#the stars in the hair and in the chains paired with the sun + swallow necklace was giving ot3 (sorry to be me)

[theseshipsshallsail]

MUSIC (THE SHORTHAND OF EMOTION)

It was his high school Latin professor who claimed one must be au fait with a number of languages in order to appreciate the world’s hidden meanings, and if Oliver’s learned anything in regards to the walking enigma known as Elio Samuel Perlman, it’s that while he may be fluent in English, French, and his native Italian, the medium of music remains his preferred method of communication; and via which, he expresses himself perfectly. 

The frustrated chords of Chopin and Rachmaninoff, for example, born of their initial games of cat-and-mouse. 

The melancholic strains of Elgar’s Nimrod when they were no longer speaking.

The beckoning call of Bach’s Capriccio when they were.

But then came the berm. A kiss that shocked him to the core. Two endless nights spent staring at the stars whilst Elio hammered away at the Bösendorfer’s ivory keys. Chain-smoking a pack of unfiltered Gauloises as he clung to his mantra of being good. Grateful. That what they had - a friendship unlike all others - would ultimately suffice.

Only it couldn’t.   

Of course it couldn’t.

Under the harsh Riviera sun he’d been reborn, and not even the threat of familial disownment was enough to prevent his leap into the unknown.

The music was different, after that.

After I’ll see you at midnight. 

After I don’t want you to go. 

After I spoke to your father. He’s happy to extend my stay. 

It was richer. 

Brighter. 

Infused in every carefree giggle: tap-tap-tapped over his too-full heart in the burnished light of dawn.

And Oliver? He loves it. 

Loves him. 

The inscrutable maestro who toppled his house of cards, and whose unconditional acceptance settled deep and warm and forever in his rib cage.

They’re ensconced in the villa’s living room, the pair of them, one perfectly idle Wednesday afternoon: Elio plunking bits and pieces at randomas he makes the occasional note on a sheet of ubiquitous staff paper. Sometimes just a scale. Sometimes a whole refrain. Head bowed. Lips pursed. Seemingly unbothered by the portly bumblebee that entered through the unshuttered windows, and has since taken refuge atop the tall glass of apricot juice forgotten on the credenza.

Ostensibly, Oliver’s double-checking his next chapter’s pages for Signora Milani when the other man arches in a cat-like stretch; the hem of his Lacrosse polo-shirt revealing a pale swathe of skin at his hip. Rising from the plush piano bench, he wanders over to the corner, and Oliver’s curiosity sees him setting his revisions aside as Elio casts an eye over his parents’ extensive record collection: running his thumb along the stiff, cardboard spines.

His face is unreadable as he makes his selection. Slides the vinyl from its protective sleeve. Blows the dust from the vintage turntable, then aligns the stylus with the album’s outer groove. But the moment Édith Piaf’s voice crackles through the air - smothering the din of the knife-grinder’s whetstone - Oliver finds himselfcaptivated.

Non, rien de rien, it begins as Elio closes his eyes, swaying gently to the mournfully poignant tone. Non, je ne regrette rien… 

He’s across the room without conscious decision: feeling a tad self-conscious when he offers an unsteady hand.

Feeling decidedly more so when Elio blinks at him owlishly, before finally reaching to take it.

Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, the powerful lyrics continue, and his dance partner swallows - clearly bewildered - as Oliver pulls him closer, one palm cradling his slender waist whilst the other flattens their tangled fingers over his left breast pocket. 

Time distils as he guides them into a rocking back-and-forth: Elio’s grip sliding from wrist to elbow, then further, lingering on the sweat-damp hair at Oliver’s collar. If he didn’t know better, he’d think him the picture of innocence, yet the fact that he does - know better, that is - has him grinning like an idiot when he recognises the genuine emotion beneath his slightly-flushed features. 

The three little words that thus far remain unspoken, shining explicitly in his imploring gaze.

“No, I regret nothing,” Oliver translates in a halting whisper, thanking the decisions of his past that irrevocably shaped his future. “Because my life…” he continues, ghosting a kiss to the shell of Elio’s ear. “My joy…” Another, to the hinge of his jaw. “Sweetheart…” The anticipation is glorious. “Today, that starts with you...”

[umbral-dominant]

-Shadowed Dawn-

[ Closed starter for @phoenixfiiire ]

Iron coated his teeth, a thin metallic layer of blood he couldn’t seem to swallow down. Tongue to flat, he knew them to be clean - but still the taste lingered unbidden. A memory fogged at the edge of awareness. Aching stretched across broad shoulders in pair with black molten scale, the edges slowly dissolving in gemmed stars of ivory aether, fatigue held in check only by a caged animal’s defence.

Wings of ichored gloss flailed through nature within that recollection, landlocked by experienced hands to tether and subdue, plumed tail used in place of his missing limb; hobbled even as a beast, yet dangerous all the same. Violent. Wrathful.

Mourning.

Barely a moon had passed since his unceremonious return to the land of Storm; less so the nights since her grave had been before him, and his chosen charge was regulated to the field of war beyond his reach. The sun he had so cherished was gone, leaving only the rot beneath.

A soldier knew the sounds of battle, understood the flurry of gore and the feeling of steel. Once more that ghostly taste was swallowed. The crunch of bone beneath a dragon’s jaws held no such familiarity.

Quiet features drifted to observe the room he’d come to wake in; watched by waiting eyes (warry and guarded under hooded guise) not an ilm out of place to the chained Eikon. Unassuming in similar cloth, he couldn’t recognize any statute of region from their garb. Yet, despite the prowess of the unnamed, their captivity felt a mercy compared to years of the dark.

It did not mean he would stay docile with new chains. They were right to rest fingers to hilt.

Shuffling movement near the door caught his attention as dusted light broke the silence, hinges creaking as thunder for a flash of sound before that viscous nothing swallowed the room anew. The person who entered was young, androgynous in feature, shorter styled hair with a seriousness to their eyes that denounced a clever mind and strong heart. Their muted nod dismissed the few others who remained, leaving the two alone.

Aramis’s form stiffened as he sat against the wall atop the thin bedding, tall stature letting his only leg rest comfortably on the floor with bound wrists resting against his thighs. His clothes ill-fitting from stolen hands, but a comfort all the same from the iron of shackles on wrist and ankle; made to hold but unlikely to stop.

The youth’s features were impassive as they studied him with purpose unspoken, making no motion forward or back - a shadow in their own right, of whose light he didn’t know.

A test then.

With a sudden adjustment the beast lifted his hands - seeing the flinch of halfgloved fingers against dagger before their features narrowed. Knowing of the game. Aramis laxed then, tilting his head with a momentary lift to his lip in an earned smirk. Faded just as quickly. They were a capable one, ready and willing, but leashed by order.

Guardian to another. That’s all he needed to know.

Silence stretched as neither seemed to let that statuesq demeanour drop. It was only the sounds beyond the door that earned the captive’s attention - voices, muffled by foundation, yet the emotion of calm aggravation lashed under each mote. Here the expression of his ‘companion’ shifted with the most tentative smile as the tenor of the speaker began to become clearer.

They stepped aside in perfect coordination as the handle turned, and a once lost sun met narrowed eyes of a broken shadow.

[aslanvlad]

some recent update looks 👏

[whirlybirbs]

✶    —   of gift-giving  ;    d.d.

summary: set post-s2 finale. din deals with the loss of the child. it’s life day. 

pairing: din djarin x mechanic!reader

a/n: happy holidays, babes, enjoy a little emotional blurb on christmas eve. i hope this serves as a happy little distraction from the world tonight. i love you all. stay happy and stay healthy. 

what do you get a man who has just lost his whole world?

before, it seemed like the possibilities for a life day gift were endless.

new modded-out wing thrusters for the razor crest were now out of the question (because the razor crest itself is out of the question), and that set of little, woolen jumpers you’d set aside after a trip to yavin’s third moon have no use. 

and, you seriously doubt din would find little joy in a new blaster. after all, he had enough anxiety resting in the palm of his hand alongside the darksaber — new weaponry would, no doubt, send him into an (increasingly more common) silent spiral.

everything was different now.

you’d seen his face that day, with the horrible moff gideon at your feet as a jedi knight’s robes kissed the polished floor. in the absence of his son — his kin as close as blood — there was something sad that settled into the lines beneath his eyes. if he cried, you did not see. no, you hid your intrigue; when he turned, helmet at his feet, your eyes hit the floor. habit.

but, that is different now.

now, on the eve of life day, you’ve grown accustomed to din’s face and the hot stir the sight of it brings. the feelings you bore for din are common place — they’ve burrowed a home in your heart for cycles, even before the child, back when you were simply an on-hand mechanic from mos eisley. din had taken you into his crew, and... well, you hadn’t looked back.

the kid — grogu — cemented the fact that maybe this was where you really did belong: among the stars, beside a man in glimmering beskar armor. 

at times, it was like he held the world in his hands. eagerly, he showed you what he could. it was one of din’s gifts — silent kindness that seeped deep into his every act. he had a good heart, despite his attempts at seeming more like a stand-offish rogue. 

this place, once home to jabba desilijic tiure, remains unnamed. boba fett has yet to find a fitting name for the sprawling castle in the dunes — but, for now, it is a haven for both din and yourself. fett, in age old warrior wisdom, can see that din is not himself. this period of mourning must be spent in a place of safety. 

every evening, over dinner, you thank fett. every night, those warm, brown eyes — as deep as warm amber — crinkle just a bit at the edges from your words. he can tell you mean it. if not for your sake, then for din’s. 

tonight, dinner is meager, but you happily inhale the ration aside fennec in the main hall. where dancers once leapt over the rancor pit like stars leaping across the night sky, the lot of you eat. 

din is silent. his jaw tenses when fett spares him a wondering look. between the two mandalorians, nothing is said, yet there are a thousand words. din is quick to finish. you watch has he rises, fetches his helmet, and wipes at his chin.

his footsteps lead far from the hall. 

boba speaks curtly. 

“go to him.”

your mouth is full of quickened bread, throat dry as you swallow down the oats that had been scooped up on the piece. you feel like a prey, pinned in place by fennec and fett. yet, no one is going for your throat. it is, in fact, kindness that’s seeped into their gazes. 

boba’s warm voice is cadenced with a gentle tone. 

“... and happy life day, sweet one.”

you find din alone, out the front gate and staring up at the stars. he’s perched on the edge of the long stone slab that once marked the entrance to the palace — but time and the changing tides of the sand have eroded the mound away, leaving a sharp drop off into the dunes below. there is another dune, to the left, that leads up to the palace now. fennec’s footprints remain from the earlier to trek into town. 

you watch as the wind, gentle and slow, begins to brush them away.

the twin suns are hot, still, despite having retired below the horizon nearly half an hour ago now. the sky is pink and hot red and it paints din all sorts of hues.

the little gift in your back pocket feels heavier than ever now.

“din?”

your voice is met with a grunt.

his head turns, slowly and ever-so owlishly, at the call. you near.

“i have something for you.”

when you settle on the edge, hip touching his, you’re comforted by his silence. it’s the usual sort, not the kind tipped with sorrow. you wonder — hopefully — if that’s your doing. or, maybe, you’ve caught him in a good mood.

“a gift?” he asks. his voice rattles through the vocalizer in his helmet and suddenly you miss the warm sound it carries when dancing off his lips, unburdened by the beskar. 

“it’s... it’s life day,” you say slowly, “or, well. tomorrow is, i suppose.”

“i...” a pause, then his helmet tilts, “i didn’t get you anything.”

you wave his words off, leaning to reach into your back pocket. you smooth your tunic and swing your boots. the little parcel, wrapped childishly in some tawny colored fabric you found laying around, sits in the palm of your hand neatly. 

the bundle, in din’s eyes, says a lot about you — about your feelings towards him. suddenly, with the force of a thousand thrusters, din realizes he hasn’t been very kind to you these last few weeks. he’s been frustrated and upset and angry and sad, so terribly sad, but...

he can see, in the lines below your eyes, that you have been too. 

“here.”

he takes it. and with one hand, reaches up to pull his helmet from his head.

the mop of brown hair is always a surprise. it makes you smile. a dash of happiness that comes as quick as it goes. din barely catches it. he wishes, earnestly, it would stay for longer.

“should i...?”

“go ahead, open it.”

he pulls back the delicately tied fabric, and all at once feels his heartstring snap.

it’s the gear knob. 

that stupid, small, scratched to hell gear knob that the kid was so obsessed with. he’d managed to scrap it from the wreck but... 

you’d gotten a hold of it. and you’d fashioned it into....

well, he isn’t quite sure.

you lean. 

“boba and i were speaking a week or so ago about armor,” you say slowly, “he used to have trophies on his pauldron, but he mentioned that some embellishments can be highly sentimental. so...”

din pulls the knob, and realizes it’s welded to a chain and at the end of the chain lays a clasp. 

“might make some noise, clang around a bit but...”

“thank you.”

his eyes are brown. you hadn’t forgot, but still, the sight makes your heart hammer. his nose is sharp and strong, and his lips are upturned in a delicate sort of smile. you wonder how often that look graces his face. how often does it hide beneath his beskar, like the rest of him?

“it’s not much.”

“it’s everything.”

you make a sad sound then. you lean back on your palms. the sand digs into the pads of your fingers. din’s eyes follow you, and he frowns.

“i haven’t been... i haven’t been there for you,” he says suddenly, already moving to clasp the totem to his armor, “and i’m sorry.”

the knob sways. it glimmers in the setting sun and tinkers against the beskar like a bell. 

“we both lost him, din,” you say tenderly, “i haven’t exactly been ready to accept the fact.”

“i know, but,” he lets out a ragged sigh. his gloved hand reaches up to rub his jaw. to din, the action seems foreign despite being a recent addition to his body language, “we still have one another.”

a beat. a slip of silence.

“and i don’t want to lose you as well.”

the admission is soft.

it’s all you really needed for life day. 

you turn your head, eyes pulled from the setting suns, and find din’s. his face is calm. the sorrow there has retired for now. you touch his cheek gently. the feeling of stubble beneath your fingertips feels different — so different from when you’d touch it with your eyes screwed shut in the belly of the razor crest.

you kiss him. and he kisses you. 

everything is different now, but some things are still the same.

[luvdsc]

let’s play pretend.

what if we’re in love? haha, just kidding... unless?

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + college au word count :: 1,552 words warnings :: none playlist :: talk too much (coin) ⋆ face (woosung) ⋆ pretend (bad suns) ⋆ la belle femme (hunny) ⋆ love you like crazy (taeyeon) author’s note :: best f2l is the ultimate trope sorry i don’t make the rules

Persistent fratboys at parties are the absolute worst. Already early into the night, you find yourself unable to shake off the latest leech in all his snapback and rayban glory. Why is it that they never back off until you’re forced to lie about a significant other? If you’re lucky, they’ll stop there. It’s quite stupid how they’ll let you go only if you suddenly have a boyfriend, rather than simply understanding that you aren’t interested. Perhaps, they’re too scared to confront how undesirable they actually are.

Literally, nobody wants someone who owns salmon shorts and more button up shirts with palm trees than necessary. Never mind the fact that you’ve seen this guy participate in more forties at four than actually attend his classes sober if he even makes it to your shared A.I. ethics lecture at eight in the morning. And he’s wearing those god awful sperry boat shoes with no socks. Inwardly, you shiver.

Eyes flitting around, you desperately try to see if you can find any one of your friends nearby who can take you out of your misery, but Yeji and Yerim are already mixed in the drunken dancing crowd, and you can’t find Donghyuck or Jeno anywhere. Renjun had been standing with you prior, but he already went home a few minutes ago because he had midterms early tomorrow morning. However, perhaps Lady Luck understands your woes because you spot your best friend coming out of the kitchen.

You quickly grab his arm, pulling Jaemin over. “Sorry, I’m here with him already.”

“This is your boyfriend?” the guy asks skeptically, unabashedly staring at your friend in question.

“Yep. Yes, that’s him. My boyfriend. Love of my life. My other half. His name is Jaemin.”

Jaemin turns to look at you, somewhat confused. You try to send some sort of telepathic message to him, and to your relief, it seems that he understands when you shoot him a look of mixed panic and desperation.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m the boyfriend. The super significant other.” He reconfirms your answer and returns the male’s stare, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Great. Nothing says “I love you” more than a common hand signal found on YouTube videos. Maybe you should tell fratboy to hit the subscribe button, too. Subscribe to see more daily mishaps in the life of Y/N and watch as she digs an even deeper hole for herself.

The boy scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest, as he shakes his head in disbelief. You are temporarily distracted, almost impressed even, at how his styled hair doesn’t even move. You really need to know where he gets his hair products.

“Really? It doesn’t seem like it.”

 Slipping his arm around your waist smoothly, Jaemin tugs you closer, and you freeze, pressed up snugly against his side. You really didn’t think this one through. Swallowing hard, you force your body to relax. It’s no big deal, it’s not like you’ve been harboring a crush on your best friend for months and have been trying to get over him for the sake of friendship.

“I don’t know what to tell you, but I’ve been in love with her ever since she fell asleep on me in our macroeconomics class.”

You smile sheepishly as you remember your first meeting, pretending that his words didn’t affect your heart as much as it actually did whilst simultaneously thanking the stars that he was always a quick thinker. His lips quirk up in the corners into that sweet smile you always adore before he presses a tender kiss to your temple that has you going dizzy. Your cheeks warm up as you duck your head, attempting to hide the bashful expression on your face.

“She had on this pale blue fluffy sweater, and she reminded me of a cute baby blue jay. She had a green notebook decorated with corgi stickers and always took really neat notes with this pen that had a flower chain attached to the top and had the prettiest handwriting. I remember thinking to myself, I better take good notes even though I never took notes before, just so I could give them to her as an excuse to talk to her afterwards.”

He absentmindedly draws circles on your hip, making you even more flustered not only from his actions, but also shocked that he remembers all of that even down to the outfit you were wearing. Heck, you didn’t even remember what you wore that day. He gazes at you, smiling fondly, and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes look so sincere, sparkling under the harsh strobe lights, and if you didn’t know any better, you really thought he may have loved you back. A dull ache starts to form in your chest at that silly daydream. “She looked really cute, leaning against my shoulder like that, and even her snoring was adorable.”

You gasp at that, looking at him indignantly. “I don’t snore!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, angel. Forgive me?”

He pauses and leans down, his lips millimeters away from yours, before hesitating and lingering there, so close yet so far away. Your heart nearly skips a beat from how naturally the sweet term of endearment slips from his lips and from the close proximity between you and him. From the corner of your eye, you can still see that fratboy standing there. You had almost forgotten he even existed: the sole, annoying cause of your current predicament. To seal the deal and perhaps for a little bit of a selfish reason, you lean forward, closing the distance and grazing your lips against his.

Your hands are on his chest, nervously tugging on the lapels of his jacket, and his are placed on your waist, gently tugging you impossibly closer. You’re quite certain Jaemin can feel how fast your heart is beating with how tight your bodies are now pressed together, but that’s the least of your worries right now. The only thoughts that pop up in your mind is that one, his lips are slightly chapped, yet incredibly soft; two, he’s a very good kisser; and three, mission: “how to get over having a crush on your best friend” is a complete and utter failure.

When you reluctantly pull away from him, his nose nudges yours softly, and your eyes flutter open. He is looking at you with parted lips, hazy eyes, and an indiscernible gaze that causes you to feel a whole colony of butterflies in your stomach. Any words that had come to mind have now flown out the window, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the radiant boy in front of you.

“Maybe we should do that again. Just in case, you know? To really send a message to that douche,” he mutters quietly, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You give him an almost imperceptible nod, relenting to your heart this time instead of your mind.

It feels as if it’s simply the two of you standing there, the rest of your surroundings fading away and the music slowing down in the background. You look up at him from under your lashes, eyes fluttering close once more. Jaemin presses his mouth against yours firmly this time, with certainty, almost as if he meant it, as if his lips are made solely for kissing yours. And in that moment, you truly believe that he’s in love with you. 

You are dazed, absolutely starstruck, until the two of you break apart, until you remember why this all came to be, and your heart comes crashing back to earth. Those seven minutes in heaven were utterly heavenly in your little bubble of make-believe universe with only you and him. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, but you do, and you find yourself staring back at him.

And just as you’ve always known, Jaemin looks absolutely breath taking, impossibly ethereal, and one hundred percent devastatingly heart wrenching: a modern day Adonis in the flesh. He gives you a shy smile, pretty eyes glimmering as if he stole from the night sky himself. You’re so close that you can count every single long dark lash framing his starry eyes and feel the warmth radiating from his blushing cheeks. His lips are red and slightly swollen, and you feel as if you had just ruined a masterpiece from the Louvre.

Your cherry lip gloss has been smudged onto his lips, and you reach out to carefully wipe it off. He gently catches your hand when you move it away and intertwines his fingers with yours. Your breath hitches in your throat once more, and you admire the way your hand fits perfectly in his for a few stolen moments until the dream is shattered once more and you’re pulled back to reality.

“Thanks, Jaemin. He’s gone now, so you don’t have to pretend to be in love with me anymore,” you mumble softly, slowly pulling your hand away and giving him an apologetic smile.

He reaches out to gently brush his finger tips against the apples of your cheeks before delicately tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. When you finally dare to meet his eyes, Jaemin is gazing at you with the most tender expression imaginable.

“Who says I was pretending?”

[kotachii]

Fate

Pairing: Ace x Reader | Soulmate! Au

Synopsis: Soulmates had matching tattoos. When you met Ace, you were certain that he was your soulmate.

  Fate

  Raindrops slid down the glass, like melancholic tears from the sky. Your reflection only so faint on the window. Even if you were decorated with the finest jewelries from the top to bottom, tailor-made dress, most expensive heels nothing can fill the void in your heart.

       “It was fate that brought you to me otherwise I would of drowned”, he used to say.

Fate.

       It was a beautiful morning when you mindlessly strolled towards the river. Without a place to go, a reason to be, you found a man floating down the river. He was unconscious. With all of your force, you pulled him up on the riverbed and checked for pulse. He wasn’t dead. For the rest of the day, you camped out beside the man waiting for when he wakes up. He was quite peculiar, shirtless, no weapon, a hat that is completely soaked, the raven locks of hair framed his freckled face.

       It was around mid-afternoon when he finally woke up. When he did, he enveloped you in a hug.

       “Oh god, I thought I was dead! Thank you so much for saving me,” he said while you struggled to get out of the hug.

       You would later learn that his name was Ace, Portgas D. Ace a traveler looking for adventure. When he asked you to join him on his adventure, you accepted. He was charming, nice, stupid at times but he always made you smile. The two of you went on so many adventures.

       “Do you believe in dragons?”, Ace asked you.

       “Umm...not particularly,” you replied.

       “I heard that there is a dragon in Tamya forest, want to go check it out?”

       “Sure!” you said with a grin.

       On that day, you and Ace slaughtered one overgrown lizard and made more money than you could ever imagine selling the dragon parts in the nearby town.

       “(Name), look at all of this money! There is more than enough for a lifetime! We could go anywhere, be anyone we could have feasts and not care about what anyone thinks of us,” Ace said.

       “This is so great, let’s go eat something to celebrate,” you suggested.

       “No, first, let’s get you the most expensive dress there is and get rid of that plain and ugly peasant dress you are wearing now,” he replied with a grin.

       You laughed and said, “I can’t tell if that was supposed to be an insult.”

       “Just stating the facts,” he said and winked.

       In this world, you can’t just be anyone, there is a red string of fate that connects two people together. They are each other’s soulmates. The destined counterpart always bears a matching tattoo on their upper thigh.

       “This grilled octopus taste so good!”, Ace said.

       The two of you were in the Full Moon Festival at the Eastern Country. The streets were full of people, street food, performances and liveliness. The real reason you two came here was mostly for the fated technology called “fireworks”. They were described as on the best inventions of the Eastern Country, flowers that blooms in the sky.

       “Ace,” you called. He bent down slightly so that he was at your height, “there is so much people here, let’s go find a quieter spot so we can enjoy the fireworks,” you said.

       “Sure (Name), don’t get lost though,” he told you with a warm smile and you could feel his grip tighten on your hand.

       Together, you found a nice and quiet spot by the river and awaited for the fireworks to appear. You leaned your head on Ace’s shoulder and enjoyed the calm moment.

       “(Name), can you promise me to keep a secret?”, he asked you.

       “Of course,” you mumbled.

       Ace shifted from his position causing you to slightly fall backwards but he caught you and made you look into his eyes. The glow of the moon illuminated his face with an off white colour, the stars shone brightly in his eyes.

       “Then pinky promise me,” he said.

       You looked at him amused by the odd request but still obeyed anyways.

       “Alright, I thought it was about time I told you, do you remember that one time when we were in the Southern Valleys and we were chased by a whole lot of knights?”, he asked you.

       “Um...I think so. Yeah so what about it?”

       “Those people weren’t after us. They were after me. It’s because I am the child of the last King. The one that was overthrown,” he said grimly.

       “And…,” you continued.

       “That’s it,” Ace said and he saw the look of confusion on your face, “Aren’t you surprised? Or angry? My father was known as the corrupted King. People hated him.”

       “But that’s just him. You are you and that is all what matters to me,” you replied while staring right back into his eyes.

       You two slowly leaned in for a kiss, and thus the vow was sealed. You could feel the strings of fate tugging you and Ace together into a bind. You were no longer travelling companions but a couple.

       The fireworks erupted into the sky and created beautiful flowers of more variety than you’ve ever witnessed. Sparks of multicolours danced within the sky.

       “(Name), do you feel it? I think we are just meant to be,” Ace said when he pulled away from the kiss.

       You nodded with a smile and rested your head on the crook of his neck and enjoyed the moment. You wished the story could of ended here, it would of been perfect. But fate had other plans.

       You remember later that night when you showed him the tattoo. In this society, it was considered inappropriate to show another person your tattoo before you can feel the strings of fate pulling you two together. However, you are positive Ace is your soulmate, there is no other way. Though one should not underestimate fate.

       “How….how is that possible?”, you looked at him, not believing your eyes. Tears threatened to fall down and all of your senses felt numb.

       Ace didn’t say anything and stared at the ground. The tattoo on his leg, a fire pattern mocked you as it did not match with yours. Yours were flowing like water, not the abrupt flames that he had.  How could this be, you were positive it was him. You didn’t want to be anyone else but with him.

       “Screw this!”, Ace shouted as he stood up, “Why does some dumb tattoo get to decide who I spend the rest of my life with.”

       “It’s just fate,” you replied back depressed.

       “Screw fate! Then it is also fate that brought you to me, otherwise I would of drowned that day by the river.”

       “But Ace, fate gets to decide everything. It will keep on trying to separate us if we don’t listen to it. There is nothing we can do about it---”

       “Until that happens, I am not abandoning you. Fate can try to separate us but we just have to be faster, more clever. We can escape it. We don’t have to listen to it. Let’s run away and don’t look back. I don’t care who we have to betray, who we have to abandon, I’ll do anything just so we can be together.”

       Ace panted with harsh breath and anger seeped through his usually carefree face. You stood up and walked over to him and hugged him. You agreed with him, you don’t ever want to be with anyone else but him, he may not be your soulmate but he is the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. No regrets.

       Life went on as normal but you two traveled at a quicker pace than before. Ever since that night, you could feel your surrounding altering it. It was because fate wants to punish you for not listening to it. For example, you’ve lately noticed that you tend to lose each other easily. Even if it is just walking in a crowded city, for a brief moment, you will lose sight of him among the sea of people. That was what you feared the most. What happens if one day you can’t find him anymore.

