#thank you for your ask! my inbox has been very quiet and dry

[moonstruckme]

Okay my inbox is doing that fun thing again where it disappears the ask I was looking for only to reappear after a couple of days, but luckily I had it copy + pasted and I think it was from an anon anyway, so thank you very much for your request!

Request: undercover spencer and reider?? fake dating??? tension???? the brainrot i have for this man is ridiculous

cw: serial killer, no killing in the scene but they do talk about how he's killed people in the past

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 825 words

Spencer’s fingers are intertwined with yours, your knees touching, and yet you have to ask: “Are we being…canoodle-y enough?” 

“Enough for now,” Prentiss’ voice is dry in your earpiece, but you can hear the humor in it. “We don’t have any movement yet, and it’s not like you’ve got any competition.” 

That’s fair enough. While you and Spencer have been sitting on a park bench playing couple, the rest of your team has quietly cleared every real couple out of the area. The serial killer you’re trying to lure out seems to have a thing for this particular park—as do teens trying to light a spark away from their parents’ homes. Your unsub likes to find some young sweethearts in a secluded area, then kill the girl while the boy watches before offing him, too. Your team is hoping that you and Spencer look young and in love enough in the dark to pique his interest. 

And you can’t help that you’re no longer a teenager, but luckily attraction to Spencer Reid isn’t difficult for you to fake. 

“It’s getting late,” you whisper to him. “Doesn’t he usually strike around eleven?” 

Spencer’s pupils are large and reflective in the darkness. “He’s regimented,” he replies, just as softly, like you’re lovers whispering sweet nothings in the night, “but in the past, his window has extended from eleven to eleven thirty. We might have some time.” 

“Do you think he’s here already?” 

“Probably.” His hand coasts up your arm, a tentative teen trying to make a move. It draws a line from your elbow around your back to settle on your waist. Spencer’s mouth is close to your ear. “He likes to stalk his victims for a while. He’s probably making a few passes around the park.” 

You swallow but do your best to look comfortable, leaning into his side. “Right. That makes sense.” 

“You seem nervous,” he says. 

“Do I?” 

Spencer hums, and his forefinger makes a couple of slow strokes on your side. The movement is so small you wonder if it’s for your unsub’s benefit or yours. 

“I know this is your first time being the bait, but no one’s going to let anything happen to us.” His voice is hardly a murmur, breath sweet and warm on your cheek. “Hotch wouldn’t let us do this if he wasn’t sure they could protect us.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. Spencer adjusts his grip on your waist, and your heart flutters. You really hope you’re attacked by a serial killer before he figures you out. “Yeah, I know.” 

“We’ve got a jogger in dark clothes headed your way,” Derek says through your earpiece. “Look like you like each other, kids.” 

Your breath catches as Spencer’s free hand comes up to catch your jaw, turning your face gently into his. Your noses tease each other, the nervous beginnings of a kiss in the making. You have the sense that if you inhaled it would close the space between your lips. 

“Close your eyes,” Spencer murmurs. 

“What?” 

“It’s only believable if you close your eyes.” 

You trust him. Your eyelashes brush against his skin as they flutter closed, and Spencer caresses your cheek as if in approval. You’re acutely aware of every nerve in your body. Your blood rushes fast, the hairs on your arms upraised and your brain buzzing, but the atmosphere around you is as quiet as if you’re frozen in time. 

Then the bushes to your left rustle. 

Spencer’s up and in front of you in a flash, but not before JJ’s shining her flashlight and pointing her gun at the unsub. 

“FBI! Put the knife down.” 

The man hesitates. You grab Spencer’s sleeve, thinking for a moment to pull him back, but the unsub is still too far away to even entertain taking either of you hostage and now Hotch is on your other side, repeating JJ’s demand. You breathe a soft sigh of relief when the knife makes a dull thud on the grass. 

“Good job, lovebirds,” Derek teases as Hotch puts the guy in cuffs. “I wouldn’t have thought this perv would go for anyone not already half naked, but you two were so convincing he chose you anyway.” 

“Probably just for lack of better options.” You look down under the guise of brushing off your pants.

“No, you were great.” Spencer’s voice is sincere. It’s praise given casually, with no awareness of how it affects you. “It’s hard to keep your head in those situations, but you did really great.” 

You shrug, bashful. “Yeah, well, you did most of the work. I definitely wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t taken the lead.” The double entendre has blood rushing to your face, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice.

But of course, Derek does. “That’s what I’m always saying.” He drops one eye in a wink, teasing coating his voice. “You’d never know it, but pretty boy here’s got moves.” 

[vodika-vibes]

a innocent, tiny sunshine reader being completely oblivious with alpha-17?

The Devil's Luck

Summary: You’re parents have always warned you that you were far too naive about the way the world works, they feared that you would have a bad ending. But you’ve never been worried. You’ve always had the devil’s own luck, after all.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1018

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: This is another ask that's been sitting in my inbox since last year. I'm a little worried that I didn't quite get the vibe needed for the oblivious, sunshine reader since I wrote from the reader's POV rather than Alpha's. This is set in an AU where Alpha-17 somehow became Mandalore (I have a whole plot on how that happened, but it's largely unimportant to this.)

“How are you adapting to life in the North?” The currently Mandalore, Alpha-17, asks in a low rumble as he towers over you. “It is very different than life in Sundari.”

“Different, but not bad.” You agree as you favor the massive man with a brilliant smile, “I’m just glad that you aren’t going to try and force to fight for you.”

There’s a dry look on his heavily scarred, but handsome, face. “There are plenty of men here who are more than happy to fight, an unwilling soldier is more of a risk than an untrained one after all.”

You laugh, “I’ll take your word for it.”

He glances around your home, still filled with unpacked crates and boxes, and sparsely decorated. “And how are the others treating you? I would hate for you to inform the Duchess that you’re being mistreated.”

“I think you’re overestimating how much Lady Satine cares about what I have to say.” You open a box and peer into it, cooking utensils. Nice, you’ve been looking for these. “The Duchess has already determined what she thinks of you and yours, Mandalore.”

“And what does her grace think of us?”

“That you’re little more than rabid animals, I’m afraid.” You’re genuinely apologetic about telling him that, “I was warned, on more than one occasion, that I should expect to be treated as little more than chattel.”

Alpha raps his knuckles on your counter, annoyance clear on his face, “Is that right. And she sent you here anyway?”

“She didn’t.”

“Sorry?”

“Send me. I’ve been wanting to leave Sundari for ages so I jumped at the chance.” You grin at him, “My parents were horrified.”

He crosses his arms across his broad chest, “If you wanted to leave, why didn’t you move away before?”

“My parents.” You reply as you make a face.

“...you’re an adult.”

“Yeah, that argument only really works in theory.” You shrug, “They think that I’m naive and worried that leaving Sundari would have me accidentally joining a cult or something. Apparently I’m ‘easily influenced’.”

He quirks an eyebrow, “That is pretty concerning, if it’s true.”

“I’ve never been worried. I’m Lady Lucks favorite.”

He releases a quiet chuckle, “Sure you are.” His dark eyes scan you for a moment, and then he leans back against your counter, “I’m having a dinner tonight. Nothing big or overly fancy, just me and some of the ambassadors towards the other sects of Mandalorians.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Generally is.” He agrees, “I want you to come.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you’re a New Mandalorian who not only moved from Sundari to Little Keldabe, but is also thriving.” Alpha replies honestly, “Because you’re short and cute and very non-threatening. Because I want you there to have someone interesting to talk to.” He shrugs, unconcerned, “Take your pick.”

“...you think I’m cute?”

He shoots you a look, “Is that really the important thing here?”

“Yes~”

“I think you’re cute, beautiful, stunning. All of those nice things that you’re supposed to say to a woman.” Alpha replies with a roll of his eyes.

You grin at him, “Thank you~”

“You’re welcome. So, do you want to come?”

“Mm...I don’t really have anything to wear to a nice dinner.” You admit, “And won’t people get angry about you inviting me and not them?”

“By people you mean my brothers? If they have a problem with it they can come and talk to me.” He pauses, “But knowing my brothers, the moment they hear the word politics they’re going to run for the hills.”

You laugh softly, “I don’t blame them, really.” You fall silent for a moment, tapping your lower lip with your knuckles, “Yeah, alright. I’ll come to dinner with you.”

“Good,” He lowers his arms and leans them against the edge of the counter, “And now, because you told me that you’re oblivious, I’m going to be much more clear.”

You tilt your head curiously.

“This is a date. I’m asking you to come on a date with me.” Alpha says, amusement clear in his voice, “My intention is for this to become something more.”

You stare at him, your lips parted for a moment, and then your face burns. “...oh.” You squeak out.

“Is this a problem?” Alpha asks.

“No! Uh...outside of the fact that I don’t think I’m ‘mandalore’s girlfriend’ material.” You say quickly as you press your hands against your burning cheeks and try to force the flush away.

“The only person who’s allowed to decide that is me. And if I say that you are, no one is going to question me on it.” Alpha stares at you for a long moment, “So, still interested?”

“Yes!” Your face burns when you realize just how excited you sound about it, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you slide your hands over your face, “Um...I mean...yes. I am.”

You don’t see Alpha’s wide grin, and you don’t see him push away from your counter. You do, however, feel him wrap his hands around your wrists and tug them down away from your face, “There you are.” He murmurs his voice a low rumble that rolls through you pleasantly.

“...hi.” You whisper up to him.

“Hi yourself.” Effortlessly, he walks you backwards until your back bumps against the wall, “Is this too much?”

“No.” You reply immediately, “I think it might not be enough.”

He chuckles, and lowers his head so that his lips are hovering just over yours, “I think ‘Mandalore’s Girlfriend’ is a perfect title for you.” Alpha says, “What do you think, cyar’ika?”

“I think it sounds really good.” You agree.

“Good.” He closes the short distance between your lips and his, and you almost instantly respond, your hands sliding across his armor to find purchase between the plates so you’re able to cling to him.

He kisses you like he’s trying to replace the air in your lungs with himself, and you can’t be happier about it.

And, just before you lose yourself in him and his lips, you can’t help but think that you really do have the devil’s luck.

[c0la-queen]

I absolutely LOVE your writing, it's so nice to see eddsworld content especially this good <33 can I request Tord with a very shy partner? No pressure ofc, take your time!

Thank you!!! My neurons were absolutely firing with this piece, for realsies. It may not be exaactly what you envisioned? And I was trying not to make the Reader be the stereotypical "uwu im so shy sowwy" kind of shy? You know what I mean? Either way, I hope you enjoy, and if its not quite what you wanted, PLEASE feel free to send me an inbox message letting me know !!!

Run, Rabbit, Run. | Tord x Shy! Reader

Warnings: Mostly Tord's POV, not the fluffiest? it has a happy ending, but Tord is naturally a kind of fucked-up person.

---

Tord had a problem.

He doesn't have problems often, and certainly not problems he can't solve.

It wasn't every day that he wanted to be around someone - craved it. He acted like he only tolerated his roommates, kept the truth locked away under thick layers of steel.

But you. He sought you out, needed you like it ached. Your presence.

You, however, ran from him. Every time. Fled like a rabbit that had caught a glimpse of the stalking wolf. Scurried back to your burrow, safe and protected by densely packed earth. Where he could not reach you. It grinded at his patience, made him clench his jaw hard enough to crack a tooth. He walked into a room, you found an excuse to walk out. It was a constant among the chaos and unpredictability of their house.

The one thing that he needed like a dying man, and he couldn't have it. You wouldn't give it to him.

A problem.

He was going to fix this problem, if it meant the death of him.

And who was he but a stubborn man?

--

His opportunity came during a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The other three were all out, running errands and such. You were still home. Doing laundry, from the sound of it. He wasn't surprised, you liked to use Sunday as the day to do your household chores, reset for the coming week - not that he had been paying attention to your habits. No. Just coincidence.

From the garage, he could hear you. The wall that his workbench sat against was one that was shared with the laundry room, so it wasn't difficult. If he sat still, focused enough, he could practically imagine it. You, in your crop t-shirt and little sleep shorts that you always wore when you did laundry. Hair pushed out of your face. Dancing along to the music that he could hear playing from your phone - doing those silly, awkward dance moves that you did when you thought nobody was looking.

He wanted to be there. It was selfish, he knew. But that little undamaged piece of him sitting in his chest longed to join you. Insert himself into the little life that you had carved out for yourself in their house. Slot his own being so nicely beside your peace and quiet. You were so… unlike him. You were soft, sweet. Like the skolebrød of his childhood. You were vanilla and sugar. Unmarred by anything horrible in the world. That self-centered part of him wanted to take. To clamp his jaws down around your hind legs and sink his teeth in when you tried to escape.

Tord was moving before he even realized it.

You had moved out of the laundry room. Your music faded as you walked further into the house. If he remembered correctly (That phrase tasted bittersweet on his tongue. As much as he craved you, he didn't want to admit how actively he was chasing you. A wolf that resented the rabbit.) you would set about doing the dishes after depositing your empty laundry basket in your bedroom.

His mouth was dry. So he moved to the kitchen. To get water. (That's what he would tell you. That's what he would tell anybody who asked.)

The switch from the garage to the house was always jarring to the senses. The garage was cold, unprotected from the autumn chill. But the house was warm. Welcoming. Safe. (You were inside.) It was like sitting under a hot shower after catching hypothermia.

He stopped in the doorway.

There you were. In the kitchen. Dishwasher open. Your smartwatch was discarded on the kitchen table alongside your phone and water bottle. Music was still playing from the device's speakers. You were, just as he guessed, wearing your crop tee and shorts. (The collar was hanging low on one of your shoulders, bearing the skin to his vision. His hands itched.) You hadn't noticed him yet. Little rabbit unaware of the danger that lurks in the forest underbrush.

It was something beautiful watching you in your own little world. In public, you were so small. Reserved. Put a cork on your personality so that nobody could truly see who you were. To you, it felt like security. If nobody had access to your identity, then nobody could take it away. Nobody could judge you. Even home, with the boys, you were less than yourself. Not to the same degree, but still limited. They didn't take offense to it, they knew it wasn't you distrusting them. It's just how you were. But here, when you thought you were alone? The cork was removed and he loved to watch the bottle overflow.

You spun on your heel and nearly dropped the bowls in your hand from how hard you flinched at the sight of him. He could see the way that you drew in to yourself, made yourself smaller.

"Oh, um, hey. Tord. I didn't… realize you were home."

There was something tight in his chest at the way you looked so nervous. You shifted in your spot, looked anywhere but at him. He wanted you to look at him.

"I am."

You only answered with a soft 'oh' before turning back to the dishwasher. He remained still, watching. Clearly, you were looking for a way out, a chance to flee. Something he wasn't going to let happen.

"I should probably-"

"You keep avoiding me."

Your head shot up, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes. He dug his fingernails into his palms.

"What? No, no I haven't- I haven't been-"

"Do not lie to me."

It was cruel, yes, but it gave him the desired effect. You clammed up immediately. Shoulders slumped. Gave him just a little inch, but that was all he needed to take a mile. He stepped closer. You stepped back.

A snarling, drooling, hungry wolf, closing in on its prey.

Your back hit the counter. He stepped forward again.

A trembling little rabbit, cornered with nowhere to go.

He stopped a foot away from you.

"I have tolerated this for months. For months I have watched you run from the sight of me alone. As if the very idea of being in the same room as me is too much for you to bear. Do you even have any idea what you do to me? Do you know how it kills me?"

He could feel the way that you tensed up. A spike of anger stuck into his chest, burning hot. You weren't looking at him. You were looking at your shoes again. He forced his words out of his throat in the form of a growl.

"For fuck's sake, look at me. Look at- Look. At. Me."

Frustration boiled over, bubbling and spilling over the sides of the pot and he wasn't able to put the lid on it fast enough. He reached up and grabbed your jaw, holding it firmly between his index and thumb. Forced your eyes to focus on him. Only him.

A sick part of him preened at the little gasp that came out of your throat.

But you kept your eyes on him. Good girl.

"Tell me why you have been avoiding me."

His voice was softer now. He hated how much pain he could hear in it. How it trembled. He had hoped you wouldn't notice. But you did. Your mouth opened. Then closed. You swallowed thickly. Then you spoke.

"I thought…. thought you didn't like me."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Him? Not like you? How could you think that? He could only hate you as much as a hunter hates Mother Earth for blessing him with food.

"You just… always seem so.. annoyed at me whenever I try to talk to you. And you never really… really talk back.. Just kinda… give short answers. I thought you found me annoying. I didn't want to keep annoying you. So I just… just backed off…."

He took a moment to process that. Let it all sink in.

He couldn't help it.

Tord began to laugh.

Through his laughter, he noticed you pout, heard a soft whine leave you. A groan ripped through his laugh at the sight. As if his body was working on autopilot, he surged forward. Pressed his lips to yours. He felt your gasp against his lips, then felt your melt into the kiss. You kissed back.

When his oxygen began to run short, he pulled away. Not too far, though. Kept his forehead pressed flush to yours. Took in the sight of you. You, panting softly, lips swollen from the kiss. Looking up at him through your pretty eyelashes.

"I have never hated you, kjære. I am… aloof. I have a resting bitch face. You are not the first person I have unnerved. But.. you are the first that I have wanted to be close to. If you would have me."

Courtesy. Formality. Tord was a stubborn man, and when he managed to get a taste of blood, he clamped his jaws down tight and didn't let go.

And this rabbit laid down in his teeth willingly.

You smiled.

"I'd like that. Yeah."

[wanderingblindly]

48 & 72 for the fic asks plizzzzzz xxxxxx

Both of my wives? In my inbox? It’s more likely than you think!

Thank you for asking love!!!

48. Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you've started writing for that fandom?

OOOOOOH, I wanna say it varies depending on what sort of mood I’m in; in my mind, different drivers lend themselves to different tones, you know?

But generally speaking, I think my current favorite is… Oscar? I find his dry, sarcastic humor and sort of quiet-observer-type persona really easy to “slip into”, as it were. And that’s definitely new!! If you asked me a year ago, my favorite would have been Charles — no competition ((he’s still ranked very highly in my heart, eternally)).

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

As it pertains directly to my writing, one of the ones I think of often is “Don’t think I can reread but this is a story I’m not forgetting anytime soon.”, from I Know Your Name (But Not Who You Are) . Being told that on such an emotionally driven fic was…. Wow. It almost felt like I wrote something real and not something frivolous and self-indulgent.

More generally, some favs are:

@creabirds saying she wanted to print out, grind up, and snort Excess

@albonoooo saying “i want to take his fic into my arms gently like it's a puppy, kiss it's head (like charles did with that cunty little dog a few days ago) and hold it close to me.”

Any person who has ever told me they can see my fics like a movie — that means the world as a mind-blind bitch.

[niuniente]

Hi Niu, as a fellow card reader I was wondering if you can maybe give me some advice. Namely, I'm great when doing readings for other people 10/10, but when I try to do a reading for myself I suck. The cards I draw are often nonsense and I really feel like the deck is refusing to cooperate. I feel part of this is to do with my internalised fears. For example, as an introvert when I ask "how can I meet more people?" part of me is afraid that the answer is going to be "Go to more clubs! Party! Book a flight to Thailand and mingle with drunk tourists!" (I'm exaggerating, but hopefully you get the picture 😂). Tbf I've never even gotten an answer that I absolutely didn't want to hear, mostly I just get random cards that don't make a lot of sense with the question.

