#this isn’t even directed at anyone in particular but a post got on my nerves

[bucksboobs]

I do think at some point in the not too distant future, the 911 fandom, at least on Tumblr, is going to have to reckon with the fact that despite M!slash being the main driving force of the fandom, gay men like myself are in the vast minority (I think a recent poll put us at something like 6% but it didn’t separate bisexuals by gender so it’s hard to say how many mlm are actually in the fandom) and in the same way being a gay man doesn’t exempt him from being incidentally or purposefully misogynistic, being some other flavor of the rainbow doesn’t prevent someone from perpetuating homophobia against men who love men.

At some point the jokes about how Tommy is just here for dick or should just get dick and move on (when he’s already made it very clear that he wants a relationship with Buck) are going to start to sound like hypersexual stereotypes of gay men. At some point the constant push to get them to break up as soon as possible and for Tommy to die or get shipped off to Arizona or wherever is going to seem less like regular ship hate and more like wanting a gay male character to be punished for daring to seek a relationship with a man in the first place. We obviously aren’t there yet but I do think we should be aware that it is fast approaching.

[harpyloon]

i’ll catch you

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!Reader

Summary: "Up close, Y/N could see the familiar freckles splattered all over his nose and cheeks. He was towering over her like he always did. She used to be the little second year Hufflepuff always idling by the entrance to the Great Hall hoping to bump into the famous Charlie Weasley. Studying on the Quidditch pitch, watching him behind her textbook, captaining the Gryffindor team. Climbing the beech tree by the lake again and again, hoping Charlie Weasley would somehow walk by once more to offer her a hand..."

☞ Curse Breaker reader x Dragon-tamer Charlie Weasley

Warnings: Fluff, sprinkles of angst, dragons (duh), mentions of a dead animal, mentions of dragon eating dead animal (lol), post-war timeline (although not that important)

WC: 4.5k+ , Part 2 coming soon!

Read on AO3

Beautiful rays of golden sunlight were peaking through the blinders of Y/N's cabin. It was going to be a lovely day with the perfect weather to seek out a bit of adventure, and although she was sure she had countless other affairs to address before kicking off with her assignment the next day, a blathering Bill Weasley was not one of them.

"Are you even listening?" his tone was way beyond impatient. "You know what? Don't answer that. I know for a fact that you never pick up anything I say. Ever."

Y/N rolled her eyes as she busied herself with stuffing her socked feet inside a pair of brown chunky hiking boots. She didn't plan on going very far. Her colleagues were currently lounging in the dining hall about five cabins down, sipping piping hot ciorbă, munching on breakfast toast, and relishing their only foreseeable off day before the start of the big dig tomorrow. Some were even dozing off still, earning as much sleep as they could to compensate for the long nights to come.

It's true what they say about grumpy Curse Breakers. But nobody realized that they just spent too much time with their eyes wide open.

"You know, Bill," Y/N mused, "you always call me the drama queen. What does that make you then?"

The floating head over the fire scoffed, "A concerned superior."

"Well, there's nothing to be concerned about."

"Where are you headed?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"No walks," ordered Bill, his face stern.

"Everyone's out and about today!"

"No walks for you."

Y/N laughed. "Oh yeah?"

Bill sighed. He knew trying to be hard-nosed was futile. "No walks alone at least."

"Are you sure there's no bun in Fleur's oven yet?" Y/N teased. "You're sounding more like a papa bear with each passing day."

She heard a soft melodic laugh within the fire where Bill's head was when suddenly, another floating head appeared right beside his. This time, all blonde and very French

"There iz no bun yet, mon cher. But I think he az been practicing fatherhood with you." Fleur gave Y/N a wink. "I 'eard zer are many 'andsome men in Romania. With a leetle beet of exzploring yo—"

"There will be no exploring," barked Bill, sending his wife a warning glance, which she ignored.

"—you might find someone az adventurous az you are," Fleur beamed, "And very macho."

"Darling," Bill sighed, "is this necessary?"

With a flying kiss to Y/N, Fleur was gone.

Shrugging on a light parka, Y/N gave Bill a knowing look, "You see? Your wife said I could use a macho man."

"Oh please. You're in a Curse Breaker camp."

"Hey, there are loads of macho men here."

"Macho enough for you?"

Y/N wrinkled her nose but ignored the question.

"Well, William," she said, emphasizing Bill's full name, "I, am a Curse Breaker in the middle of the Southern Carpathians." Stuffing her wand through her belt loop, she looked at him with finality. "And I am not passing up this opportunity."

"Remember when they assigned you to Egypt with me and you went on exploring? Your exploring is bad luck, Y/N, and I did not assign you to Romania to bring bad luck."

"Excuse you, the Egypt Goblins loved me."

"Goblins don't love wizards," retorted Bill.

"I think they were particularly fond of me."

"You Reductored an entire bloody Pyramid!"

Y/N was losing her patience. She wanted to sift through the mountains in the morning sunlight. Discover hidden caves and wade through cold springs. She had her breakfast way earlier than everyone else for this sole purpose.

"I promise I'll be good."

"Take Weiss with you."

Y/N glared. "Absolutely not."

"Take someone."

"I'm walking out on you right now. Don't forget to put out my fire."

"Y/N."

"I'll see you later!"

"I have to tell you—"

Without looking back, she waved at Bill and stepped out into the crisp Romanian morning.

The skies were bright and cloudless, the sun slowly rising up east. The Curse Breaker camp in the middle of the Transylvanian Alps was in for a late morning. It was quiet, apart from the whispers of the forest beside them; chirping birds, singing crickets, and the distant sound of a nearby stream.

Trudging up the rough pavement towards the foot of the nearest hill, Y/N felt an ounce of guilt seep through as she marveled at the scenery before her. Bill was the reason she got the Romania assignment. She wasn't half bad a Curse Breaker. From an outsider's perspective, some would even call her brilliant. She's aced all her missions in her first year on the job—way ahead of all the others in her year, and was even able to crackdown a dark magic-infested tomb in an assignment she co-lead in Egypt. She was quick, smart, and as brave as the career entailed.

Only one thing stood between her and a good reputation in Gringotts. Her impulsiveness.

She couldn't help it. Y/N's successes partnered with tragedies—accidents; her brilliance came with sheer will and almost violent haste. The problem is you can't think twice Bill would always say. Not everything is done in a snap, Y/N.

Bill Weasley was the only senior Curse Breaker with enough patience to supervise her. It must have been fate or a miracle that had him in temporary assignment at the London Gringotts when she graduated Hogwarts. If she were received by anyone else, or if he were back in Egypt instead, she didn't think she'd ever make it out into the field. Or worse, last a few months.

"I'll be good," she mumbled to no one in particular. Or maybe she hoped that Bill would hear. She'd floo him again later.

Trekking up the slope with hands snuggled warm inside her faux-fur-lined pockets, Y/N inhaled the fresh earth surrounding her. This was her calling. Nature. Adventure. The unknown. She was fantastic with spells and jinxes and once thought of becoming an Auror—but Aurors spent too much time indoors, on desks, drowning in paperwork and tailing dark wizards. She knew in her heart she wasn't born to enforce the law.

On the opposite side of the hill was a deep gorge between two towering mountains and a long serpentine stream. Elated at the sight, she followed the gentle flow of water over the rocks. Without thinking (because when does she ever), she slipped off her boots and socks, and despite the chilly morning, prepared to wade the ice-cold water. She dipped one toe in for good measure—a pause.

That couldn't be right.

Submerging one whole foot into the water confirmed her confusion. Strange. Almost all waterways in Romania led to the Black Sea, if not the Adriatic. Why was it warm?

This isn't the bathing stream she thought. The senior Curse Breakers back at camp had instructed them of assigned fresher areas where warming charms would be cast. She didn't remember this gorge being part of last night's tour.

Ankles deep in the water, Y/N trailed the soft currents. It was deliciously warm. A deliberate contrast to the icy breeze left by the trail ends of winter. It was supposedly mid-spring, but the winds still gave her the chills.

She took no notice of how far she was going, the water neither rising nor falling. If she were to guess it must've almost been half an hour given by the direction of the sun. The warm water and small pebbles were therapeutic beneath her feet. The walk didn't tire her at all.

Finally, the chasm's end came to view. Heart beating with excitement, she hastened her pace, dampening the legs of her trousers that she attempted to roll up. But just as her feet crossed the lip between the two mountains flanking her, she felt the oddest sensation: it began at the top of her head, traveling down her arms to her toes—as if a big fat raindrop landed on her scalp and entered her body.

She glanced at the clear blue sky. There was no cloud in sight for miles.

And then, it was suddenly very humid.

"What the..." she glanced back through the gorge. Nothing was out of order and nobody was in sight. Looking down at her feet, her surroundings were now as warm as the water she stood on. Her parka felt too thick.

Again, strange.

Trying to shake away her curiousness, Y/N trudged on.

All is well she chanted inside her head. All is well and the wind just blows differently on this side of the alps.

But no matter what she told herself, ripples of unease still disturbed Y/N. She was beginning to sweat and it wasn't just her nerves. The wind didn't blow differently on this side of the mountains because there was no wind. It was dry, dank, and very very warm.

To rattle her nerves even further, the water she was wading on was getting hotter as she went on that she had to leap on land once again. But as soon as her bare soles made contact with the grass, she yelped in pain.

"Merlin—OW."

The earth was burning. As if it bathed in the sun for too long. As if she were in the middle of a dry desert. She knew the feeling, she's been to Egypt. But why the bloody hell would Romanian soil feel this hot? Moreso in the heart of the Southern Carpathians?

Locating a jutted-out slab of rock, Y/N hopped over to sit and gather her bearings, drying her damp feet and staring at her boots and socks. She didn't want to slip them back on. The heat was intense. But it was either the boots or the sizzling soil.

She shrugged off her parka after lacing up her boots and was grateful for her reckless choice of wardrobe this morning. She opted for a ribbed shirt under her jacket—instead of a sweater—in urgent intention to get away from a nagging Bill. Now it served her well. It wasn't as thin as she would have deemed appropriate for the current temperature, but at least her neck and arms could breathe.

Gazing over the expanse of the clearing she emerged in, she suddenly became aware of the lack of green in the area. The grass was almost a withering brown—crunchy and dry. Trees weren't scattered about like the thick oaks all over the Curse Breaker camp; instead, they were clumped, almost systematically, in relatively rectangular patch formations. As if deliberately rooted as such.

Muggles Y/N thought. It was only them who had the peculiar habit of reorganizing nature.

Tying her parka around her waist, she treaded the clearing, the grass crisp beneath her boots, and approached the nearest cluster of trees. She wondered if this were one of the areas they'd be digging up. Senior Curse Breaker Digby Youssif oriented them of specific crackdown areas to look forward to in the next few months. Although almost all wizarding families were well-accounted for in Romania, there were still trifling amounts of intel on hidden vaults under protective spells cast by untraceable ancient tribes.

Y/N loved digging assignments. She was particularly fond of discovery. And if Ancient Runes was Hogwarts' least-loved lesson, she rather enjoyed Professor Babbling's classes. Well, most of the time. It was her pride and joy to have snagged an 'Outstanding' for her O.W.Ls—

Crack!

A sudden gust of wind whipped through the trees ahead of her. On instinct, Y/N drew her wand from her belt loop. Nothing was so dangerous about the wind. But it felt so...

The sound came out of nowhere, she thought it was imagining it. A steady drumming beat. Powerful and humming. An engine? she thought. But that was impossible. They were told that the area was blocked off from muggles for the duration of their stay. She paused in front of a towering ashtree. The sound was growing louder and louder. Nearer. She didn't know why but she was compelled with the need to hide.

Climb.

She felt ridiculous, clambering up an ashtree and settling on its thickest branch. Her superiors back at camp were clear that the mountains were safe, its perimeters were secured for their dig. Curse Breakers always made sure missions wouldn't come across outside interference.

Then why was her heart beating so fast?

The drumming sound was growing nearer. Behind her—above.

Peering at the sky through the leaves, a massive dark figure swooped overhead and landed with an earth-shaking thud on the clearing right in front of her tree.

Y/N felt like she was going to choke on her own spit when a deafening, earsplitting roar echoed through the mountains.

Dragon.

Fully grown, enormous, and vicious-looking, the beast had emerald scales that glinted in the morning sun. Its body was bulky, way stockier compared to the common dragons in textbooks. It had a massive head that seemed even larger than its body, and on it sprouted two long glittering golden horns. Its claws had the same golden color, and it was rearing onto its hind legs, hunching over a figure... chewing...

All the breakfast Y/N had only hours before felt like rising up her throat. An enormous dragon only meters in front of her was chewing on a dead animal, clearly having his own meal. And there she was, perched on an ashtree, ready for dessert.

Don't panic she told herself, but feeling green. She's never faced a dragon on a mission before. They tackled them in her first year on the job—Curse Breakers didn't really need training, the task calling for hands-on work—but never in her life did she ever think she'd have to face a real dragon.

I don't have to face it Y/N thought, I just have to stay here until it flies away, and run back to camp.

Wiggling up to a squat, she eyed the neighboring branch a few feet to her right which was higher up and positioned behind a thicker cluster of leaves. It didn't require a jump, but more of a really careful split; hugging the trunk tightly, she stretched her right foot across, shifting her weight to her right leg, her arms choking the tree trunk in a death grip, legs spread wide midair—

"Scuzati-ma?"

Y/N didn't fall. Thank Merlin she didn't fall. But she lost her momentum in surprise and panic, her left foot sliding from the previous branch, making her push off the trunk in haste, throwing her weight across completely. She grabs a dangling thin branch above her at the last minute, her body tilted towards the forest floor.

A forest floor where a man now stood, peering up at her curiously.

She was breathing hard, her heart thumping erratically, both from the fear of falling and being heard by the dragon so close by.

"Er—esti bine?" the man asked. Y/N saw that he had his arms out as if braced to catch her if she fell. When she didn't answer, the man spoke again, "Ai nevoie de ajutor?"

She blinked down at him. "What?"

He chuckled. She hated it. It hurt her pride. "I said, do you need any help?"

He was loud. Too loud. She righted herself on the branch, pulling to lean back on the trunk behind her. Then risking a peek, she checked on the dragon who was still munching on the dead cow with gusto.

She looked back down to find the man with his eyebrows raised at her, his face painting amusement. It was impossible not to take note of his red mane pulled into a low bun. He looked awfully familiar... and he was going to get them killed.

"Could you," she whispered as loudly as she could, "keep your voice down?"

The man snickered once more, showing no effort of lowering his tone. "Why?"

"Are you blind?" she wanted to strangle him. "There's a bloody dragon!"

The redhead glanced at the scaly beast and heaved out a sigh. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. It's way past breakfast. He's missing nap time."

Y/N looked at him incredulously. He shrugged, "But what can I do? He slept in this morning. Lazy beast." Looking back up, he asked, "Want to meet him?"

He's mental she thought. That had to be it.

But the redhead only laughed. He keeps laughing. He must've noticed the stupefied expression on her face because he simmered. "Give him a minute and you can come down. It's already his fifth haul so he's bound to get dozy and fly back to the nest." He started walking towards the clearing when he paused and turned back, "Although, you can come down now. I promise he won't eat you."

Y/N watched as the man walked up to the feasting dragon—she was peering behind the thick tree trunk, using it as a shield. He's insane. Drawing a wand from a sheath attached to his calf, the man aimed a stunning spell right by the beast's tail.

"Alright, Darius, I think you've had enough," he called. He kept his distance, a good few meters away, but his gait was calm, almost lazy.

The dragon glanced at the man, its fangs bloody. Y/N wanted to grab the redhead and run. But it was a crazy thought, and she was rooted on her spot on the tree branch, frozen in fear.

The man gave a sharp whistle and the dragon grunted, smoke coming out of its nostrils. It ignored him and continued to munch on the cow.

Another stunning spell was aimed right by its claws and the dragon emitted a low growl. Y/N didn't know if she was imagining it but the creature seemed sluggish on its feet, swaying... almost drowsy.

"Off you go," said the man, "up." He sent one more stunning spell right in front of its snout. It was a clear miss, purely intentional.

The dragon heaved a loud angry roar. But instead of diving for the man like she expected, it started flapping its wings, gaining momentum. Y/N held onto the tree trunk tighter so as not to be swayed by the sudden rush of winds the creature was yielding. And then with a strong push off the ground, up it soared, growling low in its throat, and was out of sight.

Y/N's legs felt like jelly slugs, but her arms refused to let go of the tree trunk. What in Merlin's name just happened?

"Y/N."

She gave a short yelp, coughing on her next breath. "Excuse me?"

The man was back, now by the foot of the tree once again. "Come down."

"How do you know my name?" she demanded.

He had a really handsome smile. A really familiar, handsome smile...

"I should be offended," said the man. "Come down." There it was again, that smile. "I'll catch you."

I'll catch you.

I'll catch you....

 "Come on, Y/N, I'll catch you!"

"No you won't!" said Y/N. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

She was perched on the beech tree by the Black lake, her legs dangling above the shallow water. She had attempted to retrieve her Spellman's Syllabry textbook that Cassian Loxias chucked up the branches for fun.

"Yes I will, I promise," consoled Charlie. "I'm a prefect, remember?" he gestured to his badge, "I'll make sure you're safe."

Sniffing up snot that was escaping her nose, she hiccuped softly against the back of her hand. "Our prefect doesn't do that very much."

Charlie chuckled. "I'll make sure to have a word with Professor Sprout about her Hufflepuff prefects."

When he saw the horror on her face, he held up his hands, "It didn't come from you of course. Will you come down now? I swear I'll catch you."

Y/N looked into Charlie Weasley's eyes and saw nothing but pure candor. Biting her lip, she said, "Do cross your heart, or hope to die?"

He traced a cross right above his chest. "Cross my heart, or hope to die."

 "Y/N. Y/N?"

Y/N blinked.

Charlie Weasley. Charlie dragon-tamer Weasley. Charlie the hot brother Weasley—

"Are you still breathing? Do you need me up there?"

Trying to gather her bearings, Y/N extracted herself from her hold on the tree trunk, went down onto a squat, and leaped off, landing on the crunchy grass with a thump.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at her as she dusted her trousers, "I see you don't need catching anymore."

She took in the man before her. "Charlie Weasley."

His grin was dazzling."Caught on, have you?

From up close, Y/N could now see the familiar freckles splattered all over his nose and cheeks. He was towering over her like he always did. She used to be the little second year Hufflepuff always idling by the entrance to the Great Hall hoping to bump into the famous Charlie Weasley. Studying on the Quidditch pitch, watching him behind her textbook, captaining the Gryffindor team. Climbing the beech tree by the lake again and again, hoping Charlie Weasley would somehow walk by once more to offer her a hand...

There were so many things she could've done, seeing him again for the first time after all these years. He was gone as soon as he graduated Hogwarts, flying to Romania to study dragons. Everyone always thought Charlie would be going Quidditch pro, being captain and seeker. He had the build, the skills, and the charm. Hogwarts alone had fan clubs in his name and rumor had it that the Falmouth Falcons were just waiting for him to finish seventh year.

But others didn't see Charlie as Y/N did. They didn't see him hoarding books on care of magical creatures in the library. They didn't notice him sneaking off to Hagrid's on the weekends, taking Fang for walks or feeding the Blast Ended Skrewts in the garden. Nobody paid attention to the copy of Fantastic Beasts And Where to Find Them that Charlie practically glued to his side. Only Y/N did. And now that she thought about it, she didn't like that she knew so much. It made her feel like a creep.

So instead of hugging him in delight like she actually wanted, she took a swipe at his shoulder.

"You git," she hissed. "You scared me to death! How did you do that? I thought taming dragons was impossible."

"It is. Most of the time," Charlie shrugged. "Darius is a Romanian Longhorn. Mostly harmless compared to the others especially when he's full. Not that difficult to send him back to the nest when he can barely stand on his feet."

"Harmless? I could've been dessert!"

Charlie laughed. He was still always laughing. "You look delicious, yes, but I'm not letting Darius have you."

What the fu—Y/N inhaled slowly, cautiously. Then exhaled through her nose. She didn't know how to respond. Seeing him again after so long, without warning or preparation, was messing with her senses

"It's good to see you, Y/N," he said and walked closer. Close enough to tugged at her braid. She didn't know why he did it, but he looked like he just had to. "You look good."

Y/N's heart was beating rapidly once more, but this time, for all the wrong reasons. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Charlie gazed back into her eyes as if seeing her for the first time.

"Too long."

Again, she didn't know how long it took her to reply, but she cleared her throat, "How—did you know it was me? The first time?"

Charlie's eyes were still roaming all over her face. "No. Not until you spoke."

Y/N must've held a questioning look because he added, "I'll never forget that voice."

He was saying such strange things. Were they strange? Or was it just because he affected her so?

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, you wouldn't come down, would you? I see you still have a thing for trees."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"I didn't know the dragon reservation was in the alps," she said. "Do you know we're camping nearby?"

"'Course I do. You lot are beside dragon territory for a reason."

Excitement and fear raised Y/N's nerves. "What are you talking about?"

Charlie bit his lip. "You'll see."

"Are we digging in the reservation?"

He was walking out into the clearing now, beelining back towards the opening of the gorge.

"Charlie!" Y/N jogged to keep up. "Are we?"

He only smiled, "Patience, darling."

Darling. He used to call her that all the time even when they were back in Hogwarts. She always tried to ignore the fluttering feeling her chest made when he used the endearment, reminding herself that he must've used it on everyone else, not just her.

"Why did no one back at camp tell us anything?"

"I probably should've kept my mouth shut," was his only reply. They were crossing the two mountains flanking the stream, and as soon as they cut through the border, Y/N felt the same sensation she did when she went through the clearing. But this time in reverse, it was as if the raindrop was sucked back up.

She glanced up at the mountains. "Did you feel that?"

"Shield spells," explained Charlie. "To keep the muggles out. Temperature charms as well to regulate the reservation climate. Although the dragons do enough of their warming on their own, it's for precaution."

They walked up the stream, tracing back Y/N's previous path.

"Are you bringing me back to camp?" she asked.

"That, and I have to see Digby. Iron out tomorrow's schedule."

"So we are digging inside the reservation," Y/N didn't know if she was more thrilled or afraid.

Charlie glanced at her, "You heard nothing from me."

Studying his features as they strolled, Y/N couldn't help but admire how much Charlie Weasley grew up to be. He's always been lean and strong, especially with being an athlete back at Hogwarts, but now he seemed so much larger than life. Red tendrils were escaping his low bun and framing his chiseled face, there were a few scars on his nose and one under his lip. She shouldn't have been able to see it but she couldn't stop staring. He was big. Stockier than she'd ever seen him; hands wrapped in gauze and rope slung over a hook on his hip.

Charlie Weasley, dragon-tamer.

And he was staring right back at her.

"You have to take me to see more dragons," Y/N breathed. She didn't know where her voice went. It was all airy and she didn't like it. She hoped he would assume it was because of their walk.

Charlie stopped, deep brown eyes boring into her own. He was panting slightly too. Maybe it was the walk.

"Okay," he exhaled. "Promise."

"Cross your heart?" she almost whispered. Almost.

Two fingers traced a cross over Charlie's chest, his gaze not leaving hers, "Cross my heart."

[alwaysbeliev]

I Can’t Lose You

Happy Valentine’s Day! This is for the @rdr-secret-cupid adventure this year. Thank you for the prompt, @bloodylove3 and I hope you enjoy!

summary: When Dutch asks you and Arthur to pretend you're married for a job, you're nervous that you won't be able to hide your feelings for the outlaw. You manage to keep it in line, but things go wrong fast.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

word count: 3497

link on AO3

“Alright, here’s where we’ll start.”

It was mid-afternoon. The heat from the sun above was overwhelming, burning whatever it touched. Not even the shade was a relief with its cover. Animals all around were burrowed underground, hiding inside of trees, splashing around in the cool river nearby, and doing their best to stay out of direct light. You idly watched a small mouse scurry through the grass, digging at the dirt every now and then before disappearing into a hole. Quietly, you wished you were that mouse. 

For the hundredth time, Dutch was reviewing his next grand plan. There was a tipoff about a decent score, something that would help the gang move to a new camp, and it would be almost easy to pull off. Almost. But he was careful to plan, detailed to a fault, and now you had to sit through another lecture about making sure you were in the right place at the right time. He stood just inside the flap of his tent as he talked. The others were in a loose circle around him and Hosea.

You felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of your neck. What you wouldn’t give to go jump in the rushing water just a hundred feet away, even fully clothed. Imagining the relief alone made you sweat more. You could feel your skin throb, your cheeks turning red, your shirt sticking to your lower back…

“Hey!”

The sharp sound of Dutch’s voice cut through your daydream, snapping you back to reality. Others were snickering as you jerked your head over and tried to pretend you had been listening.

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “there has been a small change of plan.” 

Whoa, Dutch was changing his plan? But the score was just a week away now.

He carried on, “Arthur will be playing the part of your protective, but quiet, husband. You will need to cause a big enough distraction that we can enter without tipping anyone off. Can you handle that?”

“I thought Hosea was providing the distraction?” Your mind was turning, scrambling to remember if that was the original plan or if you were suffering from heat stroke.

“As I had said before, Hosea will be needed outside. It would seem awfully suspicious to outsiders if 5 men all seemed to suddenly rush inside together, don’t you think?”

You supposed he had a point. Outwardly, you agreed with him, but inwardly, your heart was pounding. Arthur? Husband? You barely made it through the rest of the session, managing to excuse yourself as soon as Dutch was done talking. Never before had you felt the palpitations on your chest that you did now at the thought of being with Arthur Morgan. Not just being with him, but pretending to be married. 

To say that you had a crush on Arthur was putting it lightly. From the moment you had met the outlaw, the sight of him caused your heart to race faster than his beautiful horse. You could barely speak around him, let alone carry on any conversation, and you were certain everyone in camp knew about it. Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly had approached you just last week to tease you about the way you fumbled over your words when Arthur asked a question. Now you had to pretend to be married?

