#timed perfectly so that all I had to do was mix in the freshly grated parmesan and manchego to the cream sauce and serve Tumblr posts

[notbecauseofvictories]

the thing is, there’s nothing that resonates in my soul quite like feeding someone.

[heylorrain]

Serpent's Eve

[ 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐲 🐍 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ]

Previous Part 9 Next

You can read it here or just expand and enjoy!

"You do understand that this invitation was extended for your entire family as well, against my wishes, of course. But I felt the urgency to… warn you beforehand."

Ominis and Lorra eagerly make their way to Hogsmeade for a much-needed Butterbeer.

Christmas Eve had transformed the quaint village into a winter wonderland, with snow blanketing the streets and festive lights twinkling from every shop window. 

The sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mixing with the festive aromas of pine and cinnamon. As they walk, Gaunt couldn't help but smile at the feeling of Lorrain's fingers brushing against his own, their love radiating like a beacon of light in the snowy daylight.

With their arms tightly wrapped around each other, they strolled through the village. The noise and chaos of the surrounding people buying last minute presents and reuniting with their loved ones faded away as they made their way together through the crowd. It was a feeling unlike any other - being alone but not lonely, perfectly content in each other's company. 

The cold winter breeze nipped at their skin, making them hold onto each other tightly for warmth. As they entered The Three Broomsticks, Sirona greeted them a with a cheerful smile and a raised beer jar, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter filling the cozy pub.

The pair cozied up in their seats, nestled in a corner by the fireplace, basking in the comforting heat and sweet aroma of the freshly poured Butterbeer”. Ominis traced delicate patterns on Lorra's hand with his fingers, his touch as gentle as a feather. Every so often, he would lean in closer to her face, wanting nothing more than to be close to her. 

Their smiles spoke volumes as they shared soft whispers and laughs, lost in their own little world within the bustling pub.

As they waited for another round of butterbeer, Ominis leaned in close to Lorra and began to speak softly. 

"So Lorra, I’d love to give you your christmas present now, would that be okay?" Ominis spoke with a hint of excitement and nervousness in his voice. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately wrapped box.

Without even waiting for her to answer, he gently placed the box in her hands. 

Filled with anticipation, Lorrain eagerly unwrapped the package and was met with the gleam of full silver finger rings, one for each hand. She slid them on and to her amazement, they fit perfectly on the length of her fingers as if they were made for her.

"How did you know my size?" she asked in admiration, turning to Ominis with a grateful smile.

"Darling, I've been holding your hands for quite some time now," he replied with a fond smile. "I'll recognize them in any lifetime. And I know your fingers are sore and in pain... we should check that wand of yours too." His expression turned concerned as he gently touched her hand.

"Yes, I don't know what's wrong. It's like the magic extends to my hands and it's begun to hurt," Lorra confessed, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at having to admit this to Ominis. But he knew her too well, after all. He always seemed to sense when something was bothering her.

He smiled nervously and began to explain the significance of the gift. 

"These will prevent your delicate fingers from hurting after dueling and practicing. I made sure they were made with the finest silver and... apparently they're quite common. It's the third time Flamel has created ones like these in the past decade."

"Wait... Flamel? As in Nicolas Flamel? You went and asked one of the most famous alchemists for full finger rings? Gaunt, you're insane!" Lorra exclaimed in disbelief. 

She often forgot about the influence and power that the Gaunt family held, not just in politics or society, but also among the legends of their wizarding world.

Despite her shock, she couldn't help but admire the intricate details of her present. The silver rings were delicately engraved with Flutterbys flowers, adding a touch of sentimentalism. And on the back of each full finger ring, there were letters engraved - "Gaunt" on her left hand and "Lorra" on her right. 

It was clear that Ominis had put a lot of thought into this gift, and she couldn't deny how beautiful they were either. She ran her fingers over the smooth metal, feeling grateful for having such a caring and thoughtful partner in Ominis.

“Ominis, they’re breathtaking," she whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Meva Lorra. Just a friendly reminder, that I’ll always be there when you need me. " he whispered before giving her a kiss on her nose. 

She couldn't help but blush at the endearing nickname he had given her - "meva." According to Ominis, it was an adjective meaning "his" in a dead language. And indeed, she felt like she belonged to him in every way now. His possessive nature only became more evident over time, though not in a toxic way. Instead, it was a protective and loving gesture that made her heart swell with adoration. 

After the heat of their previous beverages had cooled down a bit, they enjoyed the rest of their evening visiting random stores, indulging in some quality time at Honeydukes first. Ominis' sense of taste was on full display as he correctly identified the color of each flavor of Bertie Bott given to him. 

Ominis couldn't stop bragging about his luck with chocolate frog cards, always getting the coveted Salazar Slytherin.

 As Lorra unwrapped her own, a card slipped out and landed on the floor. It was the image of a medieval witch, with piercing green eyes. Lorra's heart raced as she stared at the familiar face, but couldn't quite place it. It was hauntingly familiar, yet unsettling. A single tear escaped her eye when she traced the name with her fingertips, Morgana LeFay. 

But Ominis' excited voice broke through her thoughts, reminding her of something he had been wanting to show her for a long time.

She paid no mind to what had just happened and joined Ominis, welcoming his warm embrace as they walked down to their next stop. 

At Tomes & Scrolls, Ominis proudly showed off his favorite braille scroll. It taught the reader how to use wand movements and charms to write in braille while dictating their message. Lorra was fascinated by this unique form of magic and asked Ominis to demonstrate it. How he had adapted to the world was a mystery to her, and yet, she was undoubtedly proud of him for it. 

After exploring a bit more, they found a cozy bench near a small pumpkin patch. They sat enjoying the warm sun on their faces, cats seemed to appear out of nowhere, making their way onto Ominis' lap, purring contentedly. He smiled and gently stroked their fur as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

An old wizard, who happened to be passing by, took a picture of the two young lovers surrounded by cats, a rather abnormal situation. He clicked his camera’s button, freezing that moment in a beautiful photograph. Ominis kept the highly texturized photograph in his winter coat pocket, near his heart. 

As the sky was painted in hues of deep purple and navy blue, signaling the arrival of nightfall, they made their way back to the Castle, guided by the flickering stars that began to appear. 

They walked along the snowy road crossing paths with Thomas Simmon. His tall figure stood out against the fading light, and his sharp features were highlighted by the glow of the moon and snowflakes. They exchanged casual greetings and engaged in superficial small talk, but Lorra could sense his gaze lingering on her hand clasped tightly in Ominis' arm. A mischievous half smile played on Thomas’ lips as he extended an elegant golden envelope to the couple.

"I would be delighted if you could join me at my Manor for a celebration in honor of the New Year. My mother is quite enthusiastic about it," he said, his tone laced with charm and sincerity. Turning towards Ominis, he added with a sly wink, "And Gaunt, I would like to have a word with you, in private if possible?."

The men stepped away from Lorra, creating enough distance for her not to hear their conversation. She watched as Thomas' expression turned serious, his words weighted with importance.

"You do understand that this invitation was extended for your entire family as well, against my wishes. But I felt the urgency to… warn you beforehand." Thomas's worry for the couple was genuine. He had never been fond of Ominis, but he cared deeply for their mutual friend. The memory of what had happened in the Slytherin Common Room still lingered in his mind.  

Ominis nodded, his expression serious. "Crystal clear. And thank you for bringing this to my attention, Thomas." With a heavy sigh, Ominis went back to Lorrain who was carefully examining the invitation. 

"Well, we have our work cut out for us," Lorrain said to them. She looked up at Thomas and offered him a small smile. "Thank you again for the invitation!."

"No problem at all," Thomas replied, waving as he made his way down the path. "Merry Christmas, my friends."

The atmosphere on their way back to Hogwarts was tense and silent. Ominis' mind raced with all the possible disastrous outcomes if his family, especially his father, saw them arriving together as a couple. 

Mr. Gaunt was a man to be avoided at all costs, with his imposing presence and cold demeanor. His pale skin seemed to give off an unnatural glow, his figure thin and refined in the most aristocratic way. But it wasn't just his appearance that made people uneasy around him - it was the way he carried himself, as if he were above everyone else. He meticulously kept track of his children's friends and classmates, making sure they met his standards for blood purity. Ominis was certain that his father had already discovered Lorrain's existence, especially after their incident with his brother Marvolo after the Yule Ball. The thought sent shivers down her spine, knowing Lorra could be on his father’s radar and the consequences could be severe. His father would not hesitate to use dark spells - or whatever curse came to his mind first, for any matter- Imperio? Crucio? Avad-...? The mere thought stung his brain to the point of giving him a headache. 

He tried to push these dark thoughts away, but they continued to haunt him as they entered the castle gates. Matilda Weasley, their Professor, stood waiting for them in the North Exit courtyard. 

"Ahhh, Mrs. Morgana, please join me for a moment," she directed Lorra to an open space at the feet of the grand fountain."I believe Mr. Sallow is currently in the library, Mr. Gaunt," the witch stated in a firm tone "If you would be so kind as to join him and make sure he doesn't venture into the restricted section, again."

"Of course, Professor," Gaunt replied obediently, giving Lorra a forced smile. Before departing, he gallantly draped his coat around Lorra's shoulders, shielding her from the snowflakes and winter wind. 

Matilda made a hand movement, indicating the girl to join her by her side as she continued talking. As the red light from the tip of the blonde's wand faded behind the grand doors, The Professor began to speak: 

"Lorra, there is something I must discuss with you. It may be difficult to hear and understand at first." Her eyes sparkled with a maternal warmth that could soothe even the most agitated hippogriff.

"Of course, Professor. I'm all ears," Lorra replied nervously.

"Are you familiar with the term 'Mudblood'?" Matilda asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, professor. It's an insult purebloods use to refer to those of us with non-magical parents" Lorra answered, unsure of where this conversation was going.

"It's a cruel thing to say to anyone truly, but what I want to know is… You just said “US”...are you certain your parents were non-magical? Muggles. " The professor's voice grew more intense as she searched for something beyond just Lorra's blood status.

“Yes, professor." Lorra's voice held a hint of frustration. She trusted her professor, but this conversation felt mundane and unnecessary to her, and a bit unsettling, weird, random?.

"My parents died when I was a child, they were victims of a burglar who had broken into our home. I have very little knowledge of them or my life before my early childhood, but my aunt took me in. She and I shared being the only witches in our family. She saved me from being abandoned. But other than that, I’m afraid I cannot recall anything else…" Lorra had already told Professor Weasley this, the first day she transferred to Hogwarts. Why did she want to hear it, again? 

"I'm sorry to hear about your loss," the professor said sympathetically. The same words she used the first time she heard them. Her brow furrowed in concern as she asked "You mentioned you don't remember anything from before your early childhood?"

"That's correct, professor." Lorra repeated, as if she was in an unwanted interview. 

"What was your aunt’s full name again? Lorrain?" The professor's expression shifted to one of fear as she waited for Lorra's answer.

“Her name was Geneva Morgana… Wait-” her mind shifted for a bit, clicking what Professor Weasley said earlier. Wasn’t Sebastian back at Feldcroft with his family?

Emerging from behind the thick bushes and stepping through the imposing gates of the castle, a group of stern aurors suddenly surrounded them. Their wands were raised, poised for action, with determined grips on their handles. 

Lorra's heart began to race as she watched the scene unfold before her. Professor Weasley, ever the calm presence, took her hand in her gentle grasp and reassured her that it was all just standard security protocol. 

But there was nothing tranquil or normal about being surrounded by armed officials at night. Lorra's mind raced with questions and fear as she tried to process what was happening.

Two familiar figures burst out of the castle doors. They ran towards the turmoil, only to stop short when they encountered the ring of aurors surrounding the witches.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sebastian's booming voice echoed through the courtyard, his anger palpable as he yelled out. Ominis stood nearby, disbelief etched on his face as he pointed his wand in front of him to sense the chaos unfolding.

"Do not intervene," Arthur Sallow, the head auror in charge, bellowed with fury at his cousin and his friend. He stepped in front of them, putting his arm up to block their path.  

Sebastian could feel his blood boiling as he continued to argue with his cousin. "First you refuse to help Anne, and now this? Are you fu-” His words were cut off as Arthur slapped him across the face, silencing him.

"That is not necessary, Mr. Sallow your family matters should be kept at home, not at the job!" Matilda Weasley scolded. "Please, you too Mr. Gaunt, do not intervene, this situation has gone beyond our hands." She then turned to block Ominis's path as well. 

Lorra's heart raced as she struggled to make sense of the chaos surrounding her. Her mind felt like it was about to burst, pounding against her skull with such intensity that she feared it might actually explode. A sudden rush of adrenaline spiked through her veins, causing her fingertips to tingle and burn like they had been dipped in boiling water. The sensation spread, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin until they almost hurt her pores.

Before she could fully comprehend what was happening Arthur Sallow began to recite her rights "Miss Lorrain Morgana, you are under arrest for the murder of Lady Igraine and Lord Gorlois, the Ministry of Mag..." But Lorra couldn't hear the rest. In a blur of motion, without warning or permission, Arthur grabbed Lorra's arm and they both disappeared in a flash of bright light. The rest of the Aurors quickly followed suit, leaving behind only confusion and bewilderment in their wake.

A thick, suffocating silence descended upon the stunned group of Slytherins as they processed what had just transpired. 

“Professor Weasley, where have they taken her? This is outrageous! What is the meaning of this?” 

“Allegedly killed who? This is absurd. How could this even be happening?” 

Ominis and Sebastian began to shout simultaneously, their voices overlapping as they demanded answers from their Professor who stood before them with a heavy heart. 

She turned away, unable to meet their accusing gazes as she confessed: 

"She has been taken to the Ministry of Magic for a possible trial."

"A TRIAL?!" they both exclaimed incredulously. "For the supposed killing of who?!" The blind gaze of Ominis locked onto his sub director's face.

Matilda Weasley sighed as she responded to him. “Her parents.”

Notes 👉🥳FINALLY! 👉Say hello to Arthur Sallow, Uncle Solomon's son 😈 Serving anime villain face pose.

[azul-marie]

could you do a scenario of going on a cafe date with hajun?

hello! thanks for requesting! i do hope you enjoy your reading, and that you’re doing well. ❤️

note: fem. reader

genre: romance

characters: yeon hajun.

there are sugar flakes sparkling atop layers and frills of fruit with whipped cream crowned upon a perfectly sliced sliver of cake.

there are cream hearts drawn on your latte, sprinkled with a mix of cinnamon and nutmeg, the freshly grated kind that makes your nose scrunch up from its intensity.

his americano is iced and nearly finished, as is his equally, perfect sliver of basque cheesecake he gingerly spoons into his mouth, amused eyes peering at you over the rim of his glasses.

hajun can tell the atmosphere of this high-end korean cafe is much too new to you. your pretty face betrays wonder, a tender curiosity of the sights around you. how you admire the handmade silverware, the oversized mugs, the vintage plates upon which works of artful treats are served. there are trinkets on the walls and across tables, plants and hanging flowers in every nook. it’s familiar to him. he’s thought nothing of this cultural decor popularized. it’s as if he’s experiencing it again with you, through your eyes, with each savoring sip of coffee and every lick of sweets from spoons.

“no need to be shy. i’ll order you another slice should you like it.” says hajun, a pointed look at your plate. you’ve hardly made a dent.

your lashes flutter as you laugh. “it’s not that. it’s just too pretty to eat. i can’t help not wanting to ruin it.”

“hm, i thought you already posted about it.” his spoon inches close to the cream of your cake, teasing. you fight him back with your own in hand.

“i did! it’s still way too pretty though.”

hajun hums. he watches your careful movements regardless, sips and nibbles and prodding of elegant, edible designs. it makes him impatient, only because he wishes to see you enjoy yourself without restraint. then at last, an idea. his lips curl up, a mischievous grin, and his fingers brush the soft of your hand across the table.

“jagi, let me taste it.”

your brow raises in question of his suddenness. but it is hajun after all, and he is known for his coy. you think nothing of it and present him a gracious taste, much more than you’d had yourself.

his lips wrap around the curve of your spoon far longer than necessary, rosy eyes locked on yours with their ever present mirth in the iris. you play it off, roll your eyes, ignore how warmth colors your cheeks. it is hajun, after all.

“it’s lovely,” he purrs, resting his cheek on his palm as he chews, “jagi, if you don’t eat it soon, i’ll have no choice but to finish it myself.”

“i can finish it all on my own, thank you.”

hajun has the gall to feign doubt. “can you?”

you pout. “of course.”

still with his cheek on his palm of his hand, hajun leans forward, bumping tips of noses together, rosy eyes on rosy cheeks. “maybe it’ll be sooner if i fed you instead.”

your face is sweeter than frilly cakes or coffee. he chuckles seeing how you shrink away, mumbling and fumbling over your words from his mere innocent suggestion. you are slow to stop his spoon from dipping down the layers of your cake, at once dislodging its beauty you so tried to cherish. you are also slow to protest his carelessness, for he taps his utensil on your lips like a knock on a door, awaiting invitation, stopping any and all coherent thought you may have had.

“open wide, jagi. have a taste with me.”

hajun delights in your embarrassment. though not all blackhearted this prince may be, softened by a true love’s kiss. his mouth falls into a smile soft as you meekly accept his gift, lips parting and tongue lapping, keeping eyes low to keep from meeting his. yet he can see how they light up with pleasure, no doubt finding it delectable. you murmur something similar as you scoop up another bite for yourself, looking up in time to share a smile with him.

“see?” hajun says. “lovely indeed. well, just not as lovely as you.”

