’m really sorry for dumping this all on you. You don’t have to like me back. I’d understand. I mean, who’d want to go out with someone as weird as me?”

I can’t believe it. He’s just as nervous, shy, and awkward as me. Maybe even more so. He’s a fucking tragedy. He couldn’t be a bigger mess. We match.

I bring my chair around so we’re sitting side by side. I take his shaking hand in mine. He turns to me with wide blue eyes.

“So,” I say, “if you had kissed me, how would you have done it?”

Simon’s mouth falls open slightly. It’s his turn to stare blankly at me. “What?”

“If it really had been me under the mistletoe, how would you have kissed me?”

“I-I, uh... I’m not good with words.”

I reach out and cup his cheek. “Then why don’t you just show me?”

After a brief stare, he grabs my collar and smashes his mouth against mine. It’s a total mess (my teeth nearly cut his lips) but I really don’t care. He’s soft and warm, just like I always thought. I grab the other side of his face, bringing us closer. He grips my shirt like he never wants to let go. We move together fervently at first, all heat and passion. Our tongues and lips battle like two over eager teenagers. But bit by bit, it slows into long, languid kisses. My head is swimming. This is all I’ve ever wanted, and all I want from now on.

We pull away only when we’re out of breath. Simon is flushed all the way down to his neck. I move to hold his shoulders, but he doesn’t release my shirt.

“So,” he sighs, “this silly crush I have isn’t so one sided?”

I chuckle under my breath. “No. Hasn’t been for months.”

He lightly slaps my shoulder. “Thanks for telling me, prick.”

“Well you were the one who kissed your ex in front of me!”

“That was an accident!”

We fall into fits of laughter. His forehead falls against my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him. Slowly we calm down. But I keep holding him, revelling in the feeling of us being so close. He smells wonderful, like cinnamon and sour cherry scones.

“Are we boyfriends now?” He says into my shirt.

I giggle, stroking his hair. “I think we should go on a proper date first, Salisbury.”

He pulls back with one eyebrow raised. “You know, if we’re gonna date, you should probably call me by my first name.”

I frown childishly. “But that feels weird. I’ve always called you Salisbury.”

Simon shakes his head with a smile. “Fine, you big baby.” He plays with the lapel of my suit jacket absentmindedly (I love it). “Well, as a compromise, you could always use my middle name. Though it’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“Oh now you have to tell me!” (I’m far too excited about something so trivial.)

He chews his lips, then sighs. “It’s Snow. Simon Snow Salisbury.”

I bark out a loud laugh, making him frown. He looks down at the floor.

“Oh shut up,” he mutters. “Blame my Mum. She chose it.”

“No no no,” I say, tilting his chin up so we’re eye to eye. “It’s a fine middle name, love. It’s absolutely great.” He still looks upset, gorgeous face all pinched together. “Alright, just so we’re even, I’ll tell you my first name.” Now he looks interested (I’m going to regret this.) “My full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

Snow erupts in giggles. I’d be pissed if he didn’t look so damn beautiful when he laughs. He crushes his face into my shoulder, letting me feel every laugh induced sob. “Oh my god,” he sputters, “and I thought my parents hated me!”

“It’s a Pitch family name, so Mother desperately wanted it. But Father and I both hate it. Hence why I’m called Baz and not bloody Tyrannus.”

He moves back, wiping laughing tears away from his eyes. “Well then, I promise only to call you Tyrannus when I’m royally pissed off at you. That way you’ll know.” He flashes me a cheeky smile.

I run my fingers up and down his neck. “And I’ll only call you Simon when it’s just the two of us. So it’ll be special.”

God, he’s beautiful when he blushes. Simon leans up to kiss me again. Just a soft, sweet peck. It sends a warmth through my body I could get used to. We pull back and lean our foreheads against each other.

“This isn’t workplace appropriate behaviour, you know,” I whisper.

“Very true,” he sighs, “my father would have a fit if he saw us snogging in the breakroom.”

I pull back very quickly, hands clasped on his shoulders. “Oh my god that’s right. What if your father doesn’t approve? I cannot lose this job, Snow!”

Snow chuckles and pats my hand. “Don’t worry, love. If my father tries to fire you, he’ll have to deal with me .” My heart races at the protective look in his eye. “And just because we shouldn’t kiss here, doesn’t mean we can’t kiss somewhere else. Say, at a restaurant tonight after work?”

I grab his hand and squeeze it. “I would love that. But I'll only go if you’re still wearing this stunning grey suit.”

“Deal.”

I hear the faint sound of people entering the floor. I look at the clock. “I think our lunch is over. We should probably get back to work.”

Snow sighs heavily. “Fine. Let’s be responsible adults and all.” He gives me one last fleeting peck and stands up. “Meet at your cubicle at 6?”

My pulse races so wildly it’s insane. “Can’t wait.”

He flashes me a smile and walks off. I watch him like always, but it doesn’t feel shameful anymore. I think I’m allowed to do this. The idea of watching Simon Snow Salisbury only fills me with joy now, not also fear.

Once Snow is surely gone, I make my way to my own workspace. I have a very hard time focusing on the numbers with all the nervous anticipation stirring in my gut. My foot is literally bouncing, knocking against my deck.

“Hey what’s got you so jittery?” Niall asks from his usual spot hovering over the wall.

I turn to him with a wide smile “I promise to tell you all about it later out of the office.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’ve very strange, Baz Grimm-Pitch.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever."

However strange I may seem, I don't care. I'm too happy. I’ve got a date with the man of my dreams, who cares for me just as much as I care for him.

I’m certainly living a charmed life.

Aw my angsty son and loud son are happy. Good for them :)

And another kiss fic struck from the list! I'm starting university in a bit so I hope to get most of them done before that. If not then the last few will sadly not be finished until Christmas break. First semester will be murder ugh. Wish me luck, my wonderful fans. And thank you all for making this summer so great with all your wonderful requests and comments. It means the world to me <3

[pumpkins-s]

What if Loraine was still alive and went to Kerberos with Sam, Matt and Shiro? What if she's kicking galra ass and part of space pirate crew an year later??

(On AO3 as Prison Toys)

Pidge gets used to not talking about Kerberos.

Mostly. Somewhat. Little bit.

She has her moments, when it all gets to be too much, and she doesn’t think she can sit through another five minutes of talk about where Kerberos went wrong and what we can learn from it lectures in class without screaming. When she snaps and fights back with sharp words off a barbed tongue of barely controlled grief against Iverson or whichever asshole has opened his mouth on that particular day. But for the most part, she learns to keep her mouth shut.

For the one, it’s a necessary evil to put up with their excuses, their lies, in order to protect her identity. Katelyn Holt could throw a fit and threaten a Garrison officer for talking shit about her family, for leaving them to rot in the cold depths of space. Pidge Gunderson cannot.

Pidge Gunderson, for all intents and purposes, is just a single child from a nice, Midwestern family, with a private school education and an interest in radios—on paper, at least.

Still, what’s on paper is all Pidge has left anymore. She knew the consequences of her mission, and accepted them as a necessary sacrifice. All that she was is now obsolete, and she must become the illusion to the best of her ability.

Besides, it is…tiring, not to be believed all the time. The Garrison, her former friends, even her mother, none of them would listen. Why waste time now arguing with people who won’t ever understand, when it will be easier to prove them wrong.

Which she will, she’ll prove them all wrong. She will find the truth if it kills her.

She thinks about them a lot lately, especially now that she’s here, in the Garrison. Her family, her father and brother, are of course never far from her mind, but the others too—Shiro, who had been Matt’s friend so long he was practically family himself. And the woman, Pidge’d only met her a couple times, but she’d seemed nice enough. She remembers her mentioning having a little sibling around Pidge’s age, someone who looked up to her, someone to come back to.

None of them deserved—do deserve—to be abandoned like this.

She will bring them home, all of them. Bring Matt and her father back to herself and her mother, and the others to their own families.

As far as she knows, all Shiro’d really had was Keith, in terms of family or close friends outside of Matt or…whatever that was. Regardless, they’d been important to each other, and that’s about as far as she cares about it.

Pidge’d only seen Keith the once, after Kerberos. The same day she’d broken into the Garrison, and had been dumped in the waiting room of the commander’s office while Iverson called her mother to come pick her up, already working on her plan to get back in as she sat stewing. She’d stared at him from across the room in their respective plastic chairs, at the scowl on his face and the large, fresh bruise spreading across his cheek, and wondered just what had happened to the kid she used to know that followed Shiro around like he’d strung up the sun.

“What the hell happened to you?” she’d asked bluntly, and he’d snorted.

“McClain’s brother punched me.”

McClain. Lieutenant McClain, Shiro’s co-pilot. The one with the starry smile and the little sibling she’d been planning to take photos for in space.

“Why?”

Keith had shrugged, looking mildly uncomfortable and almost guilty, and her stomach had churned. “Some new report came out about the pilot error they think might have caused the crash, and I told McClain it must have been his stupid sister that was driving the damn thing when it happened, because Shiro would have never made mistakes like that.”

She’d tried to imagine what it would be like if the world was saying the crash was Matt’s fault, and shook her head. “That’s just cruel.”

“…I know,” he’d said, and she decided the undirected misery in his eyes made him look like the most pathetic creature alive. “But I just needed someone to blame. I don’t want it to be Shiro’s fault.”

“Do you really think they’re dead?”

“I don’t know,” Keith shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

From the next room over, through the window, she’d seen Iverson hang up the phone, and she’d stood, sneering. “If you refuse to go looking for answers just because you’re afraid of what you might find, you’re nothing more than a coward.”

It wasn’t until after Iverson had come back, and led her to the door, that she’d heard Keith whisper. “Yeah, probably.”

After that, he’d just been another non-believer no longer needed in her world.

She’d not heard anything about him until long after that, when she’d returned to the Garrison as Pidge, and realized the position in the fighter class her new teammate had just inherited had been Keith’s previous one. He’d been expelled, apparently. Some combo of telling his Garrison-assigned therapist to go fuck herself, threatening an officer, and breaking into the file room to look through the Kerberos records.

Well, at least he’d done something.

It didn’t matter either way, she’d decided. Keith wasn’t her problem. They’d never been particularly close to begin with, and she’d realized discarding her identity meant leaving all things, including former interpersonal relationships, behind. Katie may have been sort-of-friends with one Keith Kogane, but Pidge Gunderson was not. If they ever met again, they’d be nothing more than strangers.

Besides, she didn’t—doesn’t have time for friends, now. The mission is more important than anything else, no matter what that anything else may be.

Which is something she kind of wishes her new teammates would realize, because they really…really haven’t.

On some level, she understands the desire to try and get along with your teammates. Her father had always stressed that team cohesion is key to a mission’s ease and success, and so as far as that logic extends she can get why one might try to build a rapport with the people they’ll be stuck working with for at least the next year or two. But at some point, you have to be willing to accept when someone doesn’t want to be your buddy, and move on. A memo her beloved teammates have not gotten, apparently.

It’s mostly the engineer, Hunk. He talks in this loud, booming voice to try and fill up the empty spaces between the three of them, hands always fiddling with one another and eyes twitching nervously to the corners of each room as if looking for some inevitable danger. When he speaks to her, he always seems to instinctually look well above her head, as if expecting someone else to be walking with them as their third, before correcting himself and dipping his head to see her. Pidge doesn’t belong here, that much is obvious to her, but it doesn’t stop Hunk from clinging. Mostly to their other teammate, but to her as well, always ready to shuffle up to her side and follow her walking path one step too close behind. It’s infuriatingly like how her mother behaved towards Pidge after her father and brother went missing, as if she expected her to vanish at a moment’s notice, and it leaves her with a sick feeling in her stomach that only makes her hate it all the more.

