#they spend quite a bit of time staring mournful at the door with the biggest akk-puppy eyes they can

[risingmoonyue]

Clone wars AU where the chips never got activated. In the aftermath of Palpatine’s death, the troopers are so horrified by the thought of Order 66 that they go hole up in Kamino. The Jedi let them do it for a few weeks while they’re unfortunately too busy cleaning up the mess, but then they just,,,,, camp outside their front door. For months. The clones will not outstubborn them this time, no sir. They brought umbrellas, food, books, and lots and lots of tea. So much tea. Soon they’re having little mini festival days waiting for the clones to come out already. It is very confusing for the vode.

On one hand, order 66. Chips. Horror. Their life is even more of a lie, they don't want to hurt the jedi, they're ashamed of essentially being a Trojan horse to the Jedi.

On the other hand, apparently the jedi are all idiots who camp out in the ever pouring rain and are they building a mini temple on our front porch??????

[lightphieric]

Virtue's Last Record: Such a Time We Had Together

Tenmyouji becomes Junpei again. Title from the Omori OST. CWs: None AO3

Junpei’s life and hell, his entire personality can be chunked so easily into distinct phases, and he doesn’t know if it’s impressive how fast he adapts to change or pathetic how weak his sense of self is in the face of external events.

There’s nothing impressive about how long it took him to stop being an idiot kid. He was twenty-two and still thought crypto was the future in fucking 2027.

Then the Nonary Game put an end to that, but he’s not proud of who he became afterwards. A cynical drunk who gave up so easily on everything good he’d ever believed in. He still wanted to go back and smack that version of himself upside the head.

Why the hell did it have to take Radical-6 to snap him out of that? At the very least, this was his biggest glow-up, as they’d said in his youth. In the face of a global disaster, he quit sulking and feeling bad for himself and learned how to survive. He accepted that, yeah, most people were bastards, but that didn’t matter as long as he was looking out for himself. He learned to scrap and scavenge, and he cherished the physical wealth he managed to build up way more than he would have a fortune in crypto. All his softness had long since scabbed over, but he was comfortable.

Finally, he found Quark, and bits of that hard outer shell were scraped away. What was revealed under the surface wasn’t quite like any previous version of himself. It was the best of all possible versions. He was willing to do anything to protect this other innocent life, but now he was cautious around others and financially savvy enough to provide for them both.  

Junpei is not a proud man. He knows none of his growth can be attributed to him actually trying. He put in no work to become the man he is today. Still, he’s content with who that man is. He’s the kind of guardian who Quark needs, and he spends too many nights praying that he doesn’t undergo another drastic change.  

Then he receives communication from Akane and it’s like the past forty-five years are undone. It’s not growth this time but a complete reversion, as he finds himself back in a Nonary Game in more ways than one. Choosing doors based on how close he could keep himself to her. Screwing the other participants over because he had some complex over “protecting” her. And now one of those screwed-over participants is his own charge.

He's devastated when Quark contracts the disease that’s ruined the world – what parent wouldn’t be? But he’s mourning too much, and somehow not enough. The grief he feels over the woman who abandoned him half a century ago is overpowering his attention, and his own grandson has become secondary. The cynical part of him, the part who’s seen it all, should know Akane well enough. He should know that she’s manipulating him and that somewhere out there is a timeline where everyone’s alive and healthy. But his cynical side is dead.

He spends all the off time they’re given in the infirmary. Sometimes Luna accompanies him for medical and emotional support. She sits by Quark’s bedside, checking his vitals with the ADAM every few minutes and holding his tiny, limp hand. She gives his grandfather frequent updates, but Junpei barely listens. He’s too busy staring at an elderly woman and pretending to be thirteen again. They would play superheroes and fantasize about who’d they be when they grew up. She wanted to be a librarian.

And Junpei wanted to be an astronaut. What a goddamn joke.

Behind him, Luna starts whispering to Quark. Bedtime stories, Grimm’s fairy tales. Fine ways to comfort an ailing child, sure. But someone who actually knew Quark could do better. They’d reminisce with him, recall the time they spent agonizing over their finances so they could choose the best time to surprise him with that root beer float. Unfortunately, the practical, emotionally available adult who formed those memories with Quark is gone. And at this point, he might never come back.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 6)

Summary: The reader and Jensen discuss their relationship moving forward while Jensen learns more about the reader’s family situation. He still has a bad feeling about something though and his gut may prove to be right...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 5,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, mention of prior suicide attempt, minor violence

A/N: Enjoy!

_________

You woke up to Jensen bundled up in bed, covers tugged to his chin as he sleepily watched you stretching in bed. You giggled at him and his bed head, rolling closer and kissing him good morning.

“That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you said.

“Obviously you don’t look at the mirror much,” he said. You smiled and he reached his arm under the covers, putting a hand on your waist. You scooted over, Jensen blinking slowly. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” you asked. He bopped your nose and you smiled, tucking down into the sheets. 

“Do you want a relationship?” he asked.

“Do you?”

“It would make my job...difficult.”

“Oh.”

“Not impossible. Just difficult.”

“Is it any more difficult than it was? I mean honestly. What’ll have changed? You still keep me safe and I still hide and run if you say so.”

“That part hasn’t changed. But there is something that has. A wildcard factor. Wildcard factors aren’t great in this job.”

“What’s a wildcard?”

“In a dangerous situation, if we were in a relationship, there’s the potential that you would do something to put yourself in harm’s way to protect me.”

“If that happened, regardless of us being in a relationship, if your ass is on the line, I can’t guarantee I do as told.”

“I don’t like that answer.”

“Jensen, if we do this, you need to trust me. I will do what you tell me when it comes to threats but I can’t say for sure that I won’t try to help you if I can.”

“So if it comes down to it, you’ll do whatever you want in the end.”

“Exactly.”

“If when I’m in bodyguard mode, you do what I say...I will learn to be okay with that very small possibility.”

“Good choice,” you said. You slid a hand around his back and traced up and down his spine, feeling a thin line raised on the skin. “What happened there?”

“Not advised to jump from of a speeding vehicle,” he said. You raised an eyebrow and he chuckled. “I was four wheeling once. Went off trail accidentally. Had to ditch my ride in a hurry. A bit of gravel-”

“Liar,” you said quietly. You smiled and he looked over your head.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m pretty good at knowing when people are acting,” you said. “You get it in combat?”

“Shrapnel got my vest.”

“You’re still lying.”

“It’s not pleasant. I’d rather not...scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you said.

“I was held captive once. Very, very briefly. I got a little beat up,” he said. 

“You?” you asked, Jensen nodding, sliding his hand up and playing with the end of your hair. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

“Thanks. I don’t like to talk about that stuff a lot,” he said. 

“If you ever change your mind, I’m a good listener,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said. “You like scrambled eggs?”

“Who doesn’t?” you asked. He smirked and kissed your cheek before he popped out of bed. 

“Well I’m about to blow your mind with the Ackles special,” he said. He walked around the bed and picked up his underwear, turning when he noticed you watching him. You looked him up and down, Jensen laughing to himself. “I saw you checking me out when I was swimming you know.”

You groaned and pulled the sheets over your head. He moved around for a moment and you felt the sheets come down, Jensen leaning over you.

“I had to tease a bit, make sure things were mutual,” he said. 

“Of course you did.” You stretched and yawned, closing your eyes.

“Doing anything fun with your family today?”

“Shopping with my mom will be fun. I’m not the biggest shopper but she likes it. We’ll get lunch, hit a few stores, get a massage after. I think Chuck and the guys are going looking at houses for the boys. Sounds like they might get a place together again.”

“Would you like your brothers to live closer?” he asked. You sat up and held the covers to your chest, Jensen handing you his shirt. You pulled it on over yourself, shrugging as you sat on your knees. “Why do you interact with them if you don’t like them?”

“How long have your parents been married?”

“All my life. Before that,” he said.

“No step siblings, half siblings?”

“My brother and sister share the same parents I do,” he said. “I don’t quite know what it’s like to live in a family like that I guess.”

“My mom went to a very dark place after my dad died. I didn’t know how to fix it. Chuck made her laugh for the first time in six months. He made her smile. He helped her and she helped him too. His wife died earlier on that year. He made her so happy, makes her so happy. I will put up with a few mean step-brothers to never see her go to that place again.”

“I would understand if they resented your mom but it’s you it seems they don’t like.”

“I was the youngest by quite a bit. Chuck would spend time with me. I think the boys were jealous and they probably could have done with more time with their father back then. They’d lost their mom that year too. But I needed him, mom needed him, he was mourning himself...he did the best job he could considering how fucked up we all were. They’re both successful. I just don’t think they liked having a little sister honestly.”

“Sucks for them. Little sisters are cool,” he said with a smile. “My big brother loves to mess with me but he doesn’t treat me the way those two do.”

“Well, even if they move here, I don’t have to hang out with them,” you said. You crawled into his lap and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I heard someone’s a little cocky about their scrambled eggs.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he said. He stood up with you before letting you get your feet under you. You pulled on your underwear and followed him downstairs, whistling as you took in his backside. “Y/N…”

“My bodyguard is hot and he should know it,” you said. He shook his head and headed into the kitchen humming to himself as he started to make up some breakfast for the two of you. The doorbell rang and you groaned. “I bet that’s my mom, early as always. I’ll get her out of here.”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I plan on doing things to you after breakfast and I do not want her around for that,” you said. He laughed as you padded down the hall and to the front door. You cracked it open a smidge and saw a man in a suit standing there, his back to you. He spun around with a smile and you nodded. “Oh, hi Jake.”

“Good morning!” he said. “I apologize for being late this morning, my car-”

“The meeting,” you said, slapping yourself in the face. “I totally blanked on it.”

“That’s alright. Is now a good time?” he asked. You looked down at yourself and peeked back around the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! It’s perfect, all perfect,” you said.

“You’re not...are you sure-” he said before Jensen was suddenly stepping into view and pushing you behind the door. “Good morning, Mr. Ackles. You uh, appear to be missing most of your clothes.”

“It seems I am,” said Jensen. “Ms. Y/L/N is very well. She would like to reschedule for ten am if that’s possible.”

“Uh…” he said before you rolled your eyes and opened the door all the way. You stared at him and he looked between you both. “Oh. Gotcha. You two…”

“Mhm,” hummed Jensen, crossing his arms.

“Jake would you mind setting up in my office? It’s just down the hall. Jensen and I were about to eat breakfast. We’ll only be fifteen or so minutes,” you said. He stepped inside and you pointed the way, Jensen pouting as you headed back into the kitchen. “Oh, I’m still gonna do things to you. Just tonight, pouty boy.”

“Alright. You told me David was going to be your manager I thought,” he said, going back to the fridge to get the eggs.

“Well I went with Jake. Is that a problem?

“No. I need to be made aware of decisions like that though. I’m going to have to work with him quite a bit for events, your work schedule, that stuff,” he said. 

“I thought you’d be happy. You said you liked him.”

“I do. I am happy. I’m just not happy that you didn’t tell me.”

“He’s been my manager for like a day, calm down,” you said. He put his hands on the counter and you saw him drop his head, his back to you. “Jensen, no evil person is out there looking to snatch me away the second you turn your head. It was one day.”

“In the future, please make me aware of staff changes when they happen?” he asked. He looked back at you, his face softer than you were expecting.

“Okay,” you said. While he whisked some eggs in a bowl, you walked over beside him, watching over his arm. “Looks good.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” he chuckled. You rested your head against his arm, Jensen adding in some spices to the mixture. You scooted up on the counter as he went to the stove, watching him scramble them on low, pouring in a dash of cream.

“Can I ask why the Jake thing bothered you?” you said quietly. He scrambled the eggs for a minute before sliding them onto a few plates.

“Because I have a bad feeling that there is someone out there that wants to hurt you and I have nothing to go off of besides a gut feeling and trusting that you’ll be honest with me, always. You didn’t do anything. I overreacted.”

He got out a pair of forks from the drawer, handing you one along with a plate.

“Your gut feelings are normally right?” you asked, taking a bite of the eggs.

“Normally. They were at the restaurant,” he said. You nodded, putting a hand on your arm where a barely there bruise was. “I’m sorry if I hurt you that night.”

“I get hurt worse walking into a wall cause I’m dumb. You had me on the ground before I even knew what was going on and stopped that guy from doing who knows what to everyone. I’m not sorry about that.” He was quiet but gave you a nod. “Your eggs are great. Permission to brag granted.”

“Thanks,” he said, the doorbell ringing again. “I better get dressed. We’re gonna talk about getting a gate at the end of the driveway too by the way.”

“I second that,” you said as you heard the front door open. “Oh my God, my mother, just walks wherever she wants.”

He took off upstairs, ducking down the hall just as she walked into the kitchen.

“Hi mom,” you said. “You are...three hours early.”

“I know, you have work things. I wanted to make you some food you can have for leftovers the next few days. You have hardly any food in your house,” she said.

“Ma, I can barely cook and most of the time, I don’t have the actual time,” you said. She rolled her eyes and you hopped off the counter.

“Well I’m here so might as well,” she said. You glanced up to the balcony and saw Jensen pop into view wearing some jeans and a long sleeve henley. His holster was clipped on under his shirt and you smiled as he came down. “Oh, good morning, Jensen.”

“Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said.

“Any particular reason my daughter is wearing your shirt and no pants?”

“Uh,” he said, opening his mouth when she made a face.

“Two plates of eggs? You think I was born yesterday?”

“No mam. Your observational skills are impressive,” he said. 

“Mom, could you lay off. We like, just started dating,” you said.

“Can you cook?” she asked him.

“A bit,” he said.

“Bodyguard, he can cook and he’s handsome. He’s fine by me,” she said. You put your head in your hands, your mom whacking your shoulder. “You’re so overdramatic. Now get out of my kitchen. We’ll get lunch and shop later. I assume Jensen is coming with us?”

“I would love to spend the day with you ladies but I trust you two will be okay on your own. I’d like to go over some things with Y/N’s new manager if Y/N’s okay with that,” said Jensen.

“You will join us for dinner though, won’t you? We’re going out with Chuck and the boys. Our treat,” she said.

“Mom,” you said, getting a look from her. “Jensen always goes out with me at night, that’s our rule. I’ll pay for his meal.”

“But we’re taking you kids-”

“He is my employee. You don’t-”

“He’s your boyfriend who happens to work for you. I’m paying for his dinner, alright?” she said. You held up your hands and padded out of the kitchen, Jensen following you upstairs. 

“I’m sorry about her,” you said back in your bedroom as you started to pick up last night’s clothes. “She’s-”

“She misses her daughter. She’s happy I’m here. It helps her sleep better at night,” he said. “Told me herself.”

“I love her. I love her to death but I was a kid when my dad died. I know it was hard for her but for six months, until she met Chuck, she acted like I didn’t exist. She likes to forget that sometimes.”

“People grieve differently,” he said. “Still, it wasn’t on you to do that.”

He took the dirty clothes from your hand and cupped your cheek, kissing your temple quickly. 

“Don’t know how anyone could not notice you. Good thing I get paid to stare at you all day,” he smirked. You lightly smacked his chest, Jensen giggling. “As much as it pains me to say it, get that tush dressed. We’ve got a very long meeting with your manager this morning.”

That Afternoon

“What about this one?” asked your mom, holding up a dress.

“You know I hate award shows,” you said.

“I mean for tonight. Or a date with Jensen sometime,” she said. You did your best to keep your face neutral but she caught the slight down turn of your lips. She slammed the dress back on the rack and put her hands on her hips. “What? All morning you have been short with me.”

“Mom I just started dating him like half an hour before you got to the house. You are going way too fast. I have dresses and I honestly wasn’t even going to say anything until it got more serious.”

“You pay him to protect your life. How much serious does it need to get?” she asked. You rolled your eyes and she made a face. “You barely pick up the phone and talk to me anymore.”

“Cause you changed after dad and not in a good way. For a little while, I lost both my parents. Even after Chuck, you two were so involved with each other you didn’t spend as much time as me as you did before dad died. When I was a teenager, when I really needed my mom, you weren’t there all the time. I’m sorry I grew up to be independent. But-”

“Do you think I don’t realize that? I know I made mistakes,” she said. She sighed and took a seat on a bench outside a waiting room. “I just want you to be happy and Jensen...I haven’t seen a smile on your face like that since before Brian died. He makes you happy, even when you two looked so annoyed with one another earlier in the week, he would stare and you would stare. I feel good about this one. I just want you to enjoy falling in love, if you do end up going that route with him.”

You sat down next to her and shrugged, crossing your arms. You leaned back against the wall and rubbed your sneaker against the floor.

“How do you know that’s your guy,” you asked quietly. “I mean, you’ve done it twice. How do you know?”