[littleredwing89]

CLUB TROPICANA

CLUB TROPICANA

CEO!Roman Sionis x Reader

Summary: You soaked up the rays, feeling the stress dissipate out of your pores. You had been right about a vacation. This was just what you both needed. Sun, sea and tranquillity.

Warnings – Language. NSFW Smut. Fluff. Mild jealousy.

Word Count: 4,563

A/N: This is a one shot following the series ‘The Intern’. Pretty much picks up where they left off. I just couldn’t resist revisiting them. I hope you all enjoy. I am working to finish FAMOUS completely before posting. Apologies for the delay my loves xoxo

----

The sound of the waves lapping against the shore, carrying the salty smell of the sea in the breeze made you relax instantly as you rested against the balcony railing. You pushed your oversized sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose and smiled, soaking in the early morning sun rays.

You looked out across the horizon, watching the glowing orange sun rising from the crystal blue waters. The light sparkled over the waves, making it look like tiny sapphires blinking at you. It was serene. Like nothing you’d ever seen before.

The coconut scent of your sun lotion lingered in the air and you arched your back, stretching out. You adjusted the strap of your halter neck bikini, untwisting it so it sat comfortably against your sun kissed skin.

A wolf whistle startled you, “Well, what a view”, a deep, gravelly voice rasped behind you, as the glass door slid open.

You turned to see Roman smirking cheekily at you. He clearly wasn’t talking about the gorgeous sunrise as he eyed the white bikini bottoms you were wearing. The material clinging to your curves perfectly.

“You picked a beautiful location”, you smiled, letting your eyes trail down his bare chest, a line of dark hair trailed down from his naval, disappearing into his shorts. He was bronzing nicely in the Mexican sun.

“Only the best for you darling”.

“Smooth”, you giggled and turned your head back out to the sunrise. The sky looked like an artist's palette, colours streaking across majestically.

Moving close behind you, Roman slid his hands up the backs of your thighs before running his finger under the edge of your bikini bottoms.

“You look absolutely stunning”, he whispered into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing against it. You shivered and pushed back against him, feeling his hard cock through his beach shorts. 

He growled and snapped the material against your ass. Sliding his fingers around your front, he brushed over your clit. Teasing slowly. You whined loudly before biting down on the inside of your cheek. Suppressing any more noises. You were out on the balcony, anyone could hear you both. And see you.

“Rom…”, you murmured, resting your head back against his shoulder.

“Shh”, he nipped along the side of your neck, letting his tongue soothe over your skin, “You don’t want to attract any unwanted attention, do you darling?”.

His fingers slipped your bikini pants to one side, dipping them through your silky wet folds. Roman cursed under his breath and muttered, “Always so ready for me”.

“Rom…please don’t tease”, you purred and circled your hips, catching his thick cock with each movement.

“You want me to take you out here for anyone to see?”, he teased, nibbling your shoulder, thrusting his clothed cock against your ass, “Is that what you want darling?”.

“Yes”, you moaned, frustration seeping into your tone as Roman languidly rubbed over your clit, making the coil in your stomach twist slowly.

“Please Roman…don’t make me beg”.

You heard him shuffling behind you, shoving his shorts down enough to free his throbbing cock. He teased it through your sopping folds from behind and grunted, “Fuck, you’re so wet”.

“I always am for you”, you whispered airily, wanting to play him at his own game. If he was going to tease you, you’d do it back.

“Darling…”, he warned and gripped your hips, the metal loops on your bikini bottoms pressing against his calloused skin.

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as Roman eased his length into you inch by inch. The delicious sting of him stretching you sent waves of desire up your spine.

“Oh!”, the soft moan left your lips without thinking and Roman clasped his hand over your mouth.

“We’ve got to be quiet”, he growled and drove into your pussy hard, enjoying the way your wet walls fluttered around his cock.

You licked the flesh of his palm and let him stifle your sobs of pleasure as Roman fucked you from behind, pressed up against the balcony railings.

“Fuck”, he pressed his face into your hair and inhaled deeply. The subtle smell of coconuts and pineapple filled his senses. He groaned against you, angling his hips so the head of his cock would hit your g spot.

You cried his name into his hand and wrapped your hands behind you, fisting your fingers into the back of his hair. You tugged as you felt your orgasm beginning to burst.

“Go on”, the deep timber of his voice rattled in your ear, “Cum for me darling”.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as his thick cock continued to drive into your wet heat. The orgasm ripped through you in a short, sharp burst making you sting buzz with desire.

His hand captured all of the sweet sounds he drew from you. The sounds he normally drank in. Your skin rippled with goosebumps, soaking in the early morning heat from both the sun and Roman.

Feeling the way you contracted around him, Roman groaned loudly into the skin of your neck and released his hot seed, deep into your pussy. His breath fanned down your flesh, scorching as it went. He hummed in delight and moved his hand from your lips. Roman let his palm travel down your chest, over the curve of your breasts before settling on your toned stomach.

“Nice way to start the morning”, his voice was more gravelly now. Your fingers threaded through his dark hair.

“Mmmhmm”, your mind still reeling from your climax, you couldn’t form your words properly. You pressed backwards into his solid chest and sighed happily.

----

The midday sun was blazing, surrounded by a clear, dazzling blue sky. You soaked up the rays, feeling the stress dissipate out of your pores. You had been right about a vacation. This was just what you both needed. Sun, sea and tranquillity. You sighed happily, sinking further into the double sunbed. Roman’s hand rested on your knee, drawing patterns into your flesh.

“Do you want another drink?”, you twisted your body to his, letting your knee press against his thigh.

“I’m good darling”, his gravelly voice rasped as he stretched his arms above his head, yawning softly.

“I’ll be back in a minute”, you leaned across, kissing his cheek.

“Mmhmm”, he hummed.

Leaving Roman lounging back against the soft, plush white sunbed, you strolled across the pool side towards the tiki hut style bar, thankful for the brief shade and fan above your head.

“What can I get you miss?”, the bartender gave you a warm smile, hands resting on the wooden worktop.

“Aperol Spritz please”, you swept a lock of hair behind your ear before sitting at one of the stools. The bartender turned quickly and began preparing your drink.

You tipped your head back gently, looking across the pool towards Roman. He was still sprawled out across the sun bed, his arm bent above his head. The sun oil you’d helped him apply earlier made his body glisten in the rays, his muscles even more defined. You bit your bottom lip, tugging it between your pearly teeth, sinful images flicking through your mind.

“Well, I’ll be damned…”, you heard a deep voice behind you, startling you from your train of thought, “Of all the hotels you had to walk into, you had to walk into mine”.

Well fuck.

Oliver fucking Queen.

You turned your head towards the voice, your eyes meeting him. He stood leisurely against the bar, a bright grin plastered across his face. You could hardly believe it. Seriously. Of all the people, in all the places. It had to be him. You glanced over his figure briefly, noting the pair of forest green swim shorts he was wearing. They complimented the tanned glow of his skin. His dark blond hair was messy, dropping down into his reflective, aviator shades, hiding his usual sparkling eyes. You remembered, momentarily, why you’d agreed to go on a date with him.

Until he bailed at the last minute.

“Someone’s seen Casablanca one too many times”, you rolled your eyes playfully, a smirk tugging the corner of your full lips.

Oliver moved closer slightly, the scent of his aftershave was strong as it surrounded you, along with the mix of sun cream, “Gotta make sure I'm suave for the ladies”.

You laughed, “Very suave of you to stand up dates”.

Above the top of his shades, you saw a slight crease in his eyebrows, “Are you still mad about that princess?”.

“Considering, I dodged a bullet? Not really”, you looked down at your freshly manicured nails, the deep red really was an excellent choice on the technicians behalf.

He sucked in a gulp of air loudly, putting his hand over his heart dramatically, “Ouch! You wound me”.

You poked the tip of your nail against his chest, before imitating a shooting gun with your thumb, “I only do what you deserve”.

Oliver captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips before kissing it playfully, “You know I was sorry about the whole thing princess…”.

“Oh I'm sure you were”.

“I just wish you’d given me a second chance”.

You were grateful for the heat which already had your skin flushed, hiding the blush rising to your cheeks. You tugged your hand back before occupying it with your drink the bartender had left for you.

Even though he was wearing shades, you could feel his eyes burning into you. Drinking in every inch of your bikini clad body. You suddenly felt incredibly naked under his gaze, shuffling slightly on the stool.

“Eyes up here champ”, you pointed to your face, trying to cool down the situation.

“Can you really blame me when you’re wearing that?”, he retorted, hand waving over your body as he whistled appreciatively.

You were about to reply before you noticed his entire body stiffen. The easy going manner radiating off him was replaced with something more business-like. Oliver straightened up, taking a step back from you.

You looked over your shoulder and spotted Roman striding across the pool side, his face knitted with an irritated scowl. Sunglasses propped up on the top of his head. Even in a pair of board shorts, Roman still managed to look intimidating. The second he reached you both, he immediately wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you away from Oliver.

“Is everything ok?”, you pressed your palm to his chest softly, looking up at him as he towered next to you.

“Everything's fine”, he dismissed before turning to Oliver, “Never expected to see you here, Queen”.

Oliver’s demeanour had changed drastically, he shrugged and looked around the resort, “It is one of my hotels, gotta make sure they’re running it smoothly from time to time”.

Roman’s fingers gripped into your hip, “You better get to it then, huh? Don’t want your business failing, do you?”.

Oliver looked directly at Roman before glancing down at you, huffing under his breath, “Enjoy your stay princess, if you need anything, give me a call…you still have my number”.

Surprising you and infuriating Roman more, he leaned down and kissed your cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your lips. He gave you a sly smirk before heading out of the bar towards the hotel lobby.

Roman was rigid next to you, so you snuggled closer into his side, fingertips tracing the vein on his forearm. As his posture softened slowly, he turned and pressed a rough kiss to your cheek, his stubble grazing your skin. 

You giggled quietly, “You don’t need to be jealous”.

“I’m not jealous”, he growled.

“My hip's gonna bruise if you keep holding it like that”, you murmured.

He retracted his grip instantly, “Sorry darling”, his thumbs rubbed circles over the marks as he pressed his nose into your hair, the tropical scents soothing him.

“It’s ok, you can turn caveman mode off”.

Roman moved his hand to your ass, cupping the swell of it before squeezing it.

You laughed under your breath, “You know you have nothing to worry about”.

“Can't I just feel you up in public? Is that a crime now?”, he pressed a kiss to your temple, hand still resting on the curve of your ass, fingers occasionally dipping under the fabric of your bottoms.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, “You know Ollie isn’t watching us anymore, don’t you?”.

He huffed bringing you in front of him and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing your warm body into his. He never got tired of the way your frame fitted against his. How you sank into him naturally, like you’d always meant to be his.

You slipped your arms around his neck and toyed with the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes closed as he soaked in the bliss taking over his circuitry.

“How about…”, you whispered, “We spend the afternoon back in our private villa and I’ll make us some cocktails?”.

He ghosted his lips over yours, the faint outline of a smile playing on his mouth, “That darling, sounds like a very good idea”.

Your hands travelled down the front of his body slowly, before entwining in his, pulling him back towards your villa, “Let’s go handsome”.

----

You dropped your beach bag by the side of the villa door as you both made your way into the house, before stepping across towards the mini bar.

“Sloe sazerac?”, you looked over your shoulder at him, quirking an eyebrow up.

“Perfect”, he rumbled, leaving his phone on the kitchen worktop, watching as you sashayed away.

The ice cubes clinked as they hit the bottom of the glass, the sound oddly satisfying. You hummed under your breath, grabbing the bottle of whiskey, pouring a generous helping into both chasers. You could feel his stare boring into you, scorching your insides. His presence looming as you dropped the curled lemon into the alcohol.

“You’re hovering, why don’t you go make yourself comfortable?”.

Within seconds, you felt his hands gliding over your thighs, up and down, inching higher with each stroke, “I think the drinks can wait darling…”.

“But I’m making your favourite”, you protested.

Roman stayed silent, waiting for you to finish the cocktail, running his palms over every inch of skin he could reach. You shivered at the feel of his rough hands, sucking in steadying breaths whilst you finished your drinks.

You left his drink on the bar whilst you sipped at yours, watching him intently, eyes burning with want.

“Aren't you going to drink yours?”.

His gaze, practically black, flickered before Roman grabbed the drink, pouring the deep orange liquid over your chest. You gasped at the icy cool sensation of the alcohol dripping over your body.

“What are you - oh!”.

Dipping his head down to your chest, Roman dragged his tongue over your flesh, groaning at the distinct taste of whiskey mixed with you. He discarded the glass carelessly to the side, focusing his attention only on you. His thumbs catching in the metal loops of your bikini bottoms.

You gasped and grabbed his hair as he slid down your body, his lips mapping you, the bitter lemon infused with the burn of the liquor. He settled on his knees, looking up at you with lustful eyes. Roman pushed your bikini bottoms down your long legs before tracing his tongue to your core. He blew over your clit, enjoying the way your body reacted. Goosebumps spreading like wildfire over your skin.

You fisted your hands in his hair, moaning quietly. Roman smirked, lifting you up onto the mini bar, pushing your thighs further apart. His growl was primal when he saw the slick glistening between your folds.

Letting your head fall back, you closed your eyes, whining his name softly, “Rom…”.

“I know darling, I’ve got you”, he nipped your inner thigh, soothing his hot tongue over the light sting from his bite.

“Rom…please…”.

Hearing you say his name, in that breathy little voice, made the front of his shorts tighter and his ego soar.

“That's right”, he laid a soft kiss to your clit, “You’re mine”.

“A-Always”, you stuttered out, feeling the desperation bubble in the pit of your stomach. You needed him. Craved him.

Roman growled against your core before delving into you, his tongue licking long stripes through your folds. You whined, drowning in the overwhelming desire flooding your veins. Pleasure wracked your body in sharp pulses with every flick of Roman’s skilful tongue. You sobbed his name and tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him pressed into your pussy.

He smirked against your core, groaning deeply when your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging sharply when he hit all your sensitive spots.

Whining his name, you rolled your hips, eager to have him impossibly closer. You cried out when Roman slipped two fingers into your pussy. He thrust them in easily, enjoying the slick noises from your core.

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Please!”, you begged, eyes clamped shut tightly.

His lips wrapped around your sensitive clit, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over it. He free hand bracketed your hip, holding you in place.

“Oh god!”, you screamed, fisting your hands tightly in his hair as you hit your peak. Roman growled against your pussy, lapping up your slick. His fingers slowed as he pulled back from your folds, looking up at you darkly. He loved the way you looked after you’d just orgasmed.

“Rom…”, you murmured, trailing your hands down his cheek.

He gave you a smile before kissing back up your inner thighs. Hands caressing up the outside of your thighs.

“What - oh!”, you gasped loudly and tipped your head back as Roman’s lips connected with your clit briefly.

“I think you’ve got another one for me darling”, the deep timber of his voice rattled up your spine.

Still shaking from your last orgasm, your body broke out in violent tremors as Roman focused on your clit. Both of his hands wrapped around your hips, gripping hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises.

“Fuck! Fuck! Roman!!”, you sobbed.

It was too much but not enough at the same time. You wanted to push him away but pull him closer. The intensity of it firing deep in the pit of your stomach. You shattered, his name a mangled prayer from your plush lips. You felt your body buzz from the euphoria. Panting, you heaved oxygen into your lungs, chest rising and falling heavily.

Briefly, you were unaware of your surroundings until you felt Roman standing between your spread thighs, littering kisses across your bare shoulder.

Shakily, you wrapped your arms around his neck, nails dragging up it, teasing the bottom of his hairline.

“I’m not done with you yet”, he murmured into the junction of your neck, grinding his hard, clothed cock into your pussy.

Tightening your legs around his waist, you hauled yourself up against his heated body, pressing into it, hands gripping his back, “What are you waiting for then?”.

Roman could feel the cocktail still staining your skin, giving it a slightly sticky quality along with the gleam of sweat from the humidity and your orgasm.

He gave you a wink before wrapping an arm around your lower back, lifting you off the bar completely. He grabbed your chaser glass then headed you both into the master bedroom, nibbling your lips along the way before dropping you down onto the thin cotton sheets.

You watched him place the practically empty glass on the bedside table, you frowned a little unsure what he was up to. Your thoughts halted as he knelt on the bed, his bulky form towering over you. Roman encased your body with his, his large frame covering you easily. He kissed you with a fiery passion, tongue dancing along yours.

You whimpered into his mouth, letting him swallow the sounds. His hands traced up the sides of your body, stopping when they found their prize. He grinned against your swollen lips as he tugged the bikini tie free, ripping the offending material off your body. Your breasts bounced free and Roman grunted feeling your hardening nipples scratch across his bare chest.

Tearing himself from your sinful lips, he reached up past your head and you heard the familiar clink of ice cubes. You felt the coil in your stomach twist with anticipation and desire. When Roman settled back down between your spread legs, you noticed a rapidly melting ice cube pinched between his long fingers.

“Close your eyes”, his voice was thick with lust as he openly admired your naked body.

“Yes Sir”, you whispered, letting your eyelids flutter shut.

The first touch was hot. Roman’s heated mouth peppered your collarbone with searing kisses. You moaned, letting your hands explore the muscles of his back.

He pulled back and you instantly missed the feel of his kisses. You huffed in protest and he chuckled.

The next touch had you arching off the back of the bed, gasping loudly. Bitter coolness dragged down the top of your breast, following the curve of it before circling over your nipple. Your skin erupted in shivers and you could stop the purr from your throat.

Your nipple pebbled, the ice cube numbing your skin.

“Roman!”, you mewled and writhed on the bed as he replaced the ice cube with his scorching mouth.