Hunk’s not a bad person in the slightest, even given his annoying habits, but he’s too soft. Too warm and well meaning, and all the more likely to get cut on the barbed wire of her hate-riddled soul. He doesn’t deserve the mess Pidge is looking to make of the Garrison, and so she pushes him away at every opportunity. Running from kind, ramblings words and unsteady smiles, leaving him to care for his other self-proclaimed ward.

Said ward being their team’s pilot. Lance. Lance is—well, she doesn’t know quite what to make of him, honestly.

He’s all these mismatched, odd ends. Sewn together with rough twine that cuts the hands and salvaged thread of all colors that can’t quite keep him together.

Sometimes he’s loud and boisterous, posturing grandly and bouncing off the walls with all this excess energy and not a second thought. Other times he’s serious and methodical, all narrowed eyes and a sharp, steely focus that could cut with just a glance.

Mostly he’s just…quiet.

It’s his eyes that get her. They’re a dark blue that look as if they should sing of the ocean, of crashing waves and salt-kissed lips and birdsong. But, no matter whether he’s the enthusiastic force of the tides, the single-minded focus of the sniper, or the silent shadow at Hunk’s side, his eyes always just seem…dead. Like the life was sucked out of them an eternity ago and he just kept moving regardless.

Broken, she decides. He looks broken—in all the ways she might look, if she wasn’t wrapped up in layers of clever lies and anger-made chainmail to protect herself.

Lance tries, occasionally, to be nice to her. The first time they met, he was in one of those firecracker moods, vibrating with enthusiasm, until he turned to see her, and she got her first glimpse of those dead eyes. He’d frozen in place, completely silent—something she later learned was just a thing that happens with Lance— and Hunk had smoothly taken over introductions. Following that, he’d been almost overly friendly, but after the first couple times she made it clear his presence wasn’t wanted beyond when it was required, he mostly left her alone. Now he just watches her with shrewd, wary eyes she can’t quite puzzle out, and doesn’t bother her so long as she keeps up in simulations.

He’s got a kind of unwavering dedication to the program, to climbing the ranks as soon as possible, that Pidge just can’t understand. Maybe once upon a time she wanted to go to the Garrison out of genuine interest and a desire to further the world with her work, but after everything that’s happened, all she feels is disgust for this place. It’s built on a foundation of rigorous hierarchy and self-preservation that she can’t stand with a loathing that runs deep into her bones.

This is the place that sent four innocent people into space and then left them to die. The only reason she’s here is because she has to be; she’d never willingly follow their rules of her own volition.

And—okay, yes, most people don’t have the reasoning she does, but Lance is almost unnerving. He sits through every lecture about how they’re just not cutting it, each hurled insult about him being the replacement pilot, with the same polite smile fixed in place, those empty eyes always present.

If he knows genuine anger, he doesn’t seem to show it. To Pidge, who has coated herself in her own righteous fury as both sword and shield, he is an enigma. A glitch in the code that is the Garrison she should be able to understand and manipulate perfectly, free from the consequences of her old life and name.

Hunk isn’t much better, in all that unnamed, terrified grief she can’t quite make sense of, but at least she can get some genuine read on him when she looks at his face, on how he’s feeling and what he might be thinking.

She tells herself she doesn’t care, one way or another. So she has a couple weird teammates. She severed herself from everything else—from Keith, her friends, her school, to her own mother—so why should this be any different? Pidge can’t afford to get caught on the spikes of whatever the hell it is Lance and Hunk are dealing with.

All that matters is the mission. The high-range broadcast equipment she smuggled into her room under the guise of Pidge Gunderson’s documented high school radio interest, and the photo of Matt and herself tucked under her pillow.

All else is secondary. All else is meaningless.

Pidge only sees Lance snap the once—after she picks a fight with another cadet, a real fight.

She doesn’t mean to. Normally she knows better, she’s not Keith for God’s sake. She is usually controlled, keeping an iron-tight grip on the lid of her simmering pot of anger, but it is one of those days where she could not sleep without Matt’s imagined screams in her dreams. Where she stood silently between Hunk’s fidgeting and Lance’s blank stare through another of Iverson’s lectures, and felt the fury of a daughter without a father and a sister without a brother coil in her chest.

It’s one of those days where it’s all just too much, and when she hears some idiot from the cargo-level training class talking shit on his phone in the otherwise empty hallway about how stupid the Kerberos crew must have been to crash a Garrison ship, when the simulators built to match are so easy to fly, she just…breaks.

She’s on him before she can think, kicking and hitting everything she can reach and screaming until her voice runs raw and jagged. For a moment, Pidge feels like the storm, crashing down on those that would dare stand in the way of her pain, of her righteous vengeance in the face of what she’s lost.

And then Lance and Hunk yank her off and away from the boy.

Pidge comes back to herself in a rush, the shame boiling over—not at her actions, because that prick got what he deserved, but at her loss of control. Only then does she notice Hunk’s shaking hands where they grip her arm to keep her from attacking the boy again, the tight dig of Lance’s nails into her shoulder that she doubts is intentional but bites regardless. She looks up to them, and Hunk is ashen and trembling, as she might expect, but Lance…his eyes are narrowed at the cadet they just yanked her off of, and for the first time they look not dead but freezing with a kind of hate she never expected from someone like him.

Suddenly, she feels not so much like stormy water itself as she does the child dragged under by its currents.

Perhaps they’re both the two of them, herself and Lance, more broken than she gave them credit for.

They end up in the commander’s office, awaiting a disciplinary hearing, unsurprisingly, and Pidge finds herself sitting in the same chair Keith was, all those months ago. She figures it’s appropriate.

Despite Hunk and Lance being the ones to break up the fight—if it can even be called that—they all wind up in front of Iverson’s desk. They weave a lie of how the boy shoved Pidge first in perfect unison, not even hesitating, and she sits through the rant of one more incident, boys, one more incident and you’re out with her nails digging into her palm. She bites her tongue so hard she tastes blood to stop herself from screaming at him, and she decides to count that as a success.

Where’s my family, her heart whispers despite it all, where the fuck is my family you absolute bastard. She shoves it down where it cannot be heard as they’re escorted out of the office, and tries not to meet her teammates eyes once the door into the hall shuts behind them.

Lance turns on her instantly, those suddenly alive eyes cutting into her. “What the hell was that? Are you trying to drag us all down with you?”

She sneers on instinct, wanting nothing more than to go back to her room and just not think for a while, the sooner the better, even if it means being cruel. “It’s not like I asked you to get involved, fuck off.”

Pidge turns to leave, and Lance grabs her arm. She shakes it off with a scowl, wheeling around to face him again, and the hurricane descends on her. “You’re not the only one with something at stake here,” Lance snarls. “We’re a team, Pidge. You may not care about whether you ever graduate or not, but I do, and I’m frankly not in the mood to wait while they try to find us another communications officer because you’re trying to get your ass expelled! I need this to work, ok?”

“What would you know?!” she screams, and the blood in her mouth tastes like grief. “What the hell would you know about why I do the things I do?”

Lance straightens up, and the anger in his expression is gone, lost to a cold indifference that leaves her feeling tiny. “Not all of us have the luxury of time or circumstance to defend echoes that can’t hear,” he says. “You may be one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, but if you can’t be bothered to do a basic Google search on your own teammates, then you’re an idiot. What the hell do you even know about me?”

He’s right, Pidge has to admit, and she shrinks beneath his gaze. She’d never wanted anything to do with the two of them beyond what is necessary, and has studiously avoided trying to learn any of the details of who they are. She knows the names they’d given her, their speaking habits, and their grades in class, and that is the extent of it.

She hadn’t wanted the attachment, hadn’t wanted to care. The less of a life she has as Pidge Gunderson, the more of Katie Holt she can save within herself, even if she may never be able to reclaim it as her own.

Lance scowls, and turns. “C’mon Hunk, this is a waste of time.”

He makes it five steps, Hunk trailing unsurely behind him, casting glances back at Pidge all the while, before she breaks.

“They’re not dead!” she screeches, an echo of the question she’d asked Keith, and she doesn’t quite know why. “I know they’re not dead.”

Lance stops.

“You’re right,” he says, and Pidge’s world shatters.

No one has said this to her before, has acknowledged the lie as Pidge has known it for the better part of a year, and it takes her breath away.

“You’re right,” Lance repeats quietly. “They’re not dead. I’d know if they were, trust me. But—“ he glances over his shoulder at last, and those sea-storm eyes are filled with a kind of sympathetic understanding that makes Pidge want to claw her skin off. “You can’t get what’s missing back with scanners and radios. If you want to find a lost thing, you have to go looking for it yourself, and you can’t do that stuck on the ground.”

He disappears down the hall, dragging Hunk with him, and Pidge is left standing there, lost in her own head.

Later that night—much later, after curfew when the lights have been shut off—she powers up her laptop, and hacks the Garrison student records. It’s the work of five minutes, being so low down on the security priority list that she enters with full confidence of avoiding detection, and she pulls up the fighter-class simulation teams in order to sort by her own and find Lance’s file.

When she does, the realization that she’d never bothered to learn Lance’s last name, hadn’t even considered, hits her like a train, and her world rewrites itself as she stares down at the tiny letters glowing on her screen. Silently, she closes her laptop, and crawls into bed, trying to ignore the words swimming behind her eyelids.

Lance. Lance. Lance effing McClain.

Objectively, she knows that she needs to get some rest, that they have simulation testing tomorrow, and she cannot afford another fuck up—still she tosses, still she turns.

Across the room, illuminated by a sliver of light from the window, the poster of the Kerberos crew that she’d tacked up as a reminder of why she’s here is thrown into sharp relief. Moonlight dances across a picture of a young woman with blue eyes, a smile of stars, and the name below her.

Loraine McClain, co-pilot.

Sleep doesn’t come for a long time after, for neither Pidge Gunderson nor Katelyn Holt.

The next morning, dead eyes, nervous fingers, and barbed wire hatred go back to work, same as usual. They don’t talk about it, for better or for worse.

It is what it is, after all.

Everyone always wants something they can’t have back. That’s just the way of their world.

[h-styles-babes]

No Control | Chapter Fourteen

Summary: 

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

FOURTEEN

After Harry and I’ve showered and redressed, we go back downstairs and cuddle up under the blanket on the couch. I find a film playing on the telly, one that Harry proclaims as one of his favourites, and we settle in, Harry behind me and me between his legs, spread out along the length of the sofa. He’s got his arms wrapped around me and my hands in his, his long fingers playing with my much smaller ones. His thumb absentmindedly twirls the ring he gave me around the base of my own while he watches the screen.

Clouds have completely covered any remnants of the sun, so it’s pretty dark in the room, making it feel a lot later than it is. I stop glancing at the clock sometime around five, content in knowing that my parents will be home soon. I’m nearly falling asleep against Harry, exhausted from earlier and really comfortable to have him wrapped around me. 

The film ends and Harry stirs behind me, jolting me out of my half-asleep haze. His fingers tap at my hands to get my attention.

“Can you get up, love? Just need to run to the loo.”

I shuffle myself away from him so he can stand. “There’s one by the back door, just through the kitchen.” He nods and drops down to press a kiss to my forehead before disappearing into the other part of the house.

I sigh and rub my hands over my face to try to wake myself up. I can’t be taking a nap at half past five; I’ll never sleep tonight if that happens. I force myself off the couch so that I can’t possibly fall asleep and busy myself with tidying up our mugs from earlier. When I’m going back into the living room from the kitchen, I hear the front door open up. My mum walks through, a confused look on her face, head tilting back over her shoulder before she shuts the door.