       Also, more and more people that has been hunting for Ace. He is the son of the previous king and naturally, he brings a lot of enemies. But the appearances of conflicting parties has been more often than before. In fact, you even heard the name of the very man chasing after Ace. He would sometimes be in the front lines on this operation and there was one time when you and Ace almost didn’t escape. A piece of your dress was ripped off during the escape leaving your tattoo exposed. Ever since that day, a grim feeling has possessed you.

       “Hey, (Name), have you heard about the town of Ethelia?”, Ace looked at you.

       Today was a normal day, so you wished. No one chasing you, the sun was shining bright and life was pretty good.

       “Yeah, isn’t that the big city up north?”, you replied.

       “Let’s go there, today. I heard they have some nice ice cream shops,” Ace said.

       “What’s that?”, you asked confused.

       Ace chuckled, “I think it is something cold and sweet. That’s what I heard.”

       “Cold? Like ice? I hate ice,” you stated bluntly.

       “I don’t know but we will know once we go.”

       “Fine.”

       And little did you know, that day was the day fate finally won. On your journey there, you were stopped by the very group of men always after Ace. Lead by their leader, Akainu, there was nowhere left for you two to run. Ace was injured but he tried his best to stand up. He blocked you from the enemies.

       “Leave her alone, what you want is me. Not her!”, Ace shouted at them.

       “Move you little runt,” Akainu said, “Are you her soulmate or something? Last time I checked, you didn’t even have matching tattoos.”

       “That is none of your business!”, Ace shouted back.

       “Of course it is my business because that lovely lady behind you, she happens to share the same tattoo as me.”

       Shocked. Sadness. Unbelief. It all swallowed you like waves trying to suffocate you. On that day when your dress ripped, it must of been that day when he saw. And later you did witness for yourself when you saw the familiar tattoo on his leg, that disgusting man was your soulmate.

       It has been six months since then. It is also the day before the scheduled execution for Ace. He did nothing wrong but of course, Akainu was a powerful man and he is capable of pinning crimes onto Ace to make his execution justified. Ace is locked in a cell, underground, beneath this castle. You only saw him twice. The first time, he didn’t say anything and the second time, he told you to not come see him again. He didn’t want you to see him in this pitiful state. Chained to walls and wearing rags.

       “Wanna take one last look at lover-boy down there,” Akainu mocked you when he walked into the room. You can’t believe he is your soulmate.

       “There is no point.”

       “Glad to see you finally came to your senses. He is just a swine,” he huffed before walking out of your room again.

       There is no point because you’ve already planned the escape. It took you six months but you have acquired the keys to his cell, you also have found the gap flaw within the guarding system and an escape room.

       When the night turned dark, shadows swallowed the castle, chains were removed and the caged became free. Two lone figures silently escaped the castle and never looked back. They dissolved into the night and once again they cheated fate. No one noticed them until a couple hours late when they were long gone and never had they caught them again.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

silver, epilogue | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Good people? Bad people? There are too many ways to judge. Min Yoongi didn’t know what he was anymore. He just knew that he fucked up, big time.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; angst; feels; Yoongi’s POV conclusion to this and this.

--

His doorbell was ringing incessantly. Yoongi did not want to answer it, but one look at the intercom and he knew he had to. With a heavy sigh, Yoongi opened the door. 

Kim Taehyung looked furious.

Brown jacket, gray shirt, dark loose jeans. All he was missing was a knife and he looked ready to murder him. Taehyung narrowed his eyes, brown hair windswept and wild. His sharp brown orbs spied the open and taped boxes behind Yoongi.

"What are you doing, hyung?" Taehyung growled, looking at him accusingly. No hello, no pleasantries. 

Yoongi exhaled and pointed to the boxes. "I'm moving, Taehyung. I'm selling the house."

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. "And why would you do that?"

Yoongi chewed on his lower lip. After a moment, he swallowed and told the truth. 

"Because my ex-girlfriend tried to propose to me and I said no. There's no reason to keep this house. I'm moving."

Taehyung stared deep into his eyes. "You're running away."

Yoongi pursed his lips. "No. I'm taking responsibility for my actions."

Taehyung clicked his tongue and shot him a disbelieving look. "If we're talking about taking responsibility, " he remarked coldly. "Isn't there someone you're forgetting then?"

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. "How is that your business?"

"It's my business because she's my friend and, unlike you, I'm loyal to my friends."

That stung. Yoongi looked away, unable to look Taehyung in the eyes any longer. It was all this fault. He was stupid. He was selfish. He knew he was and hearing it out loud made him feel even worse.

"... She won't answer my calls."

"Are you surprised?"

Yoongi sighed in annoyance. "She's not giving me a chance."

"I don't know what grandiose world you think you're living in, but your past chances at this point," Taehyung said quietly. 

"I know." Yoongi stared down at his white dress shirt. Black slacks. Salaryman clothes. He didn't belong in these. He never did. "I know. I want to say I'm sorry. I just wanted her to know that I'm sorry for being a bad person and making shit decisions. I want her to know I'm grateful to have met her." He sighed again, knowing she wasn't going to hear these words. Only a disappointed Taehyung glaring at him, holding him accountable. 

"Anybody with eyes could tell you didn't belong with your ex," Taehyung huffed.

"I thought I was doing the right thing." Yoongi shifted his eyes back to Taehyung, who shook his head. 

"You and I both know doing the right thing is complicated and fucking confusing as shit."

Yoongi twisted his mouth to one side. He looked out his door, past Taehyung. Out on the street, where kids were playing, throwing a basketball around. The typical suburban life. The raise-your-kids and work-forty-hours-a-week life. He wanted to throw up. How could he ever have wanted this?

"I should have told her," Yoongi mumbled. "I regret not telling her that she made me feel like I could take on the world, that I didn't feel scared of being myself when I was with her." The tears that he had pushed away for a long time threatened him, blurring his vision. He blinked them away rapidly. He sucked in a breath, smiling sadly. "Now I can't say anything at all."

Taehyung didn't respond. He stood there, watching Yoongi. Then he lifted his left hand and beckoned Yoongi forward. Yoongi frowned. He was in his socks, but he took a step out, onto his porch. There was something black and silver in his peripheral vision. The scent of dark cherry, sugary and heavy. Chunky silver rings, short black dress, black denim jacket. Too many silver necklaces and glossy red lips that shone in the sun. And silent tears streaming down her face, smokey eyes opening as Yoongi realized, speechless, that this wasn't a dream. 

Taehyung shrugged. "I told her she shouldn't have come, because you're an idiot."

The side of her lips curved upwards just a little. 

"You’re the worst," she breathed. “The actual fucking worst, Min Yoongi.” She wiped her tears, smearing her makeup a little. “Just be a shitty and terrible person so I can hate you without regret.”

Yoongi bit his lip. She ran a hand through her wild hair, sighing loudly as she looked up at the sun. Glittering, glittering, so bright and beautiful Yoongi became breathless at her profile. Her eyes flickered to him, dark pools that mirrored his reflection.

“I want to believe you.”

The smallest smile, so sad and so desperate.

“I want to believe in you more than anything in the world, Min Yoongi.”

-

134340

Yoongi looked up from his phone to see his ex-girlfriend standing there. She was at the counter, ordering a coffee, standing next to a clean-cut guy in a dress shirt. She was smiling at the guy, clinging to his arm. It was a weird feeling, witnessing it. They finished ordering and stepped away from the counter. Her heels skipped as she chatted with the guy. Then, all of a sudden, she seemed to feel his gaze. Yoongi looked away quickly, pretending not to notice.

“Hey.”

He turned and bowed his head, looking into the eyes of the woman he had cheated on. “Hello.”

She smiled brightly at him. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

The guy waited patiently beside her, blind to the weight of her words.

“I’m doing okay.”

She nodded. After a moment, he continued. “How about you?”

The chime of silver chains interrupted the moment.

“Here, Yoongi, iced Americano, like you asked.”

They both turned their heads at the same time. She held out the iced Americano with her silver-ringed hand, the rings not quite as chunky as when Yoongi had first met her, but just as many. The silver chains on her neck were still far too much, with a moon and star charm necklace. Oversized leather jacket, graphic t-shirt tucked into tight black jeans. Clean but sharp eye makeup, not quite as messy and dark as she wore at night. Perfectly painted lips, a glossy cherry red.

Her eyes darted between Yoongi and his ex-girlfriend, single eyebrow raised. Yoongi could see the tears threatening to spill in his ex-girlfriend’s eyes, the realization kicking in.

“I’m fine,” she said tightly.

“Order 78!”

She turned and rushed to the counter. The other guy looked surprised, sending Yoongi a quizzical glare before going after her.

“You going to let my hand freeze to death?”

He reached out to take the coffee from her. “You’re not going to ask?”

“It seemed pretty obvious,” she replied as they walked out of the store. “But if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

Yoongi frowned at his drink, silent. She had even placed the straw in it for him. He felt her arm snake around his waist, pulling him to her. The scent of dark cherry. He squirmed, looking down at her. She kissed him, just like that. A quick, simple kiss that tasted like sugar and coffee.

“D-don’t do that,” he muttered, flustered.

“Do what?” she asked innocently, taking a sip of her drink. She cocked an eyebrow at him, foxy smile on her lips. He thinned his mouth into a line, narrowing his eyes, and didn’t respond. They stood at the bus stop, waiting. He stared at the cars passing by, her hand still on his waist.

“Going to the studio again?”

His eyes shifted down to his coffee. “Yeah. I want to spend more time with you, but–”

She chuckled, stroking his side through his distressed black sweater.

“You should make music. That’s your calling, my love.”

Yoongi turned his head to bury his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“With your tongue, I hope.”

He smirked.

-

masterpost

[astralaffairs]

put a ring on it 04 | philip hamilton

title: put a ring on it

pairing: philip hamilton x reader

words: 9k flat

warnings: jealousy, copious amounts of relatives, like half of the family r little shits, a lil bit of angst — forgive me for this being unedited! i’ll come back to edit in a bit, but i promised the post, so here it is :)

desc: You’ve never liked Philip Hamilton, and have always assumed the feeling has been mutual. But when you’re roped into pretending to be his girlfriend for a family reunion, you feel all your truths beginning to melt away, and find them instead taking form in his smile.

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @tf2germanvillain @ela-ena @abundant-stars @heytheredee-lilah @katierpblogg @thisshitfucks @celyndavies @quixoticallydelusional @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @yxseminx @sadhwstudent @aiifandomsunite @loonaynay @valleryhyde @lxncelot @marvelouslyemily @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @alievans007 @nyxie75 @ii-moonlight-ii @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @elegantbutedgy  - lmk if you want to be added; sorry if i missed anyone!!

"You almost ready?"

You glanced up to meet Philip's eyes in his bathroom mirror as you struggled to clasp your necklace. He wore a small smile, fiddling with the sleeves of his button-down.

"Yeah, yeah, just gimme another minute." Your lips were pursed when you broke his gaze, leaning in toward your reflection as you twisted the necklace around your neck to get a better look at the ring on one of its ends, but to little avail. Your hands were shaking; the tension in your jaw was steadily increasing. Your mind had been elsewhere all morning.

You let out a grunt of frustration when you just missed the hook — it was too small for you to see it between your fingers. Though your focus was elsewhere, Philip raised his eyebrows when he saw you glaring down at the delicate chain.

"Let me." Your skin jumped when his fingers grazed the back of your neck, and when you met his amused gaze, your eyes were wide.

You let your hands fall away as he covered them with his own, taking ahold of the back of your necklace and brushing your hair over out of his way. "... Thanks."

"No problem, princess." You let out a quiet huff, rolling your eyes at his words, and his soft expression split into a grin. "Seriously? You're still resisting that?"

"Whatever," you mumbled, and though your eyes had drifted to the counter before you, you could still feel his hands go still against your skin. When he caught your eye, he creased his brow.

"You okay?" Your eyebrows shot up; you'd mistaken the tenativity in his expression for skepticism, but his soft tone told you that it was entirely born of concern. "You've been caught up in your head ever since we got out of bed."

You didn't let your surprise at how suddenly perceptive he'd become break your stride for more than a moment; you hoped it wasn't obvious that your gaze had gone soft. "I'm fine, Philip. Just tired," you said.

"Hey, no you're not." He didn't move from where he stood. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck. He still hadn't finished clasping your necklace, but his calloused fingertips rested against your shoulders, atop the straps of your sundress; you could feel the warmth of his body just inches behind you, could smell his faint cologne. You swallowed. "What's on your mind?"

Glancing back at him gave you pause, but when he pressed his lips together, expression inquisitive, you gave him a small smile. "Nothing, really. I'm okay." The silence that stretched on only made you feel more on edge, and you raised your eyebrows, adding, "Now, are you helping me with my necklace or not? C'mon."

"Talk to me first."

"This is blackmail!"

"It's a necklace, Y/N," he said, giving you a pointed look, and you scoffed, turning back toward the mirror. "But seriously, what's got you all stressed?"

A beat passed. "You're really gonna press the point?"

"Come on," he pouted, and you had to purse your lips to keep your smile from widening with amusement. "If it's super personal, I'll let it go, but I'm just concerned about you. What's wrong with that?"

"You don't need to worry," you assured him, but he looked less than convinced. "Really. It's silly."

His scowl was far from genuine as he finally finished putting your necklace on, and you shivered at the feeling of his hands in your hair when he pulled a few pieces of it out from under the thin chain. "If it doesn't matter, why are you being so evasive?"

"You're so nosy!" His hands still rested on your skin when you looked back up at his reflection, and despite your indignation, some part of you couldn't help but savor how much he genuinely seemed to care. You huffed when he gave an uncompromising shrug, still staring back at you expectantly. "God. Alright, fine. I'm... kinda nervous to meet your family."

His surprise was obvious; his eyebrows shot up, and for just a moment, he didn't speak. "Wait, seriously?" However, as you could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, you didn't waste much time before busying yourself in packing back up your makeup bag. He was quick to take your lack of a response as the clear affirmation it was. "That's adorable."

"I don't wanna hear it," you said, but as his hands fell from your shoulders, they landed on either side of you on the bathroom counter. Though you tried to sidestep his grip, it was your resistance that made him stop you where you stood, effectively caging you in. You turned to him, ready to shove him away by the chest, but your breath caught when his hands met your waist.

"But princess, that's so sweet." He wore a mocking pout, and you rolled your eyes, turning your head away from him. You folded your arms in front of you despite (or because of) the immediate proximity to him in which you found yourself. "Why are you worried? What, do you think they're going to disapprove of our relationship?" he teased.

"I just really like your family so far, alright?" you murmured, determined to ignore your burning skin — whether it was burning due to your embarrassment or the fact that you were but a thin scrap of fabric away from being pulled flush against his chest, you weren't sure. In all honesty, it was probably somewhere between the two. "I don't want them to turn on me because you have some bitter aunt who doesn't vibe with me."

He laughed, and you could feel the sound against your body. "That won't happen. They'll think you're great, okay? Relax."

You scoffed when he reached up to brush a piece of hair from your forehead, smoothing it back until his hand turned back down to softly meet the side of your jaw. "Let's just go," you said, and though your voice was sullen, you'd have had a difficult time hiding your smile from him in the tight proximity.

"Alright," he agreed, and you ignored the laugh laced into his voice, seemingly entertained at how timid you were acting — after all, that was a part of you that was all but entirely novel to him. He took a small step back, arms falling back to his sides, but you didn't yet move away.

"Alright," you finally echoed, voice breathy as you stepped out beside him to leave the bathroom, and he followed closely behind. "What time is everyone getting here?"

"Around noon." You couldn't see it when his lips quirked, his mind not having budged an inch from the conversation you'd just had. "It is kind of precious that you care so much about whether my family likes you, though."

"Shut up, Philip."

                      —           

Your early afternoon was a flurry of names and introductions. Everyone was beyond enthusiastic to meet you — an enthusiasm you returned without farce or falsehoods, what with how sweet they all were, but you couldn't help your lingering guilt as you struggled to keep track of all their names and families, your map of who went with who quickly tangling.

The Hamiltons' backyard was likely as large as the entire block that housed your apartment building back in the city, and not without its utility. Philip's family members covered just about every square foot, from toddlers pulling at one another's hair to their aging grandparents, lounging in the sun and commenting on how they grow up so fast.

It was hectic, but you weren't complaining — not when the crowd meant that twenty-some aunts, uncles, and cousins all seemed to have brought individual cornucopias of their best bakery.

You were hardly in one place for long enough to hold a conversation — it was always only a matter of time until another pseudo-mob of relatives pulled you in a different direction to interrogate you for what must've been the ninetieth time that day. Your cheeks were growing sore from how many middle-aged aunts had squeezed them at one point or another, and your legs were sporadically incapacitated from Philip's little cousins hanging off of them.

Collateral damage aside, the family reunion was far from being the painful ordeal you'd expected. Philip's near-innumerable relatives were certainly keeping you on your toes and a smile on your face. A few hours in, you'd all but forgotten why you resisted coming in the first place.

"Y/N, come here!" Your eyebrows shot up. It was Georges's younger sister Marie who was tugging you toward her by your wrist, pulling you away from where you stood with Philip's arm wrapped around your waist. You were only about three years her senior, but she had such bubbly energy that you couldn't help but think of her as being younger than she was.

"Hey, hang on," Philip protested, and you wore an amused smile when you glanced back at him. "Are you all just going to keep dragging her around? I brought her here; when do I get to spend any time with her?"

"Oh, you get her all the time. Don't be greedy," Marie shot back, and though he rolled his eyes, Philip's grip on your waist loosened.

"Don't keep her too long. She's been questioned enough for one day." Though she managed to pull you out of Philip's grasp, he caught your hand just before she could get you out of his reach. You could hear Marie scoff, but Philip raised a dubious eyebrow at you, and your smile softened when you saw the concern etched into his furrowed brow.

"I'll be fine, Pip." You squeezed his hand reassuringly, and though it was reluctant, he released you with a sigh. "See you in a bit?"

"You'd better."

He hardly saw you grin at the playful wink he sent you before you were yanked away, your head snapping back around in a panic to follow where Marie was pulling you. Though you didn't see it, he chuckled lightly when he took another sip of his drink.

"So, where to?" you asked Marie breathlessly just as you were dragged out of Philip's earshot.

"Just over here..." She trailed off, clearly scanning the area for something, and when you saw her gaze lock on a gaggle of women in one corner of the yard, her eyes lit up. "Ah!"

At that point, you were more than happy just to let whatever happened happen — this pseudo-family was beyond chaotic, and there was really no point in resisting. You didn't question it as she pulled you alongside her to the others, and she flashed you a small smile. "So, have you met everyone yet?"

"Not quite yet, but close to it," you said. "But remembering everyone's name might just be another story."

Her easy laugh made your smile broaden; you'd been surprised, at first, by how warm all the people you'd met had been, but a family like this was certainly something you could get used to.

"I don't blame you; there are definitely a lot of us," she replied, "but that's unimportant. We want to hear about you!"

"You want to hear about me?" you repeated as you reached the group, not bothering to mask the disbelief in your voice. "There's not a whole lot to tell, really."

"We want to hear about you and Philip." It was the woman you recognized as Frances who piped up, drawing your attention into the larger circle of ladies around you, watching you with an enthusiasm that had you more than taken aback. "He's kept you from us for so long that we still know virtually nothing about you!"

"Oh! Um..." You gave a weak, anxious laugh, gaze traveling across the group, the eager faces staring back at you. "Alright, I... What d'you want to know?"

"Is this all weird for you?" Your eyebrows shot up at Frances's question, hoping there was more to the question (or really, that she wasn't just onto you). "I don't mean this weekend, of course. But is it weird to be dating a coworker?"

You had to stop yourself from letting out a dramatic sigh of relief. If we're talking weird, you thought, you don't know the half of it. However, you only replied with, "I mean, not really. We have basically the same job, so there's no icky power dynamic there or anything."

"But how do you keep from getting into petty little fights? My husband and I can hardly work together to plan a day trip, let alone collaborate for a career." Her animated huff made you smile, and she shook her head in mock exasperation. "I guess that's a testament to how strong your relationship is, huh?"

You swallowed your laugh, struggling to force a straight face as you tried to respond. "I don't know about that. We argue plenty."

"Seems like you haven't let it come between you, though." The woman who spoke then was one of Philip's cousins by birth, Kitty, and you shrugged. Though you knew you had to maintain your composure, you couldn't help your amusement at the line of conversation.

"I guess we've made it this far, right?"

"It's pretty impressive, honestly," Marie interjected. "No one else has managed to keep him tied down for more than a couple months. He really seems to like you."

"How long have you been together?" Frances added, and your eyes widened a fraction of an inch. You'd been over this with him, right?

"Oh, about... two years, now?" You were praying you'd gotten the number right, but no one seemed to question it further.

"Oh my God, really? When's your anniversary?" Marie's sister Anastasie asked, her eyes alight and voice excited. Had you not been so worried about figuring out what date to tell them, how thrilled they seemed about your relationship would've been wildly endearing — it was obvious how much they all cared for Philip. "Have you two celebrated yet?"

"Yeah, we went out for it a week or two ago," you responded vaguely, fiddling with the strap of your dress. You were glad no one could feel how much your palms were sweating. "It was, ah..."

Thankfully, you didn't get a chance to finish your hasty explanation, as Marie proceeded to ask, "Really? Where did you go?"

"Oh, just to dinner downtown. He—"

"Did he sweep you off your feet?" You struggled to remember the name of Philip's younger cousin who'd just cut you off.

"I mean, it was definitely—"

"He picked up the check, right?"

"We, um... ended up splitting it. It wasn't—"

"Have you thought at all about taking the next step? He doesn't have to be the one to propose, you know."

"Not really, but maybe at some point—"

"Oh, that'd be so sweet! You'd be a part of the family!"

"I don't know yet whether—"

"We don't mean to rush you into anything, though. It's your prerogative."

"No, of course—"

"Can we hear the story of how you got together?"

"How long were you working together before he finally asked you out?"

"Um—"

The questions were coming at you by then much faster than you could field them. Your eyes were wide; you'd taken multiple unwitting steps back. It had taken you until then to quite understand what Philip meant by how overwhelming his family could be.

"Hey, Y/N!" You stopped trying to answer the last inquiry when a voice came from behind you, instead glancing back over your shoulder to see who else had decided to barrage you with questions. To your relief, it was Angelica, Philip's younger sister, who was walking toward you, and you offered her a small smile. "Can I borrow you for a second?"

Your eyebrows shot up as you looked back to the group before you. "Oh! I, uh..." You trailed off as Angelica finally reached you.

"Don't worry; I won't keep you long," she promised, and you glanced to her hesitantly. "...But if you'd rather stay and chat and come find me in a little while, that's fine too," she added, and you sighed, taking a step back from the circle of women around you.

"No, it's okay," you reassured her, embracing without reluctance your opportunity to escape the hot seat, before turning back to the group to add, "It's been great talking to you all, though. I'll catch up with you a bit later?"

Your words were met with a chorus of goodbyes, some more disappointed than others, but you couldn't pretend not to be eager to go. You turned away alongside Angelica, asking, "So what'd you need me for?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but paused, pulling further away from the group before she responded in a low voice, "Honestly, nothing. You just looked like you needed an excuse to get out of there."

Her words elicited a surprised laugh from you. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

                       —                

"Hey, there you are." Your eyebrows shot up; you turned your head in the direction of the voice, only to see Philip walking toward you with an easy smile. "What are you doing over here all alone?"

You took a sip of your lemonade as you shrugged, if only to hide your small smile (particularly because you were struggling to grasp why his showing up left you unable to suppress it). "Avoiding you, mostly."

Philip let out a soft huff of laughter as he took a seat on the folding chair beside you, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. As though you aren't happy to see me." You quirked a skeptical brow at his (perhaps overly) confident grin. "But seriously, I haven't seen you in a bit. Has my family been putting you through the wringer?"

"Something like that," you snorted. "Your cousins are incessant. It doesn't help that I don't have answers to all their questions about how we fell in love, or when we're finally planning to tie the knot." Your voice was mocking throughout the latter sentence, but Philip didn't seem to be put off by it.

"Well, why don't you just tell them the truth?"

Your eyebrows shot up. "Why, exactly, would you want me to do that?"

"Well, it'd be a lot easier to give them the real story." He shrugged, and his matter-of-fact tone had you wary of his next words. "Y'know, how you've been head-over-heels for me since the moment we met, how you spent so many years in denial of how hard you were falling for me."

"Oh my god, shut up, Philip," you groaned, kicking the side of his knee lightly with the leg you had crossed over your other. He was failing entirely to hide how entertained he was. "Keep this up, and they'll be getting the real story about how you manipulated me into coming here."

"I didn't manipulate you. You chose to be here. Take some ownership, princess." He gave you a pointed look, and you scowled in response. "Anyway, let's not pretend you don't like my family too much to let them down like that."

"Hey, it's not my fault they're so likable!" you said. "They've been treating me like family since the moment they met me. It's so sweet; don't come at me."

"That's kind of adorable." Though you glared at him, there was no heat in it. He continued, "I'm glad you like them, but that definitely doesn't explain why you're hiding a corner."

"I'm just tired, alright?" you said defensively. "We've been here a few hours, now. I needed a break."

"Relax, princess. I'm not here to judge," he reassured you, and despite the skepticism etched in your raised eyebrow, his smile was warm. "But if you really need a breather, I can go for now and catch up with you in a bit."

How considerate the offer was struck you, and he was almost ready to take your surprised silence as having accepted it, before you spoke. "No, no, that's okay. I've probably pulled away from everyone for a little too long for it to be socially acceptable."

"Don't bother to worry about what's 'socially acceptable' here," he said, gaze amused as he glanced back to the party all through his backyard. "My family may be a little exhausting, but that also means they're too caught up in their own gossip to realize when someone's missing."

You let out a surprised laugh, and the sound elicited a self-satisfied grin from him. "You're really just gonna call them all inconsiderate like that?"

He scoffed, gesturing to you with the hand that still held his drink. "Hey, hang on. I did not call them inconsiderate. That was all you."

"I didn't say that they were! I think they're sweet!"

"They are sweet! They just have tunnel vision for whoever's in front of them," he argued, and you eyed him dubiously as you took another sip of your lemonade.

"That’s still mean." You shrugged, and though he rolled his eyes, amusement danced in them.

"What do you know? You haven't even met all of them yet."

"And whose fault is that?" you said, raising your eyebrows expectantly, but he just chuckled.

"Alright, I'll admit defeat on this one. You win," he conceded, but the sarcasm woven into his voice left you skeptical. "Wanna come meet the rest of them now, then? I mean, since you've been so rudely lying low all afternoon."

Despite how teasing his tone was, you let out a bitter scoff. "Don't gimme that! I've met at least thirty people in the past three hours. I earned a break."

"And I didn't mean anything by it!" He held his hands up in defense, but he still looked annoyingly contented.

"I'm sure you didn't," you replied, tone laden with sarcasm. "But... I dunno if I'm up to meeting too many more people just yet." You bit your lip as you paused, hesitant to voice the words sitting on your tongue. He raised an eyebrow. "Any chance you'd be alright with just... hanging here with me for a while? As much as I appreciate the vodka lemonade, it doesn't make for great company."

Your voice was light with your last sentence, but Philip was left surprised by the vulnerability in your gaze. "I'd love to, princess."

The kind smile he offered you left unexplainable heat rising in your cheeks, and though you couldn't see it, having turned away to hide your face, affection was heavy in his gaze as he watched you. "Why are you so insistent on calling me that?" you mumbled, and your words made him laugh.

"What, don't you like it?" The mock pout he plastered on made you scoff, despite how the corners of your lips twitched up.

"We've long since covered this; let's not pretend." You gave him a pointed look, but he shrugged, undeterred.