His teeth tugged your nipple, releasing it after a moment before flicking his tongue over it. Roman repeated the action on your other nipple, growling against your skin at your intense reactions.

You shuddered, goosebumps spreading over your preening flesh. The dire contrast between the blazing heat and the bitter ice was euphoric. Your mind felt fuzzy from the overload of stimulation. You could feel the slick dripping from your core, aching to feel his cock driving into you.

“Roman…Ah! Please!!”, you pleaded as you felt the ice trail down the valley between your breasts, along your stomach and over the dip of your naval.

Roman followed the watery path with his tongue, stopping every so often to press kisses to your body.

“Please Rom…”, you begged, your voice husky with need.

“Please what?”, his voice was smug, enjoying how he’d made you a whimpering mess with a tiny ice cube.

Frustration seeped into your bones and you opened your eyes to look at Roman.

He had to admit, the fire burning behind your eyes made his stomach twist. The debauched look curling the beautiful features on your face. You tried to glare at him as much as you could, but the overload of pleasure made it difficult.

“Tell me what you want darling”.

The ice cube had melted into the last remnant of water, letting Roman’s calloused hand caress your bare skin. 

You whined, “Rom…please, I need you, I need you now”.

“Need what?”, he cooed playfully, nipping the flesh below your navel.

You moaned loudly and shivered. You hated but loved the way he teased you. Drawing out the deepest of desires from within you.

“Fuck me Roman, I need you to fuck me”.

Sliding back up your body slowly, he shuffled effortlessly out of his swim shorts, his thick cock springing free. There was a soft pap as it bounced against his abs. He fisted his shaft several times before teasing the head through your sopping folds, causing you to moan unabashedly, throwing your head back against the soft pillows.

He thrust into you easily, bottoming out instantly. He grunted into your ear, his hot breath fanning down your neck, “You feel so fuckin’ good darling”.

You purred his name and wrapped your legs around his waist tightly, locking him in place before coiling your arms around his neck.

“You always take my cock so well”, Roman growled, biting your earlobe. His hot lips travelled to the sensitive spot behind your ear, kissing and sucking to leave his marking.

You didn’t reply, words lost in your mind. If you’d tried to speak, it’d have been incoherent murmuring. Something which would’ve further fuelled his already inflated ego. All you could focus on was the feel of his pulsating cock stretching your pussy.

He continued to drive into you, harder with every thrust, groaning your name against your neck. You mewled in response, legs gripping him tighter as he angled himself deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Rom! Oh! Oh fuck!”, you sobbed, nails digging into his shoulder blades, dragging down his back.

He smirked and picked up his pace, hammering into you wildly. Roman knew he’d have your scratch marks streaking down his back but he didn’t care one little bit. He’d happily wear them with pride for the rest of the vacation.

“Are you going to cum for me darling?”, he teased, his hand snaking between your glistening bodies to rub over your throbbing clit.

You whimpered, your velvet walls fluttering around his thick shaft. You could feel the brim of your orgasm ready to shatter.

“You want me to fill that pretty little pussy?”, Roman ground out, fucking you with a brutal pace, growling when he saw your eyes behind to roll into the back of your head.

“P-Please”, you managed to force out of your lips before you felt the euphoria bursting through your body. Your vision blurred as your climax hit you with a delirious intensity, shudders took over your body.

The way your body reacted to him pushed Roman over the edge into his own powerful end and he released his hot seed, deep into your core. He cursed loudly and grunted your name before stilling, resting the weight of his body on his elbows.

----

Soaking in the afterglow, you threaded your fingers through his sweat matted locks. A content rumble vibrated from his chest before he planted delicate kisses along your collarbone. You purred happily and leaned into his touch instinctively, enjoying the way he made you feel.

After a few more moments, he dropped onto the bed, tugging you onto his chest, pressing you tightly into him.

“We should come on vacation more often”, he rasped, curling a strand of your hair around his finger carefully.

Your hand stroked over his chest, and down his stomach tracing the dark line of hair, “I told you, you’d enjoy it - you should know by now my ideas are always right”.

“I suppose”, he teased, kissing your forehead softly.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes but Roman caught the smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“I think next time, we should go to Switzerland”.

“Not a chance”.

“Why not?!”, you looked up at him with a scandalous look. Only seconds ago he’d agreed that this was a great idea!

“Because”, he rolled you over, trapping you underneath him, “I can’t fuck you outside there”.

----

Special Thanks: @offendedfishnoises​​​​​ @internalsealpanic​​​​ @batarella​​​​ - thank you both for proof reading you beautiful hoes xoxo

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----

[sparklekitteh]

Prom Night

SFW, inspired by this imagine from @jeanslove

Jean Kirschtein x fem!Reader

Word count: 1998 -- LOL, ironically the year of my senior prom

Warnings: None, this is all SFW cotton candy fluff

“Y/N, will you come take one more picture before Jean arrives, dear?” Mrs. Kirschtein asked sweetly, her professional grade Nikon camera dangling from her neck. You adore Jean’s mother -- this woman who might as well be your own mom, as much time as you’ve spent at her house with your best friend Jean. She thinks the world of you and was delighted when Jean asked you to be his date to senior prom. She was over the moon when your parents invited her over to take pictures of the big moment when Jean whisked you away to the dance. In the two hours it has taken Jean to secure his rental tuxedo and your corsage, your mother and Mrs. Kirschtein -- Mama K as she likes you to call her -- have probably snapped hundreds of pictures of you from every angle. She was posing your hand on the waist of your red satin gown in front of the old upright piano where your father gave you and Jean lessons for years when you heard the cheery tones of your front door bell.

“Honey, he’s here!” your father calls to you from the door. “And he looks real sharp, like a fine young gentleman. Come on in, Jean,” he beckons to your date, and your father is not wrong. Jean is dressed to the nines in a black tux with a red vest and red bowtie matched to your dress, his shiny patent leather shoes gleaming in the light of your living room. Despite his attempt to sound suave in his text to you earlier, now his face is almost as scarlet as his outfit. He manages to find the words to say thanks and shake your dad’s hand nervously, who claps Jean’s shoulder with such a heavy hand that he has to take a step to the side to catch himself from stumbling.

“Oh Jeanboy, you’re here! Come in here by the piano so I can take pictures of you two dressed up,” his mother calls and you are surprised to learn that Jean’s face can turn an even deeper shade of red. “Look at my handsome boy!”

“Mother, please!” he groans as she drags him by his elbow and you follow trying to suppress a laugh at Jean’s protests at his mother publicly doting on him. She fusses over your dress for a few moments, straightening the hem while she instructs you to angle your shoulders just a little this way and tilt your chin up. She grabs Jean’s wrist and pulls him to stand behind you, then places his hands on your waist. “Sorry about this,” he mutters to you as she continues adjusting his stance.

“It’s ok,” you smile reassuringly, and it really is. You’ve had a crush on Jean for the longest time but didn’t want to do anything to endanger your friendship, especially since he’s your next door neighbor and it would be awkward as hell if it went sour. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy having his hands resting lightly on your waist as his mother flits about. She takes a few steps back and peeks through the camera lens to frame the shot and then steps over again to nudge Jean closer to you, closer, closer still, until he’s standing so near that you can smell the minty gum he’s chewing mixed with the cologne he bought for the occasion, a light botanical scent that reminds you of rain and freshly cut grass. His hands are trembling slightly, probably from the fact that he’s practically standing on top of you with your parents right there. His mother, finally satisfied with the shot, begins snapping pictures. Jean relaxes a little as your mom and dad crack jokes and tell stories about their own prom adventures, though the tremor in his featherlight touch near your hips betrays his nerves. After what seems like an eternity, his mother decides she has enough pictures and begins to shoo you and her son to the door.

“Mom, wait a second, will you? I have something for you, Y/N.” He strides to the table next to the front door where a plastic clamshell holds a delicate white rose fastened to an elastic band. He pops open the box and pulls the bud out, then slips the elastic around your wrist -- you note to yourself to thank him later for opting for this corsage and not one that would be pinned to the front of your dress; considering what a jittery mess he is he’d probably stab you with the pin.

“Thank you, Jean. It’s lovely,” you say as you bring the bloom to your nose. The scent blends perfectly with your vanilla rose lotion and you close your eyes as you inhale deeply. As you open your eyes, you see Jean is watching you with a dopy smile and it evaporates as soon as he realizes you saw it. He looks down at his feet, then runs his hand over his fresh undercut.

“You are lovely,” he whispers, then looks around the room with a sheepish grin. What a relief -- all of the adults are reminiscing about their high school days and are blessedly unaware of the two of you. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, thankful that this stage of the night is coming to a close.

“It’s getting close to seven, it’s time to see you two off,” your mother smiles and walks you to the front door. “Have fun and remember, curfew is midnight.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you nod. Jean is whisking you out the door, eager to leave before his mother can stop him for another round of photographs. As you stumble over the threshold, you are shocked to find a black limousine parked in front of your house. The chauffeur, leaning against the passenger door and dressed in a black tuxedo himself, sees you approaching and moves to open the door for you. You stop in your tracks and gape at Jean. “Is this for us?”

“Yeah, silly… who else would it be for?” he laughs. “Cinderella went to the ball in a carriage, right? Every princess needs to arrive in style.” He pulls a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket and puts them on, then flashes you that crooked smile that makes your heart feel like it’s going to race out of your chest. He takes your hand and turns to wave to his mom who has followed you outside, the shutter of her camera snapping as she takes another hundred or so photos. Jean looks dashing in his tux and shades and you feel like you’re getting a glimpse of the man he’ll become -- handsome, confident, cool as hell. He helps you into the limo and as if the universe couldn’t miss an opportunity to humble him, Jean bonks his head on the doorframe and yelps a curse.

“Jean Kirschtein!” his mother scolds him, then rushes over to examine his injury. He holds her at arm’s length and rubs his head, the aviators sitting askew on his face now and for the second time you have to hold back a giggle -- you can tell he’s not physically hurt too badly but his pride certainly is. He mumbles an apology to his mom for the profanity and slides into the limo with you, taking the sunglasses off. You lean over and peer at his forehead.

“I think you’ll survive but you might have a bruise tomorrow.”

“Oh good. I knew everything was going too well,” he complains and you laugh out loud this time.

You’re still a little confused why he would go to such an expense -- it wasn’t like you were actually dating, and in fact the reason Jean is your date tonight is because you made a promise to each other that if the two of you didn’t have a date to senior prom that you’d go with each other. He probably feels sorry for me, you think to yourself. You wonder why he wasn’t able to secure someone else as his date, though. You know for a fact there are several girls and even a couple of guys in your graduating class that have turned their attention on Jean but he never seems to be aware of their interest. He turns to you as the limo pulls away from the curb and you’re grateful to finally be out of the glaring attention of your family and just relax with your friend.

“Jean, thanks for this,” you gesture around you at the limo’s interior. “This was unexpected but very sweet.”

He scoots a little closer and your breath catches in your throat as his knee bumps into yours, the black satin stripe on his tuxedo pants brushing against the red satin of your dress. “Of course, Y/N. I wanted to make tonight special for you,” he smiles shyly. “I hope you don’t think I went overboard or anything -- mom actually suggested this.”

“Oh,” you reply, a little let down that the thoughtfulness came from his mother and not himself.

“She said I owed you after chasing away everyone else who wanted to ask you to be their date tonight,” he chuckled, turning red again. You stare at him dumbfounded at what he just dropped so casually.

“What?” is all you can manage to squeak out and he shows that lopsided grin you’ve come to cherish.

“I know we said we’d be each other’s date if no one else asked… but I kind of cheated. Mina Carolina asked me but I turned her down, and I … uh… I might have warned every guy in our class that I’d kick their asses if they asked you to prom.” His grin faded into a sheepish look as he looked into your wide eyes and fumbled over his words. “I hope you’re not mad. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you that I like you. A lot. More than best friends. For a long time now.”

“Jean, I like you too. Way more than best friends,” you whisper and feeling an impulse of bravery, you thread your fingers with his and squeeze his hand.

“Would you … um… would you be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

“Oh my god, I thought you’d never ask. Yes!” you breathe and he tilts your chin up to look into your beaming face. The look of relief and adoration in his eyes melts your heart as he softly kisses you -- your first kiss, and his as well. He goes to lean his forehead to yours and then swears quietly, feeling the bump he received earlier. You giggle and gently kiss the sore knot on his forehead, and he laughs too. He’s warm and wonderful sitting so close to you and you feel like you’re dreaming, enchanted by this sweet clumsy boy.

The limo pulls up to the entrance of the school gym and Jean, more carefully this time, leads you out of the vehicle into the school. Sasha greets you at the door, both of you gushing about how pretty you look in your gowns and Connie fist bumps Jean when he sees you’re still holding his hand. Jean opens the door for you and ushers you into the dimly lit gymnasium, decorated with silver and blue balloons and streamers, fairy lights strung along the walls to resemble constellations, and leads you through a tinsel-curtained archway that reads A Night Among the Stars. There are certainly stars in his eyes as he leads you onto the dance floor and you fall into a comfortable swaying rhythm as you wrap your arms around his neck, his hands resting on your hips with just enough distance between you not to alarm any of the teachers and chaperones. What you thought was going to be an awkward night of goofing off with your friends has become the night you’ve dreamed of -- the night you finally get to hold Jean and call him yours.

[kannra21]

Not Weak

Geten found herself in a tricky situation and she doesn't want Re-Destro to find out. How can a certain fire-user help her by making things even more complicated?

characters: dabi (todoroki touya) x f!geten

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, past memories, scars, abuse mention, foul language, comfort, making out

notes: I'd like to thank @seenalready13 for proofreading this work since I can be v clumsy with grammar haha. I'm v grateful for the help! And also, the picture above belongs to 九わん (@91qwn), here's the link to the artwork. Please support their work!

✂-------------------------------------------------------

Geten, as the keystone of the entire army, had the task of leading her group and ensuring that anyone within their ranks followed her instructions. The loyalty of their people was unquestionable as everyone adhered to Destro's teachings, and she was immensely proud of her Cryokinesis. 

The ice-user was grateful to their grand commander for granting her this amazing opportunity of making up for all the great things that he's done for her. She wore an honorable title, and her reputation has risen a lot since the hooning of her meta ability for years. However, she did experience all sorts of things their organization had to offer from the moment Re-Destro promoted her to his right-hand woman, believing that she'd be strong enough to take on the responsibility and he was right. It wasn't like she was bothered too much, especially since dealing with a couple of thugs on her own was no big deal for her. Still, this didn't mean that after performing their duties the soldiers couldn't relax and show their true colors.

This was the case with one guy in particular, who was casually hitting on her and calling her pet names which were utterly gross and humiliating. She had the utmost need to wipe the fucker out of the face of the Earth, but she also knew damn well that Re-Destro would disapprove of such actions considering that the army must avoid inner conflicts at all costs. Of course, she wanted to take matters into her own hands, to prove to the commander that she was deserving of her title, but the jerk simply wouldn't take her seriously as she wanted to be through with whatever problem she had without necessarily dragging Re-Destro into it. That's why she decided to take the easier route and use someone to her own advantage.

"What's in there for me?" Dabi asked, uninterested as he fixed the staples on his burnt skin.

It's true that they were partnered up to share their leading spot at the Vanguard Action Guerilla Warfare Regiment: Violet, but this didn't mean that they had to play nice with each other. Especially after Geten's offensive speech of power and people's place in this world. 

She clenched her fists in her pockets; of course, she should've known that he'd ask for something in return. "I don't have much to offer,” she said through greeted teeth. 

She looked almost pitiful if it weren't for her leading position; she felt stupid to even ask for help when she could've just ended the whole mess with one swift motion of her ice, and bam, the fool's dead. Well, if things could be that easy.

"I... I'M THE TOP LIEUTENANT AND THEREFORE I DEMAND OBEDIENCE! LIKE I NEED TO CONFIDE IN YOU, BURNT CHICKEN NUGGET SCUM!"

"THE FUCK-" Dabi stood up, fire flaring up in his hand and ready to strike as he saw Geten backing off with ice covering her right arm, bracing herself for the upcoming attack.

And then he saw it, at this very moment, the look of hesitation and unease covering her blue eyes. She... didn't want to fight? Was she defending herself? It reminded Dabi of something else from his past, or rather someone, defending themselves from his flames, wearing the exact same expression on their face while protecting his youngest brother. The dripping water from her ice washed over his memories as he obtained one after another in a frantic blur. Nostalgia soon followed the guilt, and it tore him apart, except he didn't want to show it, but Geten already noticed his anger faltering which was her cue to relax.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered under his breath, barely for her to hear. 

"What?" as the question rolled out of her mouth, she internally lost herself in delirium "BLUEFLAME CRISPY MCBACON JUST APOLOGIZED WTFWTFWTFWTFWTWTF-"

"Geten?"

"YES?" she snapped, too loud for what she initially intended. 

"I'll help you, and there's actually something you can do for me in return."

She crossed her arms and smirked confidently at him from her previous ego boost, much to his frowning expression. 

"Whatcha suggestin'?"

"I'll scare the fucker off, and you'll then... cool down my skin from using my flames. Deal?"

Geten looked at him for a moment to determine if he was joking about the offer but from the looks of it and his deep husky voice that she got used to oh so many times during the past week of working with him, she concluded that he was, indeed, not messing around. Dabi expected her to laugh it off or straight up refuse whatever suggestion he had on mind, but from the manner she weighed her choices in her head and the way she looked at him, with those bright, beautiful eyes and long lashes fixated to his own... Wait, when did they get this close?

The two backed off and cleared their throats in embarrassment. They were freaking staring at each other, and for fucking what?

"I... It's a deal then."

"Good."