“Mick?” she calls out, not having seen me. 

“Yeah, Mum?” I ask, watching her toe her shoes off and drop her purse on the coatrack by the door.

She looks up, a little surprised to see me so close, and shrugs out of her jumper. “Have you seen this black Range Rover parked out front? How long has it been there? Are one of your friends over? Where has Georgie gone?”

My mother has always done this thing where she rapid-fire asks several questions, not giving you a chance to answer a single one of them, and then looks at you, exasperated, for not having answered them quickly enough. It used to be extremely annoying to me when I was younger, but I soon got used to it, and started just trying to catalog each question she asked so I could get to it when she finally eased up.

Before I can answer though, I hear Harry come up behind me through the kitchen walkway.

“Sorry, Cindy, that’s mine. Been here a few hours,” he says, being completely nonchalant about the fact that he’s in my house

My mother’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open just a little as she takes in his presence. I wasn’t joking when I said my mother was a big fan. I can see the wheels turning in her head and deciding how to handle this situation: Either become a teenage girl for a few seconds and squeal over having Harry Styles in her house, or be the mature, confident adult that she is and greet him graciously and welcome him to her home.

Thankfully, she chooses the latter, closing her mouth and turning it into a warm smile. “Harry, good to see you, sweetheart.” She sounds like she’s greeting any of my friends, and I can feel Harry soaking it up next to me. She rounds the couch and comes over to pull him into a hug, which he accepts heartily, smiling at me over her head. He mouths to me, ‘Your mum’s fit,’ and I roll my eyes at him. His grin just widens.

“Micky didn’t tell us you were in the UK,” she says once they’ve broken apart. She flits into the kitchen to start dinner, and Harry and I follow her.

“I didn’t know until this afternoon,” I tell her. Mum had plans to make a pasta dish, so I help her get ingredients out of the cupboard and fridge. 

“Are you staying tonight, love?” Mum asks, looking over at Harry where he’s sat at the bar.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Of course, Harry. We love the company. It’s usually just me and Vinny now. Nice to have a full house again. You like pasta?”

“Love it,” he agrees.

“Is Tommy coming over tonight?” I ask, sincerely hoping he’s got to be in at the club early.

It appears I’m out of luck, though. “Yeah, he’s got the night off. Tuesday’s are slow, unless there’s a show at the O2.”

“No show tonight?” I ask, hoping maybe he’ll be called in to help out. Its not that I don’t love my brother, I just know how he is whenever I’ve brought guys round the house. Harry and I aren’t dating; I don’t need Tommy getting the wrong idea and going full Spanish Inquisition on the poor lad.

“No, they’re doing some sort of work on it. Getting ready for the end of summer shows, I s’pose.”

“Our dates are the firsts ones back after the fixes,” Harry helpfully adds. “Do you need help with dinner?”

“That’d be lovely,” Mum agrees. “Mick’s shit at cooking.”

“Hey!” I yelp, and both Harry and my mum laugh. “Not nice.”

“It’s the truth, Mick.”

“Truth hurts,” Harry nods.

“Oh, shut it.”

Harry and my mother flit around the kitchen, putting together the different elements of tonight’s dinner, working pretty seamlessly together in our kitchen. I sit on the stools and chat with them while they work, apparently banned from offering any help. When I initially pout, Harry chuckles and comes over to press a lingering kiss to my shoulder and then my cheek. I almost miss the sly little grin on my mum’s face, since I was admiring the way Harry pulls his hair up into a bun, before she turns around to face the stove.

They talk about how Harry’s tour’s going and their excitement for the European leg of the tour that goes on until nearly Christmas. Harry tells her about their impending new album that’s not to be set to release until November, but they’re planning promo for it already. Mum tells him about her time growing up in the seventies and how music has changed since then. She regales him with tales about the shit her and my dad got into back in the day, including the raunchy stuff I didn’t really learn about until I was well into secondary. Harry laughs hard when she tells him about getting chased down by security outside a Fleetwood Mac concert for stealing a groupie’s blow and then getting high with my dad and one of they friends, which resulted in an apparently legendary threesome (ew).

Sometime around six, the front door opens again, and my dad’s heavy footfalls echo through the house.

“Mick? Cindy? Who’s car is that out front? Because I don’t remember getting Mick a new car. And I haven’t been high enough in the last ten years to warrant that type of blackout.”

I shake my head as Harry laughs. 

“That’s Harry’s car, dear,” my mum calls back. I can hear my dad dropping his keys into the little bowl by the front door and his jacket being shrugged off.

“Harry who? Do we have new neighbors?”

Mum chuckles. “No, darling. Just come into the kitchen.”

“Smells good, sweetheart.” Dad enters the kitchen and greets my mum with a kiss on the head and a sweet look. I used to hate seeing them affectionate as a kid, but as an adult I can appreciate the love they have for each other and how they still flirt after nearly thirty years of marriage. 

Dad looks up and sees Harry, who’s stirring the pasta sauce at the stove while it simmers. He looks up at my father, who’s squinting like he’s trying to put together where he recognizes him from. Dad has an awful memory when it comes to names (I reckon it’s from all the blow he did back in the day), and I know he recognizes Harry’s face—it was only plastered all over my walls for a few years, there.

“You’re that Styles lad, right?” he finally asks. Harry nods. My dad grins, happy to have remembered a name to put to his face. He extends his hand and Harry accepts it. “Good to meet you, mate.”

“You, too, sir.”

My dad grimaces, and my mum and I laugh. My dad hates being called sir by anyone other than his employees. Says it makes him feel old. “Please don’t call me ‘sir.’ I will answer to anything other than ‘sir.’ Call me ‘dickhead’ for all I care. Just not ‘sir.’”

Harry does that laugh he does when he’s taken off guard, eyes widening and grin a half-grimace. “Yeah, alright. Sorry, mate.”

Dad nods once. “Better. So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?” He gives mum another kiss to the head before coming over to press one to mine in greeting.

“I actually live in Holmes Chapel,” Harry says, going back to stirring. “Well, my family does. I’ve got a house in London, but I haven’t seen my mum in a while, so I came this way first.”

“Grew up in Cheshire?” 

“Yeah. Moved around a bit, but we mostly stayed in Holmes Chapel.”

Dad and Harry go on talking about where he’s from and how he still prefers to be in Cheshire when he can as opposed to staying by himself in London. I can’t help but smile seeing my family taking so well to Harry and him seeming like he’s incredibly comfortable being here. I always knew Harry was a good guy and my parents liked him from a musical standpoint, but it’s nice seeing them interact with him on a personal level, a level I’ve gotten to experience and get to love rather quickly. It’s quite easy to separate Harry Styles from what I’ve dubbed as Harry Edward, and I find myself incredibly lucky to be able to learn this part of him.

While Mum and Dad are trying to decide what wine would pair best with tonight’s dinner, Harry’s got me in his lap in one of the barstools, playing with my hair and holding me around the waist as I tell him about my parents’ extensive wine collection. I’m perched quite comfortably, and he smells amazing despite his cologne having washed off during our shower. His hair smells like my shampoo, but he still smells like him underneath. It’s sort of warm and clean and I swear that the mint from the gum he’s constantly chewing has just embedded itself in his being. 

We’re all so preoccupied that we completely miss the opening of the front door, and the next thing I hear is a very annoyed, “Oi, what the fuck?”

All of our heads snap up to the entryway, where an angry-looking Tommy is stood. His normally (I begrudgingly admit) handsome face is puckered in a mix of confusion and anger as his eyes travel between Harry and me, taking in how Harry’s hand has slipped under the hem of the jumper I changed into earlier and where my hands are under the sleeves of his shirt, flitting my fingers along the smooth skin of his shoulders. 

Instead of answering to Tommy’s outburst, I say, “Harry, this is my brother, Tommy. Tom, this is Harry St—”

“I know who the fuck he is, Mick. His face is plastered on every fucking telly station and gossip rag around here. Not to mention you’ve been obsessed with him since you were fifteen.” I’ve actually never seen Tommy this upset, and it’s a little bit unnerving. My natural reaction normally would be to shirk away from his raised voice, but I’m pissed at him for being such a dick for no reason, so I lash back instead.

“Tommy,” my father begins in a warning tone that I’ve only ever heard a handful of times in my whole life. He only uses it when he’s serious and we’ve completely stepped out of line, which is a testament to how big of a twat my brother is being at the moment.

“Asshole, how ‘bout you shut the fuck up, hm? You’re being a dickhead for no fucking reason,” I tell him, getting myself up from Harry’s lap. I feel him reach out and hook a finger through the back belt loop, probably as a precaution so I don’t get into a physical altercation with my brother, which is a total possibility between the two of us. “If you’re that upset about me sitting with him, a simple, ‘Hey, mate, mind letting go of my sister?’ would have sufficed. No need to come out shouting like a fucking cunt, you twat.”

“Ohh-kay,” I hear Harry mumble behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me back to him. His presence is comforting and helps dim down my anger a little bit, but I’m still glaring at Tommy, who looks a little ashamed now.  

“Enough, the both of yeh,” my dad insists, giving us a hard look. “Tommy, apologize to your sister for being a twat. And Mick, apologize to Tom for calling him so many names.”

I hold back my snicker at my father’s agreement about Tommy’s behavior, not wanting the situation to elevate again, but I feel Harry’s chest rumble against my back slightly, and his face is in my hair, probably hiding a smirk. 

Tommy takes a deep breath and lets it out in whoosh, his shoulders obviously relaxing after his exhale. “Sorry, Mick. I’ve just been in a shit mood. Didn’t mean to take it out on you and your boy toy.”

I glare at him and my dad clears his throat pointedly.

“Didn’t mean to take it out on you and Harry,” he amends, grudgingly.

“And I’m sorry I called you so many names,” I apologize. “Except for cunt. I think you deserved that one, coming in here guns blazing.”

Tommy cracks a smirk. “Fair.”

“Alright, now that’s settled, Tom, help me set the table,” Mum directs. Tommy sighs but moves to gather bowls from her hands to take to the dining table in the other room.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say, turning in Harry’s arms. “Love him to bits, but Tommy can be the biggest arse when he’s in a mood.”

“That’s alright, love,” Harry smiles. “He’s your brother; I get it. I’ve got a sister of my own, you know.” He leans down and presses a chaste kiss to my lips, only lingering long enough to make a slight smacking sound. “Now, c’mon. Let’s help.”

As we’re all carrying stuff from the kitchen to the dining room to set the table, the front door opens once more, and I know exactly who it is this time.

“Hello, Bennetts,” Georgie greets exaggeratedly, flinging off her jacket onto the back of a couch. Our dining room flows right into the living room, so we all watch her walk in and join us. “And Styles,” she adds with a little nod when she sees Harry pulling out my chair for me.

“Georgie, good to see you, sweetheart,” my mum greets, placing a kiss on my friend’s cheek and directing her to a free seat. 

“You too, Cindy. What’re we having tonight?”

“Don’t your parents ever want you home for dinner? I feel like we’ve been feeding you for the last ten years,” Tommy teases. He very quickly fell into the older brother role for Georgie when I first brought her home, and they banter back and forth just as much as he and I do.

“It’s been eleven—get your maths sorted, mate—and no, they don’t. They’re not even home tonight. Haven’t been home all day. Been sat alone in my house for hours, watching way too much Netflix.” Georgie takes her seat next to Tommy, right across from me. My parents sit at each end of the table, my mum closest to me, and my dad sat by Harry.

“Why didn’t you just stay here, love?” Mum asks. “Mick and Harry have been here.”