"I dunno; I don't see the problem." He took a sip of his drink. "We've been together for two years, and you're still not comfortable with a little affection? Maybe you just don't love me as much as I thought you did."

"Oh, shut up," you huffed, and your weak glare made him laugh. "Have I mentioned recently what a pain in the ass you are?"

"That's not much of a pet name, Y/N. I'm gonna need you to step it up," he sighed, and your amusement was obvious though you rolled your eyes. "Do we really have to rehash this conversation?"

Mischief danced in his stare when it met yours, and your eyes were wide. You had a feeling he recalled as vividly as you did how this line of discussion ended when you first started driving up to his parents' house. Your stomach turned, seemingly beyond your control. "Don't you go there again," you said, but your voice was breathless.

"Aw, what's wrong, princess? Were all my suggestions really not good enough?" His grin broadened when he saw you swallow hard. "I really thought there was at least one winner in there."

"Philip," you warned, tone hard, and he laughed.

"Relax. I won't push it," he promised, "I can keep an environment family-friendly."

He sent you a wink, and you scowled at the satisfaction written deep in his smile. By then, the heat rising in your cheeks was growing to a fire. You were struggling to meet his eyes. It'd hardly been 48 hours since he and you began the drive north, and you did not like how much those 48 hours changed the way his words were affecting you, even just recalling the conversation leaving you much more flustered than it had any business leaving you.

"Whatever," you mumbled into your plastic cup before draining what was left of your drink. You didn't realize until you glanced back at him that he was still watching you. You were too stunned in that moment to say anything more, but by some wild stroke of luck, you were saved by the bell.

"Uncle Philip!" Or, really, saved by the six-year-old nephew, but the difference may as well have been semantic.

Philip's heavy stare turned light the moment he heard the voice, and you followed his gaze to its origin. Running toward you were two kids, the girl just slightly taller than the boy, and they looked equally elated to see Philip seated there beside you.

"Woah, hey there," he laughed, eyebrows shooting up as they both immediately started clinging to his legs, trying to push themselves up onto his lap. "This is a pretty warm 'welcome home.'"

"You're back!" the boy exclaimed, as though it was a revelation of its own.

"I know, pretty weird, huh?" Philip replied, and his grin was broader than you'd ever seen it, "Guess I can't stay away from you two for too long."

"We missed you." When she spoke, the girl's voice was much quieter, and she wore a tiny smile.

"Well, I missed you more," Philip said matter-of-factly. The little boy creased his brow.

"Hey, we missed you more more," he argued, and Philip let out a dramatic sigh.

"I guess you win this round." The boy wore a proud smile as he tugged absentmindedly on Philip's pant leg. "Alright, now c'mere, both of you. Don't I get hugs?"

They squealed when he picked each of them up, pulling them into his lap, and though they squirmed in his hands, they both wrapped their arms around his neck only moments later, pulling him into a hug.

"You're too tall for this," the girl protested, finally sitting back onto his leg with a pout. Philip shrugged.

"Maybe you're just too short."

"Hey! I'm growing!" She folded her arms, and as Philip chuckled, it seemed the boy had moved on.

"Are you Y/N?" You were surprised when he turned to you with bright eyes, bouncing on Philip's leg.

"Oh! Uh, yeah. That's me," you said, surprised demeanor easing into entertainment. "And what's your name?"

"I'm Richard, and I'm six, and Uncle Philip's my uncle," he explained, glancing back at Philip with a smile before grinning at you. "I knew it was you 'cause Uncle Philip told us how pretty you are."

Your eyebrows shot up; your smile was wide with amusement. "Oh, really, Uncle Philip?"

"Hey, you've hardly been around for three minutes, and you're already ratting me out?" He looked down at Richard with mock indignance, and though he giggled, he put on a small pout.

"Sorry."

"You're lucky I can't stay mad at you." He yelped when Philip ruffled his hair, frowning as he swatted his hands away and tried to fix it. As he sat back down, folding his arms in his discontent, Philip glanced back down at the girl on his other leg, squeezing her side lightly. "Hey, do you wanna introduce yourself?"

She shook her head furiously, and he chuckled. "Alright. That's okay. Can I introduce you?"

She eyed you timidly for a moment, and when you offered her a small smile, she nodded hesitantly. "Okay. Thank you. Y/N, this is Elizabeth." He finally looked back up at you, and you weren't fully aware of how soft your gaze was, watching him with his niece and nephew. "She's seven, and she's the smartest girl in the family." He nudged her playfully, and though she hid her face in his button-down, she giggled.

"Hey, what about me?" Richard protested, and Philip huffed.

"Well, obviously, that makes you the smartest boy in the family," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Richard beamed up at him.

"Even smarter than you?"

Philip laughed. "Oh, yeah. For sure."

The words made you smile. "It's nice to meet both of you. Your uncle tells me all about you."

Richard's eyes lit up at your words. "Really? What's he say?"

"Good things only. I’ve heard a lot about both your soccer games and your skills in Mario Kart," you told both kids matter-of-factly, “but mostly, I can’t get him to stop going on about how much he loves you both.” The slightest bit of pride swelled in your chest when it earned a tiny smile from Elizabeth.

“Aw, so you do listen when I talk?” Philip plastered on a pout as he glanced back up to you, and you couldn’t even force a scowl.

“Hey, of course, I do!” you said defensively. “Mostly ‘cause I can’t get you to stop talking. I’ve found that actually listening to it staves off the intense boredom of just hearing you drone on and on.”

He rolled his eyes, and your smile was wide. “Oh, real nice, princess.”

“I always am.” You shrugged innocently, and he chuckled, shaking his head. A beat passed; his stare was soft as it held yours.

"He also told us about you," Elizabeth said quietly, and though a certain fraction of your attention was still on the fact that she'd finally decided to talk to you, the rest of it was taken aback.

"Did he, now?" You sounded as though you'd been winded, and your gaze once again met Philip's. His stare faltered; his expression was several steps past timid. "And when was this?"

"Just a couple weeks ago," Richard said eagerly, not seeming to have noticed the shift in either of your demeanors. "He told us that you're pretty, and he likes you so, so much. Technically he was telling Dad. But still."

"Aw, isn't that sweet?" Your smile had begun to turn teasing, and Philip let out a soft huff. Richard seemed prepared to continue full speed ahead, though.

"Mmhmm. And he also said—"

"Okay, that's about enough of that," Philip cut him off, giving him a stern look, and Richard frowned. "Listen, I have a really important mission for you two."

When he lowered his voice, both kids were watching him with wide eyes, giving him their full attention. "So, Y/N and I haven't been able to go hang out with Uncle Georges all day, but we don't want him getting lonely. I need you two to go and keep him company, okay? I would go, but he'd much rather spend time with you rascals." He winked at them, the words conspiratory, and they both nodded decisively. "I'm counting on you; don't let me down."

He set them both back onto the ground, lowering them off of his lap. "Okay, Uncle Philip! It's nice meeting you, Y/N!"

They'd both taken off before you could respond, and you laughed lightly.

"You're so good with them." When you turned to him with a wide smile, Philip only shrugged.

"They're sweet kids. They make it pretty easy on me."

"Yeah, they seem to be," you said, and you couldn't gauge the source of the hesitance in his eyes as you searched his expression. "But still. I can tell how much they like you. Take a little credit, Philip."

Your expectant stare made him chuckle, despite how subdued his entire demeanor seemed. "Thanks, Y/N."

"It's just the truth." You pursed your lips as you watched him. You were hesitant to continue, but you did anyway, not bothering to hide your growing smile. "It's especially impressive how quickly you managed to distract them from telling me how much you absolutely adore me."

Although his unease was obvious in the way he fiddled with the rolled sleeve of his shirt, in the shade of red that you could just barely see creeping into his complexion, he sent you a wink. "Hey, there's a reason I didn't tell my family I was dating Theo or Susan."

To his relief, you laughed. "Good choice.” You paused a moment before you continued, pressing your lips together as you considered whether it was a good idea to go on. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

The sound that escaped him was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Oh, shut up. You already know you're attractive.”

“Mmh, so are you, but that doesn’t mean I go around telling people about it all the time,” you countered, and he cocked an eyebrow.

“So you think I’m pretty?”

“That’s your only takeaway from that?” You scoffed. “God, you have such selective hearing.”

He shrugged. “Say what you want, but I think the important part of that sentence was that you’re attracted to me, princess.”

“No, hang on,” you corrected him, and despite your combative tone, his conceited smile was deep-set. “I think you’re attractive, but that does not mean I’m attracted to you.”

He grinned. “I just wanted to hear you say again that you think I’m attractive.”

Blood was rushing to your cheeks under his cocky stare, and you pulled together a scowl in an effort to hide how flustered he had you. “Yeah; you’re also insufferable.”

“It’s part of my charm.” When he winked, your scowl deepened.

You couldn’t tear your focus from how your heart pounded a tattoo against your ribcage.

                                          "You finally ready to meet a couple more people?"

You groaned lightly as Philip wrapped an arm around your waist, offering you a playful grin. It'd been about an hour since his niece and nephew split, having come back to find the both of you sporadically as the afternoon went on. You stood right outside the house's back door, having just gone in to recycle your cup, and Philip was admittedly surprised when you didn't immediately swat his hand away after he squeezed your side teasingly.

"I've already met so many," you whined, but he just laughed.

"Hey, I've let you hide out for more than an hour, now. You owe me, princess."

"I don't owe you shit," you grumbled, and when he raised a skeptical eyebrow, you sighed. "But fine, let's go,"

"I appreciate the enthusiasm," he said dryly.

You'd assumed by then you'd already met the rest of Georges's family, having been introduced to seven more of them throughout the course of the day, but when Philip lead you across the yard, only for him to ultimately embrace who you were fairly sure was just a taller, wrinkled iteration of Georges, you were proved wrong. Georges's parents were seemingly who he and his sister Anastasie had been carbon copied from. They both embraced you enthusiastically, and by then, you supposed you shouldn't have been surprised by it any longer. No one at his family reunion seemed to have adopted any concept of personal space.

"Philip must know by now 'ow lucky 'e has struck it, non?" Georges's father Gilbert (who, like his wife, insisted on your using his first name) raised an eyebrow, looking to your faux beau with an impish smile.

"Really. You know, you could do better zan 'im, mon chou," his wife Adrienne added, holding you by the forearms and giving you a serious look. You laughed.

"Oh, believe me; I'm well aware," you assured them, and Philip let out a soft gasp, mocking offense. When you looked to him with an eyebrow raised, he plastered on a pout.

"You're so mean to me."

"I'm just kidding, babe." You lightly checked your hips against his, and though he rolled his eyes, he was smiling.

"Alright, whatever," he conceded with a huff. "That's just about enough of you two, though. We're gonna go find Henriette."

"Oh, you should! Ze two of you 'ave not been together in so long," Adrienne lamented as she released your arms, returning to her husband with a soft smile. "I miss seeing you with 'er."

"Who's Henriette?" you asked Philip, a curious eyebrow raised.

"Their oldest daughter. She's about our age."

"And she and Philip used to be awfully close," Adrienne added in a singsong voice, but you were struggling to gauge why she was looking at him so expectantly. He sighed.

"Can we please not do this the weekend I finally bring my girlfriend home?"

Adrienne shrugged, and you weren't sure you liked the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "I am only saying, now zat you are both here..."

When she trailed off, Gilbert gave her a warning look. "Please, amour. Philip is 'appy. Be supportive."

"I am always supportive of Philip, no matter what choices 'e makes." How pointed the words were had you on edge, despite her easy smile.

"Alright. We'll see you two at dinner, okay?"

"Of course. I look forward to talking more with you, Y/N. We are truly glad zat Philip 'as you." Gilbert gave you a warm smile, but Philip didn't seem able to drag you out of there quickly enough for his liking.

"It was nice meeting both of you!" you called back to them with a smile, giving a short wave as Philip ushered you away. Once you were out of earshot, you glanced back up and saw how tense he looked, his jaw tight, you raised an eyebrow. "So, what was all that about?"

He sighed. "Don't worry about Adrienne. It's nothing."

"It's clearly something."

"Nothing important." When he met your skeptical gaze, he added, "Henriette and I dated for a while back in high school, and her mom hasn't been able to let it go since. She's fixated on us having actual family relations."

"Oh," was all you said, eyebrows pushing toward your hairline, and he gave you a concerned glance. Though you fixed on a smile, it was uneasy. "So is that why I'm really here, then? To make her jealous enough to take you back?"

Your words were meant to be teasing, and he took them as such, but you were both simply pretending not to hear the rigidity of your voice. He chuckled. "Whatever, princess."

You were not fond of the sinking feeling in your stomach when he didn't contradict you. Another moment passed as he scanned the yard for her, but you couldn't hear the silence over the roar of your spiraling thoughts.

You had no reason to care even if he was using you to make her jealous, right? It didn't matter. In three days, you'd both be back in your office, and everything would go back to normal. You'd be completely ignorant of Philip's dating life; he'd be ignorant of yours (despite it being nonexistent — but that was by choice, of course). He'd go back to pissing you off when he didn't get his share of a project done on time, and you'd go back to chewing him out for it biweekly.

"Hey, Henriette!" His calling across the yard snapped you out of your haze. He raised a hand in greeting, and when you followed his gaze, the unexplainable lump sitting in the back of your throat seemed to grow.

"Philip!" She rushed over with equal enthusiasm, and he released your waist when she pulled him into a hug. "Hey, it's been forever! What sort of trouble have you been getting yourself up to in the big city?"

"'The big city'," he repeated with a short laugh. "As though you don't literally live two blocks outside of downtown."

"And yet you still manage to never come visit me." Her gaze was accusatory as she released him from her embrace, pulling back. Oh, god. Of course, she was gorgeous.

He grinned. "I'll start visiting you when you start visiting me, alright?"

"I might just have to take you up on that, Hamilton." His smile broadened at her wink, and your stomach seemed to have been tying itself into a square knot.

"And who's this?" She raised her eyebrows as she turned to you, none of the brightness draining from her expression.

You forced a smile. "I'm his girlfriend, Y/N."

Her eyes widened. "Wait, you're Y/N?"

"You've heard of me?"

"We all have," she assured you, "but someone failed to mention to me how pretty you are."

The pointed look she gave Philip was playful, and despite how sweet she was, you were still on edge. "You think you're surprised? No one told me when I agreed to come to the family reunion that I'd be meeting the hot ex."

"Oh, you think I'm hot?" The laugh she elicited from you when she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively was genuine.

"Come on; we both know you are," you said, looking at her expectantly. She grinned.

"Well, I'm flattered, Y/N. If Philip doesn't treat you right, you're welcome to give me a call." When Henriette sent you a wink, you couldn't help but feel guilty about your knee-jerk reaction to resent her — especially considering that you couldn't locate the reaction's origin.

"Hey, play your cards right, and maybe I'll be the one visiting you back in the city," you shot back playfully. She squeezed your arm as she laughed.

"Oh my god, of course, you're funny too." The words were almost akin to a scoff, and if not for her next words, you may have taken offense. "I get now why Philip didn't bring you home for so long. I know that if I were dating you, I'd be every bit as worried about my family all fighting for you."

You let out a soft 'aw.' "You're sweet. It's great to meet you, Henriette."

"You too." She started to take a step toward you, but she froze, wearing a hesitant smile. "Can I hug you? Do you do hugs?"

Your smile was apprehensive. "Yeah, bring it in."

She squealed lightly at your words, pulling you into a bone-crushing embrace, which you returned with as much strength as you could find in your body as it was being squashed. Jesus; you were fairly certain you were developing a crush on this girl, and you'd known her for all of four minutes. You could only begin to imagine what Philip thought of her after having known her for his entire life, let alone after dating her.

When she finally let you go, her words were addressed to both of you, but you couldn't help but feel as though she was really talking to Philip. "So, tell me everything. It's been forever; I wanna know hear all about your new friends, all about work, the times you've done something stupid that landed you in the hospital, the times you've been arrested — all of it."

He chuckled, and you let out an internal sigh of relief when his arm found its way back around your waist. "It's been pretty mundane, actually. Nothing like the trouble we used to make for everyone."

She snorted. "Really. We were both a headache and a half. I still haven't stopped hearing about the time we... 'borrowed' Uncle Hercules's motorcycle, and it's been almost ten years."

"To be fair, we were almost charged with destruction of property."

"What's the story there?" you interjected with a brow raised, and Philip just shrugged.

"Small-time motorcycle crash. Not as dramatic as it sounds."

"That's not what you were saying when you spent the next three nights in the hospital being scanned for brain damage," Henriette said matter-of-factly, and Philip laughed.

"It was scarier in the moment," he defended, and you shifted uncomfortably on your feet. As much as Philip's family had made his place feel like home for the weekend, just then, you felt like quite the outsider. "But none of that matters anymore. I learned my lesson. What exciting things have happened to you since I last saw you?"

"Oh, not much, really. Practicing law is still nothing like How to Get Away With Murder, for better or for worse. I still have my two dogs." She shrugged, and you decided you'd imagined it when something hopeful flashed in her gaze. "Still chronically single. Same old, same old."

That made your throat twist. That wasn't something you just casually mentioned to an ex; the words were obviously pointed, and you felt vindicated in your intuition not to trust her. But then again, why should you care? That was none of your business. Henriette was a catch; you were happy for Philip (or, you should've been).

So where was the heavy, sinking feeling in your chest coming from? This wasn't something you were used to, wasn't something you'd felt since... oh, god. You hadn't felt like this since John. But why now? Did that mean that you—?

"C'mon, you know you're only single because you're married to your work," Philip reasoned, breaking into your train of thought at an extremely opportune moment. "You wouldn't have any trouble finding someone."

She shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. I am downsizing on my hours, so I guess we'll have to see where that takes me, huh?"

There was no way she really believed the question in her sly smile, her raised brow, was going over your head, and you were taken aback by her audacity. However, Philip seemed unaffected, either not noticing or not caring about the tone she'd adopted.

"Yeah, I'm sure it'll turn out great," he said brightly. "There's no shortage of eligible bachelors or bachelorettes in NYC."

"No, there really isn't." Her low voice was making you increasingly uneasy. Maybe you were just reading into things. Even if you weren't, you had no right to care. This wasn't your place.

"If you'd like, I could totally set you up with some of my friends," you offered, and her eyebrows shot up. She seemed to have forgotten herself, plastering back on her wildly enthusiastic personality as she remembered you were there. "They're all great people, and there are a couple I'm sure you'd hit it off with."

"Maybe at some point," she said noncommittally, wearing a wide smile. "Right now, I'm just trying to see where life takes me. Build a little more time into my schedule for my personal life."

"Oh, yeah, your dad was telling us you were thinking of getting a cat?" Philip said, raising an inquiring eyebrow, and she nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, I want to adopt."

"Y'know, I have a friend who works at a shelter in the Bronx. It's a super great place," he suggested. "If you want, I can give you the info, and you can go check it out sometime."

"Oh, really? That'd be great," Henriette said. "We should go down there together. So you can give me your contact at the shelter and another opinion on what type of cat I should get."

"That sounds fun." At his words, your shifting uncomfortably in his embrace seemed to be what reminded him that you were there. He raised an eyebrow at you, nudging you with his shoulder. "You in, princess? I'm sure the extra input couldn't hurt."

"No, no, that's alright." You waved off the offer with a strained smile. "You two should catch up. I wouldn't want to intrude."

To his credit, Philip had apparently sensed that something was off with you. "You sure?"

"Yeah, absolutely," you said, giving Henriette the warmest smile you could muster. "It's great that you two are reuniting. I'm sure you don't need me there."

"If you insist," Henriette said with a shrug and a smile, and Philip could feel you tense in his grasp.

"Of course," you said, taking a deep breath as you glanced from her to Philip. "Well, as long as you two have so much to recap over the past couple years, I hope you won't mind me running inside for a moment. I saw Eliza putting out crab cakes a little while ago, and I've gotta get to them before they're gone."

Henriette accepted your playful tone easily, letting out a light laugh, but Philip was hesitant. "Oh, yeah? Want me to come with you?"

"No need. Don't worry about it." You could only hope your smile came off as reassuring as you ghosted your hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder, gently pushing it off of your waist. "I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he said with a smile, reaching up to take your hand in his, and though his expression was relaxed, his gaze was searching. You hoped the rigidity of your smile wasn't too obvious. "Come find me again in a bit, though, okay?"

"Sure, Philip." Your features softened when you saw the worry clouding his stare.

"Okay. I'll miss you, princess." Your eyes were wide when his other hand met your waist, pulling you into him, and you could feel your cheeks flare as he dipped down, lightly kissed the crown of your head. You were stunned at the sudden action, and the skin of your cheek burned when his nose brushed across it. He whispered to you, "Can we talk tonight? You've got me kinda worried."

You nodded, offering him a soft smile when you pulled away. "I'll see you later."

You didn't see his pensive gaze follow you as you made your way across the yard, back toward the house, but Henriette certainly did.

You, however, were otherwise occupied. You didn't like the lump sitting heavy in the back of your throat; you didn't like the sinking feeling in your chest; you did not like how unsettled your stomach was. You'd been enamored with Philip's family since just about the moment you began to meet all of them — surely, they were why it was suddenly becoming so comfortable to be around him, the atmosphere always light, always playful. He was just easier to tolerate when other people you liked were around.

Or, at least, that'd been what you were firmly convinced of when you'd woken up that morning. Even more than you didn't like how you were reacting to his interaction with Henriette, you despised how shaken the entire day had left you feeling. And it was hardly 5 PM.

"Oh, hey, Y/N." It was one of Philip's younger siblings who you almost ran right into after breaching the sliding glass door of their house — you were too scattered to remember his name. "Where are you headed?"

You also weren't particularly fond of having to pull back up your easygoing facade every time you interacted with someone, but you did it nonetheless. "Hey. I'm actually just headed in to use the bathroom. Can you tell me which way it is?"

"Yeah, I gotcha. It's down the hall to the left, and it'll be the last door on your right." He pointed in the direction you were headed, and you thanked him quickly, hurrying past with a light smile. By the time you reached the bathroom, your head was pounding. You locked the door behind you, and you slumped against the sink.

You could see your own distress reflected plainly in the mirror before you; you struggled not to return to your analysis as to why, exactly, you were feeling how you were, but ultimately, you failed. Maybe you'd just been anxious, overwhelmed from meeting a small army of a family all in one afternoon. Or were you just tired? Really, the workweek you'd had before was exhausting, and you never had a chance to catch up on your sleep.

However, neither of your desperate searches for a way out of this adequately explained how crestfallen your — or, really, Philip's — interaction with Henriette had made you, and you were left with the explanation you dreaded even considering. You didn't want to label how you were feeling; you wanted it to just go away, but until it did, you were left with a serious dilemma.

You'd only left work to go to Philip's parents' place two days prior, but over those two days, something had changed, a full movement of tectonic plates that you could not put your finger on. You weren't sure whether it was simply the kindness his family had shown you, but the light in which you viewed Philip was shifting. What you may before have found obnoxious now left you with a reluctant laugh, unable to resent his frequent jabs at you. You couldn't explain it, but there you were.

Philip’s casual affection had somehow become something you didn’t even think twice about, instead savoring the warmth it left in your chest. It’d taken you a while to realize that the two variables were related.

Until just minutes before then, you’d been feeling inexplicably light, carefree, and your weekend had even begun to feel like a genuine vacation. But now, you found yourself alone, locked in the first floor bathroom doing everything in your power not to tear your hair out, coming to uneasy terms with the fact that the feeling that was gnawing at your stomach, curdling your blood, was none other than jealousy.

What was happening to you?

[judediangelo75]

Starting Now - Chapter 1

Hi 😁💛

So my creative mind has been going haywire lately ever since I got some level back (hopefully a bit more long-lasting). I recently heard a new song by Brandy that features Disney princesses called “Starting Now”.

Here’s a the link, give it a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ms-Y99bAi0

And the story started forming in my mind. A mix of modern day Hogwarts mixed with a regular high school setting, a bit of Cinderella, mixed with Kendrick Lives AU. This is purely fictional, I can only try to make this make sense so bare with me.

And of course it’s gonna be a Talbott Winger x MC story.

No clue how long it’s gonna be. There will be some MC friends thrown in here mainly from @that-scouse-wizard , @kc-needs-coffee, @lifeofkaze, and @catohphm . This could change and I’ll add more but that what I can say.  

Alright enough rambling, on with the story!

Warning: Mentions of child abuse and self harm

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

“Papa, what are we doing here,” a 7-year-old girl asked, pale gold eyes looking up at her father’s sharp features. Her and her towering father were approaching a house. They’ve just moved from Barbados to London and the girl already didn’t like it there.

The winters were cold and so were the people there. She already been picked on for her hair and her heavy accent. Because of her thin and small frame, she was an easy target for the boys in her neighborhood. 

Even her mother looked down at her with disapproval.

The only person who she could trust was her father and big brother, Jamal.

The same colored eyes looked down at the little girl. The man, who goes by Kendrick, squeezed his little girl’s small hand.

“We’re gonna meet some people I knew from when I was young boy, Judith. You’ll love them, baby girl. I promise,” he said, whispering the last part with another hand squeeze.

Judith gave a small nod as they stood in front of the door. Kendrick gave a solid knock onto the wood and waited. The tell tale sound of the door unlocking filled the silence before the door opened, revealing a woman around Kendrick’s age poked her head out.

Amber eyes brighten at the sight of the older man.

“Kendrick! Oh my stars, it’s been so long, old friend,” the woman exclaimed, fully opening the door and hugging the tall man. A chuckle rumbled from the man’s broad chest, hugging the short woman. Judith silently observed the scene, curious and bit wary.

The woman was beautiful. She has Ombre colored hair, starting off with a dark brown and ending in a chestnut brown color. Her amber colored eyes were bright and expressive. Her skin was a flawless caramel brown. Her features were delicate and sharp. A simple white sun dress hugged her body.

The thing that caught Judith’s interest the most was the pretty white feather that was attached to a braid in her hair.

“Is this who I think this is?” A melodious voice teased. Judith snapped out of her musing to find the woman looking at her with a smile. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she rushed to hug her dad’s pant leg. The woman giggled at her shy behavior.

“Yes, Ava. This is Judith. Baby girl, I would you to meet Ava Winger. She and her husband are my best friends. Say hi,” Kendrick gently encouraged with a smile. Judith bit her lip, looking a up at her dad and then at Ava.

‘She seems nice... much nicer than mother...’

“H-Hi, Mrs. W-Winger. It’s a-a pleasure to m-met y-you,” Judith spoke softly. Her blush grew worse at the sound of her stuttering.

Her mother chided her about that habit of stuttering in front of adults, she just embarrassed herself. She just knows it-

“The pleasure is all mine, Judith. Please, call me Ava.” Gold eyes blinked at out mute surprise before the girl bit her lip. Judith glanced at her dad, looking up to him for direction.

She never had an adult insist on calling them by their first name. Her mother said it was rude to ever consider doing so. But she didn’t want to ignore Ava’s request.

Kendrick withheld a sigh, already knowing that his wife’s “teachings” was brewing in Judith’s head. He raised their daughter in his homeland with her mother, Mercy, for majority of her life. 

She was much more carefree.

Yes, she was still shy but nothing like this. It was like she was scared of being the radiant ray of sunshine he knows she is.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he whispered softly. With that confirmation, Judith turned to Ava with a small smile.

“Okay, Ava...” Ava beamed at the two and ushered them inside.

“Is Trent around,” Kendrick asked as the entered deeper into the house. 

“No, sadly. Some writer botched an article and they called him in to fix it. But Talbott is around,” Ava answered. Judith cocked her head to the side, curious to know who Talbott was.