… 

"Just... don't hurt yourself too much while dealing with the idiot."

Dabi turned his head so fast his neck hurt. 

"WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO WEIRD?!"

"SHUT UP AND MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS!"

As they reached the place where their target was supposed to be, the man soon showed up by Geten's side and started pestering her with all kinds of bull he made her deal with on a daily basis. And just as she felt sick enough, Dabi put his hot hand on the guy's shoulder, making his skin sting in the first-degree burns. The guy then backed off and glared at the fire-user with utmost disdain.

"THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"

"Listen up freak", Dabi took Geten for the waist and gently pulled her towards himself, her body leaning on his own and fitting perfectly under his larger frame, "I saw what you did there. You’d better stop messing with my girlfriend, or else you'll burn to ashes."

Geten internally screamed and pinched him on the side for being a fucking idiot. "HIS GIRLFRIEND!? THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO PLAY OUT LIKE THAT!"

"You sound too confident, guess I should give you a nice beating to teach you a lesson."

He soon regretted his decision because Dabi was entirely down to realize his threat, and after a couple of burns, the moron retreated while he still could and left Geten alone.

And while she hated that they needed to make a scene in front of the other soldiers who were whispering to each other and exchanged who knows what kinds of things, she couldn't leave Dabi alone like this so she put his hand over her shoulder and helped him reach a more secluded area. They entered his room because he said that he kept the first aid kit in a drawer. It was also the first time that Geten came by but it didn't look at all exciting either; the room had a very plain interior, darkened space with the shutters down, piles of dirty clothes creased to the side probably waiting to be washed, the bed left unmade since this morning, a bunch of disinfectants sitting on the nightstand and some used medical gaze forgotten to be thrown away. Geten almost felt sorry for him. It's not like she was doing any better but at least she knew how to take care of herself.

She seated him carefully on the bed, and he started digging through drawers until he found what he needed. When he was all set, he began to take his jacket and shirt off but then Geten panicked and lowered his shirt. 

Dabi's confusion mixed with annoyance was now directed towards the ice gremlin's pretty face. "Aren't you going to cool me down?"

"I THOUGHT YOU ONLY MEANT HANDS AND THINGS LIKE THAT! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF!?" she shouted with blushing cheeks covering her face with her hands.

Dabi soon understood what she meant and closed his eyes, wearing a disheartened smile. 

"It's not like you'll see much. Just a bunch of patched-up skin and bruises. It's not even that hot."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT-,” but then she noticed that his expression never actually faltered, he looked to the front and waited patiently for her next move, sadness surrounding his wounded features. It's not like it was his first time reconciling with the facts, but still, being this burnt and knowing that it wasn't entirely his fault, but his father was also to blame, which made him remember the days when he wasn't in such a fucked up condition as he was now. It made him feel a bit of regret too. But he needed to acknowledge that the path he took was the one with no return, and he needed to accomplish his mission. Endeavor needed to be brought down at all costs; maybe then he'd gain a sense of worth and show him, prove to him, that he was deserving of more incredible things. The ice-user sighed in defeat and gave up on her embarrassment, "just show me what you got.”

Dabi was brought out of his train of thought, and he took off his shirt. It turns out that he was right, some of his scarred skin was sizzling slightly, and his wounds looked terrible because they were situated further on the back where he couldn't reach. She took the disinfectant from the nightstand and tapped it lightly on the freshly made scars. He made a slight grimace, but didn't flinch, didn't wince, like he was afraid of showing his weaknesses by putting on a tough act. It'll all pay off, he assured himself, once he gets rid of his dad. 

When she finished, he allowed Geten to scoot closer to make her do her thing. Her icy hands on his skin felt so good that suddenly he forgot about all of his problems. He turned his face to the side so she wouldn't notice, but the goosebumps on his skin told her otherwise. 

She made a sly smile and cocked her head to look at him from the corner. 

"What's up, tough guy? Can't hide the way I make you feel good?"

He laughed under his breath. He liked when she was this flirty. It made the situation less awkward. But he also felt uncomfortable with how he needed to depend on someone, just like her, when she asked for his help. Were they that similar?

"I need to ask you something,” Dabi asked quietly like he was probing the waters. 

"Yea?"

"Do you still think that I'm weak?" 

The silence filled the room, and he had the need to explain himself. 

"You said that there's no worth living if the user doesn't possess a strong meta ability. Hooning your power was the only thing worth your time as you didn't wish for anything else. You always thought that our Quirks defined us, that they're things we identify with for life. Now that you've taken a closer look at my condition, tell me, what do you think?"

Geten suddenly grew interested in the laminate floor under their feet as she couldn't look anywhere else, her eyes deep in thought.

"That was very mean of me, and I'm sorry, especially since you risked your own health for my reputation."

"... by calling you, my girlfriend?"

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT IT DIDN'T MAKE ANY ACTUAL SENSE!?, her teeth grew sharp, and her eyes furrowed like some rabid cartoon character. 

"It did, actually. Because of my threat, the fool is now afraid of looking at your general direction, knowing that I'd kick his ass whenever he says something stupid again."

Unbothered, he drank his painkillers from the glass of water. 

"... Wait. You'd really repeat all of this... for me?"

Just as he drank, so did he spit, coughing and wiping his chin with his forearm.

"Of course I would, but don't get the wrong idea."

""WRONG IDEA"? YOU LITERALLY CALLED ME YOUR GIRLFRIEND IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!"

"IT WAS JUST TO CONFUSE THE FUCKER!"

"THEN WHY WOULD YOU REPEAT IT?"

"IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU REALLY!"

"THEN WHY'S IT!?"

"I JUST NEED YOU FOR YOUR STUPID ICE FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

The room fell in complete silence once again, and the tension became so thick one could almost cut it with a knife.

Her expression grew cold, and her eyes bore nothing but pure disgust. "So that's what this was all about."

"WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO SURPRISED NOW? IT WAS OUR DEAL, REMEMBER?"

She sat up from her seat and went straight to the door, readying herself to leave.

"Wait."

Just as she was about to step out, she turned around, his tone of voice catching her off guard only to see him sitting miserably on his bed, head hanging and elbows leaning on his knees, grieving.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Geten stood at the doorway for a minute and then slowly entered again, closing the door behind her. Dabi continued.

"I say things that I don't mean and push the people I care about away."

The white-hair watched his back in silence until she decided to speak up again "... So you actually meant it... the other way?"

"I'm such a sick fuck."

She sensed the crack in his voice and came closer, undoing his hands only to see blood trailing down his face. 

"Whoa, what's going on with your scars?" she tried to wipe it off only to smear it across his cheeks, and Dabi smiled a little.

"Aren't you disgusted by it? Now all of your fingers are red."

She didn't mind his words but created an ice cube to wash it with the water.

"I should call Sceptic. He’s much better at this medical shit than I am."

"No one can help me with it. My tear ducts are all burnt out, and I can't really tear up much."

"Wait, you're crying?"

Dabi refused to say anything as she tried to wipe the rest of the blood off, pressing gentle circles on his now iced skin.

"Blueflame…"

"Hah, actually, you're right. Maybe I really am as weak as you told me back then. I literally am falling apart. How pitiful."

Without a second thought, she slapped him across the face, and he took his stinging cheek in his hand.

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

"Thanks...."

"I'm sorry. Look, you're everything but weak, so don't you dare call yourself that. You endured so much pain, your skin is the proof of the things you've gone through in life, and you freaking survived. No one would be able to do this but you. You're not weak, Blueflame, far from it."

"You think so?"

"Of course I do! If it weren't for your help today, I would have talked to Re-Destro, and he'd think that I was too weak for my leadership role. I never actually thanked you for this, thank you."

"You're not weak either, doll. I'm pretty sure that you've beat my ass the week before."

She just smiled at him, and then they looked at each other the same way they did when they made their offer, except they didn't back off this time. They leaned into the kiss that was slow at first, but then they applied more pressure, and it grew more passionate. It was also their first time, so they couldn't really make fun of each other's clumsiness. Whenever their teeth collided, they laughed a little but continued until it felt right. She melted against him, her lips working in tandem with his and his hand slid up her outer thigh as he leaned forward to deepen it. She grasped his lower lip with her teeth before pulling away for some air, and he groaned.

"God, this felt good..." his chest heaved, his words a gravelly whisper.

She stood up and widened her stance, legs bracketing his own as she reached out to grab the back of his neck. She leaned over, forehead resting against his.

"You're not so bad yourself, gorgeous-eyes."

"I differ, yours are much more gorgeous."

"Really? Kinda sappy coming from your side." she grinned, but this didn't discourage him in the slightest.

"I could get lost in them, I mean it."

He caught her face in his palms, drawing her in deeper as his tongue slipped between their lips and slid against hers. His Quirk activated, his kiss is fierce and sweet all at once, and her head spins as his hands slid up her thighs, warming her up. Her mouth became much cooler now, and it sent shivers down his spine. She planted her icy hands on his shoulders and pushed them both backward, landing on the comfort of his bedsheets.

He drew circles over her back and waist, taking in her beautiful features as her head hovered over his own, hair tickling the skin on his face. She gave him a little peck that made him smile, and she cupped his face, thumbs stroking the side of his cheeks.

"So we're official now?" she didn't know why she asked. It was kind of obvious now, but she wanted to hear it coming from his lips.

His expression became serious again as he looked to the side concerningly. He really didn't want to spoil whatever they had going on with his fucked up story about his family, hero society, his mission that could possibly cost him his life for the sake of achieving greater good. Now the last thing he needed was to fall in love with someone and die when he finally found his reason. Life was such a bitch sometimes.

"I'm currently dealing with a very unfortunate situation. I'm afraid that you'd get affected, and I don't want to endanger you by it."

She tilted her head questionably, "And I thought that we'd overcome everything as long as we're fighting together."

He looked at her worryingly, but his words bore a tad bit of curiosity in them, "You want to fight by my side?"

"Of course, you have my full support." she grinned widely, and he smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. It was amazing how much optimism, or rather confidence, could be stored in one single ice gremlin. But he loved her more than everything.

"Very well then." he turned them over and planted a kiss on her forehead before getting on his feet and pulling her up towards himself. "Boss told me about some business we need to take care of in the neighborhood. Cocktail hours?"

"FUCK WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY EARLIER!?"

"Relax, we'll arrive on time." he took his shirt and jacket and put them on.

As they walked towards their location, Dabi took her hand in his while some of the soldiers watched them in confusion, remembering when the two fought against each other.

He couldn't care less. She was the first person who ever supported him, so if his days were outnumbered, then he'd as well spend them with the only person worth his time.

[mediocre-writerr]

slow dancing in the parking lot [dani clayton]

Dani Clayton x fem reader

Requested: I want to know if it’s possible to write one where the reader and Dani slow dance together and they remember all the time they dance together like their first dance, during their wedding, etc.

*not my gif*

Dani was in the small kitchen on your guys’ small, yet cozy apartment in New York. You walked into the apartment, taking off your shoes and putting them on the rack as the smell of spaghetti sauce filled your nostrils. 

“Dani, my love, I’m home!” you yell as you hung up your coat. 

“I’m in here!” she yells back as you follow the sound of your wife’s voice towards the kitchen. 

She was facing the stove as she stirred the pan of sauce. Our lovely freshly grown basil gift from Jamie being thrown into the mix. You wrap your arms around her waist and hook your chin on her shoulder. She immediately leans into your touch. You give her a kiss on the cheek as she stirs it. 

“Hello my love.” you whisper swaying with her back and forth. 

“Hi,” she says as she finally turns her head to plant a sweet kiss on your lips, “How was work?” 

“Same old, same old. We won a case today so that’s a plus, but so much paperwork,” you reply with a shrug letting her go, “Is there anything you need me to do?” 

“Um, do you want to get the salad and garlic bread ready? The spaghetti should be about boiled.” she says and you nod.

“Of course, but I feel like we need to add some music up in here first.” you say wiggling your eyebrows at her and she laughs. 

You head over to your record player as you put in your favorite record Billy Joel songs that you had custom made for your one year wedding anniversary. You and Dani’s favorite songs were from Billy Joel. You went back to the kitchen and rolled up your sleeves before washing your hands. 

Dani and you cooked there in comfortable silence as the music played. Uptown Girl began playing and both you and Dani looked at each other with a smile. She began using her spoon as a microphone while you took the wooden spoon you were using. 

“Uptown girl! She’s been living in uptown world. I bet she’s never had a backstreet guy. I bet her mama told her why. I’m gonna try for an uptown girl!” you and Dani sing together at the top of your lungs as you guys jump up and down to the song. 

“Now what are you two doing in here?” you ask as you walk into the classroom at Bly. Your hands in your pocket as you leant against the door frame. 

Uptown Girl by Billy Joel was playing loudly off of the record player. The blonde girl who you met briefly at her au pair interview was standing there dancing with them. The three of them looked up at you and the au pair was blushing lightly. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, you must join us! This song is perfectly splendid!” Flora says grabbing your hand and pulling you into the classroom. 

“Yeah! Ms. Clayton picked it out, she said it was one of her favorites!” Miles added on still dancing along to the music.

“What a coincidence, it’s one of my favorites too! It seems like Ms. Clayton here has good taste.” you say kneeling in front of Flora before shooting Ms. Clayton a wink. 

Her cheeks lit up with a pink tint, “I’m Dani, the new au pair. I think we met briefly before my interview.” she explains and you nod. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, I’m Henry’s partner at the firm. I was given the position under terrible circumstances I’m afraid, but I’m grateful for this position nevertheless.” you introduce yourself. 

“Miss. Y/L/N is really good at her job though, probably just as good as our father was!” Miles says excitedly. 

You ruffle his hair smiling at him, “Always a charmer Miles. Thank you for your kind words young sir.” 

“Why are you in the countryside then?” Dani asks.

“Oh I like to come and visit the kids and everyone here as much as I can. So any chance I get that I’m off I like to make the drive and stay for awhile,” you respond, “Now are we gonna sit here and chit chat or are we going to annoy Mrs. Grose even more with our obnoxious singing and dancing?” 

“Annoy her more!” the children yell and both you and Dani laugh. 

You head over to the record player to restart the song. All of you begin singing and dancing around the room. You take Dani’s hand and spin her around lightly. The feeling of her hand in yours brought a skip to your heart. You couldn’t help, but smile wider at the feeling of it. 

She was a sight to see. Her beautiful blonde hair and her piercing oceanic eyes. The color really suit her as if you look into her eyes for long you would be drowning in her beauty. The beauty that is Dani Clayton. 

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love with an uptown girl! She’s been living in her white bread world as long as anyone with hot blood can! And now she’s looking for a downtown man! That’s what I am!” all four of you sing at the top of you lungs. 

You wink at Dani after singing the last couple lyrics. Her face flushes again once more as you spin her around again.

“Hannah told me to tell you guys to shut up!” Jamie yells looking annoyed as ever, “If you guys continue I will beat the living shite out of you!” 

All of you freeze in your place before laughing, “Good to see you too Jamie!” you yell back and she finally breaks a smile before walking away.

“You’re still my uptown girl.” I tell her before spinning her around like I used to. 

“And you’re still my downtown man...or women, you know what I mean!” she exclaims and you chuckle at her cute antics.

You begin peppering her face with kisses and she squeals a little, “Y/N! Stop we have to cook!” she explains, “Everyone is gonna be here soon!” 

Dani goes back to the strain the spaghetti as you toss the salad together. Then the song New York State of Mind comes on when you toss the bread into the oven to get it toasted. 

“Ms. Clayton, may I have this dance?” you ask extending your hand out before bowing exaggeratedly. 

Flora and Miles decided they wanted to go back in time and throw a ball. They want to throw one before you have to head back in the city tomorrow to work on a case. Everyone was dressed up in the fanciest of costumes. 

“How many times do I have to tell you Y/N? Call me Dani.” she says chuckling before taking your hand.

“I don’t know you well enough to call you Dani yet, but I hope that can be arranged.” you say as you wrap your arms around her waist and hers settles around your neck. 

“Beautiful and still respects chivalry. I like it.” she says and you smile widely, a small blush forming on your cheeks. 

The song New York State of Mind was playing in the background as the two of you slow danced together. Miles was dancing with Jamie, Flora was dancing with Henry (you somehow managed to drag him out of the office for one night), and Owen was dancing with Hannah. 

The two of you swayed from side to side before you spun her around. At the peak of the song you dipped her. Your faces so close you can feel her breath on your lips. You look into her eyes and back down to her lips as if asking permission. She nods so quickly if you blinked you would miss it. 

You close the short little gap before kissing her ever so softly. Her lips were surprisingly soft. She wraps her hands around your neck pulling you closer. You smiled into it as she did too. 

Dani pulls apart needing air and you lift her up from the dip. She smiles at you widely, “Gosh I’ve been waiting to do that.” 

There’s a knock door breaking you away from the beautiful memory you once shared. You head over to the door as Dani set up the table, looking through the peep hole to see your guests. You open the door to reveal: Hannah, Owen, and Jamie standing there. Jamie was holding a bottle of wine like always while Hannah and Owen were holding hands.

“Mrs. Poppins!” Jamie says hugging you tightly before making her way inside.

“Jamie, darling!” you respond.

“Y/N, it’s always a pleasure!” Hannah says kissing both of your cheeks and Owen gives you a hug. 

Dani squeals when she sees her best friend Jamie as they hug tightly. It has been awhile since all of you have been together. With them living in England still and you guys moving to New York at expanding you and Henry’s law firm to across the pond. 

The five of you sit and chat for awhile as the music plays. You wrap your arm around Dani’s shoulder as the two of you sat on the couch. Then the door knocked again. You jump off the couch heading straight for the door after giving Dani a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“Ms. Y/N!” the two kids yelled, but they weren’t so small anymore.