“Needed to take a mo’ and come to grips with actually being in his presence. Lucky I didn’t scream when I met him earlier. And I figured I’d give the two some time alone. Didn’t exactly want to be here when they started shagging, yeah?”

The nonchalance with which Georgie mentions Harry and I having sex in front of my family should be alarming, but it’s pretty typical dinner talk around here. I just give her a pointed look while Harry chokes on the sip of wine he barely got past his lips, nearly spitting it back into the glass. He eventually gets it choked down while being stared at pretty hard by Tommy and silently laughed at by my parents. I rub his back in what I hope is comforting movements.

“Jesus,” he huffs, voice hoarse from his coughing fit.

“If you haven’t noticed by now, we’re pretty open in this house,” my dad points out, reaching to serve himself.

“Well, Mum opened up with the story of a threesome you had after a Fleetwood Mac concert, so I think he knows,” I offer.

Dad smiles and nods as he remembers the events. “That was a good night. I fucking loved the seventies.”

“We’re not afraid of the topics of sex and drugs ‘round here,” Tommy offers, taking the bowl from Dad.

“Just didn’t think we’d ever be discussing my sex life,” Harry shrugs, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. 

Tommy mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch but Georgie apparently does, given the way she chortles behind her wine glass. I know it’s got something to do with Harry, so I hope everyone will ignore it and just let it pass, but my mum wasn’t paying attention, and asks, “What was that, Tommy?”

“Don’t you dare. He’s a guest,” I warn. “Please be an adult for, like, two hours, Tom. You’re only a few years shy of thirty; please, for the love of God, act it for once.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing against him,” he promises in a smarmy tone. “Definitely embarrassing for you, though.”

“And everyone wonders why I don’t bring guys around.”

We get through dinner without anymore conversation about Harry’s sex life, which I think he’s thankful for. During dinner, though, Georgie texts me and tells me what it was that Tommy said under his breath earlier.

“Don’t worry, we’ve been discussing your sex life since 2011 around here.”

Georgie catches my eye roll from across the table and subtly shrugs as if to say, ‘he’s not wrong.’ Which is true, to be fair, but Harry doesn't need to know about that.

When we’ve finished, Georgie and I clean dishes and my dad and Tommy dry and put them away, while my Mum sorts out left overs. Harry gets a call at some point while we’re all in the kitchen and disappears outside to take it. 

“He’s really lovely, Mick,” Mum says, giving me a smile as she bumps her hip against mine. “He’s a keeper, for sure.”

“We’re not together, Mum,” I tell her quickly. 

She quirks an eyebrow at me, disbelieving. “So what are you, then?”

“We’ve known each other less than a week. We’re getting to know each other. We enjoy each other’s company.”

“I know I come from the generation of casual sex, but fuck buddies don’t usually meet each other’s families, right? Or did I miss something?”

“Mum, it’s not a big deal. It’s not abnormal for friends to hook up.”

“True,” Georgie adds in, nodding. “Been sleeping with my psychology study buddy. It’s all really laid back now.”

Mum high fives Georgie but turns back to me with pursed lips. “All I’m saying, Mick, is that that boy looks at you like rainbows come out of your arse. The heart eyes he’s got when he’s around you don’t scream ‘casual sex’ to me.”

“What would you like me to do about it? The man is on tour. He’s one-fourth of the biggest boy band in the world. None of that seems very practical for the start of a relationship other than friendship.”

She shrugs and pets my hair back from my face in a move of sympathy. “I don’t know, darling. But you should probably discuss that with him, yeah?”

Harry’s still outside on the phone when we’re done cleaning up from dinner, so I head out there to see what’s going on. The temperature has dropped significantly, and I can feel goosebumps rise on my legs as soon as I step past the threshold. My jumper is large on me, so I tuck my hands into the sleeves to preserve some of my warmth. 

Harry is leaning against one of the pillars that holds up the front of my house, just in his t-shirt still, his free hand stuck in the front pocket of his jeans. I trail my hand up his arm to let him know I’m there, and I can feel his own flesh raised in bumps from the chill. He smiles down at me as I saddle up beside him, dropping a kiss to the top of my head as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. I wait patiently with my head tilted against his bicep as I listen to him hum and give short answers.

After a few moments, it seems the conversation is finally winding down, and he actually says his goodbyes. We stand quietly beside each other, looking up at the stars shining in the dark sky. Harry wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me to cuddle into his side.

“Mum’s insisting you stay tonight. Doesn’t want you driving back after the glasses of wine.”

Harry nods but doesn’t offer any other sort of answer, just stays silently looking up at the sky, eyes darting around every so often. We’re so quiet for so long that I’m a little startled when he finally speaks.

“Mum won’t be home till tomorrow evening, so we can spend the day together, if you want.”

“Of course,” I agree. “I’d love to. Weather’s supposed to be nice again.”

“Then come to Holmes Chapel with me Thursday morning?” There’s a vulnerability to his voice that I haven’t heard. He’s still looking up at the sky, almost refusing to meet my gaze. “Mum wants to meet you. And I like having you around.”

I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, threatening to split my face in two. “How long will we be staying?” I ask by way of answer.

Harry finally looks at me, face still a bit apprehensive, but I can see the beginnings of a smile. “Just the day. But then I was thinking we could go to London for a few days. Want to see some mates.”

“Just tell me what I need to pack.”

His smile widens, his teeth showing and his dimples sinking into his cheeks. “We’ll go over it tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Harry leans down and kisses me, long and sweet with emotions I don’t even want to try to decode. And it’s in that moment that I realize I’d follow this man anywhere.

FIFTEEN

[nicksilveirart]

(SING!) Story Not Told, chapter 16 – I Don't Wanna

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 (MATURE)

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Click here to read chapter 16:

Buster leaned against the curtains, facing Laura. Damn. Neither of them had changed much, they figured. Buster was still the theatre-crazed sweet fella and Laura was still the seemingly gentle gal that could actually kick your ass. Buster laughed a little to himself. The opposite of Ash... "What?" He shook his head. "Nothing. Just funny seeing you after all these years. We could be complete strangers." Laura shot him a playful smirk. "If we hadn't kissed in the back of your dad's car wash, maybe. Also, I'm sorry about him... You doing okay?" "Getting there. I miss him. But what do you want to tell me?" "First off, I'm sorry for... What happened. I was young and dumb, and I'm sorry I broke your heart." "And secondly..?" He was shifting awkwardly. "Secondly, I wanted to know if maybe we could... try again." She moved slightly closer to him. He moved away. "It amazes me how you haven't found anyone in so many years. But uh... I'm kinda seeing someone." "Oh yeah? Who's the lucky girl?" She smirked, rising an eyebrow. "Ah, you don't know her." He waved his hands a bit. "It doesn't matter." "Hm. Funny you say that. You and that girl who played an original shared a more than friendly look." Buster froze. "You're so obvious." She giggled. "It's the same look you gave me that one time I invited you to dance with me then got a little hyped during a R.A.M song." "She's just an acquaintance." "Who was playing your old guitar. You think I don't remember?" "Okay, I lent her my guitar. This proves nothing." "You never lent it to anyone. That's something." She giggled. "What are you afraid of? You think I'm gonna judge you for being different species? Also I don't want you back, I'm actually engaged. Just wanted to embarrass you." "No, it's not that, it's-" He gave her a light stare, and blushed. "Laura!" "Naive you, like always!" She laughed. "I wouldn't drop that bomb on you." Buster pulled out a couple chairs, and took a seat, being followed by Laura. "But seriously, it's her, isn't it?" "Okay, I'm seeing her!" He threw his hands up in surrender. "That what you wanted to hear?" "How long?" "Few days, we're still trying to work out this whole age gap and different species thing. People are more accepting these days, but I don't want to expose myself or her." "How many years are we talking about?" "Twenty five." "And how old are you?" "Forty t-" Looking over, he saw Laura smirking, and shut his mouth. She cracked up laughing. "Forty two minus twenty five, that makes her... 17?" He nodded. "A bit young for you, don't you think?" "She's gonna be 18 in a few months. When we first kissed, this gap bugged me a lot, but she never seemed to care." "Teens." Laura scoffed. "I know, right? But at this point, I just followed her lead. It doesn't bother me anymore." "But it bothers police, and laws. Keep it hidden from public eye until she's legal, okay?" "Funny you say that." He chuckled. "Everybody was here, and the two of us were smooching backstage." "Good god, Buster." "She makes me feel young again." He confessed. "You remember the crazy stunts we pulled when we were young?" He said it almost in a whisper, and the gal burst out laughing. "If I do!" "We made out in your dad's old pickup truck, for Pete's sakes! And when he arrived the next day, we pretended nothing had happened? This is something we don't do anymore, the age we are. But when I'm with her I can... I can do that stuff. She makes me feel good about myself." "You mean hiding to kiss or sleep with someone?" He nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I miss that too. I'm just gonna ask you one thing." "What?" "Don't hold her back." "I won't. And she wouldn't let me if I tried." Both laughed lightly at this. "Your nick in school was Mr Uptight, I never told you this." He shot her a bored look. "If you're in for that forbidden love story thing, she must really be worth it." "She is. I can't highlight something about her that I like mostly, just everything she does is special in some way. If only you knew, you could feel this… you'd be amazed. I think I never loved a girl like I love her. No offense." She shook her head. "None." "I know it's wrong. I shouldn't be doing this, and it's wrong, I feel like a pervert at times. But on the other hand, I feel so good when I'm with her. I don't feel alone anymore." Laura smiled and nodded. The same Buster who'd just open up randomly. "You know, since my father left, I have no one besides Eddie. She kinda filled up a void I had in me." He shrugged. "Not like anyone can substitute my dad. But it's good to feel loved." "Well… I'm not the one to judge you. When I was 28, I went out with a kid who was 18." "That's 10 years of a difference, and the kid was legal." "Still, there was an age gap. And you said so yourself, she'll be legal in a few months. She's not a kid anymore, she can choose to be with you. Forget about everything else for a moment. Forget her age, laws, how society feels about it. Does Ash make you happy?" "Yeah." He beamed confidently. "More than I've been in the longest while." "Do you make her happy?" "I… yeah, I guess I do. I haven't asked her to go to Humbur's with me." The sides of his mouth curled into a smirk. The girl stopped for a moment. "For one, if you wanna keep her, never take her to that place." The male laughed. "Yeah, alright. The key to a relationship is happiness. If the two of you are happy, you are the perfect match. I know you can work this out. You made me happy." He smiled. "Thanks, I'm glad to know." "Just not that one time, we ended in the hospital because you tried-" Buster hung his head. "Don't ever remind me of that again. They called me 'arsonist' for a month!" "Alright, alright!" The girl giggled, then extending her hand. "Friends?" Buster smiled, and shook her hand. "Friends."