This didn’t escape Ava’s attention.

“Would you like to meet Talbott, Judith,” Ava asked. Judith blushed out of embarrassment, musing silently over the question.

“S-Sure...” Kendrick and Ava shared a small smirk before Ava called for her son.

“Talbott! Come here, please. There are some people I would like for you to meet!” Out of what seemed to be the kitchen was a boy around Judith’s age. He had the same hair and skin tone as Ava but that’s where the resemblance stopped. The thing at stood out to the Judith was his piercing red eyes.  

The girl stiffened, shuffling closer to Kendrick.

Ava placed the young boy in front of her, squeezing on his shoulders gently.

“Talbott, I would like you to meet my oldest friend, Kendrick Harris and his daughter, Judith.” Red eyes silently studied the towering man. If it wasn’t for the kind smirk on the man’s face and the glimmer of amusement in his sharp pale gold eyes, Talbott would’ve felt a little scared of the man.

“Hello, Mr. Harris. It’s very nice to meet you,” Talbott greeted. Judith blushed and silently bristled at the cool confidence Talbott had in greeting her father.

‘Why can’t I have that?’ she thought as her father chuckled.

“Please, call me Kendrick. I’m not that old, son. And it’s great to see you again, Talbott. I remember when you were just a toddler,” the man teased good naturedly. Talbott blushed a bit before clearing his throat.

“Alright Kendrick,” Talbott replied. A soft giggle caught the 8-year-old boy’s attention. He noticed a girl standing behind the man.

Judith was her name, if he heard his mother correctly.

Judith stopped laughing once she noticed Talbott’s attention was focused on her. While everything in her was telling her to duck behind her dad, something felt familiar about the red eyed boy.

Unknown to her, Talbott was having similar thoughts about her too.

The two were jostled out of their trains of thought when their respective parent pushed the two in front of each other. Red and gold eyes studied the other.

The girl looked like her father but with feminine features. Her brown black locs were down, the sides were pulled back to reveal her face. A simple black sleeveless dress clothed the shorter girl, hugging her torso but flowing out around her hips. The skirt brushed just above her knees. Black gladiator sandals were on her feet. A necklace that consisted of a thick black chain and black and silver ring hung around her neck.

The boy was dressed in simple white tank top and khaki shorts. Brown sandals can be found on his feet. His hair was tied back in a short ponytail with a few strands falling in his face.

The two had yet to say a word to the other. The two adults looked on waiting for something to happen.

“You’re really pretty...” Pale gold eyes widen at the admission.

“R-Really,” Judith asked softly. Despite the softness of her voice, Talbott was still able to pick up the Caribbean accent in the girl’s voice. It was foreign but it suited the girl well...

“Y-Yeah,” Talbott said, slightly breathless. Something about the girl was very... adorable? He couldn’t figure out why.

Judith blushed, hiding her cheeks in her hands.

Only her grandmother, father, and older brother have told her that...

“T-Thank you...” Talbott nodded, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

‘Think of something to say to her! Wait, I know!’

“Would you like to come outside and play with me,” the boy asked. Talbott felt an odd sense of pride when he saw those pale gold eyes light up like two suns. Judith looked to her smiling father, silently asking for his permission.

“Go on, baby girl. Have fun,” Kendrick said with a nod. Talbott took the girl’s hand and lead her outside.

“Well that answers th- Ava, what are you doing,” Kendrick asked as he turned to his friend.

“Planning their wedding, what does it look like,” the woman said, not even looking up from her notepad. Kendrick stared at her with an unimpressed glare.

“Talbott is only 8 and Judith just a few months younger than him,” he said.

“Your point, Kendrick?”

“My point is, Judith is still my baby girl damn it! No wedding planning!”

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

“You have a nice home, Talbott,” Judith said as the pair walked out into the back yard. If it wasn’t for Talbott’s Animagus abilities, he probably would’ve missed what she said.

“Thank you... are you always this soft spoken,” Talbott asked as he turned to face her. A blush colored the girl’s cheeks as she ducked her head.

“U-Um... I-I guess? I haven’t been super sure of myself ever since I moved here. Other kids don’t like me...” Talbott used his thumb and index finger to lift the girl’s chin so her gaze to meet his own.

“Well, I like you. You can be yourself around me. Okay,” he said gently. Judith swallowed a lump in her throat before whispering a soft ‘yes’.

“S-so, what do you wanna do,” she said, her voice coming out a bit louder. Talbott dropped his hand, looking thoughtful for a few moments.

“How about a game of tag,” he asked. Judith smiled, nodding. 

“But, I wanna make it more... interesting. Can you keep a secret, Judith,” the boy questioned. Judith cocked her head at the boy before slowly nodding.

“Yes, I can,” she replied.

“I’m serious. You can’t tell anyone.” Gold eyes widen a fraction before turning serious. Judith held out a hand, pinky extended. Talbott rose a brow.

“What are you doing,” he asked.

“It’s called a pinky promise. It’s like the Muggle version of the Unbreakable Oath. This is my way of showing that I’m serious,” Judith replied. The boy remained silent for a few moments before smiling, hooking his pinky with hers.

“I promise to keep your secret,” she whispered softly. Talbott released their intertwined fingers, feeling his face heat up a bit.

“Thanks... ready for my secret,” he asked. He got a smile and an eager nod as answer. Stepping back, he transformed into his Animagus form. Judith stared up starry eyed as the Golden Eagle flew over her head.

“Wow, Talbott! That’s amazing,” she said. The bird lowered to tap her shoulder before flying off.

“Hey! You never said we started! Get back here!”

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

Hours flew by and the two children didn’t realize it. They’ve played, read books, shared stories, ate, napped, and even danced together.

Kendrick and Ava would occasionally check up on the kids before walking away with a smile. Kendrick knew seeing the Wingers was a good decision. His little girl hasn’t smiled this much ever since his mother passed away.

The two were currently sitting in a tree, watching the sunset together.

“This view is beautiful,” Judith said, playing with the braid Talbott did for her.

“It is... too bad it means the day is almost over,” Talbott sighed. He spared a glance at the girl next to him. 

‘She’s so pretty...’ Judith glanced at Talbott, blushing under his intense gaze.

“W-What,” she asked. Talbott blinked, as if he was waking up from a daze.

“Ah... sorry, little bird. You just look really pretty,” Talbott confessed. Judith’s blush grew worse.

“T-thank you, Talbott... and little bird,” Judith said softly. Talbott rubbed the back of neck sheepishly.

“Y-Yeah... like a nickname. You have a free spirit like a bird and you are smaller than me. Maybe one day I could help you become an Animagus...” 

“R-Really? You promise,” Judith asked, hope shining in her irises. Talbott smiled and held out his pinky finger. The young girl giggled and hooked her pinky with his.

“I promise, little bird...” The two gazed into each other’s eyes, a matching soft smile can be found on both their faces.

Overcome with something she couldn’t explain, Judith leaned in and pressed her lips against Talbott’s cheek. She lingered there for a few seconds before pulling away.

Talbott raised a hand to his now flushed cheek.

“W-what was that f-for?” Judith let out another giggle. This was the first time she heard the boy stutter all day.

“Because I like you, bird boy. Thank you for today, I’ll never forget it.” Talbott grinned at her confession, wrapping his arms around the girl tightly. Judith nuzzled his neck, feeling at peace in his embrace.

Soon Kendrick called out the two, letting his daughter know it was time to head back. The pair were reluctant to leave the warm bubble they created but scaled down the tree.

Before the father and daughter could leave, Talbott handed Judith a white clover.

“Think of me, little bird...”

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

And Judith did. 

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Soon it’s been more than two years since they met.

Her papa had told her it would be difficult to plan another day for the both of them because of her mother’s controlling behavior. 

But they did exchange letters. The parents created a plan to make it seem like they were corresponding to each other but in reality, it was their kids. This way Sade didn’t going poking her nose where it didn’t belong. It disheartened the girl that she couldn’t see her friend, but she kept the flower that Talbott given her. It was hidden away in a Muggle fairytale book. With each day and letter, she would hope that maybe there was a chance where she and Talbott see each other again.

Until the fateful day that forced her to hide her ray of sunshine from the world.

It was the year that she turned 9 years old. Not too long after her 9th birthday, her older brother was expelled and sent to another wizarding school in America to live with their mother’s family. It broke the little girl’s heart to have her brother leave.

“It wouldn’t be for forever, Pip. I’ll be back before you know it. I love you, little sister...”

The two wrote frequently, Jamal telling about his classes and what he’s been learning.

It was one of his lessons that lead to Judith’s fatal mistake.

It was a bitterly cold winter day in London and Judith woke up to an empty, freezing house. She knew her Papa was working at St. Mungos but her mother never told her where she went.

She got backhanded across the face the one time she asked...

Staring at the barren fireplace with a frown, Judith came up with an idea. Quickly running to her parents’ room, she found her mother’s wand on the dresser.

Returning to the fireplace, Judith focused on her memory on one of her brother’s letters about a fire spell.

After a few tries, she able to cast the spell correctly. Judith smiled, taking in the warmth that came from the flames.

It was at that moment Sade walked in. 

It didn’t take the woman long to piece the puzzle together and for her anger to rained down on the unsuspecting girl.

With quick strides, she slapped the fear stricken little girl.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing little girl,” she growled, snatching her wand from off the ground where Judith dropped it.

“I-I’m s-sorry, Mother! I-I-I was just c-cold,” Judith whimpered, tears prickling her eyes. She could already feel the bruise forming on her cheek.

“Cold, huh? Let’s fix that, shall we,” Sade laughed hollowly. She aimed the tip of her wand right at her daughter’s face. 

“Mother, p-please, no-!”

“Incendio!”

The pain scream of the girl echoed throughout the house...

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

Pale eyes opened up blearily at sound her owl’s insistent hoots, telling her it was the dreaded morning.

“Okay, okay, you little menace. I’m up,” the girl groaned. She felt a feather face nuzzle her left cheek. 

Where her burn scar resided.

The girl sighed and petted her loyal avian friend before rolling out of bed to get ready for the school day.

Judith was now 18, in her final year at Hogwarts. It’s been 9 years since her mother scarred her for life, both physically and mentally.

While she had to live this scar, with slightly blurry vision in her left eye, it was a needed change.

Turns out her mother had an ongoing affair three years after she was born. Which explained where she would go at random times and why she was so defensive about her whereabouts.

Her father was quick to divorce her mother and gain custody of her. Not like Sade put up a fight for her in the first place.

“Why would I? I don’t love her, hell I never wanted her. You can keep her, Kendrick!”

Judith was never meant to hear their part of their argument but she did.

Her burn scar was like a cruel reminder for the female Harris.

That she wasn’t as loved as she thought she was.

After the incident, Judith would lock herself in her room for hours, most times just laying in bed. She would either cry herself to sleep or stare numbly up at the ceiling. She stopped sending letters to Jamal and Talbott. Her mental health got so bad to the point her father had to take sick days to make sure she took care of herself.

She knew she would send her dear father to an early grave after he found out about her cutting situation two years ago. She’s been doing so ever since she got to Hogwarts. Without the comfort her Papa constantly being there and no promise of friends, the slide of a blade against her skin helped ease the tension she constantly felt.

She just wasn’t quick enough to put on a long sleeve shirt when he noticed the horizontal scars on her left arm.

Judith saw the heartbreak and fear in her father’s pale gold eyes. As much she didn’t love herself, she knew her father would always love her.

So she tried. Tried to be better. 

Her first order of business was concealing her scars. Permanently.

With her father’s permission, Judith got her left arm tatted. She sketched all of her tattoos and got them done by an old friend from the past. Her best friend from when she lived in Barbados, Malik Coleman. He was older than her by two years and had a passion for body art. Judith was willing to be his first customer. And she loved the work he did for her.

Of course this didn’t increase her social standing at school.

While she was seen as delinquent and a reject, she did receive love and warmth in some people since arriving to Hogwarts.

The first person to ever show her kindness and her birthday twin, Professor Flitwick.

Her first friend she made at school, David Willows.

Her older “siblings”: Bill Weasley, Orion Amari, Erika Rath, and Phoenix Lang.

Few Quidditch mates like Andre Egwu, Katriona Cassiopeia, Lizzie Jameson, and Cato Reese.

Her irritating but loveable dance partner and dueling partner (at least magic based), Diego Caplan.

Sweetheart and fellow Healer assistant, Chiara Lobosca.

Loveable giant and creature buddy, Barnaby Lee.

Bully turned friend and singing buddy, Merula Synde.

Artist buddy, Badeea Ali.

Her sweet half-brother, Nuri Lockheart.

Her adoptive sister from a different family, Amelia Booth.

Judith has felt bouts of happiness when she’s around her friends. Doing things she remembering she loved doing from when she little.

But there was one person who could truly revive that side of her. And he did when she first saw him.

Talbott Winger.

Her first friend since she moved to Europe. And her biggest crush.

But it looks like he forgot all about her.

Even after spending time with him when she and David wanted to become Animagi.

Even finding his beloved white feather necklace, gifted to him by his mother.

He doesn’t seem to recognize her. Judith partially blamed herself since she basically hides out in corners of the school or keep her face as covered as possibly. Even though everyone knew about her scar after a bullying incident from first year, Judith still felt incredibly self-conscious.

But she would’ve thought maybe Talbott would’ve instantly felt their connection like she did. Stuff that she read about in fairytales.

But she was wrong.

And Judith never feel confident enough to openly approach him and tell him who she was, so she’s been pining after the Ravenclaw wizard for years...

She thought it was probably for the best. She was never meant for a happy ending...

“Good morning, baby girl! How’s my little princess doing,” Kendrick greeted as the girl stepped into the kitchen. Judith gave a faint smirk.

“Papa, I’m 18,” Judith reminded as she walked up to her dad. Kendrick rose a brow.

“What’s your point,” he asked, leaning down to kiss her forehead. The girl giggled and shook her head.

She would always be her father’s little princess and nobody can tell him otherwise. Not even her.

“Nevermind, Papa. What’s for breakfast,” she asked, peeking around her giant father.

“Fruit salad, pancakes, bacon, and fresh glass passion juice,” Kendrick answered, handing his daughter a plate and cup. Judith thanked her father and proceed to eat her breakfast.

“So... you spoke to Talbott recently,” Kendrick asked as he washed the dishes. Judith choked on her juice.

“Papa!” Kendrick rolled his eyes at her scandalized tone.

“Oh c’mon now, baby girl. I saw you kiss the boy with you were 7. He’s the only one I really approved of anyways,” he said, mumbling the last part to himself. But thanks to Judith’s Animagus abilities, she heard him.

“You are nowhere near subtle about it. You terrified Andre half to death after I told you he had a small crush on me,” Judith said with an eye roll of her own.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. And I was only kidding...”

“You threaten to break his bones in way where it would never heal properly so he wouldn’t be able to play Quidditch if he broke my heart.”

“What’s your point?” Judith tried to fight a fond smile that threatened to break out on her face. A lot of girls would find this type of behavior to be overbearing but she knew that her father just deeply cared for her.

He wanted her happy.

Happy with someone who would he knew he could trust to cherish her.

“You’re impossible, Papa,” the girl laughed, picking up her empty plate and glass to give to her dad to wash. She got on her toes to give the man a brief kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you for breakfast, Papa. I’m off to school and will be at Quidditch practice afterwards, so I’ll be out for awhile. Bye Papa, I love you,” Judith said, giving the Ravenclaw alumni a quick hug before running out the kitchen.

“Have a good day, baby girl! And I love you too,” Kendrick called after her.

Judith ran into her room to grab her broomstick and went outside. Settling on her broom, Judith took off into sky, which was slowly brightening as the sun began to peak over the horizon. She quickly switched to broom surfing, laughing as she flew.

Judith was an early riser, always up before the sun. She liked the tranquility of the morning, especially at the castle.

She liked to hang around a professor or hang out with her creatures before class started. Or possibly enjoy doing her hobbies before anyone could really bother her.

She looked to smash some practice dummies with Bludgers so she could get out any pent up aggression from her system. 

Little did she know that it lead to her first run-in with her Prince Charming...

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

“Andre, when I asked for you teach me about Quidditch so Madam Hooch doesn’t catch me off guard with her questions, I expected you just to tell me different facts. Not drag me all the way out here to the Quidditch Pitch,” Talbott deadpanned as his best mate pulled him along.

“Visuals can be just as good as me just telling you, Tal. If you visited a Quidditch match a day in your life, this wouldn’t be an issue for you,” the style wizard retorted. The pair were just about to going into the changing rooms when they heard the sound of metal smashing against metal. 

Intrigued, the two Ravenclaw wizards went to investigate.

They spotted the figure of a short girl effortlessly swinging her bat to beat the giant flying metal spheres heading towards her into the dummies in front of her.

Andre smiled.

“Ah, perfect! Prime example. One of the Quidditch positions there are is a Beater. There are two Beaters per team and they’re the only ones who hold a bat. Beaters are both offensive and defense players, beating Bludgers, formerly known as Blooders...” Talbott slowly toned Andre out as he stared the girl, who apparently plays Beater.

Her long hair was pulled back into a high ponytail to keep her hair out her face. Her short, curvy stature was covered with a form fitting black and yellow jersey with some short gym shorts to match. When she swung a certain way, Talbott can spy some ink on her left arm.

“Who is she,” Talbott asked, interrupting Andre’s lesson. The Ravenclaw Seeker looked a bit peeved when he realized that Talbott wasn’t even paying him any real attention but turned to study the girl to figure out her identity.

“Oh, that’s Tigress. One of Hufflepuff’s Beaters,” Andre said with a fond smile. Talbott glanced at him, slightly annoyed.

“Tigress? I meant her real name, Egwu,” he said.

“Why are you so pressed on knowing her real name, mate? What? You like what you see,” Andre asked, wagging his eyebrows at the now flustered wizard.

“W-Wha- Andre! Be serious, will you,” Talbott hissed, not willing to admit that he did like what he sees. A lot. 

Andre chuckled.

“Hey, if you do, I don’t blame you. I even crushed on her for a short while. Judith is very beautiful, despite what people say about her,” Andre said.

“Why did you stop liking her,” Talbott asked, curious to hear this. Andre shuddered.

“Her father is definitely not one to be trifled with. As much as I admired her and respected her dad, he terrifies me a little,” Andre supplied. Talbott made a curious noise.

“But aren’t all fathers like that? Especially when it comes to their daughters,” Talbott asked. Andre gave him a funny look.

“Talbott, mate. Do you not who Judith is,” Andre asked instead. 

“I felt like I heard her name somewhere before, but it’s not ringing any bells,” Talbott shrugged. Andre shook his head.

“The Cursed Child? Scarface? The Hufflepuff Reject? Any of those ringing any bells at all,” Andre pressed. Red eyes widen slightly.

“Yeah... now it does,” Talbott mumbled, narrowing his eyes at the girl.

Supposedly a group of older Slytherins and Gryffindors were bullying her back in their first year. A Slytherin boy pulled her hair loose which was hiding a burn scar the covered the left side of her face. The skinny Hufflepuff witch proved to be quite viscous as she attacked her bullies after humiliatingly her.

She was the same girl who sought him out to help her and her friend, David, to become Animagi. The same one found and returned his mum’s feather necklace with a simply note as the only evidence that it was her who done the act. 

“And her father,” Talbott asked.

“He visits on occasion, mainly during Quidditch season. It would be impossible to miss him. They’re basically twins. And he’s fiercely protective of her. While no one really knows the true origin of her scar, it affected him just as much it did her. He’s not afraid to come to his daughter’s defense if anyone were to make her uncomfortable about it. Even though he is a Healer, he can quite dangerous himself. From what I understand, whatever Judith knows about fighting, whether magic or Muggle-based, came from him,” Andre supplied.

“She’s... an enigma for lack of a better word,” Talbott finally said. 

“A beautiful one, at that,” Andre added. He got a raised brow for his comment.

“It’s rare to see her face. I’m surprised she doesn’t have her hoodie right now. But when I tell you she has the most unique pair of eyes I’ve ever seen, believe me. Such a bright color but muddled with sadness,” Andre sighed, wistfully.

The red eye boy cocked his head before walking forward. 

“Talbott, where are you-”

“What does it look like? I’m going to talk to her,” Talbott called over his shoulder. 

“Talbott, wait, you-”

Judith knew it was about time for her to change and head to first class. Freezing her Bludgers, her ears picked up the sound of someone approaching from behind. Her heart seized in her chest at the thought someone seeing her scar.

“Hey, Judith right,” Talbott called out to her as he got closer. 

‘Oh crap, why does it have to be him?! I gotta leave before he sees my face!’ With that in mind, Judith grabbed her bag and took off for the nearest exit. She can hear Talbott calling out to her but she didn’t dare stop until she was out of the Quidditch Pitch.

“Damn,” Talbott cursed under his breath. He was only a few feet away from her when she took off as if a bunch of devils were behind her.

“I tried to warn you, you blokehead. Judith is incredibly skittish when it comes to people she doesn’t interact with regularly. I can only imagine how she could be when her entire face is exposed,” Andre chided. Talbott rolled his eyes and sighed.

“It’s not like I haven’t spoken to her before. She returned something of mine a few years ago and I never got the chance to properly thank her,” Talbott grumbled, kicking the grass. Andre’s gaze soften at his admission.

“If you didn’t get the chance, then she probably wasn’t looking for you to thank her. She may be an outcast in this school but she’s definitely the school’s hidden sweetheart,” Andre said, squeezing his fellow house mate’s shoulder. A frown worked it’s way on Talbott’s face.

‘Just who are you? And why do you feel so familiar to me...’

“Time to go, class starts in a few minutes,” Andre coaxed. The wizard gave his friend a nod, turning to follow him until something on the ground caught his eye.

“What is it, mate,” Andre asked as he watch Talbott bend down to pick something up.

It was twin set of thick gold cuff bracelets. The outside had twin arrows engraved on it and each had a unique message on the inside.

To my baby girl: If I could give you one thing in life, it would be to give you the ability to yourself in my eyes. Then would you realize how special you are to me.

Whenever you feel overwhelmed... Remember whose daughter you are and straighten your crown.

“Talbott?” Red eyes meant brown ones with a small smile.

“I think I found a way to talk to her...”

[procrastinatorimagines]

Our Little Secret (Part 6)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries / The Originals

Series: Our Little Secret

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 //

Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15 (Final)

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,090

Summary: Y/N Gilbert caught Klaus’ eye the moment he arrived in Mystic Falls and she’d been swept off her feet, but recent events forced her to face the reality of her fairytale romance with Klaus. Was there a future for them? Or was it not the right time? If not now... maybe one day.

Tags: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ // @april-14-blog​ // @akshi8278​ // @keiko0​ // @mylovehes​ // @your-new-mom​

It was a glorious day, mid-morning sun beating down on your skin as you found yourself sat on a bench in the park, watching people pass by and go about their day, blissfully unaware of the truth about Mystic Falls. You didn’t envy them, but having your eyes opened to the supernatural hadn’t exactly made your life any easier, the exact opposite actually. 

If you told anyone of these people that you were out here debating your relationship with a millenia old vampire, one of the Original vampires at that, after he’d threatened the life of your doppelganger sister in an attempt to stop his powerful witch mother from killing him and his siblings, they’d think you were insane.

But that was the truth, that was your life now. Or, for now anyway. Your relationship with Klaus had been this untouchable bubble, away from all the problems with your family and the Salvatore’s, but your separate worlds had collided, violently. You wanted that night at the Mikaelson ball, to be back in Klaus’ arms, dancing without a care in the world, but you couldn’t get that back now. 

The reality was, Klaus’ family came before all, and you couldn’t chose him over your own, no matter how infuriating they could be. In another life, in another time, maybe, but right now? Right now you knew what you had to do.

Letting yourself sit out in the sun for another few moments you closed your eyes and allowed your fantasy to continue for a little longer. Eventually, however, you knew you had to open your eyes and stand up, you had to meet with Klaus. 

He was exactly where he said he’d be, leaning his shoulder against a tree near the edge of the woods, eyes closed like yours had just been. You’d taken the long way around, walking at a leisurely pace as your mind sorted through the many twists and turns your life had taken since your parents had died. 

You had been in your sister’s shadow since then, and Klaus had made you feel like you could step out into the light, but now you didn’t know where you stood. So you’d spent the last few days thinking, and researching. You hadn’t finished school yet, but you knew that when you did you’d have to put Mystic Falls in your rearview mirror if you had any chance of finding yourself and where you belonged in this world. 

“Our last little secret rendezvous,” Klaus mused, turning to look at you as you approached. Even without vamp hearing, you hadn’t exactly been trying to hide the crunch of your boots, no one else was out here anyway, it was just the two of you.

“It has to be,” you said, no matter how much your heart was breaking, if you didn’t do this now you never would. “We were never exactly destined to last.”

His eyes softened, looking sad. "Not right now, but maybe someday...” You smiled, he’d always been a romantic. But you liked to think of yourself as a realist, well, usually. 

“Maybe,” you replied, the notion making your heart ache slight less, whether you believed it or not, “but I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.”

“My life has been better for having you in it Y/N Gilbert,” Klaus straightened up, moving away from the tree and taking you by the hands, “you won’t be forgotten in my heart.”

You swallowed, blinking away tears that you really didn’t want to shed; you’d already poured your heart out into your pillow, more than once. “You’ll also see me around town, this isn’t entirely goodbye.”

“You’re right, but I reckon neither one of us is long for this place,” Klaus guessed and you nodded thoughtfully in agreement. You’d told Klaus about your wish to travel, see the world, he’d offered to take you once, but you knew your paths were about to go their separate ways. For now at least. “You’re a star Y/N, you shine bright, don’t go back into the shadows.”

“I’ll try,” you half promised as he cupped your cheek. He was hesitant for a moment before drawing away, the feeling of his hand on your cheek as he reached into his pocket and drew out a small navy box. He held it out for you, the velvet smooth on your skin as you carefully opened the lid.

There was a silver necklace inside, a beautiful shooting star standing out against the dark cushion it was displayed on; it looked like a snap shot of the night sky. “It’s beautiful,” you gasped, running a finger along the smooth chain.

“May I?” Klaus asked, offering to fasten it around your neck. You nodded, unsure of what to say as you savoured the feeling of his fingers brushing your hair away from your neck as he fastened it, fingers lingering on your skin as he moved around so that he was facing you again.

“Think of me when you look up at the stars, I’ll think of you when I see them, and paint them,” he whispered, face inching closer to yours with every word. You closed the gap, a tear slipping down your cheek as you kissed him one last time, deep and meaningful as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You didn’t want it to end, but you knew it had to, foreheards resting against one another as you breathlessly broke away. You stayed like that for a long time, longer than you expected, not wanting to leave his embrace. It wasn’t the last time you’d ever see Klaus, but it was the last time you’d be like this with each other. For all your failed promises to Elena that you’d stop seeing Klaus, you knew this time you meant it. 

To your surprise, it was you who pulled away first, gently putting a hand to Klaus’ face as you kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye,” you breathed, looking him in the eyes one last time before turning to walk away. 

You got to the end of the path before you risked turning back, leaves floating in the light breeze where Klaus had just been. With a heavy heart you focused on the path a head of you, hand ghosting over your necklace as you made your way back home. 

There may be a future for you and Klaus, in some other place and time, but you knew it couldn’t be right now, no matter how much either of you wanted it to be. 

But one day...

[sebsmetal-arm]

Sex (f)or Breakfast || Bryce and Hunt

Summary: The morning after Bryce takes care of Hunt, the two are met with some unspoken truths lingering in the air. When their worlds - and lips - finally collide, there is going to be more than just eggs on the table for breakfast.