“It was different with Chuck. I was slower to admit to myself that I was in love with him. Your father was very quickly. I didn’t share that information with him until much later but I knew, a part of me, the part you don’t justify with logic or facts or details, that part always knew. It knew with them both. Nowhere does it say you only have to have one soulmate. I know you don’t want to hear that but I love them both equally, Y/N.”

“Mom, I love Chuck. It’s not the same as dad but I do. He makes you happy and he tries to be a dad to me but he gives me the space I need too. I’m happy you have him. I’m happy we both do.”

“Why do ask how you know the man you’re with is the one?” she asked. “Or are you asking because that part you can’t explain already told you something you’re not even willing to think yet.”

“I was curious was all,” you said as you stood.

“You’re a horrible actor,” she said. You pushed on her shoulder and she laughed. “Fine, fine. No more boy talk. Let’s try another store. I’m at the very least not letting you walk out of this mall without a new pair of heels.”

Later That Night

“Y/N?” asked Jensen outside your bedroom as he knocked on the door. You checked the back of your fancy bun one last time in the mirror before you walked out and into the room.

“One sec,” you said, bending down and putting on the five inch heels, zipping them up in the back. After a moment of looking yourself over in the mirror in a sleek, mostly backless black dress, you opened up the door. Jensen was in a tailored black suit with a deep navy tie. “You look-”

“Wow,” he said, looking you up and down. “You look so fancy.”

“Fancy?” you laughed. “Is this because you hardly ever catch me out of my sweats?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the sweats and the leggings. I love all of it,” he said. 

“You look very handsome,” you said, skirting past him and hearing a quiet whistle. “Knew you’d appreciate that.”

“Damn right I do,” he said as he caught up. “Ready to head out?”

“After you.”

“That’s great you guys found a house,” you said an hour later at the restaurant, mouth full of some cheese fries. Nick rolled his eyes at you and you licked your lips. “Wha? I’m hungry.”

“Actually it’s for mom and me,” said Chuck. You raised an eyebrow and he smiled. “I’m a writer so I can work from anywhere and your mom got offered a great position at a clinic here.”

“That’s great guys. I’d love to get to see you more,” you said. You looked at Michael and he had a curious smile on his face. “Did you get a house too?”

“Penthouse apartment hopefully. We’re looking at some tomorrow. Gonna be on my own for the first time. Nick and I talked and he’s not sure if he really wants to move out here yet. We decided we’d see what it’s like living apart for the first time,” he said. 

“Worst case I can always get a professor job at one of the colleges if I change my mind while I try to get into a school district,” said Nick while he played with the remnants of some crust on his plate. 

“You’ll come eventually,” said Chuck. “Get everyone living in the same timezone again. It’ll be good.”

“So are you two like a thing now?” asked Michael to you, looking as innocent as could be while he hid his shit eating grin.

“Yes,” you deadpanned. Jensen looked up from his salad but you went back to eating. For the most part the evening was what you were expecting. Your step-brothers acting oh so pleasant in front of your parents and Jensen getting a few questions about his job. You did smile though when Jensen was able to upstage Michael about some law usage. You were pretty sure even Michael was impressed with him at that point.

“That went well,” said Jensen an hour later after you’d parted ways with your family and were walking back to your car. “Michael’s growing on me. He seemed better tonight. Nick not so much.”

“I’m actually really proud of him for getting his own place. I get that they’re twins but they’re in their thirties. Neither one of them has had a girlfriend in years.”

“Michael’s like a workaholic though,” said Jensen, holding your hand when you walked past a guy in a jacket with his hood up.

“True. Maybe he’ll cut back some out here.”

“How do you think Nick will handle that?” he asked. You stopped walking and pulled out your phone. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t particularly like Nick most of the time, don’t get me wrong. But he might do something stupid,” you said as you dialed your brother. It rang a few times before he answered.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Hey Nick. You want to come over tomorrow while Michael apartment hunts?”

“Uh, sure,” he said and you knew he must have been around your parents still.

“Great. Come over around noon. We’ll have lunch and a swim or something.”

“Okay. See ya.”

You shook your head before you were walking again, Jensen bumping your shoulder.

“Something I need to know about?” he asked.

“The file you did on Nick, what’d you find.”

“Arrest record for when he was young. A few drunk and disorderlies, nothing Michael couldn’t ever get cleared up for him. Hospital stay for a few days in his twenties when he fell down some wet stairs. I’m going to go ahead and guess out of all of that he didn’t fall, did he.”

“No,” you said as you stopped outside your car.

“What happened?”

“I came home from school early and Nick had tried to kill himself,” you said. Jensen blinked a few times and you let out a dry laugh. “It’s hard to surprise you but I think that took the cake.”

“You need to tell me everything.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a threat to you. You can’t see it but I can. He doesn’t like you and if he’s tried that before, it means-”

“Can we talk about this at home?” you said when you saw someone down the street recognize you. He nodded and they wandered up, asking for a few pictures. You posed and put on a smile, Jensen watching careful with a hard look in his eye.

“Woah, woah,” said Jensen half an hour later as you sat in the family room at one end of the couch in some sweats and an oversized tee, Jensen sporting a similar look but wearing the hoodie you’d given him. He had a notebook by his side but he’d put it on the coffee table in favor of throwing his hands up. “He tried to do it in your bedroom? He left a note on your bed?”

“My closet,” you said. “My closet had attic access so he’d tied a rope up on a beam. He had just kicked the chair away when I walked in. I was skipping last period. Senior year and all.”

“What’d you do?”

“It was very obvious that Nick knew he’d made a mistake. I grabbed him and held him up as best I could until he could untie himself. He fell down pretty hard cause I couldn’t hold him anymore and landed on all the junk lying on my closet floor. He told me we were gonna lie and say he fell down some stairs to account for all the bruises.”

“Why’d you help him lie?”

“Cause I thought he tried to kill himself because of me. I thought he hated me that much. He was in my bedroom after all,” you said.

“You read the note?”

“Jensen-”

“I need to know, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“Because my job is to protect you from threats. If your step-brother doesn’t like you and now his whole family is moving away from him to be closer to you, depending on a lot of things, this could get messy.”

“Jensen-”

“Did you read it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And?” For a moment you looked past him and outside, Jensen’s foot nudging yours. “I’m sorry but I gotta know.”

“He felt like a failure. He was in the car with his mom when she died. He saw how well Michael did and I did and he felt distant from his dad and he felt like his life was crumbling around him and honestly, he wanted to go be with his mom again. He felt like he didn’t belong. I fucking bawled reading it.”

“You guys ever talk about it or was it over like that?”

“I slapped him in the face and told him he was pathetic. His mom, my dad, they didn’t get a choice to live or die. I was so angry at him. He apologized and he promised me that if he ever felt like that again, he’d tell me. A few years later, he came to me and thought he might do something stupid.”

“His teaching sabbatical he went on.”

“He got some professional help. I paid for it all. He stayed out here, nearby. I visited him everyday on the way into work. He got better. He learned a lot about himself, how to cope, how to deal with things in his life. He still sees a therapist every week I pay for on the down low.”

“He’s no threat to you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he loves you and you love him, even if you don’t like one another or act like you care. If something bad were to happen, he would help you and you’re gonna do it right back.”

“How do-”

“Because your step-brothers who are assholes to you at times, they wanted to ensure that I would protect you when I first met them. I think it’s finally all clicking into place,” he said. “Hence why you never say a word about their behavior to your mom.”

“I will take prickly siblings over dead ones, even if I didn’t pick them,” you said.

“Are you worried Nick will take a bad turn with everyone else moving here?”

“I don’t know. I know he associates this place with bad memories, some of his darkest memories. I don’t blame him for not wanting to live here,” you said. Jensen nodded and ran his thumb over his lips. He propped his elbow on the back of the couch, resting his head in it.

“I’ve always thought you were kind. But helping your brother like that, in secret when I’m sure you want to tell your family, that’s not easy.”

“Yes, it is. There was never really a decision to be made though. The only one was to tell my parents and Michael and as long as Nick is honest with me, I will keep his secrets from them.”

“You’re more loyal than some of the people I served with,” he said, looking out the back windows. “It’s only an easy decision if you’re a good person. I wish I’d worked with more of those.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. He smiled and ruffled his hair, frowning after a moment.

“Jared saved my life you know. After I healed up, I transferred to his unit.”

“He’s a good guy to call your friend,” you said. He hummed and you crawled over to him, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad we’re finally friends.”

“Me too,” he said. He pulled you into his lap and rested his head on your shoulder. Your fingers ran through his hair, eyes drawn down to how his back flexed and relaxed. “Sorry for playing twenty questions with Nick. I won’t say a word to anyone, including him.”

“S’okay. Just doing your job.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine. Why?”

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“Counter offer. We make out in my hot tub and then go to bed.”

“Counter counter offer. I make ice cream sundaes we eat in said hot tub and then make out and then go to bed.”

“I’ve always had a thing for intelligent men,” you said. You kissed his cheek and he chuckled. “You’ve never seen me in a bikini before, have you.”

“I’m in for a treat then, aren’t I?” he said. “Go on and change.”

“I’ll meet you out there,” you said. You departed from him and headed upstairs, poking around in your closet for the perfect one to put on. You spotted him come out of the hall in his orange and blue striped shorts, a whistle on his lips as he jogged downstairs. In your closet you took a seat on the small bench, holding up your black teeny tiny bikini and your aqua blue that honestly made your butt look great.

You opted for the black top and blue bottoms to get the best of both worlds. You were midway through pulling your shirt off when you heard Jensen come in the room.

“Oh come on-” you said, something whacking you in the back of the head. Instantly you fell down, strong arms catching you. You looked up wearily, someone in a black mask looking down at you. The eyes weren’t green and you kneed him, putting an elbow to the back of the guy’s neck and making him groan. You got to your feet as fast as possible and sprinted out of the room. “Jensen!”

You knew you weren’t going to make it to the stairs without the guy catching you so you grabbed the railing and vaulted over the balcony to the ground below. You rolled when you hit the ground, spotting Jensen by the base of the stairs. Your eyes spun upwards, Jensen following your gaze and seeing the man standing there. You turned and saw Jensen running towards you, a loud thud right beside you. The man was on the first floor now and you ducked down, missing his arms as you dove into the dining room. By the time you had your head up, you saw Jensen tackling the guy, a gun going flying out of the intruder’s hands.

You stood up, watching the two of them wrestle, the intruder getting a good hit on Jensen’s face. 

“Y/N, go!” you heard Jensen yelling at you, the pounding in your ears finally growing a little quieter. Jensen told you when you were going over his book of rules that was the adrenaline in your system, trying to get your body to only focus on survival. The gun was laying fairly close to you and you heard Jensen shout, eyes darting over to see he had a cut on the back of his shoulder. 

He had Jensen pinned face down and was working on restraining him. He was still shouting at you and the man looked up the second he had pulled the tie taut. You ran over and picked up the gun, the man revealing a knife.

“Put that down or I kill him,” he said. You swallowed, Jensen yelling a frenzy of things at you, all of which involved you running away as fast as possible. Instead you aimed the gun and fired, the man falling backwards as it hit his vest. 

You ran over and kicked the knife he dropped away, keeping the gun on him as Jensen rolled over to it and cut himself free. He gave you a dirty look but searched the guys pockets and found more restraints, slipping some on the intruder before taking the gun out of your hands.

“Call the police. Now,” said Jensen. 

________

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

[plus-size-reader]

Spoiled

Ransom Drysdale x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1711 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Ransom spoiling you and spending a ton of money on you which upsets his parents when they see just how much money he spends on you

——————————————————————————————————

It was no secret that Ransom liked to spend money. 

He had basically come out of the womb with a silver spoon in his mouth and the promise to keep it there all his life. In fact, you often wondered if money had any value to him at all. 

As best you could tell, he was always going to be that way and nothing would change that.

You, on the other hand, had never been able to shop without worrying about the price tag that it came with. You had worked hard for everything that you owned and you never took it for granted. 

However, that all changed as soon as you started going out with Ransom. 

He refused to let you pay for anything on your own...and that included your car payments, rent, and student loans. Before you knew it, Ransom was even showering you in gifts. 

It was no better than helping you pay off your bills but something about it seemed more unacceptable. 

You could live without crushed velvet peacoats and gold jewelry. 

...Not that telling Ransom any of that meant anything. 

He didn’t care at all for your eye rolls and complaints when he handed you the bags he’d acquired throughout the day. If anything, he liked shopping for you and it made him happy to spoil you. 

It made him feel like there was a reason for his wealth, and that he had a purpose.

It was something he wasn’t used to, especially not knowing the family he came from. 

That being said, you never really thought about how much money he really spent on you in all the time that you’d been together. Spending cash and showering you in lavish gifts was how Ransom showed his love. 

It was just the way it was. 

After this long, you had just grown to accept that Ransom wasn’t going to stop. However, that didn’t make the idea of visiting his family any easier. As a general rule, you two kept to yourselves. 

You avoided his family at all costs, but the death of his grandfather changed that. It meant a lot of different things, but for you-it meant that you’d have to meet his parents, for the first time in your life. 

It wasn’t something you were looking forward to. 

...Not even in the least. 

“I’m not sure about this Ransom, what if they hate me?” you grumbled, unsure if this was really worth it. Ransom had made it clear that his family wasn’t all that supportive of him, which only lessened the chances of them liking you. 

It just wasn’t looking good, and you couldn’t help but be nervous about it. 

However, all Ransom did was scoff at your worry. His family may not have been super into him as a general rule but if he knew anything at all, it was that they would love you. 

You were a well-mannered, kind, decent girl who deserved the world and if they couldn’t see that, they didn’t deserve the pleasure of your company. 

You were incredible, and they would realize that as soon as possible. 

“Don’t even worry about that, they’ll think you’re awesome” he assured, reaching over with his free hand to take your hand. He was driving with the other but he would always figure it out when it came to you. 

Maybe it was the fact that Ransom didn’t give a shit about his family’s opinion but whatever went on, it didn’t matter. 

...It wasn’t going to change anything between you. 

“But what if they don’t?” you countered, shocked that he would even dare to be so confident about that. There was a much higher chance that they’d find you bothersome, and he had to know that. 

They could hate you just on principle without knowing anything about you, but it didn’t help that you were wearing a dress that Ransom had bought you. 

...You were sure they wouldn’t like that.

“Well, no time to worry about that now Sweetheart, cause we’re here” he grinned, pointing out the window to the large estate. At first, you thought he was kidding but when you glanced in that direction, you could hardly believe it. 

The home resting there was hardly a house at all. In fact, it was more or less a fortress and you couldn’t believe it. You had never seen a more brilliant place. 

It was incredible. 

“This is your grandfather’s house?” you gasped, eyes wide as you surveyed it. You knew that Ransom’s family had quite a bit of money but you never would have guessed it was that much. 

This was some Bruce Wayne level wealth, and he didn’t even exist. 

Ransom grinned, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. He was a proud guy, but the fact that you were that enthralled by what he’d always had added to his ego. 

One day, he hoped to get you an estate like this. It would be a wonderful place to raise spoiled rotten little rugrats, likely with hunting dogs to chase them around the yard. 

It would be perfect. 

“Yep, this is it” he muttered, parking it in the driveway in the front, turning to you before getting out. “Don’t worry, they’re going to love you” he assured, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

It wasn’t a foolproof plan but by the time Ransom pulled away from you, you were actually feeling much more confident about this whole thing. 

“No matter what happens, you’ll always be my girl” he winked, opening the door with a start. Everyone else was already inside, but Ransom didn’t mind being the last to arrive. 

...Especially not when he had such a catch to show off to his loser family. 

It was a terrible idea really, but by this point, you were completely on board, mostly because he was telling you the truth. 

If Ransom’s family hated you, it may actually increase how in love with you he was, knowing how much he hated them. 

Ransom’s entire family was convened in the front room of Harlan’s house, just talking and catching up. It was supposed to be a time of mourning but that wasn’t going to stop Ransom. 

He had a whole plan around this evening, but in order for it to work, his family had to get to know you first.

...Not that they cared. 

As soon as you two came into the room, all conversation came to a halt. No one knew what to say or do, only exchanging glances between each other. 

They didn’t know what was going on, but nevertheless, Linda was the first to speak. 

“You’re late Ransom. Would it have killed you to show up on time?” she wondered, ignoring the elephant in the room for a moment. 

It was easier than even trying to address that. 

See, you didn’t know it but Ransom had never brought a girl home before, and they weren’t even sure how to react to that…

A simple fact that he’d chosen to keep to himself.

“You know, that’s a poor choice of words, considering-” he smirked, clearly amused with how clever he thought he was. Normally, you would make more of an effort to calm his mouth, but you didn’t have that kind of power here. 