One word leading to another, Buster conducted Laura out of the theatre, hugging her on her way out for old times' sake. Ash did the same with her parents, who were too tired to go over to her house and chill. Not long after, both animals had the theatre to themselves. "What did your parents want?" "Tell me they accepted me, invite me over for dinner sometime, and tell me to stay off of drugs. What did your ex want?" "Tell me she was sorry about cheating on me, asking if we could be friends, and tell me not to hold you back." "What?" She stopped to face him. He brought her closer, and led her hands all the way up his shoulders. "She knows me too well." Leaning in, he kissed her. "I never got the chance to say congrats." "Thanks, Full Moon. It was cool to do it." "It's the best feeling, especially the clapping afterwards. I played when I was younger. Eventually, but I did." He beamed proudly. "I bet." She laughed. "Wanna go over to my place? You can stay there if you don't have a place to go." "You're asking me to move in with you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Well... You said you lived at the theatre, right? So you don't have a place to go." "I have Eddie's house. It's tempting, Ash, but I... you know. It's not gonna end up well." "We might as well be roommates." She shrugged. "I'm the competitor who offered shelter to the manager when he lost his house." He raised his eyebrow. "I wake up super early." "Fine by me. And it's just until you find a place." She shrugged. "Then we see what we do." Buster shot her a gentle smile, and bowed to kiss her hands. "Thanks, love." It was a good 10 minute subway ride to Ash's apartment. Buster made a mental note to ask Eddie for some money to go clothes shopping, as every clothe he had was literally on his body. He carried Ash's guitar case, while she held his old guitar, striking the chords away and humming to herself. "You know… I respect you a lot more now." "Why's that?" "Because you carry this everywhere with you, and this half hour is killing me." The girl laughed. "Need help?" He shook his head, and winked. "Hey, I'm being a gentleman here." She laughed. "Alright. Say… who was that sheep you were talking to? Not Eddie, the other one? She seems familiar." "She's an actress, Nana Noodleman. I used to go to her shows when I was a kid." He said, enthusiastic. "She must be really old, then." Ash teased. "Few months over ninety." And the girl's eyes went wide, making him giggle. "And the good part is, she's rebuilding the theatre!" "Seriously?" "Yeah, and we're having a squid-powered stage! Just like the one who took us here." He chuckled lightly, tilting his head to kiss her, but quickly remembering they were in public. And that practically the entire city had seen the show, so them both were recognizable. His ears dropped slightly, and he sat straight. The gesture, however, wasn't unnoticed by Ash, who squeezed his hand. He smiled at her, and within minutes both were walking down the street to Ash's apartment. Getting closer to the building, they couldn't miss a porcupine sitting just outside of it, a single rose in hand. "Oh for god's- he has gotta be kidding me!" Buster shrugged. "Guess someone saw the show." She gave him an annoyed look. "What, did you think he'd never realize who he lost? You're amazing. And by what you told me, he craves for spotlight." Ash nodded. "He does." "Well, are you giving it to him? You know you're city-wide famous now." "After coming this far? Never." He smiled. "He never bothered believing I could do it. Listen…" She gave him her keys. "Second floor, as you know. I'll be there in a beat." Buster nodded. "Alright. If things get out of hand, just yell. Kicked him once… can kick him twice." Both laughed, as the other porcupine finally acknowledge their presence. He waved. "Hey, Ash." He eyed the koala, and Ash could swear he flinched just the slightest bit. "Moon." Buster walked up the steps, putting the key in the keyhole, before fixing the tuft of hair on top of his head. "It's Mr Moon for you, kid." He then turned it, but the doorknob wouldn't go. He twiddled with it a bit, Ash hardly suppressing a laugh at the scene in front of her. Fidgeting with the knob a bit, and finally getting it to turn, the koala looked back at her. "Got it!" And with that, he quickly went inside. She thanked heavens it was over, because she was about to burst out laughing anytime. She bit down on her lip to prevent her from doing so, and turned to her ex. "What do you want?" "Hello to you too." "What are you doing here, Lance?" "I brought you this." He extended the rose. Ash lifted a brow, and took it. "Thanks." "Can we talk?" "I'm not taking you back." "Oh come on babe! I told you it was a one day thing!" She lifted a finger in air. "If you're gonna start calling me 'babe', I'm just gonna leave." "Okay, sorry! But come on… can't you forgive me?" "I can forgive you, but I don't want you back! I didn't want you back when you dropped by the other day, I don't want you back now!" "But you do know it was a one day thing." "I have my doubts." "You were never around, I was just lonely." "I was never around? I was out late for two days working for us! We had a plan, Lance! If we won that money, we'd create a label, and the world'd hear your songs!" He tried speaking up, but Ash didn't let him. "Pipe down, I'm not done yet! Hardly a place in town wanted us; I always told myself that it was because no one understood you. I let you into my apartment after your parents kicked you out, I worked at a place I hated just so I could keep the two of us! Because you so generously just didn't last in a job!" "I don't always wake up with an alarm, you know that! Come on, Ash… I know I screwed up, but can't we start fresh?" "And after what I've done for you, you take your other one to our house? Seriously? And I didn't get to the good part yet. Above all… you never believed me. I always told you I wanted to write, and sing. You never helped, or even cared. All you did was say I wasn't good enough. But you know what? I am good enough. That I did today, I did on my own. Those claps were given to my work." "I know, and it was like… totally cool, Ash! We could make a duo again, you know? I sing some leads, you sing some other…" He risked. "Thanks, but no." Lance took a few steps forward, prompting her to move away. "Letting out the fact I'm never gonna find someone better than you!" She smiled. "Yeah you will, just like I did. And he's kinda waiting anyway, so… I see you around. Plus, I think you have your own problem to deal with." She pointed in a direction, and Lance turned to look, freezing in place. "This is where you came grocery shopping?!"

[ersonist]

title: much too fast (my love)

rating: m (adult themes)

word count: 1.631

summary: 3 ways Cassian Andor didn’t die.

a/n: This desperately needs a beta. Wrote it on a trip back from holidays because there’s nothing better than contemplating death on a long flight, amirite or amirite? It was supposed to be for RebelCaptain Appreciation Week, Writing Prompt: Hope but it might be too late now? Let me know if it’s too late. Title’s from Jaymes Young’s One Last Time.

Warning for the first one because it can be upsetting.  Frankly I was upset by all of them and I wrote this crap. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

1.

At 8, he still has his head filled with big dreams, high in the clouds.

One day I’ll be a hero, he tells his mother with all the confidence a child could have. I’ll take out the Empire all by myself.

She gives him a smile but it’s sad and tired. His dreams have changed in the past couple of years. He never begs for sweets anymore and he doesn’t mention wanting his own droid.

Surviving a war is heroic enough, she gently explains to him with a small kiss to his head.

He’s not allowed into any combat but for two years he’s been carrying countless messages and secret packages from his parents to the nearby settlements and beyond. His father has an old blaster hidden under the kitchen floor and he now takes it with him, its weight adding to the already heavy winter parka he’s wearing. Nobody notices a scrawny local kid running around but there are some strict rules that Cassian obeys. Always take a different route. Don’t tell anyone your real name. Destroy the package if needed. Run and hide if you think you’re being followed. (Don’t get caught.) Cassian is good at it. His father affectionately calls him the Resistance’s best spy, pride almost veiling the fear in his voice. Cassian knows it’s not a game, he understands how many lives are at stake.

What he doesn’t understand is why someone would betray them.

When it happens it feels like an avalanche, not unlike any real ones he’s seen in the surrounding mountains. A sudden danger you can’t avoid appearing out of nowhere, destroying the ground under your feet and overwhelming you with its ominous noise. They come to their home, tearing it apart, leading them all outside. Cassian squints his eyes - everything is white for now, the snow barely glimmering under the setting sun but they always brush this with a streak of dark red. His father is pleading in a voice he’s never heard before. Not him, he’s just a child. Cassian clings to his mother’s leg, his vision suddenly blurred with tears that won’t stop and he’s trembling. It’s the coldest he’s ever been in his life. He wants to fight and he wants to live but war has its way of taking hopeful children.

He becomes one of nameless billions.

2.

She squirms under his touch and lets out a heavy sigh that is more of an urgent command rather than a request. He smirks at her in that arrogant, possessive way of his that appears only deep into the night in the stillness of his quarters. She’s too selfish to fight it - that smirk is always a harbinger of great things that leave her boneless, mad with pleasure. Besides, she’ll have her revenge.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” he later admits, just a soft whisper in her ear. She huffs annoyed. She hates when he does that, when he only admits to a mission in the afterglow. It always makes their night seem like a goodbye. She turns her head away from him, angry at herself for not realising it sooner. There was too much desperation in his kisses.

“Jyn,” he pleads in that quiet voice of his he uses for this special occasion. He’s so resigned to his fate, to this role that the universe forced upon him, she sometimes wishes she could convince him to leave with her just to prove a point. 

“Where?” she asks even though she knows already what he’ll say.

“Classified,” he replies apologetically and she mouths the word along. She rolls around and swiftly pushes him onto his back, pinning his hands over his head, her mouth leaving a trail of small bites on his neck.

“Routine mission. I’ll be back in a week,” he finally concedes, inhaling sharply when she starts to slowly slide down his body. She lets go of his arms and grins at him triumphantly.

She never goes to the hangar with him, there are too many rumours about them as it is. This war already took so much from her and Jyn wants them just to be hers. She never misses his departures though. She always sits on a crate nearby right before his ship takes off, wondering if he’s aware of her presence. That morning he’s running late though and she bumps into him when she nonchalantly comes over to her usual spot. Before she can say anything he grabs her hand and gives it a quick squeeze. She smiles, as discreetly as possible, and stays until the silhouette of his U-wing disappears completely into horizon.

A week later Cassian doesn’t come back. It’s happened plenty of times before but Jyn still takes the longer way to her quarters, the one that passes by the hangar. She lingers in the corridor, silently observing the shuttles coming and going. Three weeks after that she puts on his jacket and plants herself in the corner of the docking bay. She sits there for a few hours, silent and unmoving. She comes back the day after. And the day after that.

“He’s coming home soon,” she stubbornly repeats to herself ignoring people’s worried glances.

He never comes back.

3.

They fill their days with political meetings and diplomatic duties and missions that are becoming scarcer and scarcer until they realise it truly is the end of the war. They wander aimlessly then, too lost in the world that they were never meant to witness. One planet after another, one temporary home after another. They never looked this far in the future. They’re too damaged; the things they did making their bodies ache, haunting their minds, never letting them to move on. They finally settle on a small moon near the borders of the Outer Rim Territories. The hills around are green, soothing them with their gentle rustling sounds and offering some peace they’re so desperate to find. They have nothing but time on their hands now, so Cassian decides to rebuild K2 from scratch, his last back-up still safely tucked in his old uniform and Jyn starts learning Festian. It’s not enough but it’s more they ever hoped for.

They go to celebrations, weddings and funerals. They always sneak out early, unsure if they’re able to keep ignoring how achingly empty everything seems.

“There’s something wrong with me,” she whispers one evening, soft words contradicting her fingers furiously scrubbing her shirt. She spilled a glass of Coruscant wine earlier that day when Kes’ kid enthusiastically shoved his X-wing toy into her chest. “I should want it, right? A child with you.”

He stills her hand and entwines their fingers.

“I don’t see it,” she admits with a slight tremble. “I close my eyes and I only see you. I don’t think I have enough love for someone else.”

He kisses her gently because it’s fine. It really is. He can’t see it either.

She fucks with him against the wall that night. It’s rough and fast and she leaves angry scratches on his shoulders. She’s trying to prove him something but her eyes betray her. They never talk about it again.

They hear rumours of the new evil powers, first shy whispers in the crowds.

“Not again,” Jyn mutters rolling her eyes and Cassian can’t help but grin. She suddenly looks 30 years younger.

“Told you we should’ve kept up the trainings,” he tells her jokingly.

They’re not even surprised when Leia contacts them a few weeks later requesting their assistance. Their ship is packed and ready and they don’t look back when they leave. She gives him a soft kiss, barely a touch of her lips on his cheek and he knows. They won’t be coming back from this war.

(+1)

She leads him outside, broken and useless, each breath more difficult than the last one. His legs drag, he’s shaking and he wants to laugh at his lack of balance. He’s never been in this much pain before. He’s never been this proud before. He’s never been to a planet this beautiful before. There’s a long list of nevers forming in his tired mind.

For a second he can pretend - that the bright sky soaks softly into white waves, that the gentle sway of the surrounding trees is nothing but a breeze, a relief on a hot day. (But he knows the universe whispers to them, enticing with a charm of graves, ghosts around them waiting already like birds of prey.)