Anyway, have you experienced something like this? Do you have any advice for me maybe? How do I get my personal readings to be as good as the ones I do for others?

I've heard of no one who does readings to say it is easy to read for yourself! It never is. You can't really get an outside view with no emotions, bias, judgment etc. of yourself by yourself. That's why it is challenging to read to yourself.

When I read to myself, I usually speak about myself like 3rd person, introducing my issue and my name to the Spirit the same way as I'd do with a client. It helps a bit. Still, the best reading ever I did to myself was an accident. I was reading to someone else but when the reading was done (and before the other person got it) I realized it didn't match the target person at all. I went the reading through again and what do you know; it was for me. I was thinking when I did the reading that "Wow, how nice, I can actually tell the person I'm doing this reading to all these examples from my own life which are present in this reading."

When I REALLY need guidance and can't seem to tap into it myself, there are 4 things I can try to do:

Ask from a spiritual friend their intuitive hunch or ask a small reading from my sister.

Order a reading from a professional reader (it's hard to find a good one but I've found a few who read well).

Go to Youtube and see if any of the Pick-a-card videos have any messages, especially something which would fit my own readings or hunches. If it's a specific topic with no hurry - let's say love - I see in a long period of time different readings from different readers and see what are the themes repeating in these readings.

I ask a direct answer from the Universe/Spirit. Either a very clear sign within 48h (best for Yes/No situation), or guidance in a dream. In 8/10 I get an answer and if I don't, then the issue is not big or important but will solve on its own as time passes

Then, to your situation: You know your issue is fear(s), so you have to deal with that. Otherwise, the messages and helpful guidance can't really come through fully as the Spirit has to try to speak between the lines, which makes the reading confusing.

Like you said, the Spirit will never give you any messages you're not ready to hear. :3 Sure, you can get guidance that is uncomfortable because it means you have to change something old or go outside of your comfort zone, but even still the choice is yours. You can follow the guidance or not. So, if you ask "How to get more friends" the uncomfortable answer can be "Mingle with like-minded people". Then, it's up to you if you want to continue your current state or take the guidance and go mingle with people, as uncomfortable and weird as it is. But, this isn't any different from a doctor giving you a treatment plan you don't like, an allergy forcing you to change your diet, or therapy asking you to do something you're not used to.

If you couldn't do it, the Spirit wouldn't even suggest it to you :3

[glimmerglanger]

Hey there! Hopefully it’s an OK time to make a request! I truly love your Alpha17/Obi fic, “Just Right”!

Hoping that a prompt of Alpha 17 finally making it to the Negotiator and pretty much stalking Obi and courting Obi in a very gentle and patient un-Alpha 17 way ends with some sexy and soft love making?

Anything will do! I just love this trope and the story you’ve created has been on my mind since it was published!

🥰😍🥰😍

Oooooooh! Well, I couldn’t quite do all the courting (that probably would have gotten longer than the original fic) but! I did do a little bit about the next time they run into each other! Thanks for the request! I have a few more in my inbox that I’m working on, as well!