They were getting older, Miles was 18 and Flora was 16. Miles was much taller and his baby face began fading away to turn into a more chiseled physique. Flora was becoming into an even more beautiful young lady. Henry was there standing behind them and he smiled at you. 

“Kids, you’re old enough and know me well enough to call me Y/N.” you say to them before reaching your arms out to give them both hugs, “I mean you did play a big part in me and Dani’s wedding.” 

“It’s force of habit.” Miles says, his voice now deep. 

“Miles your voice! What the hell happened?!” you exclaim and he laughs before you ruffle his hair. 

Miles makes his way inside as Flora smiles widely at you. Flora has always thought of you and Dani as a mother figure since she lost hers. You hug her tight one more time before giving her a kiss on top of her head.

“So I heard that you have a boyfriend. When can I meet him?” you ask her and she smiles sheepishly.

“Maybe soon. I really like him and he’s super sweet and funny and handsome.” she says going on and on about him.

“Is he perfectly splendid?” you ask jokingly.

She drops her head into her hands, “Oh gosh. No. I said that way too much growing up.” she says shaking her head, but a smile still appeared on her face.

“Oh I know. It was definitely annoying at times,” you say, “But we didn’t love you any less!” 

She went back to head inside to say hi to everyone else as well. Henry’s hair was turning a little gray and you laughed at the sight. Your best friend shook his head already knowing what you were laughing at. 

“Henry! The hair is a good look on you!” you say in between laughs. 

“Oh shut up!” he says as you embrace him into a hug yourself. 

All of you sit around the table as you ate and talked. It’s a nice feeling. You’ve missed all of them so terribly. Especially since it has been a struggle to visit as often as you’d like. You’re always so busy with the firm, it’s hard to find time to go on vacation. 

As dinner ended the song Just The Way You Are by Billy Joel came on. All of you looked around and smile at one another. Everyone grabbed their partners like the night of the ball as we began dancing in our tiny apartment. 

You wrapped your arms around Dani’s waist and she did the same, but around your neck. The two of you close and comfortable with each other. 

“I’ve really missed this.” she whispers to you and you nod.

“Me too. The kids they’re so grown now and I feel like I’m missing out in a way.” you explain and she nods. 

“Maybe we need to move back to England. Stay a little closer to them,” she suggests, “Henry will understand and I bet he’ll love us there! You guys have met some amazing people to help run it. I bet they’ll do a great job.”

You did miss the feeling of being in London. You’ve missed it dearly. Especially the kids, they’ve become like your own in the time you’ve watched them grow up. It wasn’t such a bad idea.

“I wouldn’t leave you in times of trouble. We never could have come this far. I took the good times; I’ll take the bad times. I’ll take you just the way you are.” you sing to her softly and she smiles.

Dani looks beautiful all the time, but there’s something about her standing in her wedding dress in your arms...it just made her even more beautiful. It reminded you of the first time you met her, how awe struck you were at such beauty. 

Just The Way You Are by Billy Joel was playing as the two of you shared your first dance as wife and wife. 

You knew you couldn’t have a normal wedding, you couldn’t technically get married, but you didn’t care. Owen ran the wedding on his own as he allowed you guys to say your vows in the small church in the Bly Manor. Henry, Flora, Miles, Hannah, and Jamie were the only one in attendance. 

Both of you didn’t need a big wedding. All you needed was the two of you and the people who love and care about you most. Both of you celebrated your wedding in the gardens of Bly, much to Jamie’s hesitation in fear that you will ruin her hard work.

“You look absolutely stunning, my love.” you whisper to her as the two of you swayed.

“Thank you my wife.” she whispers back and you couldn’t think your smile could widen. 

After a few moments you felt a few taps on your side. Both you and Dani looked down at the feeling. Miles and Flora were there with their hands extended. Miles now 14 and Flora is now 12. 

“May we have this dance?” they both ask in unison and you both smile nodding.

You take Flora’s small little hands and dance with her to the song. She giggles as you spin her around. And for extra flare to make her super happy you dip her ever so gently. 

As if on cue, you and Dani spin the two children around at the same time as you switch partners. Miles was dancing trying his best not to step on your feet. He wasn’t the best dancer, but he made it work somehow. 

You finally make your way back to Dani dancing with her as the song ends.

“Thank you for all the dances my love, here’s to many more to come.” you whisper and give her a small sweet kiss. 

[pandoraborn]

Cruelty of the Beast - Part 8

( previous. )

Characters: c!Dream, c!Tommy, c!Ranboo, c!Wilbur Word count: 2136 words Content: the end, seeing the dragon, discussion of good vs. evil, ranboo starts to remember a little more

-----------

The next several days blur together. Ranboo and Tommy aren’t able to find any time alone anymore, because their days from wake up are filled with mining for resources and farming even more. They also include trips to the nether multiple times a day. Each night the two teens can barely finish their dinners before collapsing into a sound sleep in their bunks.

The upside to this is that there’s no room to think much about their situation. Though, if Ranboo were to be honest, he’s starting to enjoy the routine. It’s nice, having something to do each day. He no longer has to question anything bad that might happen to him.

He does keep Tubbo and Michael in the back of his mind. He hopes they’re both okay, though he also hopes Tubbo isn’t sending out search party after search party. He hopes he can slip away soon to meet up back in Snowchester, but with the way this new life is going, that thought is unlikely.

He wakes slowly one morning. His back and muscles ache, and Ranboo wishes he had a way to alleviate the tension, but he’s not about to ask the others for help. He only trusts Tommy, he still doesn’t know how to feel about Dream and Wilbur.

When Ranboo finally sits up, he finds he’s the last one to rise. Tommy’s awake and cooking sausages, Dream is mixing apple juice, and Wilbur is handing Ranboo a plate of food.

“Good morning,” Wilbur says softly. “You don’t look so great.”

“We’ve been busy,” Ranboo mutters. He takes the food though, eating slowly. He decides if Tommy’s the one cooking, then it can’t be all that bad. “How long until we’re going mining again?”

“We’re not going today,” Wilbur says. He offers Ranboo one of his quiet smiles. This time, Ranboo finds a little bit of comfort in it. Mostly, he wants to believe they finally get a day to rest, which means tonight he can sneak-

“Do you want anything for the pain?” Wilbur continues. “You look sore.”

“I’m fine,” Ranboo mumbles. He shakes his head as further confirmation and resumes eating. “Thank you though.”

“If you’re sure.” Wilbur pats him on the shoulder before walking away to take over for Tommy. “Toms, go eat. We have plenty of food.”

“I’m starving,” Tommy complains. “Five sausages doesn’t feel like enough!”

Wilbur starts laughing. “You act like we’re starving you.”

“You are,” Tommy counters. “You’re only giving me five sausages.”

“Tommy, they’re huge. You barely even need three!” Wilbur laughs. “I haven’t eaten yet, I’m stealing your portion.”

“See what I mean?” Tommy stumbles toward Ranboo dramatically, collapsing on the floor by his feet. “Ranboo, when I perish, please call Dream a bitch for me. Honor my legacy.”

Ranboo looks up toward Dream, now curious to see how he’s going to handle this. He expects a snarky comment, but he’s surprised to hear Dream laughing.

Yeah, okay Tommy. I guess I just won’t share this freshly made apple juice with you. I”ll just share with with Ranboo and Wilbur instead. You can keep your water.”

Tommy’s up in a second. “Okay fine. You win, but only because I’m thirsty. Not because I actually want anything from you. You’re still a bitch and I hate you.”

“Tommy, come get your food,” Wilbur interrupts. “I’m giving you four.”

“And pancakes.”

“You have three.” Wilbur hands Tommy his breakfast too. “Sit by Ranboo and eat. We have a present for you two today.”

Ranboo pauses to look up again. Wilbur had said they weren’t working today, but he hadn’t gotten confirmation on why. “A present?” Ranboo asks.

“Yes,” Dream says. He holds up a pitcher. “Aside from the fresh food, we’re going to take you two on a field trip.”

“We’re going back to the SMP, I knew it!” Tommy pumps his fist before clutching at his plate. “Shit, my breakfast!”

“No, it’s not that easy.” The grin fades from Dream’s face. “Look, Wilbur and I did some talking over the past couple of days, and we both agreed we fucked up, so we’re going to include you both more in our plans. We want to gain your trust.”

“Dream, I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I hated you,” Tommy says. His shoulders seem to deflate. “I would trust Bad over you, and Bad’s got that egg shit going on, and he’s already tried to kill me a few times.”

“I know.” Dream offers a smile that almost seems to mirror Wilbur’s, but it doesn’t quite make the mark. “Tommy, if Wilbur trusts me-”

“Wilbur trusting you has nothing to do with me,” Tommy cuts in curtly. Ranboo silently cheers him on. “It’s going to take a lot more than an ‘I’m sorry’ for me to even think about forgiving you. Everything else is most likely not going to happen.”

Dream throws his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I won’t push. But we do have a treat for you.”

“What’s the treat?” Ranboo asks. He’s ready for the awkwardness to die out. His curiosity is overwriting any other tension he might be feeling, and for once, he’s glad he’s curious. “What’s this field trip?”

“We’re going on a quick trip to the end,” Wilbur says. He plates his own food and sits down in the middle of the cabin. “Ranboo, I know Dream showed you the location, and I know you told Tommy, but we’re going to take a visit there today.”

Tommy swallows thickly. “Any particular reason why we need to see a dragon? What if it eats us?”

“It won’t. We’ve already taken precautions with ensuring our safety.” Wilbur nods toward Dream. “We’ll be perfectly safe when we see it. Now please, children, hurry and eat. You’ll love this, I swear to you.”

---

It takes no more than another hour for them to finish eating (and the apple juice is actually pretty pog, in Tommy’s words). When they clean up and dress for the day, Ranboo holds Tommy’s hand tightly as they make their way toward the campsite and end portal. He’s grateful that Tommy is squeezing just as tightly; glad that Tommy is finding comfort in him just as much as he finds comfort in Tommy. That’s the biggest silver lining in this situation, is they still have each other.

They peek into the hole again, and Ranboo’s stomach churns. He still doesn’t remember digging this, but he has another flash, Dream’s voice echoing in his head, whispered words of praise. The hallucination is gone as quickly as it came, but Ranboo feels a certain sort of peace settle over him.

There’s a ladder that leads down. He must’ve missed it last time he was here, but it’s there, and Dream’s already climbing down slowly, with Wilbur right behind him. Giving Tommy’s hand one last squeeze, Ranboo pulls his hand back and follows suit. He doesn’t want to go down, he doesn’t want to actually confront what he’s done, but Tommy is silently nudging him forward.

“It’s okay Ran, we’re in this together.” Tommy’s voice is a whisper that is almost too quiet to be heard. But the comfort is still there. Tommy’s reassuring him, Tommy’s forgiving him...

That means something.

With a nod, Ranboo climbs down the ladder slowly, keeping his gaze up to watch Tommy. It’s a long climb down, and the ladder is creaking under each step. It feels like any second the ladder can break and they’d all plummet, but a blink later and he’s at the bottom.

He looks back up, and the surface seems way too far above them. There’s only a tiny sliver of light, the rest is shrouded in darkness. Well, except for the portal room, which is well lit.

“Set your spawns,” Dream instructs. “We aren’t taking any chances.”

“I thought you said you took precautions,” Tommy accuses. “We should be safe.”

“We took precautions for the dragon, not the various endermen that live here,” Dream clarifies. “Also, when we dip through, please stay close to us.”

There’s a drawn out silence as the two teens lie in the nearby bed. Ranboo immediately latches onto Tommy again, aware of how sweaty Tommy’s hand is. He doesn’t mind though, because they’re now following the two adults through the portal. There’s no telling what they’ll find on the other side.

What Ranboo isn’t prepared for is how big the dragon is, or how beautiful the void is. It’s an endless...he would describe it as a night sky. His eyes widen as he stares in awe around the nearby area. There are so many endermen...

The end is nothing like what he’d imagined; he’d pictured something desolate and empty, but now that he’s here, amazement and wonderment replace any feelings of apprehension. Ranboo is staring up into the endless inky sky, jaw agape.

“...boo?” Tommy’s voice is distant, cutting into his trance. “Ranboo, you still with us?”

“Huh?” He tries to shake himself, but he’s staring up again, still too lost in a pleasurable daze to focus on Tommy.

“Ah, shit.” Dream’s voice cuts into his thoughts next. “I forgot about this. He’s half enderman, this is like, his homeland. Hey, Ranboo, come here.”

He feels an arm slide around his shoulders, pulling him flush against another body. Only now does Ranboo pull himself out of his trance to focus on Dream, who’s waving a hand in front of his face. He shakes his head a few times, letting reality sink in. Rather than feel embarrassed, he holds onto that peaceful feeling. Everything else that had been eating away in the back of his mind is all but forgotten about.

The group moves closer. Ranboo finds comfort in Dream’s closeness, and up ahead, he can see Tommy holding Wilbur’s hand. When they’re close enough to see the dragon, Ranboo’s eyes widen again.

Wilbur and Dream hadn’t been kidding when they said they’d already taken measures to protect themselves. They’d set up several beacons that seem to trap the dragon in a large circle, on one island. The group is just outside the circle, but they’re all staring up with the same expressions of awe on their faces. Ranboo looks over at Tommy, pulling away from Dream to move closer.

He takes Tommy’s hand again.

“Wow,” Tommy breathes. Ranboo watches him with a smile on his face. “Ranboo, I never thought I’d say this, but this is really fucking cool. Look at it!”

He does. There’s no denying now that this dragon would cause an apocalypse in their main world, but for some reason, while in this realm, he doesn’t feel any sort of worry. He really does feel like everything will be okay.

“Wilbur?” Tommy’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Yes child?”

“This is the coolest thing I’ve seen since you kidnapped us.” He moves closer to Ranboo, pressing a hand to his back. Ranboo sighs and leans against Tommy. “If Ranboo and I like it, does this make us the bad guys?”

“Silly Tommy.” Wilbur laughs and reaches over to ruffle Tommy’s hair. “You ask adorable questions.”

Another faint memory stirs deep within Ranboo. A faint memory of a conversation. Not with Dream, but with Wilbur. It comes on so strong that he almost blacks out.

-

He’s in Pogtopia, with the ghost of Wilbur before him. Wilbur had been brought back for a limited amount of time thanks to an ancient spell. He has questions he can’t go to Dream about.

“If I’m working with Dream and he’s hurting people, does that make me a villain?”

“That’s such an antiquated train of thought. No one is a villain, and no one is a hero. We all simply are. Everything serves its purpose and every end justifies the means.” Wilbur tilts his head to the side to smile at Ranboo. “I died for a cause, and it caused this massive avalanche of events. Would you fault me for all of it?”

“No. You did what you had to do, in the end.” Ranboo can feel his lips stretching out. “Just as Dream is doing what he has to do.”

“Then we’re not the villains in this tale, are we? We’re simply working toward a cause.” Wilbur puts his hand on Ranboo’s shoulder. “Don’t focus so much on good versus evil, because everything can be twisted to suit a different set of morals, even if you have the best of intentions.”

“You’re right.” Ranboo smiles at Wilbur. “I trust Dream.”

“Good lad. Keep trusting Dream, he’d never lead you astray.”

-

Ranboo comes back to reality. Only a couple of seconds had passed, but he feels like he’d been drowning in surfacing memories for hours. Wilbur is still playing with Tommy’s hair, and he’s still speaking.

“Of course we’re the villains,” Wilbur continues. “We always have been.”

[joa-quin-phoe-nix-fan]

Come Back, Joe- Joe FF/imagine (Part 1???)

Come Back, Joe

The room was quiet. The sudden, deafening noise that had just taken over the entire house a moment ago was gone. Now, compared to the silence, the noise felt more like a squeak. Joe stood there, feeling like an elephant in a bird cage, looking at the fallen man before him. The bullet hammer still in his hand, now covered with blood. His head felt fuzzy. This was what usually happened after a job. This time, there was just something so much like someone he knew in that man. He stood still for a while, trying to come back to the world. He needed to get rid of the evidence. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get back to her.

Come back.

Come back!

COME BACK JOE!

Joe is back. He walks around the room, now numb to the carnage. Barely looking at the body, he briskly walked around the room, looking for anything relating to the ex-person lying on the bed, now surrounded by a halo of filthy crimson with bright broken pieces of white, and disgusting grey-pink splats. Any phones, credit cards, ID cards, drivers licenses, even library cards are sometimes used to track people down. Joe collected all of these, very carefully, making sure any blood on them was wiped off so it didn’t drip on the floor. Not because of any cleanliness issues, but because forensic scientists take any drips of blood like that as proof that the room been tampered with. That’s why he always made sure to get as few of those drips as possible. He also made sure it looked a lot more like a robbery that way, if he got rid of all these things, so he also took the mans wallet. Then he opened up the phone, pulling out the SIM card and crushing it in his strong hand. Then snapping the phone itself easily, catching all the bits in a plastic bag that he brought. No matter how much he distracted himself though, he couldn’t ever forget the strangely familiar corpse on the bed.

Avoiding the body like the plague, he shuffled around the room, looking around in case he missed something. As usual, he hadn’t and with a heavy sigh, he left the room, shuffling along slowly, swivelling his head and eyes back and forth like a wild animal, as if he were looking for his next victim. But he wasn’t, he was terrified as he always was after these jobs, that someone had seen him, maybe seen a shadow through the curtains of the windows, maybe he was caught on CCTV, was that mirror double sided? His head spun more and more, making the numb feeling already permeating through his body so much worse. He just kept walking, keeping his eyes glued to the ground, focusing on his feet so he wouldn’t fall over, barely looking up long enough to avoid getting run over. Eventually, he recognized the pavement he walked on, his school road. That meant that there were at least 2 blocks to go before he reached his house. He sped up a tad. Now wanting more desperately than ever to be in her arms again. To hug her, to kiss her, to hold her close to his heart so she could hear how much he loved her.