He can pretend - that there will be sunburnt fields and frozen shelters, and more time for them to create something for once. (But the sound reverberating announces nothing but destruction.)

He can pretend - that he’ll put his mouth on her and she’ll tremble, eager to a new caress, scattering around him like a shimmering dust she’s been called in another life. That she’ll sigh his name and it’ll sound like a plea for a different kind of mercy. (But he can smell the sweat, the burnt flesh and their fear coated thickly with blood - his, hers, people they lost and people they killed.)

He can taste the clotted salt on his lips and a copper sweetness in his mouth, mocking him with a sharp sample of regret. He can feel silky sand that gets warmer and warmer until he knows there will be nothing left, not even ashes to dance across a disappearing horizon.

He doesn’t know how to trust the Force. He just barely learnt how to trust. There’s nothing left for him but these last seconds, fleeting so inexorably. No after, nothing but eternal oblivion. He wants more but their chances are spent.

And then she holds him tighter and he has hope.

What a beautiful way to die.

[kmze]

One Hell of a Lucky Guy

Steroline (sort of?) AU future fic - prompt what if Caroline meet one of Stefan’s doppelgangers in the future. Chapters: 1 | 2

Chapter 3

Caroline arranged the two den chairs in front of the fireplace while setting the empty scotch glasses on the table preparing everything for the annual tradition tonight when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Reaching for it saw the screen highlighted with one simple text “Salvatore Bonding Night begins in 5 have glasses ready” from Damon. She smiles to herself thinking how she’s already ahead of him when she hears the front door swing open, she takes her seat and reaches for her empty glass holding it in anticipation for Damon to fill it before he even sits down.

Damon makes his way down the hall to the study as Caroline hears him clear as day saying “three two one and now Salvatore bonding night can begin, hello Blondie did you miss me?” he asks before popping open the bourbon and filling her glass as she predicted.

Caroline sniffs the bourbon before looking at Damon to say “how can I miss you when you never leave for more than a day?” she said smugly as she watches him lean back in his chair and pour himself a too full glass of bourbon “so what are we drinking this year?” she asks.

“Bourbon aged exactly thirty years for the thirty year anniversary of the Salvatore Boarding School of course, same brand I gave Stefan as a wedding present” he raises his glass to cheers and she returns it with a clink. Caroline takes a long sip trying to keep the tear ducts at bay, thinking about her wedding is always the most difficult, the happiest and yet the worst day of her life.

Damon seemingly takes notice and decides to change the subject “so how many new mini witches have you got coming in for the tour tomorrow?” he asks before taking another long sip.

Caroline swirls the bourbon around before saying “five tomorrow and then five on Tuesday putting the new student body at one hundred and fifteen kids” as she nods to herself “we keep growing and growing every year before you know it we’ll have to expand the school to build new classrooms” she smiles brightly tipping her head towards Damon.

“You keep growing, I am merely here for moral support” Damon says proudly “if Stefan were here he’d tell you the same thing and more importantly he’d tell you how proud he is and how much he loves you” he says as he takes a large gulp downing the glass before a somber sigh can escape him.

Caroline smiles again tears threatening to fall from her eyes “yeah… I wish he could see this place I know he’d love it” she repeats Damon’s last move and downs her glass reaching to fill it up again after.

“It’s amazing Caroline I never expected anything less” Stefan smiles proudly watching his family in their yearly tradition wishing that for just a second he could join them. He comes and goes into this side of the afterlife, the part where you can watch the living, but no matter what he’d never miss Salvatore bonding night even if he’s the only one who knows all three of them are here.

Caroline swallows hard thinking what Stefan would say if he were here right now, getting ready to start the new school year with her "Damon do you ever wonder if… do you ever think that Stefan can see us you know, like he’s watching over us in someway.”

Damon turns towards her with a puzzled look “he’s supposed to have found peace which means not moping about and being worried about the living, at least that’s what he damn sure better be doing.” Damon takes a long swig “he’s living in peace married to you raising at least three kids and that is the blissful ignorance he will live in until you find your way back to him.”

Stefan shakes his head at his brother thinking Damon should know better than to think Stefan would just abandon them even in death.

Caroline shakes her head as well “I don’t know I don’t think he’d ever bury his head in the sand like that even in death” as Stefan smiles proudly thinking of course his wife knows him that well “it’s just sometimes I get these feelings, like there’s a warm presence almost like a guardian angel.” She shrugs “I guess it’s just me.”

Damon takes a second to process what Caroline’s saying “maybe you’re right ghost Stefan would hang out in the boarding house drinking ghost bourbon while ghost brooding in front of the fireplace writing in his ghost journal contemplating his eternal existence once again.” Damon huffs “Saint Stefan still worried about everyone else even in literal death.”

“I do not have a ghost journal” Stefan says knowing they’ll be no answer but he purses his lips annoyed that Damon predicted everything else he’s been doing.

Caroline shoves Damon “hey it’s not nice to make fun of the dead I’m sure Stefan is at peace, maybe him and Lexi are travelling the world in the afterlife. He probably doesn’t even remember he’s still waiting for us he’s having so much fun” Caroline states and she knows Damon doesn’t believe her but it was worth a shot.

“Always the optimist” Stefan smiles to himself again thinking how of course Caroline would try and see the best possible outcome of his situation.

“Yeah nope he’s here for sure you opened my eyes which means we need to make a toast in his honor so we can embarrass him fully. Stefan hey little brother grab a chair get a glass you’re joining us tonight!” Damon shouts to the room at no one in particular and Caroline smacks him to shush him to be quiet before he wakes anyone up seeing as it’s past midnight.

Damon continues unmoved by her protests before filling his glass again “To Stefan Antonio Salvatore the guest of honor tonight, a gentleman and a scholar, a selfless brother, a loving husband, a one of a kind hero.” Damon breathes in deeply “we love you Stefan and can’t wait to see you again brother” he clinks his glass with Caroline’s again before gulping the last drop.

“To Stefan” Caroline chokes out before finishing her glass as well “I love and miss you so much” she quietly whispers to herself feeling Damon’s comforting hand on her shoulder before she smiles towards him.

Stefan wipes the tear from his eyes smiling through the pain “I love you too” before he raises his glass as well to take a sip holding back his tears.

“So what do you think Grace does the Salvatore Boarding School look like the kind of place you’d like to be?” Caroline leans down towards Grace so she’s eye level with the small nine-year-old girl with curly brown hair and green-rimmed glasses.

Grace nods her head enthusiastically at Caroline’s question while keeping hold of her dad’s arm. “Excellent! High five?” Caroline holds up her hand as Grace slowly releases her grip from her Dad and returns the high five to Caroline.

Just as Caroline rises from her knees she notices Lizzie and Josie walking in, her daughters, fully grown beautiful women chatting with one another as Caroline waves to get their attention.

Lizzie and Josie come towards Caroline shaking their heads knowing their mother was about to force them into something when they both noticed a very familiar face adorning one of the new parent’s faces. While Josie and Lizzie only knew Stefan for about a year while they we’re still young they would never forget what their mother’s husband looked like.

Caroline seemed to realize the connection they had made and silently motioned for them not to say a word. "Lizzie, Josie, this is Grace Corbett she’s a new student with us I was just finishing up her tour before I have some final paperwork to go over with her dad. Would you two do me a huge favor and take Grace on a tour of the dorms while I speak with Mr. Corbett?”

"Of course, hey Grace you want to check out what your new room is going to look like?” Lizzie asked reaching for Grace’s hand. Grace looked up at her father apprehensive. Paul smiled and bent down so he was eye level with Grace “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m just going to finish up this super boring paperwork, I’m not going anywhere, promise” as he extended his pinky for her and she wrapped hers around it as well and they both kissed their fists, a pinky promise.

Caroline couldn’t help the smile despite herself seeing how good Paul was with his daughter, he really was a loving dad. Finally Grace reached for Lizzie’s hand and followed the two women towards the dorms as Paul turned towards Caroline catching a glimpse of that smile she was trying to hide and he smiled smugly. “So what’s this paperwork you speak of or was that just an excuse to get me alone with you” he raised his eyebrows at her making sure she knew he saw the effect he was having on her.

Caroline scoffs before saying “you are way too confident for your own good” as she offers him a side smile, “sorry to burst your bubble but it is actually paperwork and it’s very important so follow me.” She takes off and he follows quickly behind her taking in the view of her hips swaying back and forth and while Caroline knows he’s watching her she makes no effort to stop herself.

Caroline leads him into her office and closes and the door behind her after Paul walks and stops in the middle of the room remembering the scene from a little less than a week ago and he can’t help but smile at the memory and the path its lead him on.

Caroline looks at Paul quizzically before stepping in front of her desk chair. Paul notices the weird look and smiles before moving to sit in the chair across from Caroline “sorry just having a moment, so what’s this paperwork we need to finalize?”

Caroline leaned forward at her desk trying to prepare herself for the hardest part of the entrance for all of her students, the part where she tells the parents she’s a vampire. She knows she doesn’t have to but she just doesn’t feel right lying to them and with the delicate relationship between witches and vampires she knows it doesn’t always end well, she’s lost over twenty kids to this very conversation over the years.

"How much do you know about the supernatural world Mr. Corbett?” she asks “Paul” he smiles back smugly and Caroline can’t help but roll her eyes ‘this guy’ “how much do you know about the supernatural world Paul?” she says again.

“Well I know Grace is a witch since her mother was one and I knew enough to figure out what ‘young and gifted’ meant” he says with a shrug.

“So you know that witches exist and magic is real anything else?” Caroline questions one final time trying to figure out the best way to tell him this afraid he’s about to take off like the other twenty in the past.

Paul furrows his brows before mouthing a silent ‘ohhhh’ as Caroline furrows her eyebrows right back at him ‘what the hell does he mean ‘ohhhh’ by’.

“I get it, this is the part where you tell the parents that you’re a vampire, I was wondering if you actually let everyone know or figure it was better left unsaid” as Paul leans back in this chair hands crossed behind his head satisfied smirk.

Caroline sits there stunned, no one has ever guessed she was a vampire and especially not a guy who isn’t even a witch “wait how did you know?”

“That you’re a vampire? I knew it the day I met you. For one I did my research before looking into this school and noticed you were the only headmistress over the school’s thirty year history which is why I was expecting a woman in at least her fifties not a gorgeous blonde who doesn’t look a day over twenty-two” as Paul gives her a quick once over making sure she knows yes he did just call her gorgeous.

Just then he reaches for her right hand and points to her daylight ring “but this, this was the giveaway, lapis lazuli also known as a daylight ring” he states admiring her ring not having released her hand yet and by the looks of things not planning to.

Caroline watches him as he looks at her ring realizing the same and admitting to herself she doesn’t want to “how do you know about daylight rings?” she finally asks.

Paul looks up from his current fascination with her hand to answer “my late wife used to make them, her and I would make the rings by buying the stone in bulk and selling them to vampires who didn’t want to live in the shadows forever, apparently most vampires are willing to pay a pretty penny for one of these things although I can understand why. Yours is really beautiful by the way looks like someone took their time crafting it.”

Caroline thinks back to how Stefan went out of his way to get Bonnie to give her a daylight ring almost forty years ago ‘always looking out for me’ she thinks quietly to herself. “Thanks, my best friend made it for me, so if you know about vampires that means you know about their… my abilities?” as Caroline reached for one of the bracelets she kept in her drawer for this conversation.

Paul watched her take the bracelet out having no idea where she was going with this “You mean the super strength, dependency on blood, ability to compel people, never growing ol-“ “Yes compulsion you know about complulsion.” Caroline interrupted him trying to get to the point.