Besides, after all of the things that had gone down between Ransom and his family, you knew better than to interject. 

It wouldn’t get you anywhere. 

“We’re being incredibly rude by the way. Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Y/N” Ransom tutted at them like you would a child. He was really having a good time with this whole thing. 

It was going to get you into a lot of trouble before this was over. 

That was it. That was all he had to say and then the questions ensued. Linda and Richard wanted to know everything about you like if you’d gone to secondary school and where, how much you made, where you worked. If they could think of it, it came out of their mouths. 

Not that the rest of the family was any better. 

Walt, Joni, and Donna were no stranger to putting their noses where they didn’t belong either, which you’d heard from Ransom on many occasions. 

You always assumed that he was being dramatic, but that clearly wasn’t the case. 

...And the entire time, Ransom sat in the middle of it with a huge smile on his face, just taking it all in. 

“Wait a second, is that a Cartier amulette?” 

The voice came from outside the hounding you were currently in the middle of it, but that didn’t mean that you were in any way safe from their upset. 

Everyone turned around to find Meg, sitting on the couch with her phone in hand, staring intently at the chain on your neck. It was a birthday present that Ransom had given you, but you had no idea where it came from. 

Clearly she did though. 

“Maybe, I’m not sure” you shrugged, not understanding why it was that big of a deal. 

However, everyone else in the room could hardly contain their gasps of shock and confusion on their faces. “Not sure? That’s a four thousand dollar necklace” She filled in, as if you were supposed to know that. 

You assumed it was expensive when he gave it to you, but you never guessed that it was that much. 

“Ransom? Did you buy that? That is such an irresponsible use of your money” Linda huffed, finding it hard to believe, though before the conversation could go on any further, you heard the man you loved clear his throat. 

“If you don’t like that, you’re gonna hate this” Ransom smiled, standing from his chair only to kneel down in front of you, pulling the biggest diamond ring you’d ever seen from his jacket. 

...You should have known. 

That was why he’d asked you to come here. You should have been upset that he was using your engagement to get back at his family, but you couldn’t because you were too busy saying yes. 

The rest of his family would just have to accept the fact that Ransom was going to spoil you, for the rest of your lives.  

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 9

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Physical violence, crime(?), SMUT

A/N:  This is the longest chapter of Stay I’ve done but I just couldn’t bring myself to break it up into two small chapters. I’m just gonna come out and say that after the cut is just a chunk of smut, sweet sweet smut (I’m still feeling some kind of way about the smut I write but whatever it’s fun). And don’t these two deserve some smut?! 

I hope y’all are still enjoying these ladies as we kind of go on this winding journey with them. This one is so different in pace from my other stuff, that it kind of throws me a bit and I worry I’m not building enough up here. But -shrug- Oh anxiety how I love you making me question literally EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN THING I DO. 

Still I’m so happy this happens to be my last fic post of 20-GAYteen (I mean I pushed this to today just to make sure it was lol). Gay smutty and emotional. Perfect ending to a stressful year lol.

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight  @jeromethepsycho @daniellajocelyn @marvel-randomness @katecolleen  @yanginginthere @buckysstar

You don’t care about the money. Sure it was the biggest payout you had ever agreed to, yes the money would be a great cushion, hell you could stop working for a bit. But you had been in enough tight spots throughout your whole life that you knew when to cut and run.

Back in your hotel, you throw your things into your bag, double check the few weapons you carry, and leave out the back formulating an escape plan as you go. A car would be the best option, the airport was too risky, too visible. So you head to the closest car park and plan to jump the shittiest car you can find.

As you jimmy the door of an old Peugeot you sense someone approaching you, the vibe distinctly making you think of that Brock fuck from earlier. You spin and a knife just misses you. Grabbing your bag you run. At the edge of the lot he catches you and slams you into the brick wall you face scraping against it.

“You know,” he growls in your ear, his breath hot and damp, “Pretty girls like you really shouldn’t be out alone at night.” You push back against him testing his weight and stance and he presses harder, “This is really going to be much easier for you if you just play along.”

He can’t see the sly smile that curls your lips. This wasn’t the first man to think he could easily get the drop on you. Before you could have defended yourself well enough, but now… Thanks, Honey, you think as you kick his feet from under him and slam your elbow into his face as he falls. Just like Natasha showed you.

He is, however, tough. In an instant he’s up, nose bleeding, “Oh, I’m going to enjoy fucking you up now.”

“I bet,” you drawl you lip curling up in disgust. He lunges at you and there’s the perfect moment for you to use Natasha’s headlock. It’s as satisfying as you anticipated. You don’t have to try to knock him unconscious though. Thighs squeezing his throat you rest your hands on his head. Initially, your intention is to do to him what you had done to the merc in the warehouse, completely rupture his brain, but he slams you both onto the hood of a car before you’re able. Not before you can do just enough to render him unconscious though.  

He slides down the hood from between your legs and you try to get breath back into your lungs and fight the spinning in your head from slamming it into the car’s windshield. There wasn’t time to gather yourself though. You had to assume he wasn’t alone. Grabbing your bag you sprint toward the nearest populated street.

People seem to think it’s best to stick to the outskirts when you went on the run but really the more people around you the better your chances. Especially when dealing with someone who obviously wants to stay off the radar.

In front of a busy touristy restaurant, you note a valet. Perfect.

You felt bad about knocking the kid unconscious, and a Mercedes wasn’t exactly low-key, but right now it was run or be killed, or worse… captured.

As you drive, you try to sort through the images that sunk in from this Brock. No other personal information but his first name had come to you but you saw training that didn’t look to be U.S. military, a fleeting glimpse of an emblem that looked like an octopus, and some sort of ceremony that made you think of videos you had seen of Nazi Youth rallies. You were certain that he was still a lackey. Just a pawn sent by someone to collect you. Because he had said ‘fuck you up’ not ‘kill you.’ Those were two very different things.

Then there was the emotion you gathered from him, conviction. This was something beyond just some crime syndicate. No. That level of devotion was fanatical. He enjoyed hurting you, he was enjoying it because he thought there was some deeper purpose he was serving by doing it.

Every part of you wants to warn Natasha. Be able to tell her something to signify that things have gone very wrong with this gig. Sadly, the two of you hadn’t thought that far ahead. Right now the only thing you could do was get the hell out of Turkey, head into some nondescript European city and wait for her call.

- Post Snap -

You run your finger around the edge of your crystal tumbler, making the glass sing. While you hadn’t gone to your room you had switched to a corner booth. A few tables down a man is on his side on the bench, curled up, weeping softly.

You envy him. Other than a few stray tears weeping hadn’t come to you. Falling apart couldn’t happen, not yet. Even when you saw your team turn to fucking dust you hadn’t cried, just stared in horror. Shock maybe. Or maybe at this point in your life, you were just too broken to show quite that much emotion. Who knew?

Brock. the name rolls around in your head. Brock fucking Rumlow. If only you had gotten his last name then. Maybe if that had come to you so many things would be different… better… maybe then you wouldn’t be sitting in this hotel bar at the end of the world wondering if you were too broken to properly mourn.

Rage, red and hot begins to fill you. Not just at him but at them all… everything and everyone who seemed determined to make your life hell. You shake with the emotion, the energy from it welling inside you, making the space between your brows ache.

The bartender, leaning on the counter and staring into space, suddenly looks in your direction. Instinct telling her what her other senses can’t. That someone or something here is very… wrong. A threat she can perceive though she can’t tell what it is or why she’s feeling this. You force yourself to take a deep breath, quelling the anger inside you just a touch. She seems to relax once you’re no longer flinging your emotions into the room.

Once again you turn your thoughts back to your memories. Something to ground you so you didn’t send the room into a frenzy on accident.

Dublin, that was where you landed after Turkey. A part of you had wanted to head back to the states but that fucker was obviously American and you wanted to be close enough to get to Natasha quickly.

Thankfully, her time in the Red Room was short and you were only there for a few weeks before the message came through to meet her in Prague.

- February 2005 -

You sit at the bar of the mid-range hotel Natasha chose sipping on a Makers. You’re on edge, had been for weeks ever since your run in with Brock. All your digging had brought up nothing but dead ends and cold leads. However, three days ago, the agreed payment had been deposited into one of your accounts.

You didn’t touch it. Still weren’t sure you would. All efforts to backtrack the transaction led nowhere. Whoever that employer had been they were a ghost now. It left the worst taste in your mouth that even the Makers couldn’t drown.

You sense her before seeing her. Her aura louder than a siren. Your heart skips a few beats and a smile fills your face. Spinning on your bar stool you look to the lobby. Her sleek black trench conceals her figure and large sunglasses hide much of her face, still, she has the presence of a stunning woman. Your woman.

Natasha’s eyes light on you and it feels like you’re caught in the best kind of electrical storm. All your hair is on end your skin tingling just by her looking at you and smiling. Damn.

She nods toward the elevator and walks away. You leave a tip on the bar and follow her.

Just to be safe you don’t acknowledge one another at the elevator. Well, no more than two strangers would. Just smile and nod while looking to passersby that you’re standing in companionable silence. Nothing gives away the fact that the air between you is on fire with emotion. The doors slide open and somehow you maintain composure on the ride up.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life. The wait as you were bleeding from that stab wound was less intense. When you finally close the door to the room nothing in the whole damn world could keep you from one another.

Immediately you press her against the wall, desperate to taste her kiss. Gripping her shoulders you press your lips to hers. It feels like the first breath you’ve taken in weeks. Her body melts into yours immediately. Reaching up you pluck the sunglasses from her face and toss them away.

Emeralds peek from beneath her lashes. The circles under her eyes only making the color all the more striking. On her right cheekbone is the ghost of a bruise. Tenderly you press a kiss to it. Without a word she opens the memory to you, a woman’s swift backhand cracking over her face. It didn’t matter. You had her now.

Pulling back your hands find hers. Gently you tug her to the bed. At the foot, you slip your fingers into the knot of the trench coat belt and undo it before sliding the garment to the floor. She takes your chin in her hand and pulls you into another kiss and you slide your hands around to the back of her skirt tugging the zipper down.

As her skirt slides down her hips you do the same, slowly sinking to your knees before her. You hook your fingers into the lace of her underwear and pull them to her ankles, holding her gaze. Her nails dig through your thick curls and scratch your scalp, sending tingles through your body as you bring your mouth to her, sucking a bit, teasing.

When the small moan of pleasure tumbles from her, you grab her hips and push her back onto the plush bed. Surrendering she tumbles back, with more grace than should be allowed, her legs tangled in her heels, skirt, and underwear dangle from the edge. Freeing her of the skirt and underwear, you slip the killer heels from her feet and run lingering kisses up her legs.

Goosebumps cover her creamy skin and her breathing is ragged. A part of you wants to tease her, drag this out, take time ridding her of blouse before having her but you’re not that strong-willed, unfortunately. Your lips press gently against her folds, tongue just barely tracing the outline of her.

“Fuck,” she sighs as her sips lift and her fingers tangle in your hair. When your tongue flicks across her clit she cries out just a little and the burning in the base of your abdomen ticks up a notch.

Yes. This is what you both need. Forget everything else. Right now there’s just this. Just the taste of her, the sound, her fingers in your hair. This was everything.

You suck at her clit, your nails digging into her thighs and she shudders with pleasure. Sliding two fingers into her you can tell she’s already on the edge, thighs shaking, breath ragged. Yes. You plunge as deep as you can, fingers curling just a touch, rolling her clit under your tongue.

“Y/N!” She cries, “Please baby. Oh, fuck!” Her hips buck up and you press them down hard with your left forearm holding her steady.

Her orgasm crashes into the both of you like a fucking hurricane. Holding your head steady her body practically convulses and you feel her walls contract against your fingers as you fuck her through it. Beyond the physical her emotions and pleasure curl into your body setting you on fire. This is very new and absolutely fucking incredible.

“Natasha,” you breathe out. You feel almost drunk as she guides you onto the bed.

Your head hits the pillow and you watch her slip the woven white blouse over her head revealing a lacy bra. You were so used to seeing her in tactical dress that it takes your breath away.

“You’re fucking beautiful you know,” you drawl taking her in. She smiles and lowers to your face kissing you deeply as her hands unbutton your jeans. Releasing the kiss she works them off you. You lean up and tear your tee off, desperate to feel her body pressed to you. Hovering over you she smiles as she presses her right thigh against your center, already slick. Your eyes flutter closed, the mix of emotions coming from her truly intoxicating.

“I say,” she whispers before kissing you, “we don’t leave this room for 24 hours.”

That was the best idea you’d heard from her yet

[kissykindness]

One Last Time - Part 2

PART ONE

Warning: Angst, Post Break-Up

It had been three months and three weeks since he broke her heart.

Harry was sitting on his couch, wrapped up in what used to be her favourite blanket. It was one of the few things that she had left here, and when he snuggled with it it made her feel at least a tiny bit closer to him. Her scent had still lingered on it for the past two weeks, but now it was beginning to fade.

The feeling that he had done the right thing had faded away long before it.

He could always spray some of her perfume on the blanket, but he would never be able to make this alright again. She was the one person he could imagine having around when he was old and grey, she was the one person he wanted to marry and have kids and adopt a dog and all. And he had broken her heart. He had told himself for a long time that he had done it to protect her, which he actually intended to, but it didn’t work out. He had always known that paparazzi and fans stressed her out, and he had noticed how it had gotten worse and worse and he didn’t want her to have to put up with it. And without him, she would just be a college student, who didn’t get mobbed by paps or cornered by fans or harrassed on the internet. He thought that if he ended this, she could finally be at peace again.

So he had broken up with her, his heart had already ached at the thought of not having her around anymore, but he did it with the best intention. He had seen her fall apart right in front of him, when all he wanted to do was to make her feel safe. He wanted to protect her, to give her the chance to return to her own life. What he couldn’t understand is that, for her, things could never be the way they were. He read about her online, how “the girl Harry Styles has dumped” spend her day, still being papped and he couldn’t be there to comfort her. He read on twitter how fans made fun of her for not being good enough for him and he couldn’t do a single thing about it. He quickly realized that he had made it that much worse.

But he knew her. He knew how she would never get back together with him, seeing how she had the biggest ego and that she would never even want to talk to somebody who didn’t want her around. And honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He had abandoned her at the worst time, making her face all of that on her own with nobody who had her back. If anybody would’ve done that to him, he wouldn’t want to go back to them either.

So there he sat, wallowing in self-pity, mourning the loss of the love of his life and crying his eyes out at a rom-com. Basically, it was just another day since he had cancelled all interviews and meetings. He just couldn’t pretend that everything was okay when in reality, everything had gone wrong.

He occasionally blew his nose and added another handkerchief to the pile of used ones, while half-heartedly watching the movie.

He didn’t quite know what it was, but suddenly he had a feeling of being watched and as he looked up, he couldn’t quite believe it.

There she was.

Y/N stood here in his living room, which was still full of so many happy memories that they had shared. She still had her coat on, but her shoes were off and she looked at him as if she had seen a ghost. Her (y/e/c) eyes were open wide, and her mouth was agape, her lips formed something what resembled an ‘o’.

Harry could feel his heartbeat increase to what he was sure must have been a dangerous rate.

“Y/N”, he whispered in disbelief. He hated how his voice was all raspy from not speaking for so long.

It didn’t help that she saw him sitting here like a crying mess. He had never been someone with fragile masculinity, and she had seen him cry on more occasions than he could count. But he definitely didn’t want her to see him like this.

“I-... I’m just picking up a few things. I’ll be quick“, she said. He noticed how her voice was a bit off, and it really hurt him to know that he had put her in this state.

He nodded, because he didn’t trust his voice enough to say anything. God, how badly he wanted her to stay so he could apologize. He knew he had to, but he had never been one to talk about his feelings. He really wanted to tell her how he only did that for her, but he didn’t know how to make her understand.

She moved towards the staircase. His gaze followed her as she slowly made her way upstairs. He could see how much this all affected her, and if possible, it made him hurt even more. Never in a milion years would he have wanted to hurt her like that.

He could feel his hot tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn’t even bother to wipe them away. Instead, he paused the movie which was still playing, although long forgotten, on his telly. He tried to hear where she was going, what she was doing, and if she was okay.

He heard her shuffling around a bit what must have been his bedroom and his bathroom, and then he heard her sob. The second one was muffled, but it was definitely a sob. It was so hard for him to stay on his couch instead of going after her, but he knew she wouldn’t want him to. Harry wanted to hold her so bad, but it hurt him to know that she would not let him. It was all his fault. He had damaged her heart, broke it beyond repair. And he had done just the same amount of damage to his own heart. He could feel a sob build up in him too, so he tried everything to even out his breathing before she would come back downstairs.