Disclaimer: These characters and world are the sole intellectual property of Sarah J Maas. I claim no right to this property, this is a work of fan fiction. I tried my best to stay true to Sarah's writing style and characterization but any difference in character aspects or dialogue is intentional. Please do not copy or repost my work. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you to everyone on Instagram that helped me with ideas of what was in Bryce's nightstand, and THANK YOU to my beta readers! You know who you are and I love all of you!

After the prior night’s events, Bryce had spent the better part of the morning laying awake in bed, waiting for a text, a call, anything to break the damning silence of the apartment. She knew eventually that bedroom door opposite hers would open and she would have to face the reality of what had transpired between the two of them. She couldn’t seem to shake the images of all that she had seen the night before - the dark emptiness in Hunt’s eyes when he had come through the front door. The way she discovered him sitting in the shower an hour later, letting the scalding hot water batter and burn him relentlessly. How she could feel the pain and remorse and inner hatred roiling off him in waves as thick and suffocating as the steam from the shower. The horrifying realization that this was not the first time he had done this, that he had become accustomed to this act of self-inflicted torture following each of Micah’s depraved missions. 

The world had been so wrong about him, he didn’t wear the title of Umbra Mortis with pride; he wore it with shame. In that moment, he was nothing but a shell of himself, of the Hunt that she knew. It was akin to staring at a reflection of herself, of her soul, and of the torment and guilt that had plagued her every day since Danika’s murder. 

So she did what she had wished for those past two years. She took care of him, the way she had wanted someone to take care of her. She had been alone, with no one left, and she would never let him feel that sort of hollow loneliness again. 

She lathered his hair and his wings, and carefully scrubbed his raw skin free of any grime and blood that remained. With her hands, she gently coaxed as much pain from his body as she could, washing it down the drain along with any physical trace of what had happened that evening. He remained resolute in his silence, with his head downcast and the wet strands of midnight hair framing his face, only giving her the barest recognition when she asked him to stand. But it was enough. Enough for her to know that he was still in there, however deeply buried beneath the weight of contrition. 

After slinging a towel around his waist, she gently patted him dry, and led him to his bedroom and into a pair of shorts before helping him into bed. When Hunt sank down into the mattress, the groan of the bed seemed to shake the stillness of the room, as if Hunt was piling on those invisible chains he had worn for over two centuries. He had been designed by Urd for the heavens, gifted with wings for great and magnificent things, but had spent most of his life shackled to the ground by the thorned halo across his forehead. That wretched tool of enslavement, which was a bastardization and mockery of the Malakim, placed a chokehold on his magic so strong that it had become nothing but a trickle. 

When Bryce made to leave, his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, giving a barely there squeeze as if silently pleading for her to stay. So she did. Letting him nestle his head in her lap, she stroked his hair until the restless heaves of his chest stilled into a calm rising and falling as sleep consumed him. Once content with his sleeping form she eased out from under him, carefully letting his head fall back onto the pillow. There had been nothing sensual about that evening, but as Bryce crept back to her room she couldn’t deny the inkling that something had changed. Since they had begun their partnership, their lives had simply been locked in orbit. Revolving around the same fixed position, tethered by gravity that held together the shattered pieces of their lives. But with every stroke of her fingers through his hair and each desperate lean into her touch, their worlds had begun to eclipse. 

***

When Hunt awoke, the first thing he noticed was the distinct smell of Bryce’s skin. He stretched out to reach for her, hoping to ground himself once more, but was met with nothing but crumpled bed sheets. She had definitely been there last night, there was no denying the scent of her that lingered heavily. 

He had spent so long coping with his own nightmares in solitude, that when she was suddenly kneeling in front of him on the tile floor, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what to say, his own mind numb and void of anything remotely human. It wasn’t until Bryce was coaxing him into bed that he realized what it felt like not to be alone. And when her caressing touch dragged the last dregs of tension from his shoulders, he had slept soundly for the first time in ages. 

The intoxicating comfort of her presence called to him. He knew he needed to seek her out, to thank her, and to let her know that he was okay. He flipped off the covers and threw on a pair of sweatpants, silently padding to the door as the smell of coffee wafted through the apartment. As he approached the kitchen island, Bryce scowled at her phone before throwing it down in protest. He leaned against the marble countertop.

***

“Hey.”

Hunt’s voice, gruff with sleep, startled her out of her furious haze and she spun to find him leaning against the island. She couldn’t help but notice he was shirtless, a grey pair of sweatpants hugging his lean hips. 

“Fucking Hel Hunt, you need a warning bell or something.” Bryce cursed, her fists clenched in surprise. His shoulders shook, his mouth crooking up slightly. A smile, good. “How are you?” 

His brows furrowed, pain washing over his face momentarily. “Fine.” he stated in a pinched but gentle manner.

She took that as a clue to leave him be, not wanting to pry but worry overtook her so she averted her gaze, toeing the ground nervously before attempting to change the subject, “Do you want some-”

“Wait, Bryce,” he blurted, interrupting her, “I- I’m okay, really. I mean, I don’t think anything will ever change the- the person I have to be.” He ground out, his voice full of disdain, “Or the consequences of that. Not as long as I still bear this,” he said gravely, gesturing to the halo, “but-” he stammered, taking a breath to school his thoughts.

He closed the distance between them hesitantly, his statuesque form now towering over her. She couldn’t help the way her breath hitched at the closeness of him or the smell of his bare skin. As he looked down at her sun-kissed face, her lips already parted in anticipation, he could see the hope and trepidation swirling in her amber eyes. He took one of her hands in his, a gentle and intentional embrace.

“I’m more okay than I’ve ever been… Thank you.” he breathed, his words skittering across her skin like electricity. 

Her eyes lit up, as if they had soaked in the morning rays beaming through the living room windows. Any fear that had once lingered on her face had been chased away and the smile that broke across her face, Urd help him, was brighter than any star in the realm. They shared a silent moment, her hand still in his before she averted her gaze, a secret blush creeping into her cheeks. 

He broke the silence first, sensing her uncertainty of what to do or say next, “So, how about that coffee?”

***

As they milled about the kitchen, the routine was much of the same. But the unspoken truths hung in the air, smothering the very oxygen from the room until they were both choking on it. And when Hunt unexpectedly pressed a gentle kiss to Bryce’s cheek in a gesture of thanks, she was left reeling. She tried to fight the heat piquing in her cheeks as she became hyper aware of the hairs on her arms raising at his touch. Of the muscles between his wings flexing as he tended to breakfast. Of her thighs clenching to quell the rush at her core, and the subsequent absence of underwear causing the color to drain from her face. She was wearing nothing under the shirt. His shirt. 

Without warning his shoulders went tight, his wings tucking in, and he slowly turned on her with a curious but predatory gaze. The sudden quickening of her heart rate had likely alerted him. Or maybe it was the newfound heat pooling between her legs that had incited the almost feral way his eyes were roving over her. 

“You okay, Quinlan?” He asked, giving a smug perk of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I- I’m great.” She choked out, barely able to breathe under the weight of his stare.

As he scanned the length of her body once more, his eyes narrowed, “Is that my shirt?”

She nervously fingered the hem, which fell to mid-thigh, tugging it down for good measure but not daring to look away. “Uh, yeah, I hope you don’t mind.” she breathed, her usual bravado now a simpering and demure thing hiding in the corner. He continued to examine her for another few seconds too long, causing her to resign to embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I’ll go change” she stammered, turning to escape to her room. But as she went to step, he grabbed on to the hem and tugged her back to him. 

“No, Quinlan, I don’t mind.” He said, his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the hem. “I like seeing you in my shirt.” he confessed, his voice rumbling over her skin as he dropped his own gaze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed roughly.

In the movement of him pulling her back, she was now wedged between him and the island, suddenly aware of the cool marble against her spine. She knew her next move could be detrimental, that she was toeing the line between staying professional or diving headlong into something she might never be able to come back from. But in truth, she was already drowning in his presence and her own arousal. She willed her hand to move, placing her palm against his chest and he became violently still. Neither of them dared look at the other, their attention solely on her hand which was now drawing lazy circles on his tan skin. 

“What about…” she trailed off, her nerves jolting her into momentary submission before she steeled herself, practically shouting at that part of her quivering in the corner to pull up her fucking bootstraps, “what about out of it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He became preternaturally still, not even a feather rustling out of place. Before she could register what was happening, not even lifting his head he stepped away, letting her hand fall to her side, and turned back around to the eggs cooking on the stovetop. Bryce watched him for a moment, letting the realization of her mistake sink in, before whirling around to escape the sight of his rejection, the distance now separating them. She crossed the line that she had stood on the precipice of for so long, and she had fucked up. She silently admonished herself, pressing her palms against the countertop in agitation. The sound of the burner clicking off echoed through the morose quiet of the room. Not even she could muster the confidence to eat breakfast with him, not after what had just happened.

She was about to excuse herself from the room when a strong hand snaked around her from behind, palming her stomach, as another hand ghosted down the length of her arm sending chills racing along her skin. His lips were suddenly at her ear, his voice dripping with desire as it consumed every nerve in her body. 

“I would like that even more, Bryce.” He murmured, her name rolling off of his lips like a prayer. His body was pressed against hers, conforming to every curve, and the evidence of his arousal was pushing into her backside. The only thing louder than the stark silence of the room was the thunderous beating of their hearts. 

Hunt reached up, pushing aside her red-wine hair, and Bryce trembled at the cool draft suddenly whispering against her bare neck. Even though she knew what was coming, nothing could prepare her for the state of catatonic shock her body plunged into when his lips pressed against the silken skin of her shoulder. Everything became narrowed to that singular point of contact. She turned to putty in his hands. He trailed his lips up her neck, her mouth dropping open when his teeth grazed against her skin until he reached the shell of her ear once more. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, his voice a tremor beneath her, threatening to shift and rupture her entire existence.

“Everywhere.” she moaned, gasping for a breath she had been holding. 

“Show me.” he said. A two word command that had her body aching and quivering. 

His hand that had been tracing up and down her arm nestled into her cupped palm, hanging limp at her side. Silently begging for permission. For direction. 

Fighting through the erotic haze fogging her brain, she found the wherewithal to respond and gripped his strong, callused hand. As she guided his hand down her leg, she turned her head to look at him, holding his gaze as their hands crept toward the inner apex of her thighs. It was when his fingers brushed across her center and the physical evidence of her aroused state that she whispered a single word. 

“Here.” 

His eyes went dark with primal lust and when his lips met hers, they were rough. Needy. No longer gently asking permission but rather desperately demanding entrance. She would let him take and take from her until they were both sweating and limp with satiation. 

Her lips parted, his tongue diving in to entwine with hers. She grazed his bottom lip with her teeth and a guttural growl rumbled from his chest. In a swift movement, he spun her around and gripped her behind her thighs, lifting her to sit on the edge of the cool, marble countertop. It was as if he had read her mind, seen the fantasies she had imagined many a morning.

He pressed himself between her legs, the feathered tips of his wings tickling her calves as they flexed and shifted around them. His hands roved the surface of her body, fitting into every crook of her curves, each voluptuous swell nesting perfectly in his palm, his grip greedy and unforgiving. As they kissed, their gasps and moans the only sound in the room, Hunt pushed his hands up her thighs, working the shirt up to her waist. When his thumb pressed and circled around her delicate clit, her jaw slackened as she exhaled a whimpering moan into his mouth. She grappled for something to hold onto, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck. He continued to work her, massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves as he kissed along her jawline. 

He hooked his arm under her knee, lifting it up and spreading her wider on the marble, causing her to drop one hand and lean back on the counter to support herself. With their faces mere inches apart, he held her gaze as he continued the rhythmic movements of his hand against her center, watching the way she reacted to him with delightful hunger. When he teased her entrance with one finger, her grip on his neck tightened and she bit her lip. She was aching for him and that drove him wild. He was becoming unhinged at the sight of her, her heaving chest pressing her pebbled nipples against his shirt, her thighs spread wide for him, and the way she had just bitten her pink, kiss-swollen lip.

Before Bryce could even beg, he slowly thrust one finger into her, making her head tilt back with euphoria, “Fuck, Bryce.” he cursed. The feeling of her wrapped around him, warm and wet, made his cock ache even more. Attaching his lips to her neck, he kissed and sucked and licked from her chin to the hollow of her throat. He wanted to draw this out, to tease her until she was trembling and gasping with pleasure. He wanted to taste her. Gods, he needed to taste her. But not yet. 

After a few moments, he withdrew his finger before inserting a second. Bryce brought her head up and with her eyes closed and lips parted in a pant, she focused on the sensation of his strong fingers teasing and stretching her, her arousal surely glistening on his skin. She wanted him to fill her, make her ache and scream with pleasure until there was nothing left of her. 

The next word she uttered made him groan in approval, “Faster.” she pleaded, knowing exactly what she needed to find her release. Hunt brought his forehead to hers, their lips barely touching as they shared breath, and he quickened his pace. The skin-to-skin contact and the way his strong fingers moved in and out of her, would bring her to the edge soon. When his free hand slid under and up her shirt to palm her bare breast, his thumb flicking her hardened nipple, she gasped, “Yes- yes, keep doing that, please!” she begged.

He did as she asked, his fingers unrelenting in their actions, and soon enough she was tipping her head back in ecstasy, her body shaking with pleasure. Hunt feathered kisses along her neck and chest, seeing her through her orgasm and when she was done, when her chest no longer heaved, he withdrew his fingers. He sucked them into his mouth, rolling his eyes back at the sweet and all-consuming taste of her. When his eyes opened again he realized she had been watching him, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across her flushed face. 

“Are you done?” she asked pointedly, her eyebrow perking. 

“Not even close.” he growled, catching her lips in his. When he dropped her leg, letting her straighten on the island, she broke from the kiss and gave a sharp intake of breath. The sound of pain sobered his mind and he discovered her face wrenched in a grimace. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he blurted out, gently gripping the sides of her face with concern. 

“Oh stop fussing, it’s just my leg.” she told him off, “As much as I fantasized about this exact moment, I didn’t really take into account the comfort level of a countertop.” she laughed.

When Hunt didn’t laugh along, Bryce searched his face and found it set in a look as grim as his sudden demeanor. He was gently running his fingers along the brutal scar on her leg, his mind somewhere else entirely. She reached out, tipping his chin up to look at her and his gaze met hers, full of remorse. 

“No one could have changed what happened, not even you. If it weren’t for you being in that alley, I might have died that night… so stop blaming yourself.” Bryce said, her voice soft with forgiveness. 

Hunt gave a terse nod, cradling her hand that was pressed to his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss into her palm. 

“Now, for the love of Urd, can we go somewhere more comfortable?” Bryce laughed in feigned exasperation. 

“Alright, c’mon, we’re going to your room.” he said, sliding his hands under her and picking her up, letting her legs wrap around his waist. He walked toward her bedroom determinedly and she eyed him with curiosity.

“You just want to look in my nightstand, don’t you?” she asked with suspicion.

“Oh, you fucking know I do.” he purred, giving her ass a possessive squeeze. 

When they entered the room, Syrinx jumped off of Bryce’s unmade bed with a yowl and ran out of the room. Hunt kicked the door shut before laying her down carefully on the bed.

She swatted his hands away, “Fucking Hel Hunt, I’m not an invalid. I just need a second to stretch, okay? Go do what you came here for.” she said, gesturing to the side of the bed. As she began stretching her leg, he turned to the notorious nightstand, grabbing the handle and pulling the drawer open with contained excitement and curiosity.

Silence, and then,“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, her back turned to him as she stretched. The contents of the drawer jostled as he plucked an object from inside. 

“Oh c’mon Athalar, don’t act like you’ve never seen nipple clamps before.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning around to see that looming giant of a man clutching a tiny Jelly Jubilee to his chest, his other hand shielding the toy’s face like a child. 

“Don’t look Juby!” He proclaimed, gasping in a playful tone. “Why in the Hel is she in your left nightstand?” 

“I don’t know, maybe I decided to bring her in here for safekeeping after someone rifled through my linen closet!” she spat in accusation. 

He leaned in, whispering as if performing an aside, “Y’know, I don’t think I can, in good conscience, continue this with her in the room.” 

“Oh for fuck sake, Hunt, just give her to me.” Bryce demanded in endeared exasperation, reaching up and snatching the glittery pegasus unicorn from his clutches before tossing it into the opposite nightstand. 

The contents of the drawer clattered again and when she turned back over, he was gripping her trusty vibrator in one hand, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold swinging from one outstretched finger. “I see you found Bob.” She winked.

“Who the fuck is Bob?” he asked, genuine confusion lacing his voice.

She snorted. “Battery. Operated. Boyfriend.” she punctuated, pointing towards the purple, silicone vibrator in his left hand. 

He looked back and forth between her and the toy, contemplating what to say next before gulping in a breath. “Well besides that, uh, interesting bit of information, I have so many questions.” he mused, climbing onto the bed and crawling over to kneel between her legs, already spread for him. 

“For starters, where did you get these cuffs? They feel alarmingly real. Not just some cheap, adult store replica.” 

Setting down the other two items, he focused on the metal handcuffs, unlocking them with the key he had also pulled from the drawer before tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Those?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows and feigning forgetfulness, “Oh I, uh, may or may not have stolen them…” she said, “...from the 33rd.” she added, her face breaking out into a sheepish grin.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he let her words sink in. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because,” she sat up, peeling off his white t-shirt, her body in all its glory now visible to him. He gulped, his eyes growing wider and he shifted on the bed. “Just like the rest of this gods forsaken city, you’ve heard the stories. My reputation precedes me…” she said. He saw the hurt flash through her eyes momentarily, but as quick as it had happened, it was gone. 

“So,” she stretched out two upturned fists to him, “cuff me officer.” she pouted, jutting out her bottom lip and giving him the saddest looking doe eyes.

His cock throbbed at the tone of her voice, at the way she was looking up at him so innocently, but he could see the wicked glint in her eyes. He took her hands, ratcheting the cuffs around each wrist and then picked up the blindfold, sliding his rough fingers along the silk material. He pushed a few stray strands of her hand behind her ears before stretching the elastic and sliding the blindfold down over her eyes. He ghosted his hands down the length of her arm, lifting them above her head and gently laying her back to rest on the bed. A knowing smirk played across her face.

“What are you up to, Athalar?”

He was hovering over her, his hard groin pressed against her aching center, his lips inches from hers. “Keep your arms up, and don’t move.” his voice was low and hungry, his command reverberating off her bones. 

With his hands planted on either side of her torso, he began kissing his way down her body, his lips trailing a tortuous path along her skin. When he reached her breasts, her skin pebbled at the contact. At his lips savoring each taste, his teeth grazing her teasingly, and at the cool breath he blew across her skin. He took each pert nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue around them, meanwhile flicking the other with his thumb.

Suddenly, he pulled his hands away, releasing her nipple from his lips. As much as it killed him, he stopped touching her altogether, admiring the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath. She began to squirm and his grin turned devilish. 

“Hunt, what the fuck? Why did you stop?” Her voice was wanting, needy.

He didn’t respond. Just continued to watch her squirm in the wake of his silence, enjoying the sight of her missing his touch. After a few moments he rubbed his fingers together, feeling the static spark come to life. Pressing the pads of his fingers to her skin, he circled them around her breasts, dragging a small electric current along her skin and causing her back to arch off the bed.

“Fucking Hel Hunt!” she yelped, bringing her hands down to her chest where he caught them by the chain of the handcuff.

“I told you not to move your hands.” He scolded, his voice a deep bass. 

“But I-”

“Does it hurt?” He asked, a tinge of concern edging his voice.

She paused, considering her response carefully. 

“No.”

“Then,” he pushed her arms back, guiding her hands once more to their resting place above her head. “Do what I say and don’t move, understand?”

She nodded, obeying willingly, and he sat back to work his remaining undergarment off and reposition himself. Laying down on his stomach, he nestled himself between her legs and wrapped his arms around her hips, bringing his hands up to rest on her abdomen. He looked down at the junction of her thighs, humming in approval at the sight of her gloriously aching center, the wetness of her arousal glistening in the morning light that shone through the penthouse windows. 

He called forth that static again, that small kernel of power that was only a fraction of the full might of his gift. As he kissed down the inside of her thigh, the one that had been injured two years before, he traced his fingers down the inside of the opposite thigh. She let out a gasp, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced. He repeated the action of kissing her other thigh, this time not using his power, taking care not to cause her further pain. When he could no longer contain himself, he pounced upon her, his tongue lavishing erotic pleasure to her sensitive clit. When he electrified her skin once more, her back arched into his mouth as he feasted upon the taste of her. The delicious mixture of sensations - the soft press of his lips and the sharp tingling of his fingers against her skin - sent her reeling.

He repeated the tantalizing of her skin, diving his tongue into her entrance. “Holy fucking Urd, Bryce, you taste so good.” he groaned in delight, each word a tantric vibration through her core. 

Each languid swipe and thrust of his tongue was breaking her down and tearing her apart from inside. She could feel herself tightening, feel herself building to that eventual climax, but she didn’t want it to end that way. She wanted him inside her, filling her up so she could fall apart wrapped around his cock. She let him have a few more moments, let him savor the taste of her with delicious appreciation before setting her ruse into action. 

“Hunt, stop,” she moaned, lacing her voice with a whimper. He pulled himself up, sliding his body over hers so that he was once more hovering above her face, his arms pinned on either side of her torso. 

“What- what is it?” he asked. She could hear the panic in his voice. He had taken her bait.

She couldn’t help the devious smirk that spread across her face as she, with surprising strength, rolled him over onto his back and straddled him. She pushed the blindfold off and reached over, grabbing the key off of the nightstand. With quick precision, she unlocked the cuffs and chucked them, and the key, across the room. In this position, she could easily and selfishly find her release but she wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. He reached up to caress her arms but she pushed them above his head, her body parallel to his, her breasts pressed against his hard chest. 

“I want you inside me.” She moaned in a whisper, nipping his lip playfully. She felt his abs clench underneath her in response, heard the growl hum in his chest. 

Reaching back, she grabbed his already hard cock, positioning it at her entrance, teasing herself and delighting in the way his jaw clenched at her touch. His eyes were dark with hunger, his face schooled into a look of lethal and predatory calm. When she finally shifted her hips, pressing herself down onto his throbbing length and taking him in fully, their jaws both slackened and the moans they let out were loud enough for even the wretched souls at the bottom of the Istros to hear. With her hands planted on his chest and her nails digging into his skin, Bryce sank down onto him over and over, her lithe dancer’s body affording her grace and flexibility as she gyrated up and down. Hunt reached around, his wide grip claiming her ass with devious possessiveness, bringing her hips down harder as he thrust himself up to meet her. The change in force made Bryce whimper and dig her nails in deeper, threatening to draw blood. 

“So, is it just like you imagined?” Bryce asked, her words breathless and unhinged.

“If you’re referring to this,” Hunt said, giving a pointed squeeze of her ass, “it is so much better.” he growled, before pulling her down to catch her lips in his, his tongue invading her mouth with reckless abandon. Bringing his hands up to either side of her face, his fingers slid into her hair and he gripped a section, giving a tug to bare her neck to him. 

“I have one more idea that I think you’ll enjoy.” she said as he feathered kisses along her skin from her chin to the hollow of her throat.

“What could I possibly enjoy more than this?” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck.

Without answering, Bryce lifted herself off of his cock, the absence of him instantly making her ache even more. She crawled down to the edge of the bed and on all fours, perked her perfect rear into the air and gave a beckoning wiggle. She wasn’t looking, but she knew as the bed shifted with his movement, that he was prowling towards her with a voracious hunger. She could practically feel the tension and sexual energy sizzling in the air. She felt his hands grip her ass again and then she felt his teeth sink into the tender skin of her rear, followed by a gentle but territorial spank.

His callused hands traced along her back and up to her neck, reaching around to gently grip her throat. His body was confirmed to hers and when his lips were once more at her ear, his deep voice rumbling through her, the fire inside of her was reignited with damning ferocity. 

“The kitchen counter may have been your fantasy, but this is mine.” he groaned, tracing his tongue along the shell of her ear.

“Oh, I know.” she moaned with a smirk, her voice dripping with arrogance. 

Hunt dipped two fingers into her, giving a few quick thrusts before withdrawing and sliding his cock in, letting her wrap around his sensitive erection. In this position, his reach was even deeper and their gasps and groans intermingled, filling the otherwise silent room. With his right hand still gripping her throat, Hunt reached his free hand around her abdomen, his fingers finding her clit. When they made contact, her body shuddered around him, writhing at the sensory overload assaulting her body. 

Bryce heard an airy snap as Hunt unfurled his wings fully and a moment later the room became a torrent of air. With both hands occupied, he was using the flap of his feathered wings to both balance himself and provide him further leverage to sink into Bryce with each thrust. The currents of air made her nipples harden, made her skin tingle with delight, and she could feel the coil deep within her tightening again. 

“You’re going to wake up the entire building with all that flapping.” Bryce snapped, her sex-mussed hair billowing like a curtain of fire.

“Good.” Hunt grunted, “Let them hear.” His wings beat faster, bringing his thrusts against her backside harder and deeper. His fingers still worked her clit, massaging her in circles that made her legs tremble. When he dragged his tongue up the side of her neck, biting her earlobe and groaning into her ear, it was her undoing. 

The coil within that was threatening to rupture sprang alive and it was everything she could do to keep herself on all fours. Her body shook with unrelenting pleasure and her moans echoed off of every wall. When she tightened around his cock he, too, found his release. The windows vibrated from his roar as he spilled into her, every muscle in his body tense, his skin gleaming with sweat.  When they both stilled, their chests heaving and legs trembling, they collapsed onto their backs in a sweaty but satiated heap, laying shoulder-to-shoulder. 

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was their gasping pants. Hunt’s wings were still extended, cascading over the edge of the bed in a blanket of white, Bryce’s blood red hair a stark contrast. 

Bryce squirmed, reaching under her and yanking our the purple vibrator. 

“I guess we didn’t need Bob after all.” She exhaled, tossing it to the other end of the bed. Hunt chuckled, his laughter shaking the bed, a smug smile forming. 

“I-,” Bryce started, still gulping in air, “I guess it’s a little late to ask, but do you take the tonic?”

“Every month on the dot, as per Micah’s contract.” Hunt said, his voice now a sharp edge at the mention of his servitude, “It doesn’t bode well to have a bunch of slave offspring running around I suppose.”

Bryce looked over and saw the way his face was set into hard lines, his eyes turning dark as he became lost in thought. She rolled over onto her side, taking his tattooed wrist into her hand. She pressed her kiss-swollen lips against the inside of his wrist where the slave tattoo was etched into his skin. She repeated the action, kissing the spot several times before angling herself up to do the same across his forehead, trailing her lips gently across the thorned halo.When she was finished, she pulled back and looked him in the eyes with absolution.

“I’ve seen who you are Hunt, who you truly are, and you are so much more than those markings.” she spoke quietly, the tender admission lingering in the air between them. His eyes grew softer as he looked into the amber ones peering into his soul. Like so many other times, his breath caught at how beautiful she was. How the morning sun made her glow with an otherworldly radiance. How her face was so soft, a smattering of freckles bedecking her skin like a constellation. How her red hair spilled over her shoulders and back like a velvet curtain. 

In that moment, he wanted so badly to say what had tortured him every day since his exploration of her linen closet, and the innocent way she had divulged a part of herself that no one else had seen. He could taste the words on his lips, could feel them forming, but before he could utter a word Bryce broke the silence with a contented sigh and flopped back down onto the bed.

“Alright Athalar, can we actually go make breakfast now? I’m fucking starving!” she exclaimed, making the bed shake from their laughter.