“Yep although I know Grace is immune since she’s a witch and there’s some plant my wife used to put in my coffee any day there was a vampire coming by for a ring since she said it stopped them from being able to compel me can’t remember what it was called though.” Paul finishes before Caroline shows him the bracelet.

“It’s called vervain, there’s crushed vervain flowers in this bracelet for your protection, here.” She puts the bracelet in his hands.

Paul looks at it holding it up pursing his lips “but you’re the only vampire on campus right? So this bracelet would be protection from you?” he looks at her puzzled.

Caroline wonders why he’s even questioning this “well yeah not that I would ever use compulsion on your or any of the parents but it’s just a precaution that I know most parents want especially with the reputation most vampires have” Caroline looks down solemnly.

Paul stops looking at the bracelet and puts it back on her desk “I couldn’t care less what kind of reputation vampires have and I certainly don’t think I need protection from you. You have an eternity to do whatever you want and travel anywhere you want and yet you devoted your life to helping kids who otherwise would feel lost in the world and you gave them a place to call home, a sanctuary. That’s not the kind of person I’d ever need protection from, if anything that’s the kind of person I’d want to protect.”

“Keep the bracelet, I’m good.” He smiles and pushes the chair back to get up “so if that was the paperwork you needed me to fill out there’s no need we should probably get back to Grace and the others.”

Caroline jolts out of her chair shocked that he doesn’t even want the bracelet to give him peace of mind “wait Paul are you sure I’m not going to be insulted if you want it, I mean I completely understand.”

Paul smiles at her again as he reaches for her hands holding them together with his “I’m sure, I trust you.”

Caroline senses the air shift suddenly again as she feels Paul drawing circles with his thumbs while holding her hands eventually moving one to her daylight ring circling the stone as if to say without words he trusts her and he’s not afraid. As if by some uncontrollable force Caroline feels her self moving closer to him as she looks away from their joined hands to his face with hooded lashes before a few strands of her hair fall across her eye.

Paul wastes no time in taking the opportunity to lift his hand to her face and move the hair out of the way behind her ear until a rather loud knock jolts them both.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything” Lizzie says with Grace and Josie in tow “we finished the and Grace was hungry and we figured we should ask her dad first before feeding her in case they had plans” she says smugly knowing she just interrupted a moment that she plans on mocking her mother for relentlessly.

Caroline shakes her head at Lizzie knowing her smart ass daughter all too well before Paul releases Caroline’s hands right after giving her a soft smile and moves to take Grace’s hand “thanks Lizzie we had plans for pizza on the way home right Grace” as Grace nods “so we better get going, thanks for watching Grace ladies.” Paul turns towards Caroline before saying “Caroline I’ll see you later this week on move in day” and offers her a small wave a smile meant only for her before leaving with Grace.

“See ya” Caroline forces herself to say still in a bit of a daze from the moment earlier before looking at her daughters giggling at her. Caroline rolls her eyes and points at them both “do not start okay.”

[lafaiette]

Joy and Humility - Chapter 6

Scarlet Lavellan’s parents decide to visit Skyhold and finally meet Solas.

Mama Lavellan is thrilled. Papa Lavellan is not exactly amused.

(In which Solas and Papa Lavellan meets Loranil and Cillian and for the first time in his life Solas nearly wishes he was Dalish.)

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Other Solavellan fics: here

Solas’ positive and hopeful mood takes a sharp low turn when they meet Loranil and Cillian in the underground corridor where the library is.

They immediately pique Athim’s interest. He heard about them and even saw Cillian from afar while walking with Madame Vivienne earlier this morning, but now he has the chance to talk with them and Solas wants to hide in the shadows and rot there.

Because they are Dalish and Athim smiles at them as if he has just seen old, familiar friends.

Just when he thought they were making progress, here are two people that remind Athim of how different Solas is, how not Dalish he is, how rare and odd his studies and preferences are.

Young Loranil gasps and bows so much it’s a wonder his back doesn’t snap in half. Cillian, much older (but not as much as Solas), bows more discreetly and greets Athim with elven words.

“Andaran atish’an, hahren. I am Cillian of clan Ralaferin and this is Loranil. It’s an honor to meet the father of Inquisitor Lavellan.”

Solas takes some pride and a small victory from the fact that Cillian’s pronunciation isn’t as perfect as his and stays behind Athim, gloating in silence without letting his emotions show on his face.

He can’t help but feel ashamed, though, as Athim’s smile broadens and the old Dalish elf exclaims happily: “And it’s an honor for me to meet a hunter of Hawen’s clan and a famous mage of clan Ralaferin!”

He even clasps their arms and hands and starts asking kind questions: “How are things in your clans? My daughter told me she met Hawen. I hope the shem civil war didn’t hurt your people too much, lethallin.”

“They bothered us for a time, but fortunately Inquisitor Lavellan intervened.” Loranil’s eyes shine with enthusiasm and admiration, in which something else can be seen. “She is an amazing leader and woman, hahren!”

Athim laughs like Solas never heard him laugh before and pats the young hunter’s shoulder, replying: “Indeed she is. She is revolutionizing Thedas.” He looks at the two men in silence for a few seconds, studying them, then asks: “Do you like the Inquisition? Working for it?”

A myriad of compliments and positive statements follows and Solas retreats further into the shadows, leaning against a pillar and pretending to look at the painting on the farthest wall of the room, hands clasped behind his back.

He listens to Loranil as he lists all the wonderful things Scarlet did, how proud and happy he is to stay here and support her and her cause, how good she has been to the elves and how this further convinced him that she is the leader they need.

His cheeks are red and he speaks too quickly, betraying his emotions and true feelings. Cillian, once again, hides them better, but a certain admiration can be still detected in his voice as he compliments Scarlet and her victories.

“She is a beautiful woman as well.” he adds after a moment of hesitation and Solas’ eyes snap to him, not glaring, merely drilling a hole into his face.

But hidden as he is, Cillian and Loranil don’t even pay attention to him, perhaps they didn’t even see him behind Athim or they don’t care about his presence.

Cillian has always been polite the few times they talked, while Loranil just showed him the amount of respect necessary to coexist peacefully and never went beyond that. It’s not like Solas can really blame them: he never did much to become friends with them and his jealousy - and, incredibly, even his feeling of inferiority - caused by Loranil never made things easier.

But they know he is together with Scarlet. They saw him kiss her and hug her, all Skyhold and a good part of Thedas know about them now. So Cillian’s words not only are disrespectful towards Scarlet, but also towards her relationship with Solas, who is standing right there, ignored and not even addressed.

But Athim does address him. He raises his eyebrows after hearing Cillian’s comment and turns to where Solas is, showing a small, but warm smile.

“What do you say, Solas? Is my daughter beautiful?”

The other two elves’ eyes move to him: surprise blooms on Cillian’s face and Solas realizes he truly didn’t notice him. Something else flickers in Loranil’s eyes instead, something akin to annoyance, and that only prompts him to step forward and smile at Athim, replying:

“She is.” His smile grows and the light in his eyes is tender, loving, as he thinks about Scarlet. “She is beautiful both on the inside and the outside. I am lucky to have her in my life.”

His last words carry a specific message that Cillian and Loranil don’t miss, but while the first one reacts with a genuinely happy and respectful smile, the other blushes and looks away, annoyed by the intrusion of that older elf that isn’t Dalish and knows way too much.

So the young boy attacks his weakest points, knowing he won’t be able to say much about those.

“I heard that she was also a brilliant huntress.” he says, talking to Athim only, ignoring Solas again. “How did clan Lavellan survived the harsh winters, hahren? Our Keeper Hawen came up with a good way to better use the hunters’ techniques to find food.”

Athim looks intrigued, interested, and Loranil seizes the chance to be in the spotlight and look like an experienced man. He boasts about his Keeper’s ideas, his clan resources, the animals and meat they collected this year, all the great halla the halla-keeper so painstakingly took care of.

“We also have a golden halla! It must be a sign of good fortune from Ghilan’nain!”

Solas, who has been silent the whole time, not knowing how to discuss those matters, blurts out:

“Actually, it was Scarlet who found it for your clan.” He uses his vhenan’s name to remind the boy who the elf she kisses every day is and the interruption, his words, and the way he pronounced them clearly bother Loranil a lot.

“You are right, hahren.” he says, forced to acknowledge his presence now. But that term of respect sounds different when he uses it for him. “Lady Lavellan helped my clan a lot. I’ll be forever grateful to her.”

And before Solas can reply or even just react with his face, Loranil turns back to Athim and continues talking about Dalish things.

Athim answers his questions and listens to his long, detailed descriptions and stories and sometimes Cillian intervenes too, his calm voice and experienced wisdom a painful reminder. He is younger than Solas as well and the elven apostate heard many maids and even some soldiers compliment his looks while giggling and blushing or whistling and looking longingly at him.

And he knows that he would be a good mate for Scarlet. He knows there is a strong possibility that Athim is thinking that. Cillian is strong, brilliant, gentle, and discovered an elven art long thought lost, earning the respect of many clans and mages.

Plus he is Dalish and he is different from young, naïve Loranil; so even if Athim hasn’t been convinced by the younger elf’s honest, but childish manners, he surely has been surprised by Cillian’s.

And Solas’ self-confidence, born from his knowledge and the wisdom he feels to possess, suddenly decreases and it feels small and stupid, shaking lonely in a corner of his soul.

The three Dalish elves discuss Dalish matters, customs, rules, and arts that do not belong to his people or maybe they did, but in a completely different shape and form and he cannot recognize them anymore.

He doesn’t know what to say and ask, how to intervene, how to participate to the conversation and it’s not something that happens often. It’s not something that should happen now, when Scarlet’s father is here and judges all his moves and words, deciding whether he is worthy of his daughter or not.

Also, the knowledge he possesses, all the information and truths he holds dear in his mind, aren’t appreciated by this humble, but worried father: he thinks he’s twisting his daughter’s mind, that he is teaching her wrong, incorrect, and dangerous things.

Whereas the two elves in front of him now are the perfect example of what a good elf must be, according to the Dalish: inexperienced, but enthusiastic and loyal Loranil and valiant, wise, and brave Cillian.

Also, they are young and handsome and Solas can still remember clearly the comments of some of the women in Hawen’s clan, words of mockery and doubt related to his narrow, long face, older age, and odd interests which tinted his hands with ink and cut his fingertips with papercuts and wrinkles.

He tightens his lips and clasps those hands behind his back, while the three Dalish elves continue their conversation. To be honest, Loranil and Cillian do that: Athim has now quieted down and only listens, nodding his head or humming once in a while.

“… And our First is working on a spell to make our weapons last longer. A spell stronger than those used by the humans! It’s pretty complicated, but…”

“Now that’s useful.” Athim speaks again, making the three other men jump. There is a smile on his face as he turns to Solas and adds: “Maybe you could help them, Solas. Do you know any spell like that?”

Solas knows what he is really asking: he wants to know whether the Fade showed him memories of such spells and knowledge, but the truth is much more complex than that.

Solas knows that spell since his youth and it has been quite useful, like Athim said, to preserve intact the weapons and the equipment his army of freed slaves used against the Evanuris and their minions.

Everything that his sanctuary in the lake contains, in fact, is protected by such a spell, while the fortress itself is defended by other ancient elven magic and the spirits who accepted his request to guard it.

These are things he cannot reveal, but he can play with words a little and say them all the same, albeit in a different way.

“I do know some, hahren.” he replies, slightly bowing his head. “The First of Hawen’s clan did not tell us about this experiment when we visited the clan, but I am hardly surprised. We were still strangers, after all.”