The group dispersed as Dutch finished his grand lecture, chattering excitedly about the huge score. You felt light-headed and were rooted to the spot. Dutch was right, it should be easy, you had played the actor’s role many times before, but this… This wouldn’t be acting. And surely someone was going to notice that.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A week passed quicker than any week you’d been through before. You and Arthur had prepared a scene, practicing to get it right, and you were feeling slightly more confident. The cowboy still gave you flutters in your heart, but rehearsed lines were much easier than improvised ones, and you were positive he hadn’t seen the longing in your eyes. It was easy.

But what wasn’t easy was how inseparable the two of you were becoming. Every morning, Arthur approached you near the campfire, offering a small treat, typically a piece of chocolate or a small fruit. The first time, your cheeks had flushed hotter than the summer sun. It hadn’t improved much. You would review your plan for the score, pause for a lunch time meal, and continue in the afternoon. Arthur often seemed to have other ideas, wanting a change of scenery, and you would find yourselves a few miles from camp on some rocky outlook or on a river’s shore, just shooting the breeze while the sun seared high above. Arthur even managed to convince you to leave your horse once, riding behind him with arms wrapped around his chest, content just to be near him. 

Finally, the day arrived. The gang all arose early, gathering their tools uneasily. Nerves always ran high the day of, regardless of how much planning had gone into the score, and your stomach churned. Karen had lent a hat, Mary-Beth a beautiful dress in your most favorite color, and you felt so fluffy and over the top. When Arthur saw you, his face seemed to go slack, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“My, my, Mrs. Morgan,” he drawled, taking a few lazy steps to close the gap to you. “Aren’t you lookin’ mighty fine this mornin’.”

Pouting and embarrassed, you waved him off, brushing a tight curl over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask the color rising to your cheeks.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, now, I’m only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He laughed before looking somewhat sheepish himself. “Besides, you really do.”

You paused, taking in his sincere compliment.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t have time to respond as Dutch stepped out of his tent, looking the picture of graceful leadership, commanding everyone’s attention. As you turned your body towards him, you saw Arthur’s gaze lingering on your figure, the dress complementing you perfectly. You focused on tugging on your white lace gloves, trying to turn your ears where it mattered.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Alright, Mr. Callahan, now, here we are!”

Your voice pitched up, you pointed out the grandest building in town: the bank. Arthur guided his horse to the hitching post before hopping down, turning to help you down, your big skirt catching slightly and flouncing as your feet landed. Grinning at him, you tugged at his arm excitedly.

“Come on, darling, we gotta go get us a loan! That house ain’t gonna buy itself, you know!”

It was clear you were amusing the man at your side. Your anxiety was causing a jump in your performance, pushing you a slightly uncomfortable bit above believable, but you were pretty and young and the men were watching you. That was all that mattered.

With a grand gesture, you shoved the door to the bank open, stepping into the marbled interior with your boots clicking. The teller glanced up from whatever paperwork he was looking at. For a brief second, he studied the two of you, his eyes lingering on you in particular, before a fixed smile appeared on his face. 

“How can I help you?” he drawled. As practiced, Arthur opened his mouth to speak but you butted in before he could.

“Why, hello, Mr…?” You swept forward, extending a hand for him to shake. He glanced at Arthur in disbelief before gingerly shaking your hand.

“Mr. Monaghan.”

“Oh, Mr. Monaghan, how lovely!” You grinned widely, shaking vigorously. “Yes, me and my new husband here are looking to buy a house! Isn’t that just grand? We just got married, you know, just last week! Oh, we had the most beautiful honeymoon, didn’t we, darling? Traveled to see the ocean, oh it was gorgeous! Simply gorgeous! Have you ever been, Mr. Monaghan?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t. Not the way you planned it.

“The birds were so lovely, there were so many of them! Oh, and the food! Simply divine! Have you had seafood before? Crab, lobster, shrimp, oh it was perfect!”

As you rambled, the doors swung in again, allowing entrance to John and Javier. You didn’t spare a look for them, your energy pointed at the teller, and as planned, he didn’t seem to notice them. Your shrill voice and wild theatrics had his whole attention. You carried on as the men got into position.

“They paired the shrimp with-- What was it, my love? This wine, it was a red, wasn’t it? Or was it a white? Mr. Callahan is just hopeless about these things, you know, I’m glad I’m here to help him. Oh we had the most wonderful time together! I thought it might rain one day, there were these horrible gray clouds, but he told me not to worry, even though I wanted to, and sure enough, the sun was out by dinner time!”

The doors creaked again, allowing the last two men in, Dutch and Bill. All 5 men exchanged a look and, in one swift motion, they pulled their bandanas over their faces and drew their weapons. It was satisfying to hear the clicks of a few hammers. Your grin turned wicked and the teller suddenly realized what had happened. 

“We’ll take that loan to go, if you don’t mind.” You couldn’t help yourself. Arthur quickly stepped forward, shielding you with his body so your face was hidden, and you hurriedly moved towards the back of the men, allowing them to do what they needed. It was relatively painless and quiet, the teller moving hastily and without hesitation, filling bags with money and even allowing them access to the room with the safes. You served as lookout, casually standing at the window to keep an eye peeled for the law. Only when you heard Dutch’s signature goodbye did you turn away from it. Arthur made eye contact with you and playfully raised his eyebrows as he strode towards the door and you, ready to make for the horizon.

Without warning, the doors flew open, banging against the wall from the force behind it. Several lawmen were standing, guns drawn, ready to take out the outlaws. Instantly, shots were being fired. You didn’t know who fired first, but you dove out of the way, gripping your hat tightly so it wouldn’t be left behind. For some reason, your only coherent thought was Karen would have my hide.

Men were shouting, the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Flat on the floor, you couldn’t see anything, only heard Dutch shouting orders, police filling the streets outside, the solid sound of bullets connecting with flesh. There was nowhere to take cover. Somebody stepped on your leg and you gasped from the pain. A hand gripped your ankle and dragged you towards a wall. Panicked, you tried to scramble away until you registered Arthur’s voice trying to reassure you. 

“You boys play nice!” a deep voice bellowed from the porch. “We don’t want no hangings, now, y’here?”

“We will play nice when you play nice, Sheriff!” Dutch barked back. 

“This is a fucking massacre!” John spoke to the room at large. The men that had entered before were all on the floor, blood pooling around them, their guns laying forgotten on the wood. More were shouted outside. They were organizing to block all exits from town. There was no way you were gonna make it out now, you started to fear, and you could see the shared looks of the men with you echoing the same sentiment.

A surprised cry arose from outside as another gunshot cracked through the air. 

“There’s Mac!”

With renewed energy, everyone jumped up and sprang for the door. Feeling marginally brave, you snatched a gun from the floor, hoping you wouldn’t have to use it. Bill led the way out. Javier, John, and Dutch quickly followed, and Arthur made up the rear with you in tow, sticking to him like glue. 

The sun outside was blinding. You barely caught a glimpse of the street before you were rushed down the steps and around the side of the building. Back pressed against the wall, the pounding in your head started blocking out your hearing, and you only felt the vibrations in the air and under your feet. Even with all of Dutch’s careful planning, you were still trapped in this mess…

Arthur shouted your name. He stood, almost pressed to you, eyes burning. You snapped to attention, gun at the ready.

“We gotta make a break for it! Be ready on my count!”

It was all you could do to nod. You saw his horse in your peripheral, antsy and pawing, but waiting. You tried desperately to calm your breathing and gathered your skirts up out of your way. At the mark, you all ran, each in slightly different directions to mount their horses, spurring before fully mounted. Arthur was first and you scrambled after him, latching onto his arm and using the momentum of his horse to swing your leg over, skirts be damned. With a sharp cry, he urged his horse forward and away from town.

For a brief moment, you were free. Pounding hooves sounded behind you but were fading fast. The shouts of men continued to rip through the air, but you realized that they, too, were slowly growing faint.  And then a stabbing pain exploded in your thigh. A scream escaped before you could stop yourself. Trained well, Arthur didn’t stop his horse, but he tried to see what had happened, calling back to you with increasing desperation. You had been shot. The panic, the shortness of breath, and now the pain was too much. In a surprisingly short matter of seconds, black filled your vision and you were gone.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The rustle of the trees. The soft sound of running water. Crackling of a campfire. Low voices outside your tent. Your hair brushing your face. Dull and throbbing pain in your leg. Heaviness in your chest. And, finally, the realization you were laying on a cot and not your usual bedroll. 

Slowly, your eyes blinked open. This definitely wasn’t your tent. These weren’t your blankets. Only the soft glow from the fire and a few lanterns shone on the one canvas wall. It was enough light to see that this was Arthur’s tent, the small table with his journal and flower, his photographs on the wagon side. His smell on the blankets. You breathed in deeply.

A snort by your feet caused you to startle. Sitting up slowly, you saw Arthur slumped in a chair, his hat drawn over his face, arms crossed as he breathed evenly, the occasional snore breaking the silence. An strong and sharp pain made you hiss and, in turn, woke the outlaw from his slumber. 

“You’re awake,” he mumbled, barely awake himself as he sat up. 

“Regrettably…”

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Honestly? Not great,” you said, chuckling a little. “But I’ve had worse. Why am I here?”

“Thought you might like a real bed. Well, realer than your bedroll. We can put you out for the wolves, if ya like.” His teasing tone was back, but it was more strained than normal. He looked absolutely exhausted. 

“No, this is fine. It’s… nice.”

Silence fell again. You stared at a thread on the sheet while Arthur stared at you. Usually there was a party the night after a big score, everyone drinking and being merry. There was a strange lack of boisterous laughter, though, and you had the weird feeling it was your doing. 

“How did we make out?”

“Oh, we escaped,” he said, leaning back in the chair again. “But we’re trapped here awhile, there’ll be law crawlin’ everywhere for a few weeks.”

“How much?”

Not even your fixation on the money got him to crack a smile.

“Dunno.” Shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve been in here, makin’ sure you don’t die.”

Arthur’s behavior was bizarre. You hadn’t seen him behave this way when another gang member was injured, not even when John had nearly been lost last year, and it was starting to worry you. Was there something else you didn’t know about? Was your injury more serious than he was letting on? For a moment, you studied his face, the ache and shadows clear in the weak light, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw the barest sign of a light track down his cheek.

“Arthur…” 

It was such a soft whisper, you weren’t sure he had heard you at first. He lifted his eyes to meet yours. You tried desperately to read him for a second before finally caving.

“Arthur, what happened? Did someone not make it?”

At long last, he managed a short huff of air that might be mistaken for laughter. Shaking his head, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he ran his hands across his face, removing his hat and setting it on his wardrobe. When he looked at you again, he actually had a small smile, and relief had replaced what you had mistaken for grief.

“No, no, nothin’ like that.”

“So what’s the matter?”

He tilted his chin up, exhaling long and low towards the sky, seemingly contemplating something. It was quiet for an achingly long time. Another deep sigh and he brought his chin back down, meeting your gaze steadily.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he murmured. “I heard the shot, your scream… I thought you were gone for sure.”

Okay… you thought, still bewildered. We’ve almost lost people before. What makes me special?

“And I didn’t get the chance to tell you…” You had seen him struggle with words in the past, but this was different. It was almost as if his voice was physically fighting him on saying anything. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, truth be told. You mean-- That is, you’re very important-- That’s, well…”

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you realized what he was trying to say. You didn’t dare utter a word, hoping, begging him to just spit it out. You weren’t positive this was happening, as now you were almost certain you had actually died and this was the beginning of your personal heaven.

“I can’t lose you, darlin’.”

The tears spilled over and dripped down your cheeks. You couldn’t even feel the pain in your thigh as it felt like a major weight had been lifted off of you. Arthur was startled, concern growing once more on his face at your tears, but when you started to grin and laughter bubbled up, he relaxed and looked as embarrassed as a school boy, dropping his eyes and smiling himself.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me to hear,” you finally said, shaking your head at the silliness of it all. “I can’t lose you, either, Arthur. You mean the world to me.”

Slowly, the cowboy rose from his seat and approached the edge of the cot. You gingerly shifted yourself over to allow him to sit beside you, and he took the opportunity. You soaked in the other’s presence for just a moment. With the softest gaze you had seen from him, Arthur returned his attention to you. He lifted a hand to cup your face, his rough thumb stroking your cheek as he drank in your features, looking truly content for the first time. Gracefully and ever the gentleman, he tilted your face up to meet his as he carefully kissed you. It was light at first. He was testing the waters, not pushing too fast. But when you met him eagerly, he leaned in, hard. 

You didn’t dare breathe for the duration of the kiss, your heart a frightening combination of pounding and not beating at all. The taste of whiskey lingered fresh on his lips and left your mouth tingling. When Arthur pulled away, you shifted forward slightly, not wanting it to end. But, courteous as always, he pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead and then sat back again. Your eyes flickered all over his face. You were still unsure if you could catch your breath.

“Wanted to do that for a long time,” he muttered. All you could do was nod. Wow…

“Can you stay with me?” you blurted out. “Tonight?”

“O’ course,” he agreed. He tugged his boots off as you scooted as far over as you could, lifting the sheet for him to crawl into. Warmth radiated from his skin and it was like stepping into a comfortable bath as he wrapped his arms around you. You sighed into his chest, drinking in his smell with your face buried in him, hands gripping his shirt. The dull sting in your leg was in the background of your mind. It didn’t matter to you, though; you were safe here. And this wasn’t going to end any time soon.

[no-gorms]

You are the author whose works I re-read most frequently. Would you ever do a coda (or headcanons) for Cold Space, Warm Welcome? I love those space boys ���

Awwhh thank you! 🤩 I actually did have a coda-ish scene from Cold Space, Warm Welcome, and now an excuse to write it!

Steve/Tony, coda to Cold Space, Warm Welcome, fade to black (also on ao3)

Normally at this time of day Tony would have a few more hours left in him before he’d call it a night. But it’s a been long 24 hours, and there are limits to how long Tony can fire on all cylinders while in troubleshooting mode. By the time Rhodey closes the post-mortem, Tony thinks that he’d get a migraine if he had to look at another circuit board or codesheet.

“Anyone want to go up for drinks?” Bruce says. “Just to…”

“Yes, please,” Pepper says.

“I’m game,” Sam agrees.

Tony doesn’t even need to beg off. Once glance at his face and the crew’s post-battle conversation releases him without comment, allowing him the painless exit that he so badly wants. He stands up, rubbing a knuckle against one eye, as the others start a friendly argument about what ‘drinks’ specifically means, and if coffee counts or is at all sensible when everyone’s already crashing.

Before Tony leaves the room, he glances back one more time. Steve meets his eye, the way he always does, and Tony mouths a silent, “’Night.” Steve reciprocates with a nod and a small smile.

Leave taken, Tony lets his legs carry him all the way to his room.

His eyes are open, but they might as well not be for how he zones out the whole journey; he only snaps back to awareness when he realizes that someone (Bucky) left his blanket on the floor in their rush to answer the morning’s alarm.

Tony considers leaving the blanket where it is, then sighs and drapes it back over the bed.

There are many different kinds of exhaustion, though one of the most annoying is when the body and mind are out of sync. Tony’s body is ready to crash, but his mind still in fight mode, not yet convinced that the ship is out of peril, because what if! What if they’d pushed the ship’s reactor to the limit, or hadn’t shaken the hostiles off their tail as they thought, and so on and so on?

But the Iron Advance is quiet. In need of repairs, but quiet.

Tony sits on his bed for a few minutes, and tries to distract his brain with an equally annoying evergreen tune that’s randomly popped up in his head.

There’s a knock at the door.

Tony glances at his communicator automatically, but he hasn’t missed any messages. He’s too wired to be confused, so he gets up to answer the door without a single grumbled curse.

Which is probably a good thing, because it’s Steve on the other side of the door.

Steve, who’s standing at angle from the doorway, like a page half-turned. The good former-Captain is broad enough to fill just about any doorway on the Iron Advance like a battering ram with those damned shoulders of his, but right now he’s barely filling half of this particular doorway, and there’s a beat before he meets Tony’s eye.

It takes Tony a second, but that’s okay. Tony’s almost always a half-second slow in understanding Steve, because of the unusual space he fills in Tony’s mind and world.

“Yeah.” Tony backs up, allowing Steve to enter. “It’s pretty much the mess you’d expect.”

“So’s mine, if it makes you feel any better.” Steve’s eye immediately goes to the maintenance arm, still half-unfolded from its bay, before trailing to Tony’s crates in the corner, all of them mismatched and colorful and covered with stickers from their travels. He doesn’t ignore Bucky’s side of the room, but it’s obvious where his interest is.

There’s a chair that Tony can offer, but he won’t.

Fact is, Steve’s never been in Tony’s room before.

Dating while living on the same ship was always going to be strange and boundary-slipping, but they’ve managed so far. ‘Dates’ are formally-demarcated pockets of time, occasionally spent off the ship but most of the time on it. When on the ship, they space walk, or reserve an area of the ship just to themselves. It’s a work in progress, and they’ve never visited the others’ room beyond seeing the other off at the end of each date. (Actual making out is done elsewhere; the observation deck in particular has been excellent for it.)

Tony’s even avoided doing maintenance in the spare room – now Steve’s room, effectively, until they finish renovations – by handing it off to one of the others. Not because he’s afraid, but because he knows himself and he’d get distracted studying every single thing in there that he won’t get the job done.

“You said your arm is fine,” Tony says.

“It is. It is,” Steve insists, when Tony gives him a look. He turns back to the rest of the room curiously. “I thought you kept spare suit in here.”

“Under the bed. Folded up, though.”

Steve actually looks under the bed, though when Tony laughs, he straightens back up with an affronted scowl. “You weren’t serious?”

“No, I’m serious, it is there. But.” Tony steps towards Steve, claiming that pocket of warmth that would be the circle of Steve’s arms if he were to lift them. He looks up into Steve’s ridiculous eyes, and is aware that his mouth is quivering from the effort to stop himself from smiling.

Steve is often direct, and alarmingly so. But other times he isn’t, and is for some reason only able to exude sincerity and hope in being understood.

“You’re not here to look at my suit.” Tony puts his hands on Steve’s waist. The muscle there jumps, as does Steve’s throat. “You’re here – I mean, you literally walked all the way down here, on purpose, because you want to have—”

“We don’t have to,” Steve says quickly.

“I know. You’d be happy with anything. And it’s been a long day.”

Steve relaxes. “Yes, that, exactly.”

“You still did it knowing it was a possibility, though.” Tony’s full-on grinning now. “What about Bucky? You got a thing about getting interrupted?”

“Uh.” Steve’s mouth drags sideways in a sheepish wince. “He’s in my room. I said that if I don’t come back in an hour, he should, uh… stay there.”

“Amazing.” Tony means that; he’s impressed. He knows that Steve is not above having base wants, but getting carried away while pawing at each other isn’t the same as making a clearheaded request, which is exactly what this is. “There’s being forward, and then there’s being—”

“Tony!” Steve laughs and dips his head forward, bringing his temple to brush against Tony’s. Tony’s hair is a little longer now, some strands of which fall over Steve’s eye, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Steve’s fingers trail feather-light lines down Tony’s forearms, before coming to rest at his elbows. They stand together like that for a while, breathing in, not yet kissing.

Steve swallows again, his Adam’s apple bobbing large and dramatic at the edge of Tony’s vision. Steve’s holding himself still but Tony gets the impression of nerves and anticipation, which in turn has excitement flickering up Tony’s spine.

Tony turns his head, guiding his lips across Steve’s cheek until he finds his mouth. Steve sighs and kisses back, while his fingers dig tight and eager around Tony’s elbows.

[lunaverseimagine]

Didn’t Think You’d Remember

Prompt: I don’t know if you remember me

Pairing: Ron x Reader

Summary: Reader has been thinking about Ron ever since she first saw him in Diagon Alley. Now that she’s finally made the quidditch team for her house, will he notice her? (Note: y/h = your house, reader not in Gryffindor)

Warnings: None? (Unless - spoiler - kissing counts? xD )

Word count: 1.9k

Fic:

You jumped up and down, muddy, soaking wet, and absolutely ecstatic. You couldn’t wait to tell your friends - you’d just been selected as a Y/h chaser! You had tried out for the team every year, never losing hope, practising whenever you could. Being on a quidditch team had been your dream ever since you found out what the word ‘quidditch’ meant, and you couldn’t believe your hard work had finally paid off; you were in fifth year and you’d made it!

Your team’s practises began the very next day. They were gruelling, tiring, and everything you had hoped for. Apparently training was even harder than it would normally be this time of year, because your captain wanted you to be prepared for your first match - which was against Gryffindor. When you’d found out who the new Gryffindor keeper was, you couldn’t help the mix of excitement and nerves that danced in your stomach.

The first time you saw him was in Diagon Alley before your first year at Hogwarts. As a muggle-born, you were absolutely awestruck by everything around you. The first thing you did was have your muggle money exchanged for wizard money by a goblin... goblin! To be honest the creatures had creeped you out a bit, and they still do, but you soon got over that when you started exploring all the magical shops. Even the seemingly mundane items, like your History of Magic book, absolutely intrigued you, and you were sure that you were walking around with your mouth hanging open the whole afternoon.

Of particular interest to you were the wizarding families - it was obvious who had grown up around magic and who hadn’t. For one thing, the wizarding families were all wearing quite peculiar clothes, and for another, they were looking at the whacky shops as though they were as normal as a Greggs or a WHSmith. It was when you neared Ollivander’s, where you’d been advised to get your wand, that you saw several redheads, obviously witches and wizards, chatting and laughing outside. You politely squeezed past them to get inside the shop where you saw another two redheads - a boy about your age, and a short, kind-faced woman whom you guessed was his mother. The boy was flicking a wand in the air with a look of determination that you found endearing. Eventually Mr Ollivander gestured for the wand back - it didn’t seem to be doing anything - and the boy glanced over at you with a shy, slightly embarrassed smile. When he was handed the next wand he did the same flicking motion, but this time you saw a glimmer all around his body that looked.. well, magical. The cutest smile you’d ever seen lit up his whole face, although it dimmed a bit when his mum tipped the minimal contents of her purse onto the counter and had just enough coins to buy the wand.

Since then, you’d heard of Ron’s endeavours throughout the years at Hogwarts: that game of wizard’s chess in first year where he nearly died, going into the chamber of secrets in second to year to save his sister who nearly died, that mysterious event in third year where he broke his leg and probably nearly died, and let’s not forget fourth year where he was one of the four treasures in the bottom of the lake to be found in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament (although you don’t think he nearly died that time). And let’s not forget flying his car to school - you knew it was reckless, but at the same time you admired the courage and resourcefulness, and feared that he would be expelled. You were so relieved to see him wolfing down breakfast in the Great Hall the next day.

Despite your attentiveness to activities, you were sure he’d never noticed you. There was the occasional shared smile in the corridor or in classes that you had together, but you thought that was more out of politeness than any specific feeling towards you.

All that was going to change though - he was bound to notice you in a few weeks’ time because you would be trying to get the quaffle through the very hoops that he would be defending. You felt the butterflies in your stomach again.

--

The day of the match had finally arrived. Your training had been absolutely brutal but you were grateful, because at least now you felt a little prepared. After a quick pep talk in the changing rooms, you followed your captain onto the pitch to loud cheers coming from the stands. The Gryffindor team were approaching the centre where Madam Hooch stood, and as you neared them you could’ve sworn Ron shot a smile in your direction. You brushed it off - he was probably just being friendly before the game.

The captains shook hands and Hooch’s whistle sounded. Thoughts of Ron immediately disappeared from your mind as you focussed on trying to gain possession of the quaffle. You didn’t have to wait long - thanks to a bludger heading towards the Gryffindor chaser the ball had been dropped, and you were perfectly poised to catch it. You flew straight for the hoops, feeling the wind rush through your hair, checking around you for any bludgers or players who might compromise your flight. Surprisingly it was smooth sailing to the posts, and you found yourself face to face with him. You shot Ron a cheeky smile - you were always most confident when on your broom - and faked a throw into the right hoop which successfully fooled Ron and allowed you to score through the centre. You heard the stadium erupt with cheers.

Ron had a shocked expression on his face, like he hadn’t quite comprehended what had just happened, and you gave him a wink before flying a celebratory lap of the pitch.

During the rest of the match you had four more attempts at a goal: two successful and two blocked. In the end it was Harry who caught the snitch, leading inevitably to a Gryffindor win, but you were in good spirits regardless. Three goals scored in your first proper match! You’d talked your parents’ ears off about quidditch, and while they still didn’t quite understand the concept (“Why is it 150 points for the snitch? Isn’t that a bit much?”) you knew they’d be delighted to read the letter you were going to send later telling them about your goals.

--

There was a brilliant feast in the Great Hall that evening to celebrate the first match of the season. You took great pleasure in eating one of every type of food that was laid out before you. Your appetite was a force to be reckoned with and your friends always seemed quite impressed at how much you managed to eat every meal time.

As you were making your way through a delicious pumpkin pie, you noticed your friends looking at something behind you. Turning, you saw a familiar face.

“Y/n,” Ron smiled at you. You were surprised that he knew your name, but hoped you’d managed to keep the shock off your face. “Mind if I take a seat?” The people on your left had already scooted along the bench to give him room.

“Of course,” you smiled back, trying to suppress the butterflies that had once again made themselves at home in your stomach.

“Well played today,” he complimented you as he helped himself to a generous serving of chocolate eclairs. If any student in Hogwarts had an appetite to rival yours, it would be Ron.

“Thanks,” you said breezily, hoping he wouldn’t see the blush in your cheeks, “you too.” You busied yourself with finishing off your dessert while Ron spoke to the other people on your table. They seemed very happy to engage in conversation - it appeared it wasn’t just you who thought highly of him. You loved how friendly and open to conversation he was, even with non-Gryffindors. When you’d both finished your food and the hall started emptying, Ron asked if you’d like to walk around the grounds with him. You tried not to agree too quickly.