Hunt rolled over to hover over top of her, his sable hair hanging down around his face and tickling her skin. He pressed his lips to hers, lingering once more at the taste of her.

He spoke, his words coming out muffled against her mouth. “The last one there has to do the dishes!” he grinned wickedly, making a dash for his underwear discarded across the room.

“It’s on alphahole!” she shouted, leaping off the bed, knocking her bedside lamp off with a clatter in the process. She shrugged on his t-shirt once more, dodging the forgotten handcuffs he chucked at her which hit the closed bedroom with a metallic crash. From across the apartment, Syrinx gave a whine at the commotion, leaping down off of the couch to wait patiently for Bryce to fill his food bowl. 

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [23/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Angst???

A/N: Please check out my original story, The Abstract Dark (previously: Our Lady of Darkness), for some spooks, a little witch-craft under moonlight, and terryfying vampyre-like things! (18+ mature content)

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The armour took the brunt of the impact as soon as the portal blinked out of existence, seizing the world of Verdenspeil in a swirl of oblivion.

A grunt left your throat, then your ears picked up on Baldrick’s noise of discomfort—he had landed on his arm funny, but nothing seemed broken.

“Are you okay?” you helped him to his feet.

The boy nodded, eyes fixed on the fallen dagger a few paces across the room.

There was a pedestal in the centre of the room, a keyhole of a four-pronged star in the centre made for the dagger on the floor—the dagger Sigrid gave you.

You stood up to take a better look at Mímir’s Tomb. The circular room gleamed silver and gold from the armours of giant statuesque figures chained onto open tombs built into the walls. Their design was similar to the Valkyrie armour you now wore, only cruder from warring, from wear and tear. That revelation gave you pause for concern, if there were signs of use, there may be signs of the life that once inhabited the armour.

Baldrick walked over to the dagger, then on his tippy toes, wedged it into the keyhole slot and turned it counter-clockwise. Just as Sköll and Hati chase after the sun and moon in endless circles, the room began to turn like a drum racing downhill.

The spinning was so intense you feared you’d throw up. Baldrick held onto the pedestal and kept his eyes shut. From the ceiling, a contraption lowered a stone platform. As it descended, the room began to stop spinning, and the armoured figures began to stir.

“Baldrick,” you ushered him close to you, shielding him with your arm as he grabbed your cyan blue cloak that swept the floor. The swish and swing of blades being drawn emanated from the sheaths of the armoured figures.

You swallowed, holding your breath. Fingers birthing blue aura in anticipation of a fight. Then, with a loud and deafening thud, the platform locked onto a triangular dip in the floor, a head floating in a curtain of magic and light.

One armoured figure took a step, and as you raised your hand defensively, Baldrick whispered: “No.”

The armoured figure cluttered to the floor, scattering into hundreds of pieces—as did all the others. A helmet rolled to Baldrick’s feet, ornate, a golden set of horns shaped like an elk’s. With childish wonder, fear wiped off his face and he picked up the helmet and put it on, turning to smile with bright teeth at you.

You laughed, unexpectedly and wholeheartedly. It was a rare gift to see pure, unrestrained joy come from nothing. This little boy in front of you carried a connection, his magic made a home in yours, made itself feel like it had been there for years, like it was beyond familiarity. You knew he was manipulating your emotions, perhaps without even realising it, but for some inexplicable reason, you weren’t worried.

The wisps of your magic died down, then the head spoke: “I’d recognise that magic anywhere… You’ve been touched by the Stone of the Ancients.”

You turned to the head, an opal gemstone for one eye, and sky blues like your own for the other. His hair was grey and long, worn with Viking braids and beads knotted on the ends of a few dreaded strands. His beard was thin and braided, tribal tattoos on either side of his temple in the form of roots of the World Tree.

“Mímir,” you said.

“The one and only,” he winked. “Come closer, let me have a better look at you. My eyesight isn’t what it was, being locked away in the cold dark for over a millennia will do that to you.”

You and Baldrick moved closer to Mímir’s line of sight.

“Your eye, it is as mine,” you said.

“A gift from my sister,” he said with a wistful tinge. His focus turned to Baldrick with interest. Recognition. “You, boy, I know you—of you. Your essence is blindingly radiant. So much power for such a small thing. Frightening. World spanning. You—Yes! It is you that I dreamt of all those years ago—you will war with the brother. You will be the Herald of Twilight. Herald of the end!”

Baldrick did not react to the words that he heard, he only blinked slow, lethargic with growing fatigue.

You instinctively wrapped a protective arm around the boy's frame, taking a step back. Mímir turned his sights back on you, squinting. “And you… You are the last of the Himmel Kvinner. Your fate will be that of tragedy and truth. Love and despair. Life and the expanse of space between living and death. You are the Forgotten One.” He quieted in contemplation, sighing deeply with burden. “I see. Yes, I see now. The prince… he sleeps, does he not?”

“H-How do you know that?”

Mímir smirked, “My knowledge is infinite. I see all. And I see nothing. That is why the Allfather trapped me here. Once, I could see through the very weavings of time itself. Beyond realms. Beyond the limits of my body. Now I see remembrances of what I once dreamt. I am but a fraction of what I was. But even beheaded, I am still the wise Mímir, the first to drink from the well of knowledge. The first to be granted the vision of the Stone of the Ancients. The last pureblood heir to the House of Bölþorn the Just.” At the invocation of his house and title, Mímir’s skin turned to a proud, Jotun blue and then back to pale.

“Then you know of a way to wake him?”

“I see patience is lost on you. A millennia and my first guests cannot even humour an old man the chance to goad.” The head laughed, bemused by your dismissal of his grand introduction. “Very well. No, I cannot help you, but I keep the one who does.”

“What do you mean by keep?”

“Her reliquaries, your boy here immobilised them just by thinking it.”

“The statues?”

“Yes. Twenty-seven suits of armour for the twenty-seven pieces of my sister that Bor hacked with his axe.”

“Your sister?”

“Bestla.”

“Bor did that to Bestla? I thought they were lovers. Why would he do that his own wife?”

“Wife?” Mímir shouted the word as if it were a preposterous thing. “Ha! Is that the spin the Æsir are using now? Wiping away the blood from their history books, I see. Bestla was never Bor’s wife! Not by choice. She was his peace treaty. His flesh and blood armistice with the Jotuns after the Dark Alliance threatened to end the war; with him on the losing side!” His real eye flashed, lips moving with no sound. A spell had been cast. “I’ll let her speak for herself.”

Torches burst in blue flame. Suddenly, Jotun script burned to life, etching itself into the wall beside the moving tapestries of what could only be living history.

“It has been a long time since I ever saw our histories unfold on these walls,” Mímir sighed, half sadness, half gratitude. “It will be a refreshing change of pace, having someone know of the true story.”

Baldrick, drawn to the magic, began to read aloud, his tongue picking up the Jotun language with fluency. Dust, once housed in the shattered pieces of armour, began to materialise into a cloud. It roped around the room in an orb-like shape, drawn to you like a moth to flame.

Then, after Baldrick read the final inscription aloud, a piercing pain brought you to your knees. The mark of Odin sparking with life, a scream leaving your lips. Somehow the mark was interfering with the spell Baldrick had just unknowingly cast.

“Oh, no-no-no-no!” Mímir panicked. “You were marked. Quick, boy, grab one of the reliquary’s swords and hold it over the flame. Sorry, lass, but this will sting, we have to sever the mark’s connection to Odin’s magic.”

Baldrick rushed to do as Mímir said, his little feet working hurriedly. When he reached you, the sword that was too big for his grip glowed with the heat of the blue flames, threatening to bring a whole new kind of pain

“What will happen to me once the Ægishjalmar is gone?” you squeezed the raw muscle near your mark. Your mind flashed to the battle in the throne room again. To the frostbite of unbridled power.

“I know what you fear. I saw the battle in the throne room. I saw what you became because of Odin’s magic. The power you wield will be your own, I assure you, lass.” Mímir’s cadence was truthful, assured.

“Will it be dangerous?” you asked. “My magic?”

“All magic is dangerous, lass. The sooner you embrace that, the sooner you find balance.”

Baldrick searched your expression, needing to know whether to proceed or not. With a bitter taste in your mouth—partly for not wanting him to have to do something so hard, partly for your own sake—you bit down on a belt strap and nodded.

The burn was subliminal compared to having Odin’s passive magic seared out of you. It was like having a piece of you stolen without ever realising it was there to begin with. When the smell of burning flesh diffused, and the blade dropped to the ground, you felt dizzy, not as sober as before.

The magic that was denied to complete itself before was now free to continue without the resistance of Odin’s magic. The dust from the reliquaries wasn’t dust at all, they were ashes, the vestiges of Bestla.

The ashes coalesced into a physical mimicry of Bestla—and she looked every bit as fierce and beautiful as she had in the book. Tall, strong arms, midnight hair, long and thick to her tailbone. The red of her Jotun eyes was diluted, cloudy. And the tribal markings painted on her face and arms was of a powdered white. She was a vision. Demanding. Anomalistic.

“Ahhh,” Bestla breathed in deep, taking in air till her lungs promised to burst. “It has been ages since I felt the cold. The air. Light.” She laughed in glee. Slightly mad, but she was excused of that twistedness.

“And it is good to see you again, dear sister,” Mímir laughed.

Bestla turned quick on her heels, a stretch to her cheeks from her growing smile, “Mim? I never imagined I’d ever see you again.” She crossed over to his side of the room in two quick strides. Her fingers hovered over the jewel he had in one of his eye cavities. “Who did this to you?”

“Your son,” he said, downcast.

Bestla let out a contemplative hum, not in the least surprised, “So, he turned out just like his father.”

“I tried my best, but he had too much of his father’s pride, too much of that Æsir spirit.”

The giantess turned to you and then the boy, “You have finally come.”

You staggered to your feet, patience fully wilted, “It seems, every portal I jump through, every new world I discover, and every new person I meet, knows of what I am and what I will do before I do. I must admit, it is quite frustrating.”

“I can only imagine. You travelled all this way for hope, for a way to wake the one you love. Love… It has been a while since I felt its aura. It is beautiful on you. And waning. As is the construct of time,” Bestla closed the distance between the two of you, her height seeming doubled from up close. You opened your mouth to speak, but she countered with a raised hand. “Yes, I know of a way to wake him.” She waved her hand and your memories of the throne room battle were pulled from your mind, displayed in illusions of light and shadow. “When Odin cast the incantation, he unleashed your full potential. That potential is as mine was, once.” She waved her hand again and the illusion turned to that of a blue box, slithering with light. The Jotun Artefact that gave you your power. “This is the Stone of the Ancients. One of six. My people guarded it for generations. Its essence was intertwined with the very fabric of Jotunheim, as a heart does to a body, so when the Æsir stole it from our temples to use as a weapon against the Vanir during the First Great War, our planet fell to ruin. Ruin and endless winters.”

The illusion showed the decimation of spring and summer from the unimaginable beauty of a Jotunheim you had never seen before. A Jotunheim of peace and vibrancy that was all wiped away for the frozen tundra you knew all too well.

“You mean… it was Bor that started the war between the Giants and the Asgardians?” you asked.

“Aye, lass, the very same Tyrant King,” Mímir said. “Your dark prince isn’t the heir to a murderous legacy, he is the heir of the wronged. Heir to desolation as long as the Stone of the Ancients is never returned to Jotunheim.”

“Is that why I was lead here? You want me to help you restore Jotunheim?”

Bestla and Mímir shook their heads. You knew that look. It was the look of loss.

“No, dear one, Jotunheim is lost. Forever.” She said. “Fate is a tricky thing. My brother has seen how I meet my end, and I require you to do so. I swore to have my revenge, and I will, with your help.”

“If… If I help you, you will show me how to wake Loki?”

“You already know how to,” Bestla waved her hand and replayed the moment after energy ripped from your body. Then you were gurgling on the ground, hand stretched out to touch Loki’s as he bled on the floor. Breath hitched. Pained. And then you saw something new, the magic took over your body for a moment, and free from Odin’s spell, you spoke an incantation of your own. Slivers of your magic swimming across the marble floors to latch onto Loki’s fingernails and swim up the stream of his veins to rest around his cheeks.

Baldrick’s mouth pried open, a Jotun word leaving his mouth.

Bestla continued speaking as the illusion dissolved to the image of Loki hovering on a gold curtain of light in the healing chamber: “You saved his life. Our magic, our connection to the stone is primal. It is instinct and memory and emotion. That is why I cursed the Stone before I was locked in those reliquaries. I ensured only those who would understand my pain, the depths of my betrayal, would gain the stone’s power—women. And when Odin hid the stone on earth, he never imagined it would infect those on Midgard as it did to my people. But I never imagined he’d use that as a way to experiment on the women, to make them his weapons of destruction against my own kind, all the while making them believe they were chosen. God kissed. But if he never did, then you wouldn’t be here now. Like I said, fate is a tricky thing.

“When you reached for your prince—for Loki—you weren’t simply praying to no-one, you were praying to the stone. And it heard you. So it placed him in a deep slumber as it healed him from within, but the physical was not all that was damaged. Loki is a fraught boy. Torn apart by two halves that will always be at war. And in that throne room, one half finally won, and to him, it was the wrong half. The monster he was taught to hate. The monster all children are taught to fear: the Giant. I know of a spell that will allow you to enter his mind and bring him back, but like all things—”

“It comes with a price,” you weren’t the least bit surprised, but being a pawn in everyone else’s plans was becoming a thorn in your side. “And if I refuse?”

Bestla gave you an apologetic look, “Child, I said fate was tricky, I never said we got to choose.” She waved her hand one last time, and suddenly you were levitating from the floor, vision going black, ears ringing.

“Do not fret, when you awake, the answer will be as familiar to you as walking,” Bestla promised. “For familiar magic tends to want to be understood.”

Then, nothing. Just black and hard floor.

  ~Heimdall

When Heimdall and the rest of his companions reached the side of the mountain where the entrance to Mímir’s Tomb was, it was already sunrise the next day.

Moving his hands close to one another in the way of the old ways, he spoke in his native Vanir tongue, using blood to smear his handprint on a circular plate centred on the door.

In short order, the doors pried apart in slow motions, dust and the smell of ancients flooding out of the tomb.

“There is a chance the protection seals are still in place, enter with caution, and with weapons drawn,” he told the others as they disappeared into the maw of the tomb.

Heimdall gasped when he saw the reliquary statues broken to pieces. Whoever had done this possessed strong magic, but it couldn’t have been Y/N’s, she was still weak from the leeching, still new to her power. The pedestal where Mimir’s head had been laid to rest was bare, no sign of the one-eyed prophet anywhere.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“Mímir? How? It’s not like a head can just sprout legs and walk away,” Fandral said. “I must say, I am a little disappointed. Missing the chance to see one of the last living survivors of the Great War, it does sting a little. Imagine all the secrets her held.”

“Could we have trusted them?” Sif said with some restraint, nowhere near as enthusiastic as Fandral. “He was locked away for a reason. Probably because he was dangerous.”

“And now he is gone,” Volstagg said.

“A problem for another day,” Heimdall said.

“Over here!” Hogun shouted from a dark corner of the room, behind the centre pedestal, dagger locked in place. “I found them.”

“Them?” Sif ran in Hogun’s direction and Heimdall followed.

On the floor was Y/N, out cold, but alive. Her essence was changed, almost exonerated of another’s influence, yet not completely alone. There was something else banging around in the softest, more quiet parts of her magic. Something new. He noticed then that her brand was cauterised from her flesh. Next to her was a boy, strange, bearing a hefty presence. He was the wielder of the magic that destroyed the protective seals on the reliquaries. For someone so young, that was unfounded. What was his connection to Y/N, Heimdall wondered.

He picked her off the floor while Hogun carried the boy. With ease creeping into his chest, he said, “Let’s go home.”

[starlost-andfound]

january / d.j.s (part 4)

“the night that you flirted with me for 20 seconds and I became obsessed with you forever”

Inspired by Brooklyn 99 and ‘Lotus Inn’ by Why Don’t We

A/N: A little special note for @chilling-seavey who was the real inspiration behind my writing. This one is for you ❤️❤️❤️

A/N + : Mixed feelings about how I wrote the ending but, oh well.

Word Count: 1238 words (oops)

Read Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

June 25th, 2019 [08: 37 PM]

“Hey, Daniel, you ready?”

Daniel turned to the door where his brother, Christian stood, “Yeah, just give me a minute.”

He sprayed a puff of cologne and fixed a chain around his neck. He checked his newly dyed hair in the mirror one last time before leaving his bedroom, pulling on a purple jacket.

As Daniel followed his brother out to the car, his hand absent-mindedly reached for his wrist. He looked down as he realised there was nothing on his wrist and he cursed under his breath.

“One second,” he jogged back inside to his room, leaving Christian by the door.

“What’d you forget?”, Christian called out.

Daniel returned from his room, clasping a bracelet around his wrist.. Christian sighed as he noticed the small lotus pendant dangling from his bracelet.

“You really think you’re going to find her, there?”

Daniel shrugged, “I don’t know. I just like the bracelet, I guess.”

Christian shook his head, smirking, “Dude, you are absolutely whipped.”

Daniel shoved his brother playfully, “Shut up!”

“And you’ve only talked to her for what, an hour?!”, Christian continued teasingly.

Daniel rolled his eyes as he entered the car, “It was 4 hours, but whatever.”

_ _ _

Daniel winced at the booming music and flashing lights as he walked into the house, Christian following closely behind him. Daniel and Christian quickly caught up with their group of friends and immediately fell into their conversation. But, as the night carried on, the members of the friend group dispersed. Some called it a night, while others found themselves on the dance floor.

Daniel found himself in the corner of the room, playing with the pendant on his bracelet. He sighed, looking across the room where his brother danced with his date for the night. The upbeat electronic music blended into a slow love song and he groaned, moving to the kitchen to find a refill for his apple juice. As he sipped on his drink, he glanced over to the dance floor. Everyone seemed to have someone in their arms. The song changed and a tune that was too familiar to Daniel’s ears, filled the room. Daniel’s heart ached at the thought of that night.

“I’m bored,” y/n yawned.

Daniel's eyes lit up and he sprung up to his feet, “LET’S DANCE!”

He pulled out his phone, pressing shuffle on his playlist and pulled y/n up onto her feet just as the soft tunes of ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ played.

Y/n hugged Daniel and they swayed to the music.

Daniel sung the lyrics to the song, alcohol laced in his voice.

“Wise man say, only fools rush iiiinnn,” Daniel mumbled.

“But I can’t help, falling in love with you,” y/n finished the lyric, resting her head on Daniel’s chest as they swung slightly from side to side.

Daniel looked down, smiling softly.

Daniel gripped the empty juice box tightly in his hand and threw it into the trash can. His feet carried him outside, trying to escape the music and the memory of her. He closed the door to the backyard and sighed in relief at the empty garden. Daniel seated himself on one of the sun beds, looking out at the pool. The music from the house was still audible but quiet enough for Daniel to ignore it.

Subconsciously he started to fiddle with the bracelet on his hand again, something he did quite often nowadays. The sound of the door opening behind him, snapped him out of his habit. He laid back on the sunbed, hoping whoever it was that wandered outside was too drunk to notice him.

After a few minutes, Daniel still heard nothing from this stranger but he felt a lingering pair of eyes on him. From the corner of his eye, he caught the stranger sitting on the terrace steps, casting him occasional glances.

He huffed, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

The person behind him cursed under their breath before apologizing, “Sorry, it’s just, you looked familiar and I thought i knew you...”

Daniel froze in shock at the sound of the person’s voice as they rambled on their apology.

He could recognize that voice anywhere.

“You have a very pretty smile.”

“So we remember.”

“But I can’t help, falling in love with you,”

He stood up abruptly, turning to face her and she paused, taken back by the sudden action.

“Y/n?”

“Daniel?!”

Daniel ran towards y/n, immediately throwing his arms around her, “You’re here, like actually here. This is real.”

Y/n hugged him back, tightly, “Yes! I knew you looked so familiar.”

She pulled back, grinning and ruffled his hair, “And you dyed your hair!”

Daniel chuckled, a light red tint bloomed on his cheeks, “Y-yeah, I did. And you cut yours!”, he pointed at y/n’s hair which now rested just above her shoulders.

“You look nice with shorter hair.”

“The blonde makes your eyes pop,” they complimented each other at the same time.

The two laughed, awkwardly swaying on their heels.

“Thanks,” Daniel mumbled.

Y/n reached out for his hand, placing it in hers, “You kept the bracelet.”

Daniel nodded, “Always, I barely took it off.”

The two reunited friends sat down on the sun beds, catching up on the times they missed.

“It feels like ages ago since the night we met,” y/n said looking up at the stars.

“January 14th, 2019,” Daniel whispered, playing with the lotus pendant on his bracelet.

“You remember the date?”

Daniel looked at y/n, “How could I forget the day you claimed you fell so blissfully in love with me?”, he joked

Y/n rolled her eyes, laughing, “I think you were a little too drunk to actually remember what happened that day, because I don’t remember saying any of that.”

Daniel shook his head, “I wasn’t too drunk. I remembered that night and I always have.”

He gulped, taking a deep breath, “January 14th, 2019. You said I have a pretty smile. You flirted with me for 20 seconds and I became obsessed with you forever.”

Y/n looked up at Daniel, at a loss for words.

Daniel groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He got up, dusting off his jeans, “Umm…I’m going to go back inside,” he turned around, trying to escape the situation.

“Daniel, wait!”

Daniel turned around, “I get it, okay? You don’t have to explain why, just forget it,” he swallowed the lump in his throat and reached for the door to enter the house.

Y/n huffed, tugging on Daniel’s jacket sleeve, pulling them face to face again.

“What?”, Daniel asked as y/n looked up at him.

“I remember too,” y/n said, “January 14th, you were wearing your pyjamas and a pink beanie and those hotel slippers.”

Y/n lifted her hand, placing it on Daniel’s cheek, “You said you’d run away with me and we’d leave the city. You told me I have pretty eyes and danced with me to Elvis.”

“I’ve been thinking about that night forever,” y/n whispered, “I just didn’t think you did too.”

“Y/n?”, Daniel cupped y/n’s cheeks, looking at her lips and back into her eyes.

“Yeah?” Y/n mumbled, looking up.

“Can I kiss you?”, Daniel asked.

Y/n blushed, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to kiss a stranger?”

Daniel smiled softly, “You’re not a stranger.”

Y/n returned the smile, tugging his jacket to pull him in for a kiss.

- - -

A/N: AND THAT’S THE END OF THIS LITTLE SERIES! I hope you liked it as much as I did, probably one of my favorites from what I have written :)

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VI

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 8, 390

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes; The action makes her look at him again and there’s something behind the playfulness in his gaze, something that sings like there is only one for me; you have made that a possibility, like we could take that step to see, mm; if this is really gonna be, like all she’s gotta do is say yes to whatever statement his eyes are making, to whatever question his fingers are stitching into her skin. (Read chapter below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Say Yes

There is only one for me

You have made that a possibility

We could take that step to see, mm

If this is really gonna be

All you got to do is say yes

On the following Thursday, Iris finds herself rushing down Main St., her glittery gold pumps making a rhythmic clack-clack-clack on the sidewalk. She barely had time to change from what she’d worn to work, into a long black maxi dress printed with gold feathers all over it. The dress has long sleeves and a modest neckline, though the right side split that rises near to her waist changes what might otherwise just be a pretty casual dress. She’s late, which is why she’s risking a broken neck by running down the street in these shoes, not wanting to hear Wally bitch about being late to his 21st birthday dinner.

She finally gets to the front of Golden’s, where her dad has rented out space for the dinner and later, some music and dancing. Barry is standing outside of the restaurant, in a pair of well-fitting black pants and camel colored desert boots, tugging at the neck of the white sweater that does only good things for those broad shoulders. He looks up from his phone when he hears her heels, and the smile he gives her pulls her up short.

“Hi, beautiful” he greets as he steps out from where he’d been leaning on the wall. “You look nice."

Iris waves a hand, still trying to catch her breath. “I look like I’ve been working all day.”

She touches self-consciously at her hair, knowing that the curls from her bantu knots have likely begun to fall. But when she looks up again, the word nice isn’t actually what she sees as he’s looking at her. It’s a misnomer, the word nice, because his gaze follows the curves of her body, the way the dress’s matching tie shows the deep curve of her waist, and how every time she moves, Barry sees one long, brown leg ending in the double straps around her ankle. Iris shifts under his gaze, at his blown irises, the color of them graying by the moment.

“Come here,” he says, reaching out for her.

“What? Barry, we’re late,” she attempts to argue, even as she’s letting him pull her into his arms. She tumbles into them, letting him wrap both his arms around her as she circles hers around his waist. She can feel the warmth of his palms through the thin material of her dress.

“Breathe,” he commands softly, and she inhales deeply before letting it go. Barry loosens his hold, but only enough that he can look into her eyes.

“Let’s try that again,” he teases. “Hi, Iris, you look beautiful.”

Her stomach flutters at the comment and she bites down on her bottom lip. “Thank you, Barry.”

“How’s your day been? We haven’t talked.”

“Barry, we’re…”

“Late. Yes, I know. And maybe I’m stalling because I’m nervous to meet your entire family at your brother’s party, but I also just wanna check in.” He lifts her chin with a forefinger. “So how’s your day been?”

She thinks that she fucking melts, just like that.

“It’s been good. Really good,” she replies softly, trying to hold his tender gaze. “I didn’t have to curse any undergrads. And I, uh, well,” she hesitates for only a moment, but she wants to tell him this, even if it’s news she’s been hoarding for the moment. “Well, my blog is going to be featured on Good Morning, Central City.”

His eyes light up. “What, Iris? That’s amazing!” He wraps his arms around her again and squeezes, even pulling her off of her feet. The sound of her laughter fills the air as she tightens her hold on his neck.

He’s the first person she’s told. She’d gotten the email after lunch this afternoon, about the morning talk show featuring some of Central City’s rising internet stars. She’s never considered herself an internet star, especially because her blog focuses primarily on others, with the exception of the occasional personal story, the occasional picture with an update about her life. But they’re taping the segment in a month’s time and she’ll have a ten minute spot talking to the hosts and answering questions about What a Life You’ve Lived.

“Baby, I’m so damn proud of you.”

And he is, which isn’t so much startling as it is noteworthy. Because he’s new here, but already he’s been so supportive of her and her work, reading and asking questions all the time. It’s a rush, really, and she has to hold on to him to steady herself.

“Thank you so much, Barry. It’s exciting and scary and, humbling, in a way.”

“See,” he says, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Good.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he takes it as an invitation to kiss her. It’s a quick kiss, compared to the way he usually kisses her, but he still leaves her light-headed from the taste and the feel of him. She hums when he pulls away, closing her eyes briefly.

“You ready?” she asks when he’s in her sight again.

“I think I am,” he replies, but she notes that he seems a little dazed too.

“Don’t be nervous,” she grins. “You already know Dad. You’ve met Linda. You’ve likely met Cecile too.”

“Yes, but it’s one thing to talk to Captain West and DA Horton for work. It’s completely different to hang out with them as the man their daughter has been seeing.”

She takes his hand to squeeze once and lets go to run her hand across his chest, picking at invisible lent on his sweater.

“It’ll be fine. Just be your weirdly charming self.”

“Weirdly charming?” His eyes widen and he stands up straighter. “How am I weirdly charming?”

Ignoring his question, she grabs his hand again. “Come on. We’re really late now.”

“But Iris…?”