As he finally heard her come back, he looked at her again. Harry immediately noticed her puffy eyes, all red and still full of tears. But he also saw that she wanted to be brave.

He could see her frown a bit, the crease on her forehead that always appeared when she was contemplating something had become very prominent. He always used to rub his thumb over it, smoothing out her skin.

She walked up to him then, holding something shiny and silver in her hand. As she reached out for him, he could see what it was. Her key, the key that he gave her so long ago, was lying in the palm of her hand.

“H-here.” He could hear her voice crack although she only whispered.

He slowly reached for the key although he really wanted her to keep it. He knew that this was final, ultimate. He had to let her go now. But he wasn’t ready.

When he finally took it from her, he accidentally brushed over her skin. She immediately flinched away from his touch, making him gasp a little. Harry thought that he had probably never felt worse in his entire life.

The urge to cry felt almost overwhelming. But he couldn’t do it. Once again, he forced himself to think of her. He couldn’t make this any harder for her. He could feel his bottom lip tremble, and as soon as she looked down at her hand, he bit down on it.

“Sorry”, he croaked out. He couldn’t say anymore because he thought he would break down any moment, but he wanted her to know that he was truly feeling sorry. Harry could only hope she’d understand that it meant so much more that ‘Sorry, I accidentally touched you.’

As he looked at her eyes again though, he knew that she hadn’t understood. They became darker, harder than he had ever seen them. He also saw how her jaw tensed up.

“Goodbye, Harry”, she said, her voice strong this time. He knew by then that he had lost her. This would probably be the last time he ever heard her speak.

“Goodbye, Y/N”, he whispered. She slipped away from him, and all he could do was watch.

She turned around, and without a glance back he heard her put her shoes back on, before he shut the front door.

The click of the door set his teeth on edge.

He quickly got up and sprinted to the window. He could see her pull out of his driveway. He stood there, staring out of the window long after she had gone.

As he looked in his kitchen cupboard, he could see that she had forgotten her favourite mug.

And as he saw her standing there, looking almost too beautiful for him to handle, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. To be honest, he had hoped that she would show up, because this party was a birthday party of one of her friends, but he didn’t think he’d get so lucky.

She was sitting on a couch with some of her friends, he recognized all of their faces, although he couldn’t remember their names in his drunken state. She had always had this charisma, this aura, that made everybody look at her when she came into the room. She’d light it up with her bubbly personality. He was in awe. It was as if her effect on him multiplied by a tenfold, making up for the three months without her.

She was laughing at a joke one of her friends made, and although he was too far away so he couldn’t actually hear it. He knew how she sounded nontheless. His heart, his whole body ached for her.

So he decided to go over.

My Masterlist

Request something here

[tragicquartet]

Plot Post: Awakening

There had been stillness for a while now, but now something stirred. Something had stirred in this haven, this sanctuary against the darkness and the danger of what existed outside. The fields of flowers waved in the gentle, warm breeze as ever, but now their petals almost seemed to shake, quiver in forlorn anticipation. The stars twirled in the nighttime sky above as ever, but now they seemed to slow their dance, somber and heavy, as they hadn't done in several months. Everything in this place could feel it, each in its own way, both living and unliving beings alike, all knowing the truth. The end was drawing near, and soon...

He would leave. And he would not come back to this place for a long, long time. Flowers cannot cry, nor can trees weep, and vines cannot bring themselves to mourn, but the fields around the man, the peacefully sleeping soul on the bed at their epicenter, seemed to respond to this fact in silent, faceless sorrow. The chrysanthemums wilted slightly, bending down on their stems as if hanging their bright magenta petals in shame. The orchids and daisies seemed to shake in the wind, shudder more than the force of the breeze should have made them do. The Hibiscus tree lost some of its reddish purple blooms on the lightest of gusts, and the guzmanias shuddered slightly in the returning light of the sun, its rays reaching their way over the horizon like the claws of some distant, fiery god. It was all ending, and soon... He'd wake up. This place would remain, certainly, but he would not come back for a long, long time. Trials were ahead of him, trials of both heart and mind, will and fate, and he would not receive a rest such as this for a long, long time. He would be missed, but he was not to stay here. Not yet. The sky overhead was now devoid of stars, bright, warm sunlight glaring down on the figure nestled in the bed below.

The spirit had slept for a long time now, perhaps too long. Such a peaceful rest had disturbed the plans, the regular rhythms of a creature such as he, a being with a form dictated by things far beyond the biological. He was made of fire, sorrow, Wrath and Vengeance, and spending this time here, resting at such a distance from those things, in a place where not even his Wrath could find him had, in many ways, changed him. Irrevocably. But that was a worry for his waking self, and as the sun glared down the ghoul stirred, eyes opening slightly, blinded by the light coming down from above, unable to stop that which must come to pass…