--

There was an autumn chill in the air but at least it wasn’t raining - not that any weather would stop you from spending time with Ron (who knew your name! and wanted to spend time with you!). You hugged your cloak around you and listened intently to Ron talking about his favourite quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, who just so happened to be your favourite team too.

You’d just finished discussing which Cannons chaser you thought had had the best season when you reached the edge of the lake. You both stopped walking and took a moment to just look at each other. His eyes wore a soft expression, and his hair was slightly ruffled from the breeze, which made him look more adorable than usual. 

“To be honest, I didn’t think you remembered me.” You said quite suddenly, not even knowing yourself that you were going to speak.

“I’ve been thinking about you since I saw you in Ollivanders,” Ron spoke gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “You- you didn’t look put off when you saw my Mum emptying… Well anyway, I thought you seemed really decent.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Ron using ‘decent’ as a flirtatious - is that what it was? - word.

“Anyone who cares about that isn’t worth your time,” you replied adamantly, “especially with all the amazing stuff you’ve done over the years.” Now it was Ron’s turn to blush.

“I haven’t really done anything, Hermione’s the brains and Harry’s done all the hard stuff, I just, sort of, tag along.” Is that really what he thought of himself? 

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t pull away, so you took his hand in yours and looked straight at him with an earnest expression on your face. “I bet Harry wouldn’t have been able to do half that stuff without you by his side, without your courage giving him strength.”

Ron searched your eyes, trying to work out if you really meant what you were saying. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, because the next thing you knew he was lowering his face towards yours. He paused, barely a centimetre away, as if waiting for consent. You happily obliged, closing the rest of the distance between you.

The butterflies turned into fireworks. You ran your hands through his hair - you’ve been wanting to do that for so long - and it was just as soft as you’d imagined. You gave it a gentle tug and he let out a quiet moan, grazing his teeth against your bottom lip. You pressed your body against his, revelling in the feeling of being so close, of being one, with this boy you’d been thinking about since you were 11. His hands were on your waist, holding you tightly, and you knew that he’d been thinking about you for a while too. You’d only had one proper conversation with Ron, but your lips were so in tune with his that it was as though you’d been doing this forever.

Eventually you came apart, your heavy breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” you remarked. 

With his forehead touching yours, Ron grinned at you and said, “Y/n, that was bloody brilliant.”

End

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed :3 Please feel free to send imagine requests to my ask, and if you liked this please lmk by liking/reblogging/following (it’s super encouraging!)

[galahadwilder]

Next to Me

MLB Secret Santa

for @obliviousblondesunite, as part of the @mlsecretsanta exchange.

Blondes shared this prompt back in October, completely unrelated to MLB Secret Santa:

Aged up, post reveal, post hawkmoth, established relationship AU inspired by the song “Next to Me” by Imagine Dragons. Adrien is depressed and thinks little of himself sometimes, as Chat and Adrien. Marinette continues to help him through his troubles.

*

It’s been a while since Adrien’s been out of the apartment in people clothes instead of cat ones. A little over a month, actually. He hasn’t been able to look at himself in the mirror; hasn’t been able to sleep. He keeps staring at the ceiling, wondering, if everyone was right, if he could’ve known, if... if he could’ve done something earlier.

The only reason he’s out today is that they’re running out of food. Marinette did that on purpose; after the fourth night in a row where he woke her up with the sound of his sobbing, he knew he couldn’t keep hurting her like this—she has so much patience, so much love, and he can’t bear to keep testing it. He asked her to stop coddling him, to stop letting him wallow. So she let the pantry and the fridge run dry, and gave him two options: either he did the grocery shopping, or she was going to take him to a restaurant.

Restaurant meant more people. Restaurant meant paparazzi. Restaurant meant sitting in public where anyone could see him, unable to leave, unable to duck out, while reporters bombarded him and his girlfriend with questions and camera flashes and accusations and it’s an easy decision.

He holds the shopping basket hooked around his forearms like Dorothy with her basket full of yappy dog and the linoleum aisles are yellow brick road. Plagg is hugging his chest and purring quietly, helping keep him calm, as he walks down the starch aisle.

“Hey...”

Adrien’s hand freezes, hovering over the box of rice. The fluorescent lights burn overhead, a ripping noise in his ears. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—

“Aren’t you Adrien Agreste?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as his breath goes cold in his throat, and he clutches his jacket closer around his body with shaking hands. The problem with having his face plastered all over the city for five years: it’s impossible to go anywhere without at least one person recognizing him, no matter how much he wants to just fade away.

“Please,” he whimpers. “I’m just trying to do my grocery shopping.”

The woman in the red wool jacket tilts her head, looking at him with concern in her eyes. “Monsieur Agreste, I’m so sorry about—”

He hears the name again—that man’s name—and his basket slips from his fingers. His ears are assaulted by the crash of plastic striking the floor, and everything is too much, too bright and too loud and too—he has to get out. He has to get out.

“Monsieur Agreste?”

Unthinking, he bolts.

The part of his brain that’s not operating on pure panic regrets it immediately. The grocery store is too large to escape and yet simultaneously too small—the shelves are crushing in on him, squeezing on his lungs, and everyone is staring now at the wild man sprinting toward the exit. But that part of his brain isn’t in control. He’s gone feral, a cornered animal, a shampooed cat launching itself from its owner’s arms. He stumbles into the checkout line, bowling over a patron, and nearly slams into the exit door before it slides open—too slow, too slow.

He barely makes it out of the front door of the supermarket without falling, stumbling around the corner toward the dumpster. He collapses against the side of it with a plastic smack, reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket. Fumbling fingers rip open the cigarette box. He jams it between his lips, desperate, trembling, then snags a match. Scrapes it against the brickwork.

Too slow. No flame.

“Kid, breathe,” Plagg says from inside his pocket.

He wants to. He wants to breathe in hot smoke, he wants to sear his lungs, he wants to feel something that isn’t shame or fear. But the match isn’t lighting.

“Come on,” Plagg says, poking his head out, his disproportionate emerald eyes slow blinking in Adrien’s direction. “What does Tikki always say? Count all the blue things you see.”

Adrien twists his head, looking away from the Kwami. He—he doesn’t—this panic, it feels right, he doesn’t want to stop. He deserves this, he needs this—

“Monsieur,” the security guard looming over him says. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

Adrien drops his head and cries.

*

They hold him in the security office for over an hour before they realize that they can’t prove he’s stolen anything. He spends the whole time curled up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, unable to speak and waiting for his heartbeat to calm. Desperate for nicotine, but every time he tries to reach for his cigarettes someone glares at him and he freezes.

Without words, he can’t explain what had happened—can’t tell them why he’d run, can’t ask for forgiveness. When they ban him from the market and throw him out, it almost comes as a relief.

Almost, because... what is he going to tell Marinette?

He’d gone out—gone through everything—and he’d failed. Hadn’t managed to get a single euro worth of food. They’re either going to go hungry tonight... or he’s going to have to brave a restaurant. He’s going to have to brave an entire evening of people glaring at him, and spitting on him, and screaming at him for things his father did. And he can bear that, he can, but Marinette deserves better—better than both of those options.

Marinette deserves better than him.

*

He touches down on the balcony of the apartment he’d bought for them before everything went down, back when the Agreste name opened doors instead of closing them, and lets the transformation release, leather ripping green from his skin.

“Adrien—” Plagg says, concern in his voice.

“Don’t,” Adrien croaks, stumbling through the sliding door. He collapses into the couch cushions, burying his face in the pillow. “Don’t wanna hear it.” He hugs it close, pressing the pillow to his eyes, trying to hide his tears.

He hears Plagg breathe in as if he’s about to say something, but then he stops. There’s a rustle, and Adrien starts as the blanket begins to move up his body, tugged upward by the tiny cat Kwami.

“Thanks,” Adrien mumbles.

Plagg grunts, and Adrien feels the minuscule weight of the Kwami’s tiny body settle onto his back, where he begins to purr. Adrien calms, letting the vibrations of the god of destruction rumble through his body, forcing back the molten fire from his nerves.

“Still want a cigarette?” Plagg says.

Adrien scrapes his face against the pillow, feeling the prickle of his unshaven face against the velvet covering. “No, I—I think I’m okay,” he says.

“Good,” Plagg responds, standing up and stretching his paws along Adrien’s back, his tail whipping restlessly up and down Adrien’s eighth vertebra. “Destruction may make you Cancer-resistant, but that doesn’t mean cancer-proof, and tumors taste like...” He shudders. “Smarties.”

“When have you ever eaten Smarties?” Adrien mumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Never. That’s not the point,” Plagg says.

“Hmm,” Adrien responds, then yanks the blanket over his head, ending the conversation.

*

Adrien wakes up he’s not quite sure how long later to the feeling of tiny claws poking his cheek.

He groans. “There’s cheese in the fridge,” he says, trying to swat Plagg away. He’d made sure of that—even if there’s nothing else in the house, Plagg has his goddamn cheese.

“No cheese,” Plagg says, poking him again. “Heads up. I smell Tikki.”

Adrien’s eyes shoot open. “Shit,” he hisses.

“Yeah,” Plagg says, narrowing his eyes at his charge. “Shit is right.”

The door begins to creak open, and Adrien smells it too—cinnamon and passionfruit, Marinette’s soap and shampoo, mingling with human sweat (stress sweat specifically, he can taste that particular hormone’s cloying meatiness in the air thanks to senses bleedover), and the warm, chocolatey undertones of the Ladybug Kwami inside her purse. Adrien jerks upward on the couch, bending his spine, as his gaze locks onto the burning blue of Marinette’s eyes.

“Hey, Kitty,” she says. “I’m home.”

The cat in him wants to run to her, to tackle her, to curl up around her feet and trip her into him and tangle up in her and laugh and purr and feel her fingers on his scalp. The other cat in him wants to bolt, to hide in the back corner of the linen closet buried under the towels where it’s dark and quiet and her disappointed eyes can’t reach.

He’s not feeling very human today.

“Did you get dinner?” she says, unslinging her purse from her shoulder and dumping it gracelessly on the front table. Even after all these years, his Lady is a messy disaster of a person, her brain too occupied with the miracles she makes with charcoal and thread to remember that things have places they are supposed to go. It’s okay—he’s found he enjoys cleaning, so he’s always happy to pick up after his messy genius.

Except lately he hasn’t been. He... can’t.

Marinette turns to him, and her eyes soften. “Adrien,” she says, kneeling down next to him, “you promised me you’d go out today.”

He buries his face in the pillow—can’t bear to meet her eyes. “I did,” he mumbles. “Got to the grocery store, and—and...”

“Somebody recognized you.”

“Mmhmm.”

Marinette wraps her fingers around his palm, slowly enough for him to pull away if he needs to. He doesn’t. He whimpers at her touch, at the way she still makes everything burn and shine and it’s blinding, he can’t bear her love, her forgiveness.

“Pity or blame?” she says.

“Pity,” he says, his fingers brushing the back of her hand as they twitch nervously.

“I’m sorry,” she says. He hears her shift a bit. “Tikki? Can you grab Littlebug please? Adrien needs to cuddle.”

“Of course,” Tikki chirps, and Adrien hears the zip of air breaking around the Kwami’s body as she rockets into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get dinner,” Adrien says, turning his face, letting the rough material of the pillow drag across his cheek. “I guess...” He breathed in, then out. “I guess we’ve got to go out?”

Marinette purses her lips and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “But we don’t have to go somewhere public.”

*

When Ladybug and Chat Noir alight on the balcony of Marinette’s childhood bedroom, Sabine Cheng is waiting for them, lounging on the old sunbathing chairs. “Bonsoir, pumpkin!” she says up with a lazy wave, then beams at Chat. “Hello, Adrien dear,” she says.

Chat’s chest contracts. He doesn’t deserve that look in her eyes, the affection she’s directing at him.

“Bonsoir, Maman!” Ladybug responds, kneeling down to hug her mother. “Sorry again for the late call.”

“Oh, you know your father and I are always happy to have you two,” she says. Then she stands up and reaches for a plate on the small table, piled high with cookies and cheese. “You should get comfortable,” she says. “I got food for your... Kami?”

“Kwami,” Ladybug corrects. “Tikki, spots off!”

Light zips up her body, Tikki spiraling out of her earrings.

“Nyí heó, Zen nyiúzý!” Tikki says.

Sabine bows to the tiny god. “Nyí heó, Thi mò,” she says. “You are welcome in my home.”

Tikki snorts. “Thank you!” she says. “You don’t have to be so formal.” And then, as if to prove he point, she shoves an entire chocolate chip cookie into her mouth.

Sabine stares at Tikki for a moment with something like reverence, then turns to Chat. “I have some cheese for the little cat,” she says. “You said he likes Camembert?”

Chat swallows.

And, bless her, Marinette catches his hand in her own. “You don’t have to,” she says. “Who do you want to be right now?”

He doesn’t want to be anyone right now, is the truth. He wants to take a break from being Adrien, from being Chat, from being. But he doesn’t want her to hear that.

“Yours,” he croaks. “I want to be yours.”

She smiles. “Always,” she says, flicking his bell. “No matter which face you’re wearing.”

Sabine melts.

*

Dinner is more than a little awkward. Adrien doesn’t really want to talk; he deflects any questions directed his way with grunts and noncommittal answers. Sabine, Marinette, and Tikki are starting to look at him in confusion and worry, while Tom keeps talking—blabbering, really—trying to fill the silence. (Plagg, meanwhile, is trying to pretend like all he cares about is gorging himself on the cheese spread in the middle of the table, but Adrien’s known him for long enough to tell that the Kwami is worried about him.)

“Adrien, sweetie,” Sabine says, “are you all right? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

Adrien despondently pushes the peas around his plate with his fork. “Yeah, I’m... fine,” he says. “Actually... I, uh, I’ll be right back. Kinda... need a smoke.”

“Use the balcony,” Marinette says, averting her eyes.

Adrien nods. He stands up, walks upstairs toward Marinette’s bedroom.

“He’s smoking now?” Sabine whispers as he presses open the trapdoor.

He stops. He shouldn’t have been able to hear her—if he’d been anyone else, he wouldn’t have. But being Chat Noir for six years had altered his physiology in more than one way; sensitive ears mean he can hear things no normal human should be able to.

“Maman, he just lost his entire family,” Marinette responds. “He needs time—”

“I was a wreck for a month when we cut Papa out of our lives,” Tom adds. “Remember?”

Adrien shakes his head and continues up to the balcony. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of this.

The cigarette lights easily this time, and he sucks in the burning smoke, searing his lungs as he looks out across the Seine toward the lights of the Eiffel Tower. It feels like the whole city is arrayed before him, and he remembers similar views—the city underwater, drowning; the hordes of kissing zombies filling the streets; the inferno, every building in the Paris wrapped in ghostly cerulean flames; the moon plummeting, crashing downward as Pegase frantically tried to evacuate the city—the way Viperion collapsed afterward, after three times as long as Aspik’s worst Second Chance experience.

All Gabriel. All Adrien. This was his family, his father, his fault. He could’ve stopped this if he’d known. If he’d bothered to look.

He doesn’t deserve Marinette. He doesn’t deserve Ladybug, or Plagg, or Tom and Sabine. He doesn’t deserve their love, their forgiveness.

He looks down to the street below, considering.

Then the trapdoor opens behind him, and he hears the familiar footfalls of his princess.

“Kitty?” she says, soft. “You okay?”

Adrien has no idea what to say.

Marinette steps forward, hugs him from behind. “Talk to me,” she says.

Adrien breathes in, staring away. “I just...” He wipes his eyes. This burden... she deserves better. He’s not sure where to start. “This is your family,” he says. That’s good. That’s safe. “I never had that.” He looks up, bathing his face in the starlight. “Even when I had Mère, she wasn’t...” He swallows. “This isn’t... I’m an intruder, you know? No matter how much your family welcomes me, I’m not a Dupain-Cheng.”

He feels Marinette inhale. “Well,” she says, rubbing her cheek against his back. “That’s easy enough to fix.”

“What?” Adrien says, weakly, barely noticing that she’s already let go of his stomach. He turns to find her on one knee, holding up a black velvet box.

She flips it open, and inside is a rose gold ring—a perfect replica of her version of the Cat Miraculous.

Adrien’s entire body locks into place.

“Adrien Graham de Vanily,” Marinette says. “You are... the kindest, most giving person I have ever known. Since the day we met, you have been by my side through the worst that the world can throw at us.” She’s smiling. She’s—she’s smiling. “It has been my honor, and my privilege, to grow alongside you, and to see you go from a brash, lonely boy into the brave and loving man you are today.” She swallows, looks away. “You are... you’re the person I trust more than...” She shakes her head. “I’m... rambling.”

Adrien can’t speak. His heart is slamming against his sternum like it’s trying to tear itself out of his chest, his hands are frozen to the table.

“Your old family was crap,” she says. “But... I want to build a new one. With you.”

He swallows, blinking away tears.

She hiccups. “Adrien Graham de Vanily,” she whispers, holding up the ring. “Will you marry me?”

Adrien breaks. “Why?” he chokes out.

Marinette’s eyes go wide, horror writing across her face. “Kitty?”

“Why do you still love me?” he sobs. “Marinette, I’m—I’m a mess!” He waves a hand, frantic. “I—I’ve barely left the apartment in weeks, I can’t sleep, I can’t get out of bed, I...” He drops to his knees, taking her hands between his. “You—you have dreams, Mari, and—and being with me will ruin them.”

She’s staring at him, horror in her eyes.

“Marinette,” he says, caressing her cheek. “Princess. You—” He chokes. “You deserve better than to have to take care of—”

“I spent six years taking care of Paris,” she interrupts. “After Hawkmoth? Looking after one self-destructive kitty cat is practically a vacation. Besides,” she says, reaching up and scritching her nails across his scalp, “you spent all those years taking care of me when I needed it.” She smiles. “That’s what you do when you’re in love.”

His breath catches in his throat. “What if—what if I never get better?” he gasps.

“You will,” Marinette says, cupping his cheeks and pressing her forehead to his. “You’re strong. You survived eighteen years living with the worst parent I’ve ever seen and you still came out kind.” She brushes his bangs out of his face. “It’s okay if you can’t believe in yourself right now—but Adrien, My Prince, I believe in you.”

Adrien collapses into Marinette’s shoulder, sobbing. “Yes,” he says. “My answer is yes.”

[7team7]

I like-like you

AU: Zuko becomes the Fire Lord at an even younger age and when he finally meets Chief Hakoda’s daughter, he is struck by her beauty, power, and poise.

Or, Zuko has his first crush and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. 4.8k words

A/N: hi HAHA I’m still very dedicated to the sasusaku fandom, but I wanted to post zutara fics too now that I’ve been rewatching avatar hope no one minds T-T so obviously this is my first zutara fic hope it turned out ok!

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Zuko sighed as he dropped to sit on the foot of his bed, taking down his hair and removing some of his outer layers of clothing. He was in trouble.

Fire Lord Zuko, the young and pure Zuko who had been thrust into power after his father and sister met their mutual demise in an explosive Agni Kai. Zuko had sustained injury, resulting in his prominent scar, when he tried to put a stop to their duel. But the battle raged on, both family members too incensed by uncut ambition to listen to reason. Uncle had to drag him away from the scene to protect him further. It made sense that two of the strongest fire benders would be the ones to extinguish the other’s light.

Fire Lord Zuko, who wasn’t ready to take power and still heavily leaned on his uncle’s wisdom and support. Fire Lord Zuko, who was hardly an adult and still had plenty of growing up to do. Fire Lord Zuko, who was panicking at the strange feelings bubbling up inside of him — his first crush.

He had been notified that Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe was a formidable, but modest man and would be traveling with his two children as his main companions. The two leaders had yet to have the pleasure of meeting, so Zuko could not have predicted this, could not have prepared himself to be faced with the most beautiful girl in all the nations.

If someone had just told him, “By the way, Katara is stunning and will rip your insides apart both literally and figuratively, so watch out,” then maybe Zuko could have practiced his introductions more carefully and avoided stuttering like a bumbling fool.

But he was born unlucky, cursed to be...like this.

“Chief Hakoda,” he had greeted easily upon the family’s arrival, “I’m pleased to meet you and welcome you to the Fire Nation. I hope your travels were smooth.” But as the party drew closer, close enough where Zuko noticed the particular shade of blue in the girl’s eyes, he stumbled. “I see you’ve brought your...your, um...your family. They are also most, uh, honored. Honored guests. Your two children. Both of them.”  

Hakoda must have chalked his bumbling speech up to nerves — Zuko was so very young — and he chose to greet him warmly.

Oh spirits, he knew how to greet other leaders, but how was he supposed to greet...a girl?

Luckily, her brother gave a rather informal introduction and promptly asked where he could locate a snack or, if Zuko was feeling generous, a seven course meal. “Oh yeah, and this is my sister, Katara.”

“You’ll have to excuse my brother. If you’re wondering, yes, he’s always like this.”

Zuko was wary of sisters, he had been royally screwed over by his own. He was even wary of girls in general after seeing how crazy his sister and her friends were.

But he could tell immediately that Sokka and Katara were dramatically different from Azula and himself. His heart squeezed a bit at the thought of what could have been, but he pushed it aside and transitioned into the welcoming host that he had been training to be. He really was glad to have them there — it was a true benchmark of the peace and cooperation spreading across all four nations.

Thankfully Uncle, always there to save the day, came around the corner and offered tea like it was the most natural thing in the world. (And to him, it probably was.)

“How was your trip?” he asked warmly while guiding them in the right direction. “Not too bad, I hope. It must be nice not getting seasickness!”

Hakoda chuckled, “Yes, it wasn’t anything that we’re not used to. The Fire Nation is a bit far, but the journey was worth it.” Crossing the open ocean with his two children was really only missing one thing.

Pulling a piece of jerky from seemingly out of nowhere, Sokka joked, “Yeah, sometimes the water got a little jerky,” and then remembering where he was he became serious, “but nothing the Water Tribe can’t handle.” He took a bite of his snack and Katara rolled her eyes.

“Even when the sea isn’t feeling kind, Sokka and I are able to steer easily thanks to Katara’s help.”

Zuko spoke up, “Oh, are you a ship captain?”

Katara smiled at him, “No, I’m a waterbender.”

Duh. Of course she was a waterbender. But also, why didn’t anyone tell him that not only was she pretty but she was a waterbender too? Those lengthy council meetings couldn’t have included just a little debrief on this girl?

“Oh. That’s cool. I’m a firebender.”

“Makes sense.”

He needed to get it together before someone would be able to waterbend the sweat off his palms.

Thankfully the conversation was cut short by their arrival to the tea room. Surrounded by red, black, gold, and the smell of herbs, Zuko felt instantly comforted. As they settled around a low table, he found himself wondering what Katara would look like in Fire Nation red. Probably cute.

He was shaken from his daydream by his uncle asking the room if they preferred jasmine or chamomile. “Even though this is supposed to be an official trip, I hope you can still enjoy some more leisurely activities during your stay. All work without play makes your day become gray,” he said wisely.

“Tonight, we have a banquet planned in your honor,” Zuko chimed in, “but the meetings tomorrow should only take up part of the day.”

“I’d hope so,” said Hakoda good-naturedly, “this tea is fantastic and I’ll need some more in the coming days.”

“It’s Uncle’s specialty, I’m glad you enjoy it. We’ll have to give you a tour of the grounds.”

“Speaking of a tour, wouldn’t you say the garden is very nice? Rather romantic don’t you think? Why don’t you take Katara there, she’d certainly enjoy the, uh, water in the pond!” Iroh wore many hats: loving uncle, wise advisor, fierce warrior, and now, insightful matchmaker.

But Katara didn’t sense the awkwardness, her face lit up at the mention of water, as if they hadn’t spent ages at sea. “A pond! I’d love to see it! Oh, and I’m sure the garden is lovely.”

“Excellent! Zuko, why don’t you guide her there? I can show our other guests the weaponry.” This time, it was Sokka’s turn to light up like a firecracker.

While normally Zuko would find it very sensible of his uncle to delegate tasks like this, he was feeling a little resentful that he was forced into a situation that made him so unbelievably nervous.

Alas, he had a duty to perform. He stood up and gestured, “Let’s go.”

Katara made small talk the whole way, asking questions about the palace and its history and the weather. Zuko was relieved that he knew all the answers. He should show her the library too.

“Do you come to this pond often?” She cringed, feeling like she was dropping a pick up line, but she really did want to know why Iroh suggested it out of all places.

“Not so much lately, but I used to sit in the gardens all the time with my mother.”

She didn’t respond except to smile at him with a genuine, meaningful warmth in her eyes.

The garden was even more breathtaking than she expected it to be, and the glittering pond was just begging her to come closer. It was so lush and just different from what she was used to (snow, snow, and more snow) that she couldn’t help but let her mouth hang open in awe.

Zuko led her to the usual spot without thinking much of it. She gasped in delight when she saw the little creatures gliding through the pond, “And just what do we have here?”

“They’re turtleducks. They’re cute, but don’t mess with them too much. The mother turtleduck can be feisty.”

But Katara was only half listening, having fun making little waves to gently lift the babies. They kept swimming up to the edge of the pond, quacking as if they were saying, more, more, more! Their mother watched safely from the other side of the pond, but she never swam over to intervene. “They are really cute!”

“Oh,” he said, sounding clearly surprised, “they like you.”

.

The dinner that night was festive and bright, but left Katara feeling pretty tired. While foreign, the Fire Nation palace was rather comfortable. After such a long trip to get there, the riot of new sights, sounds, and smells, and perhaps a little too much food all at once, gave Katara the sense that she’d sleep easily that night.