Finally, his road. As he walked, his shadow rolled from in front of him to behind him again and again as he passed each street lamp. Getting faster and faster as he walked faster and faster.

3

2

1

go left now.

He turned left, knowing exactly where his house was, not needing to look up and see it. He recognized the gravel, the crunch that it made under his weight, the smell of the roses that she grew, the smell of freshly cut grass, the movement, activated lamp that always blinded him when he came back this late.

She knew what he did as a job. She was definitely worried, of course, but he had taught her how to fight, and more importantly, how to win. She waited in the kitchen for him, as she always did, with a warm lemon whisky and lemon mix that they both liked to enjoy. It was indeed hard to tell what Joe enjoyed. He was so quiet and he kept to himself, but Y/N knew how to get him to smile, how to get him to open up, even just a little bit. She had opened a door in his heart and settled in perfectly, no matter how many times Joe said that she wouldn’t enjoy it or his company. She knew what had happened in his childhood and career, she knew about his suicidal thoughts, she knew, even without him telling her, how he felt in any exact moment.

Right now, she knew that Joe was worse that usual, that for whatever reason, this job had affected him more than others. She didn’t need to ask why or whether she was right, she just knew. She stood up from the kitchen island, leaving both mugs there, and walked over to Joe, searching for his eyes carefully. There were no tears yet, but it was only a matter of time. She ran her hands up his shoulders and behind his neck carefully, holding him in a fragile embrace. He looked up slowly, meeting her gaze, he tried to smile tightly, but that only pushed the tears out. All at once, he crumpled to his knees, grabbing her tightly as if she was the last life-vest on a sinking ship and shook terribly, like a mountain during an earthquake. Y/N sat down next to him, still holding him close, stroking his head and whispering softly, “Joe, I’m here...I’m here...don’t worry...” He just kept sobbing and shaking, tears soaking his beard, his hair falling down past his eyes, casting a shadow over his face. Y/N still sat there patiently, waiting for him to be able to stand. “Joe...Joe, listen to me...lets go over to the kitchen island, okay? I have two honey whisky lemons over there for us....honey, I need to shut the door...” hearing this made him move, she knew it would. As he got up slowly and shuffled over to the mugs, sniffing quietly, she slowly pushed the door fully shut and locked it, double checking it as usual. Then, Y/N rushed back over to Joe, making sure he made it to the island in one piece.

He was sitting there as she arrived, still silently sobbing and shaking, his mug barely keeping steady as he tried to hold it. Y/N slowly pushed the mug back down onto the table, he complied sadly, feeling an overwhelming feeling of guilt that she had to take care of him like this. Worried as always that she might love him less if she saw him like this. Y/N saw all of this pass through his eyes and held his hands. Her hands looking like a baby dolls compared to his, she held her hands downwards, linking perfectly with his now upturned hands, her fingers in his palm and his fingers holding up hers. He finally stopped sobbing and looked up to Y/N, meeting her eyes again, tears still unconsciously streaming down his face.

Y/N finally noticed a small amount of blood on his face. She patted his hands lightly, motioning that she was going to get up for a little bit, walked over to the sink, took a paper towel from the roll, dampened it slightly and walked back. By the time she had done all that, she noted that Joe hadn’t moved a muscle. She sighed, worried that her love might be truly broken this time. She would never hear him talk about what he recently read, watched, saw again. The time that she spent with him was so precious, and now she might not have that time ever again. She needed to get him talking. As she wiped away the blood on his face she asked “Do you wanna talk about it tonight? Or would you prefer to go to sleep now?” he thought for a moment, “we can talk...” he mumbled back, “i just dunno what to say.” He slumped into his arms like a bored child, trying to hide his face as much as possible from her. She slumped down in front of him, making sure she always had her eye on him. “Was it a kid?” she inquired softly “no..no...it was a guy...” he muttered, not wanting to remember that night, “Was it someone you knew?” “n-no...well, maybe...but no...b-but...he looked familiar.” he stammered, trying to not ramble. “Ah, I see...who did he look like?” “I-I don’t...know.” he sighed, thinking that she will surely see this as nothing and say that he should just get over it. She had never done that before, but she might this time. She kept going “really rake your brain...who did he look like...why did this affect you so much?” He stopped, looking up now, really trying to think without thinking about how he killed him or about his corpse. He thought about his face compared to the catalogue of faces he knew...then it hit him. That man...he looked like his father. His eyes grew wide and tears welled up again. Everything to do with his dad came rushing back, did he kill his dad? Oh my god was that his dad? He started breathing heavy, Y/N knew she had gone too far and grabbed his hands again. “Joe? Joe listen to me, tell me 5 things you can see. C’mon, just 5 things.” Joe breathed in sharply as he looked around “Umm...I see...you, the blue wall, ummm...a baby cherub statuette, the fireplace annnnd...” he looked around desperately hoping something would jump up to be his fifth thing to see. He looked down “and the mug of honey whisky lemon.” “Okay, that’s very good, breathe with me, slowly and deeply. Four things you can feel?” Joe breathed in deep, looking Y/N straight in the eyes, matching her breathing and concentrating, “I feel, you again...the chair, the island and the space-heater.” “Perfect, we’re almost done, keep breathing with me...three things you can hear.” Joe let out a tiny almost unrecognizable giggle though his tears, realizing that Y/N was in most of them. He didn’t mind though, he liked her. “You, again...the space heater again and...a dog outside.” “Brilliant, two things you can smell?” “You once again, and the lemon honey whisky again.” “And one thing you can taste?” Y/N expected him to sip his lemon-honey but, taking her completely by surprise, Joe reached across the table and kissed her, a slow and romantic kiss filled with true gratefulness and a little bit of sad amusement, showing that, for a moment at least, he had put aside the pain that he felt, only for it to surely resurface another day. But this moment is what really meant a lot for both of them, the upward turn, the moment of healing. Y/N loved these moments because she finally was able to see the wonderful, romantic man she one day wanted to marry, and Joe because, he saw truly how much Y/N had helped him and realized how much he loved her and she just always looked so genuinely happy to help him. “You...” he whispered “there, now you’re in every category...” Y/N giggled softly, thank god her mother taught her those therapeutic tips and tricks. Joe was, of course, broken but when he was this blinded by the love and care given by Y/N he could momentarily forget and hopefully, one day, completely heal.

OMG I'm getting noticed by people! It's kinda scary but I hope y'all like my imagines! You can request stories of any of the characters from my list but you can also request characters that aren't on the list but I might take more time to write it... (also ty @darknessisafriend for reposting my Abbé story! I was honestly inspired by you to start posting!)

[monstersandmaw]

Female vampire x female hunter (sfw) - Streaming story

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Hey folks! Here’s the edited version of the story I wrote with your input on my Twitch writing stream. Names were suggested in the chat for Olena (the vampire), our huntress, and the black cat, so thank you! I hope you had fun watching the stream and watching how I write and work, and maybe we can do another one in the future if there’s enough interest.

This feels like a part one to me, so maybe we can continue it together? Also Olena is basically Striga from the Netflix Castlevania series...

Content: (POV vampire) snow, scheming cats, grumpy lesbian vampire, slightly daffy huntress, and a teeny bit of sass. Wordcount: ~2.7k

She’d seen a hundred winters like it, but the sight of dancing snowflakes as winter really sank its teeth into the landscape never failed to ease something inside her. The summers here were intense and hot, but in the dead of winter the sun barely managed to haul itself above the tall row of looming elms on the horizon and everything lay muffled beneath dense blankets of pristine snow.  

Her breath fogged against the leaded panes of the mullioned windows as snowflakes flailed around the dark courtyard beyond and she found her thin, dark lips tugging into a wry, private smile. Yes, winter was her time; it was a time of wolves and hunting; of long nights, solitary stars, and gusting winds.

As she shifted her weight - on the point of turning away from the worsening storm - her light, soft-soled fur boots sounding barely a whisper on the smooth, time-worn flagstones of the bastion which she’d called home for the past two centuries, a movement in the barbican gate caught her sharp eye. Scowling, she focused her gaze on the distant, shadowed arch below. Squinting past her own severe, pale reflection and the flickering of the fire behind her, her heavy, dark brows knotted a little more tightly together when she figured out exactly what she was seeing.  

“No,” she breathed, astonished. “No fucking way. A human? Out in this weather?”

Easy pickings, perhaps. 

It had been long enough since her last feed that the thought of hot, fresh blood straight from the vein enticed her out into the cold.  

With a grunt, she turned away from the window and stalked through the castle on long, lean legs, fur-trimmed cloak swirling behind her like pirate’s sail. It didn’t take much effort to haul open the monstrous, iron-studded castle doors, and the blast of icy air that hit her in the face barely registered. Narrowing moss-green eyes against the biting wind, she stepped out into the drift-riddled courtyard.  

Up ahead she thought she could make out the figure of a young, human leading a horse. “The fuck?” she snarled. While her body didn’t particularly need blood at the moment -  no burning thirst prickling the back of her throat - as she neared the human and caught the faintest traces of her scent on the wind the instinctive urge to feed sparked a dull throb in her canines. It didn’t help that the woman’s pulse was rabbiting, but she could ignore that for now.  

The next scent she caught was the sour tang of horse, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Still, the human seemed to have noticed her at last because a voice that would have been too faint for human ears rose above the yowling of the wind a moment later.  

“Oh by the gods,” the young woman practically whimpered, staggering a little into the body of her chestnut horse who seemed to be a little lame on the nearside fore, head nodding with each step. The syncopated motion set a nicely-made, tooled leather quiver rocking on the saddle, revealing a decent number of arrows. The woman was a hunter then, and either her horse had gone lame before she’d managed to shoot anything, or she wasn’t very good.  

Olena stilled and let them approach her, a single, incredulous eyebrow raised.  

“I know it’s late!” the woman continued, tugging fruitlessly on the reins of the mare who had planted her feet and refused to take another step.

Animals could usually sense the supernatural, and this mare clearly had more sense than her owner when it came to marching up to a predator uninvited and introducing itself.  

“But, Buttercup here threw a shoe about half a mile back and it’s twisted the clenches a bit, and I didn’t want to keep riding her with one shoe off, so I got off and walked, but then it got late, and dark, and the snow started to worsen and…”  

Olena remained perfectly still, wondering how the woman’s mouth could be moving so quickly when the rest of her seemed half frozen.  

“So… uh… any chance we could find some help here? At least a roof over our heads til tomorrow? I don’t mind sleeping in the stable with Buttercup. Well,” she added tilting her head a bit and patting the mare’s shoulder, “Maybe not with with, because I don’t want to get crushed, but… you know… On a hay bale or something.”

After a brief pause while Olena’s brain tried to catch up with the sheer speed of the woman’s speech, she said, “I think we have a spare trough for you.”

For a split second, the human didn’t react and Olena wondered if she had, finally, frozen in place. Her eyes were wide and brown, somewhere between the colour of honey and hazel, and she blinked a few times before spluttering, “Wait, are you serious? You’re gonna offer me a fucking trough?”  

A tiny smile played at the corner of Olena’s mouth but she resisted the urge to let it blossom into something more expressive. With a quick jut of her chin, she indicated the stable block - mostly disused these days - and muttered, “Stable the mare in there. When you’re done, come up to the castle.”  

Without checking to see if the human had any more questions or spontaneous monologues to spout, Olena turned on the spot and left her to it.  

As she paced steadily through the falling snow, the vampire’s keen ears caught the soft sounds of the hunter nattering on to the horse - something about creepy castles and grumpy noblewomen - followed by the raucous squeak of the stable door as it opened, the clop of the mare’s hooves on hard stone, and then she was back at the castle doors herself and passing beneath leering carved gargoyles and grotesques.  

She debated fleetingly with herself as to whether she should close the doors again, partly so that the drifting snow didn’t pile up in the hallway again, but mostly so that Luna didn’t decide she wanted to go out all of a sudden, and then disappear for hours, only to turn up in the middle of the day, mewling to come in with something unmentionable dangling from her needle-sharp teeth.  

“Bloody cat,” Olena muttered fondly.

It had been a while since she’d been in any real position to gauge a human’s strength - in any context - but she had the feeling that this woman was probably stronger than her slim build suggested. Perhaps she was wiry rather than slender. A life where someone needed to come poaching deer in the forest, rather than having fine meals made, had a tendency to tip a person towards a leaner constitution. It was a build that had always appealed to her, despite certain expectations that someone as tall and muscular as Olena would prefer someone softer and altogether more delicate. Not that she’d given herself the slightest occasion to sample any kind of pleasure from any kind of woman in the past century or so, but that was on her.  

Despite the thickness of the castle walls between the entrance hall and the kitchens below, Olena could still make out the stump of the woman’s boots as she kicked off the worst of the snow before slamming the doors closed behind her with an echoing boom that shattered the stillness of the castle.  The vampire only realised once she was standing in the empty kitchen that she had no food fit for humans whatsoever. Perhaps there was a solid wheel of what had once been cheese lurking in a far corner of the cellars, but other than offering her a freshly-caught mouse, courtesy of Luna, there wasn’t much to bring up other than a pitcher of water.  

She shook a jar of something that could have been black tea a hundred years ago, but given that it resembled little more than mouse droppings, she returned it to the shelf and left the kitchens with the jug of water and a small earthenware cup. The human would have to be grateful for the fire and the shelter, if not the food.  

With footsteps quieter than even the cat’s, Olena’s progress along the stone corridors was unmarked by any eyes, save for perhaps a stray spider lurking in the vaulted ceilings. It hadn’t been until the strong heartbeat of another being had entered the halls that she’d appreciated quite how alone she was here. Memories, distant and dusty, of parties and gatherings filtered back to her through the layers of dust that seemed to cling to every surface of the castle, and something old and stale and painful stirred inside her at the sound of that new, fresh heartbeat.  

Mixing gradually with the steady rhythm of the new heartbeat came another sound. A soft voice, hoarse from the cold, hummed an old melody from the region that Olena was certain no one alive still knew, and the force of it hit her squarely in the chest. The last person who had sung that in her presence had been gone for nearly two centuries now.  

From her abrupt halt in the corridor, she caught the faint thrumming of another heartbeat. A moment later and Luna coiled softly around her ankles in silent greeting before fluffing up her tail and pricking her black ears forwards, suddenly alert. Then, bold as brass, she trotted into the drawing room, taking a direct path over the rug in the centre of the room, and introduced herself to the hunter without preamble.  

The human’s gentle warbling cut off the moment she spotted the cat, and she let out a little chuckle, crouching down into a childlike pose that almost drew a smile from Olena. She’d clearly been drying her russet-brown hair in the heat blasting off the fire in the grate, and Olena’s green eyes darted instantly to the soft curve of her now exposed neck.

Unconsciously, she licked her lips.  

The colours of the flames glimmered enticingly on the sliver of bare skin, dancing first gold then to a deeper amber.  

Her pulse beat steady and strong.  

Olena blinked and licked her lips again.  

Concentrating harder on her senses, she realised that the ferrous tang of blood tinted the air, and she deepened her habitually stern scowl. The hunter hadn’t seemed hurt. Honing her focus still further, it was with a strange sense of relief that she realised that the blood was not human. A second later, she spotted the source. A tiny mouse had been deposited on the hearth rug, and she grimaced. Luna had clearly been hunting and had left a present there for her on her return.  

The human, upon spotting the grim little offering, pulled a face and then, to Olena’s surprise, laughed. “Well, you did better than me,” she said, scratching the cat under the chin as Luna tilted her dark, fluffy face upwards for a moment before coiling languorously around the stranger’s ankles like a shadow come to life. “So far I’ve caught absolutely nothing.”

It wasn’t until the raucous purring of the traitorous cat reached her ears that Olena realised she’d been standing there staring like a suit of armour for too long.  

The human finally noticed her presence, jumping quietly and gasping, which startled Luna a little. In rebuke, the cat bristled and stalked away. She was acting as if this new arrival to the utter stillness of their castle meant nothing at all to her, though Olena could see that she was secretly fascinated with the human. Remembering how long the cat had taken to warm up to her in the first place brought a fresh sting to her chest and a bitterness to her mouth.  

She rolled her green eyes and shot the cat a look, but Luna just ignored her.  

“Cute,” the human grinned, and Olena frowned, swivelling her gaze to the human and pinning her to the spot with a well-practised glare.  

“Excuse me?”

“Your cat,” the hunter said with a surprisingly girlish giggle for someone dressed like a soldier in supple leathers. “She’s cute.”

Olena had only the merest grunt in answer to that. “I can’t offer you anything to eat, but if you’re thirsty, there’s water. Or wine.”

The hunter tilted her head slightly, more curious than offended. “No servants to cook for you?” she asked archly. “Did you send them all away for the winter festivities and now have no one to feed you?”

She felt her features tighten in response - the urge to flash her fangs at the sheer audacity of this frail little human surged hot and bright in Olena, almost blinding her for a second before she reined herself in.  

The human, however, was apparently not finished. “Or perhaps you rely on the scraps your cat brings you?”

She was the next thing to letting her eyes flare red. Instead, she ground her jaw and set the pitcher of water down on the table near the fire without a word, and left the room.  

Luna, clearly unused to all the drama, let out a soft ‘mrrrp’ from the depths of the squashy chair where she’d apparently set up camp for the evening, and the hunter looked over at her. “I know,” she grinned. “These aristocratic types are so touchy.”