It was time to wake up.

~~~ The sound of something heavy hitting the ground brought Mallew into the present, the weight of both his body and reality hitting him like a truck after a long, deep sleep, and looking around the room, hazy and blinking, shielding his eyes from the light, he groaned. He’d woken up because he’d fallen out of bed. How graceful. Letting out a low growl of pain and discomfort, he attempted to get to his feet, fumbling this way and that, bumping into furniture before casually floating off the ground, choosing to not even bother with the trouble of standing on his own two feet. His room was a bit of a mess: he'd clearly been tossing and turning in his sleep, that or completely oblivious to his surroundings as he awoke, managing to mess up his bed before falling off of it. His sheets were thrown this way and that, a few clawmarks dragged through them which he grumbled at in disgust: he hated when he mangled things with his more monstrous features. It always made him feel like more like a beast than a man... Regardless, best to get it cleaned up first before he did anything else, him reaching out to pick up the sheets and- "!!!" He dropped them, recoiling back in surprise hard enough to smack into the vanity behind him, knocking a few knick-knacks off of it, them rattling to the floor as the master of the house just stood there, staring. Staring at his hands. "Wha-" He cupped his claws over his mouth, the lack of echo in his voice, its human-like cadence in the drafty mansion air creating a momentary panic in him, then a moment of calm, then a moment of concern. Peeling his hands away from his face, he looked down at them. His claws still protruded from his fingertips, long and black, gnarled and sharpened by age and experience...but his skin now looked more human-like than ever before. He pulled at it with a few of his fingertips, finding it to be just as warm as his usual ectoplasmic flesh, yes, but far more springy, certainly more human-like...albeit scarred. Badly. "..." The ghoul floated there for a good long time, toying with this bizarre change, trying to wrap his head around it and-...w-was his ascot loose? He'd only just noticed the feeling of the fabric being loose, him noticing now that his clothes felt... Odd. His usual suit wasn't fitting him quite as nicely as it had before. Had he lost weight? Gained weight? How was that even possible, he was a ghost, he'd been asleep, it didn't make any sense. He growled in frustration, confusion, and fear: something was wrong. His mind was clear, his body more than rested, but something had happened while he had been far, far away from the waking world. And he wasn't sure he was ready to know what it was. "Keep it together." Steadying himself, he planted his feet on the ground, stumbling to the bathroom with deliberation, more courage than he likely would have had were he not well-rested. 'It can't be THAT bad,' he thought, stepping into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, stationing himself in front of the mirror in the dark, the familiar glow of his magenta irises visible before him. With one last mustering of his nerve, Mallew reached for the lightswitch, giving it a flick. The face that greeted him was not his own...or, at least, not as he knew it. He jolted, flinching, almost falling back in shock, surprise, but something kept him upright, kept him moving closer to the mirror, surveying his features with newly fleshy hands, glowing magenta irises pouring over a form that was his... But was as alien to him as the living to the dead. His hair was a duller shade, much closer to purple than magenta now, his usually wild, wispy curls at the end of his pompadour now kempt, much more aligned and neat. His jawline had a slimmer slope to it, him grimacing, exposing his sharp, fanged teeth in all their glory, only to find them shorter, more discrete, more streamlined, more like a housecat's as opposed to a tiger's. He pressed along his neck, down to his collarbone with a visceral curiosity: his flesh felt different, more present, more hefty in a way. It was cross-hatched with scars, some small and fleck-like, others long and snaking, mimicking the shape, he realized, of cracks and dents in his anchor, of injuries and cuts from long-past battles. This was oddly natural to him in some ways, not in others: this was his skin, his flesh, but he felt almost like he was wearing a jacket, an outer layer too thick, too warm for the climate. It wasn't painful or anything, but it was...odd. The biggest change was in his face, however, and he was having a hard time keeping eye contact with it, with himself. Was this...really what he looked like? Right now? He grinned at himself, baring all his fangs, separating his jaws and letting his tongue, long and black, loll out. Yes, these features were still there but they were...subdued. Slightly. Shorter fangs, a shorter, more fleshy tongue, his skin feeling heavier, more present...actually, that got him wondering. Willing his skull to show through his skin, it did so on command, but, relaxing it, it faded completely away behind his human visage. He could usually do that, but this felt stronger, more stable, somehow. And don't even get him started on his eyes. He didn't even want to look at them, the combination of his glowing, slit-pupil irises with actual eye whites, actual sclera making him oddly queasy. It was a meeting of the supernatural and the mundane that should not be, and the less he thought of it, the better. He pushed and pulled at his cheeks, grunted and groaned he pulled at his ears, on his hair, half-expecting them to come tearing off, revealing the face he'd had before, like he was wearing a carnival mask...but it didn't happen. And he felt, deep down, that it COULDN'T happen. Not anymore. What was it about this face that disturbed him so much? It was HIS face, and more fleshy, more human-like than usual. It was less monstrous, more normal, heck, it reminded him of his living face, what he could remember of it at least, though it did seem- Older. He was older. He hadn't noticed it at first, his eyes focusing instead on details, but now that he looked at his face in its entirety, it was clear: this is what his face would look like if he had actually aged, these past few years. "..." Mallew stood there in silence for a time, clawed hands shaking as he leaned his meager weight against the counter, trying not to collapse. As a spirit, his form had been consistent: he had a surface human form, a skin-deep facade, partially hiding the swirling violence and toxic ectoplasm beneath, but this, t-this was... More solid. More alive. It was real. This was REAL. This was him, now. And he couldn't just take this new face off, couldn't make this new form melt away, reveal the monstrosity beneath, not so easily. He could feel it, all the way down to his bones. This was him now.

This was him.

More human, more solid and real and present than he had been since that short, painful fall in that now distant cave, all those years ago. That moment was now farther away than it had ever been, this new form a testament to all that time, all that had transpired from then to now... And, fist colliding with the mirror, shattering it into dozens of sharp, clattering shards that dug into Mallew's skin, splattering black ectoplasm across the sink and counter as so much blood had once been spilt, splattered onto that dim, dark cavern floor all those years ago, now distant like a fading memory... He didn't like it.

Not one bit.

[royal-writer]

The Brother’s Fued

Listen I’m sure there’s an au to be had where Fontane is good and fine, I’m sure there’s plenty of ‘em to be had, but I need a bit of conflict to work with here.

You can see the precise moment I got sick of writing this au I’m so sorry.

His hands were shaking. Staring with horror-filled pupil-swallowed eyes; the total awareness fallen over him as Fontane looked down upon him that his life laid in his hands. The very same troublesome bully who harassed and belittled him no longer simply flexed his self-esteem to the breaking point, but quite literally held the fate of his life within his palms.

He should not have done what he had. There was no fear in the future Lord’s eyes. Only inescapable rage. Locking Fontane in the crypt had not made him fearful or remorseful for his taunting actions. It brought out an entirely new monster that looked down at him now with the last shreds of decency gone. Things should not have escalated this far; he should have known how this was going to end but his pain outweighed sense.

“Not feeling so clever now, are we, Amon the Brute,” Master Fontane seethed in a quiet hush.

Like a kicked and beaten dog, the Illiad boy shrank back into the floor from the threatening tone. He had made the biggest mistake of his life, and he knew it. He should have heeded his sister Josephine’s words, and ignored him. When his father found out about this, he was going to be shaken like a ragdoll so his teeth chattered even until the next year.

“Please Fontane,” he begged, groveling at the elder boy’s feet. “Please, you musn’t tell father. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it will never happen again I was- I was just-”

“Just trying to get rid of me!” Fontane sharply cut in, raising his bloody fingernails for Amon to see. “Look at my hands! Look at my clothes! You shut me in, thinking you were so clever to have me rot down here out of sight so you would not have to face me in a proper fight! For a man who prides himself in his strengths, you are a fool with no honor.”

Shuddering, Amon practically kissed upon the other boys feet with apology. His wide-eyed dark stare raw with horror and fear. Though his rush of ‘please’s went ignored, the other boy stepped back to kick up the boot on his dirt into the scruffy black of his shirt hair. He choked on the dusty air; the smell of faded decay coming from the dead air where his ancestors lay in eternal slumber.

“Why don’t you go in there, and allow me to shut the door, and we’ll see how long your insignificant mind lasts before you lose your mind!”

A mournful little moan tumbled out of Amon’s chest, reaching out to paw at Fontane’s legs as he whimpered.

“Fontane, please-”

The older shushed him with a grating snarl, kicking his hands away. He ran a hand through his rumpled dark hair where splotches discolored from the grime of the tombs came out in flakes.

A repugnant and sinister smile twisted upon the young Master’s face. With a clearing of his throat and twist of his wrist, he made a gesture to Amon to rise on his feet.

“I will keep your filthy little secret, on one condition.”

Too quickly, Amon inhaled his shaky breath and exhaled with his answer.

“Anything. Anything you’d like. Name it.”

Gleeful delight radiated in Fontane’s pale complexion. He clasped his hands in front of his chest, looming over him like the dark omen of Death itself.

“No one need know what you have done today,” Fontane soothed. “If you support my name as future Lord of the Emerald Expanse. You will forfeit all holds, make no quarrels, and speak only praise in my name.”

This seemed like a trick, but Amon could not see the end to the string. Fontane was already guaranteed to be the next Lord. The title of Master of the estate had passed on to him, when his father remarried. It had felt like an insult, but his father had been seeking happiness in marriage again. How could any of them hold that against him?

But there had to be more to it, then this. He was no longer in a position to be called Lord of Briarton, unless something happened to Fontane.

His hesitation left the older step-brother scowling, and Amon was quick to lower his eyes as he mustered in a thick voice: “Yes of course- of course Fontane you are… the heir to the Emerald Expanse.”

“Master Fontane, you brute, and don’t forget it,” the young man stated smugly.

As the young Master moved to step around Amon’s abject frame, he gazed up slowly to see the methodical glee in his face. Despite what had just transpired; and the hoarseness in his voice from having been screaming, he looked on top of the world now.

“Oh, and Amon?”

He raised to his knees, staring after the retreating figure that turned back to him.

“Don’t forget who you owe your entitled life to.”

Chills ran deep inside Amon’s spine. He exhaled deeply, relieved and yet sickeningly aware that his life would truly never be the same as Fontane turned up the stairs. His eyes falling; drifting to look upon his palms that were embedded with dirt from the earth. The odor of stale air aching in his chest as he heaved, burying his shameful face into his chest and curling into himself.

His life was over. His life would never be his own again.

All for a few hours of silence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As expected, Fontane held what he had done over his head like an executioner's blade.

It kept him complacent; less a man and more a dog. His father’s reactions to his changes in behavior ranged from content in seeing them getting along, to a level of bland disturbance at seeing his own child morph from a proud Illiad into some shape of ass-kissing weasel. His mother-in-law, careful and kind she may be, devoted less and less time to him to praise her up and coming son. The more he was forced to dance to Fontane’s requests, the more she seemed to relish the idea that her babe was more right to the manor and more strapping and masculine than he.

Josephine tried to reach out to him. Amon was tempted more than once to be open with her; to have someone know. He held his tongue, in fear of her judgment. He held his tongue, frightened she might go to father and with the truth revealed, he would have his belated beating and be thrown out of the house. Josie would tell him because she wanted to protect him but in the end, it would fate him away from his family, his life, his home and all he knew.

Her concern never wavered, but he held her at bay. She could never understand his ‘obsession’ with Fontane. Why would he take on fights on his behalf? Why did he offer him his things? Why was he no longer doing his own hobbies, training as he may have once liked, and instead doing the bidding of another?

But the moment he may try, it seemed like Fontane was there with a snap of his fingers. Running his errands, fetching him things, bringing him books or offering up his dinner. There was always something to do but his own studies, the hunts he preferred, the physical labor of a good spar. Anything would have been more appealing than the debt he now owed.

He was no longer Amon.

He was just Fontane’s lackey.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The second girl he ever had a crush on was Duchess Matilda. She was a pretty natural red-head with brown eyes and freckles dotting her face. She smelled frequently of vanilla or cherries. Her favorite color was orange, and she liked to wear lots of bows in her clothes and have her hair cascading down her slender back with a braid in the front.

Unfortunately, Fontane was much too savage to allow him even his puppy-love affections…

The leaves were falling. He looked at her wide smile and listened to her harsh cackling laughter. It wasn’t as pretty as her face, but it was a part of her and therefore it was just as nice. Her summer glow was leaving her skin; a pale pink in the cold rather than the slight warmth she had been holding for months.

Amon stared at her, grinning. His heart thundered in his chest as he swallowed his nerves, timidly remarking, “You look nice today.”

“You say that every day, Amon!” she laughed.

“But you do. That color looks really nice on you.”

Her eyes lit up like a spell of magic. She had a grin on that stretched for miles as he stared at her, feeling a clenching in his chest. Her face turned away to leave him breathless, watching as she flung an armful of colorful leaf little into the air.

His hand itched. Jerking his numb, chilled fingers anxiously, he reached for her hand-

“There you two are!”

Abruptly, he dropped his arm, and jerked around to see his step-brother waltzing through the leaf piles.

“Oh, Fontane! Did you enjoy your piano lessons?”

“They were fine I guess,” he muttered, kicking the leaves aside almost violently as he confidently snatched upon her wrist. “But I’d much rather be spending time with you.”

Matilda’s face morphed into one of unexplained delight. She dropped her mouth into a wild grin, her face turning almost as red as her hairline. With a flirtatious hand raised to her hair, she flipped it aside to offer a better view of her face, and the angles of her delicate throat.

“I played Beethoven in your honor, my lady,” Fontane proceeded on, gently pulling her along with him as he began to stroll across the yard. His face turned towards Amon for a brief moment, where he shot him a dirty look and a flick of his free hand in a motion for him to go.

Defeated, Amon kicked aside the leaves and placed his hands in his pockets. With shoulders slumped, he turned to head back to the house. Only when he was nearly upon the small stairs to let himself in did he turn, seeing Fontane placing a kiss against the girl whom he was infatuated with’s cheek.

She was the first, but would not be the last fair lady stolen just shy of his grasp and tongue-tied words of gentle wanting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tiredly, Amon swapped his gaze between Fontane, and the younger lad he was speaking with. He held no trivial interest to their debate; zoning in and out. He would much rather be anywhere else, but his mind panicked at the idea of heading home and leaving the heir to the estate alone. Or rather, he was afraid leaving him alone would infuriate him enough to tell a bunch of truth and propaganda to their father, and have him left as a disgrace to his family name.

As the other young boy turned away, fuming and spiting some vile curses, Fontane grabbed at his arm. It startled Amon back to the present, where he looked over at the splotches of red fury against his family’s face.

“Strike him, Amon.”

There was spite and malice in the roughness of his voice. It was almost as unsettling as his gaze, which was dark and fierce like an animal. His nostrils were flaring as he tried to breath fast enough to catch up to his angry puffs.

Swallowing, he gave a shake of his head as he mumbled, “I’m not going to-”

“Defend my honor, or I’m telling father how you left me to die in the crypt! My air running thin, my lungs collapsing, the room cold and my hunger gnawing as my thirst grew-”

Balling his hands into fists, Amon took three long strides after the boy. His head was spinning. A roaring headache thrusting upon his brow. All the pent up aggression and hatred for his kin, who played with him like a toy, came rushing forward as the boy turned towards him with alarm, and directly into his fist.

There was a sharp crack from the young gent’s nose as it broke, and he fell to his knees with a cry and spray of blood all over both of their shoes. Clutching to his face as a bruise instantly erupted upon him, the boy sobbed. He wept loudly. Incoherent were his sounds and babble against his hands as his shoulders shook, and he wailed with desperation.

His hook had certainly done the trick. Fontane was barking mad with laughter behind him.

Amon could hardly stomach himself. Staring down at his red knuckle, spotted with blood.

He would be reprimanded for his actions later, but only timidly so. It was surprising to hear Fontane stood up on his behalf, and ‘clarified’ to his father that he had been standing up for ‘family’ and ‘family values’. A few days in the stables with the hostlers, shoveling manure for a few hours out of the day.

And Fontane would have his ‘champion’, wrapped around his smallest finger.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In a tense stand-off, the two brothers locked eyes.

Bethany didn’t even seem to notice the silent exchange. She held to both of their hands, still snorting on her choked laughter.

“Beth,” Fontane crooned, offering her a hankie. “Maybe we’ve had enough excitement with this children’s play. Come with me, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Or you can stay with me,” Amon offered with a considerate smile. “We can continue watching the play. I know how you enjoy Miranda’s work, and your laugh is enchanting and infectious.”

While taking the offering from Fontane’s hand, the golden-haired blue-eyed young aristocrat turned her face upon Amon’s. Her expression was showered with adoration as she dabbed along her eyes with the cloth. The winsome state of her smile was almost enough to be called heart-wrenching.

Above her face, Amon could make out the heated look of growing rage in his brother’s eyes.

“You are so cute,” she giggled, tapping his nose. “You’re such a gentleman Master Amon, thank you.”

“It’s just Amon,” Fontane cut in with a stingy tone. “I’m the Master of the Emerald Expanse.”

“Mmmhm,” Bethany murmured in a dreamy sigh, still staring up in the former heir’s face.

Tightening his lips into a white-lined frown, Fontane tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. He jerked back a thumb, scowling at Amon.

He ignored it. Tenderly rubbing the young lady’s hand, and watching the way she melted into her seat. The color in her face turned a startling scarlet shade as she continued to squirm and giggle.

“Amon! A word, if you could spare your brother a second?”

Torn, he turned his anguished expression from his ‘kin’, to the lass. She was fluttering her eyelashes, and his face was reflected in the shine of her glistening eyes. His haunted gaze, the lines around his face that showed a general stoic frown rather than eager joy.

With despair in his heart, he gently patted the young woman’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

Careful to keep their heads low so not to bother the crowd, the duo made their way down the aisles and into the back of the theater.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Fontane snarled, reaching up to grab hold of his collar and twist it in his grip.

“Complimenting Beth,” he jeered, shoving his lean and spindly kin aside.

“Well, stop it! I’m trying to get her attention, and you keep distracting her!”

Amon snorted. “You’re just upset she likes me, and not you.”

Fontane gritted his teeth like a feral animal. His hands shaped like claws reached out in a threatening display. Menacingly gurgling in his throat, he made a gesture in his direction as though to attack.

It didn’t even cause Amon reason to flinch.

“Silence your tongue, Amon the Brute,” the elder sibling retorted, “or I will tell father-”

“Father is old, and sickly!” Amon snapped. “You will leave him in peace!”

With that, he flung past his brother, hearing the angry exhale escape him.

“I will tell the world then, what you are capable of!”