She had a certain amount of trepidation visiting the Fire Nation, but it really was nothing but pleasant so far. It didn’t hurt that the Fire Lord, rather than being old and stuffy and weird, was very cute. He was probably also, uh, really good at his job and at firebending. Or something.

As she settled into the fluffy pillows and drew the deep red comforter closer, she thought that if she saw him in her dreams, she certainly would not mind. She counted turtleducks in her head before drifting off.

.

While Uncle’s company was normally more than enough (and on a bad day, too much), but the morning after meeting the lively Water Tribe family felt distinctly empty when they had yet to arrive at the table.

Zuko sipped his tea, not yet cold, but it felt like so much time had passed since he sat down that it might as well have been. “Where are they? It’s been...many minutes! Do you think they just decided to jump ship and head back to the Southern Water Tribe?”

“Patience, patience. I’m sure once the scent of breakfast and the greatest tea in all four nations wafts over to their rooms, they will come running.”

“Maybe we should wake them up.”

“Why the rush?”

“Shouldn’t we at least check? What if they died?”

“I would hope not.”

“What if a faction is conspiring against us and killed all of them — and will frame us for the murder?! This will launch another war that we are responsible for.”

“That would be very bad!” He could see the gears turning in his nephew’s mind, so he decided to play along to help placate him.

Zuko stood up abruptly, shaking the table, “We can’t just sit around and wait. I’ll check on Katara. You go look for the others.” He stormed out of the room before Iroh could even object.

Not that he would, though. Seeing his nephew take action was very pleasing.

.

He marched all the way across the palace to the guest bedrooms, but before he knocked on Katara’s door, he stopped in his tracks like an invisible wall was in his way. Initially so confident in his decision, he was now filled with uncertainty. What would he do if he really found Katara’s limp, poisoned body laying on the bed?

Or worse: what if he barged in and she was naked because she was in the middle of changing?

He took a deep breath to center himself. There was no use in panicking. He could do this. He had faced more intimidating enemies, more foreign situations.

But the longer he thought about it, he realized he had never had to deal with a girl.

Best case scenario, she was in there with a great explanation as to why her family was late to breakfast and his nerves would be soothed like putting aloe on a sunburn. Yeah, he would go with the most ideal situation for now.

Maybe he should still practice, just in case.

“Hello, Zuko here!”

The looming wooden door didn’t respond.

“Good morning! Um, no, that’s not right. What if she’s having a bad morning? Uh, how do you do there? How is the Fire Nation treating you? Too formal, she’s not a dusty old diplomat.” His shoulders drooped. He needed to get this done before Uncle (or her own family members) came and interrupted him. This was his chance. His chance at what exactly, he wasn’t sure, but he was just going to go for it.

He knocked sharply, loud enough to wake any long-slumbering air bison. Just for good measure, he called out, “It’s Zuko!” And all his hemming and hawing and practicing was really for nothing because not long after, Katara flung the door open.

Without her hair tied back, it ran wild and curled around her face. Her eyes, normally so wide and crystal clear, were half shut and bleary with sleep. “Yes?”

“Yes! Hello. Uh, good morning. I just wanted to see if you would be joining us for breakfast this morning.” He added a little more quietly, but also a little more like himself, “I was getting worried.”

“Good morning,” she nodded. “What time is it?”

Zuko glanced around, “I’m not exactly sure, but the sun is up.”

Katara gave him a small smile, “I see. Well, have you ever considered that not everyone rises with the sun?” Or code for, firebender, can’t you see I’m tired?

He immediately started apologizing, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He had interrupted her hopefully peaceful sleep because he was missing her at breakfast. Nice one.

Katara held up a hand to stop him, then scrubbed it over her face to wake herself up more, “It’s really fine. We’re guests here and should be running on your schedule. I can be ready in a minute.”

“We’re hosts and should be more accommodating. I’ll leave you to it, breakfast won’t go anywhere without you.” He turned away, feeling a little silly for freaking out, but Katara’s voice stopped him.

“Actually, Zuko?”

“Yes?”

“Can you maybe wait here for me? I don’t want to get lost on my way to breakfast. You know, that would just waste more time,” she laughed awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll be here.” He was still smiling widely when she shut the door in his face.

.

“Your first full day here, is there anything else you’d like to do?” Iroh asked when everyone was finally gathered for breakfast. The meetings were purposely scheduled for after lunch when the sun was high in the sky and all the grumpy old advisors were in their best moods.

Sokka attempted to be casual, “Well I don’t know about everyone else but I’m feeling like I could stretch my legs some more. Like, sure, we got to see the armory and it was super cool. But! It would be infinitely cooler if we could actually, you know, play.”

Zuko lit up like a match, “We should spar!”

Sokka backpedaled, waving his arms around, “Woah, woah, woah! Nonbender versus Fire Lord? Do you see the problem here?”

Iroh spoke with pride, “My nephew here is not only a talented firebender, but he is also trained in the art of the sword, the dao sword.”

“So he can make fire and he has two swords? Kind of unfair, but not scary enough for me to decline. But no bending!” A true warrior never backed down from a challenge.

.

While a club and a boomerang might not seem like much, Zuko quickly realized he’d have to keep his guard up if he wanted to put up a decent fight. And it had absolutely nothing to do with looking cool in front of one out of the three members in the audience. Wouldn’t any sister want to see her brother get it handed to him anyway?

By the time they threw the towel in, Zuko could feel the sweat dripping down his back. So much for being invigorated by the sun. It was reassuring to see Sokka crawl back to sit next to his father.

As he put away his swords and took a refreshing drink of water, Katara stood up, “Don’t think we’re done here.”

He raised his eyebrow, “Your waterbending versus my firebending? You’re on.” He was tired but definitely still had some fight in him. It would be dishonorable to refuse.

As soon as they started, Zuko’s eyes widened. Okay, so by now he knew she was a waterbender, but seriously, why didn’t anyone tell him that she’s a master waterbender? Honestly, you’d think this girl would have built up a reputation across the nations. Based on the wide-eyed palace staff watching from the corners, she was definitely going to earn one in the Fire Nation.

Giving as much as he got, they danced around in circles for what felt like ages. Katara was a resilient, dynamic fighter and Zuko hadn’t felt so challenged in ages. He didn’t want to end the match because he wanted to keep studying her. It was rare for him to be able to battle a waterbender, let alone one so capable.

But Zuko’s fire had caused most of Katara’s water supply to evaporate and she was running out of places to draw from. In a last ditch effort to come out on top, she quickly made a razor thin water whip and managed to land a hit on the side of his face. His fire faded away into shimmering heat almost immediately.

He didn’t see it coming — really, the whip was so thin and came on his scarred side, so he was mostly stunned when it cut into his cheek. Katara gasped as she saw rich red blood start to drip out of the wound.

Gathering what was left of her water, she rushed up to him and immediately got to work healing, “I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t seriously trying to hurt you, I thought you’d block it like you blocked everything else. I’m really sorry, Zuko, I feel terrible.”

But he harbored no resentment. It was an exciting match and he was still too shocked to feel real pain besides the soreness in his muscles.

And the cut had landed just beneath his scar, so Katara’s hand covered the bottom part of it too. No one had bothered to touch him there in a long, long time, let alone heal him.

“Katara,” he said softly. She was so focused on apologizing that she hadn’t realized the cut was long gone. Healing water was useless on his scar at this point. But he didn’t mind anymore. The burnt skin was less sensitive than the rest of his face, but he could still feel the cool relief seeping into him.

She jumped back, letting the water splash to the ground between them. “Right, sorry. Again.”

He chuckled, “It’s okay. I didn’t know you could heal. What can’t you do?”

“Uh, firebend. I’m no avatar! So that means I can’t earthbend or airbend either. Would be awfully convenient if I could.”

“Right, me neither. I mean, I can’t waterbend, that is. I can firebend. But you already knew that.”

“Yes! I did, I did. You can also fight with swords, though, and that’s another thing I can’t do. So I think a better question would be what can I do, you know?”  

Sokka, growing tired of their lame jokes, interrupted from the side, “So who’s hungry?”

Zuko, though worn out, wasn’t feeling particularly hungry because it seemed that a colony of butterflies had decided to occupy his stomach.

.

After cleaning up and taking a quick lunch, they sat through a series of meetings that left Zuko a bit weary, but hopeful. The nations working together peacefully was truly a dream come true. He had watched wistfully as Hakoda encouraged and listened intently to the suggestions of his two children. At least Uncle always valued his opinion.  

Before dinner, the young man was finally allowed to have a moment alone with his thoughts, and they turned to Katara. He wandered aimlessly through the palace halls. Maybe he should seek her out? But for what reason, didn’t they just spend hours together?

The decision was made for him, though, when he nearly bumped into her as he rounded a corner. He reached out to grab her arm to steady her. For a waterbender, her skin was awfully warm.

“Oh, Zuko! I was actually just looking for you.”

“You were?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice even though he was too, kind of.

“I had a question for you. The Southern Water Tribe is expanding at a pretty fast rate, but I still feel like we’re missing something. And I think it would help if we had some sort of library, you know, for future generations to look at and learn from. I’ve been gathering things, but most of our history has been told through oral histories. Would the Fire Nation happen to have…?”

It was a valid question, given the way the Fire Nation had plundered the other nations. Zuko nodded in understanding, “I can show you the library. If you see something you think would be helpful, it’s yours.” It was the least he could do to start making up for years of mistreatment. Ozai had done so much damage.

The royal library was truly worthy of marvel and Katara probably could have spent ages inside, but she had a mission. Without her needing to ask, Zuko led her to the relevant section. The fact that the library had a section at all was pretty hard to wrap her mind around.

“Wow, if I were you I’d just spend all day in here.”

“Yeah, I wish. But I’ve got a job to do and I don’t know how much a book can teach me about it,” he said with a hint of bitterness. He knew there were plenty who opposed his rule, criticized his every move, but he couldn’t hide from them.

“Well I think you’re doing a great job,” she said with an easy smile before pulling out a title. She gave out compliments like water, but it still felt nice to be on the receiving end of one. Despite it being a passing comment, Zuko couldn’t help but dwell on it as she scanned the pages. The sincerity of it struck him most acutely.

As they went up and down the rows, Zuko toyed with the idea of offering to carry her growing stack of books. Would that come across as polite or suggest that she wasn’t strong enough? Is it hot in here? Would his hands singe the pages? Do they have to be quiet since it was a library? Should he say something?

Luckily, Katara swung around to look at him sheepishly, “If you don’t mind, can I take these home with me?”

“It would be my honor if you took them back to their rightful place.” It was a good thing his father never decided to burn down the library.

.

Zuko’s eye sockets hurt. He had experienced a lot of kinds of pain during his young life, but this was a new one. He kept trying to look at Katara during dinner without actually looking. He couldn’t put his finger on why he was so interested in looking at her rather than something like his plate of food, but it was hard to balance normal conversation with the desires of his eyes, traitorous things.

It had been a long time since so many people he actually liked were at the dinner table. Of course Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara would have to go back eventually, but he would miss them. If anything, he definitely made some friends.

.

Uncle tried to get everyone to play pai sho that night, but it only stuck with Hakoda and Sokka. While their strategizing was admittedly impressive, Zuko just didn’t have the patience to keep watching. He noticed that Katara had stepped outside for some air, so he decided to join her.

She sat on the ground looking up at the sky — brilliantly clear with bright stars and an even brighter moon.

“Can I join you?”

“Of course.”

Zuko nodded and settled himself in a similar position to Katara: cross legged, face turned towards the inky night sky. While not the familiar warmth of the sun, the moon really was beautiful. He turned to look at Katara and was struck by the way her profile looked illuminated by moonlight. He noticed that her hand was up by her neck, playing with the necklace she never seemed to be without. She wore a thoughtful expression and Zuko had to take a deep breath before speaking again. Despite the success and geniality of the trip, he could imagine that her family had mixed feelings about coming to visit.

“Katara?”

“Yeah?” She turned to look at him. Another breath.

“How are you?”

She smiled faintly. “I’m alright.” She let her hand drop to her side.

.

Zuko shuffled into his room, feeling very ready for a nice night of sleep after such a long day.

He removed his crown, his hair falling loosely around his face like a waterfall. When he took off his headpiece, he was really just a teenager, not even an adult yet. He changed into pajamas and laid back on his bed, allowing himself to think teenage thoughts, ponder teenage problems. What was he to do about Katara? Or, how would he confront his feelings for Katara?

Zuko was, in a word, confused. He wasn’t sure what these feelings even were, let alone how to deal with them.

There was no one he could turn to; his options were severely limited. Ask Uncle? Yuck, never. Besides, he’d say something that Zuko wouldn’t be able to puzzle out until after Katara had left, like reading the tea leaves. Sokka was near his age, but he was Katara’s brother. When he asked Zuko for tips on landing “the Fire Nation’s hottest babes,” it was cemented that Zuko could not ask him for anything, really.

And then there was his greatest challenge, Katara herself. He couldn’t force her to return his feelings, and she very well could want nothing to do with him beyond a friendly political alliance. Even if his mother, father, or sister were here, he wouldn’t be able to consult them. No, this was something he had to figure out on his own. This time there was no war to be won, no battle to be planned. This situation was like a fire lily: if it wanted to bloom, he would be pleased. But he couldn’t do much besides water it and hope for it to respond.

But the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he liked Katara. Like more than a friend. He had a crush on her. He had feelings for her. He like-liked her. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Oh boy.

.

He woke up from a restful night’s sleep thinking about her. He groaned.

Oh yeah, he was in trouble.

He stretched and got dressed. Might as well go to breakfast with a smile on his face, even if he probably looked like an idiot. While still pleasant, the morning meal was quieter than their other ones. It felt strange to have to say goodbye already. And, oh-so-conveniently, right when Zuko had a better grip on these feelings of his…

But just like that, the visitors’ time in the Fire Nation had come to an end. For now.

Zuko was confident that their visit created a strong foundation to build a better relationship on. They would probably be seeing each other some time soon. And they could send letters, friendly ones that lacked the normal formality of political correspondence. This was far from the last they’d be seeing of each other, something he found great comfort in.

“Thank you, Lord Zuko, it’s truly been a pleasure. It brings me peace of mind to know the Fire Nation is in good hands. We’ll see you again.” Hakoda’s words were brief but Zuko couldn’t deny the wave of validation he felt after hearing them. Maybe he was doing a half decent job after all.

“Now that we’ve been here, don’t be surprised if we pop in every so often. Oops, lost control of the ship and ended up on Zuko’s door step! Don’t blame me, blame the ocean spirit! Thanks, buddy.” That morning’s breakfast spread alone was enough to keep him coming back. And Katara didn’t seem to mind, so all was well, right?  

“I’ll keep the rooms ready for you,” Zuko promised while shaking Sokka’s hand. The boy followed his father onto their ship, leaving Zuko to face Katara. As much as she looked forward to returning home, she was glad she was the last one to get on board.

“So…”

“You got everything?”

“Seems like it.”

“That’s good. Even the books?”

“Yup, even the books.”

“Good, good. Well...I’ll see you...later?”

“Definitely. You’ll have to come visit the Southern Water Tribe soon,” Katara said sweetly, playfully.

The promise dancing in her eyes made Zuko feel something undeniable: hope.  

.

.

A/N: Yes I conveniently had Ozai and Azula take each other out HAHA now I don’t have to deal with them. I don’t know if I’ll post another chapter because I /could/ write about them visiting each other but idk. I’ll mark this complete for now, thanks for reading!! Idk if it’s too long but at this point I’m just like :] Also, if you have a zutara twitter pls lmk/give me account recs!! I want to see more on my tl but it’s hard to find people esp when the zutara search is mostly people arguing lol and hopefully you either have a neutral or positive opinion of sasusaku <3

[cherryyjjk]

my knight in shining armor [2]

originally posted by armywithbangtan

summary: the school bad boy has taken a liking to flirting and asking you out during school, even after rejecting him. what’ll happen when someone else uses force?

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst / fluff / skool luv affair! au / bad boy! au

word count: 2.2k

warnings: harrassment

A/N: i’m sososo sad this one got deleted tOO and like asldkalksdj i just wanna share my writing is that so hard !! that’s it i’m writing on google docs or smth

Taehyung was confused about a lot of things. He was confused about the math homework, why his alarm didn’t go off this morning, how to not get mad at his teachers, but recently and most importantly: you. He was confused about you and your entire persona. You were the cutest freshman, and person, he had ever met. Your loud laughter always brought a smile to his face and he had made it his goal to make you laugh more. He looked at you a lot, and he knew you would stare at him too. Whenever he flirted with you, you would avoid his eyes and blush, embarrassed out of your mind. But then, a few seconds later, you would reject him.

Am I doing something wrong? Maybe I’ve misread her intentions. He wondered to himself while walking to class. He had always been late to school. That is, until you showed up. With your dazzling smile, (e/c) eyes that sparkled when you talked about something you were passionate about. The skip in your step when you saw him. He was dazed in and out of class, but the teacher wouldn’t reprimand him. Though he was only a sophomore, he was still pretty strong and being the “bad boy” made you known for your scary nature.

The bell rang and Taehyung was the first one out of the class, desperate to find you. He didn’t even bring a backpack to school, so he was light on his feet.

“Hey Taehyung! Where are you going?” A familiar voice said behind him. Taehyung looked behind him to find Jimin running up to him while his other five friends walking leisurely in their direction.

“I’m going to find (Y/N),” he responded, looking at his friend like it was obvious. He hadn’t been able to see you this morning and it was already taking a toll on his mood.

His friend group laughed and Namjoon, one of the juniors in the group, asked, “Taehyung, that girl doesn’t want you. Why don’t you find someone else?”

Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows, and frowned. He didn’t think his friends would understand. He knew his group of friends had a bad history in relationships, how they were marked as the player bad boys. But he knew them better, they were good people. Albeit, a bit emotionally unavailable.

Taehyung tried his best to come up with and explanation but trying to stay respectful, he just responded, “Hyungs, you wouldn’t understand.”

He walked away from his friends to a particular tree outside, away from the lunch tables and everyone else. You two would usually talk there, without anyone interrupting or anything. It was bliss. Taehyung turned the corner, already feeling a bit happier about the situation.

“Hey, Y/N, I—” Taehyung started, only to find that there was no one under the tree. He paused, confused about where you could be.

Where could she be? He wondered, looking around but only getting more frustrated. Maybe she had ditched me?.

Dejected, Taehyung stuffed his hands into his pant pockets and hunched his shoulders.

I mean, it’s me. A bad boy, no one cares about me other than for fame. Y/N doesn’t care for me, like I do her.

Taehyung turned around and lifted his foot to walk away when—

SMASH

Taehyung froze in his tracks. His eyes widened and he slowly looked up. On the next floor, he could see through a window a girl with her back facing him. He knew that figure anywhere. It was you.

You looked like you were shielding yourself from something, probably whatever made that crash sound. But what was scarier to Taehyung was who he could see. A guy slowly approaching you.

Taehyung started to get mad. Whoever this guy was, he had no right to be near his—

His..his what? His girlfriend? No, she isn’t my girlfriend. I told myself that I shouldn’t get involved with her anymore. Taehyung scolded himself, trying to tear his eyes away from the scene. He closed his eyes and tried breathing deeply to calm his nerves.

He heard another sound, like something hitting glass and steeled himself not to look up. Taehyung knew if he did, he would storm into that class and it wouldn’t be pretty. Getting increasingly frustrated, Taehyung lost all his resolve and looked up to see you looking uncomfortable under the other guy’s glare and his hand trapping you. You whimpered and turned your head to the side and Taehyung caught a glimpse of a red mark. It was a cut from the glass and it looked painful.

Taehyung only saw red. He started running through the field and pushed at least a dozen people out of the way. But he didn’t care. All he could see was you, and your cut, and the way you looked scared.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard it. Your scream. But you weren’t just screaming for help. You screamed his name.

“Taehyung!”

If even possible, he ran faster, almost tripping over his own two feet before he was outside the classroom door. He tried to yank the door open but it wouldn’t budge. He kicked it a few times before ramming the side of his body through and it finally gave way. He was panting and his hands were balled up into fists. In the room, Chin-hwa was still staring at Y/N but seemed annoyed at the interruption. His two friends had been trying to hold the door down to stop Taehyung from getting through and were now rolled on the floor. The two guys were looking up to Taehyung’s furious face and if looks could kill, they’re both be six feet underground.

“T-Taehyung,” You whispered, a little afraid after looking at his face. You tried moving towards him but your wrist was still trapped in Chin-hwa’s and the other was crushed by his body. Chin-hwa felt you moving and smirked before pushing you against the window again, resulting you groaning in pain. Taehyung walked over to the both of you and grabbed Chin-hwa’s arm.

“Huh, what do you—” Chin-hwa started before his body was ripped from Y/N’s side, falling onto nearby desks. He grunted in pain, before hastily getting up.

“What the—? Who do you think you are? Huh?!” He yelled, holding his head from the pain while his two friends were shaking behind him.

“My name is Kim Taehyung,” Taehyung spat, turning his head to face the junior and his fists becoming white from how strong he was holding them.

The three bullies all paled in fear. Though they were all older, the bad boy group called Bangtan Sonyeondan, or BTS, was well-known in the school to be the strongest and scariest boys. If you angered one, you would anger them all, and that would definitely not be pretty. The bullies, still shaking, shoved each other and ran out of the classroom as fast as they could. When Taehyung knew they had left, he turned around to face you.

He didn’t say anything and his face became expressionless, all he did was hold out a hand for you to take. Still shocked from everything, you slowly placed your hand in his. He slowly guided you forward and sat you down on a desk before letting go of your hand. He then turned them to see the fading red marks from Chin-hwa’s fingers and slowly rubbed them. Eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned, he then padded his finger to the cut on your left cheek. His finger burned on the cut and you hissed in pain, causing him to retract his hand from your face and loosing some warmth. Taehyung continued to help you and slowly the silence became awkward.

“Y-you came..” You said, surprised by how quiet your voice had gotten. You cast your eyes on your feet, feeling small under his gaze.

Maybe this is where he leaves.. You wondered and shut your eyes tight to stop the tears from escaping.

Taehyung gently smiled and took your chin into his hand and lifted your head slightly, making you open your eyes. You were looking at him with those beautiful (e/c) eyes but you had a frown on your face. Taehyung couldn’t understand why you looked so sad.

Did you not want me here? You called me, right? He thought to himself.

“Of course I did, Y/N. I saw you through the window and then heard your scream. I swear if that Chin-hwa ever even looks at you again, I’ll—“ He stopped in his tracks when he realized you had put your arms around him and were pushing your face into his chest.

He instantly wrapped his arms around your figure and held you there. You were crying and shaking like a leaf. It broke Taehyung’s heart. After calming down, you parted from his warm body but still clutching his shirt for comfort. You looked away for a moment.

“I-I didn’t think you cared about me. I was so s-scared when he came onto me but I tried being strong! Like you always told me to be,” You said, starting out a little shaky but gaining confidence with every word, “And he was so close. I-I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe you returned my feelings..? And would come..”

“Y/N.”

“O-Oh, no. I’m sorry.”

“Y/N.”

“I-I should shut up now. It was wishful thinking that maybe you liked me back.”

“Y/N.”

“I-I’ll get g-going. Don’t worry! I won’t tell a-anyone and w-we never have to see each other again.”

“Y/N!” Taehyung scolded, still holding you in his arms.

He wiped away the stray tears that had passed your eyes. He lowered his hands from your arms and interlocked them with your hands and lightly brushed over your knuckles in comfort. He lifted his face and kissed your forehead.

“Not only are you the cutest person ever but also the most oblivious. Huh?”

“W-What? Taehyung, I’m so confused.”

“I like you, cutie.” He smirked, though there was a hint of blush on his cheeks.

You’re eyes widened and your frown broke into a smile. You yelled out in glee before wrapping your arms around his neck. Not expecting the sudden embrace, Taehyung fell backwards onto the floor but safely secured you in his arms before hitting the ground. He groaned in pain and looked at you to see you still smiling into his neck.

“Oh god, Y/N. You’re going to be the death of me.”

The both of you laughed and stayed there hugging for a while. Until you heard the school bell ring. You immediately got up and started panicking about being late to class. Taehyung watched you in amusement before guiding you away from the broken glass, handing you your backpack and grabbing your hand. The two of you walked down the main hallway when everyone that were passing by stopped to stare. People started to whisper and you put your head down from all the attention. Taehyuung looked at you once before smirking and tugging you towards him. He wrapped an arm around you and kept walking like nothing happened while you were blushing like crazy. He saw his friends around a few lockers and winked at them while some had their mouths open and others laughing and shaking their heads. The rest of the school day was basically just that.

The last bell rang and for the first time, you were the one rushing out of class with all the other students. You tried to get by through the crowd but you were tossed around. Out of nowhere, you were gently moved into someone’s arms and the sea of people suddenly parted. You looked up to see Taehyung holding you and walking you to the first entrance of the school before he stopped right outside the gates. He paused before taking both of your hands into his and turning to face you. He looked straight at you with a serious expression, confusing and scaring you for a moment, before his mouth turned into a boxy-smile that you loved.

“Well cutie, I guess we have to say goodbye.”

“Ahh, you don’t have to call me cutie all the time you know.”

“Oh yeah? Then how is anyone gonna know that we like each other, hmm?”

“B-Because! We’re now a couple..And that means you’re mine!”

Taehyung smirked, he was enjoying the newly shown confidence you were talking in. He wasn’t used to you being so straightforward, but he liked it. And he liked you.

“Oh yeah, cutie? Well, too bad. You’re mine so I can call you cutie.”

You smiled and stepped forward so your feet were touching. You looked up/down at his confused expression before kissing his cheek. It was Taehying’s time for his face to turn red. His eyes widened and he stuttered from the kiss, speechless. You giggled and took the chance to squeeze his hand before letting go.

“Bye, Taehyung.”

“B-Bye, Y/N.”