This is VERY SPICY. SO SPICY. NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. Feat: intercrural and bjs and Feelings that 17 wishes he weren’t having.

~~~~

17 felt jittery in his skin from the time he heard that the Negotiator was going to make a stop on Kamino. It was an...unusual feeling, and one he found he disliked immensely. He tried to burn it away sparring with his brothers and, when that failed to work, he grabbed a group of shinies and led them on a run around one of the longer loops on the city.

After the third such loop, he still felt itchy along his bones and gave it up for a loss, retreating to his quarters and the quiet of his fresher.

He’d received a few messages from Kenobi since they’d last worked together. They’d been the usual sort of thing. He’d kept track of mission reports coming out of the Third System Army, too, making sure they routed through to him and reading over the lines of text.

He scrubbed a hand back over his short hair. He’d wanted Kenobi to come to Kamino, wanted an excuse to go back into the field. He hadn’t expected this strange twisting in his gut when he finally got what he’d been hoping for.

That did nothing to diminish the feeling.

He blew out a breath. Kenobi was still a day away, but 17 could imagine him well enough, picture his flashing eyes and that pleased little smile of his. He recalled - their memories were, after all, perfect - the stretch of bare skin and the tight, wet, marvelous heat around his cock.

He’d imagined it all, often, while touching himself in his bunk.

His own hand didn’t come even close to comparing. But it was what he had. What he’d had, anyway, but Kenobi was coming to Kamino…

17 frowned around his bunk and wondered how one went about asking for a repeat of the three days they’d spent in transit, fucking on every available surface.

#

Kenobi walked into the city with his cloak damp and sodden across his shoulders and a grin on his face. He nodded a greeting at 17 and fell into a conversation with Master Ti, and 17 tried not to think about how easy it had been to capture both of Kenobi’s wrists in one hand, pressing them down against the floor and sliding into his body, impossibly, and--

Kenobi glanced his way, an eyebrow raising, and 17 met his gaze evenly, shrugging with one shoulder. He’d made no secret of how much he’d enjoyed their activities. It would be pointless to try to pretend he hadn’t thought about it. Often.

Still, he knew how to be professional. He set the thoughts aside and focused on the discussion.

#

17 managed not to dwell too much on what they’d done throughout the day, but that didn’t stop him from steering Kenobi back to his quarters when evening finally arrived.

His quarters were built larger than most places in the city. The ceilings were tall enough to allow him to stand easily and the bed actually fit his proportions; it would swallow Kenobi, make him look so small, sprawled across it. Compared to the cabins on the cruisers, his room must have seemed huge.

Kenobi looked around, nodded, and said, “Certainly to scale, I have to--”

And then 17 backed him against the wall, slid a hand against his shoulder, and curled down enough to kiss him.

Kenobi moaned against his mouth, shifting from a conversation into the kiss easily, like switching gears on a speeder. He tasted good, mouth hot and sweet, his hands sliding up over 17’s armor, and 17 had taken him against a wall, held him up so easily - Kenobi barely weighed anything - and encouraged Kenobi to curl legs against his waist, because they wouldn’t fit all the way around 17 and--

“How do you feel,” 17 panted out, drawing away just enough to speak, “about a good hard fuck?”

Kenobi rasped out a sound, hair still a little damp from the rains outside, and said, “Oh, I’d quite enjoy that, but, hm, our options are somewhat more limited, this time.”

17 frowned, keeping Kenobi tucked against the wall; it was easy, blocking him in, and satisfying on some deep level. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” Kenobi said, clever fingers sliding along his armor, undoing latches, so he must still have been interested. “It’s been nearly two months since last I’ve seen you.”

“So?” 17 asked, not following, as Kenobi floated his chest plate somewhere across the room and placed it down quietly. He wanted to get his own hands on Kenobi, start taking off his robes, but once he started doing that, well…

Following the train of this conversation would grow harder.

“So, I’ve spent two months around all the men in the 212th,” Kenobi said, dry, and for a moment that made no sense as an explanation, until it did. Kenobi had explained, during one of the periods where they’d both needed a rest, how his people’s reproductive systems worked.

After two months, his reproductive organs would be perfectly compatible with all the men in the 212th. There was no way he’d be able to take 17. Not safely. 17 frowned, something twisting fast and hot and unpleasant in his gut at that thought, wondering if any of them realized. If they’d like the thought as much as he’d liked it, when Kenobi fitted him just right.

“Oh,” 17 said, drawing back, setting aside the flash of unknown emotion and a deeper sense of disappointment. Kenobi had been the only person he could--

“But I’m sure there are other options we can explore,” Kenobi said, following him, an arm sliding over his shoulders. “Unless you’re not interested?”

17 considered it. His disappointment almost had him shaking his head, sending Kenobi to his own bunk. But… they’d enjoyed themselves plenty, last time, and not just when he’d slid into the sweet embrace of Kenobi’s body.

And he didn’t want Kenobi to run off.

He frowned and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Kenobi grinned, pulled himself up to take a kiss, and said, “Come here, let me show you.”

#

Kenobi positively got lost in the middle of 17’s mattress, just like 17 had known he would. He looked small - smaller than usual, even - spread out across the sheets, bare skin all on display, covered in freckles and scars.

17’s cock ached, a solid throb of need between his legs as he stroked himself with the lube Kenobi had pressed into his hands. Kenobi had told him to get very slick before rolling onto his stomach, 17’s pillow shoved under his hips.

“You’re sure this is what we should do?” 17 asked, hearing the doubt in his own voice.

Kenobi glanced over his shoulder - kriffing hell, the way he looked - and flashed a smile. “I think you’ll quite enjoy it,” he said, “just give it a try.”

17 grunted, but, in truth, he felt utterly incapable of refusing Kenobi when he was all stretched out, back bowing from the pillow under his hips, the insides of his thighs slick and shiny with lube.

“Come here,” Kenobi coaxed, shifting his ass back and forth, and, well. 17 wasn’t going to say no to that. He slid forward, hands moving over warm, perfect skin, knees making the bed dip, tilting Kenobi back towards him.

It was so easy to blanket him. 17 could cover him completely, and had, before, on a battlefield to shield him from shrapnel. But there were no explosions in his quarters. Just slick, warm skin as he sank down over Kenobi, cock brushing over the curve of his ass.

Kenobi hummed, tilting his hips back further, and 17’s cock slid forward, easy, between his legs.

“There you go,” Kenobi murmured, pressing his strong thighs closer together and - oh - the pressure felt good, good enough that 17 rocked his hips forward, cock sliding on slick skin, feeling all the lean muscles in Kenobi’s thighs and--

And the hot, wet slide of him, of the place where 17 could no longer fit, and he groaned, frustration and want all tangled together.

“You feel so good,” he rasped out, hips dragging back and pushing forward again, feeling the head of his cock just catch at - at the edge of Kenobi’s body and oh he wanted, but he could only drag the top of his cock along, sliding between the tight pressure of his thighs, muscles flexing against him and--

He dropped to his elbows, his arms long enough to still hold him up off of Kenobi’s back. He could look down, across Kenobi’s bright hair and the bunch of muscles in his shoulders. He could see Kenobi’s hands, clenched in the blankets as 17 moved between his legs, lube making the glide easy, friction building up the heat between them, Kenobi’s ass hard and firm against his hips each time he pushed forward.

He could remember taking Kenobi like this. Force, he’d remembered taking Kenobi like this, so many times, cock sliding in instead of forward, he’d be so tight, so wet, so hot, and--

17’s orgasm caught him by surprise and he groaned, head dropping forward as his cock jerked between Kenobi’s thighs. He shifted his hips back, unthinking, wanting the come all over skin, not his pillow and sheets.

“See,” Kenobi started, tilting to look over his shoulder, “I--oh!”

He looked gratifyingly startled when 17 pushed onto an arm, grabbed his hip, and flipped him onto his back. His chest was flushed - but only a little - and his cock stretched up towards his stomach, still hard.

17 could fix that. Wanted to fix that, so badly it made his jaw ache.

He shifted around, put a hand on Kenobi’s chest to keep him still, and bulled his way between Kenobi’s legs, curving over.

He tasted his own come, when he licked over Kenobi’s cock, sliding his lips down over heated skin. His come was everywhere, there always seemed to be so much of it when they did things together. It streaked over Kenobi’s thighs and--

And 17 couldn’t help but bringing his other hand up, sliding over skin, between Kenobi’s legs and - kriffing hell - it was there, too. He groaned, helplessly, and Kenobi echoed the sound, fingers scrambling at 17’s hair as he rubbed two fingers through the slick smear of his own come.

Kenobi cried out, all thick with pleasure, when 17 slid those two fingers over him, and then, with a renewed throb of want, into him.

Kenobi felt so tight around his fingers, hot and wet and squeezing. He knew how thick his fingers were, wondered if they were just about all Kenobi could take in his present state, and the thought made something in his spine go all white hot.

He bobbed his head, sucking as he moved his hand, curling his fingers while Kenobi’s legs curled up around his shoulders, while Kenobi gasped and tried fruitlessly to squirm under him, the sounds escaping his throat getting thicker and louder and--

17 swallowed when Kenobi gave it up for him, smiling at the feel of Kenobi’s body squeezing around his fingers, clenching in waves. He slid his fingers back and out, giving a last suck, after a long moment, and Kenobi gasped his name.

He looked...dazed and relaxed, sprawled on the bed, uncomplaining about 17’s hand on his chest, his heartbeat translating up into 17’s fingers. He looked...soft. And peaceful. And 17 felt, again, the way he had on their trip, that he’d very much like to keep Kenobi looking that way all the time.

He shivered at the thought, shook his head, and said, “You’re right, that was a good idea.” He cleared his throat, and, before Kenobi could start gloating, pulled both of Kenobi’s legs up, over one of his shoulders, and went on, “Do you think it would work like this, too?”

[mrpenguinpants]

Bennett: Affection HCs

I KNEW I HAD THIS ASK IN MY INBOX AND I JUST READ BENNETT’S BIRTHDAY LETTER TO YOU SO I SAID FUCK IT. I’M WRITING THIS. I MAY HAVE 2 FICS IN THE PROCESS BUT I CARE ABOUT BENNETT SO MUCH. 

---

Xiao Ver: Affection HCs

Bennet: Windblume Love Letter HCs

[Masterlist]

—

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

 @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @nonniechan @htnicayh @genshins1mpact​ @morthecreator​ @ aanne2601 @aklxojjk​ @fulltimeventisimp​ @hanniejji​

---

Bennett: Affection HCs

Bennett has so much love and affection to share but he’s also so shy and awkward in his delivery. It’s so endearing that you can’t help but but try and stifle your giggles lest he get more embarrassed. He just get’s so nervous since this is his first relationship and he knows his track record on luck isn’t super bright so he’s always fumbling. Trying to force his nerves away when he wants to hold your hand but as soon as he reaches out to lace your fingers, you’ll turn around, and Bennett throws his arm back so hard that he accidently pops his shoulder out of his socket. While you’re fretting over him he’s trying to reassure you that he’s completely fine and that this happens all the time. Which isn’t very comforting, he thinks things could have been worse. What if he accidently slips and drags you down with him or even worse, his pyro vision acts up and he has sweaty hands? He’s screaming internally at that.

Bennett totally reads romance novels to get a better understanding on what a relationship is like but his execution is a bit questionable. He tries to be suave and attempts to wrap his arm around your shoulder but he accidently slips halfway and he’s fallen into the fountain. But when he hears your barely contained chuckles as you try and help him out, he can’t help but feel a flutter in his chest that he doesn’t mind the unlucky accidents that happen to him if it makes you laugh. He’ll shake the water out of his hair and grin at you before he takes your hand in his and you both go back to the church to dry him off.

Whenever he sees you he has to take a couple minutes to calm his heart. Even when he’s out with Fischl and she’s talking in her special way, as soon as he catches sight of you, he’s sighing in adoration with the love-sick puppy eyes. That’s when Fischl knows she’s completely lost Bennett and you’re probably behind her. She sighs out a bit exasperated as she shrugs before she’s dragging him to meet up with you. No matter how red Bennett gets or what he’s yelling, Fischl has a death grip on him and grins smugly before she calls out your name to let you know someone’s got heart eyes for you.

While he’s extremely grateful to the Adventures guild and Mondstadt, having you beside him really hits deep. That you accept and love him despite the unlucky streak he has. You are so special in his eyes and the fact you choose to stay with him makes him sniffle a bit. Somedays he wakes up and can’t help but feel the rush of happiness he feels just being able to see your smiling face. He might get poked fun from his Dads but it’s completely worth it. It’s actually really wholesome when Bennett wants to introduce you to his family since they already know plenty about you because Bennett will literally not shut up about you.

The praise he receives from his dads and Katherine make him grin happily but when you praise him, he ends up growing so shy and pink. Awkwardly scratching at his cheek as he says it wasn’t that big of a deal just because he wants to hear you praise him more. He’s pretty hard on himself so your words really mean a lot to him. Likewise, Bennett is super optimistic. He’s your #1 cheerleader and it’s contagious adopting his positivity outlook on life. Whatever you’re interested in or wish to do, he’s fully on board and supportive.

He’s always coming back from his adventures with scraps and cuts that it really concerns you when Bennett shakes his pain away. He’s always had a head-first battle tactic that’s not easy to change in one day, so instead you ask Barbara to teach your some healing abilities or tips to try and help him out a bit. While you’re a bit clumsy and not as well-versed as Barbara. Bennett still hugs you with so much force as he exclaims he’s never felt so empowered before.

When Bennett feels sad, he’ll lean his shoulder against yours and close his eyes. Slowly moving down until it’s his head against your arm. He stays there before you reach over and place his head in your lap and slowly run your fingers through his hair. It’s a small and ordinary moment but it means the whole world to Bennett.

Bennett always keeps whatever you give him in a special pouch, from a small slip of paper wishing him luck to the small four leaf clover you gave him, it’s always on him whenever he sets out. He knows that despite his best wishes, you can’t spent every waking moment together and he doesn’t want to endanger you with his bad luck on more dangerous expeditions. He actually full on bawled when you said you wanted to join the "Benny's Adventure Team" and actually stuck around even after all the unfortunate incidents that happened. But whenever he’s far away from Mondstadt, away from you, he’ll take a small break and go through the small trinkets you’ve given to him with the softest smile as he handles them with care. They are his treasures after all.

It’s been a rather challenging adventure today. Bennett and you took on a commission to investigate a hilichurl camp on Starsnatch cliff only to run across an Eye of the Storm instead. While you both managed to defeat it, you both got your fair share of cuts from the anemo winds and the hard ground when you had to dive away from the orb crashing down. You’re silently thanking yourself for taking those lessons from Barbara as you’re trying to patch him up. 

“Sorry, I didn’t expect an Eye of Storm to appear instead. I guess my bad luck is spreading again,” Bennett chuckles awkwardly to himself as he winces a tiny bit at the throb of his cuts. You simply shake it off as you try and gently place the cloth back on his cheek to wipe away the small amount of blood. You’re just happy that you both managed to get away from that monster without any serious injuries. 

“Don’t say that Bennett, we defeated it didn’t we? That’s one less problem for the Adventures guild right?” you say as you smile encouragingly at him. He nods in silent agreement but his eyes rake over the cuts and on arms and knees and he can’t help feel sadden. He gently pushes your hands away from his injury's as he opens his own pouch that carries his adhesive bandages to place upon your scrapes.

“Bennett?” you question. You’re so used to the happy go lucky Bennett that this sudden quiet atmosphere looms above you as Bennett quickly returns the favour. It’s only when he takes a small moment to scan your body for anything he missed before he takes your hands in his. Rubbing small circles over your skin, whether he’s trying to comfort you or himself into speaking you’re not entirely sure. 

“There’s a dream I want to tell you about. I want to find the most valuable treasure to give back to Mondstadt and get our Adventures guild to become the biggest branch in Teyvat. That way my Dad’s can take a break and we can go adventuring all over the world. We can go visit Fischl at her home or take Razor to see the ocean!” he grins happily at you as his eyes light up in such a way that it takes you a few moments to register what he’s saying. You can feel such a rush of love pour into your system at his wholesome dream that you can’t help but clutch his hands closer to yourself. 

“I’ll stay beside you the entire time and I promise we’ll make your dream a reality. Benny's Adventure Team will be the greatest adventure team there ever was,” you lean forward and boop your nose against his, “But you need to take better care of yourself first mister.”

“Now come on. Let’s go home together Bennett,” you smile down at him as you stand up and extend your hand out to him. It takes a few moments for Bennett to act as he gazes up at you. The hand that’s been placed in front of him as support in so many of his unlucky incidents, covered in the bandages he carries around from the family he cares about, the hand that is still there after everything. Bennet knows he’s always been unlucky. That’s just the way it is. He’s always running on what drops of luck he can grab and live life to the fullest but right now. Even with the dull stings of anemo winds on his cheeks, the throb of new bruises he’s probably developing, he reaches out and takes your hand. He’s never felt luckier in his entire life.

---

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go gag on the sugar I just wrote. I may have strayed away from the affection hcs but I care about Bennett and his character stories cripples me. I had to re-write this so there are some issues but I’m tired. Either way, Happy birthday best boy 💕💕💕

[omniscientwreck]

Hello! For the imtimacy prompt list #30 for Shadowgast🖤💜

Hello! This was the prompt I was most hoping someone would ask me so THANK YOU for that! If anyone else would like to make a request I have one left in my inbox and am always happy to do more, especially for this list! Here is the post in question!

As a side note: welcome to the version of Caleb and Essek from my no rules no angst just right Carly Rae Jepsen song lyric inspired College!AU in a modern fantasy kinda setting. This just feels most to me like the version of Essek and Caleb that would do this and it gives you a bit of insight into the tone of my BIG work in progress right now! Enjoy!

30: doing beauty treatments, like facials or manicures, hair dying or face masks

Essek has long stopped knocking before entering Caleb, Beau and Jester’s apartment, but he still likes to call out his arrival though he knows Caleb is the only one home.

Jester and Beau have gone back home for a few days, visiting Jester’s mother in Nicodranas. Caleb elected to stay behind saying he had too much work to do, which is true. Essek finds him in his room, still as much a mess as it was the last time he was here. The small desk is completely covered in books all with several markers placed in their pages and the mess spills onto the bed. Caleb is ‘sitting’ on the chair containing most of his clothing and doesn’t appear to realize he’s come in.

He drops his levitation, trying to make noise so he doesn’t startle Caleb too badly as he approaches from behind and smooths his hands from his shoulders down to his hands. Caleb looks up as Essek’s chin presses into the top of his head, “Drogi, when is the last time you ate anything?”

Without hesitation, “Around elven, I’ll take a break soon I’m on the edge of something here.”

Essek sighs, “Darling it’s nearly six, I brought food, just take a break now with me?” He watches Caleb place a marker in the book to save his space and he finishes a few thoughts in the literature review before standing and smiling wearily at him.

“Ja, a break is probably a good idea. Thank you Schatz.” He stands and for a moment Essek lets Caleb distract him by wrapping strong arms around his waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

Essek has been looking forward to this particular date for a while and finally got the chance to suggest it, surprised when Caleb agreed with little hesitation.

It had started a few days ago when Caleb had slept over. He’d watched Essek’s skin care routine and had begun asking questions which led to the confirmation of Essek’s theory that Caleb has never so much as moisturized his face, much less done any of the other pampering that Essek considers central to his sense of well-being.

Tonight, Essek gets to show Caleb what it’s like. After they finish eating, they wind up in the bathroom. Essek pulls out a massive bag full of creams, ingredients, washes and all kinds of products. “Sit.”

“Essek, I need to see the mirror to shave.” He presses Caleb’s shoulders and sits him on the closed toilet lid shaking his head, “Caleb, you are taking a break. Let me.”

Drow are not immune to facial and body hair. Essek has never had much but Verin always has. One time when Verin was particularly injured in early adulthood Essek had to learn how to shave him during recovery. He has someone else for that now, so Essek transfers his knowledge to Caleb.

He gently spreads a soft cream across his partner’s face with the gentle touch of a brush and he pulls out a straight razor, the only possession he has from his father. Carefully and gently he shaves Caleb’s face, dragging the razor across tawny stubble while the man sits beneath him with closed eyes, completely trusting.

It doesn’t take as long as he’d thought it would and he’s able to begin gently washing his lover’s face, humming as he goes, occasionally singing in undercommon. Caleb looks more at rest than Essek has every seen him, sighing every so often as Essek exfoliates, washes and tones his skin. He steps back and instinctively Caleb goes to touch his face. Looking in the mirror the main difference is calm and peace. “Okay now this is the fun part.”

Essek mixes up two small cups of ingredients, one is his proprietary blend for his own skin, one that he thinks will suit Caleb more, “Ok now trust me. We’re going to leave these on for 15 minutes. I’ll do yours, you can do mine. As revenge.”

Caleb’s eyebrows quirk in confusion as Essek begins slathering the face mask onto his pale skin and then grimaces at the cold unfortunate texture of the mask. “Ah ja I see what you mean, this helps? In some way?”

Essek nods, “It will help tone out some of the redness and smooth out other things. I promise it will be worth it.”

“I trust you.” Essek smiles and puts a dollop on the tip of Caleb’s nose and the fake scowl that follows is delightful and adorable.

“You shouldn’t.” Essek winks and flashes fangs at the other and Caleb grabs the cup of Essek’s mask and boldly smears it over his forehead in protest. A shiver goes down his spine, he hates this part but it’s more fun with Caleb.

They go into the living room and put on one of the old movie musicals Caleb is so fond of and Essek starts on Caleb’s hands. “I won’t do anything extravagant I promise. You can just do a top coat if you’d like, but I did bring most of my collection if you’d like to look.”

Caleb opens the deceptively small case and shakes his head fondly upon the realization it’s enchanted to hold more than one would expect. “All this enchantment for nail lacquer?”

Essek scoffs, “Of course, you don’t want to know how much room this would take up if I had to lay it all out in the apartment.”

Caleb hums along to the music as Essek works, taming and shaping the nail beds that have been left to their own devices for decades and Essek finds himself distracted by romantic songs and well choreographed dance numbers occasionally. Far more distracting is the beauty of Caleb’s baritone singing along to a style of music Essek is unfamiliar with, warm and low and full of love as he looks down at Essek’s meticulous work.

He ends up with an iridescent top coat, just a little bit of flair but subtle enough most won’t notice. Midway through they pause to rid themselves of the face masks and Essek removes the mixture for Caleb and then for himself so as to not mess up his own work. He smooths on some moisturizer for Caleb, ever patiently sitting with his eyes closed. “How does that feel perełko?”

“Good, it’s very cool, my skin feels… fresh?”

“Take a look for yourself.” Essek smiles, it isn’t a miracle by any means but some of the redness of Caleb’s face is brought down just a bit, giving more prominence to the scattering of delicate freckles across the bridge of his nose and it’s smooth and fresh.

“I can see the merits of this.” he says, in slight awe, feeling this skin of his face.

“Now, let me finish your hands so I can do mine.”

He finishes Caleb’s hands with moisturizer and a good long massage, and starts to work on his own, removing the customary black polish he usually keeps there, Caleb’s arm around his shoulders, watching him work. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Essek considers, “Well I’ll shape on my own. Would you like to pick a colour for me? I’m tired of black. You can do the last step as well.” Caleb is back looking into the nail polish case and, rather quickly, presents him with a deep burgundy.

“How’s this? I just think it would look good.”

Essek presses a kiss into his forehead, “Perfect, thank you darling.” He goes back to shaping his nails to fine points and applying a base coat. As he begins to apply colour Caleb watches him intently, focus on the movie lost. “Would you like to help with his?”

He blushes a bit, “I do not think I would be very good at it and I don’t want to ruin your hard work.”

Essek laughs, “You won’t ruin anything. Here, watch me do my right hand and you can do my left. It’ll help me immensely. Any mistakes you make can be cleaned up with little effort I promise.”

Caleb is better at this than either of them expected. Only a little varnish makes its way to Essek’s skin and that’s easily enough removed, he even flips Essek’s hand as he’d done his own to apply the polish underneath. Then, when it’s dry, he rubs the stress away from Essek’s hands and they share many looks as a second musical begins playing. They pay little attention to it, instead giving in to the quiet comfort of the evening, of learning to care for another and yourself. Caleb has all but forgotten his previous state of anxiety for the evening and Essek hopes he’ll let him do this again. “Thank you for this liebling I needed this more than I could have guessed.”

Essek is pressed to his side now as they drink tea and finish up a horror movie, “I am glad my love. Thank you for letting me share this with you. If you ever want it again all you have to do is ask.” Caleb nods and over time they both fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, waterlogged with the quiet, weighty bliss of love.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Surprise!

A/N: AND THE FLUFF TO FOLLOW THE ANGST! I have something close to 20 requests sitting in my inbox and yet my brain tells me to stay up until almost four in the morning writing Draco fluff (that hasn't been requested) because I am a simp for this man. I am getting to your requests, I promise you, I just didn't expect this many! So please be patient with me. And I know I always write Draco as a Healer but I will take this trope with me to the grave. Also, all of my medical knowledge stems from shows like ER so forgive me for inaccuracies. AND on top of this, I’m less than 10 followers away from 700 so thank you all who follow me and deal with my ramblings on a daily basis! As always, I hope you enjoy and I hope you know that I love you all!

Summary: A surprise at work.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none - fluff

Word count: 2.2k

It hadn’t been a particularly long shift; long in the sense where time dragged on. It was long in the sense that all he wanted to do was to go home to you.

He had his evening planned in his head; good food, favourite TV show ready, and you – laid between his legs, leaning back against his chest onto his chest for cuddles.

Truthfully, he just wanted cuddles.

But he couldn’t admit that to the Head Nurse Martha as she berates him for sighing for the third time in a minute.

“Malfoy, I love you like my own son but if you don’t stop sighing and go to see this patient, I’m afraid I’ll have to accidently forget your coffee all next week.”

Draco gasps, “Martha, you wouldn’t.”

“Sigh again and watch me, Draco.”

Draco holds his hands up, relenting; not willing to risk his coffee or Martha’s wrath, “Alright, alright. You win – now who’s the patient?”

“Six-year-old girl, severe burns to her forearms from a spilt potion. She wanted to help her mother, bless her.”

Draco takes the chart from Martha; walking towards curtain area five.

Little Jenny had only wanted to help her mum and she had landed herself in the emergency room at St. Mungo’s. She was the perfect patient – did not cry and did not fuss. He cleaned the burns; debrided them and then used ‘Ferula’ to ensure minimal scarring. Jenny’s mother thanked him profusely as they left the curtain area to return home.

For Draco, patients like Jenny are what make the job worth it. They’re what keep him clocking in day after day. It’s the joy and gratitude from parents and family members when he arrives with good news; that yes, he can heal this, no it isn’t life-threatening.

For as long as he can remember, Draco was pushed into thinking a job in the Ministry of Magic would be perfect for him. Decent hours, decent pay, good holidays – what more could you want?

But Draco had never followed the rules; he wasn’t bothered about how long he would have to work as long as it was rewarding; he didn’t care about pay as long as he loved his job. He applied for the Healer training programme straight out of Hogwarts and was thrilled to be accepted.

It had taken years of hard work. Years of all-nighters, exams, stress and his tears but it was all entirely worth it the minute he was handed his full licence and a job in the emergency room.

He couldn’t take all the credit though; you had been by his side through it all. Quizzing him on the flashcards; making the coffee; drying his eyes if it all become too much.

Draco shakes himself out his reminiscing as he’s overwhelmed by a strong sense of missing you. He’s a lovesick fool, and he knows it.

Draco places the chart in the ‘discharged’ section; taking the offered cup of coffee from Martha’s hands. The caffeine addiction had started early in his career, and it was one that Martha and you were happy to indulge.

“Martha, you are my saviour.”

“Draco,” Martha starts, raising an eyebrow, “You are so full of it.”

He laughs, leaning against the triage desk, looking up at the admit board, “Anyone else for me?”

“Eager for more already? You did come back from your annual leave ready.”

Draco ducks his head, “Actually, I was hoping for some more patients to keep me busy, so I don’t turn around and go home.”

Martha chuckles, “You’ve got it bad.”

Draco smiles, “I don’t deny it. Are there any more waiting to be seen?”

Martha shakes her head, “Sorry, love. Everyone’s covered right now.”

He nods, understanding.