Iris isn’t quite sure how she got Barry invited to this dinner. She’d gone over to her dad’s for dinner on Sunday, and they’d been talking about Wally’s party, securing some last-minute details. Out of the blue, Wally had blurted about Iris’s “new boyfriend,” though Iris figures it was a calculated move on her brother’s part. But now they’re here, walking into Golden’s hand in hand.

The place has been decorated for the party: white, black, and gold streamers everywhere, a matching balloon arch, a tall matching photo booth set up on one side. The space has been cleared so that there is one long table for the group to sit together (to include their family, Linda and Daniel, Theo and Xuan, and several of Wally’s friends from college). On the other side of the table is a wide-open space where, in about an hour, a DJ will come set up in the corner and the remaining space will act as a makeshift dance floor.

Wally is sitting in the middle of the table, a black leather crown on his head, matching his black t-shirt and blazer paired with black trousers, a gold chain circling his throat. The color theme for his birthday party is black, white, and gold, and as Iris looks around the room, she sees her family and Wally’s friends all adhering to the dress code.

“Iris,” he shouts when he spots her. “Fucking finally.” He immediately glances back at their dad with a low “sorry dad,” before standing to greet her. Iris pulls him in for a hug, wrapping her arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she tells him. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Thanks, big sis.” He gives her another big squeeze and then pulls back to kiss her cheek.

Joe West, tall and imposing-looking with deep brown skin and kind eyes, shakes his head at his youngest son and stands to give Iris a hug too.

“Good to see you, pumpkin.”

He looks at Barry, who’s standing behind her, looking a little bit pink in the face, his eyes wide. She shakes her head in amusement, thinking about how he’s always so damn confident when he’s with her, but he’s looking like he wants to turn and run at the moment.

“CSI Allen,” her dad says, expression unreadable.

Barry swallows. “Captain West. It’s, uh, good to see you.”

There’s a tense silence for just a moment as her dad seems to size Barry up. But before Barry decides to actually run away, Iris rolls her eyes and lightly taps her father’s shoulder.

“Daddy, stop.”

Her dad blinks once and then his face erupts in a wide grin. “I’m just kidding. Good to see you, Allen.” He reaches out to shake Barry’s hand, clapping his shoulder.

“You too, sir,” Barry nods once, and then again. “And please just call me Barry.”

The rounds are made. Barry greets DA Horton, a pretty woman with ochre colored skin and big brown eyes, who tells him to call her Cecile when they aren’t at work. Wally is next, who gives him a long look, not unlike their father, before reaching out to hug him, whispering something in his ear that makes Barry smile faintly as he looks briefly at Iris before turning back to Wally and nodding firmly. Xuan and Theo greet him with wide smiles, and then Linda gives him a kiss on the cheek before introducing him to Daniel, a tall, sun-kissed man with near black eyes, unruly dark hair, and an easy smile.

The table is divided with family on one end and Wally’s friends on the other, with Wally sitting in the middle on one side and Iris across from him. There are a couple of waiters, Allegra is here as the bartender, and just as Barry and Iris are sitting down, the waiters bring out several plates of appetizers featured on the menu: egg rolls, steamed buns, fried pork dumplings, ginger salads, edamame, baked sticky wings. There are several plates of each, enough for everyone to have some of everything and they all dig in, taking sips of Wally’s birthday cocktail, something that’s mostly champagne, in between.

Iris watches in fascination as Barry effortlessly makes conversation with people around him. It’s not that she’s necessarily surprised; Barry is an affable sort, her dad is an extremely good judge of character, and Wally and Cecile are generally easy-going people. But seeing it in action does something so funny to her that she can’t describe it. When her dad asks how they met, he shoots her a wink and replies, “I saw her out dancing one night and I knew I had to get to know her.” Only she hears Linda’s snort, but the answer does make her shake her head (and flush a little) in remembrance.

Then Cecile wants to know, inexplicably, about their first date.

“She invited me over for dinner,” Barry explains.

“No, I…” She turns sharply to her side, narrowing her eyes at the unmitigated glee in his. He knows that if she explains how he’d just shown up (because she’d invited him over for a one-night stand anyway), they’d both be thrown under the bus.

Iris looks back at the table, at her dad who’s got an eyebrow raised, and at Wally who’s obviously trying not to laugh.

“I don’t really count that as the first date,” she responds through clenched teeth. Barry leans into her, arm draped over her shoulder, fingers playing absently with her dress’s collar.

“So do you count hanging out at Fall Fest?”

She isn’t fooled by the casual tone of his question. “You were there with your friends. You ditching them had nothing to do with me.”

He reaches out and fingers the simple gold open circle studs she’s wearing. The action makes her look at him again and there’s something behind the playfulness in his gaze, something that sings like there is only one for me; you have made that a possibility, like we could take that step to see, mm; if this is really gonna be, like all she’s gotta do is say yes to whatever statement his eyes are making, to whatever question his fingers are stitching into her skin.

“Me leaving them had everything to do with you.”

And she’s, for a second (or for a minute, or for some infinite period of time) lost in it, lost in him, forgetting that this is not a private moment, that people are watching, that the goosebumps that are gliding up her arms and the heavy rise and fall of her chest are for everyone to see.

Linda lets out a cough, a way too obvious attempt to break the tension.

“But if we’re talking about our first official date,” Barry says, holding her gaze for a second longer before turning back to her family, “we went on a picnic.”

She can’t look at them, not yet, and she saves face by turning to Linda whose own eyes are filled with mirth.

“Oh, a picnic,” Cecile squeals. “How sweet.”

“Yeah,” he replies, smiling. “It was sweet: the company and the dessert.”

She thinks of the dessert, the way he’d licked at her like she was the sweetest thing he’d ever had in his mouth; Iris has to avert her eyes from them again, lest they see her suddenly widened eyes and her speeding pulse, her legs crossing and uncrossing again.

Wally, bless his soul, takes up the conversation from there, turning it to something he’d figured out in one of his classes. Iris leans into Barry.

“You do too much,” she tells him quietly.

He nods in concedence. “You’re probably right.” Then one corner of his mouth lifts again. “But you can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

She pinches him at that and he yelps, rubbing at his arm.

“I’m gonna hurt you later,” she threatens, stretching up to whisper it in his ear.

He licks his lips, eyes blazing. “You promise?”

She punches him lightly on the arm and he responds with a kiss to her cheek.

They fall into individual conversations after that. Plates disappear and more food appears; champagne glasses are taken away or refilled. Iris eats on most of whatever’s put in front of her, but she drinks slowly since it is still a school night. She’s half-listening to Linda and Dan tell her parents about some trip that they’re interested in taking to Vietnam, where all of Dan’s grandparents still live. Her dad and Cecile are flirting a little bit, she thinks, which, weird. Still, she’s got an ear to the conversations that Barry is having. He starts off talking to Jessie, one of Wally’s friends that have been around since Wally started at CCU, about nanotechnology, something Iris has zero interest in, and they geek out about it for long enough that Iris gets bored of it. But that leads them to a conversation about which professors are still at CCU, where Barry also went for undergrad and grad, finishing both eight years ago. That tells her that Barry is about five years older than her, which Iris guesses she can see in his mannerisms, in how comfortable he is in his career and in his thoughts and even in the way he carries his body.

Wally takes Barry’s attention away from Jessie after a while. Barry moves away from Iris enough that he can focus on whatever Wally’s saying. It takes his arm from her chair but he maintains contact by planting his hand on her bare thigh, thumb rubbing against her lightly. She can only hear snippets of their conversation, words their deeper voices, though whispered, can’t hide. She hears, at one point, “I think your sister is the loveliest woman I’ve ever known, in temperament and beauty, and I’m here for as long as she’ll have me.”

She doesn’t think she was supposed to hear that,

(although, she’ll wonder later that night if, purposefully, Barry had said it loud enough for her to do so).

Still, she does, whether he meant for her to or not. And she grapples with it for a moment. Because he’s said something similar before. He’s told her that he’s whipped and that he likes her and that he wants. The reality is: she’s wondered if it were true. She knows better than anyone the power of words, how they’re used to not only tell stories, but to tell lies, to manipulate, to coerce. And of course she doesn’t think that Barry would do any of those things, but she’d thought that his words had been just...words, pretty things to make her feel good.

(Okay, so maybe that it’s really true, either. But it’s been easier to take him at face value, to pen this story based on her own feelings, not always realizing that Barry’s just as much of a character here, that his dialogue matches the action, the imagery, foreshadowing whatever it is that’s really happening here.)

So saying this to her brother, however, privately and in the seriousness she knows is accompanied by his furrowed eyebrows and pursed mouth...well, that crystalizes it for her. Her reaction, though unsurprising in its intensity (because everything about this with him has been intense), is abrupt. Her entire body seizes up with, god, feeling, with emotions she’s been, apparently, cultivating since the moment he asked her to dance. She goes hot at the same time that she physically shivers, with her own words unspoken, with feelings suddenly realized, with raw passion, with all you gotta do is say yes; don't deny what you feel, let me undress you, baby; open up your mind and just rest; i'm about to let you know, you make me so...

She silently downs the rest of her drink, looking around the room to see if anyone has noticed her eyes darting to and fro, literally on the edge of a breakdown. She takes a big breath and wonders what she should do about this inconvenient revelation.

Barry turns to her, that same soft smile on his face. But, noticing what he perceives as her solemnity, he pulls from his conversation and slides his hand up her thigh and over her hip to settle on her waist. Her skin tingles at his touch.

“You alright? You’re not talking much.”

“Yeah,” she nods, lips turning up, hoping he can’t see the slight bit of panic she’s feeling. “Yeah. You? Surviving the interrogation?”

“They haven’t thrown me out yet, so I think so.”

She gives him a quiet laugh. But then he goes a little thoughtful too, licking his lips and staring at her. He reaches out to push a lock of hair behind her ear, and then he keeps his hand on her, running along the side of her face, down until he’s holding her by the back of her neck, his thumb still rubbing along the apples of her cheeks. He doesn’t look away, blinking as if to steady her features.

“What?” she questions, a bit nervously, wondering if he can see what she’s just realized in her features. He always looks at her as if he can, as if he can read her. He doesn’t speak for a moment, then,

“You’re really pretty.”

Iris scrunches her nose a little. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know, I just… you seem kind of far in your head right now and I know that compliments always make you blink back into the moment.” He gives a small grin. “Or make you blush.”

“I’m Black,” she counters. “I don’t blush.”

“Hmm,” he hums, grin widening. “Maybe you don’t get red like me, but you blush.” He runs his thumb across her bottom lip, tracing the plump curve. “Your eyes look sort of blown and you bite this lip and,” he leans closer, speaking close to her ear, “I can practically see your breathing get deeper.”

Iris decides that it’s only because of his thumb on her mouth that she doesn’t complete each of these steps he’s outlined. Instead, she circles her hand around his wrist and gives him a frown against his thumb.

“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage here,” she reveals. “You do make me blush, just like you said, but I feel like you’re always so, so…”

She lets the sentiment taper off, not wanting to truly acknowledge that she feels like she’s the one stepping out of her comfort zone, the one hanging off the ledge. But he chuckles, the sound connoting more incredulity than humor.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Her brows furrow, briefly confused. “Bear…”

“Do you think I’m composed, Iris?”

She snaps back, not liking his tone. “Well you’re always so goddamn smug and…”

His kiss cuts her off. Somehow, he’s still mindful of the mixed company, she assumes, because it’s a kiss like earlier: with some tongue, but still quick and nothing particularly distasteful. Even still, she tries to chase after him, to deepen the kiss, because she really just can’t help it where he’s concerned. When he pulls back, he resumes running his thumb along her mouth, and she knows that her lipstick is officially fucked.

“I’m not composed, Iris,” he tells her, eyes darting across her face. He, at least, lowers his voice so that they aren’t making a scene. “I’m, literally, a fucking mess around you. I don’t know, I'm just trying to make you think I’m confident, so you don’t think I’m too boring or, or before you realize that there’s someone better out there for you.”

He holds her gaze, blue-green eyes keeping her captive. It’s all she can do to keep from falling into him, from blurting out her newfound revelation. It’s all she can do to not weep at the fact that he’s apparently in this too, that she isn’t the only one losing her shit right now.

“Iris, you asked me what I was doing to you. And I told you it’s nothing that you aren’t doing to me. And that’s the truth. Whatever you got, I'm probably so far past that already.”

The words get stuck, then, the song that’s been playing in her head since she saw him this evening, since she’s thought of what it would be like to be desired by someone like this, since she was a little girl dreaming, the sound like loving you has taken time, take time; but I always knew you could be mine, the melody one that skips in tune with her heart every time Barry makes these grand declarations like he’s just done.

He gives her another peck on the mouth, likely figuring that she’s lost all mental function. He isn’t wrong, and when Wally calls for his attention again, he gives her one more caress before turning back to him.

Still dazed, Iris turns and locks eyes with Linda who’s gazing at her in concern.

“You okay, Iris?” She eyes Barry over her shoulder. “That seemed pretty intense.”

“Can we talk?” Because Linda and Dan had been like this, enamored with each other. And Iris just wants to get it right. “Not right now, but later in the week?”

Linda nods. “Yeah, okay. Of course we can.” She takes a hold of both of Iris’s hands and gives a good squeeze. “But I see you retreating right now. Don’t. We’ll talk later, but don’t space out here. Stay in this moment; stay in this feeling.”

She looks up at her best friend. Iris can admit that she thought she knew love. She’s seen it in others, she’s written about it. But feeling it, at least what she thinks might be the beginning of it, is overwhelming. So she attempts to do as her friend asks and stay in the moment.

The parents leave around 10, with strict instructions to not tear apart the restaurant. The Parks have offered the place ‘til about 1, likely even later. With the tables pushed back, white strobe lights turned on, and the DJ from CCU already set up, the place could almost be mistaken for a club. More of Wally’s friends, or at least, more people he knows from school, those who weren’t invited to the more intimate dinner part of the night, start to file in and an off-duty cop that their dad has hired is manning the door. Iris’s 21st birthday had consisted of her own dinner at Golden’s and a night out at some bar downtown, but she thinks that Wally has got the right idea, making it more exclusive like this.

In an effort to “stay in the moment” (and not freak out about the fact that she’s officially acknowledged that she’s fallen into some sort of infatuation with Barry Allen), Iris orders her second of the birthday cocktail and sits down at the bar alongside Dan and Linda to watch the younger adults dance to the music. A tall woman in a pretty gold dress has a camera looped around her neck and is taking pictures of her classmates, all in their white, gold, or black party outfits. She’d gotten a few family portraits earlier, some of Linda and Iris, and one of Barry and Iris that had been meant to be pretty simple, them standing next to each other with Iris leaned in close, Barry holding on to her waist. But he’s standing just slightly behind her, with his big hand spread over her hip, and he’s looking down at her as she smiles softly for the camera. The photographer had shown them the photo after and it was the first time she had seen them together, the first time she can maybe see what he means when he tells her that he’s so far past wherever she is right now. But, and Iris can see it now, is feeling it now: he may not be as far past her as he thinks.

Now, Linda and Iris are the de facto chaperones for the night, a task that Linda is taking seriously as she hops up every few minutes to make sure no one is tearing up her parents’ place. Barry, who’d been talking to her dad before he left, strolls over to her, expression calm. He walks right into her, positioning himself between her legs, planting his hands right on her hips.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Iris, in the process of looping her arm around his neck, pulls back until only her hand is circling his throat. “What are you sorry for?”

“I told you that I would,” he waves a hand as he tries to find his words, “that I would give you the time that you need. And I told myself that I would take it easy, that I wouldn’t pressure you. But I think earlier, I, I was…”

“Wait, no.” She shakes her head, stopping him. She has to lean in closer, because the DJ has just started up and the music is loud in the relatively small space, in addition to her currently drunk brother and his friends singing along loudly to the song. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just trying to figure out what it all means. This is, this is new to me, and I’m just...”

He nods slowly when she trails off, flicking his pink tongue out to swipe across his mouth. Iris follows the action, eyes darting up when his lips start to curve up.

“I’m here until you figure it out.” He steps closer, closing the distance between them. Her legs wrap around his waist automatically, hands sliding up until they’re holding onto her hips. “And in the meantime, we can get a little tipsy and make out like we’re 21 again.”

“Oh, so you did a lot of drunk making out at 21?”

His eyes go big. “Of course not. Just maybe once or twice, you know.” He taps her hip. “And with no one as pretty as you.”

Iris barks out a laugh. “Nice save.”

He grins wide. “Yeah. I thought so too.”

He orders another drink too, and Allegra smirks at the both of them, her version of a smile, as she sets their drinks down.

Iris grabs her drink and raises the glass. “Let’s toast.”

“Okay,” Barry agrees. “What are we toasting to?”

“New relationships?” she tries.

“Sure,” he nods. “And to figuring it out.”

They clink glasses.

She doesn’t know how long it takes Barry to get her alone in a dark corner, grinding on one another to the music. They sit at the bar for a little while longer, until they finish their cocktails. They order another, though Iris asks for more of whatever mixers are being used than champagne. They don’t try to talk much since they can’t really hear one another without shouting at the other. Instead, they watch the younger crowd dance for a while. Iris turns her chair all the way around so that she can keep an eye, and Barry sits down beside her. He’s turned to the side so that he can crowd her, legs wide, both of his hands touching her.

At one point, Linda stands up and walks through the crowd in her tall black strappy heels and leather pants. She straightens the sheer white blouse she’s got tucked into her pants and grabs the microphone from the DJ.

“Alright,” she starts amidst groans from the crowd when the music is cut. “Oh hush it.” She searches out the crowd until she finds Wally and then she smiles at him. “So Iris and I really want to thank you all for coming out tonight; she’s not up here because speaking in front of crowds isn’t really her thing, but I know I speak for us both when I say that we’re so happy to celebrate my honorary baby brother. Get drunk, but don’t forget to tip the bartender. Have fun, but not enough that you tear my parents’ shit up. And as we’re drinking and dancing, let’s remember the beautiful man that we’re here to love on. I’m so incredibly lucky that you let me into your life when I made my way into Iris’s. Happy birthday and I love you, Wally.”

Wally blows a kiss at Linda and then turns to catch Iris’s eyes. She sees the sheen of unshed tears in Wally’s and he mouths an “I love you” at her that she immediately mouths back. Up front, Linda starts to move away from the mic and then comes back. “And one round of shots on me!”

The music starts back up and the partiers get back into the groove. Iris and Barry sit for moments longer, until the music changes to something lower, sultrier, the lyrics seductive, i-i recognize the butterflies inside me, ah; sense is gonna be made tonight, tonight; all you gotta do is say yes, the beat one that she can feel in every part of her. Barry must feel it too.

“Dance with me,” he requests, standing, and she nods, taking his hand and following him out. He finds them a spot off to the opposite end of the DJ, further away from where the crowd of dancers have also begun to pair off, to fall victim to the beat of this song. Barry stands with his back against the wall, near where a curtain hangs shadowed from the others, and he turns Iris until her ass is pressed firmly against his front.

She begins to rock, winding her hips in easy circles, letting her body learn the rhythm of the song, all you gotta do is say yes, letting her body get lost in the music, lost in the crooned commands as the artists sing, don’t deny what you feel, let me undress you, baby. He matches her, swaying with her, touching on her as he does. He holds onto her, one hand pressed just beneath her breasts, the other right above her pelvis. She lets her head fall back onto his shoulder, wrapping her arm behind her around his neck. Barry leans down and presses a kiss to her cheek, her ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth, with his tongue, sucking on her.

“Hmmm,” she purrs, grinding back against him, humming along, open up your mind and just rest; i’m about to let you know that you make me so, so...

“I’ve been watching you,” Barry tells her, whispering it into her ear over the music. “In this dress all fucking night. Do you know what it’s been doing to me?”

She shakes her head in response to his question.

“It’s been driving me crazy,” he responds. “Wally’s little friends have been watching you, probably wanting to touch you like I’ve been wanting to do all night.”

She doesn’t stop dancing, hips moving slow to one side, slower to the other, Barry moving with her. He grinds behind her, holding her tight against him. She can feel him start to swell against her ass and she closes her eyes at the feeling, at the sound of his voice, rough and arousal-soaked, speaking in her ear.

“You walked up to me on the street with this leg out.” He rubs down as much of her thigh as he can reach and then back up. “Your skin glowing and that sexy mouth of yours smiling at me.”

He tips his fingers back up her thigh and he reaches under her dress and across her pelvis. Her legs spread as she bends her knees, still in time to the music, but it gives him more access. The panties she’s got on are black and high cut, and Barry caresses her bare bikini line. Her grip tightens on his neck, bringing them even closer, making it easier to slide his fingers even further into her panties.

“Barry,” she whispers, and she knows he can’t hear her. But he doesn’t need to because he taps her on her pelvis, his longest finger catching on her clit.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna finger fuck you out here.”

Iris realizes, as he says it, that maybe she wouldn’t hate it; because the singers are saying, you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, and he does, make her so so so...and she’s feeling it, feeling him, wondering what people might see if they looked over, wondering why the thought of it makes her stomach clench, a little in embarrassment, a little more in something that makes the clench move lower, her sex clamping around where she wants his fingers, where she wants his dick.

She turns, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him. It gets deep fast, with Iris licking into Barry’s mouth and Barry returning her kiss with fervor. She grips at the hair at the nape of his neck, and he reaches down, gripping a firm handful of her ass to bring her closer. She moans into his mouth, catching his answering groan.

She pulls back. “Come with me.”

She takes his hand and leads him through the crowd. No one is paying much attention to them; Wally is still in the middle of the floor, dancing against a tall good looking dark-skinned man. Linda is out there too, Dan dancing his normal one-two step move as Linda leans close to him, her arms looped around his neck. Iris takes Barry to the back, down the hall that leads past the kitchen. The bathrooms are there, and Iris checks to make sure no one is coming before she pushes through the door and leads him inside. She takes him to the last and the largest of the three stalls, past the three gold circular mirrors above clean white sinks; her shoes are loud on the black marble floors.

“You know,” Barry says as she locks the stall door behind her. He grabs for her, clutching her hand. “You claimed it was me who got you to do stuff like this, but you brought me back here.”

She lifts her eyebrow at him, even as she moves past him to lean against the wall. “You saying you don’t want me in here?”

She positions herself so that her leg is peeking out from the long slit in her dress. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her.

Except maybe she does.

The weight of her earlier revelation sits heavy on her, and the song that’s been playing, the you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, sits just as heavy, pushing on her thighs, and on her heart too; and Iris needs to do something with it, needs to let go of some of this feeling, to get out the parts that might start to be too much, that are already beginning to flood her, so that she can make sense of what’s really there.

So she looks Barry in the eye, runs her manicured nails over her throat, down through her cleavage, over her belly until she can touch at the top of her thigh. She opens the skirt, showing him the panties he’d been playing with earlier, the lace around her waist, the thin fabric that shows exactly what it’s supposed to be covering.

“Bear?”

He’s over to her in two long strides. He plants both of his hands on the wall behind her, crowding her.

“I want you wherever you want me,” he tells her. “On your couch, on a blanket in the woods, in as many places in this restaurant as you’ll let me fuck you in.”

He licks his lips, but he doesn’t move to touch her. Instead, he thrusts his hips against her so that she can feel him, hard and solid against her pelvis.

“This is what you do to me, baby. I think about you and I’m like this.” He pushes against her one more time and then tells her to “turn around.”

She does. And the next few moments are like something out of a film, how rushed they are, how passionate. He presses her against the wall and touches her as he rubs his dick on her ass, slipping his hand into the top of her dress to play with her breasts. Her bra is made of the same thin material as her panties and he alternates between squeezing the whole of her breast and then pinching at the nipples, and then moving to the other to do more of the same. He kisses her wherever his mouth catches her: in her hair, on her cheek, on her shoulders when her dress starts to slide. They’re both breathing heavily; Iris is grinding back onto Barry where he’s so goddamn hard behind her, his sex swollen and his chest covering her. Her hands are clenching and unclenching into fists as she bangs lightly on the wall, moaning deep in her throat, humming her pleasure, you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so...

Iris hears the clank of his belt unbuckling. And her pussy is ready for him, slick and throbbing as she looks behind her to see him shoving his pants past his knees, gripping and then tearing open a condom he’s gotten from somewhere, caressing his own thick dick as he rolls it on. He leans over and kisses her, wet and sloppy, holding her in this position until he’s done devouring her mouth. Then he turns her back to the wall and lifts her dress, draping it above her waist. The cool air hits her heated flesh, and that contact, and Barry’s fingers spreading her thighs, and Barry pushing her panties to the side, rubbing along her slit to make sure she’s ready for him, it makes her moan loud and long.

Barry pushing into her cuts her off.

Her heels put her at the perfect height to arch her back into him, to take him in.

“Shit, Iris,” he murmurs. He pulls out, pushes back in, pulls out to the tip, pushes back in, and Iris knocks her forehead against the wall. “All the time,” he tells her, “I, I think about being in this pussy all the time.”

Her pussy opens for him, when he says that, letting him in deeper. Barry finds a rhythm, short strokes first, shallow and brief; and then longer strokes that bury him in, that smacks his pelvis against her ass. She loves the feel of him behind her, even if she misses being able to touch him, but the feel of his kissing on her and touching on her and fucking so hard into her more than makes up for it.

And then the door opens. Iris hears the music grow louder for several seconds and the unsteady clack of multiple pairs of heels and the drunken laughter of the women walking.

Iris whimpers, the sound turning into a moan because Barry doesn’t stop, just keeps riding her, gripping her waist tight. She holds in the moan she wants to let out, holds in how much she wants to slap her hand against the wall since she can’t. Barry angles himself closer to her.

“I think you like it, Iris,” he murmurs into her ear. “As soon as that door opened, you got wetter, baby.”

“Ahhh,” she breathes heavily as he pumps into her.

“You like it when you could get caught, huh? When someone might hear you?”

Iris shuts her eyes tight, shakes her head, and then bites down on her lip to keep from yelling out. But he feels so good, so thick and hard, and the feeling’s curling thick in her belly, thicker in her walls quivering around him. And he might not necessarily be wrong, that she likes it, the possibility of being caught, the fact that she could be heard. The loud laughter she’d heard when the door opened has quieted to softer giggles now; maybe they think she’s so into this that she doesn’t notice that the door never opened again, but they’re still there, amused by what’s happening. And from the way she keeps tightening on Barry’s dick, the way she’s pushing back against him, harder and harder, she’s more than into this.

“No? You don’t like this?” Barry questions and he shifts her dress even higher up her waist, pressing her harder into the wall.

“Fuck,” she grunts at the contact.

He gives a short, breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry. I like it too.” He reaches up and pulls her lip from between her teeth. “Don’t hold back. Let them hear you. Louder, baby.” He keeps rocking into her, as he moves that same hand down her chin, down the line of her neck, until he wraps a hand around the base of her throat. “Moan for me louder. Let them know who’s fucking you in here, baby.”

“Oohhh, yes,” she moans, only a touch louder.

He rubs a hand over her exposed ass cheek, softly, reverently. And then he pulls her hand back and smacks her hard.

“Barryyyyy!” She yells. Her rhythm falters and her head falls back against his shoulder. The arch in her back deepens and it pushes him even deeper.

“Just like that,” Barry groans.

“Damn,” she hears one of the girls in the bathroom breathe.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” another says.

“After I’m done texting Chris to see if I can come over after this.”

There is another round of laughs and Barry laughs again against her throat. “They like what I’m doing to you too.”

There’s a light thin layer of sweat on her skin, the sheen on her face and her chest, down her thighs. She’s wet, (god, she always gets so wet with him), and she’s dripping out around his dick. Her dress is probably going to be ruined.