He waved at you while you walked away and was instantly approached by his group of friends. They patted him on the back and congratulated him for winning the girl’s heart. He laughed with his friends before looking fondly into the distance at your retreating figure, wondering what was in store in the future. But as long as he was with you, and you were with him, he didn’t have to worry.

© 2021 by cherryyjjk ;; all writings and other content on this blog are my intellectual property. you may not reuse, reprint, translate, repost, steal, or any other type of stealing of my works.

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 8

a/n: I hope you didn’t think I’d make it quite so easy. A little pull and tug is worth it sometimes ya know? idk how much longer I’ll be around. Most people don’t engage with the fics anymore and Shawn isn’t really the Shawn I fell in love with anymore. Life just kind of sucks at the moment. But I’ve got this chapter already written so I thought I’d post it. If you liked it and actually want it to continue? I might recommend letting me know tbh. Bye. 

Shawn’s point of view

The problem with taking a woman to Rome on the first date is that anything after that just seems silly. What exactly was he to do now? Invite her over to his apartment for sushi? Even he would walk out on that date! It didn’t help that the second they got back to New York, after a very long winded kiss goodbye, that she’d jumped right into preparation for the VMAs. That essentially meant he wasn’t going to see her for days, maybe weeks. VMA season sparked award season in general for the music industry. It might not exactly give an indication of Grammys, but with the award show always arriving right as the ellibility period for the more prestigious honor was ending, it meant that the VMAS was the beginning of the long haul to get your artist at the top of the charts and fucking keep them there. Which also meant that just like she was busy, so was he. The difference was she actually liked her job. And he had...oh how he hated his.

He’s sitting in a marketing meeting for Sarah Leone. Sarah Leone is his dad’s bid for best new artist of the year. Forget the fact that y/n had her secret weapon of Normani and Khalid on one management team, and that he sort of had a feeling she was going to do a solo album release directly before the grammy consideration deadline just to keep the industry on its toes, his dad was thoroughly convinced Sarah was his ticket. And in a lot of ways she was. Small town girl turned mega popstar in a little over a year, her debut album was set to make beautiful numbers. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough. His dad had a very direct line of vision and that vision was complete and total domination. So it wasn’t enough to have your music sell, he wanted his artists to be inescapable from the public eye. Enter this season’s publicity stunt: The MC.

His dad thought it was a clever way to reference Miley Cyrus. Back in the day he’d orchestrated Miley’s dating of a 20 year old when she was 16 to address her rebellious teen phase. What most people saw as a kid going off the rails, was actually a perfectly manipulated moment in pop history. Except the dick cake that lost her the walmart branding deal, that was all her unfortunately.

Sarah was supposed to be seen out and about with mysterious new “it” british singer, Ty Summers. He was 21. She turned 18 just months prior. The two had begun with a close knit friendship, and were now being guided through the early stage of good, whole-hearted, perfectly constructed, “love”. He peers down at one of the new stills for her headline of V magazine, and simply can’t believe she’s 18. The cover makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel icky. No one at the table notices. And his dad isn’t even there, because this is too low level for the kind of work he does anymore.

“Next, I want her in London for the UK press tour. We’ll have her position at Summers’ hotel for half of her stay. I want pap shots at dinner every night out of the week, and I want a prompt at the BBC interview to hint at their connection. We’ll take it from there.” Jaret, one of the senior managers rattled off. “Any questions?”

He twirled boredly in his chair far from interested in the inner workings of career management if none of it meant jack shit about what the artist actually wanted for their career. It felt like such a waste of his time.

“Quick question?” He sighed popping his pen slightly into the air.

“Yes, Mendes?”

“When does she sing?” He shrugged.

The room goes still. It’s a well known fact that Jaret runs the room. He runs the meetings, runs the decisions. He’s top dog on this particular client, and Shawn is merely there under his father’s orders as an informant and nothing more. He was there to make sure things ran smoothly, but he certainly wasn’t there to offer critique. Woops.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Jaret challenged.

Shawn simply shrugged. “Just seems like if we have a musical artist who we signed on the basis of her being able to sing, that we might at some point want that to be the focal point of her career. But you know, I could be wrong.”

“There’s just one thing wrong here Shawn...we did not sign anyone. I did. We don’t make decisions on the intricacies of her career. I do. You are simply a glorified intern. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you’re father wasn’t afraid you’d run off every two seconds I wouldn’t have to babysit your ass right now. So, why don’t you let the professionals determine next steps and play on the computer daddy bought you, or whatever it is you do?”

Ouch.

The room shifted from Jaret back to Shawn. No one went against Jaret. And yet Shawn was perhaps the most unpredictable thing about his father’s company at that point. Needless to say unpredictably was a hell of a thing.

“It must really upset you that I get paid more than you do doesn’t it?” He hummed.

Jaret’s face began to redden, his nerves tighter than his balls that Shawn had such a precarious grip on at the moment.

“Or does it upset you more that I could do your job better than you right now, today, without even the ability to hear the tonedeaf artists you sign that are just pretty enough and just old enough not to get your ass arrested?” He tilted his head in contemplation. “Perhaps it’s even that one time at the company Christmas party where your wife caught you screwing your secretary in your office and stopped crying long enough for me to make her cum before signing the divorce papers? But you’re right Jaret, I simply should just get back to daddy’s computer. My bad.”

“You little son of--”

“Big.” Shawn interrupted sliding smoothly from his chair and packing his shit up from the horrible meeting he’d had no interest in attending in the first place. “I’m big son of a bitch, Jaret. Just ask Sarah.”

Sarah of course being his wife. Ex wife of course. Ex wife number three if we’re being specific.

The door shuts close behind him to Jaret screaming and lurching across the table towards his empty chair. He’d probably hear about it from his dad later. But honestly who cared. Jaret was a creepy asshole, and he was always gonna be a creepy asshole. Sorry not sorry.

***

He’d be a little embarrassed at how aggressively he yanked at the door were it not for the hopeful look in her big brown eyes when he sees her for the first time. He can tell she’s had a long day because her hair is down out of its bun already, tiny spirals falling all around her face and cheeks. But, the way she falls into his arms is enough to make his whole entire day. Because it means that after all the shit she’d been through that day, she wanted to be with him. And that’s the only thing he cared about in the whole world.

“I missed you.” He sighed already capturing her lips in a kiss.

She hummed softly against him, fingers squeezing at his shoulders.

“Missed you too.”

He pushed the door shut with his foot, arms keeping her tucked tightly against him. He’s sure he’s smiling like a complete and total idiot but he can’t help it. It’s this new exciting thing where he no longer has to be afraid of how close he is to her, no longer has to hope he doesn’t stare too long. She knows. And not only does she know, but somehow she feels the same way. It felt like a dream.

He tugged her back towards his kitchen and helped her into a seat before he pulled out the leftovers from his own dinner where he “accidently” ordered for two.

“Tiana said you didn’t eat dinner.” He shrugged at her questioning gaze. “And this little italian place up the block always gives me more than I need.”

She bit her lip and peered from the container of chicken parm to him and back to the parm. He thought for a second she just might fight him on it. And then he remembered how much she liked to eat.

“You and Tiana conspiring against me must stop!” She snorted grabbing the fork clean from his hand to dig in.

He leaned against the granite counter with his chin propped on his hand. She was wonderful. And silly. And a little ridiculous. He kind of loved it.

“Yes, because making sure you consume more than coffee in a twelve hour period is definitely a conspiracy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe so.”

“Maybe so.” He mimicked. “I missed the way you argue with me about everything. Feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Her eyes got wide and bright and she turned a grin towards him that he practically ached to lick off. She was gorgeous.

“You missed me huh? The Shawn Mendes has fallen head first into a little monogamy moment has he?”

Sometimes he liked to think that her favorite past time was taking the piss out of him. It sure seemed that way.

He rolled his eyes back at her and butted his head softly into her neck.

“And what if I have?” He whispered softly. “You have too. Right?”

His nose skimmed along her neck and she shivered. He smiled against her skin. She’d fallen just as hard alright.

“Yea I guess so.” She mumbled.

He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass to refill with water.

“You should eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

“Excuse me?”

He refilled her glass from the refrigerator and placed in front of her before leaning against the countertop again.

“Oh. I just meant that I plan to fuck you until the birds sing. I don’t want you getting tired on me before I’m done with you.”

His favorite past time was saying the wildest things he could come up with to her in the simplest voice possible and then watching the way it made her eyes bulge in her sockets. God he loved it.

This time she simply stuffed a breadstick in her mouth and hopped out of her seat to start taking her jacket off. It seemed she might be just as needy as he was.

“Yep! Okay. You can come get it now!”

“I’m comin’, baby.” He grinned lifting her up into his arms.

“Goddammit. Carbs and dick. It’s like my birthday or something!”

His bedroom is way too far away. They’ve gotta figure out a way to get there quicker. But he chuckles into her cleavage as he knocks them against walls to stop and kiss her. Her thighs mold to his waist, ass full in his hands. He’s stuck on her completely. And the worst part is that she knows it.

He lets her legs back down to the floor only to press her against the wall of his bedroom, lips, teeth, and tongue beginning a trail along her neck.

“You make me never wanna go back to go work ever again.” She whined, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’d happily quit if we could stay in bed for the rest of forever.” He murmured.

“Don’t tempt me!”

Maybe he would.

“Mmmm speaking of work, how hard you gonna make my job for me this fall?” He hummed biting down on her lip to solicit a yelp that drove him crazy.

“What do you mean?” She asked, fingers already tugging at his belt.

“I’m supposed to believe Normani’s not releasing an album before awards season?”

Her fingers came to a stuttering stop, and he recognized that her kisses weren’t really kisses anymore. His eyes opened to meet hers and instead of the lust from just moments prior, there was...anger?

“What the fuck, Shawn?”

“W--What? What?” He mumbled reaching for her as she quickly stepped out of his arms.

“Why would you ask me that? Since when the hell do you care when my artists release music?”

He’s a little flustered and his dick is hard and her yelling at him when his dick is hard is only just adding to the complex array of emotions that his brain would surely need more blood to process.

“I--I don’t know! I thought that’s what couples did right? Like they--they ask each other about work and shit. What did I do?”

“Couples?” She paused, all of the steam leaving her like a deflated balloon. “Are we--we’re a couple?”

At this point he’s pretty sure she’s gonna give him a heart attack.

“I….Aren’t we?”

“I--I don’t know. I don’t know, we’ve only been on one fucking date, Shawn. And just because it was wonderful and beautiful and romantic doesn’t mean that you get to ask me questions like that. I just… Shit. I need space.”

“Space?”

His heart leapt a little in his chest. He’d said that word before. “Space”. When people said they needed space it always meant permanent. It meant separation. It meant losing her. And the effect that her words have on him is a little surprising, even though he’s not processing nearly fast enough to catch on. All he can hear, feel, think, breathe is her not wanting him. And in this moment of fragility for him he’s not quite sure how to cope.

“Wait. Just wait a second. I don’t even know what’s happening right now!” He cried his hands held up in surrender. “Let’s just talk. Let’s just talk for a second okay? Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m going home. I--I’lll call you later.”

She sweeps right past him, her fingers re-buttoning the same buttons she had giggled when he’d undone just seconds ago. He’s so floored by what’s taking place and he’s got no idea how to fix it. How to make her happy. He just wants to make her happy. And he doesn’t want her to go.

“Y/n. Y/n, please? Alright, just talk to me.”

Her fingers slip through his when he reaches for her and just like that she’s gone. And it hurts. It hurts far more than he knows what to do with. What the fuck?

***

*Three days later*

*y/n’s point of view*

A foul mood did not begin to describe what you were in. Everyone had been steering completely clear of you and rightfully so. Anyone who dare breathe wrong in your direction would get an earful. It wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t exactly been sleeping well. Your stomach was in knots. You were stressed as hell. But, none of that was allowed to matter. You had work to do. So, everything else got placed on the backburner.

You’re in your office taking a twenty minute “get your shit together bitch” break when a knock sounds itself on your door. Tiana had been the only one with balls to knock on the door in days, so you had no doubt who it could be.

“Come in, Ti.” You sighed still leaning pathetically across your desk.

The door slides open and unless Tiana grew several feet and turned into a white man over night, it was certainly not your assistant standing there.

“Hi.” Shawn mumbled waving awkwardly in your direction.

He was in a suit again. But not one of the ones from the red carpet that would make your thighs tremble. This must be one of his work ones. It looks too restrictive on his body. He’s wearing a tie, and your fingers itch to remove it, to dishevel him back into the man that you knew.  The worst part is that even in discomfort he doesn’t look real. He looks like an ad standing there at your doorway. An absolute vision to behold. You had to remind yourself that you were angry at him.

“How did you--What are you doing here? Shawn?”

He quickly closed the door and strode over to you, at least having the good grace to keep his distance to the chair in front of your desk.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls. Which is fine I guess. I get that maybe you need space but...I really hate what’s going on between us right now.” He mumbled.

His knee is bouncing. You only recognize this because it shakes your desk in a gentle hum. His fingers twist and turn anxiously on your desk as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch your hand. His lips are stress bitten and his hair looks like it’s been the victim of an attack as well.

“Really?” You asked, leaning back slighting your chair in confusion.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, really. What did you think I was just out living my best life since you stormed out of my apartment at one am without a word and ignored me for three days?”

“No, I just...I just didn’t realize it would have this great of an effect on you. I guess I--I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“You didn’t know that I care that much? What the hell, y/n?” He groaned. “Why are you doing this right now?”

“Doing what?! What am I doing?”

“You’re pulling away. We sat there in Rome and you asked me to promise you that I was all in. And I am. And now you’re scared, is that it? You don’t know what it might look like for us to be together in the real world, so you’re pulling away from me.”

Well that was certainly a read. You were flustered. Your lips opened and shut around nothing but air as you sat there at a loss for words. It wasn’t conscious, or maybe on some level it was, but Shawn scared the hell out of you. Rome was a beautiful, beautiful bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. The second you got back to New York you couldn’t help but wonder if it would actually work a tall. You were still so different. And much as you liked him, and shit you really fucking liked him, it was terrifying to place yourself into new charted territory. You were scared of him. Of the two of you together. Of what it could mean. And he never even needed you to say it, he just knew it about you instantly.

“Look,” He sighed. “I still don’t really know what I did wrong. I know I probably sound like I’m being a little bitch right now but...shit y/n I just got you and I feel like I’m losing you already. Like you’re not even gonna give me a chance to try to make you happy. Is that how it’s gonna be? Cause if it is just tell me okay? Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t...I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know.” You mumbled

The look that he gives you tells you that this hurts him. That you not being a hundred percent in is painful. Everything was just moving so incredibly fast. One second you couldn’t fathom the idea that Shawn would even want to do more than fuck you, let alone be leading the charge your relationship. It was fast. All of it. And you? You were scared.

“Okay. Well I guess just call me when you figure it out.”

He got out of his seat and headed for the door only throwing you further off your game. You didn’t know much about what you wanted. You just knew that you didn’t want him mad at you, and you didn’t want him to leave. It didn’t help that a part of you felt like you should be leading this matter. You were older, you were the woman. Never had anyone cornered you in the manner that Shawn was in this moment. It was completely different than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Wait--shit. Shawn don’t leave.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re not ready, and I was. Just…Call when you figure things out. Maybe I’ll talk to you later.”

And just like that he’s gone. Fuck.

***

It’s another long night. You’re tired. You’re heart is heavy. Your ponytail is too tight. And you wanna go to bed. But you have no interest in sleeping alone, and therefore are stuck at your desk again. There’s three different contracts waiting your signature on your desk, but the words have begun to blur. You tell yourself it’s not because you’re crying because you definitely aren’t. It’s just cause you’re tired. Yes.

“Hey, it’s late I’m gonna---oh lord. I haven’t seen you cry since Michelle Obama smiled at you on a red carpet.” Tianna gasped.

You sniffled. “Bitch I am not crying. Go home.”

She rolled her eyes. “Denial or delusion. Your favorite pastimes. Come tell Titi what’s wrong while I’m still awake.”

She plopped herself in the chair opposite your desk and reached for the tissues on your desk to hand to you. You take one begrudgingly.

“You haven’t let me call you Titi since college.”

“Of course I haven’t, “She giggled. “What kind of grown ass woman walks around goin’ by Titi. Now stop deflecting.”

Best friends are no good. They know you too well. It makes it way too hard to hide.

“I….I think I fucked things up.”

“With Shawn you mean?”

You nod slowly.

“Yea, I saw him come out of your office lookin’ like a kicked puppy. I couldn't even get him to laugh for me before he left. You never really said what happened though.” She nudged gently.

A sigh passes through your lips that feels bone deep. Your fingers twitch anxiously against the desk. There’s nowhere to hide here. You just have to be truthful. It’s the worst.

“We...We decided to give it a go. And he took me to Rome, as your meddling ass knows, and it was the most amazing thing I could experience. It was everything I ever thought it would be but...he made it more. And I kept thinking that he was going to stop at some point. I don’t know I thought surely it was gonna work, because how could it you know?”  

“No, not quite sis. I don’t know. Maybe you can explain it to me.”

You bite your lip and twitch anxiously.

“I asked him in Rome one of our last nights there if he was gonna be all in. We talked about race and white supremacy and I told him that I needed someone who could stand with me in all of it, not just when it is convenient.”

“And he said…?”

“Well the fucker said yes.” You huffed. “He promised it even.”

“Shit.” Tiana mumbled taking a pause herself. “I would’ve never called Shawn Mendes to be a social justice warrior.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s far from it, now. He’s still a white boy. But he wanted to try. He was willing to try for me.”

“So you can see how maybe I’m missing the part where you fucked up. This sounds a little like a black girl’s love story come true.”

“I went over to his place and he offered me breadsticks and dick, in that order. But then when we were getting to it, he asked me about Normani, Ti. He asked if I was going to ‘make his job harder for him’ by having her release her album before award season.”

“Oh lord, that poor bastard didn’t even know what hit him.” She sighed.

“I’m serious Ti!” You groaned. “I’ve been here before. I’ve had the music exec who wanted to get into my pants just to know what we were doing in this building. I--I can’t go back there. You and I both know that there’s nothing Manny Mendes would love to see more than one his little white girls on top and my people failing on the bottom of the totem pole. We work too goddamn hard for me to lose it.”

Tiana paused for a minute and stared at you. Her eyes were soul searching, the way they tended to be. She was as lovely and amazing as she was terrifying. She knew you better than you knew yourself, and she never hesitated to call you on your bullshit. Even if you didn’t know it was bullshit. Especially when you didn’t know it was bullshit.

“Girl, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, but you are truly exhausting.” She sighed and held her hand up as a means to silence you before you even spoke. “Now if you’re not ready for someone to potentially love and take care of you that’s one thing. But if you are intentionally sabotaging yourself because you’re scared you gotta knock it the fuck off.”

“But Ti--”

“No, ma’am. If that boy wanted to know when Normani’s album was dropping he did not need to take your ass to Rome to do it. You have been scorned by this industry more than most will ever recognize, and I know that, and I validate that. But you ain’t in a relationship with Manny Mendes. You’re not in a relationship with the industry. It’s Shawn. And that man hates his dad and his dad’s company more than you do. I love you, but you’re being a bit ridiculous.”

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” She hummed. “You keep doing this. You keep letting outside factors affect everything, and that’s not sustainable. You have to trust him. He has to trust you. That’s the only way it works.”

You peered at her with tired eyes. The kind of eyes that a woman who’d been scorned one time too many might have.

“But what if he hurts me?”

“Than we pick up the pieces. We work at it until your healed. But you don’t get the love without faith. You’ve got to put yourself out there, babe.”

And that is of course how you end up at his place at midnight on Friday nonetheless. Ti had practically ushered you off, offering to close up shop for the night if it meant you would finally leave the office. You’re still in your work jumpsuit with the too tight ponytail and the makeup that you couldn’t wait to take off.  The code lets you easily without having to let him know that you’re there. Perhaps that’s why you finally get to hear him this time.

The doors of his fancy apparently  are surely made of thicker wood, so he must be sitting right inside the living room. Regardless you hear it in this soft, muted kind of way. It’s an acoustic guitar, the plucking of his fingers just as rounded and full. It’s beautiful and rhythmic and it makes you pause, your fingers still resting on the door knob because then the mother fucker starts to sing.

Maybe I had too many drinks, but that's just what I needed

I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited

When I look across the room and you're staring right back at me

Like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughin'

You’re fingers grip tight at the door knob, you’re mind both seemingly filled with a million thoughts and yet too overwhelmed to process any of it. His door is unlocked though and when you stumble inside the vision in your head comes to life. He’s sat on his floor by the fireplace with a guitar you’ve never seen upon his lap. He’s wearing a white tanktop and black sweats. The rosary against his neck nestles against what looks like perfectly tamed chest hair. He is as unreal as ever. And yet somehow, somehow that is not the most astonishing part of everything around you in this moment.

He pops his head up towards you. His fingers don’t still on the guitar at all as he seems to pluck out the melody he’d sung just moments prior.

“Took you long enough. Almost like you were outside eavesdropping or something.” He hummed.

“I...How did you even know I was outside?” You stuttered.

“I get an alert every time someone enters my code. I don’t just wait around for you all the time ya know.”

Rude.

“You...You sing.”

He peered at you, fingers still moving, his head tilted just slightly to the side as if you were as confusing to him as he was to you.

“I sing.” He affirmed. “Is that okay?”

“How come--I mean you never said anything.” You frowned. “That--That song. You wrote that?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve been given a bit of inspiration lately. Is that what you came here for? To bust me in my hobby?”

This changes things. And surely it wouldn’t have mattered because Ti’ had already convinced you to suck it the fuck up and come over, but the fact that he’s got music in him and never said anything matters. Because there’s a lot he could have asked for. A lot he could have tried to get from you, and he hadn’t. It really didn’t matter to him at all. You were just a fucking asshole.

It occurred to you that you were still standing in the middle of his doorway, so you closed the door and moved slowly near him. He set his guitar off to the side as you plopped one of his decorative pillows in the spot beside him and sat down. Without his guitar, Shawn was a lot more fidgety. He took to playing with his rings on his fingers again, eyes soft and vulnerable pointed in your direction.

“So...Is this it? You come here to end it?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “No. I came here to apologize.”

His eyes flickered up to your face, a hint of hesitance to them.

“I’ve never heard you apologize in my life.”

You rolled your eyes and punched playfully at his arm, the chiseled muscle probably hurting you more than it hurt him. He wasn’t wrong.

“The truth is...When you asked me about Normani’s release I didn’t think of it as you wanting to know about my day. I didn’t think about it as you wanting to be kind to me at all. I sort of, maybe thought you were snooping trying to figure out a way that you could hurt me.” You admitted softly. “Because--well because that’s what I’ve experienced in the past. And that’s not an excuse but it just is...it’s what I was feeling.”

He squinted his nose up and it would’ve been cute had you not been so flustered.

“Wait, you thought I was gonna hurt you? How?” He asked turning more in your direction.

You winced. “Like...by maybe taking it to your dad. Knowing whether or not Normani’s gonna release would be really beneficial to him.”

There’s a range of emotions that cover his face. First confusion. Then acceptance. And then anger.

“Why would I ever do that to you? What have I ever said or done to make you think that I would choose allegiance to my dad of all people over you. I hate my job, y/n. I hate that company. You know that better than just about anyone.”

“I know! I know that. I just--fuck. You scare me okay!” You whined. “I haven’t been in a healthy relationship in years. I’ve been fucked over in my job, in my relationships, in life constantly. And I didn’t exactly walking into our arrangement expecting to find a relationship. I don’t know how to do this, Shawn. I don’t--I’m not sure I truly deserve it.”

You glanced down at the floor in worry and fear. You wanted it. God, you really wanted it. But, shit if you weren’t terrified to try.

When he crawls into your lap, you’re a little taken aback. For how tall that fucker is, he certainly could use an extra meal or two. But, there’s something about the reversal of his thighs bracketing your hips the way that yours would usually do to his. There’s something about the way his thumb soothes at your pulse point as his fingers rest on either side of your neck. There’s something about the way that he looks at you with tenderness and kindness. It’s a little unlike anything you’d ever quite felt before. And it makes you soften beneath him with ease, all the fire running out of you at once.

“You are...the most hard headed woman I’ve ever met.” He mumbled softly.

You smiled sheepishly. “That’s what my momma’s been telling me since I was born.”

“Well she’s right. But I’m kind of crazy about you. And I don’t like fighting with you. And I don’t like being mad at you, or you being mad at me. I just want to make you happy. This is the first time in my life where I feel like I can make some good out of anything. You feel...right. I like you, and I want to take care of you, and I’d like to have something where we can both give each other that. I’m just as scared as you are, okay? I don’t fucking know what I’m doing either. But I wanna try. Do you?”

Was it really that simple? Could it be that simple?

“I do. I really do.” You whispered.

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear. C’mere.”

For him, it could be.

His fingers knot in your ponytail and he tugs your lips to his with zero hesitation. After a shitty week of back and forth it feels good to not have to think for a while, to let his lips work over yours. He’s dominant even here with his tongue and his hands and his hips. He could’ve made it soft and gentle, but that’s not really what the two of you were about. Or was it?

“I’ve got leftovers in my fridge.” He murmured running his thumb along your bottom lip. “Did you eat dinner?”

You shake your head softly and he quickly climbs off your lap to tug you towards the kitchen. It doesn’t go unnoticed to you that his guitar stays behind in the living room.

“Are we ever gonna talk about the singing thing?”

“Maybe let’s do one heavy thing at a time, aye? I’ll tell you sometime. I promise. For now, do you want egg drop soup or pasta?”

You climbed into your seat at his kitchen counter and quickly tugged at your jacket and ponytail holder.

“Pasta. And one of these days I’m gonna teach your pasty ass how to cook.”

“Sure thing, babe.” He snorted. “I look forward to it.”

***

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Oh and also. I mentioned I had something to talk about yesterday. This is more for my own nerves rather than actually changing anything about how I’m writing.