Freezing in his tracks, the young man felt the crushing weight of defeat fall upon his tired soul. He lowered his head and breathed in, looking over his shoulder to the triumph in Fontane’s gaze.

“Do we have an understanding, brother?”

Fontane extended a hand out to him.

Leveling his gaze with the man, Amon stared him down. The snotty, twisted grin; the blackened eyes. He was a man who no longer knew the term ‘no’. He’d gotten all that he’d wanted with ease and trickery; with underhanded blackmail and curling words off a smart mouth.

“No,” he replied softly.

“No?” Fontane repeated, his voice rising as he stated again: “No?”

“Why should I step aside, when Bethany has clear interest in me?” Amon acknowledged softly. “It is not fair to either her, nor I to step aside in something we’re both wanting to pursue. Why not let the lady decide for herself if you are worth her time. Neither of us should put our desires on hold because it does not suit you well; and it would be most unfair to Beth if she feels hurt and rejected because I refuse her, only for you. That won’t make her jump into your arms, Fontane. Women are not as fleeting and desperate as in your novels.”

Fontane sneered. For a moment, Amon thought for sure an explosion was about to rift the planet itself in half. His face went red, his eyes wide and wild, and the claws for hands had become fists. What petty little punches he could manage would probably be laughable to say the least.

What words he could shout would be far more harmful.

Smoothing out his expression, the young Lord-to-be gave a curt nod. His face mostly blank, but a shy version of analytic.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We will let the lady decide whom she likes the best.”

To Amon’s utmost surprise, Fontane did not speak a peep about the crypt incident that night, or any other thereafter after he’d gone home with Beth that night.

But it had began a long-standing war waged between them, chasing the heart’s of the same women like dogs in heat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Fontane was named Lord, long after his withering husk of a mother passed and their father, too, had succumb to age, nothing changed.

Josephine still lived her unaware, wonderful life with her husband over in the White Moors. Fontane gained the manor, and Amon lived in a nearby establishment courtesy of his brother. Truth be told, he knew it was just Fontane’s way of keeping him close.

The hate had grown only more bitter and resentful between them. When Fontane called now, Amon found himself less inclined to bend. He still kept his word from that day: openly praising his relation, going to events, speaking highly of his name. But it did not please his kin as he had hoped.

Fontane had grown hungry. He demanded sacrifice. Tried to bleed it out of him when he was unwilling to give it, until Amon was wriggling with discomfort and his hand forced.

The truth and lies a devilishly handsome man in power could bring ruin upon him. Fontane’s name was untarnished; an immaculate symbol of trust and honesty. He never caused a fight or a scene. He was a proper lad. Everyone adored him.

But Amon had gained his reputation. A foolhardy, reckless boy. He picked fights and finished arguments with his fists. He loved his brother endlessly, to the point of doing anything on his behalf. He was no coward, but he was a monstrosity.

He was Amon the Brute.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You are nothing like your brother.”

The words were a slap, spinning out of control in his mind.

He’d thought Heidi had had feelings for him.

He’d thought he might have even found ‘the one’.

But he’d been played a fool. Her interests on him had been brief, perhaps, but once she had heard the stories and seen his brother, he was nothing to her. Just a door into their family. Just the person to use to get closer to Fontane. She had found her way in, and exploited it.

And judging by the masterful, artful way his brother smiled at him, he knew his loss was too great. He would never win. He had written his tale and sentenced himself to the constant failure when the gods turned their eyes away from him after he had closed the door in Fontane’s face.

He was nothing more than a shadow of a man.

He was not even Amon anymore, at all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was scorching out, even with the sun falling low. He was thankful to be indoors. A chilled mug of ale, and plenty of empty laughter to engulf him and distract him of his own self-pity.

Why he allowed himself to be dragged out here, far from home with Fontane he didn’t know. It seemed like a punishment. He got to watch him flaunt his success, and flirt with all the lovely lady’s day and night. He watched as people praised the great Fontane’s name, and asked why he hadn’t yet taken up a wife. The later question left Amon holding back laughter from the obvious answer: the amazing Lord of Briarton was far too busy getting up lady’s skirts, that he couldn’t keep any consistent lass around for more than a few weeks.

As the party began to drag into the twilight, Amon slipped out the front door. The steps to the friend’s manor were open directly into the walkway. There was no yard to be had, and large houses were practically stacked one on top of the next.

He longed for the open space of Briarton. He missed the nearby woods. The only freedom he had, escaping into the wilds far from Fontane to track and hunt.

His eyes closed, and reopened with a heavy sigh.

While the lane was far from bustling; only a few people strolling up or down in either direction, he felt inescapably watched. No matter which direction he turned, however, or the tops of buildings he searched there seemed to be no reason for the prickly sensation in his spine.

Slumping upon the steps, he finally took a seat and pouted much like a child. His eyes drifted closed again after a few minutes, and reopened-

He gave a startled grunt, jerking his head up to see a face standing over him.

“Greetings, Lord Amon,” a voice purred from beneath the dense ebony cloak. Their muzzle was barely visible beneath the shadows that crested against their features. A colorful coat of spotted grays that blended back into the darkness.

Baffled, he leaned back on the stoop to look up into the dark hood. A pair of emerald slit eyes stared right back at him. They appeared to be the most alive part of the creature; vibrant and shining again the closely drawn fabric that surrounded the Tabaxi’s face.

“You must be confused,” he grumbled, growing slightly lax at the sign of the being’s calm demeanor. “There is no Lord Amon. I am Amon; but I am no lord. Fontane is the Lord you must be seeking.”

The creature giggled, giving a shake of it’s head as it laughed. From beneath the cloak, he tensed as it pulled out a simple red string. Mischief in their eyes, and a feline’s sharp smile.

“This is not what the Fate’s told me would become of you, oh no,” she breathed. “You should be in Hearthstrom now, wasting away your misery in the Boar’s Tusk tavern.”

The omen sat like a strange burden upon the air. Amon glared upon the bipedal cat. There was something eerie about the way she spoke. A sort of knowing. Silent understanding. Puckish delight in their feline grin. Their leopard skin pelt shifting as they moved, eerie like nightlight was permanently infused in their furs.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, but how-”

“Have no worries, Lord Amon, your time is still yet to come,” the Tabaxi assured him. “Your tale is not yet told, or weaved as it should be. But we must hurry, if we are to correct this mistake.”

Hurry? What in Pelor’s name-

The furry creature snatched his arm up from his lap. Before he could react, she wrapped the lengths of the string around his pinky. With a jerk of his arm, he managed pulled free. Appalled as by some feat, he realized the frayed strand was somehow knotted already his digit. How had that even happened? She hadn’t even made a gesture to create such a tie, and even still clearly didn’t have the time to bow it against his finger?

“She will be here soon,” the Tabaxi informed him with a faded laugh. “We will see how you face your destiny.”

“Wait just a-”

As he looked up from his hand, the shadow of the figure that had been before him had vanished.

Amon quickly jolted, glancing down at his hand.

There was no sign of the red string.

Was he hallucinating? He stood up, scratching the back of his head and turning around. Surely there had to be something in his drink, or a spell of magic placed on him he was unaware of. The illusion had seemed so real. Smelled so real; he could still faintly feel the gag relax at the smell of rotted fish.

Circling around, stepped out into the street-

With a yelp, he tumbled into the ground, a figure laying on top of him.

Cursing and whining in a string of ‘ow’s, the woman rolled over to untangle her appendages from his own. Her light caramel eyes were slits of frustration as she reached out to rub at her limbs, pouting out a full bottom lip sadly.

“I’m terribly sorry-” Amon rasped. His rear hurt terribly as he turned over to rest upon his knees, and offer a hand out to the woman.

Her scaly hand extended, but shoved his away.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?!”

A fire blazing hotter than a phoenix in its finest hour blazed in her face. She held her chin up with defiance. The air around her seemed to blaze and crackle with the unstable reaction of chemicals in a lab test. It manifested in her gaze, and swirled around her in a mist of shadows.

A shouting further down the avenue had her looking back in panic. The fragile looking figure began to rise to her shaky legs. Smears of blood from her palms lay against the pavement. When she slapped her legs to her knees for stability, the same dirty splotches appeared on her trousers.

Amon scrambled his boots against the old dirty brick laywork to get to his feet. He reached for her instinctively, grabbing for her wrist.

“Your hands-”

She jerked her arm hard, finding herself easily slipping away from his careful grip. Her entire body shook with overwritten anxiety.

The look in her face was something he’d seen before. Out in the woods, when you held the string of the bow taut and stared upon the buck or the doe that had sensed a shift in the wind. The air was suddenly difference and smelled of danger. They held a pose, as if willing themselves invisible. They would break into a run at a moment’s notice, and flee far you within moments, and you would never see them again.

Slipping off his light jerkin, he held it out to the shaken lady. She trembled with weary unease, looking between it and him. The soft glow of the streetlights and starlight moon bathing her rich skintone in a celestial light.

“W-What are you-”

“Put this on,” he urged.

Though her hand hesitated at first, she took a fistful of the fabric. She hesitantly flipped it around, about to slide her arms through when he grabbed hold of the edges. Her alarmed squeak was barely contained as he aided in dragging it forward, where it swallowed up her thinness.

Her nose wrinkled a bit at his proximity. Her features slowly relaxed, inhaling slowly as he hovered in front of her.

“Please, let me get you some help for your hands.”

Her mouth drew open. She seemed on the edge of protest, but jumped as some masculine voice called sharply but a few doors down.

“Y-Yes fine alright-”

Stark red streaks clasped over his hands. Amon looked vaguely over his shoulder, but heard a nervous hiss escape the lady as she pulled against his fingers and knuckles to hurry him along.

“Is everything alright, miss?” he inquired gently. “Are those men-”

She whined, tugging at him as she whispered hoarsely, “Please I just want to get out of here.”

“Alright, alright.”

He let go of his windbreaker. For a fleeting second, he thought for sure she was going to bolt. Her muscles tensed and seized, and she stiffly jerked to the side.

His arm reached out, slowly folding around the timid woman’s shoulders. She shied away from him, but did not remove herself completely. Her head held low and shoulders raised to hide herself, she slunk beside him as he guided her around the squeezing suffocation of the alleyway between the buildings. There was a side entrance around here used for the service to discretely take out garbage or transport items in or out of the manor, and seemed the least overwhelming way to get the unsteady lady inside without raising too many questions.

There was wait staff standing around or preparing services in the room the side door entered in on. They all looked up, stunned to see a noble-blood enter in on their domain. It took them another second to realize there was a poorly dressed lady trying to hide in his side, appearing shaken to the core as she quivered like a small dog.

“Where are you taking me?” she hissed, barely audible. “Who are you?”

“Sir?” A quizzical voice rose up from the frozen servers.

“Can anyone fetch a medical kit?” Amon inquired; ignoring both questions.

There was a stillness. A handful of people began to move at once, and then a young woman stepped forward, shaking her head.

“There’s no need for that. I might be able to cast a spell, depending on the severity you might be looking at. What seems to be the problem, mister Illiad?”

Carefully holding to the foreign woman’s arm, he inclined his head forward slightly. Her eyes still held a level of distrust as she held out her arms, revealing the state of her hands to those in the room.

“Ouch,” the maiden stated. She gave a little sympathetic flinch as she strode over, offering out her hands with palms up.

“Rest your hands in mine. This will only take a second.”

Once more, the disgruntled lady scrunched up her nose. She hesitantly held out her hands, reflexively jerked them back as the woman tried to touch her, and relented. Her frame grew erect with discomfort, and Amon kept a steady hand on her shoulder for a sign of comfort.

A raspy melody sung forth from the servicewoman’s throat. As she dragged ancient hymns over her lips, a pale light rose up from her hands and against the stranger’s. The blood and scraps upon her palms began to disappear before their very eyes, leaving only a few stains behind as the marks healed over.

“There, good as new miss!”

“Thank you,” the unnamed woman stated with shock and earnest. She gave a ghostly little smile as the maiden held out a clean cloth to her, where she could wipe off the remnants of blood from her hands.

Amon pulled out a few gold pieces from his pocket, and held them out to the bard. He leaned forward, keeping his voice respectfully low as some of the people went back to work as he murmured, “If you’d please, could you see to getting the lady a new pair of slacks?”

From looking at her hands with awe, the unfamiliar beauty brought her gaze up with shock. She turned to look between the pair as the handmaid nodded, raising her voice as she cut in, “That’s really not necessary-”

“I insist,” Amon cut in. “I wasn’t very attentive, and your clothes were damaged in the process.”

He turned his attention back to the servicewoman once more. “Please take her discretely upstairs to my sleeping quarters, see about her sizing, and have something brought in.”

The woman’s face showed her discomfort. The doe-eyed look returned to her features. With her arms held close to her sides, she seemed uncertain in her environment. One hand reached up to sweep the waves of black out from her face, but her elbow was still drawn in close.

“Come along, miss,” the servicewoman urged. She placed a hand to the stranger’s elbow, guiding her away even as she continued looking back in his direction with fear in her eyes.

It was a very peculiar look, that left him wondering once more who she’d been running from, and why she seemed so skittish of his help.

Scratching a hand along his beard, he figured he’d probably get some more answers once she was in comfortable clothing. He whispered a request to another hand on standby to have some of the hot hor d’oeuvres sent up until they could get a proper estimate on what to have made for the young lady. Until then, he would go find himself a fresh pair of slacks for himself to wear. His own were worn where he’d skidded to the ground, and covered in filth. Lord he might not be, but nobleman he still was, and it was only proper he attempt to fit the role.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The fair stranger jumped, passing him a sheepish smile as he entered in to his temporary guest room. It was not quite as large as his master bed back in Briarton, in his own home, but it was more then enough space for his stay. Still the woman appeared mystified; caught circling around in fresh clothes and her mouth hanging open.

Amon passed her a polite smile, bowing from the waist slightly with respect as he closed the door behind him. On the bedside table, he could make out a stack of dishes stacked up. Quite the appetite, it seemed.

“Pardon my intrusion, miss.”

“Quite alright, Sir… Illiad, was it?”

“Amon,” he offered, straightening his posture. “And I’m afraid I have been quite rude, as I have not caught your name miss…?”

“Es…” she faltered, appearing quite worn and tired. Her shoulders dropped significantly as she picked at her fingernails, exhaling her name aloud as she extended a leg back and bowed in return: “Essätha, Sir Amon.”

Clearing his throat; the tension in her face still etched in heavy, he spoke carefully: “How are your hands, miss Essätha?”

“Better, thank you.” Again, more fidgeting. “I would have been fine, though. You needn’t go through all the trouble, or have your staff take care of me.”

You’d looked like you could have used a hand, he’d thought. The comment remained reserved in his mind alone, though. Whatever had spooked her out on the streets from those barking figures prowling through the roads and running between the lanes, he need not burden her with again. The young lady appeared wound up enough as it was.

His eyes darted between her and the plates instead.

“Would you care for some more-”

“No thank you, Sir Amon,” Essätha briskly cut in. “Your hospitality is charming and I’m grateful, but I would like my clothes back, and be on my way.”

He offered an understanding, slightly sorrowful smile.

“I would love to, but the lady’s already took them to be washed. If you’d like them back that can be arranged, but they’ll be wet still. You’re welcome to take the clothes we’ve provided and-”

“No,” she firmly responded, stepping over to sink into the end of the bed stubbornly. “I can wait a while.”

He almost laughed at her displeasure. She had a scowl that could make people cringe back in fear of retaliation, but the light of her eyes was still bright and hospitable. What did the spunky lass expect? Clothes dried in its own pace and time. On a hot night like this, she might be lucky and only have to wait two to three hours, but there was no guarantee on that.

“Well if you’re going to wait, perhaps you’d care for something more to eat?”

A firm shake of her head was his only response.

Amon wavered. Maybe he’d been wrong to suspect that Essätha might open up after a meal. She seemed more aware, but even more stubborn somehow.

“I apologize, miss Essätha. I will give you your space-”

“N-No this is your room, you may stay.”

He gave a quiet chuckle. “It is my temporary residence, but as a guest I invited, it is only proper I respect your need for solitude.”

Turning, he reached for the doorknob when a softened sound of a throat clearing caused him pause. Against his shoulder he looked back, watching as Essie fiddled with the ends of her hair.

“I never said I wanted to be alone.”

What unusual sorrows, such lonely young eyes had. She kept her hands clasped before her lap, staring down upon the floor. There was age in the way she sat her shoulders. Weights baring them down. Exhaustion in the more than the darkness beneath her lines, but creasing against the corners of her mouth and held her in posture.

Her words didn’t even sound meant for him. They didn’t sound meant for this moment. Far away. Held to the universe, held to the gods, held close to a vulnerable frame that appeared fragile like glass.

His hand clenched and unclenched at his side. He looked down, a strange sensation upon his finger as though it was being tugged.

Flitting his eyes around the room a moment, Amon reached up to run a hand through his dark hair nervously. His smile was lop-sided and nervous as he offered out a hand in a gesture, mumbling faintly, “Would you care for some company? We do not have to stay here, if the atmosphere troubles you.”

A quiet laugh escaped her as she glanced up beneath the depth of long lashes.

“You are very charming, Sir Amon,” she replied while turning towards him. “Are you sure no one would be upset to have the honored guest not present for the party downstairs.”

He snorted. With a shake of his head, he moved over to the bedside. Essätha slid over a bit, giving him adequate room to take a seat beside her.

“I’m not the honored guest. If that would be anyone it would be my… step-brother, Lord Fontane.”

She scoffed. “Surely someone down-stairs is going to miss looking into your handsome face.”

The statement had his face turning crimson. He looked over her face, trying to find a thread of teasing in her voice, or her face. Nor one or the other appeared present. The longer he studied her face however, his face lax with surprise, the more her own seemed to grow pink under his gaze.

By Pelor’s holy name, she seemed to be coming on to him.

“No, I doubt that,” he finally rasped. “They are more Fontane’s sort of crowd, then my own.”

“And what is your sort of crowd, Sir Amon?”

She leaned into him. It left a charge surging through his veins. His mind fell under a foggy spell beneath those honey brown eyes.

“Just Amon, miss Essätha.”

“Are titles not important, or am I using the wrong one?”

He nearly flinched, a headache splitting and the back of his skull and disappearing with unnerving rapidness. A whispered voice his sluggish mind only vaguely acknowledged as a memory repeated a single phrase as it faded out.

‘Lord Amon’.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I am just a simple man, my lady,” he answered quietly. “I have no prerogative. Or at least, not anymore. I have my home. I am no Lord to a land, no Sir to a knighthood or realm protector. I have my name, and that suits me fine.”

The delicate woman hummed thoughtfully. She reached out, placing a hand gingerly upon his knee as she smiled.

“You never answered my question, Amon. What is your sort of crowd?”

He gave some thought to the question. It was incredibly hard to do so, with her hand resting against his trousers. Her touch was strangely distracting, in the most pleasant way. It was alluring as her features, but there was something more to it. A simple kindness. Gentle and careful. Like he was the one here, frightened and skittish.