“Why don’t you go into the lounge? I’m sure you’ll have left some unfinished paperwork before your holiday.”

“You’re probably right,” He says, draining the last dregs of his coffee. “I’ll head there now.”

“Dear, there’s no ‘probably’ about it. I’m always right.” Martha states as a goodbye.

“Come get me if I’m needed.” Draco replies in parting.

Martha doesn’t reply; she rolls her eyes at the young doctor before returning to her paperwork.

The lounge isn’t a very large room; big enough to fit a few lockers, a battered old couch, a table and a fridge. Used by Healers and Nurses alike, Draco doesn’t think twice before pushing open the door.

Only to freeze in the entryway.

You’re here.

At St. Mungo’s; sitting on the battered old couch.

You grin at Draco; pressing a finger to your lips, telling him to keep quiet as your eyes flash down to the bundle of blankets in your arms.

Draco can’t help the smile that breaks across his face as he tiptoes over to you and the baby.

“What are you doing here?” He whispers; holding his hands out for his daughter.

“We thought we’d surprise you on your first day back.” You reply; handing your sleeping daughter over to her father. She fusses slightly at the change but quickly settles back into her dreams.

Draco cradles her in his arms; gazing at her face for only a moment before meeting your eyes, “Consider me surprised.”

“We knew you’d miss us too much,” You tease.

Draco holds his daughter in one arm; confidently cradling her head as he wraps his other arm around your shoulders, pressing one kiss to your forehead and another to your lips.

“Hi,” He whispers, greeting you at last.

You grin at him, “Hey there.”

His daughter shifts in his arms; finding a comfier position. Both you and Draco freeze, watching her so intently. She settles back to sleep in less than second; seeming more settled now that she’s in her father’s arms.

“You’re right,” Draco murmurs, “I do miss you. I’ve been driving Martha mad all shift. She’s threatened to take my coffee away.”

You gasp, “Well we can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t” He says, agreeing wholeheartedly.

You fold your daughter’s blanket on your lap; knowing that she would be warm enough in her father’s arms. “I hoped she would stay awake long enough for you to see her but alas, the minute we got onto the tube, she was fast asleep.”

“I don’t mind; having you both here is enough. I’ve been counting down the minutes until the end of my shift.” He confesses. He has; he’s been watching the clock since he put on his white coat; wishing for time to go that little bit faster just this once so he could go home and cuddle you and kiss his daughter goodnight.

“You sap,” You tease, but there’s no malice. You adore seeing Draco with his daughter. He had been so scared from the moment you told him you were pregnant with her; terrified of the type of father he would be, but the moment she arrived, he stepped into the role with such grace it was hard to believe that he hadn’t done it before.

“Only for you two,” Draco coos.

Draco doesn’t know how long he remains holed up in the lounge with his family. He just enjoys the time he can spend with them before he’s inevitably called away.

Quiet conversation is spoken between the two of you; mindless conversation about anything and everything. You told him how Narcissa and Lucius visited today bringing more gifts for your daughter.

“They’re completely wrapped around her finger.” You murmur, humour lacing your voice.

He chuckles, thinking of his parents who adored their granddaughter – find any and all excuses to come visit. “Who wouldn’t be? She’s adorable.” Draco replies, motioning to the sleeping baby in his arms.

“That is true. She looks so much like you, Draco. I can’t get over it.” And it’s true; she has his grey/blue eyes and is showing the first signs of having his blonde hair. She’s going to be heartbreakingly pretty.

“She’ll have your brains, love. I know it. How many degrees do you have now?”

You roll your eyes at your husband, “Just three. I’ll wait until she’s a bit older before I think about enrolling for my doctorate.”

Draco shakes his head, “My wife – the wonder woman. First for marrying me, then for having my daughter, and now for going back to school. You amaze me.”

“Oh hush. You’ll make me blush.”

Silence falls between the two of you; both turning your attention back to the baby dozing safely in her father’s arms. Draco lost feeling in that arm a while back but he won’t mention it; he won’t ruin this moment with his family. He never thought his heart would be big enough to love; then he met you and he found out that there was just enough room in his heart for one. Then upon the birth of his daughter, his heart stretched again and made room for her. He had loved her from the moment you announced your pregnancy but fell in love all over again the moment he held her in his arms.

He shifts slightly; taking care not to jostle your daughter. “Thank you for coming; I needed this.”

You stroke his cheek with your thumb, “It’s no problem. I missed you too. But you’ll have to thank Martha as well.”

“Why?”

“She sent us a message about two hours into your shift asking if I’d come and see you. She could see that you were missing us.”

“Martha is a wonderful woman.”

“She is. Thank her for us as well. We really were missing you.”

Your daughter coos; all conversation coming to a halt as your attentions fall to her. She shifts again, cooing one more time before falling back silent.

“She’s dreaming,” He says, voice slightly breathless as if he can’t believe what he’s witnessing.

“She is,” Your voice matching his.

Martha pokes her head around the door; heart softening at the sight before her. Draco’s arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both watch your daughter sleep; utterly captivated by her.

It hurts Martha to break up the scene, but she must. A case has come in sure to keep Draco distracted long enough for time to pass faster for him.

“Draco,” Martha calls softly from the door.

Draco looks up, sighing as he realises what her presence means. “I’ll be right there, Martha, thank you.”

Martha nods, greeting (Y/N) with a large smile before closing the door quietly behind her.

Draco hands over your daughter somewhat reluctantly; already wishing to have her back in his arms. You drop a kiss to her forehead before placing her ever so gently into her pram and draping the small blanket over her. Draco leans down into the pram to kiss her forehead too; inhaling the scent of talcum powder.

Draco places a long kiss to your lips before whispering goodbye.

“You’ll be home soon,” You promise.

“It seems so far away,” He whines.

You can’t help the feeling of delight that runs through you; at how Draco wants his shift to end sooner so he can be at home with you and your daughter. In the months since she was born, he’s dedicated himself entirely to role of husband and father. So much so that his profession as a Healer dropped down the list of importance.

You peck his lips, “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Draco sighs, nodding at you. You’re right, of course you are.

You let Draco walk you both to the main entrance; Draco walking the pram until he has to let you go. He wraps you in an embrace; hiding his face in your hair, keeping one hand on the pram.

“I’ll see you at home,” You murmur into his shoulder.

“I’ll see you at home,” He affirms.

Draco watches you walk away; wishing he was walking alongside you. He has to resist the urge to run after you and skive off his entire shift. He forces himself to turn from your retreating figure and drags his feet back to the emergency room.

Draco squeezes Martha’s shoulder when he next passes her at the triage desk. “Thank you,” He murmurs, loud enough for her to hear.

Martha chuckles, patting his hand, “You’re welcome. I remember how it was when I had to leave my eldest for the first time. I think I snuck off to the bathroom enough times to cry.”

“I know that feeling.”

“You’ve got a gorgeous little family, Draco. You’d be stupid not to miss them.”

Draco smiles at the elderly Head Nurse, “Any new patients then? Let’s get me through this shift so I can kiss my wife and daughter when I get home.”

“Aye, aye, Healer.” Martha jokes before handing him a chart, “Eighteen-year-old male; celebrating his graduation from Hogwarts. Too much firewhisky – he fell through a plate glass window, blood everywhere.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” He muses.

Martha nods solemnly, “It could even take hours.”

Draco takes the chart from Martha, repeating his words from earlier, “Martha, you are my saviour.”

“Go on. The quicker you’re there; the quicker you’re home to your wife and baby.”

Draco grins; skim reading the chart as he walks to curtain area two.

Four hours to go until he was home.

This case wouldn’t take five hours to heal but it would cut a large chunk of time out.

Four hours to go until he’s home with you and your daughter.

****

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes​ @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers

Draco Malfoy taglist: @cheapglitter @the--queen-of-hell @in-slytherin-we-trust

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Can we see what happens when Zedaph is finally found after being left in Evil X’s lair?

okay so this is the newest ask in my inbox but i’m sorry, i couldn’t resist doing it now lol i’m on a Zedaph angst hype train asdfghjkl

Requests are still open! Please read pinned post before requesting. 

This one is a sequel! Read the first part here.

...

  Zedaph’s stomach is churning painfully, aching for food. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here but he does know it’s been at least a whole day. His mouth and throat are dry and scratchy; there’s nothing for him to drink in here either. And after having spent most of his energy crying his eyes out in the first hours of his confinement, he’s becoming dangerously dehydrated. 

  His hands are pale and bruised, and his knuckles are even bleeding in a few places, from his various attempts to break down the door. But without a pickaxe, he can’t even make a crack in it. He left most of his stuff behind when he came on patrol with EX, so he has nothing useful. 

  His heart aches when he thinks of EX. He trusted them so much. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for them, but clearly, they never felt the same. They just used him and tossed him aside when they had to, leaving him to rot in a place where his friends will never find him. Or, at least, it will take a very long time. 

  Wincing, he wraps his mask around his actively bleeding knuckles. He feels sick at the sight of the reminder of how naive he’d been, but he has to admit, using it as a makeshift bandage is helping ease the pain a little. 

  He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. Maybe it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. Time is passing weirdly here. And he certainly loves food enough that going only a day without it would cause his stomach to hurt this much. 

  How much longer will he survive…?

  In the distance, he hears a voice. But does he actually hear it, though? Or is it just a hallucination? It must be fake, because it’s someone calling his name and there’s no way anyone has found him here after only a day. 

  But then he hears footsteps too.

  “Zedaph! Are you down here?! Please, answer me!”

  Zedaph blinks weakly. “Tango…?”

  The footsteps stop. 

  “Zed! Is that you? Say something else!”

  Zedaph jerks to his feet and almost immediately falls over again, weak from lack of nutrition. Thankfully, the noise he makes when he hits the door is enough to alert his best friend to his whereabouts, and Tango’s worried face quickly appears in the barred window in the door. “Oh my God! Zed! You really are down here! Are you okay?!” 

  Zedaph’s sudden movement has drained all his energy. It’s all he can do to force himself to stay awake and not pass out. 

  “Zed!” Tango calls again, desperation audible in his voice. “Gah, there’s no lever or button or anything…!”

  No lever? EX must have taken it with them, Zedaph realises. 

  “Zed, get away from the door! I’m gonna break it down!”

  Zedaph weakly pushes himself to the side, safely out of the way. 

  Outside, Tango takes a deep breath and throws his entire weight against the door. It creaks, but doesn’t break or even crack. 

  “Damnit, I need a pick,” he mutters, taking out his communicator.

  One quick message and five excruciating minutes later, Tango hears footsteps on the stairs. He automatically tenses up but relaxes quickly when he sees Impulse burst into the room, pickaxe in hand. 

  “He’s in there,” Tango says worriedly, pointing at the iron door. “I didn’t bring a pick.”

  Brow furrowed with worry, Impulse rushes over to the door and attacks it. Thanks to his netherite pickaxe, the door breaks within seconds, allowing Tango to squeeze past Impulse and dash into the cell.

  Zedaph is lying propped up against the wall, still dressed in his superhero outfit. His skin is pale and he’s noticeably thinner than the last time Tango saw him, but that’s no surprise. He’s clearly unconscious, his chest slowly rising and falling as he takes shallow breaths. 

  “Zed, can you hear me?” Tango kneels down beside his best friend, trying not to panic. “Zed!”

  But Zedaph doesn’t respond.

  “We need to get him back to his base,” Impulse says shakily from behind him. “I’ll call the others and get them to help us.”

  “No, not his base,” responds Tango immediately. “I want to take him to mine. I need him somewhere I know he’ll be safe.”

  Impulse hesitates, before reassuringly gripping his friend’s shoulder. “Okay.”

…

  When Zedaph opens his eyes, he finds himself in a room he knows well: the guest bedroom at Tango’s base. He’s stayed here many a time, sometimes when he and Tango have a sleepover, sometimes when he has a nightmare and doesn’t want to be alone. 

  Letting out a quiet groan, he pushes himself into a sitting position and notices that not only are his hands bandaged but there’s a weird kind of glyph around his wrist. As soon as he registers this, he realises he doesn’t feel hungry or thirsty anymore. That must be related to the thing on his wrist. 

  As he’s inspecting it more closely, the door opens and he glances up sharply. 

  “Oh!” Tango yelps. “Zed, you’re awake!”

  He and Impulse dash to either side of the bed and sit down; the former on the side of the bed and the latter on a chair next to it. 

  “Hey.” Impulse’s pale face holds a wide smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Um… weird,” replies Zedaph truthfully. “What’s this thing on my wrist?”

  “That’s a command bracelet X gave you,” says Tango. “You were in such a bad way when we found you that X had to use it to get your nourishment levels up. He said you might have ended up in a permanent coma if he hadn’t.”

  “Wow… I can’t believe I managed to get so malnourished in only a day,” Zedaph murmurs. 

  Tango blinks. “A day? ONE day?”

  “Y-Yeah. Why...?”

  Tango and Impulse exchange a glance.

  “Buddy…” Impulse clears his throat. “You were missing for just under a week.”

  Zedaph’s eyes slowly widen. “Wh-What?! A week?! H-How could I have been gone that long…?!”

  “I don’t know, but Xisuma said it’s a miracle there’s no permanent damage to your body or code from going that long without food or water,” says Tango shakily.

  After a moment, Zedaph squeezes his eyes shut, releasing fresh tears. “Why did it take you a week to find me?”

  Tango flinches, while Impulse takes his hand and grasps Zedaph’s shoulder with his other hand. “We got a message from your communicator,” Impulse replies slowly. “Saying you would be busy doing stuff on your own for a while and you didn’t want anyone to disturb you for at least a week.”

  Zedaph takes a moment to digest that but when he does, his heart skips a beat. EX said they had taken Zedaph’s communicator. They must have sent that message so that it would take even longer for him to be found. How could EX be so cruel to him…?

  “Th-That wasn’t me,” he rasps. 

  “Well, luckily, I’m super bad at following instructions,” says Tango with a weak smile. “I came over to see you after four days but I found your base empty. I dunno why, but I got a bad feeling so I looked for you in all your normal places and when I found nothing, I alerted the other Hermits and we started a server-wide hunt.” His smile drops. “I-I’m so sorry it took us this long to find you. We never expected to find you in a place like that.” 

  “If you feel up to talking, how DID you end up in there?” Impulse asks slowly. 

  Zedaph hesitates, his stomach starting to churn again. “I… I’m not ready to tell anyone what happened yet. I’m still… processing it, myself.”

  “Of course.” Tango takes his best friend’s hand. “You should get some rest.” 

  “But first, I gotta ask you a really serious question,” says Impulse sternly.

  Zedaph gazes at him nervously. “O-Okay.”

  “Are you… Worm Man?”

  After a moment, Zedaph spots the sparkle in Impulse’s eyes and has to laugh. His friends join in, and for a minute or so, the three just laugh together, taken by the overwhelming relief that Zedaph is back safely. Those seven days may have gone by in a blur for Zedaph but the last three days were the longest and most painful of Tango’s and Impulse’s lives. 

  But now, it’s finally over. 

  Zedaph is home.

[marmosa]

short fuse.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: zero proof reading, ha sorry 

A/N: hey guys, so i’m swamped with work rn so my writing process is totally stunted, so i’m sorry about the wait for a new fic. aside from that, i hit 118 followers??? that’s absolutely insane to me that 118 people wanna stick around to see more of my work, it makes me undeniably happy and so proud. So thank you, thank you, thank you. i wanna celebrate somehow, but i’m running dry on ideas. i shot a soulmate!au fred by my best friend and she was keen on it, so i’m leaning towards that, but i do want to celebrate in a way that caters to you guys. so my inbox is open for suggestions and requests while i handle personal obligations. sorry this was a bit of a long a/n, but i just wanna thank you all again so very much for choosing to stick around. it means a lot to me. thank you and enjoy <3

***

“I haven’t got a single clue as to what you’re talking about, she says! That’s a load of rubbish if I’ve ever heard it!”

[y/n] finally laxed and looked up from her hand, furrowing her brows as she continued to blow a soft gust of air onto the drying layer of nail varnish. Her eyes trailed along with Fred who was pacing around her dormitory, his face flushed in anger as he ranted on about some girl in his potions class who happened to piss him off earlier that morning.

“You’d think after Snape chewing our heads off about a less than perfect presentation she’d at least pull some of her weight! And I’m no academic mind you, but I would really prefer to avoid another one of my mum’s howlers this week,” he huffed, finally sitting down in one of the loveseats with an aggressive thump.

“If it’s angering you this much I suggest you either speak to Snape, but he’s insufferable so chance are that’ll bust. How do you feel about me hexing her?” [y/n] offered, offering him a small consoling smile, trying her best to lighten his mood.

It didn’t seem to work as the cloud of frustration continued to thunder above his head, the crease in his forehead more prominent than ever. He dragged his hand down his face and let his head loll back with a grunt, “I appreciate the offer but if I’m forced to another insufferable detention with Snape I’m going to do something awful.”

“What happened to the Fred who spends detention pranking Snape until he’s decided to stop giving you detention simply to avoid having to deal with your pranks again?” [y/n] queried, looking back up from the thumb she’d just fixed up.

“He went and died,” Fred grumbled, sinking further into his chair and frowning.

“Oh shove it, come here,” she waved him over, giving him a demanding stare when he remained deflated in his seat, “I said come here!”

He groaned like a petulant child and slid out of his chair, dragging all his weight as he shuffled over, plopping down onto the floor with a thud strong enough to shake the nail varnish container, earning himself a narrow glare from [y/n].

“Let me paint your nails,” she hummed, grabbing his hand and placing it in front of her without so much as a nod of confirmation.

He remained silent as she got to work, coating his nails in a fine layer of a lovely light blue, humming a small tune to herself as he continued to have the anger peel off him ever so slowly. As soon as she finished the first hand he silently gave her the other, resigning to blow a small gust of air onto the drying paint.

“You’ve gone all quiet, d’ya like getting your nails done?” she mused, grabbing one of the many q-tips spilled across her surface to wipe away at the still wet polish that dripped off the side of his thumbnail.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mumbled, back-tracking when she squeezed his hand to emphasize that she was just asking him a genuine question, “a little, yeah.”

“Well then you should ask me to paint them more often! I think I did a pretty good job and look-!” she held up their hands together, pressing hers right under his just enough to where you could still see his nails, “we match!”

Fred couldn’t carry his anger anymore, a smile finally creeping its way onto his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he returned the kind gesture. His heart decompressed, his posture relaxing as he blew off his remaining steam.

“See, all better- ah! Don’t move yet, they’re not dry,” she chastised him, bringing his hands back down flat against the surface, earning herself a shocked grimace from him, “sorry, I’d just hate for it to smudge.”

“S’alright,” he blew out a breath of air, his eyes scanning her appearance as she fussed over his nails just to make sure they were still intact.

He felt another smile coming on as he admired her. A concentrated crease in her brow, her hair out of place from the morning past, robes long discarded as she got comfortable despite the school uniform. It was impossible, he thought, to not be in love with her.

“What’re you lookin’ at Weasley? Planning to kill me in cold blood are ya?” she teased, finally content with her scan of his nails.

“If you keep biting at me with all that sass, maybe I will be,” he replied, sticking his tongue out playfully and scrunching his nose.

“Well if you wanna keep coming to me to vent you’re going to have to get used to sass. Besides I’ve known you for ages, this isn’t new, is it?” she queried, cocking her head to the side.

“It certainly isn’t,” he shook his head, “doesn’t mean you should keep doing it. But I rest my case.”

“Good, because we’re gonna be late to class, come on now.”

***

“I like the color mate, where’d ya get that fancy thing done?”

Fred looked up from the parchment in front of him, glancing over to Oliver who’d seemingly already finished up with his charms notes, “oh, it’s uh, [y/n]’s. She painted them for me before class.”

“Nice. Hopefully it doesn’t get ruined at practice today, which is after class don’t  you forget it,” Oliver added, nodding his head as if he’d just aided Fred in avoiding a perilous fate.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Fred chuckled, rolling his eyes at Oliver’s typical attitude.

Oliver seemed content with that answer and went back to his work leaving Fred be. Before he could focus back on his work he felt a piece of paper pelt the back of his head, anger twitching in his temple at the annoying gesture. He glanced behind him and saw the crumpled paper on the floor, looking around the class to see a group of Slytherin quidditch players sitting around laughing amongst themselves.

Fred glowered at them and picked up the paper, unfurling it to see a few insults and some shitty grade-level doodle that insinuated Gryffindor was going to lose the upcoming match later that week. Anger bubbled within him once more as the small gesture relit the fuse [y/n] had supposedly managed to completely put out earlier that day.

Without so much as a side glance he stuck his arm out just enough to where the Slytherin’s could see it and Flitwick couldn’t, muttering a small incantation and feeling the paper burst into flames and reduce itself to ashes in his palm within seconds.

The Slytherin’s had gone and picked a poor day to get on Fred’s nerves as it didn’t take long for another few pieces of paper to be pelted at the back of his head. Unfortunately he had quite literally had it, his stool scraping behind him bringing everyone’s attention to him in the silent class as he thundered over to the Slytherin’s.

He approached them with fury biting into every step he took, his arm surging forward as he grasped the collar of one of the upper year players, a nasty glare painted onto his features.

“You’ve got something you wanted to say to me you slimy bastard?” Fred seethed, his other hand clenched at his side, ready to swing had things decided to take the turn he was anticipating.

“Yeah, didn’t you read the papers?” The Slytherin boy replied smugly, not frightened enough for the immanent danger he was in.

“I would’ve, but none of you are literate enough to form an understandable sentence,” Fred bit back, his brows set heavy on his face, anger practically rolling off him in waves.

The other boy didn’t seem to enjoy having his intelligence insulted, his own chair scraping behind him as he stood up, though it was comical to onlookers just how much taller Fred was than he.

“What’d you say to me, Weasley?”

“I said you’re a piece of shit who’s dumb as rocks.”

That was it. Fists started flying and a ruckus had immediately begun, some students cheering while others called Flitwick’s attention, begging him to intervene in the situation. Being as tall as he was, Fred didn’t have much difficulty tackling the other boy to the ground, taking a sharp swing to his face that landed with a uncomfortably loud thump. The kid cried in pain at that and was finally overtaken by his fighting spirit.

It want on like that for a while, the other kid managing to get in a few hits too, punching Fred in the mouth and landing a nasty kick to the stomach, before Professor Flitwick and another teacher who’d been panic called in finally stopped the brawl.

“Mr. Weasley, enough!” McGonagall snapped, standing in front of him as Oliver and two other Gryffindor’s corralled him to the side and away from the boy who was groaning in pain on the floor.

“But professor he-,”

“Forget detention, you need to be taken to the infirmary this instant! Wood, escort him there immediately and please try not to track blood in the corridors,” McGonagall sighed, exasperated with having to deal with yet another issue, turning on her heel to go attend to the obviously more battered student.

As Fred’s adrenaline finally subsided, pain started to seep into his face and chest, the feeling of fresh blood spilling out of his nose finally registering to him.

“C’mon mate, we’ve got to go before it gets worse,” Oliver insisted, trying his best to forcefully move Fred who was rooted in his place without hurting his injuries.

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Fred nodded, a far away quality to his voice as he and Oliver left the class to head to Madame Pomfrey’s.

***

“Is Fred here? Where is he? Oh, Fred!”

He looked up from the cup of medicine he’d just downed, his face recoiling in disgust at the flavor, eyes sealing shut as he forced it down. When he’d finally recovered from the rancid taste he saw [y/n] barreling towards him, panic glued to her features, her robes billowing behind her.

“Hey, [y/ln],” he grinned, setting the glass down and wincing in pain as he went to uncurl his hands, the knuckles still split open and raw as he waited to have them wrapped up.

“Don’t ‘hey [y/ln]’ me, what were you thinking?” she chided, grabbing a nearby chair and pulling it to the side of his bed, “you look terrible.”

“Hey,” Fred pouted, endeared at her display of worry for his wellbeing, “But you honestly should’ve seen the other guy.”  

“I did and as mad I want to be, you did do quite a number on him. But your hands! Oh dear me,” she sighed shakily, jumping up to go collect some gauze, tape, and disinfectant.

“They’re not that bad,” he mumbled as she grabbed one of his hands, guiding it in her direction ever so gently.

“You always say that,” she clipped, taking a cotton ball out of its container on the nightstand and soaking it in disinfectant, “now just brace yourself, it’s going to sting.”

Before Fred could get a word out he was hissing in pain, collapsing his shoulders inward as his body shivered with the sting. She cooed sweet words under her breath, quickly replacing the cotton ball with gauze to protect the now freshly clean wound. After repeating the same process over again she set his now wrapped hands in his lap, discarding of the used things and returning the tools to their designated spot.

“All better,” she smiled, reaching forward and squeezing the uninjured part of his hand kindly, rubbing her thumb over the tightly wound gauze.

Fred’s heart swelled as he watched her, the fight feeling all the more worth it to have her fawn over him, “Yeah, all better.”

“Madame, he should be free to leave shouldn’t he?” [y/n] asked as Madame walked over, a tray of tools and medications in her hands.

“I’d wish it so. Mr. Weasley please remove your shirt so I can get a good look at your injury,” Pomfrey instructed, setting her tools down on the nightstand, “and [y/n] please move to the other side so I can get to work.

[y/n] passed him a wide-eyed glare as she maneuvered to the other side of the bed, her worry quickly being shoved to the side as he revealed his toned abdomen right in her face. Had circumstance not have been so worrisome, she probably would’ve been all over him, however the school infirmary was the last place she was going to do something like that.

She cast her gaze down, pretending to occupy herself with picking at her nails as she desperately tried to focus on anything but him. She could see him looking at her quizzically, but she still refused to cave and play into her not to so pure thoughts.

“Alright, luckily there isn’t more than a bit of nasty bruising and some small fractures. I’ll go get you another dosage of medication but it’ll require that you stay the night in the infirmary,” Madame Pomfrey nodded, lifting her tray and scurrying away, continuing onto the next ailment she had to attend to.

“Stay the night, rubbish,” Fred groaned, letting his fall back against the railing of the bed with a small thunk, his chest rising and falling softly as he stared at the ceiling.

“Don’t get any bright ideas, you’re staying here or I’ll give you different reason to,” [y/n] deadpanned, folding her arms across her chest as she finally looked up at him.

“And what will you do? Hmm?” He smiled smugly, sitting back up and folding his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing with the movement.

“I-,” her brain ran blank as she quickly averted her gaze, her leg bouncing conspicuously fast, “I don’t know. Something bad probably.”

“Something bad,” he repeated with a lilt, quirking his head to the side, “ is that ‘something bad’ bothering you, [y/n]?”

Her eyes proceeded to grown wider if that was at all possible as she fumbled to find a witty response to snip back at him, but it was no use, she was all hot and bothered and at a loss of words. She resigned herself to a small shake of her head, casting her eyes down to her lap.

“Oh,” he hummed, a smugness practically dripping from his voice, “I get it, you like what you see don’t you?”

“Okay you know what, I think you’re in good hands and you’re going to be just fine on your own and now that I know you’re not dead, I’m going to head back to my dormitory now!” She jumped up, her chair scraping across the floor with an uncomfortable screech as she turned on her heel to leave.

“Now hold on-,” he interjects, grabbing her wrist the best he could with his restricted mobility, tugging her back slightly, “I was only kidding, you know that. I appreciate you coming to check up on me.”

He watched her decompress, her eyes glancing down to where he held her wrist with a tiny smile pulled onto her lips, “Of course, any time Freddie. Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually must go for homework purposes, but I might be back later. Take care.”

“Take care!” he called after her.

***

Fred cozied himself into the covers, the gentle pitter patter of the rain outside the many infirmary windows becoming the background to his thoughts as he tried to fall asleep. With a sigh he rolled onto his back, folding his hands over his chest as he found himself uncapable of falling asleep.

He was bored out of his mind, usually when he found himself in similar circumstances in his dorm he had something on hand to occupy his busy brain. However the infirmary didn’t really provide much to do unless he wanted to get up, steal a stethoscope, and start playing a one-sided game of doctor.

Before he could roll back onto his side and pull the covers closer to his chin to try and force himself asleep, a small outburst of noise drew his attention. As alertness spiked in him, he quietly reached for his wand on his nightstand, wrapping his hand around it and drawing it back under the covers, his mind starting to recite as many defense hex's he could think of.