Lately, I’ve seen post bringing up Hilda’s attitude towards Almyra and I was wondering if that would ever come up since the fandom is so quick to bring up Ingrid’s racism. That was always something I found weird because whilst they’re problematic in different ways, both characters have prejudices yet only one is hated. Hilda is actually incredibly popular among fans.

So when I first saw posts about Hilda I was like ok, that’s fair. But then I saw some that got a bit harsher, something along the lines of “Oh, don’t think we’ve forgotten about you, Hilda.” or maybe it was third person. Either way, it sounded like someone calling out a certain author or other real person, rather than a fictional character. I’m not saying that we ignore characters’ bad traits, but fans get so heated. Not just on this topic: the hate towards Edelgard or Dimitri (depending which side you’re on) goes too far too often and carries over to hating their fans. I don’t know what’s brought it on; I’ve been here since Awakening and never saw such vile attitudes. I almost miss people just moaning about Camilla getting another alt.

That wording with Hilda is a minor issue, but just the idea of referring to her as if she’s a real person that needs to be called out is... Icky. Because it feels more like fans of her are being called out through her. Hilda is interesting! Ingrid is interesting! IntSys are bad writers when it comes to racism! We can acknowledge that and still like them, and in our fics and comics and threads have them be better! Either remove that part entirely bc if IntSys can’t be bothered to write the topic respectively, then maybe it shouldn’t be there to begin with. OR. We can write about them learning to be better!

But on that latter topic... I don’t want to say that Hilda isn’t prejudice. But I also don’t want to write a post now. I’m word vomiting here bc that takes less thought that deciding how to make Hilda grow. And... I currently feel like I’m forced to write such a post. It’s not the fault of mutuals so if you’re reading this, you’re probably fine. But there was something on the dash the other day that got me upset because it felt like gatekeeping. Like I wasn’t good enough because I hadn’t made such a post my priority. It wasn’t about me specifically, but it still hurt.

“But Katya, you’ve had Hilda for more than half a year!” Well, guess what? I sometimes add muses before I read all their supports and whilst I knew about House Goneril involvement with Fodlan’s Throat, that feels very mutual to me. From Claude, it seems that the hatred between Almyra and Fodlan may be mutual and he’s stuck there as a child of both... Which as a dual national (well, culturally. HOPEFULLY I can finally get my other passport this year) myself, I do appreciate him being there and wish we got more of his explicit feelings and thoughts on the matter.

But anyway, my point is that I didn’t notice anything odd. I saw a mutual conflict and general tensions bc they’re constantly fighting. So what about Cyril’s supports?

...I don’t like Cyril. He bored me compared to the rest of the cast. I’m sorry to his fans, maybe I’d change my mind if I actually saw his supports, but my point is that I didn’t see his supports with Hilda. Even now, I’ve only seen their C support.

So I added her without knowing. And yeah, now I know there’s racism there. Not the direct “I hate Almyrans and think they should die” kind, more the stereotypical biases kind. Like, nobody will ever tell me that I’m a 2nd class citizen, but I do hear people and the British media, particularly 5-6 years ago when a certain racist politician got popular talk about how “Bulgarians are thieves and crooks” and I’ve had people tell me to my FACE how they hate them, after learning I’m half Bulgarian. Kinda sounds like Hilda claiming Almyrans are brutes, so trust me. I’m not excusing her.

BUT. Coherent thought written out in an intelligent manner takes a lot more effort than this word vomit where I’m just typing whatever I’m thinking at the moment. And now that I’ve seen these aggressive attitudes and gatekeeping, I don’t even want to make that post. Headcanon posts should come from a place of inspiration of a desire to develop my muse. Especially a topic like this, where I should be talking about Hilda becoming a better person, because that’s what I want from her!

Not because I feel like I can’t come to the dash without justifying having Hilda on my muse list first. Let alone use her.

I know where Hilda got her shitty views from. I know how her thoughts are working. I know how she unlearns those biases. But. A sour taste has been left in my mouth, so I’m going to write that post of my own accord when I’m no longer feeling pressured, because this is a hobby and the moment it becomes a chore is when any of of us should stop.

I’m not ignoring her behaviour. I’ll only write it plotted though because it’s such a sensitive topic, even if the plotting is just me dropping a quick message asking “are you comfortable with this” if we’re not already friends, because trust is important. Pre-skip and post-skip Hilda will have different attitudes, but the explanation will come at another date, or maybe it won’t. Right now, I don’t want to write it.

If that is a problem and a deal breaker for you, then just unfollow me. It’s fine. My comfort is more important than, what, having the moral high ground to write about a fictional character I don’t even own? Given the hatred I’ve seen towards fans of certain characters however, I feel like I need to make a disclaimer.

This isn’t a debate. This also isn’t an excuse to take my words out of context and make it look like I’m defending racism. I’ve been a victim of Hilda’s particular brand, so don’t even try it. I might say I’m tired bc I’ve not been on my iron supplement long, but if I catch anything written about me, or any aggression in the replies to this, self care will go out of the window and I am not the type to be the “better person”. I basically trust my mutuals, so this is just a pre-cautionary warning as opposed to an explanation.

“But Katya, this post is longer than a headcanon post would be!” Yeah well brain juice says no no to the latter. If anyone wants to talk about Hilda and this topic, I’ll do so privately in relevant topics e.g. She learns Claude is half-Almyran and says something she shouldn’t.

...

Bloody hell. This was an essay. I’m sorry. I should stop typing my literal thoughts.

[ofstormsandwolves]

The Parent-Teacher Night

Teen

Modern AU

Giles/Joyce, Buffy, Faith, Xander, Willow, Gwendolyn Post, Snyder

Swearing, implied/ referenced child abuse/ neglect

Part of Sunnydale 2019 (full order on AO3)

Read on AO3

Buffy Summers is not looking forward to Parent-Teacher Night. Particularly with Principal Snyder out to get her...

“Buffy, don’t forget we’ve got parent-teacher night tonight.”

At her mother’s words, Buffy froze with a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. She hadn’t exactly forgotten about parent-teacher night, she just hadn’t actively tried to remember it. Time was, she could have gotten away with just not mentioning it to her parents. But when your step-dad was the school librarian, it sort of became difficult to hide those sorts of things.

“Why do I have to go?” Buffy asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Come to think of it, why do you have to go?”

Joyce fixed her daughter with a look. “To talk to your teachers,” she said pointedly. “To find out how you’re settling in.”

“But Giles works there,” Buffy argued. “If one of my teachers had a problem with me, they’d have already spoken to him about it.”

The man himself was simply watching the conversation unfold as he leaned against the kitchen counter sipping tea and reading the paper. He glanced in Buffy’s direction, and she glared back at him, hoping he picked up on how unhelpful he was being.

“Well, I still want to meet your teachers,” Joyce retorted, and her tone left no room for arguments. “I’ll meet you and Rupert in the school library at five, and we’ll go see them.”

Clenching her jaw and realising she wasn’t going to win this particular battle, Buffy reluctantly turned back to her breakfast.

The car ride to school was tense and silent, Buffy choosing to scowl out the window rather than talk to Giles. To his credit, he seemed to pick up on the fact she didn’t want to talk, and he didn’t force conversation on her. But when they reached the school parking lot, he cut the engine and turned to her.

“There really is no need to worry about tonight, you know,” he said, and his tone was somewhere between caring and amused. Buffy was glad he found the whole thing so damn amusing. “I’ve had no complaints from any of your teachers, and while your grades are perhaps a little lower than your mother and I would like, they aren’t bad and we know you’re working hard.”

But that didn’t exactly reassure Buffy. “Principal Snyder hates me though,” she reminded her step-dad seriously. “He’s constantly watching me like I’m some sort of criminal!”

“Buffy, Principal Snyder hates everybody,” Giles responded with a small smile. “He even hates me. And your mother is aware of that, so do try not to worry.”

Buffy fixed her step-father with an unconvinced look then, before climbing out the car. She heard Giles sigh, before he too got out the car. She set a fast pace towards the school, but somehow he managed to grab his bag, lock the car, and fall into step beside her.

“I’m sure it won’t be anywhere near as bad as you’re thinking,” Giles said calmly despite the brisk pace they were walking at. “It’s a fresh start, Buffy. And like I said, your mother and I know how hard you’re working.”

Buffy came to a halt just in front of the steps leading up to the school, and fixed her step-dad with a look yet again. “But what if it’s not enough? What if, however hard I work, I’ve still screwed everything up? I bet Snyder can’t wait to kick me out of the school! And what then?”

“That’s not going to happen, Buffy,” Giles argued, exasperated. “Really, you’re getting ahead of yourself. How about we just get through the day, yes?”

Jaw clenched, Buffy glared up at the school building for several moments. “I’ll see you later,” she said suddenly.

Giles could only watch as she stormed up the steps to the building.

 By the time five o’clock rolled around, Buffy was a jittery mess. She and the others had arrived in the library after sixth period, but while her friends had got on with their homework Buffy had fidgeted and paced and generally panicked.

“Geez, B, I don’t get the big deal,” Faith said with a frown as Buffy paced the library. “So what if some stupid teachers don’t like you?”

Jaw clenched, Buffy shook her head in frustration. “It’s not about whether or not they like me,” she argued. “It’s about whether or not I’ve completely screwed things up.”

Willow was watching Buffy worriedly, an anxious expression on her face. “But you haven’t screwed things up, Buffy. I mean, sure, there was the whole fire and graffiti thing in L.A but- but that’s in the past!”

It was then that the doors to the library opened, and Joyce stepped in looking a little anxious. “I’m not late, am I?” she asked as she crossed the floor. “I was a little late leaving the gallery.”

Buffy gave her mom a tight smile. “It’s fine. Giles is in the office.” She nodded towards the office then, but Joyce didn’t move.

“So, these must be your friends,” Joyce stated, smiling at Willow, Xander, and Faith who were gathered around the table. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Buffy and Rupert.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at that, and was relieved when Giles chose that moment to come out of his office.

“Ah, Joyce.” He greeted his wife with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, before turning to the children. “I’m going to have to lock the library up now. Were you three waiting for anyone?”

“I told Gwen I’d meet her in the student lounge,” Faith shrugged, shoving her half-finished science homework into her bag and crumpling it as she did so.

Xander got to his feet. “Well, lucky for me my parents don’t care enough to come to parent-teacher night.” He flashed a smile at Giles and Joyce, who both looked marginally uncomfortable with this news. “So me and Will are heading off.”

Giles frowned at that. “Willow? Your parents aren’t coming either?”

The redhead smiled and shook her head as she stood. “No, they’re away for work. They’re at a lecture in Rhode Island. They’re psychologists.”

“And you’re home alone?” Joyce asked, not looking remotely pleased about what she was hearing. “I hope it’s only a few days.”

“A week,” Willow shrugged. Seeing the looks on Joyce’s and Giles’s faces, she quickly scrambled to cover. “I- It’s ok though, I’m kinda used to it. And Xander’s coming over for pizza!”

The boy nodded eagerly at that, and Joyce pursed her lips before fishing a notepad and pen out of her purse and writing something down.

“I know you’ve probably already got Buffy’s cell number,” she said as she tore the page off the pad and crossed the room to push it into Willow’s hands. “But there’s our home number, in case you need anything.”

Willow didn’t seem to know what to do with that, and gave Joyce a tentative smile. “Oh, uh, thank you Mrs Giles.”

“It’s Joyce, dear,” Joyce responded with a small smile. “And I expect you to use that number if you have to, am I clear?”

Willow nodded at that, seemingly a little less uncertain than a moment or so before. Then she turned to Xander. “Ready to go?”

“Sure,” he nodded, and the pair of them moved as one towards the door.

Buffy and Faith followed, and Joyce and Giles brought up the rear. As Giles switched the lights off and locked the doors, Joyce, Buffy, and Faith stood to one side to wait for him.

“Is it just your mother who’s coming to parent-teacher night, Faith?” Joyce asked suddenly.

“Mom,” Buffy started uncomfortably, “Gwen’s not-”

But Faith shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s fine, B,” she said, before turning to Joyce. “Gwen’s my adopted mom. My real parents fucked off when I was little, I don’t really remember them.”

“Oh,” Joyce said, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine,” Faith repeated, flashing Joyce a smile. “Gwen’s not that bad. Hell, she adopted me so I shouldn’t really complain. And besides, I don’t go in for that sob-story shit anyway. I’m not looking for sympathy or anything.”

“No,” Giles agreed as he joined the three women, “but if Snyder hears you swearing, you’ll be looking for a way out of detention.”

Despite Giles’s stern expression, Faith smirked at him.

“Yeah, and you know I’d find it, G. Anyway, speaking of finding stuff, I’d better go look for Gwen.”

She set off down the corridor then, and while Giles and Buffy were a little amused, Joyce seemed a little dumbfounded.

“So Faith’s, uh, nice,” she managed after a moment, looking to her husband for support.

“I’ll admit she has a nasty swearing habit,” Giles conceded as he started to lead Buffy and Joyce down the corridor, “but she really isn’t all that bad.”

Buffy tried not to notice how uncertain her mother looked.

 Despite Buffy’s initial nerves, it seemed that things were going fairly well. Dr Gregory seemed quite optimistic regarding Buffy’s work, even if she did sometimes seem to struggle with focusing in class, and Mrs Barton said much the same. In fact, almost all of her teachers had one thing in common; they thought Buffy was doing well, but an extra little bit of effort wouldn’t hurt.

“How much more effort do they want?” Buffy grumbled as they left the French classroom.

“Honey, this is all good,” Joyce reminded her daughter with a smile. “I hope you realise how proud Rupert and I are of you.”

With a hesitant smile, Buffy looked up at her parents. “You’re not mad?”

Giles frowned. “Of course not. Considering how difficult the last six or seven months have been, we’re very pleased with how well you’ve settled here.” He gave her a small smile. “And I did tell you not to worry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buffy said, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Quit rubbing it in.”

“I think we might need to make tonight a special dinner,” Joyce said as they headed through the school. “How does takeout sound?”

Buffy was about to answer, but before she could Principal Snyder appeared in front of them, looking frustrated.

“Mrs Giles?” he asked Joyce, point-blank ignoring Giles and Buffy altogether.

Joyce frowned. “Yes?”

“Principal Snyder,” the man said. “I need to talk to you in the office.”

Joyce looked to her husband then, a little confused and taken aback by the man.

“Will it take long?” Giles asked, pulling Snyder’s attention onto him. “We were about to head home. Buffy has homework.”

Fixing the other man with an annoyed look, Snyder took a moment to reply. “It will take as long as it takes, Mr Giles.” Then, looking back to Joyce, he added: “If you’d like to follow me.”

With a final confused look between them, Joyce and Giles reluctantly fell into step behind Snyder.

 The man set a brisk pace towards his office, never stopping to see if they were following. When they reached the office, Faith was stood outside, arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the wall.

“B,” she grinned, before turning her attention to Giles and Joyce. “Man, G, you must have done something real bad to be summoned to the principal’s office. You too, Mrs G.”

Snyder fixed Faith with an annoyed look, before opening the door and gesturing for Giles and Joyce to step through. When Buffy went to follow, Snyder stepped between her and the door, glaring at her.

“Miss Summers, why don’t you wait out here?”

And before Buffy could process what was happening, Snyder had stepped inside the office and shut the door.

“What was that about?” Buffy asked, turning to Faith.

The brunette grinned, and shrugged. “God knows. He’s got Gwen in there too. Bet he’s trying to rat us out, or something.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “But we haven’t done anything!”

“Like that would stop Snyder,” Faith grumbled, before catching a look at the other girl’s panicked expression. “Chill, B. It’s five by five. G-man knows we’ve not done anything wrong, and Snyder hasn’t got a single thing he can pin on us.”

Heaving out a sigh, Buffy slumped down to sit on the floor. Faith joined her a moment or two later.

Buffy looked to Faith with a frown. “This is going to take ages, isn’t it?”

 Inside the principal’s office, Joyce and Giles had been a little surprised to find another woman already waiting. She had dark hair, and was smartly dressed, and looked a little surprised to see Snyder entering with two more parents.

“This is Mrs Post,” Snyder said as he moved to take his seat behind his desk. “She’s Faith’s adoptive mother. Mrs Post, this is Mr and Mrs Giles, Buffy Summers’ mother and step-father.”

But rather than looking at Giles or Joyce, Gwen was fixing Snyder with a glare. “You do realise,” she said sharply, “that being Faith’s adoptive mother makes me her mother?”

“What are you getting at?” Snyder huffed.

“What I’m getting at,” Gwen responded, “is that there is no need to stress the ‘adoptive’ part. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

As Giles and Joyce settled in the two remaining seats facing the desk, Snyder pointedly ignored Gwen’s comments.

“I’m sure you are well aware by now,” Snyder told them with an annoyed look on his face, “but your daughters have been... Associating with one another.”

“Buffy and Faith are friends, yes,” Giles said with a frown. “Is that really why we’re here? So you can inform us of their friendship?”

“You are here, Mr Giles, so I can inform you that your daughters are troublemakers who have sought each other out in order to destroy school property and prank people.”

Giles and Joyce shared a baffled look at that, and Gwen arched an eyebrow.

“And do you have proof of this?” Gwen asked. “I’ve already spoken with several of Faith’s teachers, and nobody raised any concerns of troublemaking to me.”

“We’ve had the same with Buffy,” Joyce agreed, looking to Gwen as she spoke. “Everyone seems very pleased with how she’s settling in.”

Giles noted, with some amusement, that Joyce’s and Gwen’s apparent agreement was already frustrating Snyder.

“Regardless of what the other faculty members are saying,” Snyder announced loudly, and he gave a pointed look at Giles as he spoke, “I am telling you that I will not tolerate your children disrupting my school!”

“But they’re not,” Joyce reasoned. “They go to homework club every day after school, where Rupert keeps an eye on them. He’s never had an issue with them.” She looked to her husband. “Right?”

Trying hard to keep the smirk off his face as Snyder seemed to get angrier, Giles nodded. “Right. And they are, of course, friends with Willow Rosenberg and Xander Harris as well. The four of them are very well-behaved.”

Gwen seemed quite pleased to hear this. “Well then,” she said, getting to her feet, “why are we here? I’m sorry, Principal Snyder, but unless you have any genuine concerns about Faith’s schooling...”

“Your daughter has befriended an arsonist!” Snyder said suddenly, jumping to his feet.

Gwen froze, a frown on her face, and Giles and Joyce both stared at the principal in anger.

“Buffy Summers is an arsonist,” Snyder continued, and there was a look of malicious glee that spread across his face as he spoke. “She was arrested for participating in arson and vandalism at Hemery high school in Los Angeles, and was expelled as a result. Is that really the sort of person you want Faith associating with, Mrs Post?”

Furious, Joyce got to her feet before Gwen could speak. “How dare you! First of all, Buffy was not charged with arson, she had nothing to do with the fire! She was coerced by older students to tag along, and she had no idea what they were planning. And secondly, we were promised when we enrolled her here that she would be allowed a fresh start!”

“Not at the expense of corrupting other pupils, Mrs Giles,” Snyder sneered before turning his attention to Gwen. “Although now I think about it, I do recall one or two unsavoury marks on Faith’s permanent record too. What was it again, Mrs Post? Booby-trapping classroom doors; TP-ing the entire gym; breaking into the faculty room to swap the sugar for salt... I could go on, but I think Mr and Mrs Giles get the idea.” He fixed the three other adults with a cold smirk then and leaned back in his chair. “So with all that in mind, I’m sure you can understand why I was alarmed to hear that Miss Summers and Miss Lehane had become friends.”

“They’ve done nothing wrong,” Giles snapped. “How dare you hold past mistakes or poor decisions against them!”

“But how do we know those mistakes and poor decisions are in the past, Mr Giles?” Snyder countered, and it was clear he was enjoying the whole thing far too much. “No. The only way to ensure that they do not cause any trouble is pre-emptive action. Starting tomorrow, I do not want Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane associating with one another.”

“This is ridiculous,” Gwen protested. “You have no right to force the girls not to see one another. I won’t allow you to do this.”

“This isn’t about what you’ll allow, Mrs Post, this is about what I am going to do. Talking to you tonight was simply a formality.”

“Then we’ll go to the school board,” Joyce responded sharply. “You can’t ban the girls from being friends, it’s ridiculous.”

“Indeed,” Gwen agreed. “I’m sure the school board would be quite interested in hearing about this.”

Snyder seemed to pale then, as Joyce and Gwen glared down at him as one. As angry as he was, Giles couldn’t help but be amused. It served Snyder right for trying to pit Joyce and Gwen against each other.

Jaw clenched, Snyder seemed to consider his options for a moment. “I’ll be watching your girls very closely,” he ground out after a moment. “So much as a whiff that they are planning something and I will not hesitate to keep them on separate sides of the school campus.”

“Well,” Giles said, getting to his feet, “we’ll bear that in mind, Principal Snyder. But I highly doubt that would keep the girls from spending time together outside of school.”

Ignoring the enraged look on the principal’s face, he instead moved to open the office door. Joyce and Gwen filed out, and just before he stepped out, Giles glanced back at the man behind the desk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Principal Snyder. Have a good night.”

 “How bad was it?” Buffy asked worriedly as she and Faith followed their parents down the corridor.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about,” Joyce insisted, giving the girls a rather unconvincing smile. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

Gwen still looked furious, and Faith wasn’t sure if she was amused or concerned about that. “How that man is running a school, I don’t know,” the woman huffed in frustration. “He’s not fit to be in charge of a paper bag.”

“At least now you know I wasn’t lying when I told you the principal’s a rat,” Faith grinned.

All three adults fixed her with a look, but the brunette remained unbothered.

“Yes, well, ‘rat’ is one way to describe Principal Snyder,” Giles muttered.

They made their way out to the school parking lot in a tense silence, all of the adults apparently still stewing over Snyder’s comments in his office. Buffy, Giles, and Joyce were just heading in the direction of Giles’s car when Gwen stopped them.

“I can’t say I wasn’t a little surprised by some of the comments Principal Snyder made,” she admitted to Joyce and Giles, who shifted uncomfortably, “but then I’m sure you felt the same.” She gave a meaningful look towards Buffy and Faith, who had gravitated towards each other and were frowning at their parents in confusion. “And given the principal’s attitude and approach to the situation, I can’t help but feel that he is rather... Selective regarding what he wanted us to know. I know for a fact that some of the things he told you were, shall we say, oversimplified for instance.”

Buffy and Faith exchanged a look at that. Whatever their parents were discussing didn’t sound that good, and knowing Principal Snyder he’d had nothing but awful things to say about them.

“Unfortunately, Principal Snyder sees what he wants to see,” agreed Giles. “He certainly didn’t give you the full details.”

Gwen looked unsurprised by that, and nodded, sighing. “That’s what I thought.” She paused. “Perhaps we should discuss this further. Get everything out in the open, so to speak.”

Joyce shifted uneasily, and looked to her husband briefly. “I suppose so,” she agreed after a moment. “Are you free this weekend?”

“I am,” Gwen replied. “When would be good for you?”

Joyce responded by digging through her purse and pulling out one of her business cards. “We’re fine for whenever,” she said as she handed the card over. “But my cell number is on there, so just let me know. We can sort the details then.”

And with one final smile between them, the three adults parted company, leaving Faith and Buffy blinking after them.

“What just happened?” Faith asked.

“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted slowly. “But I don’t think it was good.”

With one last look between them, Buffy and Faith reluctantly trailed after their parents.

[i-got-these-words]

If you’re still taking requests, could you do a flirty phone convo ft. HT and MGS?? You write so good though sooo you can do whatever you like!!! I know I’ll love it!! *hugsss*

I’m sorry, anon. I don’t know what happened…

A/N: This is a work of fiction that I pulled out of my ass. In its entirety. Procedures, regulation and jargon included. There is, however, a glossary of terms at the end of this post that tries to make sense of things.

I love hearing your thoughts, so leave me a comment! ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pit was swathed in layers of slumber, the overhead lights set low as the night approached its darkest hour.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected during the third shift, but this was not it. The silence was unsettling, bordering on sinister.

The soft click of keys. The steady hum of computer fans. The stop-and-start stutter of a colleague snoring in a darkened corner.

Soon after he’d punched in, he’d dealt with two PIs and a neighbourly disturbance. But fuck all since. And the stillness was making his skin crawl.

It was nearing three am, though, and he was due a break. He was about to swivel round in the high-back chair to clear it with his dispatch supervisor when his phone monitor lit up. The emergency line.

Adjusting his headset, he picked up the call and immediately turned his attention to the mapping system on the central screen as it tried to triangulate the caller’s location.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” Guan Shan said into the mouthpiece, frowning slightly when the mapping system sputtered its failure to ping the cellular device.

A rupture of ragged breathing abraded his right ear.

“Nine-one-one,” he repeated, wondering what the statistics were on perverts prank-calling emergency services.

A throaty moan adjourned the breathless rasping, sounding wet and wounded.

“What is the location of your emergency?” Guan Shan tried again, more urgent this time.

What the fuck?

Two weeks post training and initiation, Guan Shan’s most exciting call yet had been a GTA that had lasted all of ten minutes – casualties: nil. Although a desk job was not the endgame, moonlighting as a 911 operator whilst he studied for the EMT license exam would help cushion the blow the paramedic training fees were going to deliver to his malnourished bank account.

Running the ATL on the mapping system again, Guan Shan quickly scanned the screen to his left. The list of incoming calls to the county’s PSAP were sparse, a Code Red notably absent.

Just as he inhaled, readying himself to reiterate his opening line, a clamorous clatter rang in his ear, followed by a series of sibilant curses.

“Hello?” The voice at the other of the line, smooth as silk and husky like cigarette smoke, was distinctly male.

Guan Shan ignored the way the fine hairs at his nape prickled. “Sir, what is your emergency?”