Olena’s last thread of patience snapped and she whirled on the spot. “What would you know?” she hissed, voice low and dangerous, and for the first time, she saw the spark of apprehension begin to kindle in the human’s eyes. The reason this castle was echoing and empty made her insides ache. “Perhaps you should have stayed in the stables if you’re so picky…”

The hunter’s mouth opened and shut a few times before she finally croaked, “Look, I’m sorry. I was out of line. You didn’t have to let me shelter here for the night.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, Olena’s eyes instantly tracking the movement, before adding, “I’ve got some supplies in my saddlebag. I can eat those.”

And with that, the human turned on her heel and left the room.  

The absence of her heartbeat in the vacuum left behind left Olena reeling.

In the days of the castle’s former life, no one would have dared to speak to her like that, and yet, in the snows of winter, a desperate and chilly huntress had just talked back at her like they were village teenagers scrapping over nothing at all, and had abruptly flounced out. If she’d known what Olena was - who Olena was - would she still have been so bold?

Feeling petulant, Olena just let her go, but once she’d heard the doors slam, she slumped down into a fire-warmed chair and let out a long breath and did her best to ignore the nagging sensation at the back of her mind, and forget about the human altogether.  

Luna, however, had other ideas.  

The cat refused to settle, and eventually she trotted from the room and disappeared with a flurry of her black, fluffy tail. “Oh you too, huh?” Olena growled at the cat’s retreating back. The wind had picked up, tugging at the turrets of the castle and battering the glass of the windows with a steady hail of ice and snowflakes, and with a deep, regretful sigh, Olena stood.  

“You’re right,” she grumbled to the memory of the cat who was now nowhere to be seen. “I wouldn’t leave a dog out in this weather…”

The wind caught her full in the face as she cranked the castle doors open one more time, and almost all evidence of their earlier journey across the courtyard had been obliterated by the fresh, gusting snow. The main doors to the stable block had been battened down against the weather, but she had no difficulty in opening them.  

A warning whicker from the mare - who names a horse like that Buttercup anyway? she mused - alerted the human to her approach, and Olena caught the rustle of straw as she stood, heartbeat ticking faster. She could taste the woman’s fear on the air now.  

By the time she reached their stall, the human was on her feet, expression set in a wary glare.  

“You shouldn’t sleep out here.”  

The hunter blinked. “Where else am I supposed to sleep? I’m not staying up in that creepy castle with you.”

Olena almost admired her guts. “Well, it’s that or frostbite. Your choice.” And with that, she headed back to her ‘creepy castle’ alone. Let the stubborn human freeze if she wanted.  

However, she was gratified to hear a short squawk a few seconds later, followed by the crunch of boots in the snow as the human barrelled after her at an unsteady run. “Wait!” she yelled over the fierce wind. “Wait…”

Olena’s footsteps halted and she half turned to look over her shoulder. The human’s cheeks were flushed with the cold, and her breath swirled upwards like campfire smoke before the wind whisked it away.  

“Wait,” the human panted, heartbeat thundering out now despite the noise of the wind. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Olena,” she replied, setting off again.  

She didn’t have to ask for the human’s in return because the audacious young woman just blurted, “I’m Annika. Please don’t call me Anni though. It’s just Annika.”

“Annika,” Olena murmured, finding that she rather liked the shape of the name on her tongue. “Annika.”

—

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[onlycags]

Gol (Goal) | Çağlar Söyüncü

Word Count: 2,768

Warnings: just a bunch of mutual pining and angst <3

A/N: I had to write something after Çağs's amazing goal on Saturday and this is what happened. Enjoy xx

- - -

You sat in Çağlar’s hotel room in Turkey, watching the Norway-Turkey match take place at La Rosaleda Stadium in Spain. When he scored the header in the 28th minute, you could feel your heart start to race and your palms start to sweat as you recalled a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear six months ago.

You were supposed to be sleeping, taking a nap on top of your best friend while he lounged on the sofa, playing on his phone. It was natural, something you’d been doing for years, and yet, something felt different about this.

You hadn’t set an alarm, not wanting to be woken up before you were ready, and you were just about to drift off to actual sleep when you felt the sofa shift as someone sat down. Yusuf’s distinct voice came through a few moments later, and you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping. Still, though, you kept your eyes closed in hopes that sleep would come anyway.

“She asleep?” Yusuf asked, and you felt the rumble of Çağlar’s chest as he hummed in the affirmative.

“Yes, why?”

“Well, Cengiz and I have been thinking…” Yusuf trailed off and you felt Çağlar tense up underneath you.

“About…?”

“You and YN.”

Çağlar cursed, and you held your breath. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not? All of us can see how in love with her you are - just tell her already!”

“Absolutely not. I’m not ruining my relationship with her just because I want more than friendship with her when I know she doesn’t.”

“How do you know that?” Yusuf asked and your blood ran cold. You’d gotten drunk with him recently and you’d confessed to him just how you felt about Çağlar. He’d promised not to say anything, and you hoped he’d keep that promise right now, willing yourself to keep your eyes closed. “You might be surprised.”

You could practically feel Çağlar’s glare at Yusuf. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“I’m just saying - maybe a love confession wouldn’t break your heart.”

Çağlar let out a derisive snort. “I’ll tell her when I score another goal for Turkey.”

Almost three years since his last goal, Çağlar couldn’t believe it when he’d headed that ball into the back of the net against Norway. It was a feeling unlike any other, and it was times like that that he almost missed being a striker and regularly scoring goals. He concentrated on the rest of the match, celebrating with his teammates when the match ended in Turkey’s favour with them on top of their group’s table for the World Cup qualifiers.

“So,” Yusuf started on the plane ride back, “you scored tonight.”

“I did,” Çağlar replied, grinning from ear to ear.

“Does that mean you’re going to tell her now?”

Çağlar’s blood ran cold. In truth, he’d forgotten all about his words to Yusuf six months ago. He thought about them occasionally, but never dwelled on them long enough to do anything about it. Since that day, his feelings for you had only deepened and he’d almost confessed his feelings more than once, but the timing was always off. “We’ll just have to see. I said that not expecting to score for a while.”

“I’m aware,” Yusuf said, nodding solemnly, “but…”

“But nothing.” Çağlar glared at his teammate. “Drop it.”

***

He got back to his place late, smiling to himself when he found you fast asleep on the sofa wearing his jersey. “Hey,” he said softly, placing a gentle hand on your back as you stirred. “I’m home.”

“Hi,” you murmured, turning to face him with a sleepy smile on your face. “Congratulations - that was an amazing goal.”

Çağlar’s stomach dipped. “Thank you. I’m still shocked that I scored, to be honest.”

“It’s long overdue,” you replied, sitting up. Çağlar took a seat next to you and you shifted so you could face him. “I’m so proud of you.”

Çağlar ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide his flustered blush. “Thank you, but no more compliments, please?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re still the only footballer I know who doesn’t let the praise go to his head.” You stood up, stretching. “I’m gonna head to bed unless you wanna stay up and talk?”

Here’s your opening - take it! The voice in his head screamed at him, but Çağlar tamped it down. “No, I’m fine. I’m gonna decompress a bit and then I’ll head to bed myself.” He stood up, pulling you into a hug. “Good night, YN.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you held them off. “Good night, Çağlar.” You made your way to the second bedroom, unsure how to handle the rejection Çağlar didn’t even know he’d just delivered. You sent off a couple texts to Yusuf, letting the tears finally fall when you’d closed your bedroom door.

You: He didn’t say anything.

You: I gave him a chance, and all he said was good night.

Yusuf’s response was quick.

Yusuf: I’m sorry. I tried to see if he was going to say anything tonight, but he just said he’d see - whatever that means

You: apparently it means nothing

You closed your phone, trying to collect all your thoughts and feelings as you got ready for bed. A couple days after overhearing Çağlar’s confession, you’d told Yusuf what you’d heard, unable to keep it to yourself. You’d made him promise not to say anything to Çağlar, though, but now it appeared that his silence was backfiring and you had no one to blame for it but yourself.

***

You didn’t get much sleep that night, tossing and turning as you ran through various scenarios in your head. In some, you confessed everything over breakfast the next morning; in others, you pried a confession out of him, but they all seemed to end the same way: Çağlar telling you that he no longer felt the same way or him denying his feelings and making you feel like a fool.

Çağlar laid awake in bed, trying to figure out his next move. His feelings for you were getting to the point where he knew he only had two options: let go of them and move on, or confess and face the consequences. Neither option appealed to him, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to move on without knowing whether or not you felt the same way about him. Sleep finally came to him when he made his decision and he spent the night dreaming about waking up with you next to him in bed.

***

You were up first, letting Çağlar sleep in after the match and subsequent plane ride back to Turkey that you knew had probably left him exhausted. You took the time to make yourself coffee the Turkish way, pleased when your coffee turned out perfectly. When you’d finished your coffee, you started making breakfast. It was almost a tradition at this point - win, lose or draw, if you were with him, you’d make Çağlar breakfast the morning after a match. This morning was different, though, because you needed to do something with your hands to take your mind off all the emotions running through your head.

Çağlar woke up feeling better than he had in a long time. There was something different about waking up after a win for Turkey, coupled with his goal, that made him feel like he could face anything. Tell her today, the voice in his head nagged, and Çağlar was tempted to take its advice. He just had to follow the smell of coffee and Menemen and see if the moment was right…

The moment was all wrong.

You were in a bad mood by the time Çağlar walked into the kitchen, a mix of not sleeping and overthinking the cause. “Hey,” you said, handing him a warm mug of freshly-made coffee. His fingers brushed yours as he accepted the mug, but you didn’t care at this point, too in your head to care.

“Thanks,” he murmured in Turkish, taking a sip. “How did you sleep?”

You never held anything back from him - Except the obvious, your internal monologue screamed - and you didn’t this time either as you said, “Not great. You?”

“Better than I thought.” Çağlar tilted his head to the side, studying you. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“With you?” You rolled your eyes. “No, thanks.”

Çağlar was confused by your reaction. You usually told him everything and he couldn’t help worrying. “Did I do something wrong?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Forget about it. The food should be ready soon anyway.”

Çağlar reached out, grabbing your wrist. “Talk to me. Please?”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Not about this.”

Çağlar froze. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just let me go, Çağlar.” You pulled your wrist out of his grasp and Çağlar felt there was a double meaning underneath your words, trying to regain equilibrium.

Breakfast was stilted, both of you trying to make what should have been free-flowing conversation over Menemen, but getting nowhere. “I’ve got recovery today and then I’ll be back in time for a late lunch. Everyone was thinking about going out for dinner tonight to celebrate and I want you to come with me. Will you?”

You paused, looking at him over your coffee. “I’ll have to see. I might have a date tonight.”

Çağlar froze at your words, his mouth going dry. “Wh-what?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. It was a complete bluff, but he didn’t need to know that. “Yeah. Like I said, though, I’ll have to see. Can I get back to you?”

“S-sure.”

Çağlar was grateful it was a recovery day, as he couldn’t focus on anything other than your words. He replayed them over and over again, barely managing to make it to TFF Riva on time.

“How did it go last night?” Yusuf asked, not helping Çağlar’s sour mood.

“It didn’t,” he muttered, shedding his clothes and changing into his Turkey sportswear. “And it was a good thing, too, because apparently she has a date tonight and might not be able to make it to the dinner.”

Yusuf cursed, knowing exactly what you were up to. “Did you pry? Did you get any details?”

“No, and I doubt she’d give me any right now. She was in a mood when I woke up and wouldn’t tell me why.”

“If her going on this date tonight bothers you so much, why don’t you tell her so?”

“Absolutely not. She’s made her feelings for me perfectly clear.”

Yusuf let out a frustrated grunt. “How could she when you didn’t even tell her how you felt about her?!”

“It’s not my fault! I woke up this morning with the intention of telling her, but then she was upset and it wasn’t the right time.”

“There’s never going to be a ‘right time’. You’re either going to tell her how you feel or let her slip through your fingers.” Yusuf rolled his eyes. “I’m telling the rest of the team that you’re not allowed to come to dinner unless you provide proof that you’ve told her how you feel.”

“You wouldn’t.” Çağlar glared at his teammate who just gave him a smug look in return.

“I would and I will. And I’ll go straight to Burak and tell him, and you know he’ll have the final say.”

“You’re a fucking child.”

“Look who’s talking.” Yusuf softened, taking pity on his teammate. “Really, Çağlar, it’s not going to be that bad.”

“You keep talking like you know something,” Çağlar said, giving him another scrutinizing look.

“Just intuitive is all.”

***

Çağlar was drained by the time he got back to his place. It felt suffocating and all he wanted to do was suggest going out to lunch, but he also didn’t want to confess his feelings and get rejected in public, so staying home it was.

“Are you in a better mood?” He asked, approaching you with caution.

You laughed, nodding. “I think so. You’re not gonna try to get me to talk about it again, are you?”

“No, I promise. Did your date get rescheduled?”

You paused, completely having forgotten about the lie you’d told earlier. “Uh…”

Çağlar shook his head, his jaw tight. “It’s fine.”

You glared at him. “It clearly isn’t. What’s wrong, Çağlar?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me - I know you better than that.”

“Oh, like you haven’t been lying to me all day?” Çağlar spat, the words coming out before he could stop them. He was angry and hurt and couldn’t hold it in any longer. “You think I didn’t know?” He asked, laughing derisively. “I know you better than that.”

Him throwing your words back at you stung. “Fuck you! I have my reasons.”

“Please enlighten me, then, because I keep wracking my brain to try to figure out what I did wrong, but I don’t know!”

“That’s the problem: you haven’t done anything!” You spat, your eyes welling with tears. You spoke again, your voice softer as you said, “You haven’t done anything, and I’ve been waiting for you to say something. I thought you were going to tell me when you got home last night after you scored but you didn’t. Then I thought you were going to tell me at breakfast, but still - nothing.” You paused, your eyes searching his face for any hint of emotion but finding nothing. You decided to risk it all, playing all your cards at this moment, not having anything to lose anymore. “‘I’ll tell her when I score another goal for Turkey’. Those were your exact words six months ago.” At Çağlar’s shocked expression, you continued. “I was awake for that whole conversation with Yusuf, but I didn’t say anything because I’d hoped you’d come to your senses and realize I felt the same way. I’d hoped you’d tell me before you scored, but you didn’t. Then you scored yesterday and I hoped and prayed you’d tell me last night but then you didn’t. I don’t know what to do anymore, Çağlar. Do you not want me like that anymore? It’s okay if you don’t, but I need to know because this is killing me.”

“I do! I do want you like that.” His voice cracked when he said your name and you realized he was just as tortured about this as you were. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. You gave me that opening last night but I didn’t want to have you reject me and go to bed lonely. This morning, you were so upset and the time wasn’t right, especially when you brought up having a date tonight. I want you. I want you so badly it’s been killing me not to be able to wake up with you in my arms or kiss you the way I’ve wanted to for months now.” He took a few steps toward you and you did the same, meeting him in the middle. His hands found your waist, his forehead pressing against yours as he muttered, “It’s always been you. Always.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your heart practically beating out of your chest. “Please, just kiss me already, Çağlar.”

You felt his kiss down to your toes, the underlying hint of need to the tentative kiss igniting a fire inside you. You pressed your body flush against his, trying to get as close to him as you could. Kissing him was better than you had ever imagined, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands explored your body.

“What about your date tonight?” Çağlar asked, bringing you out of your head.

“There isn’t one,” you confessed, breathless. “I just said that hoping you’d finally say something.”

Çağlar let out a low growl, pinning you against the wall. “You fucking tease.”

“Hopefully I’ll get to be your date to the dinner tonight, though,” you said, looking at him expectantly.

“Tabikide.” Of course.

***

The two of you barely made it to the dinner on time, busy making up for lost time. You spent what felt like hours just straddling him on the sofa, kissing him and exploring every inch of his torso. Çağlar had promised to fuck you after the team dinner and neither of you could wait.

“Well?” Burak asked, looking expectantly at you and Çağlar when the two of you entered the restaurant.

Without a word, Çağlar put his hands on your hips, spinning you into him so he could kiss you over the sounds of the team cheering for the two of you.

[noir0neko]

Crime and Creation | m

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15.5k

Summary: The Crow Club. One of the University of Ketterdam’s secret societies aimed at recruiting the finest students who want a taste of more than just lectures. Meet Kaz, the founder and president, whose self-made millions come from his dealings on Wall Street. Nina, a girl who is aching for more than the fortune and husband her family has laid out for her. Inej, whose observant nature and ability to be invisible makes her the perfect spy. Jesper, a childhood friend of Kaz’s who can’t resist getting into a little trouble joined by his boyfriend, Wylan, son of the University dean. And Cataleya, an Upper West side journalism major who has a special way with words. When Kaz finds out the Crow Club’s dealings have been infiltrated by an unknown rival, his crew enlists the help of outsiders to ruin reputations, throw lavish parties, and do what the New York City Crows do best: heist. Until something goes very wrong. 

Characters: Cataleya (OC), Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Alina Starkov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Aleksander Morosova and honorable Leoni mention.

Warnings: Death. Highly detailed emotion and inner thoughts that have memories of parental abuse and self harm, nothing very detailed. Mentions of murder, drugs, and illegal activity. General debauchery and scheming. Some romance, mostly implied, light kissing, fondling, and the use of expletives.

A/N: You do not need to have read any of the books in this world to understand this fic! I spent so much time and poured my heart and soul into this story and the development of my original character and building these characters into a new, modern world. Please read it and give me your thoughts! This piece was written for the @grishaversebigbang. Also, check out the art work made for my fic by these amazing artists: @corpsecro, @nantosuelta-art, @discountscoobygang, @lady-ekatherina-de-mika and @mikanviola! It is such an honor to be a part of something like this and I had so much fun! I encourage anyone and everyone to read the Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone series by Leigh Bardugo! It’ll be on Netflix soon!