As he prepared himself to turn around he felt a hand clasp his shoulder and before he could start screaming to try and grab everyone and their mother’s attention, another hand placed itself over his mouth followed by a shushing command.

He turned his head and felt a sudden wave of relief flooding over him as he registered the faux perpetrator, his heart then picking up pace for the same reason.

“Hey,” [y/n] smiled softly, he eyes sunken in a sleepy sort of way. “I’m gonna move my hand, don’t scream.”

Fred rolled his eyes, but nodded none the less, “you could’ve given me a heads up that you were coming, I would’ve tried harder to look more presentable.”

She looked up from her open bag at her side, her brows pushing together as she stared at him with a confused yet amused look, “you look just fine, Freddie. What’re you on about?”

Fred struggled to bite back a laugh, shaking his head as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, the blanket bunching around his waist, “Nothing, nothing- hey, what’d you even come here for anyway? Couldn’t resist being away from me for so long?”

“You wish, Weasley,” she rolled her eyes, thanking her lucky stars that there was a chair nearby and she wouldn’t have to make any extra noise bringing it over, “I’m here to paint your nails.”

“Oh,” he glanced down at his hands, noticing she was, in fact, right about the presumed notion that he needed a repaint, “Are they still gonna be blue?”

“Well, I brought the lot of the varnish with me, I was just going to let you pick,” she smiled, setting the bag down into his lap.

His face beamed as he rolled the tote bag down, revealing the pile of nail varnish containers, a childish grin spreading out on his face as he browsed the collection. [y/n] smiled to herself and prepped the nail varnish remover to get rid of the cracked and chipped polish already on his fingers.

“Can I mix ‘n match?” he quipped, holding up two colors to the moonlight to get a better look at them.

“If you’d like,” she shrugged, “it’s up to you.”

“Sick! Can I do one hand black and one red?” his voice buzzing with excitement.

“Certainly, hand them over and we can start,” she chuckled, taking the two colors and setting the rest at the foot of the bed

She pulled one of his hands to her gently, swirling the cotton ball over his nails to remove the polish. A giggle escape her when he scrunched his nose at the bitter smell of the acetone, the fumes making him blink rapidly as he got used to it.

“Well that’s mad, it feels like that stuff should’ve melted my fingers off,” he breathed incredulously, shaking his head to get rid off the weird buzz that had fanned over his brain.

“It certainly does and unfortunately the effects don’t change, you can never really get used to it,” she sighed, grabbing his other hand, continuing to wipe away at the blue.

The two feel back into silence as she feel into her focused stupor, her lips pursed to blow a small gust of wind to dry the remaining acetone while she shook a bottle of varnish in her other hand. Fred watched her with wide, adoring eyes, absolutely enamored with how dedicated she was to the task at hand. He let her continue on without interjecting, for the first time that night the silence was inviting and he quite enjoyed just hearing the clink of the cap against the bottle and the intermingling of their breaths.

“You have nice hands,” she noted absentmindedly, capping the black varnish and beginning to help it dry, missing the look Fred gave her at the suggestive nature of her compliment.

“Thanks,” he hummed, redirecting his attention to the shiny layer of red on his right hand while she continued to blow air onto his left.

“Of course,” she hummed, “now let me see both of your hands, I don’t want it to be messy.”

Fred complied and shifted his body so he was facing her, setting both his hands in her own while she inspected his nails, her focus so dedicated to her task that she yet again missed the adoring look he was giving her. A smile quirked at his lips as she absentmindedly ran her thumb over his hands, triple-checking that the varnish was indeed dry.

“Well, I suppose that does it,” she nodded, satisfied with her handy work, “d’ya like it?”

“More than anything,” he beamed, “are you going to leave now?”

“Only if you want me to, I don’t have classes tomorrow morning so I have no problem staying up,” she shrugged, secretly wishing he’d request her company.

“That’d be lovely, I was having trouble sleeping anyway,” he nodded.

“Same here. I can imagine it was only harder for you with your injuries,” she noted sadly, glancing over at his still wrapped hands, the gauze looking like it was fresh.  

“It’s not too bad, Madame Pomfrey gave me some painkillers so I’m doing alright. Besides it’s not so bad since I have you,” he added, fiddling with the folded covers around his knees.

Her eyes widened a bit as she processed his confession of sorts, her heart picking up pace in her chest at his vulnerability, her next words coming out in a hush, “That’s sweet, Freddie.”

“I’d hope so,” he whispered, raising his brows as he bobbed his head in an awkward sort of nod.

[y/n] reached forward again and took one of his hands into hers, boldly lifting it to her lips and pressing a chaste kiss to his bandaged knuckles, squeezing his wrist gently. It was all too much for Fred, she’d been too kind all day and here she was sitting in front of him now, kissing his hand and smiling at him all too innocently for how badly he wanted to kiss her then and there.

But he was at a loss of words and she was at a loss of restraint, trailing her lips up so she could press another kiss to the inside of his wrist and then the small divot of his elbow, slowly but surely pulling him forward towards her. Fred didn’t mind it though, he leaned into her with every advance, his breath coming to a stand still in his throat as she neared his face.

Her chair pushed behind her with a faint scraping noise as she stood up to accommodate for their height difference, his hand now intertwined with her own down at her side as she looked him straight in the eyes. The tension in the air was palpable and though she had been taking the initiative all day, he didn’t need anyone to tell him twice just what he needed to do.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked barely above a whisper.

“You most certainly can.”

Though he felt himself surge forward with urgency, the entire thing was as slow and sultry as they could get it. Their lips molded together softly, gentle kisses passed between each of them, quiet endearments passed between each pause for breath before going in for more. Fred cupped the back of her head with his free hand, hers doing relatively the same as she lifted her knee to his side so she could stabilize herself.

The kisses quickly became deeper, not necessarily desperate, but long and drawn out, both of them wanting to melt into the other for eternity. [y/n] wished so desperately that the circumstance were different enough to where she could curve into him, be able to feel over his arms and chest and relish in every inch of him that she’d fallen in love with. Fred similarly thought the same, his hand squeezing hers every so often to remind himself that she was there and this was happening and she was his.

When they pulled away, [y/n] pressed her forehead to his, letting their hands unwind so she could cup his face and he could caress her hips. Their breaths mingled in the buzzing silence, heart’s thumping in their ears as they relished in one another’s presence. She turned her head to the side to pepper kisses against his cheek, tilting it downward to trace loving kisses along his jawline too. He let out a breathy chuckle, feeling bad that he couldn’t just pull her into his lap and show her as much affection as she was showing him, but he knew deep down their current options were limited.

“I adore you Freddie,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the divot where his ear met his jaw, her fingers moving to card through his hair.

Fred couldn’t believe how utterly at a loss for words he was. It was so unlike him to not have a witty word or two to put in, especially after such a moment that begged for its tension to be resolved. But after the rough day he’d had, he thought it fine to let himself receive rather than give, even if just this once.

“You’re amazing, [y/l/n],” he chuckled softly, moving his hands so they were rubbing her back gently, her shirt riding up every so often with his movements.

“As are you,” she hummed, finally pulling back to admire her lover’s face, her thumb tracing over his jaw, nose, and lips, an adoring gaze melted onto her features.

“Thank you. For all you’ve done for me today,” he added, wanting to emphasize just how appreciative he was of her, knowing he’d hopefully be able to truly make it up to her later.

“That’s what you do for people you love, right?” she smiled, biting back a giggle when his face drew into one of bashfulness.

“I suppose so,” he returned the smile, pulling her face back down for one more savored kiss, a sigh escaping her as she melted into his embrace once more, “now what do you suppose we do for the next couple hours, that is if you intend to stay?”

“Well see,” [y/n] shrugged, “now scoot over that chair is ghastly, I don’t want to sit in it anymore.”

“And were back,” Fred chuckled, obliging her request to make room for her on the bed.

“What?”

“Oh it’s nothing,” he shook his head.

“Yeah, nothing, sure,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her legs under her as she got comfy across from him.

“It is nothing!” he scoffed, kicking her before crossing his legs underneath him.

“Rubbish.”

“I warned you what would happen if you kept giving me sass didn’t I,” he quirked a brow, folding his arms over his chest.

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, we may never know,” she lilted, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Fred exhaled and lolled his head to the side, unable to hide the grin on his face, “whatever, now, I bet you’re wondering how the fight went!”

“Oh yes! But spare the nasty details, I can handle it, I’d just prefer not to.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Two: Where the Heart Is

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the love you have shown to part one! I’m so glad to see that you’re enjoying YBMH so far, the story is just getting started. I hope you’ll stick around for the full thing, so without further ado, here’s chapter two! As always, my inbox is open so feel free to come chat with me when you have finished this part :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug use

Word Count: 5.1k

read part one here

The phone screen flickers to life at the touch of Harry’s finger, flashing the exact same time that it had the last time he checked, though it feels like hours have passed since then. He sighs at the disappointing revelation and turns his phone over so that the screen meets the aged wood of the piano where it rests. In all honesty, Harry has no idea why he agreed to the interview in the first place. He had skillfully dodged the hundreds of requests for an exclusive tell-all following the untimely split of One Direction and successfully avoided the prying eyes of the general public for several months. So why had he indulged the first request from a girl he hardly knew without so much as a blink? The answer seemed a frustrating mystery to him, but to anyone else, the fluttering in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of her yellow Ford Bronco pulling up to the studio and the way he instinctively raked a hand through his hair gave the answer away.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry!” Alani apologizes, emerging from the car with a notebook nestled under her arm and a smoothie in each hand. She closes the door with her hip before making a beeline to the studio entrance where Harry stands, his right shoulder leaning against the doorframe with the same stoic expression Alani recognizes as his signature look.

“I had to get my sister to cover for me at the café and then I got lost because Google sent me to a Napua restaurant instead of the recording studio,” she rambles in an attempted continuation of her apology. “But anyway, this is for you. A peace offering and a thank you for doing this.”

Harry gingerly takes the green smoothie from her outstretched hand and offers a curt nod in response before ushering her inside.Alani pushes her sunglasses up and settles them into her windswept waves, trailing behind Harry and taking in the space. In one corner across the room, she notices a couple of brightly colored tapestries thumbtacked to the wall with a microphone stand perched in the center, all encased behind a screen of plexiglass. The adjacent wall is lined with guitars all standing at attention and glimmering, despite the dim lighting. Harry stops at the doorway of another room with a couch and a coffee table, the floor littered with wires and pieces of crumpled paper. He motions Alani to step inside and then clears his throat, which catches the attention of two other long-haired men chatting with amused expressions on their faces.

“Sorry lads,” Harry crosses his arms with eyes glued to the floor to avoid their questioning stares. “‘Fraid I have to intrude. Can we have this room?” 

One of the men grins behind a full beard,  popping a peanut M&M into his mouth before standing. “Sure thing, boss man. Let’s bounce, Rowland.”

The other man, also bearded but smaller in stature with a thin, pointed nose nods silently. He continues twirling two drumsticks between his fingers and points one of them at Harry in passing. Alani offers polite smiles at the both of them, and a quiet “thank you” falls from her lips as they exit without another word. Harry closes the door behind them and gestures to the couch, which she takes as her cue to sit.

“I like the uniform,” Alani smiles, gesturing to her hair as a comment on the fact that the three men all share similar lengths and styles.

“Thanks,” is all Harry says, taking a seat across from hers and clearly dismissing her attempt at humor.

To pacify the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence, Alani sips her strawberry smoothie and steals a glance through her eyelashes at Harry who is doing the same. She clears her throat after a minute and sets the drink on the table in front of her; a notebook takes its place on her lap.

“Thank you again for doing this, I really appreciate it,” Alani offers while digging through her bag for her phone. “I’m gonna record this on voice notes, just for the sake of quoting you accurately.”

“Sure,” Harry replies, occupying his gaze with the condensation trickling from the cup onto his fading black jeans. 

Dry retorts from everyone else, especially customers, have little effect on the way Alani conducts herself.  But every short comment from Harry, or lack thereof, makes her feel like a bug under a microscope. She settles her phone onto the coffee table and takes a deep breath to calm the trembling that spreads from her chest into her fingers and toes.

“So first, I wanted to ask about your time in Hawai’i. Are you enjoying it so far?” Alani poses the question lightly, hoping to open him up just enough to extract the story that she’s really looking for.

“It’s nice,” Harry nods, finally meeting her expectant stare. When she doesn’t respond for a beat, he clears his throat and adds on to the statement. “Weather’s good,”

Alani musters a half-hearted smile and glances down at the questions on her page. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, she sighs.

“Is that what drew you here—vacation? Getting away?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,”

The row of guitars behind the singer catches her attention suddenly and guides the next question.

“And to write or.. record?”

Harry shifts in his seat, calculating his response carefully. “Both,”

“Solo stuff?”

Alani watches as he takes a slow sip of his smoothie and crosses his legs, an action which tells her that she’s struck a dead end. Or, at the very least, a door that she hasn’t gained his trust to open yet.

“You were with One Direction for half a decade,” She recovers. “Constantly releasing new music and touring. But now you’re here, doing neither, and haven’t done so for almost a year. What is that transition like?” Alani isn’t sure if Harry will answer when she poses the question, but to her surprise he meets her gaze and nods, as if to say that he accepts the inquiry.

“It’s different than anything I’ve ever done, for sure,” he starts slowly. It’d be a lie to say that he hasn’t given the breakup and, subsequently, his future outside of the band much thought. He thinks about it every day, especially his bandmates and their supportive fans. That much he has been able to unpack privately, but the rest of it—the sudden need to escape and write new music— is still something he can’t quite put into words, so he leans into the nostalgia and hopes it’ll suffice.

“Like you said, it’s been non-stop for the past five years, so I guess it is a bit jarring to come to a sudden halt after so much momentum. Obviously, it’s nice to have the time off, but I love putting out music and touring it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything,”

Alani is grateful to have more than a couple of words of material, despite the fact that it doesn’t really answer the question or tell her anything new about the man sitting crossed legged and closed off in front of her. Looking through her notes, Alani selects another question and embarks on a new angle.

“You were really young when all of that began,” she starts, thinking about how she could never have left her family and home at just 16. Hell, she was 22 and still figuring it out. Hopefully, if all things went well with this interview and Rolling Stone, she would finally find the opportunity to do it. “Do you ever think about where you would be if you hadn’t auditioned for X-Factor?”

Harry knows that she’s playing it safe, trying to feel him out and test the buttons she can push. He also knows that he’s being difficult, much more so than usual due to his nerves. So with an unfamiliar pang in his chest, he decides to relent the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’m starting to think maybe I could’ve been a professional surfer,” he offers matter-of-factly which makes Alani flash an amused grin. Harry’s sudden humor makes the room a bit less suffocating for the both of them and she’s grateful for it.

“Surfing, huh? This I have to see.” she  quips back, suddenly trying to picture him ditching the black skinny jeans for a wetsuit.

He nods with a faint smirk. “Maybe you will.” 

Alani meets his gaze with a shy smile of her own and her eyes fall to his lips for a brief second. The almost imperceptible action sends another foreign jolt through Harry’s chest. She opens her mouth to resume questioning when a loud bang startles them both and causes Harry to spin in his seat, looking through the glass window of the sound booth.

“Sorry!” A man with short, blonde hair and a fading tie dye shirt laughs while lifting the tipped over drum cymbals. “Don’t mind us!”

The two men from earlier straggle in behind and poorly conceal their own fits of laughter. Harry flashes his middle finger briefly, mouthing something that Alani can’t see but knows is undoubtedly rude. She suppresses a giggle and sneaks a glance at her phone, which indicates only a few minutes worth of dialogue. When she lifts her head, the door opens and the blonde man peeks his head in.

“Hello,” he greets with an extended hand before entering and taking a seat next to Alani on the couch. “Tom Hull, or Kid Harpoon...or just Tom, whatever you like best,” 

 She accepts his hand eagerly, not missing the way Harry pinches the bridge of his nose in her peripheral vision. “Mahealani Hale, or just Alani. Nice to meet you,”

“Wow, beautiful name,” Tom compliments. “Sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize you had company, H,”

“She was just—”

“I’m writing about-” The two speak at the same time, making brief eye contact before Harry turns his attention back to Tom.

“Did you need something?” He asks. Tom’s eyes dart between Harry and Alani before he clears his throat and reclines in his seat.

“Just dropping by to see if you wanted to go for lunch...” he trails off, which Alani takes as a cue to start gathering her belongings.

“Kind of busy here,” Harry offers with a glance back at the girl seated awkwardly across from him. “Another time,”

At this, Tom turns to Alani and ignores his friend’s protests. “Alani, do you eat lunch?”

Before responding, she casts an apprehensive glimpse at Harry who has suddenly become very intrigued by the drink in his lap, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“Uh.. well yeah, but I don’t-”

“Great! Have lunch with us,”

“Mate—” Harry speaks up.

Tom grins, shrugging. “What? You plan on starving the poor girl?”

“I really can’t, but thank you for the offer,” Alani explains with a sheepish smile, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you Tom. And thank you again, Harry, I’ll see you around.”

The musician watches her shuffle out of the sound booth quietly and turns his attention back at Tom, who sits with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asks, standing. “Go after her, dickhead!”

“It’s not like that she’s-”

“I really don’t give a fuck about your excuses, go!”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window as Alani slips through the front door.

She fishes her keys out of her bag and sighs when a familiar voice says her name.

“Alani!” Harry calls from the doorway, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He makes his way down the steps and over to the driver’s side where she  ghosts the key over the ignition. 

“Come have lunch...please?” 

“It’s okay,” she purses her lips together politely. “I don’t wanna get in the way,”

Harry catches his lower lip between his teeth and runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words thoughtfully. 

“No, you’re not—you won’t,” he starts. “I would really like it if you joined us for lunch, especially since our time got interrupted. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Alani can’t help the way her stomach flips at the words “our time” that fall from his lips and she finds herself nodding in agreement before her mind has had a chance to intervene. 

She makes her way to the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked behind the studio, which she learns is where all of Harry’s entourage keeps their vehicles. A variety of brightly colored vintage cars are neatly parked, and it amuses her that Harry skips all of them, instead going straight for the black SUV with darkly tinted windows. At least he’s consistent,  she smirks. As Alani climbs into the car, she is met by the warmth of Harry’s scent—something woodsy and vanilla— and the fact that she recognizes it makes her heart pound.

“You can connect your phone,” Harry nods to the stereo as he buckles his seatbelt. “To the Bluetooth, I mean, if you’d like.”

 “Really?” she asks, brow raised in mild disbelief.

“Only if you play something good,” he teases with a stony expression, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Alani takes that as a challenge, scrolling through various playlists as Harry peels away onto the main road. Over the speakers, the beginning of “Don’t Worry Baby” by The Beach Boys surrounds the two of them. 

“Is this to your liking, my liege?” Alani poses in an exaggerated British accent that makes Harry cringe, though the small grin on his face gives away his endearment.

“Yes, but please don’t do that accent ever again,” 

“So you admit it, you’re the one with the accent,” she wiggles her brows, eyes peeling away  from the view out her window to Harry in the driver’s seat.

“If it’ll get you to never do that one again, sure,” “Dunno, love,” she continues, watching the coast shimmer under the afternoon sun. “Think  it kinda suits me,”

Harry shakes his head and checks the rearview mirror to make sure that he hasn’t lost Tom, Mitch, and Jeff in the car trailing behind.

“What’s it like?” Alani questions, studying the perfect slope of his pointed nose and strawberry pout.

“What’s what like?”

“England,”

Harry thinks for a second, recalling his London flat, lunches with his mum and sister, the streets of Trafalgar Square, and Abbey Road. 

“Rainy,” is all he says.

Alani scoffs, which draws  his attention over to where she lounges in his passenger seat, sitting comfortably as if it was exactly where she belonged. “That’s all?”

“What?” He questions, though he knows exactly what she means and is perfectly aware of his own stubbornness.

“Just seems like... I don’t know, such a generic description for a place you consider home,”

Harry mulls her response over, the word “home” especially catching his interest. It’s a strange concept in his mind because while, yes, England is where he has spent the majority of his life and where the people he loves most reside, he has never truly felt connected to just one place. And after spending his formative years traveling the world, who could blame him?

“It’s... safe,” he tries again, attempting to verbalize what he’s feeling. “When I’m there, I mean, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to be anyone or do anything specific, I can just... be. No expectations,”

Alani lets Harry’s words sit between them for a moment, sensing that there is still more he wants to say. When she doesn’t respond after a minute,  he continues in an effort to clarify and fill the lull in the conversation.

“I used to think that London was just a starting point and that if I could make it to LA, it would mean that I had really made it, and I would feel more at home there,” he continues, slow and calculated. “But I dunno... when I’m there it still feels like an extended holiday,  like I’m just buying time until I leave for the next place. London doesn’t feel like that, feels much more constant... so yeah, I guess it is home,” 

As if she had read his mind earlier, Alani adds on. “Not to mention that’s where your family is, I’m assuming,” 

Harry nods, once again thinking of his mum and sister. The image of their beaming faces  brings the shadow of a dimple to his cheek.  “Yeah,���

“What’s your family like?” She continues, truly interested and forgetting for a moment about the article she still has to write.

“Kind of small, I guess. S’really just my sister and my mum, but they’re,” Harry pauses, searching for the right words, “They’re the best. My mum’s probably the kindest woman I’ve ever met. Feel pretty lucky with that one, considering what a pest I was as a child,” he chuckles lightly and it’s a sound that Alani hadn’t heard up to this point, but one she knows she’ll replay in her mind over and over again.

“Gem’s pretty patient too—and brilliant, always the studious one,” he adds finally, a dreamy look on his face that Alani much prefers to the stoic one he always dons. .

“Ah yes, there’s always one,” she nods, catching the quirked brow he offers in response.

“Oh yeah? Are you the one in your family?” 

“I guess so. School just seemed to come easily to me,”

“And what made you want to study journalism?” He questions, stopping to let a woman and her toddler cross.

Alani thinks about it for a moment while twirling a strand of fabric from the hem of her ripped shorts around her finger. 

“I’ve always loved to write, ever since I was really little— like short stories and stuff. And I don’t know, I guess I like the idea of traveling and seeking out a story, too.”

Harry nods understandingly, pulling up to a curb across the street from a restaurant that Alani has frequented. It’s relatively empty at Pineapples for a summer afternoon, though most tourists don’t stray too far from the beaches, so Hilo maintains a healthy local population at all times. The pair climb out of the car and Alani makes her way to the rear where the rest of the group has parked. One of the men from earlier greets her with an outstretched hand while Harry chats with the other two that emerge.

“Hi I’m Jeff, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles warmly,  pushing his sunglasses into his hair. 

“Alani. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff,”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude by not saying hi it’s just-”

Alani dismisses his concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh don’t worry about it! I was kind of nervous then, too. I don’t know if he told you, but I’m interviewing Harry,”

“Oh, right! Yeah, he did mention that I think,” Jeff recalls, “Which magazine are you with?”

“None.” Yet, Alani thinks, her mind wandering to the Rolling Stone rejection letter. “It’s for a class, I’m a journalism major. Harry was just being nice and agreed to let me write about his music,”

Jeff nods. “Got it. You know, he’s not normally this serious. Just got a lot on his mind but he’ll loosen up,” he explains quietly just as Alani and Harry’s eyes meet. She quickly averts her gaze back to the kind, bearded man standing before her.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” she smiles appreciatively.

“Where’s Jeffrey?” Harry speaks up, catching her attention. She looks back to Jeff, confused, before he shakes his head.

“Other Jeff, his manager.” He explains.

“Probably already inside, he said he’d meet us here.” Mitch pipes up.

With that, the rest of the crew head into the restaurant while Alani stays a few steps behind to follow their lead.

“Y’okay?” Harry asks, shuffling along beside her.

Alani startles slightly at his unexpected presence, but relaxes as their strides fall into sync.

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for the invite, too.” She offers, the corners of her mouth upturned softly.  Harry responds with a tight-lipped smile of his own and clears his throat before holding the door open for her.

In the far corner of the restaurant near the open balcony, Harry’s manager Jeff waves the group over to the table he saved. Everyone exchanges greetings and settles into their seats, the two at the end facing each other remain open for Alani and Harry.

“Jeff, this is..Mahealani, did I get that right?” Tom gestures to Alani for approval.

She nods and waves. “Yes, but you can just call me Alani,”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff calls from the other end of the table, glancing over to Harry in search of  an explanation for her presence.

“I’m writing a piece about Harry and his music,” Alani offers. “But I’d love to talk to all of you, if you have a chance.”

Jeff nods, still shooting Harry a knowing look. “Yeah, sure thing.” 

The two Jeffs, Tom, and Mitch engage in their own conversations, mostly inside jokes that go over Alani’s head. Harry watches, silent for most of the interaction and barely engaging the girl seated across from him, though he is overwhelmingly aware of her presence. When the server comes to take their order, warmth floods to Alani’s cheeks.

“Alani, hey!” the tall server greets, flashing a handsome, pearly-white smile. “Long time, no see. You’re looking good as always,”

“Mahalo, David. You look good, as well,” She smiles politely, catching onto the way that Harry sits a little straighter in her peripheral vision. David still pays no regard to the rest of the table, but his gaze momentarily flickers over Harry and sizes him up before returning to Alani.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were on a date,” he apologizes, which makes Alani’s eyes bulge  and Mitch snicker beside her. 

“Oh no, we’re not—“

“He’s just—” Alani and Harry speak at the same time, eyes darting to one another before she explains.

“I’m... working on something—an article,” she says, and David nods understandingly.

“Oh...right. Big-shot reporter, I almost forgot,” David teases in a snide way that makes Harry’s blood boil with annoyance. “Anyways, what can I get you all? The usual for you, right Alani?”

She nods curtly while the rest of the group take turns ordering. After the server has gone,  Harry notices a shift in her easy-going demeanor and decides that it’s his turn to break the ice.

“Come here often then?” He poses gently, taking a sip of his lemonade.

Her lips press into a tight line as her eyes wander to the other patrons. “Yeah, kinda,”

“Asshole ex-boyfriend ruined that, I’m guessing?”

Alani lets out an amused breath and shakes her head.

“He’s not my ex. I mean we went out, like, once in high school... and maybe a handful of times in college but that’s it, really,” 

Harry studies the uneasiness in her expression trying, and failing, to understand what she’s holding back.

“Seems like you dodged a bullet,” he confides, leaning in. Alani’s eyes meet his and her pursed lips ease into a small grin, which Harry mirrors with a simper of his own. As he rests his smooth chin in his palm, she notices a large, healing scab along the underside of his forearm, and her brows furrow.

“How’d that happen?” Alani asks.

“He jumped out a window,” Mitch intervenes. “Though to be fair, he was high,”

Harry shoots a deathly glare at Mitch and turns back to Alani. “It was a one-time thing.”

“It was shrooms,” Mitch replies with an amused smirk.

“Hardcore,” Alani giggles lightly. 

Mitch swirls the straw in his mimosa with his index finger while extending a pinky at Alani. “You do drugs?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “Smoked weed a few times, though not enough to consider myself a pothead, I guess,”