“Well, I’m not sure how much of an emergency a man at death’s door constitutes.” All facts and no filler. “He’s fucked.” The words were enunciated on a knife’s edge. And sent a chill to the hollow of Guan Shan’s spine.

But Guan Shan had shed blood, sweat and snot over the Emergency Management and Communications modules and there was no fucking way this dickhead was going to throw him off.

“What is your location?” Fingers flying over his primary keyboard, Guan Shan pulled up the live rota on unengaged EMT vehicles. Due to recent cutbacks, there were plenty of ambulances but not enough crew. “Sir?”

A withering exhale. “You’ll have to track the phone. Somewhere in the ass crack of fuck-knows-where.”

Guan Shan ground his teeth, suppressing a sour retort – partly irked by the man’s unhelpful response and deliberate disregard, and partly irked by how erotic he sounded with said disregard. In particular, the way he said ‘fuck’ with the faint, fluid hint of a high-bred accent made Guan Shan’s ears heat up.

“What can you see around you? Any landmarks?” Guan Shan asked as he launched the medical emergencies algorithm, the rapid click-click-click of the plastic keys matching the speed of his heart, beat for beat. He’d never managed a critically-unstable casualty outside of a simulation before.

“Desert. Dirt. A beat-up truck.” Pause. “A bleeding man on his last breath.”

“Can you apply pressure to the wound?”

A soft sound in Guan Shan’s ear suggested a smirk. “Depends. Which would you rather: death by exsanguination or asphyxiation?”

The shit? “Ex-excuse me?”

The man lowered his voice to a tortured pitch and Guan Shan tensed in his seat. “There’s a gaping, toothless grin where his neck used to.”

Fucking-A.

Trepidation torched Guan Shan’s nerves as sawdust filled his mouth. “Who did that to him?” Was the perpetrator on the premises? Was the RP in danger? Or did Guan Shan have a homicidal psycho on the line?

A moment passed, the only sound in Guan Shan’s ear the slow, even breaths of a man who wasn’t used to being questioned.

“How green are you, rookie? There’s only me and this shithead for miles in every direction.”

“Tell me.” Guan Shan hissed. Tell me what you did, you arrogant prick. And then tell me where you are so I can unleash a squad on your ass.

“I slit his throat,” the raw edge to the voice was savage.

“Why –” Guan Shan clamped his mouth shut before the rest of that sentence escaped. Fuck almighty. With brisk taps, he alerted EMS and the sheriff’s office of the Code Red: Assault in Progress.

He needed a location.

“What is this, couple’s therapy?” The man sneered. “Why does anyone kill?”

Guan Shan’s gaze flickered back to the central monitor; the mapping system was still struggling to pick up a cell signal.

“Duty,” the man started, tongue rolling tenderly over the ‘t’ like a lover. “Derangement. Or self-defence.”

Derangement. Without a fucking doubt.

“Where the hell are you?” Guan Shan whispered, more to himself, fists clenching briefly over his keyboard before he resumed typing again.

“I thought you were tracking the phone?” The almost-stammer in the man’s voice was so slight Guan Shan nearly missed it.

What was that? Fear? Exhaustion?

“I’m trying.” Guan Shan insisted, sending an SOS message to his dispatch supervisor. “But accuracy relies on a number of factors: the model of the phone, signal strength –”

“Figures,” the man interrupted. “It’s a burner. Production lines probably dried up last century. He doesn’t have anything else on him.”

“What about your own phone?”

“He took all my shit. Dumped it en route.”

Growing more confused, Guan Shan pressed his lips together and back-pedalled to triage. “Are you hurt?”

A throaty chuckle. “I’m not dead or dying. And that’s all that really matters, right?”

Mother of fuck. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this dickhead.

Guan Shan startled as a hand landed on his shoulder – it was his supervisor. Muting the line, Guan Shan indicated the spazzing mapping system. “I can’t get coordinates.”

With a grim look, his supervisor took in the electronic log, the Code Red alert, and said, “I’ll work location from my pod. You stay on intel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Guan Shan acknowledged the order with a dip of his head and unmuted the call. “Help me out here. I can’t dispatch a unit to fuck-knows-where,” he muttered into his mouthpiece, a cold bead of sweat sliding down the back of his neck. “How’s the other guy doing?”

“Still twitching.” The words were choppy, the inflection flat. “Listen.” The man heaved a deep sigh, sounding tired and battle-torn. “I haven’t had anything to drink in the last twenty or so hours. And nothing to eat for longer than that. I haven’t slept since fuck knows when. I used the last of my reserves to take this shithead out.” An audible swallow. “I’m tired. And dehydrated. And furious as all fuck. But when his buddy realises something’s up, he’s gonna hightail it to this godforsaken dry land and fuck me up.” An amused chortle tickled Guan Shan’s ear. “And all I got is a rusty switchblade and shitty night vision. Plenty of fucks to give, but not enough juice to fuel ’em.”

Guan Shan’s mouth went from dry to arid.

No way.

No fuckin–

“Who are you?” Guan Shan asked, sounding much calmer than he felt, fingers poised over the keys that would spell the RP’s name out.

The man didn’t need to say it; Guan Shan already knew. Should have known the minute the man had spoken. Not because his face had been on every news station in the country for the last three days. Nor because of his high-profile status. ‘Plenty of fucks to give…’ But because of one rainy night with no cab in sight, an exclusive bar that begrudgingly provided shelter, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue that kept on tipping.‘ … but not enough juice to fuel ’em.’

A night that should have been forgettable, but wasn’t. Touches that should have remained anonymous, but hadn’t. Masks of sultry indifference that should have stayed in place, but had slipped, slipped, slipped.

Two years on, and every rainstorm was sweet torment on Guan Shan’s senses; a reminder of a night that shouldn’t have happened, of a risk he shouldn’t have taken.

“He Tian,” came the haggard reply. “My father is the state prosecutor.”

Grabbing his radio gear, Guan Shan hit the transmission button and barked, “This is Oscar Paris Two-Five-Five, Delta Havana, do you copy? Over.”

A sizzle of static burst through the radio’s speaker. “Delta Havana receiving. Over.”

“The twelve-nine on the Code Red is a twelve-one. Over.”

“Repeat dispatch. Over.”

“The Code Red is a twelve-one. I repeat, the Code Red –” Guan Shan dropped the radio-speak “– is the Chief Prosecutor’s son. Immediate threat to life. Over.”

“Ten-four. Do we have a location? Over.”

Fuck. “In progress. Over.”

“Ten-four. Standing by. Over.”

He Tian laughed a little, but the sound was a dry and ragged thing. “That was… kinda hot, rookie.”

“Look, we’re gonna find you.” Sifting through the notes he had taken so far, Guan Shan said, “You mentioned a truck.”

“Yeah,” He Tian replied wryly. “But I can’t drive stick.”

Had the circumstances been different, Guan Shan might have rolled his eyes. “The suspect picked this specific location. It isn’t random. He would have needed to find his way back. Is there a navigation system in the vehicle?”

He Tian hummed in agreement. “Yeah, okay. I’ll check.” There was a rustle of movement, punctuated by a pained grunt.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Shit. He was hurt. Running only on adrenaline, it wouldn’t be long before He Tian crashed.

“Take it easy,” Guan Shan instructed. “And stay on the line. How many accomplices does the suspect have?”

“I only ever saw one other guy. He wanted to give my dad another day to cough up the ransom. But this shithead here said he was done babysitting.” An obnoxious creak of unoiled hinges screeched into Guan Shan’s ear. “Brought me here to put a bullet in my head.”

As Guan Shan fed the information electronically to the police coordinator, he added the relevant codes to indicate armed perps and firearms at the scene.

“Fuck yeah, rookie. Good call.” He Tian chuckled. “There’s a marked map here. And a Gatorade.”

With He Tian relaying the approximate longitude and latitude over the phone, Guan Shan was able to zero in on a location on the mapping system. He picked up his radio phone.

“Delta Havana, this is Oscar Paris Two-Five-Five. Over.”

“Go ahead, Oscar. Over.”

“We need to mobilise a chopper. Over.”

“Ten-four. What are the coordinates? Over.”

Once he’d rattled them off, Guan Shan sent an urgent message to his dispatch supervisor to authorise his request for air support; it was the quickest and safest way to reach that far in the desert this time of the night.

The mapping system refreshed itself and a green dot appeared on the screen, zinging its way to the red dot in the ass crack of fuck-knows-where. ETA seven minutes.

“He Tian,” Guan Shan began, “there’s a helicopter on its way.”

But He Tian appeared distracted. “Uh-huh.”

“I still need you to stay on the line til –” A deafening bang blasted through the headset. “Fuck! What was that? He Tian?” Right ear ringing, Guan Shan checked that the call hadn’t dropped. “He Tian?”

Fuckfuckfuck.

He slammed down the transmitter button on his radio. “Oscar Paris Two-Five-Five to Echo Gold, do you copy? Over.”

“Echo Gold receiving. Over.”

“Shots fired.” Fffuuuckk. “I repeat, shots fired.”

“Ten-four. We’re still in the air. Do you still have comms with the RP? Over.”

Guan Shan worked the muscles in his jaw. “Negative,” he whispered.

Fucking shit.

The helicopter was still three minutes out. And that was assuming they’d find the right location straight away. And a suitable place to land.

Running tremulous hands through his hair, Guan Shan stopped himself from wreaking havoc on the curved desk and the console before him.

So close, he thought. We were so fucking close.

A soft murmur in his ear had Guan Shan stilling. “He Tian?”

Another pained grunt. Oh sweet fuck.

“Sorry,” He Tian said, his voice like smoked honey. “I dropped the phone. I told you I couldn’t fucking drive stick. I think… I think the engine backfired.”

Guan Shan laughed despite himself. Fully aware that the audio was being recorded, and the transcript may be used in evidence, he let out a low growl, laden with chocked emotion. “You owe me another Johnnie Walker, you dickhead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glossary ~

PI: Public Intoxication

GTA: Grand-theft auto

EMT: Emergency Medical Technician

RP: Reporting person

ATL: Attempt to locate

PSAP: Public-safety answering point; a call centre dedicated to handling the emergency telephone number(s) for police, firefighting, and ambulance services.

EMS: Emergency Medical Service

12-9: Assault in progress

12-1: Kidnapping

10-4: Understood

ETA: Estimated Time of Arrival

Comms: Communication

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

alpha - drew m / roman r. [m]

Note:

Okay, so I’ve seen a few of these floating around now and then and I know that as a reader, I personally enjoyed the experience. And that little showdown between Roman and Drew really... Got to me and lives in my head rent free. My original idea for this was so much different than what this is going to shape up to be, but honestly, I feel like it works better this way. As much as I dislike even thinking Randy Orton’s name. Adding that particular variable into the mix made this a lot smoother than my original idea.

I’m actually really excited about this. It’s a choose your own smutty ending. I think the first person I saw trying this was @glowrioustrash​ and it was last year, for Halloween, I think? I enjoyed reading that, so I kinda wanted to try my own hand at it then. I just never got around to it. I even asked them if it was okay if I did it, back then, I think? Anyway... Last night’s Smackdown just gave me ample inspo to FINALLY get off my ass and try it, and make it a part of my year-long smut one shot series. Bet ya’ll thought I completely forgot about those, huh? Well I didn’t. So... here we are.

This part is the beginning to both of the smutty parts I’m going to write for this, so it’ll be linked on either post and either post will be linked here, once I have them all done and posted on the blog.

LIFE EDIT: Eventually, loves... I’ll get around to posting the smutty conclusions to both men. When I do, those will be linked to this post.

Enjoy this teaser, hopefully?

HUGE SHOUTOUTS TO : @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure and @schizoauthoress​ (your suggestions and that helpful input at the end, ahhh.. i owe you my life)  as well as @wardl0w because I have probably bugged the living hell out of all three of them as I attempted this and they were seriously huge helps to me with this.

Characters / Pairings:

Drew McIntyre / Female!omega reader - version 1, coming soon

Roman Reigns / Female!omega reader - version 2, coming soon

Warnings:

This is an attempt at me, writing alpha/omega again. So there will be knotting, mate bite marks, etc. In addition to that, there will be smut in the second part of these, whichever man you guys choose. There’s also hints of unwanted confrontation between Orton and Reader to start this off with and it gets... handsy, ewwww. But I had to have a way to work in both guys and make it work, so.. here we are. There’s also gonna be swearing. If I need to issue any other warnings those will be on the follow up posts.

Tagging:

@kyleoreillysknee​ @rampagewriting​ @writertoo18​ @thatnerdwriter​ @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure​ @chasingeverybreakingwave​ @waywardwrestlewritingwaif​ @sassymox​ @champbucks​ @hungmanhorsecarriage​ @wardl0w​ @ryantaylorgirl​ @dilfmoxley​ @hotyeehawman​ @darbysallin​ @gabbynorth98​ @bec0m​

@linziland13​ @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch​ 

Other Stuff:

[ about my writing - masterlist - tag list doc ]

[ Roman ] or [ Drew ]

The scent was absolutely intoxicating. So understandably, when it filled my nose for the fourth time that night, I found myself standing. Making my way out into the hallway. Shoving people out of my way. Now, I wasn’t running or anything, because my grandma always told me it’s better to be chased than do the chasing but… I was power-walking.

And, as per usual, not paying a lick of attention to where I was going or my surroundings. I was solely focused on this mysterious scent because deep down inside, I knew exactly where it was going to lead me and damn it, I might put up one hell of a show about being independent, but heat cycles are hell and yeah, maybe I get lonely as of late. Maybe I’ve been longing to find my Alpha. Maybe I want the comfort of knowing that I’m not doomed to be forever alone and I do have a mate out there, somewhere...

It hit me then, around the same time that my thighs absolutely flooded with slick and I started to feel all woozy. I hadn’t taken suppressants. In fact, I had somehow managed to completely forget about my heat cycle’s speedy approach.

I mean, between moving and getting called up to the main roster, life has been a whirlwind for me lately. And tonight I hadn’t taken them before I came to the arena because I was excited. Tonight was my first night on the main roster. And in the excitement of that, I’d forgotten my suppressants… again.

To be fair, I haven’t ever really adhered to taking them steadily to begin with, so there you go...I never really had anyone constantly riding me to do so growing up. I was mostly left to my own devices, free to do what I wanted and make my own choices. So, yeah, this isn’t my first rodeo with a surprise heat cycle.

I shoved all the thoughts out of my noisy mind, pausing my walk to attempt focusing. Centering myself so that I could really fix on the scent and the direction it came from. And in my distraction, that gave Orton the perfect opportunity to slither up and corner me before I even had a chance to properly respond.

“Doll.”

“I have a name, you prick.” I rolled my eyes as I shrank away, nose wrinkling at the oversaturation of his scent as it invaded my nose and momentarily drowned out that heavenly aroma I’d been attempting to follow before I got distracted like a dumb bitch.

He chuckled, putting himself closer to me. Leaning down a little. And the audacity of this fucking man, he even had the nerve to reach up and move my hair away from my neck, his nose burying there as a lewd growl rose up from the depths of his chest.

I shoved at him and cleared my throat. “I was kind of in a hurry, do you mind knocking it the fuck off, jackass? Go sniff someone else, ew.”

“C’mon now, hon… You know what’s happening to you. You know you need me.”

“Like I need a bullet wound to the head, Orton. Fuck off.” I tried to duck beneath his arm but his other hand caught on my hip, keeping me pinned between him and the wall. By now, the scent of him was so overpowering and gross that my stomach was lurching. My consolation thought as I began to panic a little and tried to think of a quick way out of this confrontation was that maybe if I just threw up on the asshole, he’d get away.

Somehow, I didn’t see that happening. Orton doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who picks up on cues, verbal or non-verbal. Likes to assert that dominance he fancies himself to have.

He chuckled again.

Then suddenly, the scent was back and it was overpowering his stench. ,, Thank God.” I thought to myself, daring to mutter the words under my breath. I found myself peering over Randy’s shoulder, waiting on whoever the intoxicating scent I’d been following originally to show themselves.

And when he stepped out behind Randy and into view… If I thought I was wet before, whew… I was absolutely flooded beyond all hope now. I swallowed hard, biting my lip, locking eyes with him. Randy seemed to realize that my attention was wandering and this of course, only made him up his game.

His hips brushed boldly against mine and I cringed, pretending to gag when I felt the way Orton strained at his trunks. At the moment, Randy was completely and blissfully unaware as to what fate awaited him if he were stupid enough to turn around and honestly?

I’m enough of a bitch that I was hell bent on not alerting Randy to it, either. Instead, I took a few shaky breaths and stared up at him defiantly. “Why do I need you, Orton? They make vibrators bigger than that fun sized Tootsie Roll I’ve heard you’re packing every day of the week. I don’t need you. Or anyone.”

I knew that part was a lie because as all this was going on, my body was in a literal frenzy at the sight of my Alpha. My skin was tight, I could barely breathe. I was doing good to think straight and form words, honestly. I was a split second away from being overwhelmed. Because thanks to my Alpha showing themselves, my heat cycle went from a mild annoyance to almost intolerable within a split second.

I needed to get away from Randy. I needed to get somewhere and calm down. But I wanted to stay exactly where I was, curious to see if my Alpha was here for the reason I’d ventured out of hair and makeup in the first place.

So far, all he was doing was standing there. Watching my little confrontation with Randy. The tension in his body quickly gave away his feelings on the matter, however. And that’s what kept me quiet. Allowed me to let Randy keep digging his own damn grave.

Because it amused me.

And I needed to know that my Alpha was actually a good Alpha. I needed to know he’d protect me, no matter what. I also needed to know that he knew when to fuck off and allow me to handle things on my own.

I wanted to test his boundaries too, if I’m being perfectly honest.

Randy bit his lip, staring down at me as if I were food and he was a starving man. He raised a hand and rubbed his chin in thought, eyes not leaving mine for a second. “Why do you need me? Well, it’s like this, doll. I want you. And you’re not in the mindset right now to turn down any Alpha who offers himself up, just goin off of that sweet little scent you’ve got yourself right now. Just drop the act, princess. You and I both know that if you don’t find an Alpha, things are going to get real messy back here. Real fast. And I don’t think you want that now, do you hon?”

,, what I want is for you to back the fuck away. Find a tube of toothpaste or some cologne or a shower, something… anything to rid yourself of the stench you’ve got yourself.” the thought came but I was treading carefully, so I kept it internal, choosing only to give a soft laugh and roll my eyes at Randy instead.

“You know exactly zilch about me and my ‘delicate state’, first of all. Secondly? I wouldn’t choose you for my Alpha if you were the last one on earth.” I managed to get the words out. I managed to keep my eyes off of my actual Alpha, who still stood by watching intently, fists clenched tight now.

When he gave a quiet growl and started to approach, the flood in my panties only got so much worse.

And naturally, Randy thought this meant that something he’d said was getting through and that I was just playing hard to get… He pressed me against him, a hand going to my cheek as he gave a smug grin and let his gaze settle on me thoughtfully. “I knew it.”

“Like I said, Randy, you really don’t have a single fucking clue.” I tried to squirm free from his grasp but the fever raging in my body and the overwhelming scent of my true Alpha as he grew angrier and angrier combined with the slightest panic I was feeling at being fucking cornered like an animal by Orton, those were all working against me and I couldn’t extract myself.

His answer was to smirk and chuckle again. “You realize I can scent you and I know exactly what’s on your mind right now, right?”

“Good, then you know I want to stab you in the eyeball with my stiletto. Or reach down, grab that little shrimp dick of yours and twist til it comes off in my hands?” I quipped, a sweet smirk on my face as I boldly met his gaze. When I picked up on him, slowly inching his face closer to mine, I swallowed hard. It felt as if my throat were closing up and it was quickly becoming clear to me that if I thought I had this under control, I really didn’t. Randy wasn’t going to stop or go away. And he wasn’t going to let me get away either.

Desperately, I found my gaze shifting over Randy’s shoulder. I locked eyes with my Alpha and mouthed, “Any day now?…” almost impatiently. I wanted Randy the entire fuck away from me. And I was really starting to realize that I couldn’t achieve that on my own. I was fully in over my head.

Typical of me, I’m afraid.

I have to admit, the fact that my Alpha had yet to actually do anything had me in an internal uproar. It had me thinking that maybe I’d gotten the wrong read on him when I watched an earlier promo in the night.

Before I had a chance to consider it fully, that my Alpha might not be a good guy either, two things happened. One, Randy’s hand left my cheek and his mouth closed in even more, rough lips almost about to brush mine and disgusting stench for a moment blocking out the scent of my Alpha. His hand settled on my hip and he was pulling me against him. 

I planted a hand firmly against his chest, palm down. “What the--?” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence because from behind Randy, my Alpha’s throat cleared.

Randy grumbled to himself, picking up on the presence of my Alpha. But it was too late.

My Alpha locked eyes with me and nodded, indicating that I needed to move now, while Randy was distracted, and trust me, I wasted absolutely no time doing that. I extracted myself from between Randy and the wall I’d had my back pressed against and not even a split second later, my Alpha’s fist went smashing into Randy’s face and he had him pinned against the wall, a forearm across his throat.

And I didn’t think, I just ran.

I ran until I was out in the parking garage and then I stopped, catching my breath. It passed through my mind that maybe I should go back inside and at least attempt to be there when the brawl taking place in the hallway was over, but honestly?

I needed to get myself together. To get calm. To process and catch my breath and try to puzzle everything out.

And yeah, maybe parts of me were curious. Wondering if my Alpha would seek me out, or whether the incident in the hallway was just him stepping in because I asked…

The door to the garage flew open a few feet away and I rose up slightly, eyes darting around. The scent of my Alpha filled my senses and I bit my lip, taking a few shaky breaths right as he started to call my name. I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came. His footsteps were getting closer and closer.

My heart was racing and his scent hung heavily in the air around us, making me dizzy as the heat took over in my body. He touched me, and almost the instant I felt his hand on my shoulder, I could feel my body cooling down. This wave of relief washed over me and all I could think was that if this is what his touch felt like, I’d absolutely love more of it.

I inhaled deep, preparing myself to turn around…

[ roman ] [ drew ]

[albatris]

Hello! I think it was you I saw a post about making more realistic characters with psychosis (I think that's the right word?), and I was wondering if you have any guidelines or help saved for what to do and not to do with them? Because I'm making a new character right now and it sounds like psychosis might fit with them so I want to see if I could make it work :) thank you so much for any help or nudges towards help that you can give! I hope you have a wonderful day!

Hello! Aha yeah that was probably me, or if it wasn’t me that particular time you’re thinking of, it absolutely has been me at some point or another, I’m definitely not quiet about how much I’m on the lookout for realistic psychosis rep. And I’m super happy you’re looking into it! We definitely need more of it! Much excitement on my end over here and good luck with your character-creating and research! I hope you’re having a wonderful day too!!

OK LONG POST

So firstly I wanna emphasise that “psychosis” itself is a super broad label that encompasses a lot of different symptoms and experiences! And that there are many different psychotic disorders. In terms of psychosis symptoms, most commonly people think of hallucinations, delusions and paranoia. And while you can have a character whose psychosis is limited to those things, because any array and combination of symptoms is possible, this isn’t the case for many psychotic people! There are a lot of other common facets of psychosis that exist that are hardly ever addressed in fiction (and are specific criteria for certain psychotic disorders). I will talk about some of these in one of my lists! This is something to be aware of regardless, but especially if you’re going to be depicting a specific disorder, because often there are a lot more symptoms/criteria that go into a psychotic disorder than people think and you’ll want to do your research on the disorder in question.

Anyway so this is a HUGE question and I’ve broken my response into some lists, we’ve got some lists, we’ve got a general what to do list, a general what not to do list, and a things I would personally love to see more of but aren’t applicable to every story and context list

some non-exhaustive lists, hey, because I’m sure I’ve forgotten a bunch of things that I’ll think of later and be like Oh Man I Forgot That Thing

and I wanna emphasise re my what to do and what not to do lists, these lists are gonna be fairly general, because without knowing your specific story and the character in question, I can’t cover all the things, yeah? For me to get super specific with these lists it would depend on the character in question, the premise of your story, the setting, the specific symptoms you want to represent, etc, etc…

ANYWAY

LIST TIME

AND READMORE TIME UNDER THE CUT

we’re gonna start with….. (because my first dot point is my most important and literally no other reason)

What not to do

Firstly, don’t freak out. Try not to get overwhelmed! Honestly it can seem like a really huge thing to tackle, but don’t let anxiety about getting it wrong stop you from trying, if you decide that this is something you want to include for your character. You can start small, you can work bits and pieces into your character, you can explore different things and see what happens! Anyone who is writing an experience that they themselves haven’t experienced is bound to make some mistakes, and that’s more than okay! Be open to learning and listening!

Don’t use psychosis for a cheap plot twist or shock value.  Hey, there’s lots and lots of ableist twists and tropes out there involving psychosis. Stuff like “none of it was real, it was just some crazy mentally ill person’s fantasy the whole time!!!!” tends to be tired and stale at best and horribly ableist at worst. Also certain tropes in fantasy settings such as schizophrenia being caused by demons can get real dicey real quick. If you want to go the direction of having some sort of “twist” around it, definitely ask around and get some opinions from psychotic people on it. Like, absolutely, twists around psychosis can be done, but there’s a right way and a wrong way to handle them.