“I don’t believe I have a type,” he admitted with a short laugh. “I have spent many of my years in the company of my step-brother. His favored type is what I’m most aware of.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” she stated quietly.

Sympathy, Amon realized offhandedly. She was offering sympathy.

“I apologize, miss Essätha, it is not my intention to-”

His words stalled in his throat. As she moved her body; turned to fully face him, he saw a ripple in the air of a red string extend from her finger.

What in Pelor’s name-

“You’re free to talk here,” Essätha informed him with a small smile. Her face was torn; unsure as she went on tentatively, “Your word is safe, here. It… If the very least I can do is be a listening ear after the kindness you have given me, I would be happy to keep your secrets safe.”

He could have sworn he’d seen it. It had been there, and in a second flash gone. Was he losing his mind?

“Lord Amon?”

“No I-” he swallowed thickly, glancing up at the woman. Had she somehow moved closer? Her face appeared too close. The rounded curves of her cheeks inviting his hands to hold her. He had a sinking feeling her face would fit perfectly into his palms.

It was a struggle not to throw himself back from her. His back stiffened significantly. The concern in her eyes to his change in nature shouldn’t be as reassuring as it felt.

“You are not here to listen to my quarrels,” he wheezed at last.

Peels of sweet laughter arose like an angel’s blessing. Essie gave a shake of her head, patting his kneecap affectionately.

“No, I am here because you brought me in, and got me out of a…” her face closed off, ending with a muttered, “messy, situation.”

“That does not mean I have to gripe,” he grumbled, seizing upon her remark to tentatively dare ask what his hungry curiosity wondered, “Those hollering men in the street… They were after you, weren’t they?”

Essätha’s hand retracted from his knee. It made his own thoughts dissolve; an uncharacteristic longing dragging over his now cold appendage.

“I get myself tangled up in some things I should not, from time to time” she admitted with unease, and an eye to the door.

Amon reached out for her hand. The texture of her scales were ridged and stood out against the back of her yielding back. They dimpled slightly with kerning, but faded with relative ease into her smooth skin that his thumb stroked over.

“Are you sure I could not convince you to rest here for the night? It would make me feel better, knowing you are safe.”

Her eyes betrayed her sadness even as she looked away with a forced snort. “What do you care about the ruffians on the streets? You repaid yourself tenfold, m’lord. Let me go.”

M’lord.

Despite her words, his hand impulsively tightened against hers. A gentle grip. Careful and steady pressure not to harm. Enough to give the impression it was not in his desire to let her go, but if she pulled her hand free, he would not stop her.

“A Lord protects the people, miss Essätha.”

He could not be sure of his own wording. It made no sense, in or out of context.

“Essätha,” she mumbled, catching a glance at him. “It’s… It’s just Essätha.”

“I believe there’s much more to you than just a name, Essätha.”

She breathed out slowly with surprise. The blanketed daze seemed to grow increasingly heavy. Her eyes were devouring him as she leaned closer. And he moved closer without the slightest hesitation, not entirely sure where he was going to end up but knowing it was going to be someplace unimaginable. A soft hitch in her chest as his other hand cupped her face.

Just as he suspected, she nestled perfectly into his touch. Her lips tender and soft as he barely brushed them. An irresistible tug. A craving in his very soul. He wanted more; needed more and by the sudden hand resting to the back of his neck and urging him forward, he wasn’t the only one feeling the nameless force that he willingly tumbled into.

She drew out his name softly against him. Chills ran down his spine but heat coursed in his veins. He released her hand to reach up with a shaky palm, holding her lovely face close as he parted her lips and swallowed her wanting moan.

A fist rapped suddenly against the door, throwing them both apart.

His heart was pounding, and his head beat like a steel drum. He flashed a glance at her; still open-mouthed and shocked as he felt.

“Amon? The servants told me you had come up to your chambers. Come out from there; join us in the dining hall.”

Cursing under his breath, the Illiad man shot a furious gaze towards the door. He didn’t even get to open his mouth when the handle to the door turned, and Fontane’s splotched tipsy face peered inside.

“Fontane-”

The Briarton Lord sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed the other figure in the room. His posture straightened, and he seemed to grow more sober as he cleared his throat.

“Lord Fontane, Amon, please remember to use my full title.”

He strode into the room with purpose. Getting to his feet, Amon stood between him and the startled face of the enchanting woman still perched on the edge of the bed.

“Who is this delectable creature you have here?”

“I-” he stammered, a sickening feeling rising in his chest.

Delectable creature?

Thousands of vivid recollections came hurtling to the forefront of his mind. He would not have it. He was not going to stand idly by, and watch his ‘kin’ step in and try smooth talking another from his grasp.

“You may leave now,” Amon curtly bit out, side-stepping to block Essätha from his stare as she stood up. “I am fine up here.”

“Ooh yes, I can see that,” Fontane agreed, quickly shoving his shoulder against his to stand at his side as he offered a hand to Essie. “Hello, my dear. I’m sorry, you must be dreadfully bored being kept up in this dungeon. If Amon chooses to stay up here, may I escort you down to the festivities downstairs?”

Cold anger just as harsh blizzard roared to life. Amon bit his tongue to keep from waggling his tongue with insults, and stepped closer to Essie’s side. He took a deep breath, ready to demand his privacy when the beauty gave a quick, harsh burst of laughter.

“Is this the trick you pull on all the lady’s?” she inquired. “Try tempting them away promising to whisk them into some unforgettable experience?”

“Oooh,” Fontane mumbled. “So you think what I have to offer is unforgettable?”

“That wasn’t a compliment, sweetheart.”

While his step-brother turned to stone with shock, Amon placed a hand to his shoulder.

“Thank you for checking on me, Fontane, but I-”

“Lord Fontane,” the nobleman reminded him. He removed his hand from the vest he wore before turning his snappy tone onto Essie as he went on, “My deepest apologies, miss. I believe my intentions must have come across as disrespectful. For that, I apologize.”

“How nice. Have you ever tried using an apology for more than just getting your way?”

Amon dropped his jaw. He picked it back up, swallowing a lump in his throat and a sudden wave of adoration creeping over him. Heavens be merciful, what he hearing things?

“I… Bed your pardon-”

“I’ll consider granting that request, if you leave,” she sweetly informed him with a smile.

“My lady, you are speaking to a Lord-”

“You aren’t my Lord,” she huffed. “I didn’t vote for you.”

“I could have you jailed for such insults-!”

“Actually, you couldn’t,” Amon broke in. “She is not threatening you. She’s stating a voice of opinion, which is free to do in-”

“Shut your mouth!” Fontane snapped viciously. “Remember your place, Amon the Brute.”

As though struck, he unconsciously moved back from the snarling words. The livid expression on the Lord of the Emerald Expanse’s face morphed into one of pure outrage.

“Hey! That’s no way to speak to your family!” Essätha cut in sharply, resting a hand against Amon’s shoulder.

“Stay out of this-”

His reflexes were, thankfully, still sharp as they were in his youth. Amon grabbed hold of Essie’s wrist as she began to raise her hand, keeping it low as she bared her fangs to his step-brother. A storm of purple mist curled around her form, and strange shapes seemed to move over her skin in mirrored lights. Almost like broken glass, reflecting rainbows against her.

“You’re being very inconsiderate to your brother. I would think about what you say next, before you regret the consequences,” Essätha warned, her eyes narrowed.

Fontane sighed with aggravation. “Please, miss, you don’t know the half of his problems-”

“I’m sure I can name ninety-nine of them, looking right in front of me.”

Was this truly happening? Fontane was not only losing his temper, but a lethally attractive woman was standing up for him. Not falling prey to his status. Not falling prey to his looks. Not falling prey to his sweet talk, or filthy offers, or crumbling beneath his brewing anger.

“Fine.” Fontane remarked tartly, offering his palms out in a sign of defeat. “I will speak to you about this disrespect later, Amon. Enjoy your time with this demented coward, my lady.”

As Fontane turned on heel, Essätha made a choking sound as she mumbled close to Amon’s ear: “Who is that man calling a coward, when he’s leaving with his tail between his legs?”

She had no idea. Absolutely no clue how true Fontane’s words were. No concept in what he was; in what she was dealing with. There was more to him than his lost-title, and yet she was picking his side without an honest view of the truth.

As the door slammed shut behind the man; jarring the silence, Amon shifted his attention back to Essätha. How was he going to formulate the words, to get her to leave? To inspire her safety without giving away too much? To be gentle and get her to understand, that he was not of the best interest to her?

But as he turned towards her, she reached up to glide her hands over his beard. He barely found a chance to draw in a breath as she pressed her divine lips against his.

“Your step-brother is very annoying.”

Baffled, he gave a dry laugh.

“You have no idea.”

She stared at him. Her mouth partially open. She seemed to be working over a confusing puzzle. One, little to his knowing, that his mind too was turning over.

Why this? Why now? Why him? Why her?

There was something that sparked beneath her caressing fingertips, and called in his blood. Something about her eyes that felt like looking into a dream. Something he should stop to think about before he explored so recklessly.

But he took her face in her hands as she pulled him down, and all questions were gone beneath the softness of her lips.

[agrestenoir]

origins (role reversal au)

i.

When Marinette is eleven, her mother goes missing.

There’s a major media presence that sweeps across the country as a result, local police and government officials coming out in droves to help locate the prolific Sabine Dupain-Cheng. As one half of the famous fashion designing duo, the Dupain-Cheng’s, her case elicits a strong following.

When Adrien is eleven, his mother goes missing.

No one comments on the baker’s wife. There are more important things to worry about.

*

ii.

At fifteen, Marinette is one of the most sought after girls in Paris. With a famous fashion designer as a father, and a model for many of his latest pieces, there’s not a soul in the city that hasn’t heard of her. Most might think she has the perfect life—full of fame and money—but they don’t know what it’s like to be a lonely, little girl with a mourning father living in a huge house with no one else to turn to.

 Marinette spends her days with her father’s assistant, Theo, and her tutors, and in her free time, she stitches designs of her own, staring out the window of the mansion, which is becoming more like a prison with each passing day than the home her parents had raised her in.

(She tries not to think about the time before everything changed. When public school was a part of her present, her friends were numerous, and her mother was still there. It was a time when she was happy, and now, she doesn’t know what to feel.)

At fifteen, Adrien comes to school with flour streaks on his cheeks and frosting-stained fingers fumbling for his chair. Tardy again due to his father’s late morning, he prays for the day his father will wake up, drop the bottle, and go on living. (It’s been four years though, and he thinks it’s time to give up hope.)

His life goes like this: wake up, bake while his father puts himself together, go to school, close up, and go to sleep. So long as habit and routine dictate his life, nothing new will ever happen, and for Adrien, that’s the biggest shame of all. He wants change, he wants his father back, he wants his mother.

(He tries not to think of the time before when everything was perfect. When togetherness and laughter were the building blocks of the bakery, when his father didn’t spend most of his time in the attic, and his mother was still here. It was a time when he was happy, and now, he just feels hopeless.)

*

iii.

Wayzz senses the evil before it strikes, and Master Fu is on a mission.

His search leads him to the quiet corner of a bustling Paris street and to a young boy who’s rushing off to his first day of school. One heart-stopping moment later, there’s a car, a rescue, and a thank-you as the boy rushes off to class. Even if he needs an act of kindness to prove it, Master Fu made his decision long ago.

“He’s looks like his mother,” Wayzz tells him.

Master Fu only nods.

It’s fitting, he decides, that the past holder of the Peacock Miraculous, the guardian of protection and watchfulness, had a son with a heart big enough and kind enough to handle the Miraculous of chaos.

Perhaps Adrien Agreste was always meant to be the Black Cat.

(If he senses the strong evil presence above the bakery, he chooses to ignore it. Destiny works in mysterious ways, as he learned long ago.)

Marinette has always been quick on her feet.

She leaves through her window, slips down the tangled branches of the old maple tree near her bedroom, and climbs over the black iron gate that borders her property. It takes approximately fifteen minutes, and it’s long before Tom Dupain-Cheng notices his only daughter’s absence.

She almost makes it too, standing at the steps of the public school, where her friends eagerly await her arrival, if it isn’t for the old man who collapses at the end of the street. The way Marinette sees it, there’s not really a decision at all. She bolts to the man without a second thought, offering a hand and a smile.

“Are you alright?” she asks, even as she hears Theo pull up alongside the curb.

The old man stares at her with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m fine,” he says, “And thank you.”

With a hand on her shoulder, Theo leads her away, already dialing Tom’s number, even with Marinette’s breathless plea of, “Please don’t tell Papa.” Her father only wants the best, she knows, and she’s seen the tired look in his eyes, the heavy bags he carries around, the hunched shoulders and quiet voice. He doesn’t want to lose her too, but he doesn’t understand that the more he locks her away, the more she slowly withers away, until he finally does lose the daughter he’s trying so desperately to protect.

“Her father seems a bit protective,” Wayzz remarks.

Master Fu nods. “They’ve always been a close family. I think it was her mother’s influence. Bees tend to look after their hive quite closely, you know.”

“Do you really think she’s the best choice then?”

Master Fu looks at the worn box in his hand and smiles to himself, knowing that perhaps all Marinette Dupain-Cheng needs is a little luck in her life.

*

iv.

“Nooroo, dark wings rise!”

For Adrien, for his mother, Gabriel Agreste tells himself. We’ve suffered enough. It’s time for others to have a taste.

The first akuma slips out of the skylight and flies over the Paris streets.

*

v.

The first day of school is quite eventful.

Ivan turns into rock giant, Nino runs after him with the new girl, Alya, on his heels, and Adrien is at a loss of how to proceed. His classmate turning into a monster is not part of his carefully crafted routine, so he heads home as it’s the only option.

Marinette watches from her bedroom, tear tracks still drying from her father’s soft I just want you to be safe the moment she returned home.

“The police can’t stop it,” the news anchor is saying, and she wishes there was something she could do.

Both look down at the worn boxes in front of them, curiosity spiking. There’s flashes of light, and kwamis appear, and a few seconds of shock are allowed. They leap into action as easily as they fall in love, easy to get into but hard to give up. (They still can’t get over their mothers, even though it’s been four years.)

Clad in a red and black-spotted suit, Marinette zips through the city with a smile on her face, glad she can finally do something. With his black leather armor, Adrien slips out the back door of the bakery, following the shadows to the arena as something finally sparks in his chest, like he’s finally got something to fight for.

Neither know what they’re doing, and it shows in the way they fight, but at the end of the day, they have each other.

“Call me Chat Noir,” he says, making stupid puns and oozing charisma, and after a while, his laughter doesn’t sound as hollow.

“I guess that makes me Ladybug,” she tells him, forcing a smile onto her face, and after a while, it finally feels real.

(It’s the first time in a long while neither feel alone.)

*

vi.

“I just want you to be safe and happy,” Tom tells her later that night once the akuma has settled.

“I know,” Marinette says, voice thick with tears, and slips into his open arms, squeezing her father tightly. “But I’m not happy here.”

So Marinette finally gets to go to public school where her old friend, Chloe, begrudgingly offers her a soft hello (Marinette is sure that Chloe still hasn’t forever her for leaving in the first place) and meets a new friend named Alya, whose eyes are fire and whose smile hangs the sun.

“We’re both new,” Alya says, “We need to stick together, girl.”

“That sounds great,” Marinette tells her, just happy to be with a friend.

Alya grips her hand and points across the classroom. “I can introduce you to Nino later. He’s really cool, and he loves superheroes like me. Now that Paris has its own Ladybug and Chat Noir, I think me and him are going to start up a blog together.”

At this point, Marinette is only half listening as she locks eyes with the boy she used to know (quite, quite well), offering him a tentative wave when he glances her way, and he returns it with a soft smile.

(Some things, she tells herself, you just don’t give up.)

When she catches sight of the boy next to him, with tousled blonde hair and bright green eyes, she nudges Alya with her elbow. ‘Who’s that?” she asks, pointing to the other kid.

“Oh?” Alya cocks her head. “That’s Adrien Agreste. I just met him yesterday, but he seems pretty quiet. Nino’s like… his only friend, I guess.”

Suddenly Adrien raises his gaze, meets her eyes, and she waves to him and mouths a silent hello. He prompts ignores her, turning back to his tablet instead. Inside, a bubble of frustration pops in Marinette’s chest, and she whips around to the board.

(Some things, she tells herself, aren’t worth fighting for.)

Adrien is buried in his tablet as Nino nudges his side, a concerned expression on his face. “Dude, what’s with the new girl? You not like her or something?”

Biting his bottom lips, Adrien can only shrug. “I guess I’m just not in the mood to meet new people.”

(And he isn’t, he really isn’t. When the people you love leave you, it’s hard to put yourself out there and find people who want to stay. Nino, frankly, is the only one who’s ever tried, and Adrien’s afraid to try again.)

“Well don’t be an asshole about it, dude,” Nino tells him.

“I wasn’t being an—”

Nino cuts him off. “Yes, you kinda were.”

Oh no, Adrien thinks to himself.

*

vii.

The akuma is back, and Marinette feels like she’s failed.

Chat Noir puts his hands on her shoulders and whispers the right words in her ear because he never wants anyone to feel as hopeless as he always does. “You can do this,” he says, “Even if no one believes you can, I do. Okay, so just trust me, Ladybug.”

Marinette can only think of her father, who keeps trying, of her missing mother, who everyone has given up on, and of Adrien Agreste, who won’t give anyone a chance. “Okay,” she tells him, “I will.”

(Chat Noir, she decides, is worth fighting for.)

Soon the akuma is defeated, and Marinette is almost sad. She doesn’t want to leave her new partner, but she carries with her the promise that she’ll see him again soon.

*

viii.

Adrien watches Ladybug cast her Miraculous Cure and can’t help but smile. “I knew you could do it, bugaboo.”

“Don’t call me that.” She slugs him on the arm, but there’s a warm smile on her face. “Maybe I should start calling you chaton.”

Adrien throws his head back and laughs, body shaking. “You know, I could get used to that!”

“No, n-no, this isn’t how this works,” Marinette sputters, eyes wide.

But Adrien keeps laughing until his cheeks hurt, his shoulders ache, and his heart feels like it’s grown two sizes.

He can’t remember the last time he was so happy.

*

ix.

It’s raining when her first day of school ends.

She holds a hand up to the stormy sky, water droplets dripping from her cold fingers, and lets out a sigh. Theo isn’t the most responsible person her father has ever hired, but at this point, he’s family and you don’t let family go. So as she debates whether to call Theo up and remind him to pick her up or make a run for it, she leans against the brick entrance of the school, jumping when she hears the front door opening.

Turning on her heels, she goes to flash the person a warm smile, freezing when she catches sight of Adrien Agreste. Ducking her head instead, she turns back to the rain and hopes that the storm will wash him away and that he’ll leave soon.

But he doesn’t leave.

He shifts his weight slightly, a black umbrella at his side. “So,” he announces suddenly, flashing her a soft smile. “It’s been brought to my attention that I was kind of an asshole this morning.”

Marinette snorts, turning her gaze to her shoes. There’s a short moment of silence between them, the span of a single heartbeat, and then Adrien is handing his umbrella to her.

“An apology,” he offers.

Marinette scans the streets, looking for a car that wasn’t there, looking at the streets that are drenched in the downpour. “You need it, don’t you?” she questions, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I owe you though.”

They stare at one another, blue eyes and green locked, and for a moment, time stands still. “Why are you being so nice to me?” Marinette finally finds the courage to ask. “Alya said you… Well, I thought you didn’t… like… people.”