Mitch snorts and steals a glance at Harry. “Pot makes our boy sleepy, and hungry. Alcohol makes him giggly. Shrooms get him buzzed just right,”

Harry’s cheeks flush and he averts his gaze past Alani where families and visitors roam the streets outside. 

“Jumping out a window’s  ‘just right’? I’d hate to see what going overboard looks like.” she teases, watching the blush of embarrassment creep across the bridge of Harry’s nose and cheeks.

“Keeps things interesting.” Mitch shrugs, turning back to Jeff to join his previous conversation.

 Alani feels a strange sense of endearment wash over her at the thought of a giggly Harry, dimples replacing a deeply furrowed brow. In the short time she’d known and served him at the café, she’d only ever seen him reserved—polite, at best. Alani had hoped that interviewing Harry would provide some insight into his mysterious background, but she didn’t imagine that she would want to know more than what could be penned in her article. In the few minutes spent mingling with him and his friends, she began to think that maybe there was something worth getting to know, not just professionally, but before she can give it a second thought, David returns with their food.

“Thanks, Derek.” Harry says, flashing a facetious grin at David who stands confused for a second before sauntering back to the kitchen. Alani laughs, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth, and Harry’s stomach flips at the sound. He immediately wishes he knew what else he could do to hear it again.

Alani scrapes the last bits of potato off her plate and leans back in her seat, patting her growing food baby. 

“I’m thinking of naming mine Oliver, you?” She sighs contentedly. 

“Anne, after my mum,” he quips back, pulling out his wallet.

Alani reaches into her bag for her own, but Harry shakes his head and speaks up. “Don’t worry about it, ‘s on me,”

“Oh, no Harry you really don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, slipping his card onto the small clipboard attached to their receipts.

“Thank you,” Alani smiles, feeling warmth spread through her limbs, but she assumes that it’s mostly due to the rum in her system.

Harry pushes a lock of hair behind his ear and returns the wallet to his back pocket without another word. While there is no alcohol coursing through his blood, he refuses to believe that the burning in his cheeks has anything to do with the girl seated before him.

Alani climbs back into the passenger’s seat of the SUV while Harry settles behind the wheel. He braces his right hand behind the headrest of her seat and skillfully reverses, only becoming aware of their proximity when he turns back to switch gears. Alani peels her eyes from his and focuses on finding a playlist for their journey back to the studio, her mind racing as she clicks shuffle. Harry’s arm retreats, much to Alani’s disappointment, and his ears perk up when he hears the familiar chimes at the beginning of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere”.

“‘S a good one,” Harry breaks the silence, tapping on the steering wheel. “Christine always says it’s her favorite,”

“Christine...McVie?” Alani questions with an eyebrow quirked. “You know Christine McVie?”

“Kind of,” he shrugs, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Do you know Stevie Nicks?”

“Yeah. She lives in London,”

“Holy shit!” Alani marvels, covering her mouth in excitement.

Harry chuckles lightly, stealing a glance over at Alani still processing the news. “Big fan?” 

She whips her head away from the window and scoffs. “Massive. Named my car Stevie, actually,”

“Hardcore,” Harry teases, echoing her own comment about his psychedelic escapades.

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man. In my own right, I suppose it is hardcore,” Alani retorts.

“I thought  Spider-Man climbed buildings. Don’t think he jumped out of them.”

“I’m sure he’s done his fair share of both.”

The two drive down the coast for a while without a word, Harry drumming against the steering wheel as the song dies out while Alani soaks in the view outside her window. Suddenly, she reaches over and taps him on the arm, drawing him out of his reverie. 

“Turn right up there!”

“Why?” Harry asks, already putting his blinker on. 

Alani doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Harry saw it just seconds after turning into the lookout and it left him breathless. The car comes to a stop and Alani wastes no time unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping into the humid air, Harry close behind. Before them, the biggest rainbow either of them had ever seen shimmers in the high afternoon sun like a wall of unbelievable vibrant hues. Harry had never seen one this close, he felt as though he could reach out and feel each color slip through his fingers. 

“Are you making a wish?” Alani asks reverently, as if raising her voice too loud will spook it away. 

“I thought that was for shooting stars,”

“We’re literally staring face to face with a rainbow and you’re gonna argue with me about the logistics of a wish?”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, grinning to himself as his eyes flutter close. 

Harry takes a deep breath and searches his brain for something, anything, but there is only one word pounding in his mind. He doesn’t know why it stood out to him when Alani first said it, but it struck a chord within him that hasn’t stopped reverberating, so it must mean something. Harry swallows the lump forming at the back of his throat and releases the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. When his eyes flutter open again, he steals a peek through the corner of his eye at the girl beside him and then fixes his gaze back on the rainbow. 

“S’quite big, innit?” He remarks, breaking the reverent silence. 

Alani snorts and shakes her head, turning on her heel back to the car. 

“You’re so eloquent. Can’t wait to hear what lyrical gems are hiding in your new album,”

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts, climbing behind the wheel. “Who said anything about an album?” 

As they peel away from the lookout, Harry can sense something has shifted in the atmosphere, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He opts to ignore it and poses a lighthearted question instead. 

“What’d you wish for?”

Alani narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true.”

Harry hums, trying to imagine what she could possibly wish for that would require such secrecy, but his thoughts wander back to the singular word that has haunted his mind since it left her lips. 

Home.

Next Chapter

[kunstpause-archive]

Read on Ao3

Day 8: Adroit

And again some more modern a - I swear I am also going to write something else this month - eventually 😅

Emet/Reader

When Hades shows up the following evening, he holds to boxes of steaming Thai food in his hands, insisting that if you are already staying late, you should do so with a somewhat decent dinner. And it’s definitely more than decent. Not to mention the company is delightful. You talk about this and that, not even looking at the time as you tell him how you are slowly making your new apartment habitable. Hades meanwhile regales you with some more anecdotes of his friend upstairs and his never-ending quest to get him to work less. Over an hour has passed until you finally get around to talking about anything work-related.

“So, what kind of name is ‘Emet-Selch’ actually?” you ask the question that has been repeatedly on your mind.

In front of you, Hades coughs, needing a moment to not choke on his food before he looks at you with a question written all over his face.

“Pardon me?” he murmurs. “What?”

“The boss,” you point out. “I’ve wondered about that; it sounds like a strange name, don’t you think?”

“It’s more akin to a title, actually,” he says after clearing his throat, and that information makes you perk up.

“It is? Oh, kinda like a stage name?” you wonder. “That makes sense; I guess he is an artist, after all.” With a frown, you add, “So what’s his real name then?”

Across from you, Hades lets out a laugh. “I am sure you can easily find that out by employing twenty seconds of your time into a search engine, my dear.”

You shake your head vehemently.

“I am not going to google my boss; what if I find out something I really didn’t wanna know?”

He looks at you across the rim of his glasses like you lost your mind.

“And how is this any different?” Hades asks with a raised brow. “You don’t know what kind of stories I could tell you, after all.”

“Yeah, but then it would be your fault for blabbing and not mine for snooping,” you claim, nodding gravely to underline your point.

“That… is not how it works,” Hades mumbles before he goes back to his food with a shake of his head. “Seriously, you have not looked up the company you’ve come to work for even once?”

You had not. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it, but ultimately, you had decided against it, and so you give him a shrug.

“It has a splendid reputation, everyone in my class wanted a job here, and I didn’t see the point,” you say before grabbing another bite. “I guess I just like to make my own impressions?”

“An admirable attitude,” Hades murmurs with another shake of his head. “If, perhaps, prone to complications.”

“Huh?” At his muttered afterthought, you look up, but he just waves it aside.

“Ah, don’t mind me.”

You finish your dinner with some more not work-related talk, and before he leaves to get some more work done himself, you give him the small folder you prepared with your proposed changes. He assures you that he will forward them once again as he wishes you a good night and a relaxing weekend.

You have both, but you are almost tempted to go to work on a Sunday for having nothing better to do. You could finally unpack the rest of your things, get your apartment into a state that is actually comfortable to live in, but you’re still not feeling like it. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s not necessarily the work itself you miss and wanna sit around at the company for. Out of all the people you have met over the past week, you definitely like Hades the most. He is kind, thoughtful, unobtrusive, and he listens to your complaints as well as talks to you whenever you both seem to have a little time. And sometimes… Sometimes you notice his eyes sparkle when he looks at you, and it is not only a welcome sight; it is one that sends little jolts of excitement through you each time you catch him. It doesn’t even matter that you have basically just met the man or that he seems to be a good few years older than you - you would like nothing more than to get to know him better.

A feeling that only grows on Monday when you go through your inbox, and an email from your boss already contains some parts of your proposed changes, together with a small thank you note for your very skillfuly adjustments. Hades didn’t waste any time relaying your thoughts, it seems, and you smile to yourself before you decide to visit the coffee cart downstairs and get him something as a thank you. You have no idea what he likes, except for coffee, of course, but the elderly lady behind the counter knows her customers, and a little while later, you are on your way up to his floor, carrying glazed donuts with you. You wouldn’t have suspected him of having a sweet tooth, but the coffee cart lady insisted that those were his favorite.

When you exit the elevator, you look around. You have no idea where his office is precisely, only the floor it’s on. You’ll simply have to ask the next person you see to point you in the right direction.

It turns out to be unnecessary, as you round a corner and practically run into the man himself.

“Persephone,” he greets you with a confused look, holding your shoulders steady to keep you from stumbling. “What are you doing here?”

The way he seems so surprised but at the same time genuinely happy to see you makes you smile. He looks a little different, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that, for once, he is not wearing glasses.

“Looking for you,” you say, holding up the bag with the baked goods to show him. “I brought a thank you for playing messenger for me.”

He looks a bit confused, but as he sees what’s in your hand, his eyes light up.

“Are those donuts?”

“You really do have a sweet tooth,” you laugh as you nod. “So, I was wond-”

You stop talking in surprise as his hands around your shoulders tighten, and he pulls you further around the corner all of a sudden, looking past you with a slight frown.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, unsure just how to react when Hades motions you to be quiet.

“Shhh, I think I saw Hythlodaeus,” he whispers, and now he has you thoroughly confused.

“Your friend?” you murmur back as you wonder about the sudden secrecy.

“He is trying to rope me into something, and I am avoiding him,” he explains quietly, shifting you just a little so he can peek around the corner. “Oh no,” he murmurs. “He’s heading straight this way. Get in there.”

He nudges you through the door right next to you into an empty office. Everything goes fast, and before you know it, you find yourself on the inside, slightly wedged between the office door and Hades, who quietly snaps the lock shut.

You look at him questioningly, trying to make sense of all this when he puts a finger over his lips, indicating you not to make a sound.

A second later, you nearly flinch when someone knocks sharply at the door.

“Hades, are you in there?” an impatient voice asks, and in front of you, Hades mouths the word ‘Hyth’ in a quiet explanation.

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know?” the voice comes again. “This fundraiser is happening, you are going, and if you want to look approachable for once, you’re bringing someone.!”

You have to swallow down a giggle as you realize what it is he is trying to avoid. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t seem like the very outgoing type.

“Come on,” comes Hyth’s voice again through the door. “You could ask that cute singing girl from downstairs you’ve been mooning over to come with you; it will be fun!”

Hades winces slightly in front of you, and your eyes widen at those last words as a sudden feeling of giddiness has your stomach jump. With the way Hades looks at you almost apologetically by now, there is little chance his friend means anyone else, and the thought is nothing if not exciting.

“I’ll just be back…” the voice from outside claims before you can hear the sound of someone walking away.

For a moment, you stay quiet, almost unwilling to say something. The slight tension in the air is far too precious, after all. But at the same time, you are not the calmest or most patient person, after all.

“Cute singing girl from downstairs?” you comment with a raised eyebrow, and for a moment, Hades has a sheepish look on his face.

“Well…” he starts, but before he can say anything more, you give him a playful wink.

“You know, I think I’ve heard of her,” you say with a knowing look. “Rumor has it she has been slightly mooning herself about some upstairs guy. So…” you trail off for a moment, grinning at him. “If you ask her, she might actually say yes.”

Something between you shifts as the sheepish look from earlier is completely gone from his face now, replaced by something decidedly different. Unveiled interest is in his eyes as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Is that so?” Hades murmurs in a low voice, and you are suddenly acutely aware of just how close he is.

His arm against the door, he half cages you in, and with the way he is so much taller than you are, he is practically filling out your whole view. He gives you a long look, and then his other hand rises, and your stomach flutters as his fingers graze your cheek, gently brushing over your skin as he draws a strand of hair out of your face. He tugs it behind your ear, fingertips ghosting over your neck in the process, and you swallow heavily as you look up into his golden eyes that are, for once, not behind a pair of glasses. He is so close all of a sudden, and you lick your suddenly dry lips, very aware of the way his eyes follow the motion. You barely dare to breathe as you wonder if the intense way he looks at you means he is going to kiss you when his smile slightly widens.

“Good to know,” he finally says, letting his hand fall away but still keeping close.

“Are you going to ask?” you wonder with bated breath, and there is a twinkle in those warm eyes as he gives you a slight nod.

“Eventually,” Hades says, still smiling before he finally takes a step back. “But Hyth is not going to let this rest,” he adds with a frown at the door. “I’ll leave to go look for him, and you can sneak out of here a few minutes later.”

The assumption that you would somehow need to sneak out has you furrow your brow in confusion.

“Sneak out?” you ask. “Why would I need to do that?”

“You really don’t want to get people talking,” Hades says with a sigh. “Everyone on this floor is a horrible gossip; you have no idea what you’d set yourself up for if you just walked out of here.”

It doesn’t lessen your confusion at all as you wonder just why anyone would even care if you walked out of a random office with him, but before you can point that out, his hands run over your upper arms, and he nudges you to look at him.

“Persephone, I’m going to come by your office tonight, and I’m going to ask you to go to a fundraiser with me,” Hades says in a surprisingly serious voice. There is a slightly crooked half-smile on his face as he looks down at you with clear anticipation, and you smile back at him at that.

“I look forward to it,” you say with a genuine smile, but Hades doesn’t seem to be done.

“In the meantime, please do me one favor, and google this company,” he murmurs, and just like that, your confusion is back, and you scrunch your nose. “Trust me, my dear,” he insists, “You really want to know some things before you decide to say yes!”

That is not ominous at all, you think, but with a final smile, he lets go of you, unlocks the door, and is gone faster than you can process. A bit forlorn, you look at the bag still in your hand before, for the first time after being dragged in here, you look around the room. It’s the most spacious office you have ever seen. There are shelves willed with folders on one side, a couch, and a sitting area on the other, but at the center, behind a large desk, it’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that catch your eyes the most. The view from up here is so breathtaking that it takes you a few more moments to notice that some impressive things are hanging at the far wall. Honors, prizes, and rather prestigious awards. All made out to…

Emet-Selch.

You nearly let the bag of food slip from your grasp as you realize in whose office you stand, where Hades had dragged you in to. For a few seconds, you think you both can count yourself lucky that it was empty when you notice something else. There is a pair of glasses lying on the desk before you, glasses that look very familiar. You have stared at them quite a few times over the last week, after all. You realize that Hades’ colleague had straight-up assumed he was in here when knocking at the door, and behind the desk, the windows show a clear view of the nearby park as things suddenly click, and you are not sure if you are mortified, very confused or maybe even slightly angry. All you know as you put the bag from the coffee cart down on his desk for him to find later is that the first thing you will do when getting back to your office is heed his advice and look some things up. And tonight, when he shows up at your office, you will make him give you some answers.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian Week 2020 - “War of the Roses” (Rated M)

Summary: Kurt suspects that his husband may be cheating on him. But instead of taking the mature route of talking with him, he calls up a radio talk show that has a unique way of uncovering the truth. (2236 words)

Notes: Inspired by a talk show I used to listen to by the same name. Written for the @kbweek2020 Day 5 prompt 'angst', but not quite as angsty as you might imagine.

Read on AO3.

“War, War, War, War of the Roses!”

The pre-recorded announcement, surrounded by loud fanfare, blares through Kurt’s phone. He moves it away from his ear before the d.j. follows with: “It’s War of the Roses day on Magic 92.5! Hop on the website, send us a text, or call and leave us a message, and you, too, may be featured on War of the Roses! Today, we have Kurt on the line, ready to share the troubling story of him and his husband Sebastian. Kurt - thank you for joining us.”

“Th-thank you for having me,” Kurt replies, hating the way his voice sounds, the way it rattles around his dry throat. Hating what he’s doing. Hating that he gave the show their real names! What an imbecile he is! People he knows listen to this show! His boss Isabelle listens to this show! She must be listening now because he hears a beep over the line - a sign that another call is trying to wedge its way in. When he doesn’t answer it, it disconnects with a chunky bwap-bwap! A second later, messages start flooding his email, which he left open on the laptop in front of him. And not just from Isabelle. From Rachel, Mercedes, Santana, Brittany, Chase …

Kurt lifts a hand and closes the lid, shutting them out.

Oh boy. 

He’s only been on the phone for 30 seconds and he’s already made a mess of things.

“Kurt,” the d.j. says, “why don’t you start by telling us why you contacted us? How can we help you?”

Kurt sighs. I contacted you because I’m stupid, he thinks. And insecure. And, frankly, I should hang up right now and put my phone in the freezer for safekeeping before I do anything else stupid. “I … I think my husband might be cheating on me.”

Canned ooo’ing follows his admission, and if he didn’t regret this decision before, he certainly regrets it now. He can’t stand the idea that they’re using this situation that’s been keeping him up at night as the punchline of a joke. But he can’t blame them. He did this. There are other ways to go about this that he should have considered first. Counseling. Private investigators. Honest and open communication with his spouse. But for some reason, when his husband got up early and left for work without waking Kurt for a goodbye kiss for the eighth day in a row, Kurt broke. If his marriage isn’t working, if they’re headed for Splitsville, Kurt needs to know today. 

Now.

Sooner, if possible.

And that’s when he leaped for his cell phone and made this ill-advised call.

Kurt didn’t think there was anything wrong with his marriage. He thought they were happy – blissfully so. But for the past few days, things have gotten odd between them. Strained. And Kurt doesn’t know why. He needs to find out.

Lucky for him (depending on how you look at it), the radio program had a last-minute cancellation. The person who was scheduled to be on this morning decided to take matters into their own hands and run their unfaithful spouse over with a Cadillac.

A Cadillac that wasn’t theirs to begin with.

The station called him practically a second after he got off the phone with their answering machine.

“And why do you think your husband might be cheating on you?” the female co-host asks in a voice sympathetic from years of practice.

“Well … he’s been avoiding me.” Kurt winces at that weak excuse. To be fair, Sebastian’s firm recently landed a huge client - their first of this caliber in years. And since one of his partners is out on maternity leave, the job of wining and dining had fallen on Sebastian’s shoulders - a task he hasn’t performed in close to a decade; one he never liked much, especially after he and Kurt got married since it kept him away from home. “But on top of that,” he says, leaving that pertinent information out, “he’s been talking a lot about some guy named Martin.”

“Really?” the d.j. says, working hard to make this revelation sound like the scandal of the century since Kurt isn’t giving them much to work with. “And what has he been saying about Martin?”

“He’s been very complimentary about the job Martin has been doing down at the office.” Another wince. “A-and my husband isn’t normally the kind to hand out compliments. Plus, they’ve been working a lot of late nights - meetings, overtime, all last minute, that sort of thing.”

“Do you think Martin is doing something other than working that your husband might actually be complimenting him on?”

“Maybe,” Kurt says meekly, his heart going from ache to break. He hadn’t put those thoughts into words before today, hadn’t even texted them to his closest confidants now crowding his inbox. This is the first time he’s getting it off his chest … and he’s doing it to millions of people he doesn’t know.

He can hear Sebastian's voice in his head, laughing and saying, "Smart, Kurt. Very smart."

“Alright! Let’s get Sebastian on the phone and find out what’s going on once and for all!”

“Okay,” Kurt mumbles, covering the fact that the host's apparent enthusiasm to destroy Kurt's life put him on the verge of throwing up.

“What we’re going to do (for those of you who don’t know how this works) is offer Sebastian a dozen romantic roses to send free of charge to the person of his choice," the d.j. explains. 

"Let’s hope he says Kurt,” his co-host adds.

“Yes,” Kurt says, and very unlike him, he begins to pray. 

He prays Sebastian doesn’t answer the phone.

He prays Sebastian's secretary answers instead and tells them to send the roses to Kurt, Sebastian’s one true love. Kurt would accept that, hearing it second hand. That would be fine. Hearing it from Sebastian's secretary would be almost like hearing it from Sebastian. She’s a trustworthy soul, not inclined to cover for her boss.

He thinks.

Most of all, he prays that no matter who answers, no matter what happens, he’s wrong.

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

Click.

“Hello?”

Sebastian answers and Kurt’s stomach drops. In the time it takes Sebastian to complete that word, Kurt recalls the way most of these things end. Then his mind, which rarely seems to be on his side lately, conjures up how it might end for them.

This phone call and their entire marriage.

“Let’s get a name for the card, Sebastian. Who would you like us to send those roses to?”

“Let’s send them to Martin,” Kurt imagines his husband saying in a sly, seductive voice without pause. 

“Martin? And what message would you like to go with it?”

“Make it out to Captain Flexible. And write ‘last night was incredible. Here’s to many more late nights in the future’.”

That nightmare spell shatters when Kurt hears the d.j. say his husband's name. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?” Sebastian answers, already sounding annoyed. No one who calls Sebastian’s office line ever calls him by his first name except family. 

And Kurt.

“Hello! My name is Andrew, and I’ve just opened a new flower shop in Uptown called The Rose Knows.”

“Good for you,” Sebastian says dryly.

“We’re calling businesses in the Midtown area with our first promotion. We’re offering a free dozen romantic roses to send to the person of your choice. And all we ask in return is that you recommend our shop to your family, your friends, your co-workers …”

“You must have the wrong number. I don’t need anything for free. Put an ad in the Pennysaver like everyone else.”

"I'm not sure the Pennysaver's still in business."

"Not my problem."

Kurt bites his lower lip, grinning when he should be in tears, the nervous flip-flopping of his stomach, like pancakes on a griddle, causing his abs to cramp. But that’s his husband. His Sebastian. 

So far, so good.

“Come on,” the d.j. presses. “We’re a small business, just starting out. Do a man a favor. Have some community spirit.”

Sebastian sighs like this is so beneath him. He stays quiet, and Kurt knows he’s debating between messing with this guy or hanging up on him. But Sebastian probably figures he’s not going to shake him until he gives in. Besides, Sebastian is nothing if not a networker. A flower shop would be of no use to him, but who knows? “Let’s see. Who in my life deserves free roses? My mom’s birthday is coming up, so maybe I could send them to her. Or my sister. She just had a baby.”

“Oh! Congrats!”

“A-ha,” Sebastian says, the amount of unimpressed in his tone staggering. “There’s Martin Lewis ...”

“Martin?” the d.j. repeats, stressing the name subtly to put emphasis on Kurt’s concerns.

He doesn’t need to. Kurt’s heart has already stopped.

“Yeah," Sebastian says, his voice going softer. "Roses would definitely brighten up his office.”

“And why does Martin deserve roses?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but he’s been busting his ass helping me put together a huge proposal. Plus, his wife's in the hospital. He could bring them over to her."

"O-oh ..." The d.j. slips. That's probably the last thing he expected to hear.

"Or you know what?” Sebastian's voice drops a register, a hint of wickedness lacing between. “I could send them to this guy I absolutely worship."

"Oh really?" The d.j. recovers, seeing things start to turn around. The hosts definitely root for a happy ending, but it's no surprise that angst makes their ratings soar.

The cringe-factor of someone confessing unaware to their infidelities. 

Their listeners eat that up.

"Yup. The most amazing, sexiest man on the face of the planet. The man with the biggest heart of any human being I have ever met. The man I call the Energizer Bunny because he can go all. night. long. The man I hope to spend the rest of my life with.” 

Kurt hiccups. His heart, a useless lump in his chest, lodges in his throat. 

“And who would that---?” But before the d.j. can interject with their usual spiel, Sebastian continues. 

“But I think he’s worth more than a bouquet I got for free from some lame-ass radio talk show. What do you think, Kurt?”

The line goes dead.

Kurt has been listening to this radio program religiously for close to seven years, and to his knowledge, this has never happened before - a caller called out by their s.o. But the d.j. is on it because he immediately plays an old school ‘wah-wah’ noise to show that Kurt has been caught.

“H-how did you know?” Kurt asks.

“Because I know you, Kurt,” Sebastian says. “I know the kinds of things you do when you panic, and you mostly panic when you feel like people you love are going to leave you.”

“Yeah?” Kurt sniffs, a tear rolling down his cheek. Adding to his list of things he hates, he hates that Sebastian knows him so well. “And what do I do?”

“You kind of go off the deep end.” Sebastian chuckles, lighthearted and anxious, reminiscent of the night he asked Kurt to be his for the first time. “And I understand why. I’m sorry I’ve been distant lately. And I’m sorry about the late hours. I’ve just been caught up at work. I swear that’s all. But Kurt … can we talk about this when I get home? So I can look at you, in your eyes, and tell you that there’s no way in heaven or earth I would ever cheat on you? It took me a long time to win you over. There’s nothing that could persuade me to give you up, not for anyone.”

More sound effects - an awww followed by applause - play in the background as the d.j. and his co-host attempt to maintain control of the show.

“So … you don’t hate me?” Kurt asks.

“For which offense? Doubting me, my loyalty, and my love for you? Or airing our dirty laundry on the radio?”

“Uh …” Kurt awkwardly clears his throat. “All of the above?”

Sebastian sighs again. He sounds exhausted, but also like he can’t wait to get home and give Kurt a good ribbing. “Yes, babe. I forgive you.”

“Thanks. And I’m sorry about all this.”

“Apology accepted. I mean, what’re a few tawdry secrets among friends? Strangers? The barista down at Starbucks? My clients?”

“When should I expect you home?” Kurt rushes to cut him off, feeling more like a heel than he had before. “I know you have another big meeting and …”

“I’ll be home in about an hour. Wait … make that an hour and ten. I’m going to stop by a real flower shop and get you some roses. I think you’re overdue.”

“Really?” Kurt says, so astounded, so touched, he doesn’t hear the cheesy music the d.j. has started playing in the background.

“Yes, really. And Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“Be naked when I get there,” Sebastian growls.

The music stops, skidding to a halt with the sound of a record scratching. “Guys … uh … you’re still on the air.”

“Sorry not sorry there, champ,” Sebastian says and hangs up the call.

So does Kurt, shoving his phone in the freezer before the station tries to call back for a recap.

[thecasperanfamily]

You mentioned AGES ago that the Casperans have been to Machu Pichu. I'm sorry but now I need a ficlet.

Good gracious, I have had 6 new fic requests in under a week, which is kind of mind-boggling. Thank you all so much for supporting me and my silly little ideas. 💕 I'll try to get to as many of them as I can, but I feel I should remind you guys that I tend to be very slow and thorough with my writing, so if it takes a while for your request to be filled, don't worry, I haven't trashed it! (There are a couple that have been in my inbox for a long time now because I reeeeeally want to set them after the Big Fic).

ANYWAYS this one was actually super fun for me, as I got to do a bit of research for it. I hope you enjoy. ✨

Lin is about 15 in this one.