But none of that matters. All that does is the sensations she’s feeling. Sex with Barry always takes up every one of her senses, and this is no different: she can taste the champagne still on her tongue, the mint from his when he’d kissed her; she can smell the citrus of the lemongrass on his skin, the rose water on her own, the heady scent of their arousal filling her nostrils; she can’t physically see much, with her eyes constantly shut tight, but she can picture it, picture them, his pants down at his ankles, legs as wide as they can go, her dress hiked up over her hips, the long length of him sliding in and out of her soaked pussy from behind; the feel of her breasts pressed into the cool wall, his fingers pressed into her throat, her hand clutching onto that same wrist; the soft sound of their breathing, the girls speaking softly, the music still playing, matching her cries, singing ah, ah, yea-yeah, yeah, yea-yeah; oh right there, right there, right there; right there, right there; right there, oh, oh, mm, mmm.

“Tell me what you want, Iris,” Barry groans. “Tell me, tell them, fuck, baby…”

“Harder,” she says, wanting to come, needing him to get her there. “Harder, Bear, fuck me…”

He does. He shifts again so that he can push all the way into her, riding her ass, and he long strokes into her, knocking against something that makes her quiver, harder and harder, a little bit faster, but always good, so good, so good, so, so, so…

“Barry.” Her orgasm hits her just as hard as he’s been doing. She doesn’t even realize it’s coming, not until her entire body seizes up, even her toes curl in her shoes, and she pushes back on Barry, squeezing him tight. It triggers his own and he grips her waist as he spills into her, the feel of his throbbing dick prolonging her climax, making her fall back into him until she’s completely spent.

“Did you, uh, do a lot of this when you were 21 and tipsy making out?”

Iris stands against the wall of the stall, looking down at her dress for stains, holding her underwear in her hands because she couldn’t stand the wet feel of them on her. The bathroom is quiet now, save for the faint music still coming from the front. She knows that they should hurry before someone else comes in, but she can’t really move yet.

Barry laughs as he shoves himself back into his pants and buckles back up. He’s already tied the condom up and flushed it down the toilet.

“God, no. The most I could get was a little over the shirt boob action.”

Iris shakes her head, a little fondly. “Please never say boob action again.”

“No?” He rubs his hand down the front of his sweater. “That’s not sexy?”

Iris shakes her head again as he walks back over to her. “Not even a little bit. That’s probably why you weren’t getting any.”

“You’re probably right. But I’ve upped my game now.”

Iris laughs. “You’ve upped your game?”

He nods, a goofy little grin on his face. He stops in front of her and takes one of her hands in his.

“Yeah. We did a little dancing, a little touching.” He wiggles his eyebrows and grabs at the panties in her hand, holding them up. “And I got you to fuck me in a bathroom.”

“Oh?” Iris watches as he puts the panties into his pockets. “You got me to fuck you?” She looks down at herself, and then sticks her leg out further. The slit of this dress, the shoes, the way the dress drapes her frame is undoubtedly a tongue-tier. Barry nods, swallows, and meets her gaze again, those eyes doing that graying thing she’s found she loves.

“Y-yeah. We can, uh, we can share the credit.”

Iris laughs out loud at that. “Come on,” she squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s get out of here. We’re already gonna have to sneak out. What if those girls tell Wally? I can’t believe you had me doing all that.”

They leave the bathroom stall, heading for the door.

“It’s my game,” Barry replies, and Iris hides her laughter as they slip back into the party.

She looks for Wally to tell him that she’s leaving. Luckily, he’s at the bar, laughing with Allegra and the man he was dancing with earlier.

“Iris!” he shouts when he sees her. “Barry!”

Iris laughs as she steps into his open arms. “Are you having a good time, baby?”

“I’m having the best time.” He squeezes her. “I bet you are too.”

He looks over her shoulder at Barry and when she turns too, she sees a bit of color in his cheeks.

“What are you talking about?” she deflects.

Wally’s shrug is not at all sly. “I heard that someone was in the ladies’ room screaming out ‘Barry.’” He winks at Barry who goes even redder. “You should probably be glad Xuan and Theo think of you as a daughter.”

She rolls her eyes, even as she turns her head to hide her embarrassment. “We just came to tell you that we’re leaving. I’ve got class in the morning.”

“Of course,” Wally says, nodding. “And you’re both probably tired.”

“Okay, bye,” Iris starts to move out of his arms.

Wally laughs and tightens his arms around her. “I’m only kidding, big sis.” Then his smile turns softer and he casts another glance at Barry, before reaching down and cupping her cheek.

“This man is gone over you, Iris,” he says softly. “And I’m so happy for you. Nobody I know deserves a love like this more than you do.”

Iris gives him a smile and then another quick hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He pulls Barry in for a hug. “So good to officially meet you.”

“You too, man.”

And with that, Barry takes her hand and leads him out, and Iris follows beside him, overcome with what she’s feeling for him. She’d thought the sex might give her some space to think, but it’s only really just heightened it. They are still in the rising action of this story, gliding higher and higher on a diagram, climbing towards a climax she’s becoming excited to experience.

She’s only scared of what might happen when they come down from it.

All you gotta do is say yes

(Don't deny what you feel, let me)

[otonymous]

Afterglow (Jackson Wang - NSFW)

Description: Breakups lead to make-ups...and make-up sex in an alleyway Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: public sex, angst, breakups Word Count: 2748 words (~ 14 mins of smut, angst and fluff-lite™️) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: This story is a BIG milestone for me, because it's the first time I've written about a man who exists outside the two-dimensional plane 😆 The thirst was undeniable ever since I saw Jackson’s Bottle Cap Challenge video, then he dropped the fly Kinjaz dance moves in his Titanic MV, and this story has been slowly brewing ever since.

I found it challenging to write about a living human being, and I strove to be as respectful as possible in the process of crafting this story.  That being said, happy reading and hope you all enjoy it! 🥰

Disclaimer: This is purely an exercise in creativity.  Unfortunate though it is, I do not know Jackson Wang in real life lol

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“What do you know about me?”

The slight tremble in his voice.  A hint of panic.

You squinted as the headlights of a passing car caught the diamonds in his wristwatch, dazzling and disorienting in the dark as light reflected in your vision, and then…over as soon as it began.  The magic of the moment so terribly brief.

And as neon street signs threw electric shadows in the alleyway where you found yourself unable to look Jackson in the eye, the heat of a Hong Kong summer had never felt more oppressive.

Brown eyes no longer crinkled at their corners as they so often did before the cameras, their depths set instead on scrutinizing your features, looking for cracks in the wall you swore would never fall.

Because falling for him never should have been an option.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, right?  That I’m just another pretty face looking to play around?”

English bleeds seamlessly into Cantonese, Jackson’s voice rising in the deserted corridor where he had chased after you when you left him at the food stall on the corner — the place where you finally mustered up the courage to drive the blade into your heart even as you broke his with a single word:

“Goodbye.”

He hadn’t even finished his lo mein.

“Keep your voice down, Jackson.  You don’t want to attract attention—”

“DON’T TREAT ME LIKE A CHILD!”

The desperate echo of his outburst left him feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.  Eyes following your gaze as it dropped to the ground, Jackson Wang had never felt so small.

The sound of his breath fills your ears, shaky and shallow and accompanied by the drip of an air conditioner nearby — pace steady like a clock to mark the passage of time the two of you no longer had.

He covered his face, tapered fingers dragging from forehead to chin as his throat bobbed, choking on all the words he couldn’t afford to say aloud.

Because in that moment, Jackson hated it all — everything he had ever worked for.  The recognition.  The fame.  Schedules packed with recording, shoots and interviews that it wasn’t until the car ride home that he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun.

And in the mire of those lost days, he despised himself.  Hated the way he wished your time would stop too, just so he could share in every missed moment:

Your breath on his skin as you blew out the candles on a cake, warmth gentle like extinguished flame.

The laughter that shook your body till you doubled over, the most beautiful music to his ears.

Tears that rolled down your cheeks to reflect silver moonlight, stealing in through half-drawn curtains while the world outside slept.

Jackson Wang wanted it all.  Selfish though it was, he couldn't help it.  Because all he ever wanted was to give you everything.  But now, in the tremble of capable hands, he felt you slip through his fingers like grains of sand, scattered by the winds of a fate he was powerless against.

Powerless.  Hadn’t he sworn he would never allow himself to feel this way again?  

His hands curl into tight fists.

“Jackson, we…we just…don’t belong together.”  The words felt foreign on your tongue.  Faint, as if you yourself didn’t care to hear them.

“You and I both know full well that’s bullshit,” he scoffs, pulling off his black cap to run a hand through hair dyed chestnut brown.

And you remember.

Remembered the way he did the same in a flustered apology when he first bumped into you that fated day, eyes wide to see your skewer of curried fish balls drop to roll away on the sloped pavement.

Remembered being simultaneously fascinated and frightened by a smile as bright as the sun.  And suddenly, the way he artlessly thrust an egg tart into your hand in exchange for your lost snack made you shy.

Recalled the silk of his hair, wound between your fingers as they anchored to tug and pull with every movement of his body within yours, each wave of ecstasy overwhelming and absolute.

And suddenly, you are nauseous at the thought of never again hearing him whisper your name -- deep voice laced with fatigue on the other end of the line, or husky with lust as he trailed kisses down your neck.  But you swallow hard and sweep the thoughts away, preparing to twist the knife in a bid to be kind.

“All the things I want, Jackson…you cannot give me."  

Liar.

The words wooden in your ear, you wondered if Jackson, too, picked up on the charade.  But the quiet shudder that leaves his lips tells you otherwise.   Strangely detached, as if your consciousness had transcended your body to hover over the scene of a crime, you continue, eyes on the ground as you pantomimed the lies rehearsed since the day you decided to let the love of your life go.

“I want someone whose hand I can hold in public without it becoming front page news.  Someone who can be there, who doesn’t need to hop on a plane when I need him to just…hold me.  Texting and FaceTime, it’s not enough for me anymore.  Being with you, Jackson, it’s…too hard…”

Hypnotized by the rise and fall of his chest, you trail off as he steps closer, the yellow Batman logo on his black tee looking more faded than the last time you saw him in it — one month and three days ago.  The last time he came home.  The last time he was close enough to touch.

The first time you really saw what was happening to Jackson Wang.

For the truth lay in the violet circles beneath gentle eyes, in the tired rasp of his voice.  All those times he fought exhaustion to hear you tell him about your day at the end of his.  The way he’d apologize profusely for falling asleep mid-conversation the morning after while drinking that awful chicken breast shake he still couldn’t quite get used to.  The red-eye flights taken to surprise you on a whim.  The guilt you knew he still carried for missing kisses under mistletoes and summers spent on tour.

“Time.  Just give me a bit more time and I’ll give you everything.  Please.  That’s all I’m asking for.”  

Jackson’s voice is quiet.  Pleading.  You would’ve given him the world had he wanted it, but it still wouldn’t change the fact that your lives never should have crossed.  Jackson burned bright, a shooting star meant to blaze new trails.  And exhilarating thought it was to have momentarily basked in the warmth of his fire, you knew he couldn’t afford to be weighed down by anything — or anyone — in the pursuit of his dreams.

Love shouldn’t be a burden.

So you remain silent, sorrow heavy on your tongue as you fight the sting in your eyes that threatens to give you away.

“Look at me?”

Jackson’s breath, warm and soft at the crown of your head, sets your pulse on fire.  And on reflex, your trembling hand flies to your chest, fingering the delicate chain of the necklace he himself had put on you so many months ago until you remembered that this, too, was to be returned.

Voice thick with emotion, Jackson whispers again: “Please, look at me.”

And when those large hands cradle your jaw to gently tilt, the angles of his handsome face finally come into view, blurred through tears spilling past lashes as your traitorous body revolts — every nerve, every inch of skin screaming out for the touch of his lips.

Those lips.  

Plush pink and soft satin, how often had they pressed against yours, hot and insistent to leave you breathless in the ardour of his kiss?  Even now, with your lies breaking your heart and his, they moved to caress the apples of your cheeks, infinitely tender as he tasted the salt of every bitter tear shed.

“I love you.  Please…please, don’t go.”

Confession laid at the corner of your lips, his hands wrap around your waist to pull you flush against his body, Jackson willing his embrace to express the depths of his sincerity in a rare moment where he found himself speechless.

And there, melting into the searing heat of his chest against yours, you curse your lack of resolve as it crumbles — the cracks in the wall you said would never fall deepening with every sweep of his tongue along the seam of your lips, begging for entry.  Begging for your reconsideration.

So you relent, and the ecstatic shudder that shakes him to taste your mouth at last makes you weak.  But before you can drop, the arms around you tighten — strong and supportive like Jackson himself, constant even as his kiss deepened, greedy for more, more, more.

For when it came to you, Jackson was insatiable.

“This is yours,”  he says, breathless when he finally pulls away, lips kiss-swollen and cheeks pink under fluorescent blue lights, his hand covering yours to pull it beneath his shirt, wandering the crests and dips of that defined torso and crossing the broad smoothness of his chest until finally coming to rest above his heart, beating steady just left of centre.

“No matter what happens, this will always belong to you.  Always.  Me and you…together…we’ll figure something out.  We can make it work.  So don’t give up on us, because I’ll never give up on you.  Okay?”

In the gravity of those big brown eyes, shining with determination and sharp with intent, you couldn’t help but concede, nodding as a wide smile transformed his face and you were once again bathed in light, heart warmed in the afterglow of his indomitable spirit even as your “Yes” is swallowed up by another kiss, hungrier than the last.

And suddenly, you are ravenous for the man, yielding to the honesty of your body as your tongue slides past open lips to explore that talented mouth, fingers gripping the muscles beneath his shirt — hard lines and solid planes all at once new and familiar and so exciting.

Exciting, like the way Jackson loved to take you - wherever and whenever desire struck, desperate to make the most of whatever time the two of you had together.  And when you felt the wall, cool and solid behind your back, the grind of his sturdy thigh between your legs left no question as to what you were in for.

So after a cursory glance down the alleyway confirmed you were still alone, Jackson trains that burning gaze onto you, lids heavy with lust as his eyes study yours before dropping to your mouth, and then…slowly…down to your chest, entranced to watch it heave beneath your top.  And when he sees the diamond pendant he chose for you adorning the skin above the swell of your breasts, his tongue sweeps out to wet that lower lip before it disappears behind the bite of perfect teeth.

Hands drag down your waist and hips, patiently tracing your curves even as the mouth on your neck burned kisses into skin — lips and teeth and tongue fervent as Jackson sought to mark you as his own for the world to see.

And when those long, tapered fingers linger at your knee to draw slow circles before wandering past the hem of your skirt, he angles his beautiful face, the register of his voice deep and low when he whispers in your ear, “Do you think of me when you wear that necklace?”

You nod, finding it altogether too difficult to speak with the way his hand caressed your thighs, fingertips following a gradient of heat as they moved along sensitive skin, inching closer and closer to silk that grew increasingly moist with each press of his muscular leg against your pussy.

“Good girl,” Jackson says as he sucks your lobe into his mouth - hot and wet — and you are further rewarded with a low hiss of pleasure when you reach to palm his cock through his pants, already impossibly hard and intimidatingly large.  The thought of him in you, sliding slick and thrusting fast to stretch you to the limits of your capacity, sent another surge of moisture to your core, Jackson smiling to feel the intensity of your response through drenched fabric.

“I think of you too…”

Your man continues, hand tracing the outline of your slit.

“…Wearing my necklace…”

Thumb hooks silk aside.

“…While touching yourself.”

You gasp.  Finally, fingers on bare skin.  Index and middle dragging from end to end to gather your arousal before skirting slick circles about your clit.  And when you feel two fingers, then three, penetrate to curl and press in torturous repetition, your head falls back as your legs shake, inviting the kiss of his lips on the notch of your neck.

Eyes blown wide with desire lock on your own as Jackson finally pulls his hand away — shiny with arousal even in the dimly lit passageway.  And as he brings it up to his face and yours in some obscene exhibition, your core twitches again to see him taste you, pink tongue running the length of each digit to catch every last drop before those lips wrap around his ring, sucking the remnants of your juices from a bed of diamonds.

“Delicious.  You always taste so sweet.  But right now - "

Your hands leave the bulge of his erection to unbutton his pants, trembling slightly in haste and excitement when you pull down his fly.  And when you finally release that cock — hot and hard — the movement of your fingers pumping slowly along its length steals the words from Jackson’s mouth.  

So you speak on both your behalves when you say,  

“I need you to fuck me.  Right now.”

Breath hitching in his throat at your command, the feral spark in Jackson's eye makes you bite your lip before it is promptly sucked into his mouth, your boyfriend kissing you deeply to silence every scream for discretion’s sake, the way he liked to do when fucking in public.

So you throw your arms around his neck, moaning against his lips as Jackson effortlessly lifts to slowly lower you onto his cock…stretching deeper and deeper until you swear you feel him at the pit of your stomach.  And when he begins to thrust in earnest — biceps bulging as he wraps your legs about his waist to dive hard and fast — the wet sounds of flesh hitting flesh add to the electric hum in the darkness.

Beads of sweat rolling from forehead to chin drip from Jackson's face to the skin of your chest, tracing between the swell of your breasts in the humid night to add to the primal urgency in the swing of his hips.  And when he shifts to hit that spot — smiling, as if proving that he had the totality of your body mapped in his mind — you lose your senses in yet another consuming release, convulsing in his arms until his own is drawn out, depositing hot and deep within you.

And when you finally descend from the clouds, the frantic rhythm in your chest slowing in time to his…you believe.  Believe in the honesty of your bodies and the attachment in your hearts.  Believe in Jackson’s words when he says that together, love will always find a way.  

So you bask in the afterglow of Jackson's affection...warm, bright and magical like the man himself.

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[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Gave Me the Blues and then Purple-Pink Skies

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (the final stretch!)

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2,220

Warnings: None

Summary: You roll into the cavern, finding the origin of the music and the history behind it. The planet has one more surprise for you both though, a wonderful, delightful surprise.

You took in a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. Before you could psyche yourself out, you let go of the column that was holding you up. For a moment you felt weightless, suspended in empty space, then you plummeted.

Instinctively you curled inwards as you made contact with the soft dirt, and tumbled down. You couldn’t help but let out a delighted laugh as rolled down, it reminded you of when you used to do this as a kid, or that one scene in The Princess Bride.

When you reached the bottom you splayed outwards like a starfish, the stone below you cold against your back and cooling your pent up adrenaline. The Doctor skidded into your side, her arms lightly knocking against your hip as she stopped.

She poked her head out from under her arms, sporting a huge grin. “Oh mate, yeah, okay, that was fun.”

You laughed. “It was, wasn’t it.”

You pulled yourself up and peered around the cavern you’d found yourselves in. You gaped, in front of you was a wall made of the red dirt filled with intricate white paintings.

They glowed a soft yellow, the colour casting over the rest of the cave and causing the crystals to sparkle.

The crystals too, were unique and different to the rest of what you’d seen on this planet. They were pink, orange, purple, green, all the different colours and hues of the rainbow, and they wound a path towards an open archway to your left, which seemed to be the rest of the tunnel.

The crystals seemed to sing to you, their voices soft and guiding you to the wall. You pressed your fingers against the lining of one of the paintings, and it was rough under your touch.

It was only then you noticed that these weren’t just paintings, but they were carvings, and the deeper into the rock it went, the colour changed to match.

It was incredible.

“Oh,” the Doctor gasped, following you to the wall. “Is this the music you’ve been hearing?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off your hand as you traced the grooves in the wall. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You memorised the way the paintings felt under your hands, the way the coarse stone set little indentations against the beds of your fingers, and how warm it felt compared to the rest of the cavern.

The paintings stretched out across the wall, reminding you of cave paintings that dated back from the Stone Age, or the artworks of Aboriginal Australia, with their white ochre against red stone.

The Doctor took a step back and scanned the wall with her screwdriver. “Oh of course,” she scrutinised the screwdriver quickly before pocketing it, and came up to your side. She pointed to the painting on the top left corner. “Look at that one there, what’s it depicting?”

You squinted at it for a moment. “It looks like two people, but I’m not sure what the lines above them are supposed to be.”

“They’re the indigenous people of this region, look,” she used her hand to guide you through the paintings. “It’s a story, more than that, it’s the history of this tunnel. If you look, the tunnel opens itself up to help guide the native species out of the weather, the heat mustn’t be something that’s survivable.

“And these crystals,” she turned around, gesturing to the ones surrounding you, the ones that were pulsating bright pink, purple, and green lights. “They feed off of a particular energy you must give out, which must be the same as the people who normally come through.”

The Doctor scanned you quickly and you blinked against the orange light of the screwdriver. “Oh! It’s so obvious now!”

You took your hand from the wall so you could face her properly. “What is?”

“Humans, you’re brilliant, I swear!” She started throwing her hands about in the way she did when she was excited about a new discovery, or when she was explaining something when you were particularly clueless. “They feed off of the residual torsional energy that your endocrine systems produce-”

“My what energies?” You interrupted.

“-Oh, it’s not named until the 36th century. I think some people in your time describe it as an aura? It’s the energy that every human subconsciously produces - completely harmless, and these crystals here,” she spun around again. “Use that energy to keep you safe. It’s a migration chain! This tunnel exists so people can cross this desert safely.

“That’s why you could hear the music, and why I can only hear it now,” she continued, turning back to you with a delighted grin. “That music is them working, it’s them feeding off of that energy, which then connects back to you through a sympathetic resonance bonded on a quantum level.

“I can hear it now because we’re literally in the epicentre of it all. This is their battery, where they store up all their energy, and then they must disperse it throughout the tunnel.”

You turned around in a circle so you could fully take in your surroundings, looking at the crystals with a sense of newfound awe. No wonder it had felt so important, they had connected themselves to you.

Your gaze fell beyond the cavern, where the crystal wound down another path, one that looked brighter and more well used. You squinted, you were sure you could see the other side of the tunnel.

You let their energies thrum against yours, which was a peculiar sensation, and you silently wondered if you were just inventing it in your head. It was like the feeling of being really close to a base speaker, tickling your skin and your bones.

“So it’s safe?”

The Doctor nodded. “Completely. I reckon if we were to keep going, we’d be out in no time.”

You nodded, more to yourself than to her. “Right.”

The Doctor brushed her hand against a crystal and turned back to you. “Well then, shall we?”

You gave the wall behind you a final glance, and let the ambience of the cavern fall over you. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You weren’t exactly sure how to describe how you felt as you followed the Doctor through the remaining tunnel, but you were… lighter, somehow. Like some pieces inside your brain had slot themselves into place.

You weren’t even sure what exactly those pieces were, or why they had been out of place, but you definitely knew it was alright now.

The cool air nipped at your skin as you came to the mouth of the tunnel. You were surprised by the dramatic change of temperature, it had been so hot when you had landed, part of you had assumed it would remain so. It settled over your skin like a blanket, and you watched as the hairs on your arms stood on end.

It was odd, it wasn't uncomfortable like the cold could be back on Earth, there was personality to this coldness, like the light wind had a purpose as it wrapped itself around you.

Little white lights perforated the night sky, twinkling like they were putting on their own little show, just for you and the Doctor.

Under the dark sky, the sand lay forgotten and instead, dark, grassy, green hills swept in front of you. You had entered a valley, the sort that seemed to have been plucked straight out of a children’s fantasy book.

There was a glittering lake which reflected the sky and dozens of trees which you assumed provided shelter from the harsh sun during the day. You kicked your boot against some of the grass lightly, and watched as the dirt came away red, like the tunnel behind you.

Suddenly and all at once, a ripple of colour lit up the ground. When you looked up at the sky you saw a ribbon of coloured light, dancing like a carnival festival.

A brilliant pink road snaked into one of green, tangling itself into orange and a bright violet, blazing against the stars like a living organism. It took your breath away.

You gazed wide eyed at the most spectacular wonder you had seen in such a long time. It was so vibrant, with colours you couldn't even name tangling themselves into the atmosphere and stretching out toward the ground like the landing lights of some distant UFO.

You knew Earth had lights like these; the Aurora Borealis, but it wasn't anything like this. This was something different. It was almost as if the lights wanted to wrap themselves around you, to hold you, keep your grounded and safe. They swayed, flowed, changed shades and hues. It was magical.

"This is incredible," you spoke softly, not wanting to interrupt the way the colours danced.

You turned to see how The Doctor was reacting, only to see she was looking at you.

“Yeah,” she said, watching you like you were something wonderful. “It is.”

Oh –

The Doctor was looking at you the way she looks at a star being born, with that sort of delighted wonder she normally reserved for new and unique curiosities. She looked at you with reverence, like you were the only thing to bother focusing on, like you were the only thing worth it.

It made your heart stop.

You knew you were looking at her the same way, too.

In a stroke of boldness you reached for the Doctors hand, taking hers in your own. “Is this okay?”

The Doctor blinked, staring at your entwined hands and back at you. Your pulse hammered in your throat, and you tried to swallow it down. It wasn’t like you didn’t hold hands often, just, normally that was to navigate danger, and there was nothing dangerous about this moment right now.

Except for the fact that you were definitely wearing your heart on your sleeve.

“No, no, this is wonderful. Brilliant even,” the Doctor looked back up at you, grinning. “Absolutely brilliant.”

The lights danced over the Doctors face, you watched as the pink, orange, and emerald that lit up in the sky above you were reflected in her eyes.

You wondered if this was how the Doctor saw the universe, alight with colour, completely engulfed in brightness, each moment a love letter to time and space itself, a monument towards life itself, a kiss from the forces that be.

Or maybe you were just romanticising it because that’s how you thought of her.

“You’re brilliant y’know,” the Doctor said, softly. “Completely brilliant.”

You tried not to notice the heat you felt on your cheeks.

“No need to reply,” she added. “I just need you to know that.”

She still had sand plastered against her cheek, and her hair was frizzy, with a dusting of red dirt throughout it. Somehow, the Doctor had managed to get dirt stuck on her forehead too, and it was such a quaint addition to her face that you couldn’t help but smile.

Of course she’d managed to gather a collage of different dirt across her face. You could only assume you looked about the same.

You counted the freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose, mere inches from your face and – oh, wait. When had she gotten so close?

“Is this okay?” The Doctor asked, her breath tickling your lips.

For a moment, for one millisecond of a moment your brain short circuited, and before you could hastily nod or stutter out a more than eager response, the moment was broken.

The whirring, wheezing groan of the Tardis sounded beside you, and instinctively you both drew back to watch.

A laugh bubbled out of you as you watched that magnificent blue box with awful timing land itself next to you both, blocking your view of the tunnel behind it. “Of course she shows up now.”

The Doctor laughed along with you, and even though the moment was lost, it didn’t feel like it was gone. You were with her, standing on this strange planet, wearing your stuffy clothes, and surviving a formidable adventure through a tunnel, and feeling utterly elated that you got to have that all with The Doctor.

“I’ve got to be honest,” you said. “This was better than Erinda.”

The Doctor gave you a mirthful smile and snapped her fingers, the Tardis doors opening next to you. “Yeah, she knows how to do that sometimes. Still though, shall we go? Erinda? Pink snow?”

You screwed your face up. “After a day like today, I think I’m in need of a shower, Doc.”

“Ah yeah,” the Doctor ran a hand through her hair. “A shower sounds like a good idea.”

And with that you entered the Tardis, your hand still in hers, and an entire universe to explore.

A/N: Aaaand it’s done, over, finito, complete! Thank you so much absolutely everyone for all the comments and love you’ve given this, and a super special thank you to @kisstherainwriting for being so supportive and wonderful. I have had so much fun doing this, there’ll definitely be more fics in the future! ❤️❤️❤️