“Lady Lavellan is not a stranger to us!” Loranil exclaims, blushing again. “It just wasn’t a topic to discuss with the Inquisitor!”

“Of course.” Solas replies calmly, even smiling serenely, remembering Hawen’s initial distrust and the tasks he forced Scarlet to complete to gain his respect. He is still bothered by that, but he knows that Scarlet thought it to be a completely normal and wise behavior.

“Well, then you might write these spells down and give them to Loranil here.” Athim intervenes. “I presume it’s ancient elven magic?”

“Of course. That is one of my greatest interests, after all.” Solas’ chest swells a little with the emotion that he carries in his name and he smiles at the old elf, happy to see no malice or disgust in his eyes, but only genuine interest and kindness.

He turns to Loranil, whose pout is very badly hidden, and continues: “I’ll be happy to give them you, da’len, so that you may send them to your clan in the Dales.”

“Ma serannas, hahren.” the boy stiffly replies, not liking that turn of events at all, and then it’s Cillian who intervenes, asking with his soft, placid voice: “Hahren, I heard you studied the Fade, but I didn’t know you knew so much about elven magic.”

“I am an expert in many things.” Solas replies without superiority or arrogance, just matter-of-factly. “Elven magic and lore are one of those I am most expert in, together with Fade and spirits.”

“Then you must know more about my specialization.” There is something new in Cillian’s usually calm eyes and even the hint of an enthusiastic smile on his dark lips. “I studied the arts and techniques of Arcane Warriors for…”

“Dirth'ena Enasalin.” Solas gently interrupts him and Cillian blinks, confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“Dirth’ena Enasalin. Knowledge that leads to victory. That is how the ancient elves who approved of this specialization called it.”

Solas straightens his back a little bit and clears his throat, appreciating the raw attention everyone is giving him right now. Even Loranil looks thirsty to know more.

“However, those elven mages who disapproved of such a physical arts called them Ghilan'him Banal'vhen, the path that leads astray. They did not doubt the arcane warriors’ honor, they simply disagreed on the way they completed their duties and missions.”

“I…” Cillian shakes his head, bewildered. “I only glimpsed small, confused traces of such things in the shrine…” His smile comes back, bigger than before, and he exclaims: “Hahren! Do you know more? Would you teach me?”

During these years spent in Skyhold, the other elves never paid much attention to Solas and even though Cillian and his clan-mate Neria often asked him books written in elven for their own studies, they never talked much.

To converse like this, sharing information about the ancient elves, feels satisfying, even rewarding. There are respect and ardor in Cillian’s eyes, surprise in Loranil’s, and amusement and affection in Athim’s.

It’s a good, warm feeling. He feels he belongs here even more.

“I… Yes, I wouldn’t mind it.” Solas nods and Cillian’s enthusiasm, even if refrained by his good manners and composed personality, grows and sparkles like a rekindled fire.

“Oh, if I only knew sooner that you held so much knowledge!” he exclaims, even clasping his arm. “Ma serannas. I will be a good disciple, I promise.” He blinks, then gasps softly, a wonderful idea coming to him.

“May Neria and other mages join us as well? I’m sure they will be happy to participate.”

“I…” Solas tries to imagine himself teaching ancient elven magic and his heart burns with joy and excitement. He doesn’t even understand well what is happening right now.

“How do you know that what you learned there is right?” Loranil murmurs, agape. “Demons live in the Beyond too, not just spirits.”

“I know quite well what lives in the Fade.” Solas coldly replies, narrowing his eyes at him. “And I’m able to discern between what is real and true and what is not, da’len.”

He tastes irony and bitterness on his tongue for a moment, then it fades away and Cillian comes to his help:

“Hush, child.” he tells Loranil, his tone milder, but the meaning of his words the same. “I glimpsed only a part of what he said during my long meditation in those elven ruins, but I know he spoke the truth.”

“Also,” Athim intervenes, putting an end to it with his polite, but deep and resolute voice, “my daughter and her advisors wouldn’t give him so many important tasks if he wasn’t prepared, would they?” He narrows his eyes at Loranil too and the boy seems to shrink. “Do you doubt Scarlet’s judgement, da’len?”

“No! I would never!” Loranil fidgets ashamedly, then he turns to Solas and begrudgingly mumbles: “Ir abelas, hahren. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I took no offense.” Solas calmly replies, smiling again, even though a petty part of him gloats in seeing the boy like this. “I’d be happy to see you during these lessons, mage or not mage.”

Loranil mumbles a positive words, then Cillian rests a hand on his back, sensing how upset he is, and decides to finish it there.

“I will tell the others, then. Thank you so much.” He bows his head to him, then to Athim. “I hope to meet you again soon, hahren. It has been an honor.”

“The same counts for me, lethallin. Go with Mythal’s blessing, both of you.”

Loranil manages to decently say goodbye to the old Dalish, although he stubbornly ignores Solas again, and the two elves leave the underground corridor to go back up to the main hall.

Solas and Athim are left alone near the door to the library and the first looks at the latter with gratefulness and warmth in his eyes.

“Thank you, hahren.” he says, causing Athim to blink surprised and ask: “For what?”

“For supporting me. I do not know much about Dalish customs and daily life, even though I learned some things from Scarlet.” He smiles sadly. “Loranil wasn’t giving me an easy time.”

“Well, you looked like a kicked puppy.” the old Dalish mumbles. “I couldn’t just ignore you like those two were doing, could I? That wasn’t polite at all, by the way.”

The distaste that can be heard in Athim’s voice surprises Solas and he tentatively, almost shyly, asks: “What do you think about them?”

Athim hums, scrunches up his nose, and replies: “Cillian is a good fellow, but he should learn to spend less time with his head up in the clouds. I don’t think he was deliberately ignoring you, but he could have greeted you better.”

He scratches his cheek, humming pensively again, and then his eyes narrow as he thinks about Loranil, much to Solas’ delight.

“Loranil is a child. From the little I could see, he is naïve about serious stuff and way too serious about less important things.” But then his scowl turns into a smirk as he turns to Solas. “Did he ever give you any problems? His crush on Scarlet is adorable and frustrating at the same time.”

Solas blushes, remembering all the times Loranil tried to approach Scarlet or glared at him from afar, and that’s enough for Athim to understand.

“I see.” he chuckles, patting his shoulder. “Well, don’t worry about him. Scarlet has eyes only for you and to be honest I wouldn’t approve of him as a future son-in-law.”

“Really?” Solas’ eyebrow rise. “Why not? He is…”

He stops, blushing again and feeling that sense of inferiority coming back in full force.

“He is Dalish?” Athim concludes for him. He stays quiet for a short moment, then sighs and continues: “I’m sorry, lethallin. I let my love and jealousy blind me and make my mouth say hurtful things yesterday.”

“I understand. Scarlet is…” Solas clears his throat, smiling softly. “She is a wonderful woman and you are right to be so worried about her.” Then he frowns, unable to let a small particular go, and adds: “You reprimanded Loranil when he doubted my knowledge and studies, but you thought the same yesterday. What made you change your mind?”

The Dalish elf scowls again and folds his arm. Now it’s his time to blush, because Solas hit a weak point and Athim was probably hoping he wouldn’t remember everything of their conversation in the rotunda.

A silly hope, Athim seems to realize, and Solas smiles at him, to show that he isn’t attacking him, but simply asking a question.

“I… I thought that Scarlet wouldn’t be so irresponsible and foolish to let someone not cultured and knowledgeable enough to deal with such important matters.” He shrugs and looks away, pouting.

“I thought about it while we were coming down here and then that child said the same things I told you yesterday and I realized it was a very stupid thing to say. I realized I made a terrible impression.”

Solas chuckles and shakes his head, clasping his hands behind his back.

“It wasn’t so terrible. But you are right, Scarlet would let someone teach her elven lore and write reports about the Fade only if she was completely sure of their abilities.”

“Yes.” Athim gives him an odd look and says slowly: “I don’t understand much about it, but if you believe the stuff you found in the Fade is the truth, then I’ll believe you too.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are soft and paternal as he adds: “And I’ll admit I liked the way you defended your ideas, even with me. You knew I was Scarlet’s father, but you stayed honest and coherent and didn’t try to lick my ass.”

“I am confident about my knowledge.” Solas replies, keeping his chin high, and the other elf laughs, nodding.

“Yes, that’s a good thing.” He stays quiet for a moment, then he says, giving him that odd look again: “However, I do hope you are willing to change your mind and accept you were wrong, whenever you find something that contradicts what you knew before.”

Solas blinks, taken aback, and an ashamed blush tints his cheeks and ears.

He was a fool before. He wasted so much time, dwelling in the conviction that this world was merely a dream, but now… now he knows that’s not the case and he wants to change his mind about another thing too, the thing that most of all haunts his days and nights, more blinding that the light of the Orb.

Athim notices his blush and mistakes its meaning for another one, just believing he is truly proud like his name suggests.

“It’s not like that.” Solas hurries to reassure him when he sees his amused, slightly sardonic smile. “I am always willing to change my mind. I am not a fool who likes to sits on outdated, wrong wisdom and refuses anything else.”

He looks down and a loving smile curls his lips as he thinks about Scarlet’s smile and laughter.

“Scarlet helped me discover many new things and revaluate what I knew. I like to think I became a better man thanks to her.”

He hears Athim grumble something, but it doesn’t sound rude, just resigned, and he realizes the old man is slowly getting convinced about his daughter’s relationship.

In such a short time, it’s more than Solas could have ever hoped for. Perhaps their meeting with Loranil and Cillian wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Sometimes” Athim says, eyeing him with kindness, “you and Scarlet remind me of Nehn and myself.”

Solas’ blush increases, but the reason for its presence is another now and Athim understands that.

He chuckles and Solas allows a huge, flattered smile to appear on his face. That meant a lot and for a second he forgets about his task and imagines a future where they live all together, with children running around and…

But then reality settles in and he remembers what Athim told him the previous night.

“Don’t deceive her promising what you cannot give her. Don’t bring up family, kids, and parenthood if you know that’s impossible.”

He swallows and looks down again, this time to hide his tears. And then he remembers Athim’s next words:

“Please, tell her now before it’s too late! She will understand, she won’t stop loving you, but at least she won’t delude herself anymore!”

The old Dalish is saying something about the underground library and Solas cannot hear him well, too lost in his confused, hopeful, anguished thoughts, but then a ray of light slices the fog in his mind and he can think better.

Athim’s words helped him make a step further towards the courage he needs to tell Scarlet the truth. It’s like he’s getting closer to what his heart really desires and he knows that she would understand and forgive him.

But then she would carry the same weight he does and that would be unfair. She would be in danger.

What should he do? What else can he do? Either stay quiet and then face her pain and despair or tell her everything and see her be in his same situation? Which one is the kinder option?

“Solas?” Athim taps his shoulder and he jumps, focusing his gaze on him. The Dalish elf is frowning, worried.

“Are you alright?”

He nods quickly, but Athim isn’t convinced and his frown is now one of disapproval.

“I’m still convinced you are hiding something.”

Solas doesn’t deny it; he doesn’t reply and doesn’t look away from Athim’s golden eyes, identical to Scarlet’s, and the Dalish elf sighs.

“I suppose I will have to trust Scarlet about this too.”

And Solas is glad when the topic suddenly changes and the library is once again brought up. He clears his throat and gladly leads Athim to the door, already listing all the books and documents about elven culture that are kept there.

But his heart and mind scream at him and he has to focus all his energies in thinking about the books and not Scarlet’s smiling face and kind eyes.

He doesn’t notice the look Athim gives him for the whole time.