~~~~~

“Is this legal?” Douxie asked. “I feel like this might be illegal.”

“Oh it almost definitely is,” Zoe replied, holding out a hand to pull him up a particularly steep and weathered terrace wall.

“Maybe my next project should be to petition for internationally recognized Master Wizard licenses,” Douxie said breathlessly. “Get around those pesky tourist restrictions without incriminating ourselves in the process.” There was a rustle of leathery wings above them, and Archie swooped down beside them, his wide, luminous eyes the only easily distinguishable part of him in the dark.

“Douxie, you have been pressed with so many criminal charges that at this point, I sincerely doubt the government would approve a license for you even if you could get them to make such a thing,” the Familiar observed.

“Right, of course,” Douxie panted, bracing his hands on his knees. “...Gods I can’t believe people used to live at this altitude...How close are we, Arch?”

“Not much farther now. The Intihuatana is just a few dozen yards above us. Doesn’t look like the mortals have done much to secure it. I can’t sense any strong magical anomalies either, but it might be wise for you to record a proper energy reading regardless. Nari’s already there waiting for you.”

“Of course she is,” Douxie wheezed, pulling himself up the next terrace alongside Zoe. “She could scale Everest and it wouldn’t so much as wind her. Lost sight of Lin a little while ago as well...I assume he’s with her?”

“...You let Lin out of your sight?” Archie said, instead of answering. Douxie froze halfway up the next wall.