Sighing to himself, Adrien can only shrug helplessly. “I don’t make a lot of friends. It’s not that easy for me.”

Marinette nods in understanding. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

“Well,” Adrien pauses, unsure of how to continue. But then he presses the umbrella into her hands, the warmth of his skin lighting a buzz against hers, and her breath catches in her throat. “Maybe I can be yours. I mean, I’d… like to. I’d like to be your friend, Marinette, if you’ll give me a second chance.”

And there she is, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the girl who’s always been lonely finally making a friend. And there he is, Adrien Agreste, the boy who’s always given up finally taking a chance. The two are silent for a few more seconds, but then Marinette takes the umbrella and walks down the stairs.

She pauses midway, turning on her heel and flashing Adrien a small smile. “You know, if you want to apologize, you could walk me home. That way none of us have to get wet.”

Adrien only nods, returning her warm smile. “O-Of course, yeah, let’s do that.”

(Both of their hearts pound a little bit harder in their chests.)

*

x.

“Excellent choice, Master,” Wayzz tells the old man, who watches the two walk away under a black umbrella.

Master Fu can only laugh. “Those two are made for each other.”

[well-good-luck-with-that]

Hiii! Would you please write a Clony fic where Tony and Clay get caught making out?!? ❤️;)

Read it on AO3

1 – Ryan Shaver

The firsttime Clay and Tony get caught making out is unfortunately, by Liberty High’sbiggest gossip. It is about a month into sophomore year and so far Clay hasmanaged to avoid being in something scandalous enough to be printed on thepages of the infamous ‘Lost and Found’ zine’, however there was no way he wasgoing to avoid this one. It started about a month ago, this… thing he had withTony. He couldn’t really put a label on what it was, all he knew was that itwas fun and exciting, and Tony sure was a goddamn excellent kisser. So excellent,in fact, that Clay decided that waiting until after school to put his mouth onthe other boy was far too long a stretch to go without.

“You’re soneedy.” Tony teases him as Clay pushes him against the dirty blue locker.“Anyone could walk in here y’know?” He protests weakly, unable to deny Clayaccess to his neck as he kisses his way down his jaw to top of his t-shirt.

“I don’tcare.” Clay responds, before crashing his lips to the Latino boys, taking greatpleasure in the surprised noise Tony makes before responding to the kiss.

“Oh Clay,Clay, Clay. You really should care.” Ryan’s voice interrupts from the door ofthe locker room. “You never know who could be listening.” The other boy grinswickedly, smirking at the two with a notepad in his hands.

Clay staresat him open-mouthed, whilst Tony frowns at Ryan, wondering if this is somethinghe needed to get his brothers involved in to keep the boy quiet. Everyone knewhe was gay already, but one word from Clay and he’d do what he needed to do tokeep his friend’s sexuality a secret until he was ready. “Ryan…” Clay starts.

“Oh no,don’t let me interrupt you.” Ryan smiles with a sickeningly sweet tone.“Everyone loves a good coming out story, so the more details I have thebetter.”

Tonyclenches his fists and casts a glance at Clay, who looks surprisingly calm.“Yeah?” Clay swallows. “What story? All you’ve got right now is a rumour.”

Tonychuckles at that, and lowers his head. Good old Clay. Ryan’s face drops a bit,as though he hadn’t even thought about how he was going to prove what he hadjust seen. “Well… I…” He starts, before realising he really didn’t have a storyhere. “Watch your step, Jensen. Secrets don’t keep forever.” Ryan warns him,before hitching his bag higher on his arm and leaving with a huff.

“That wasclose.” Tony mutters, trying not to be bitter that he still had to keep Clay asecret.

Clay sighs.“Tell me about it.”

 2 – Jeff Atkins

The secondtime it happens, whilst humiliating, Clay couldn’t be more grateful that it’shis friend Jeff Atkins who catches them, even if it is in the library.

“All I’m saying dude, is there must besomebody that you like! When was the last time you had a girlfriend, man? Or…boyfriend?” Jeff questions, subtly trying to let his friend know that if thegay rumours that were currently flying around the school were true, hedefinitely didn’t care.

Clay sighs.His romantic history is something he really didn’t want to be thinking aboutright now, especially given his current situation. “There’s nobody, Jeff. Canwe drop this? Focus on your algebra.” He tells him, pointing to the paper infront of them that contained only doodles from his friend.

Jeff justlaughs. “I’ll get it out of you, Jensen, and you know it.”

Clay justrolls his eyes. “Sure. Now, question 3b says-“

“…-Hey,Clay, can I talk to you for a second?” Tony suddenly interrupts, as ifappearing out of nowhere.

The boy inquestions simply stares up at his other friend, unable to focus on the frown heis currently trying to pull off. He is mad at Tony right now, after all. “I’mhelping Jeff right now, Tony.” He says bluntly, before turning his eyes back tothe work on the table.

Tony visiblydeflates, and Jeff makes a mental note of the tension between the pair. “It’scool, Clay… if there’s something you guys need to sort out, I can wait.”

Tony turnsto see Clay’s response, which is a small sigh and a crossing of his arms. “Whatdo you want to talk about Tony?” He asks, looking back up at the boy.

“Really?”Tony asks incredulously. “I mean, really?”

At thispoint Jeff knows something is up with the pair. He grins when he figures itout. “Well, if Clay is fine with you guys talking about your… problem with me here then go ahead.” Hisgrin only gets wider as Clay’s head snaps up to look at him, a look of horroron his face when he realises that Jeff is teasing him about Tony.

“Clay, I-“Tony starts but is cut off by Clay getting to his feet and pulling him awayfrom the table by his arm.

“Not here.”He mutters, yanking the shorter boy behind some of the library shelves and awayfrom Jeff’s stupid grinning face. “What do you want, Tony?” He asks harshlyonce they are alone.

Tony’s eyeslook sad and Clay hates himself for wanting to make them happier. “I wanted toapologise for the other night. I know that since Ryan you’ve been worried… andI don’t know what this is but… I enjoy being around you, Clay. If us… doingwhat we are doing is causing problems for our friendship then I don’t think weshould carry on.” The Latino explains, his eyes searching his best friend forhis reaction.

Theblue-eyed boy just sighs again and relaxes his shoulders. “I’m sorry too, and Ithink… well I think I agree.” He tells him quietly. “This was supposed to besome fun and it’s all getting a bit serious, y’know?”

Tony nodssadly. “Yeah, I know.”

“So…friends?” Clay asks hopefully.

“Always,Clay.”

The pairstand and stare at each other for a few moments, looking almost wistfully atthe other’s mouth and wishing things didn’t have to be so complicated. “Wecould probably kiss like… one more time or something.” Clay suggests, fakingindifference. “To say goodbye or… whatever.”

Tony smilesslightly. “Yeah, I think we could do that.”

They look ateach other for a few more seconds, before Clay leans in to press a gentle kissto Tony’s lips, letting the other boy take control with a hand to the back ofClay’s head so he can deepen the kiss, and allow his tongue into his mouth.Clay has his hands fisted into Tony’s infamous leather jacket as the pair losethemselves in the other just one last time.

“So uhm, Idon’t mean to interrupt or anything, but I need to head home.” Jeff’s grinevident in his voice as he breaks the two boys apart, who are now blushingfiercely. Tony stares at the floor, a hand scratching the back of his neck inawkwardness, whilst Clay just stares at Jeff like he can’t quite believe hejust got caught making out with his best friend. “See you tomorrow, Clay…unless you’re… y’know… busy.” Jefflaughs as he winks at his pal before turning to head out of the library.

By the nextmonth, Tony is dating Ryan (much to Clay’s disbelief), and a new girl hascaught Clay’s eye. Her name is Hannah Baker.

 3 – Clay’s Dad

It’s abouthalf way into senior year when Tony and Clay decide to start seeing each otheragain properly this time. After spending pretty much 24/7 with Tony, both ofthem helping each other mourn Hannah and find a way to carry on in the shadowof the mess she left behind, it wasn’t long before they realised that theyreally needed each other. More than Tony needed Brad, that’s for sure. Whilstit is still early days, they decide they’re going to keep it quiet, what withthe drama of the past year and Clay’s developing of his bisexuality, theyfigured it best to just see how things went.

“You’re beingreally quite annoying, y’know that, Tony?” Clay says only half-serious, as Tonyflicks another pencil at the working boy.

Tony laughsthen sighs. “I’m bored, Clay. You’ve been doing that all day.” He complains ashe rolls onto his front in dramatic frustration.

Clay justrolls his eyes for what feels like the fiftieth time that morning. “I told youI needed to get it done, it was you who decided to come over anyway.”

Tony put’son an exaggerated pout. “You saying you don’t want me here, hm?” He teases ashe pretends to be offended, knowing that his oblivious boyfriend wouldn’t catchon to the pretence.

On cue, theother boy snaps his head up quickly. “Of course I want you here, Tony!” Heexclaims. “I’m sorry, I’ll put this away.” He tells him, guiltily packing awayhis books.

It’s Tony’sturn to roll his eyes. “I’m messing with you, dude.” He laughs. “Finish yourdamn paper, then pay me some attention.” The shorter boy demands, beforerolling onto his back again and closing his eyes, his hands behind his head onClay’s bed.

What Tonyhadn’t predicted is the sudden weight of the blue-eyed boy straddling his legsand smiling down at him. “So… you tricked me, huh?” Clay asks, smile dancing inhis eyes.

“’Tricked’is such an ugly word…” Tony trails off with a laugh as Clay digs him in theside where he knows he is ticklish. “Alright, alright! I tricked you!” Herelents when the tickling won’t subside. “Can you blame me?” He grins.

Claypretends to think for a moment. “What did you plan on us doing instead?” Hequestions innocently, that grin still on his face.

“I can thinkof a few things…” Tony starts as he raises his head to hover his mouth overClay’s. “And all of them involve you not talking.” He finishes before pressinghis lips to Clay’s, pulling him down with a hand on the back of his head.Clay’s hand finds its way fisted into the other boys’ hair, the other up theside of his shirt as he moans into the passionate kiss.

“Clay, we’vetalked about this door staying op- okay!” Clay’s dad walks in, swiftly puttinga hand over his eyes. “… and that’s why it was closed, right?” He attempts tojoke.

“Dad!” Claycries, scrambling off of Tony’s lap, who smirks a little as he tries to tamehis hair. “Can you and mom not give me like… a little privacy!?”

His dadremoves his hand from his face after checking that it’s safe, and laughs alittle. “Well maybe if you’d told us about this development in yourrelationship status, we wouldn’t think it necessary to check on you when youwere with your boyfriend.” He counters smugly. Clay just blushes furiously inresponse. “Tony, you’re staying for dinner?”

“Of course.”Tony smiles. “If that’s okay with Clay?”

Clay frownsat them both. “Well obviously it’s okay! Jeez.” He mutters, folding his armsand missing the matching smirks Tony and his dad give each other.

“See youdown in half an hour, then.”

 4 – Sheri Holland

By the timeSheri catches them making out, it’s become somewhat of a curse for the pair.It’s a couple of weeks since they’ve been together secretly, and only the boys’families know they are giving a relationship a proper try when Sheri throws a Springparty at her house to celebrate the break from school. Although parties aren’treally their thing, after much persuasion from Clay, the pair show up tocelebrate with the rest of the school.

They’ve onlybeen there an hour before Tony has had enough. “Do you wanna go somewherequieter?” Tony calls to Clay over the loud, booming music. “This is giving me aheadache.” He adds, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the poppy tune playingon the speakers.

Clay laughsat him. “Come on then, old man, I’m sure we can find a room for a bit.” Hetells him, downing the rest of his drink and pulling Tony towards the stairs.

“It’s like Ican hear myself think again.” The Latino says dramatically as they enter abedroom, presumed to be Sheri’s, and sit down on her bed.

“Youwouldn’t be complaining if it was Joy Division down there.” Clay teases him,settling next to him on the bed so their backs are propped against the wall,thighs touching.  

“Hm. Exceptit’s not Joy Division, is it?” Tony responds, and the two of them sit insilence for a little while, just enjoying each other’s company. Tony soon restshis hand on Clay’s thigh, causing the slightly younger boy to look at him, eyeswide. Cupping his face gently, Tony slowly plants a kiss onto Clay’s lips,touching them light as a feather. He does this three times, on the fourthpressing slightly harder, continuing to go back in for more and more chastekisses as he does so. As the kisses get longer, Clay starts to pull backslightly, his eyes half-lidded and breathing fast as he rests his foreheadagainst his boyfriend’s.

“Last time Iwas in a situation like this, it didn’t go so well.” He whispers, eyesremaining shut as he tries to block out the painful memory.

Tony kisseshis nose. “Let’s make some new memories, then. Happier ones.” He says, holdingClay’s face in his hands forcing the boy to open his eyes. “She would want youto be happy, Clay.” He tells him sincerely, smiling when Clay nods.

The boyrests his head against Tony’s again. “I love you.” He mutters quietly, eyesback to closing. He doesn’t give Tony a chance to respond because he’s kissingthe stunned look off his face, desperate to pretend it doesn’t matter if theother boy loves him or not.

Tony ofcourse, knows exactly what he is thinking. He pulls away from Clay and holdshis head again. “I love you too, Clay. Never forget that.”

Clay nods inrelief and goes in for another kiss, smiling into it with Tony as it starts toheat up.

“Oh! I’m sosorry boys! Just needed to change my top… beer stains are gross!” Sheri laughs asshe stumbles into the room in her heels, closing her door behind her. The boyslook at her in slight shock, wondering if they should do or say anything. “So…when did you guys get together?” She asks sweetly as she checks through herwardrobe for a new top that goes with her outfit.

Clay coughsawkwardly. “Well we… it’s only been a few weeks really…”

“Twomonths.” Tony interjects, grinning at Clay.

“Right… twomonths.” Clay corrects, squeezing Tony’s hand. “But the thing is, Sheri… wearen’t really ready to… y’know… tell people?” He hints.

Sheri turnsto face them with her new top in her hands. “Oh no! Don’t worry you guys, yoursecret is totally safe with me. But y’know… I don’t think people would reallycare… what with… well y’know the past year and stuff.” She says gently. “Plus…I can’t say I’m too surprised, either.” She smiles.

Tony laughsat that whilst Clay just blushes. “Yeah well, we’ve had some ups and downs andwe’re just seeing how this whole thing works out for now.” He explains.

“Say nomore!” Sheri exclaims. “My lips are sealed! Unlike the pair of you…” Sheteases. “Feel free to use my room, okay? I’ll change in the bathroom.” Clay isstill blushing at the implication of using Sheri’s room, so Tony thanks her forthe pair of them. “And guys…” She starts, turning with her hand on the doorknob. “You really do make a cute couple.”

“Uh… thanks,Sheri.” Clay responds awkwardly, hitting Tony when he laughs as Sheri leavesthe room. “Shutup, asshole.”

Tony justcontinues laughing as he kisses the pout off his boyfriend’s lips.

5 – Tyler Down

True to herword, Clay and Tony’s relationship secret continued to be kept for the majorityof senior year, and Clay was grateful that Sheri hasn’t started gossiping. Itwould be no worse than Ryan’s rumour in sophomore year, but he wanted to comeout with Tony on his own terms, and not because of some stupid gossip. Unfortunately,the next person to catch them kissing, would not be so thoughtful of thesecret.

“Tony! Inyour car!? Really!?” Clay laughs when Tony pushes his mouth against hisboyfriends, letting his tongue slide effortlessly into his mouth. Clay pusheshim back. “What’s brought this on?”

“I wantyou.” Tony states simply, before moving back into assault Clay’s neck withkisses. “And I’ve always wanted to do this in my car.” He admits, leaning backto wink cheekily at the other boy.

Clay laughs,knowing that the wink had just made him putty in Tony’s hands. He leans inagain for a proper kiss, pushing at Tony’s leather jacket as he does so whilstTony reaches to tug off the hoodie Clay is wearing.

“A pictureis worth a thousand words, boys.” Tyler’s words echo from the darkness besideClay’s window, revealing his smirk as he steps out of the bushes.

“Really,Tyler?” Clay asks disbelievingly. “After all that shit with Hannah, you’restill doing things like this?”

Tyler justlaughs condescendingly. “After what you did to me? Most definitely.” He tellshim, tucking his camera safely into his bag. “This’ll make great front pagenews for the zine’.”

Clay’s eyeswiden as he looks over to Tony. “Tyler, I don’t want to hurt you but you know Iwill if you fuck with Clay. Or me.” The Latino warns.

Tyler justlaughs. “I’m not from your neighbourhood, idiot. I think the police in thistown would be very interested in locking up you and your thug brothers forbeating me up, don’t you think?”

Tony’s handsclench around his steering wheel and goes to respond, before Clay stops him. “Fine.Publish the picture, Tyler. Whatever.”

“Clay-“ Tonystarts.

“- he’s not worthjail, Tony.” Clay says firmly. “Do your worst, Tyler, I don’t care anymore.”

“Oh, I will,Clay, don’t you worry.” Tyler says gleefully. “See you tomorrow guys!”

Clay turnsto Tony as he watches Tyler walk away with the picture. “Well, shit.” He says.Tony just remains silent. “Hey, are you okay?”

Tony’s handsare still clenched and he takes a deep breath. “Why didn’t you let me sort it,Clay? He’s gonna show everybody in school that picture!”

Clay looksat him with a confused expression. “Sorry… do you want to go to jail orsomething?”

“I wouldn’tgo to jail, Clay! And even if I did… what? You think I wouldn’t do that foryou?” Tony asks him seriously.

“Tony, areyou serious right now!? You think I care about hiding this so much that I’d letyou get sent down!?” Clay exclaims, not being able to believe what Tony istrying to say.

“Well you’vekept it hidden this long!” Tony points out, angrily.

“And clearlynot for much longer!” Clay shouts back.

“Well let’sjust end it here, then! Then it’s old news, right!?” Tony cries back, breathingheavily to stop tears threatening to fall.

There’s abeat of silence. “What?” Clay asks quietly. “Are you breaking up with me?Because of Tyler!?”

“I’m justsaying that maybe it would make tomorrow easier.” Tony replies, unable to lookClay in the eyes as he focuses his vision on the parking lot in front of them.

“Right.”Clay whispers. “So I’m ready to go public with you and you’re ready to break upwith me. Perfect.” He says sarcastically, wiping his face with his sleevebefore opening the Mustang’s car door and jumping out.

“Clay, whereare you going?” Tony asks, ready to get out of the car too.

“I’m walkinghome, Tony. Don’t follow me. I’ll see you around, okay?” Clay tells himbluntly, leaving Tony no choice but to watch the love of his life walk away, ashe punches his steering wheel in frustration.

 1 – Liberty High

Walking intoschool the next morning was like walking into a lions’ den when he was an antelope.Clay knew from the moment he stepped onto school property that Tyler had leakedthe photo, apparently to Ryan himself who helpfully printed it on the frontpage of ‘Lost and Found’. Well, he had warned Clay that secrets didn’t keepforever. Taking a deep breath Clay pushes past the giggling teenagers thatsurrounded him, keeping his head down as he made his way to his locker andsighing when he had to rip off multiple print-outs of the picture from thedoor. It was bad enough trying to get over Tony without having pictures of themplastered in his face.

“Clay!” The unmissablevoice of Tony Padilla echoed through the hallway to Clay’s ears, as he shovedthe books he needed for first into his bag. “Clay, can we talk?”

Aware thatthe entire corridor was looking over and whispering about the pair of them,Clay realised that it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. “We don’tneed to talk, Tony. You made your feelings pretty clear.” He tells him coldly,as he begins to walk away, his heart aching like it did when he lost Hannah.

“Except Ididn’t.” Tony calls after him. “I didn’t know you wanted to go public, Clay!”

Clay turnsaround, laughing sarcastically. “Well it’s not like it matters now! Just leaveit. Please.” He begs, just wanting to get on with his miserably existence andpretend this high school never happened to him. As if on cue, the bell ringsand Clay turns from Tony again to walk to first, ignoring the stinging behindhis eyes and willing himself to just get on with the day.

“Clay!” Hehears Tony call again, a little more desperately this time. Clay just continuesto walk, pretending he doesn’t want to turn around because hoping will lead tomore heartbreak. “Clay!?” Tony tries again, and Clay spins around.

“What!?Tony, what can you possibly have to say- mmf!” Clay’s shout is cut off by Tony’smouth on his, capturing his lips in a desperate, needy kiss. Clay is distantlyaware of people wolf-whistling in the corridor, the sound of camera’s takingphoto’s no doubt to be shared to Snapchat. Tony breaks the kiss and looks intoClay’s eyes, begging him to realise that he didn’t want it to be over. “I’mconfused.” Clay finally says.

Tony let’sout a slight chuckle. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want you. It’s neverbeen like that. Ever. Forgive me?”

Clay’s eyeslight up slightly. “So… you do wanna be my boyfriend?”

“Always.”Tony responds instantly.

Clay smiles,still aware of all of the eyes on him. “Then let’s give them something toreally talk about.” He grins, before fisting his hands in Tony’s leather jacketand pulling him into a passionate kiss. When they break for air the pair smileat each other happily.

“Put that onyour front page, Ryan!” Tony yells into the crowd, causing Clay and a lot ofthe people gathered around them to laugh.

And if LibertyHigh thought Clay and Tony coming out as a couple would stop them being caughtin compromising positions throughout the school, they had another think coming.