Don’t present psychosis as some sort of horrible dead end or the worst possible thing that can happen to a person. This is something I see a weird amount of? Please do your best not to present psychosis as some awful world-ending tragedy, do your best not to treat it like some sort of fate worse than death. Like absolutely psychosis can be debilitating and exhausting and difficult to deal with at times, but as a non-psychotic author please do not use it as, like, grief p-rn or whatever. Also we end up dying at the end of a lot of stories and that’s supposed to be, like, a relief? Like “oh they never would have had a happy life, this is probably for the best” and like whoa that’s not probably not a great message to be sending. You can definitely delve into some of the challenges and struggles of psychosis but be really mindful of the way you’re talking about it. And the idea that psychotic people can’t live happy, fulfilling lives is something that needs to die like yesterday

Don’t have the character’s psychosis only present when it���s convenient for the plot. This goes for any mental illness, and I see it with every mental illness. It’s something that exists in the plot only when it’s cool and edgy, or only when it’s convenient, or only when it’s relevant. Or, the illness will exist, but only the symptoms that the author can glamorise or use for edgy plot purposes. Another way of phrasing this is psychosis doesn’t exist in your story just to make it interesting. It’s not something you can dip in and out of and only commit to when it’s easy or when it suits your story. That doesn’t mean it has to be the sole focus or all-encompassing, but it does mean you need to actually commit. 

If you’re not psychotic, I highly highly highly advise against writing a psychotic villain. And I know me saying outright “don’t write a psychotic villain” is probably gonna strike some nerves for people because blah blah people can write whatever they want and blah blah there’s a way to do everything respectfully and blah blah what if my psychotic villain is a sympathetic character and morally complex and not all bad and look, I get it, I get it, I get it

I’m sure it is possible to write an interesting, morally complex, respectfully-depicted psychotic villain, but that’s not the point, that’s not the problem! The issue is that we have barely any psychotic heroes and protagonists and good guys! We have no positive rep to balance it out! We might have more space for well-written psychotic villains if we had an equal amount of psychotic good guys. Like…. psychosis is terrifying and isolating enough to deal with on its own, but adding to this is the fact that most of the representation we see is in the form of villains, antagonists, killers, etc. and like…. not only is that awful to see as a psychotic person, but fiction doesn’t exist in a vacuum and psychosis is already misunderstood and demonised enough

This is less a hard-and-fast DON’T DO THIS and more just a very very strong opinion, like, I can’t stop you if that’s what you’re doing but just. something to bear in mind, y’know? 

And now onto:

What to do

Listen to psychotic people in your research! (You knew this one was coming, hopefully!) A whole serious tonne of your research should come in the form of sources by actual psychotic people, like, read their work! Read their books! Read their papers! Visit blogs, visit forums, listen to their experiences! Listen to their experiences of the specific symptoms you want to include in your story! Most importantly, take in what they’re saying and don’t assume you know better than them about their lived experiences!

You’ll get a much better sense of how psychosis affects people and the different ways people deal with it, and you will learn things you would not have even considered otherwise! Medical webpages and articles are fine but if you want a realistic portrayal, this is absolutely not an optional step. I have read way too many books with psychotic rep written by authors who have clearly just………. never actually listened to a psychotic person talk about their experiences in their entire life and it’s actually mind-boggling to me

On this note, I follow a lot of psychosis support and information blogs on here for psychosis reasons, but a lot of these blogs are okay with and happy for people to follow them for learning or to gain a better knowledge of psychosis to support others in their lives or to ask questions about experiences. You can also find a lot of YouTube channels where people with psychosis talk about their experiences. These sorts of things can be a good place to start!

Research psychosis itself, not “writing psychotic characters”. General advice posts about how to write psychotic characters can be a good jumping off point and link to some good resources, but they’re a step removed and shouldn’t form the entire basis of your research. These posts can be great, especially if they’re made by people who experience psychosis, but they’re still meant as a starting point and you should be doing your own research as well. As a general rule, your research shouldn’t come primarily through the lens of “how do I write a psychotic character”, and should very much come through the lens of “what are psychotic experiences?” and “how do people deal with psychosis?” and “how does psychosis affect people?” and other such questions, so that you have the knowledge of to write these characters.

Also, because “how to write psychotic characters” as a google search will lead you through a plethora of terrible pages titled things like “HOW TO WRITE AN INSANE UNSTABLE CHARACTER!!!” and things that equate psychosis to being inherently violent, evil, unstable, dangerous, etc. and, I mean, I shouldn’t have to tell you that there’s absolutely nothing of value to be found in these pages? But hey.

On that note, ableist language is a huge red flag for “hey this source is a bad source”. Be mindful of your non-psychotic sources.

Be aware that there are also negative and cognitive symptoms of psychosis, and positive symptoms other than hallucinations and delusions. So I mentioned this a bit earlier, that there are a lot of other facets of psychosis that I rarely see addressed in fiction. For a lot of psychotic and schizospec disorders the symptoms can fall under the categories of positive symptoms (which “add” something, eg, delusions, hallucinations (auditory, visual, tactile, pretty much any sense) disorganised behaviour, disorganised speech), negative symptoms (which “take away”, eg, lack of motivation, flat affect, reduced speech, social withdrawal) and cognitive symptoms (eg, memory problems, disorganised thoughts, concentration problems, difficulty processing information). For most people with psychosis there will be a range of symptoms across these areas. Even if you’re not currently experiencing positive symptoms, negative and cognitive symptoms can be affecting areas of your life as well.

Of course, it’s definitely possible to experience only a handful of symptoms and there are plenty of people who experience some symptoms of psychosis outside of having a specific psychotic disorder, so it depends on what applies to your character. That being said, it is something I would love to see a lot more of in fiction because it’s………. honestly a really huge part of psychosis experience for a majority of people? And it can really help a realistic representation, as well as giving some visibility to other, less-known effects of psychosis. THAT being said, if you are writing a specific disorder such as schizophrenia, schizoaffective, etc, including other symptoms is definitely not optional. There are a lot of cookie-cutter representations of disorders like schizophrenia that barely cover half of what schizophrenia actually involves. Again, research is ur best bud

Understand that for a lot of people, psychosis isn’t really a switch that flips from ON to OFF. What I mean by this is for a lot of people, while psychosis can come in episodes, it affects most of a person’s life one way or another. Like for me personally, even on my best week, it’s still something that shapes the way I understand the world and it’s a lens through which I interpret the reality around me. It’s not something that disappears completely. It’s not something I can untangle from my gender and my sexuality or my experiences of religion or my relationships, it’s not necessarily something I can untangle from myself as a person. I have a different relationship with the world around me, and that’s not a bad thing. Sometimes it’s a nice thing. Sometimes it’s a difficult thing. Mostly, it’s just a thing. So when you’re writing a character who experiences psychosis, consider the ways it might present itself and what affects of it might be present outside of an episode. This might be in the way they see the world, or the way they speak, or the way they go about their every day life such as rituals or safety or clothing choices or things they avoid. Honestly there’s such a huge diverse range of experiences and it will depend on your character.

Understand that no two experiences of psychosis are going to be the same. Again, “psychosis” itself is a super broad label that encompasses a lot of symptoms that can come in any number of combinations and presentations, and even two people with the exact same set of symptoms can have those symptoms expressed in entirely different ways. Even two people with the same disorder are going to have different experiences of it. And beyond the differences in psychosis itself, the experience of psychosis intersects with other aspects of a person’s identity such as sexuality, gender, race, religion, etc. in fairly major ways as well. There’s not a “one size fits all” when it comes to experiencing psychosis. Consider what sorts of experiences might impact your character and understand the diversity of experiences! Research, research 

Remember that first and foremost, you’re writing a character. They have a life, opinions, likes, dislikes, neighbours, goals, whatever. Their experience with psychosis may be something that shapes their life significantly and something that affects a lot of other facets of their experience, or it might not be, but either way it’s not the only part of their identity. Your character should be just as varied and nuanced and in-depth as any of your other characters. 

and now a definitely non-exhaustive list but a list that’s good enough for now considering my brain is fried:

Things I would personally love to see more of but aren’t applicable to every story and context

Casual, everyday depictions of going about life with psychosis. I mean, this is just in general, in general I would love to see more representation in fiction of mentally ill characters going about their daily lives alongside Whatever Nonsense is going on in the main plot, where it’s acknowledged that they’re also attending therapy or taking meds or dealing with symptoms or in treatment. I think it can go a huge way in the normalisation of people dealing with mental illness and the fact that mental illness is a part of some people’s lives. I would love to see this specifically in stories that aren’t About Mental Illness. Like, an urban fantasy story where a character is shown casually taking their meds? Or a YA story where a character mentions they can’t do a particular thing ‘cause they have a psych appointment booked for that day? Or characters using coping strategies and it’s not treated as weird or other? Just, characters with psychosis, existing, in their every day lives

Supportive friends and family, or good support networks in general. Partly because I’m a sucker for found family tropes and cheesy power of friendship stories, but like, psychotic characters with friends who support them and understand them and who help them with their coping strategies! Psychotic characters with healthy support systems and friendships! Psychotic characters who get to goof off and have fun with their friends, and who get to support and help their friends! Psychotic characters who get to have romantic relationships with supportive partners! 

Happy endings! I mentioned this earlier, too, like…… in terms of representation, so much of what’s out there is either psychotic characters as villains or psychotic characters dying tragically, and this over and over and over again, y’know, eventually the message being driven home is “there is no good ending for you!” which is………. bullshit, obviously. But it can be terribly isolating and scary to internalise if you’re experiencing psychosis, and even if you know it’s bullshit, it’s exhausting! You want to see yourself represented as someone who has a future and can be happy! As I said earlier, the idea that psychotic people can’t live happy, whole, fulfilling lives needs to die, and we are in dire, dire need of stories with good endings for psychotic people.

Explicit representation of specific disorders. I was going to say that schizophrenia is something most people think of when it comes to psychosis representation in fiction, but like, honestly, a lot of those writers don’t even do the bare minimum research for what schizophrenia involves and they have a really stereotyped version of the disorder that they clearly haven’t researched at all……. but anyway yes, my point is, there are a lot of different psychotic disorders, and I would love to see some of them represented explicitly, and not just left vague and unlabelled. I would also like to see accurate, well-researched, actual representation of schizophrenia. I would also like to see psychotic depression! Or schizotypal personality disorder! Or schizoaffective! I’d like to see some actual names

Anyway that’s all that’s coming to me right now even though I’ve probably missed like fifty things for each of these lists……………… I hope that this has been a little bit helpful, maybe, somewhat, perhaps, who knows, I reserve the right to come back and say more things,

[fanficimagery]

Imagine being in a real bad mood when Bellamy suggests to take a walk, getting you distracted.

Prompt courtesy of @shadowoods

Suggestion courtesy of @libraryoffandomsuniverse who said: Hey I was wondering if you would please consider writing a Bellamy Blake x Reader for this imagine prompt from shadowoods [post/144907447291/why-are-you-doing-this-you-asked-bellamy-and]?

Bellamy X Reader

Standing around a cave as the chosen representatives of Skaikru and Trikru negotiate a peace treaty of some sorts, you can't help but let your annoyance finally show. Lexa and Clarke have a lot of sexual tension between them, but the two women are stubborn as mules and refuse to see eye to eye unless all their clothes are off. 

It seems like Clarke and Lexa have been going back and forth for hours already, and not much has been accomplished. Lexa, however, had gone out of her way to warn Clarke of another clan that call themselves Azgeda, a much harsher clan that not even Trikru likes associating with, but Clarke merely mentioned that Skaikru would never travel that far North so they're of no importance to her.

"Are you serious?" You scoff. The occupants of the cave go eerily silent and Octavia perks up in her seat, a smile forming. "Just because we don't go that far North doesn't mean they don't come this far South. Shouldn't we let Lexa tell us as much as she's willing to before writing her and the threat off altogether?"

Clarke shakes her head. "It won't matter if I don't send anyone near the borders."

"You're not listening." You groan and push off the wall, pacing back and forth. "Borders mean nothing to the Grounders. No offense, Commander," you flippantly toss in Lexa's direction. "At least with this Commander she's trying to negotiate something with us, even if you're too damn stubborn to properly listen."

"Y/N," Bellamy warns.

"I mean," you continue on as if he hadn't interrupted, "I get why you were put in charge when it was just us delinquents. But there are others in camp now that are capable of handling situations like this and who won't put their head in the sand when it comes to threats to all of their people."

"Y/N!" You halt in your movements, you gaze landing on Bellamy as he sits on a small boulder. "Take a walk. You need to cool down."

"But-"

"Now."

Your mouth clicks shut and you clench your jaw, your gaze narrowing. A moment passes, then two, and you huff as you stomp towards the entrance.

"Way to go, big brother," Octavia drawls. "Drive away the one girl whose always had your back."

"But I didn't mean for her to go without me." Octavia snorts at her brother and his head swivels to follow you as you move passed him. "Y/N, wait."

"Screw you, Blake."

"Hey!"

"Not you, Octavia. I'm talking to your idiot brother."

"I like her," you hear Lexa muse as Lincoln chuckles. "Why isn't she at more of these meetings?"

Just as you exit the cave's mouth, pressure wraps around your wrist and lightly pulls you back. "Will you stop?" Bellamy says. "There's no reason for you to be this angry."

You whirl around, yanking your wrist free of his grip. "No reason? No reason!" You whisper-shout as to not drag anyone else into the conversation. "It's our safety, Bellamy. That's all the reason to be pissed off when our precious Princess isn't taking this topic seriously."

"I know." He, just as quietly, assures you. "But you know how Clarke is. She'll see reason sooner or later and she'll be begging Lexa for everything she knows about Azgeda."

"By then it'll be too late and someone will have died because of her ignorance."

Bellamy opens his mouth to retort, but snaps it shut a split second later. Even he knows Clarke is in the wrong, but he also knows how stubborn she is. No amount of badgering will change the blonde's mind. "You know what? Come on." He manages to turn you around, grasps you by the shoulders and marches you in a particular direction. "There's something I want to show you."

"Really, Blake?" You sigh, letting him direct you where he wants. "Is now really the time?"

"It is if it means you won't be murdering Clarke." Against your better judgement you laugh, some of the tension then bleeding out from your shoulders. The further you walk, the more tension it is that seems to evaporate and it feels a bit easier to breathe. "There's this place that O found and it never fails to make her smile. You could do with a little happiness right about now."

"Whatever you say, oh fearless leader."

He snorts. "I tried being leader once. Remember? It didn't exactly work out."

"That's because my ass was too shy to attempt to keep you in line. People change, Bell. Maybe the politics around camp should too."

"Hmm. Maybe. But lets table that discussion for later. We have to be quiet where we're going." You roll your eyes, but keep quiet nonetheless. A few more minutes later and Bellamy leads you to a very small clearing. When he lets go of your shoulders, he moves so he's standing at your side. "You ready for this?"

"For what exactly?" When you glance at him, you see that he's holding a small branch. And he's smiling. "What are you doing?"

"This." He brushes the leaf covered end of the branch against a moss covered tree trunk and a faint glow starts to emanate in the shape of-

"Are those- are those wings?" You ask, incredulously. "Bellamy, what-" The glow gets brighter and starts emanating all over the trunk. Soon enough the forest ground is glowing as well.

"They're butterflies," he murmurs. "I guess the radiation wasn't all that bad if it made butterflies glow like this."

You chuckle in awe as you hold an arm out, your eyes sparkling as a couple of butterflies take flight and land on you. "They're beautiful." As you whirl around, you can't help the startled gasp that leaves you as the trees surrounding you are covered in illuminated butterflies.

"Yeah. You are." The quiet words ring louder than they were uttered and your gaze darts to Bellamy in surprise. He's leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest as he smiles at you. "Are you really that shocked?"

"Uhh.. what? Of course I'm shocked. What the hell, Blake? Since when have you-"

"Ever since you kicked my ass for treating Lincoln like the enemy when he went out of his way to help my sister."

After a few seconds pass, you manage to shut your mouth and your arm drops as you realize the butterflies have flown away. Then, you say, "Are you really admitting feelings for me when we're surrounded by beautiful glowing insects? Smooth, Bell. Real smooth."

"It was O's idea," he shrugs. "I've just been waiting for the perfect time to act on it."

"And now's the perfect time?"

"Yep. Got you to laugh, smile, and have the nerve to be so shocked rather than ranting and raving over Clarke's idiocy."

And just like that, you remember your foul mood from earlier. "I take it back. You're not so smooth after all."

Bellamy finally pushes off the tree and saunters towards you. "I don't know about that. I managed to nab you, haven't I?"

"Nab? I wouldn't be so-" But your words are cut off as Bellamy swoops in and presses his lips to yours. Your gasp is muffled and he smiles against your lips as you seem to lean into him, he then chastely kissing you once more before pulling back. You frown and your eyes narrow. "That's playing dirty. Everyone knows I have a weakness for your smile."

His smile broadens and you mentally curse yourself as your knees go weak. "Good." As he reaches for your hand to entwine your fingers, he then tugs on you to follow him. "Now come on. Lets go see how much Clarke has screwed up and see what we can fix."

"Joy," you deadpan. "That's exactly what I wanted to do after the hottest guy I ever met finally admitted he likes me."

"No?" Bellamy muses over his shoulder at you. "What is it you were hoping for, Y/L/N?"

Your cheeks immediately redden and you thank whatever deity is listening that it's dark out and he can't see your response. Instead, you have to work on keeping your voice from cracking. "That's besides the point. Just lead the way back to the cave."

[jafndaegur]

The Cowboy

 A continuation of the Sneak Peek Chapters for @mrs-han‘s Christmas present: IRtL. uwu 

Darkest | x

minor trigger warning: some racial slurring? racist name calling

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Smoke Bay, Port of Los Angeles, 1873

Underneath the shade of the gat, Jumin messed with the short fringes of his hair. The choppy brief length did not suit him. He gave a slight tug to the ends, hoping he could somehow make them longer. After more than a month at sea, he would have thought the cut to settle into at least tolerance. But in Jumin’s eyes, it was only a sign of their plight form their homeland – away from his retainers, from Jihyun, from his father. If nothing, the whole entire journey on dark tumultuous waves and sometimes unforgiving waters made the rage in his stomach dwell on the fact that he had been forced against his will.

The prince could not remember the last time he had held a full conversation between him and Hyun...or with anyone for that matter.

He stared out at the waves, watching glittering rays bounce off the surface like flickers of lighting. Near translucent at the at the top, and bluer as the depths folded in on themselves, Jumin certainly admired the ocean and its self-provided liberty despite the many days on end of seeing it. The rocking lull of its enormity helped him reel in his thoughts, train his breathing; the threads loosened to the beat of the sea. Footsteps creaked along the wooden deck floor, and the soldier sidled up next to him. For a while, Jumin kept his sights on the horizon where the blue met cerulean. Somewhere in the direction behind them, along the pale foam wake of the boat, laid the corpses of everyone he knew and cared for. There was nothing but cadaverous forms behind them – they had formed the bridge for his escape. He should have never left the library that day. If only he had escaped through the back room.

“There’s a dark line up ahead, on the horizon,” Hyun said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The navigators say it’s port.”

Jumin clenched his jaw.

“I hope your English’s well practiced, my prince,” the soldier egged on. “All of us are depending on you.”

“Do you take delight in provoking me?” He finally growled out.

“Not in particular – although it certainly is a perk.”

“Don’t forget your place, soldier.”

“Currently we don’t have a place.” Hyun’s fingers drummed on the pommel of his saber. “I hope you don’t forget that.”

Jumin relinquished and shook his head with a conceded sigh.

Hyun leaned up against the side rail of the boat. “I know, my prince, that this isn’t ideal, but I hope…well I hope we can make the best of the situation.”

“What’s to say whatever waiting here for us is any better?” Jumin raked his fingers through his loose strands of hair. “Back when the explorers visited, they spoke of civil unrest – just like within our own home. Who’s to say that this is better.”

“Optimistic as ever, highness.”

“I’m practical.”

“Practically a morale dead-weight,” Hyun huffed before gesturing to the deck. “The crew have been looking forward to landfall for as much as you’ve been dreading it. They went through hell to get you here, my prince. Could you not smile and alleviate their anxiety about this by bending your words a bit?”

“And give them false hope? I think not. That would only make things more difficult should we land and meet any obstacles.” Jumin lifted his brow. “At this point, optimism would be a distraction until we have garnered more information.”

Hyun growled and pushed himself away, his expression plainly descriptive of his distaste for the conversation. With a sharp throw of his rattail over his shoulder, the soldier stomped away to help prepare for docking. The closer they sailed to the mouth of the bay the more ships began to litter the water. Small wooden ones for fishing, larger hulking ones for cargo, and the ludicrously huge ones built entirely of metal that spat smoke and chugged through the waves like sea monsters.

Jumin felt his stomach pitch. He needed to turn their ship around. As he thought about giving the order, however, he paused and fisted his hands in the drab material of his dopo. They had traveled so far. The seas had not been kind to them. Staring out at the growing swell of land and past the jaw of the bay they’d been swallowed into – the prince knew he would not be turning back. Hyun had been right about one thing; his crew had worked tirelessly. Without relent. They scurried around like ants to make sure their impossible journey in their small ship barely fit for deep sea scooted along thousands of miles. In his heart of hearts, Jumin faced the bustling and unfamiliar land without fear. He just did not want to. Moving past the crew and down to his cabin, he folded his gangsapo – which he had laid out on his bed earlier – the only heavy coat he’d been able to bring and stowed it away in his traveling satchel. He drew on his gat and wondered if he should pack another pair of socks. Whatever they had left on the ship after embarking to find the Cowboy, more than likely he would never be able to see it again. He had packed a warm blanket, his coat, and a gilded pen gifted from his father. He was practical, he knew extra weight would only slow down their already extensive journey to Denver City. Inhaling deeply, he walked back up to the deck only to find a thins schooner pulling up beside them. A few men from that ship tossed ropes across so they could hop down from their ship to his. The crew had paused, and Hyun had slipped away since the earlier argument. That was probably a good thing.

One of the men had a thick curled mustache that he twirled between his fingers. “Which one of ya yellow skins is the leader? Lea-der.”

Jumin stepped forward without hesitation. He stared down at the man, already a few good measurements taller. He gave no sign of intimidation to the intruder.

“I guess that’d be you.” The man glanced up and down. “You’re sure pale for a yellow fella. Can you understand me?”

“Quite.” Jumin’s nose scrunched at the harsh smell of tobacco.

“You all look too posh for the rail way works. You got your docs?” the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ya gave quite a few fishermen a scare on your entry. People ‘round here ain’t overly fond of…foreign things.”

“Docs?” The prince was regretfully was not familiar with this phrase. “Yes, we would just like safe passage to the docks. We are here to meet a correspondent.”

“Correspondent?” The man snorted before grabbing Jumin’s forearm. “Sounds fishy. You part of the opium trade from the Western Passage?”

Jumin set his jaw and realized they had approached a problem he had not prepared for. Opium? Ha!

“Well?” the man demanded, watching as the prince’s crew inched towards them with a dangerous growing aura.

“Hyun, find our informant! Wherever they will take us, surely he will be able to find and help us. Men, back off.” Jumin’s gaze flickered calculatingly as he returned to English. “My name is Jumin, prince of the Joseon province. We have traveled far and would like to meet with our American correspondent to clear things up.”

“Well boys,” the man called out to his own crew with a gleefully maniac expression. “Looks like we got ourselves a yellow prince of the poppy trade.”

A nerve twinged at the corner of the prince’s mouth. “Round ‘em up. We’ll take ‘em back to holding to figure out what they’re doing here.”

Jumin was grateful that his crew gave up feigned outraged prattle so that it masked the faint splash into the bay.

– 0 –

Dragging himself up onto the beach, Hyun gasped for air. His clothes were sopping while the hems were laden with sand. The saber at his hip clattered and dragged. But he forced himself up to his feet and took off toward the town. Without his prince’s learned vocabular of English, he was limited to if he could find the Cowboy. He ducked in and out of alleys, between buildings. Afterall, how many cowboys could there possibly be? He himself wasn’t even sure of what a cowboy was. That annoyed him. His eyes scanned the long dusty road that gradually became cobblestone the future into the city. Surely this Leq or whoever was waiting closer to the wharf. The soldier didn’t know just how long ago the last bit of communications had been relayed between Lord Jihyun and he, but hopefully the American had to be waiting nearby. He had to be expecting them. Watching a carriage hobble by, Hyun shook out his sleeves and slunk out into the open. He kept his chin tucked down and eyes trained on the ground, his gat casting a shadow onto his face. He didn’t want to draw attention.

His eyes wandered off a bit when he noticed a pair of boots stuck out from the side of the road. Following the offensive feet, much to his disgust, he realized that passed out underneath a fencing post – that horses were presently tied to – a man laid underneath it, utterly drunk sleeping.

A stained, dark Cowboy hat covered and muffled his snores, but Hyun faintly wondered what sort of idiot would expose himself like this. Honestly. Some people truly held little dignity. Scoffing and shuffling out of the way, Hyun felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw one of the horses tied to the post. Once would have thought it tacked with a normal blanket and saddle, but upon closer inspection, Hyun realized that the grey cloth and purple details were familiar for a reason. It was a gangsapo from his prince’s family. Being used as a saddle blanket. Staring at the man blacked out the ground, the soldier cringed. Surely his luck couldn’t be that misfortunate.

Please don’t let that be our idiot, he begged before kicking the man’s leg. “Hey, get up.”

The man growled something out and lifted his hat off his face, a bright flash of golden eyes peeking from narrowed long lashes.

Hyun tugged at the gangsapo. “Is this yours?”

The man said nothing but at least sat up.

“Cowboy?” Hyun tried, the words feeling awkward in his mouth. “Leq?”

The man glanced at him fully before recognition shot across his expression. He stood up quickly, rocking on his feet as he swayed unevenly. Long black hair, tanned skin, so far this man looked nothing like the others from earlier.

“Prince?” He coughed out in absolutely terrible Korean.

“Taken.” Hyun pointed back to the beach.

“Taken…” The Cowboy repeated the word over and over again, gazing groggily out in the direction the soldier had pointed toward. Genuine confusion laced his brow and he scratched at the beard. His glance darkened and he untied from the post the horse with the robe-blanket. The Cowboy easily swung up into the saddle and snapped at the reins, shouting something over his shoulder as he galloped off toward the wharf.

Hyun really tried to think of a good reason not to walk all the way back to the beachfront.