“...He is with Nari, right?” Archie nervously licked his nose. “Archie.”

“We thought he was with you two!” the Familiar blurted. “It’s not like you told us we were on babysitting duty on top of scouting duty!”

“Archie!” Douxie and Zoe shouted.

“Shh! Remember, we’re not supposed to be here at all, so keep your voices down.”

“DON’T TELL ME TO BE QUIET WHEN MY SON IS WANDERING UNSUPERVISED IN A FIELD OF ANCIENT COSMIC ENERGIES!” Zoe exploded. “HE COULD BE EATEN BY A JAGUAR OR POSSESSED BY A MALEVOLENT SPIRIT!”

“There are no jaguars up here, Zoe,” Archie assured her. “As for malevolent spirits, Nari says the spiritual energy around the site is very intense, but not malevolent. Nothing in this area means that boy any harm.”

“...Barring the lack of oxygen,” Douxie grumbled, hauling himself up onto the next terrace and reaching down to pull Zoe up with him. “Honestly I’m more worried about Lin causing damage than being on the receiving end of it. Arch, you’d better send Nari to find him. Zoe and I will meet you at the stone. Assuming I survive the climb, that is. ...Don’t look at me like that, darling, I was joking.”

*****

For once, Lin’s inhibitor cuff wasn’t glowing.

He ran his hand across a dry-stone brick, fingers drifting lightly over the rough surface. Moss brushed softly against his palm as he walked alongside the ancient wall. There was a deep stillness in the air, something that went beyond mere silence. The stars shone brighter here than anywhere else Lin had seen. It stirred something deep in his chest, something he couldn’t recognize, yet his usually volatile magic remained quiet.

He felt Nari’s presence before she spoke, her gentle, vibrant aura brushing against his.

“Linny? Are you alright?” she whispered, falling into stride next to him as he continued down the length of the ruin.

“...I don’t know,” he murmured, feeling oddly calm in spite of his own uncertainty. “This place....it’s so still. But it doesn’t feel empty.” He looked down at his aunt, hoping she would have the answer to his unspoken question.

“So what does it feel like?” she prodded.

“It...There’s magic here, I can feel it,” he replied, pausing at the end of the wall and staring out at the ancient houses that surrounded them. “Deep magic. Older than Dad, older than Uncle Charlemagne, even. But it’s not....It’s not moving the way their magic does. It’s not dead, it’s just...dormant. And beneath all of that, I keep feeling these...dark streaks. Like shadows. But it’s not shadow magic, it’s something else.” He looked back at Nari. “...People lived here. And they....they were killed here, too.”

“Yes,” she answered softly. “The people of this land were deeply aware of the magic of the universe beyond this planet. They observed the stirrings of the cosmos, and from it, drew a rich mythology and culture. Their lives were structured around the movement of the stars and the cycles of nature. However, death is an inevitable part of that cycle. The Incans believed that for the cycle of nature to be upheld, lives had to be sacrificed. Sometimes even human ones.”

“...That’s why I feel those dark patches?”

“Yes. Sorrow has a way of marking the place where it occurred.”

“It’s....It’s horrible. To think that people had to live like that. Had to do those things,” Lin breathed.

“Humanity still commits similar atrocities with far less noble intentions. But the blood that was shed here has since returned to the earth, and the spirits of those who died here have moved on. This is a place of stillness now, where ancient magic lies undisturbed by the careful mortals who visit. And as you can see, death is not the only thing that marked this place.” Her gaze drifted fondly across the starlit terraces, watched over by the ancient stone dwellings. “Through both good and evil, people lived here. They experienced laughter and joy, and left this place as a reminder that they too were human. That they were a part of mortal history.” She sighed and held out a hand to Lin. “...We must return to your parents now. They were quite upset to discover you had wandered off.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Lin mumbled, taking the offered hand. “I just...”

“I understand,” Nari whispered. “This magic speaks to me as well. It is the kind that is most keenly felt by those in possession of truly ancient powers.”

Lin’s inhibitor cuff flickered with dark blue light for a moment, before going dark once again.

Thanks so much for reading! ✨

[stateofloveandnegan]

The Old Bodyguard - David Budd

Don’t hesitate leaving a request in my inbox!

Requested by: no one

Warning(s): none

Masterlist

“Come on, it’s just for one night.” I sigh, sounding much more annoyed than ever. Michael looks at me with furrowed brows, debating whether he should leave me on my own tonight, or whether the risk is too high.

As I notice Michael thinking, I roll my eyes to show him how annoyed I am. After some time he sighs deeply and finally gives in. “Alright, whatever. It’s your own safety you’re about to risk. I’ll let everyone know that if something happens, it’s not on me.”

I give Michael a small smile, which looks more like a grimace than anything, and walk past him into my bedroom. After slamming the door shut behind me, I let myself fall onto my bed and let out a loud groan.

Michael has been my bodyguard for two years now, and you could say that those years weren’t as lovely as I would’ve liked them to be. Everyone has that, right? That feeling that you just don’t like someone, for no reason at all. That you just don’t click with them, don’t vibe with them. Well, you could say that I’ve got that with Michael, ever since the first time we met.

Sometimes, I wish David was still here. But when I think some more about it, I realise that I actually don’t want to see that asshole ever again. ‘P.S. David Budd, ma’am. How do you do?’ I mutter quietly, trying to copy his thick Scottish accent.

“Well, P.S. Budd, I’m not doing so well, thank you for asking.” I pretend to answer him before hiding my face in my pillow, screaming into it.

After a little while, I get out of bed and start gathering some clothes to wear. I put the clothes down on a small stool in the bathroom, before dressing down and stepping into the shower. As the water hits my body, I let out a shaky sigh, running my hand over my face. Tonight is going to be the first night in years that I’m finally going to be on my own, no bodyguard, no security, no nothing.

A good shower later, I put on my clothes and get ready for the night. It’s nothing more than some nude lips, a little bit of mascara and some eyeshadow, but it’s enough for going out for a drink.

“Just a beer, please.” I ask the bartender when I get to the bar. As I look around, I notice there isn’t a free table in sight, so instead I just take a seat on a high stool at the bar. The time goes by pretty quick and even though I wasn’t feeling very happy before, I’m actually having a great time. The bartender is a funny guy and we chit chat here and there. What amuses me most, is the dancefloor. Guys and girls dancing all over the place, some every nervous, some a little too confident. I vaguely hear my name being said behind me, so I turn around, my brows furrowed in confusion.

His piercing blue eyes are looking at me, surprised to see me. He looks around, looking for some sort of security. I roll my eyes and look at the drink before me on the counter, “You’re not gonna find anyone.” My voice is rather bitchy, but in all honesty, David was the last person I wanted to bump into here.

David comes to sit on the stool beside me, and I groan internally, really wanting to be left alone. “You shouldn’t be on your own, (Y/N).”

I feel my blood begin to boil, firstly because he really isn’t one to tell me what to do anymore. Secondly, how the fuck does he think it’s okay to just say my name like that, like everything is perfectly fine between us.

Alright, maybe he’s gotten over it, but I certainly haven’t. David was my best and favourite bodyguard. He was amazing at his job, very professional, very good. And he was an amazing friend, a friend I’ve never been able to replace.

“That’s not really any of your business anymore, sergeant Budd.” I say before taking a large gulp of my drink, emptying the contents in one go.

I can hear David sighing beside me; he doesn’t like the name I use for him at all. It’s his own fault, though. David and I got along very well, and at night, there were times when he’d come to my room to visit me. We always had a lot of fun, watching movies or whatsoever. I fell for the guy, hard at that. If you’d taken a look at my heart in that period of my life, there’d be a certain name written on it, in bold letters; David.

One evening, I guess neither of us could handle the tension of our feelings for one another anymore. Stuff happened, amazing stuff, but when we woke up the next morning, David was already packing his stuff, leaving me with nothing more than a quick and quiet, “It was nice working for you, miss (L/N).”

He felt so ashamed of what had happened; it wasn’t professional. He didn’t want to be your bodyguard, he wanted to be so much more than that. He wanted to look after you because he could, not because he had to as part of his job.

I order another drink for myself, and David joins in. “(Y/N), why are you on your own out here?” his voice is so soft, his accent flooded with concern. I turn to look at him, “Because I wanted to go out on my own for once, David.” I emphasize his name, and he closes his eyes for a moment.

He knows why I’m acting like this, because he still feels the exact same way for me as before. David had fallen for me just as hard as I had for him, but he never told me that. He’s always kept that a secret. Hell, it took him months to finally come to terms with his own feelings himself.

“I’m sorry.” He says after a while, catching my attention with the words I’ve been longing to hear for so long. “You’re sorry?” I scoff, not quite content with that simple apology. “Two years later, and you’re sorry?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” David raises his voice a tiny bit, sitting up straighter and facing me properly. “I’m sorry for what I did to you two years ago. I shouldn’t have done it. I… fuck, I regret doing so, I was a fucking idiot.”

I can tell David’s being sincere, that’s why it’s so hard to stay mad at him. I don’t want to give into him so easily; he really hurt me with his actions, and frankly it’s the one thing that’s been on my mind for two years. If you think about it like that, two years is a very long time.

David looks around, his jaw clenched, and his brows knitted together. “Can we go somewhere private, please?”

I consider my options; staying here and having more drinks but spending the night alone. Or going somewhere with David and talk about what happened, maybe even make up.

To be honest, the choice was already made in my head before I started really thinking about it. I plop some money down on the counter, for my drinks and for David’s drink; which he hasn’t even touched yet.

“Let’s go, then.” I mutter and stand up, David immediately doing the same. He puts his hand on my shoulder blade, a gesture that was once so familiar and usual. The contact of his hand on my shoulder sends a shiver down my spine; god I missed his touch. His hands always look very rough, yet they’re the gentlest ones I’ve ever felt.

Outside, the cold breeze hits my skin and this time I shiver from that, I take a small cardigan vest out of my bag and put it on, urging David remove his hand from my shoulder. For some reason, he’s very reluctant to do so. He simply doesn’t want to let go of me. He does, though, but as soon as I’m wearing the fabric, his hand is back in place.

“Where are we even going?” I ask as we keep walking, I have no idea where he’s taking me. “My place is just around the corner.”

My mouth goes a little dry; he’s taking me to his place. Oh, for god’s sake, why didn’t I ask sooner?

David leads me to one of the doors in the little street we entered. I look at the building, ‘so this is where he lives?’ I think to myself. When David was my bodyguard, he never told me much about his living-situation, only that he’d divorced is, now ex-, wife Vicky; Vicky has the kids most of the time, and that he lived in a small apartment.

‘It’s not that small’ I think as we enter the building. I can’t help my eyes as they move around, taking in as much as possible.

David turns to me once we’re in the living area, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A water, please.” I ask, avoiding eye contact with him. I don’t know why, but I’m so conflicted with myself; the moment David left, I told myself that if I’d ever see him again, I’d make sure to pretend he didn’t exist. And look at me now; standing in his living room while he’s getting me some water. This is notwhat I expected to happen tonight.

David returns with two glasses of water, nodding at the couch. “Let’s sit down.” I do as he suggests and sit down on the couch, taking one of the glasses from him with an unsure smile.

David doesn’t say anything after that for a while, looking down at his feet. “What exactly are we doing here?” I break the short silence, my eyes searching for David’s. He looks up and when our eyes meet, I can tell that he’s troubled; as though he’s trying to figure out what to do or what to say.

“David, I don’t really know why I’m here, but if you’re not gonna say anything, I’d like to go ho-”

“No,” David turns to me, his eyes a mixture of hope and guilt. “don’t go. I took you here because I wanted to talk…”

I let out a soft scoff, shaking my head, “Is that what you’re doing? Talking?”

A frown forms on his face and he looks down for a moment, “I said I’m sorry, (Y/N).” he looks back up at me, “What I did to you, that was horrible. I regretted doing so as soon as I left your side. But… I didn’t know how to act anymore.”

“Are you serious, David?” I scoff once more, louder this time, and sit up. The pain I felt two years ago hitting me again like a truck. “I loved you and you left me like that. Without ever saying a word again!”

It’s only when I notice David’s eyes going wide that I realise what I just told him. Sure, he knew I had feelings for him, but he never knew that they were so strong.

Some tears gather in his eyes, realising how badly he messed up those years ago. “You loved me?”

I swallow the lump and my throat, nodding at his question. David lets out a shaky sigh, running his hand through his hair. “I… fuck, I messed up so badly. (Y/N) please, give me a chance to explain myself?”

A shaky sigh escapes my lips and I nod before taking a sip of the water, all my attention on him. “That night, (Y/N),” he starts, all the memories flooding back, “was the best night of my life. I loved being your bodyguard, but I realised that I loved being myself around you even more. Problem was, I couldn’t be myself around you if I was your bodyguard; I couldn’t act how I wanted to around you. I wanted to show you how much you meant to me; how much I loved you. I wanted to do that every single day, but I couldn’t. I had to stay professional. Even though we’d already crossed the line of staying entirely professional.”

David takes a gulp of his water and puts the glass away before turning to face me entirely. “What happened that night was amazing, and I didn’t want it to end, but when I woke up, I got so worried about what would happen. I panicked and figured that resigning as your bodyguard would be best, so I couldn’t make any more mistakes.”

Confusion enters my face at his words; he says that night was amazing, but he also says it was a mistake? I don’t get it, what is he trying to say?

David notices my facial expression and quickly explains himself. “I’d resigned as your bodyguard, because I wanted to be able to be myself around you. I wanted to be able to have tons of those nights. But… when I came back to visit you a couple of days later, I’d heard you say stuff about me; about never wanting to see me again.”

A lump begins to form in my throat, tears in my eyes. I know exactly what moment he’s talking about. My cousin, and best friend, Nina came over that day. She knew about the situation between David and I. That afternoon, when Nina was there, I cried and screamed. Screamed about how much I hated David, about how I never wanted to see him again, and if I did, I’d make sure he’d never want to see me again. In all honesty, those words were the exact opposite of their meaning. I longed for David to come back.

“So,” he continues, obviously trying to hide his emotions, but he’s never been very good at that; only when he’s on duty, of course. “when I heard those things, I left. I should’ve just told you why I did what I did, but I was scared.”

I feel a tear escape my eyes and as soon as it does, I wipe it away. “You… you didn’t want to be my bodyguard anymore because you loved me? Because you wanted to be with me as.. as?”

“As your boyfriend, (Y/N).” David finishes my sentence for me. I feel my heart skipping a beat at his words. One would say that after two years, the feelings would’ve died down, but they certainly haven’t.

“Look,” David says, moving a little closer to me and hesitantly taking one of my hands in his. “I know it’s a long shot, but I want to make it up to you. Please, let me try.”

I let his words sink in for a moment, all of them. I know people will talk if they’ll spot me and David together, but I really couldn’t care less, to be honest. As much as I’ve tried to tell myself that I hated his guts for the past two years, and that I never wanted to see him again, I failed at believing myself. Because I know what I want, and that is him. I want him back in my life.

“Okay, you can try.” I say, but deep down I’ve already forgiven him. After he explained his actions, it did make a lot of sense why he didn’t dare enter the room.

David’s eyes light up, a very little smile entering his face. “Can I start trying now?”

My brows raise in surprise, not expecting that. But I finally let myself relax and smile a little, “What do you have in mind?”

David gets up from his seat, grabbing the tv remote and turning it on. Netflix appears on the screen and I smile to myself, remember all the times we used to watch movies together, cuddled up against one another.

Before he starts searching for a film, he looks over at me, a sheepish smile on his face. “We can’t watch something without a snack, can we?”

I chuckle softly; we always, literally always, used to make popcorn before we’d start a film. “Does it happen to be popcorn?”

David grins and moves to stand up, “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

I laugh and follow him up off the couch and into the kitchen, where he, indeed, grabs some corn and puts it in a pan. As the corn is popping in the pan, my eyes travel over David’s back. It’s crazy how an hour ago I still hated him, and now… we’re already falling back into our old habits like no time ever passed.

David looks at me over his shoulder, probably feeling my stare, “What?” he asks with a gentle smile and I can feel my cheeks grow a bit hot. I’m in my thirties, but David makes me turn into a silly schoolgirl with a crush. “S’nothing.”

David turns around to face me completely, not standing right in front of me, much closer than before. “Are you sure?”

I bite my lip for a second, my eyes drifting down to my feet before back up to his eyes, and I shrug, a sincere smile on my face. “I’m just really glad you came up to me at the bar. I’ve missed you more than I’d care to admit…”

David’s eyes soften at my words and he takes this as a cue to pull my gently into his embrace. “Me, too, (Y/N). I’ve missed you so much, I kinda lost my mind sometimes.”

I wrap my arms tightly around him and inhale his scent, that I’ve missed so dearly. My face is buried in the crook of his neck and he gently runs his hand up and down my back. “I always thought you left because you were embarrassed about what happened…” I mumble quietly into his neck.

David frowns and leans back just enough so our eyes meet. He shakes his head, his hand moving up to rest against my cheek, his thumb very lightly rubbing the skin. “That definitely wasn’t the case, love.”

I can literally feel my heart explode at the petname. Sure, he’s called me sweet names before, but it’s never felt this way before; right now we both know it has a true meaning behind it and we don’t have to play games anymore.

“I’ve been embarrassed about what happened afterward, though. It was weak of me, to leave you there on your own without telling you about my plan.”

I let out a soft sigh and lean my forehead against his, “It’s alright now, Dave. We’re gonna make this work. I want to make this work.”

David smiles at my words, his eyes gazing into mine, as if searching for a sign that’s telling him to stop what he’s about to do. I know what he’s about to do, and I certainly don’t want him to stop. He closes the small gap between us, his lips brushing against mine, giving me time and space to move away, but instead of moving away, I press my lips fully against his.

I can feel him smile against me, both his hands now down on my waist. I slide my hands up over his chest, around his neck. Our lips move in sync and all the love and passion we shared that night is back, right where we both want and need it.

A loud bang makes both David and me jump away from each other, David hitting his head against one of the cupboards in the process; it was a corn that exploded in the pan. “Fuck!” he yelps, and I can’t help but let out a laugh, even though I feel bad. “Oh, are you alright?” I try to hold back the laughter as I move my hand onto the spot he just hit. David glares playfully at me, eventually bursting into a fit of laughter himself.

I run my finger over the spot on his head and he hisses, “Ow!”

“You need some ice, where’s the freezer?” David points at it. “Clean cloth?” David points at a cupboard. I grab a cloth and put some ice blocks into it, before gently putting it on David’s sore spot. “Why don’t you go to the couch and sit, look for a nice film to watch while I finish this?” I suggest.

David smiles, though is still a little uncomfortable by the pain on his head. “C’mon then, move.” I laugh softly and he groans playfully. A small kiss is pressed onto my lips before he leaves and goes to sit on the couch.

Not much later, I rejoin him with a boil of salted popcorn in my hands. I quickly grab us something to drink as well and sit down beside him, much closer than before.

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” I ask as I look at the tv. David laughs softly and when I realise what he’s put up, I join him. “Are you serious?”

“What? It’s good!”

“I know it is!” I laugh, setting the bowl of popcorn down on my lap so we can both eat from it. “I just didn’t expect you to like those kinda movies.”

David shrugs nonchalantly, a goofy smile on his face as he presses play, Dirty Dancing starting on the screen. “I can be romantic, you know?”