I used to love cats. 

Until one showed up dead on my window sill. 

I’m still not sure how it got there. Perhaps it climbed the fire escape and lept from the metal railing onto the ledge. But once the animal had the orange pollen and poisonous petals of the lilies sticking out of my window in its mouth, it was only a matter of time before it died. I had the good sense to keep my crying quiet, at eleven years old, so that my father would not stumble in to yell or push the cat hundreds of feet to the street below. I did not know he was already gone. That I was alone.

I hid the orange tabby in my backpack and went to bury her in the backyard garden the next chance I got. 

But when I used my small children’s shovel to dig into the earth, soft from the recent rain, it wasn’t what I went to bury that changed my life. But what was already buried there. And right then, with my cheeks stained with tears and hands shaking with anger, I swore to never stop hunting. To never stop chasing the people who ruined me. 

That was one promise I kept. 

I haven’t kept many others. 

Sitting in the foyer with the rest of the Crows, wind coming in from the autumn afternoon and the scent of freshly made waffles mixing with dusty books, I don’t know if I can keep this one either. Kaz looks at me pointedly, waiting for me to answer. I glance at all of them, Nina, Inej, Jesper, and Wylan. It is rare that anyone outright refuses Kaz on anything, especially not with his position or to risk the weight of his disapproval. Nina once told Kaz to go to Hell and she paid for it with two weeks of silence and banishment from the Crow Library until she relented to do her assignment. 

Jesper clears his throat, trying to relieve the awkward vibe getting thicker with each passing moment of silence. I can’t help but allow a small smile to reach my lips, grateful for him trying to save me from the tension that I could slice with a knife. Swallowing and meeting Kaz’s dark eyes, I sigh. 

“Fine,” I relent. “I’m in.” 

The strain dissolves from the space and the other Crows break into smiles and start to chatter. Relaxing back in my chair, I watch Inej spring up and take her place next to Kaz, her lithe frame complimenting his perfectly. Kaz moves around his large oak desk, gaze fixated on something in the distance. Definitely scheming face. Best to wait it out until he speaks first.

The Crow Library is lit with the afternoon sunlight, warming the leather of our chairs and illuminating the dust gathering along the rows of books. Shelves line the walls beneath the window, behind Kaz’s study area, and underneath the stairwell, which leads to an upstairs reading room and parlor area. Nobody has bothered to read any of the books, weathered and dusted with age, but they lend the room an air of sophistication and a homey comforting smell. Kaz’s desk is littered with papers, the dark wood barely visible beneath the jumble of stock investment deals, new heists, and class assignments waiting to be done. On the front face of the desk, a large crow is carved into the surface, black and red paint covering the indentations in the wood. 

Inej puts a tender hand on Kaz’s forearm, her lips moving quickly and silently, as if whispering to him. Inej has her hair down today, an unusual occurrence from her braided coil, and the dark strands spill like silky oil over her shoulders and her waist. She must have come from the studio, sweat still gleaming on her brow and black leotard disappearing beneath dark navy leggings. Her lithe frame seems to be floating, always so modest and reserved, yet her brown eyes are intuitive and unrelenting as she studies Kaz. She has been with him since the founding of the Crow Club, never missing a beat between helping him, chastising him, watching out for him, and caring for herself all the same. It’s no wonder she’s been able to double major in both Global History and Ballet, two completely different worlds, but complimenting each other perfectly for Inej. 

And Kaz. What an interesting man he’s proven to be. 

Business major. Self made millionaire. First student to be admitted into the University of Ketterdam - UOK for short, without a full high school education. A man full of mysteries. 

Jesper moves to perch himself on the arm of Wylan’s chair and adjusts his Queen shirt, the old black leather groaning under his weight. Jesper says something quietly to his boyfriend before running a hand through Wylan’s curly red hair and kissing his pale pert nose. Jesper has his hair buzzed short to his scalp, dark arms lean with muscle and legs long, his jeans riding up at the ankles to reveal bright yellow socks and black high tops. Wylan releases a wide smile, looking up at Jesper with untamed admiration. Wylan has on a pair of pressed dark wash jeans, his collared shirt maroon red with small white dots, accentuating his bright hair and pale skin. 

It just reminds me of blood. 

They are quite a pair. Wylan, being the son of the University dean and Jesper, one of the most intelligent and talented students in the Economics department. He is studying Game Theory, an extremely intense and complicated subject full of strategy, confidence, and risk: coincidentally Jesper’s three favorite words. 

Wylan, much to his father’s chagrin, is an Art History student with a hidden passion for chemistry and physics. I often find him gazing at the long since forgotten portraits on the walls of the Crow Library upstairs, reminiscing of a different time, of discovery and excitement. Of different people with different secrets. Wylan usually seems lost in thought, often internally reflecting rather than being outwardly vocal like the rest of the Crows. He is another mystery, especially because of the tenuous relationship he has with his father. 

Jesper’s brown skin glimmers in the sun, inclining his eyebrows in mischief before taking a toffee from the bowl next to him and flinging it across Wylan’s chair to Nina. 

Her tongue flicks out as it hits her arm, thick lips smirking before unwrapping the plastic wrapper and popping the candy in her mouth. Nina is one of the only Crows who was forced into attending the University of Ketterdam. Her parents, with her father being an extremely rich and powerful Russian politician and her mother, an aristocratic woman supposedly descending from ancient Russian royalty, had been raising Nina to marry a high ranking Scandinavian commander since she was eleven. The marriage was supposed to secure better relations between the two nations, as well as provide Nina with a life of security, wealth, and status for her and her children. All her parents want for her. 

In true Nina fashion, this is unacceptable. 

Her family said the marriage could wait if she wanted to go to school and get a degree, which may better serve her husband and their families prestige in the future. Seeing no other viable option, especially because she did not want to marry a “white haired barbarian” as she called her husband-to-be, she enrolled in a prestigious university as far away from Russia as she could get. Despite her parents beliefs that she is a culinary student - “because a good wife knows how to cook”, according to her parents, Nina has been studying Performing Arts and Theatre. A perfect major to fit her personality and her beauty, with her tall, curvy frame and piercing green eyes. Today, she is wearing an olive bodysuit, the neck low cutting and her legs hugged by a pair of black flare jeans. Casual and entrancing. Her style seems to change depending on her mood, from modest foreigner to vivacious party girl to preppy student. New each day. 

“We will need others,” Kaz mumbles to Inej, furrowing his dark eyebrows in thought. 

I have only been with the Crows for a few months, but I already know how unusual that is. Kaz rarely asks for help, especially from those outside of the Crow Club. But whatever he has planned seems to be a lot more serious than the other jobs, more personal than merely ousting insider trading, or infiltrating various museums and mansions, or spying on the Upper East and West Side elite to gain intel and use it to our advantage. 

Each of us has a unique purpose to Kaz. His investments. And while it has been easier to see where the others’ talents fit in, I am still baffled by my own. I adjust the sleeves of my lavender shirt, the ruffled material smooth on my shoulders. 

I had known the Crow Club existed before I set foot on campus. As a journalism major, secrets have always intrigued me. Not just the secrets. The challenge of uncovering them, of working from the inside to reveal some of the deepest and darkest parts of humanity. I had always heard whispers of the club amongst the Upper West side elite, whispers about Kaz Brekker and his Crows. Always watching. Always ready to catch you red-handed. But I didn’t even need to go out of my way to find the Crow Club.

Kaz found me first. Called me an asset. He and Inej invited me to join starting the summer before my second term. I have surprised myself by warming up to the rest of the Crows so quickly, even the ones who aren’t active members and are just extra recruits for Kaz to call if he needs them. We all mean something here, we all have a purpose, more than what the world is trying to force upon us.  

A family. Especially since most of ours are broken or nonexistent. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Kaz snaps to attention and we follow suit, like trained soldiers, eager for him to share whatever small slice of his plan that he decides to. His crisp suit is pure black, a small crow brooch pinned to his lapel. The shaved hair on the side of his head is beginning to grow out, the top slicked back with a deep, oaky smelling gel. He always looks like he is dressed for a business meeting, even when it’s just us. Inej always muses that there is an irony to it, but how, I don’t know. I suppose everything is business to Kaz. 

“Okay,” he begins, voice gruff and deep. “This is what we’ll do.” 

----

Nina and I weave our way through the busy streets, blessing the cool wind as it kisses our faces in the dying summer heat. Her hair is down, the sun illuminating the many shades of brown running through the waves and her dress is high on her thighs, the red cotton fabric hugging the curves of her waist. Being in America has done wonders for Nina, brightened her complexion, improved her spirit, and turned her from a wafer-thin girl to a full-bodied, thick thighed woman. Everywhere she goes, people stare. She is otherworldly, like a saint on Earth. 

“Where did Kaz send us this time?” Nina complains, sucking the dripping strawberry ice cream from her fingers before chucking the cone into a nearby trash. 

“He didn’t,” I grin, dodging a guy with suspicious looking flyers on the sidewalk. “He gave us his card and very vague instructions to find a wardrobe for the event.” 

Nina’s eyes sparkle, cleaning off the rest of her fingers before she entwines her elbow in mine. New York City seems to breathe with our every step, the wind moving, the heat unfurling, and the trees swaying. Taxis and cars whiz by on the avenue, the honking of horns and the laughter of tourists crossing into Central Park filling the air. Everything about New York is alive, even the concrete holds stories it’s waiting to tell. 

“Then let’s go down Fifth,” Nina begins, mischief in her tone. “I know a few places.” 

“I bet you do,” I flash her a smile, crossing the street so we walk parallel to the park. 

We trek down the street, stopping into a macaron shop in the Plaza Hotel to get a bright blue bag full of sweets for us to eat on our journey. Nina and I are bouncing on our heels, excited to have a day to ourselves, away from the Crow Club and the University and being responsible for buying dresses for not only ourselves, but for Inej, Alina, and Zoya, as well. 

Kaz had three extra students brought in for this assignment, all a part of the secret network of Crows that don’t sit in regular meetings. First is Alina, who has an international reputation for rebuilding schools and orphanages across the world since she was thirteen, and who has been a Crow since her first step onto campus. She transferred here as a graduate student from some extremely prestigious school in California to complete her PhD and teaching credentials. Every time I have seen Alina, she has been so kind and so helpful, always eager to teach, serve, and build in any way she can. It’s beyond me why she wants to be a part of these operations. Maybe every good girl has a naughty streak. 

Zoya, on the other hand, seems like the opposite of Alina. A close friend, confidant, and suspected girlfriend, of another one of Kaz’s network of Crows, Zoya is an overly intelligent, intimidating, and obscenely beautiful law student. Her hair is always smooth, a jet black slate against her back and her eyes are always piercing, judging and observing in their ice blue. Her skin always looks perfectly tanned, a deep brown that makes the pink of her lips more enticing. Her grades are pristine, her ability to argue is unparalleled, and if there were ever a force to be reckoned with, it is her. It’s a lot more obvious to understand why she agreed to join the Crows, for the prestige, the knowledge, the power. But truly puzzling, is her relationship with Nikolai. 

Nikolai, or Nik, as I like to call him, is one of the best - and funniest, Crows. Clever, self-deprecating, friendly, handsome, the list goes on. His blonde hair is a shaggy mop of artsy goodness, his skin is creamy, his style completely unmatched and his wealth bottomless. Nik and Kaz are always butting heads; most of the time it’s the only comedic relief the Crow Club has when they’re together. Nik met Zoya during undergrad, in a political science course, where apparently their discussions were lively enough to earn them A’s and lengthy enough to last entire class sessions. Nik has one of those family names that are revered in every elite social circle, making him an obvious addition for Kaz’s team and from what I have gleaned from Nik, he decided to join the Crows to give him something interesting to do besides follow in his father’s footsteps. I wish I wanted to be a Crow out of boredom. 

“God,” Nina groans, shoving her phone back into her five thousand dollar purse. “If I get one more message from my parents asking if I’ve heard from that white-haired, rule-following, stick-up-his-ass, Scandinavian inbred, I am going to drown my phone in the Hudson River.” 

“Wow,” I clap for her, avoiding the incredulous gapes of tourists at her language. “So many adjectives and I don’t even think you’ve ever said his name.”

A man opens up the glass doors to Bergdorf Goodman’s, where cool air and white marble greet us. Immediately, we drift to the dress racks, combing through all of the latest trends.

“Matthias,” she almost growls. “His letters are so proper, telling me that he has heard of my exemplary womanly skills from my parents. That he would delight to see my drawings and sewing and hear me play the piano. It’s ridiculous. I don’t do any of those things by choice.” 

I stifle a laugh. “He seems very… traditional.” 

“Seems?” She throws her hands up, shoving a silk dress back onto the rack with too much force. “He is the definition of the word! And worst of all, he’s attractive! He has snow white hair and is built like one of those huge wrestler guys that people watch on TV.” 

“Why is that a problem?” 

“Because his complete lack of competence makes him a barbarian! A man who thinks the perfect wife is silent and docile. He’s going to have another thing coming when I show up.” 

“He comes from old money in an old country,” I begin, wondering whether I need to tread lightly. “Don’t you think he’s just taught to think that way?” 

She sighs, holding up a stunning evergreen gown against her figure. “I know he is. That’s what’s even worse. I know that everyone where he is from has been taught those values. So even if he came to love me, to understand me, no one on the outside would. His station, his reputation, his fortune, all of it is dependent on how I perform. How I reflect him.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I muse, holding out another red silk dress for her. 

“Money isn’t fair.” 

I blink, surprised at her words. Money is just an object. It has no preference, no deference, no opinions. But I guess the idea of money is more important and tangible than the paper itself. Money has value and expectations beyond the faces staring back at you from the press. It expects manners, it breeds tradition and hierarchy and perfect wives who aren’t allowed to make any. I wonder if Nina will end up bending to those wills, to the one’s she has been raised to. America is such a different place, but I guess money everywhere is the same. It controls you. 

“This.” 

I turn around, face breaking out into a huge smile at the dress Nina is holding. It is a deep purple, with sheer shoulder sleeves and a deep plunging neckline covered in diamond flowers. The waist is cinched, belted by more glittering gems, before it falls and flows in layers of purple silk and satin to the floor, flowers and vines curling around the skirt. Nina’s hair and eyes and skin would look angelic in the dress. I nod fervently, unable to cap my smile as she waves over an employee to open the dressing room. 

While in the dressing rooms, Nina and I talk through the divider. 

“Where was Wylan off to earlier?” I ask, taking off my clothes and folding them neatly on the small leather bench. “He never really seems to be around these days.” 

“Yeah,” Nina says, with a grunt. “He’s been trying to rekindle his relationship with his father, studying a lot. You know, the usual dysfunctional family stuff.” 

I laugh. “My family wasn’t dysfunctional in that way.” 

“I would say you were lucky,” Nina begins and I can hear her zipper up as mine does. “But I know you weren’t.” 

At the same time, we step out of the dressing room, identical smiles breaking open our faces before we clasp our hands together and squeal with happiness. The dresses look perfect, we look perfect, everything looks perfect. 

And now we just have to find dresses for Alina and Zoya. 

With these price tags, Kaz is going to regret lending us his credit card. 

----

“Something Kaz Brekker doesn’t know how to do,” I tease a few days later,“drive.” 

He shoots me a healthy side glare, uncurling his fingers from around the steering wheel. The sun is shining through the left side of the car, illuminating his high cheeks and arched brow bones with dazzling light. If Kaz weren’t so… him, I’m confident he would have made an amazing Calvin Klein model. Especially because his lips are always relaxed in a bit of a natural pout and his resting stance is so relaxed, yet also confident. He is striking. 

And he doesn’t belong to me. Nor do I think he ever will. 

Despite their claims and attempts to put distance between their relationship, it has become common knowledge in the Crow Club that Kaz and Inej are a package deal. And it doesn’t take a trained Journalism major to read between those lines. It is blindingly obvious in the subtle ways she touches him, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her. She is the ice to his fire, and when needed, he is the same for her. A complimentary pair in every way, even if it seems unlikely on the surface. 

“Okay,” I begin, gesturing to the automatic gears between us. I explain what each of the letters stand for, instructing him to move the clutch into reverse and slowly ease up on the brake. With a bit of a jerk, Kaz obeys, turning the wheel to back us out of the spot in the empty parking lot. It had taken a bit of a road trip to find this place outside of the city. I had driven Kaz and myself into New Jersey, where the early morning dawn had just begun to crest, giving our driving lessons an advantage. Kaz had immediately, and somewhat reluctantly, urged me to teach him, claiming we would need it for this assignment. Inej had pushed him along with the conversation, rolling her eyes at how his own pride blocked up his request. 

“Now go back into drive,” I say, lurching forward when he does and pushes his foot down too forcefully on the gas pedal. He turns in circles around the empty lot, taking care to avoid the lamp posts. On every straight away, Kaz seems to hit the gas with a little more force, graceful turns giving way to concussion-inducing races. It seems he has the turning part down, but the lurching and jerking of the car would get him pulled over quickly. 

And although Kaz will no doubt be having a new fake I.D. made by one of our extra Crows, the risk of involving a police officer is not one any of us want to take. 

“Slow down there, Nascar.” I laugh.

He eases up, taking his time to get used to the ebb and flow of the vehicle. Where he got the car is beyond me, but I am also beyond questioning Kaz’s ability to secure random and often, complicated, objects for our heists. He has become my biggest puzzle, my biggest mystery to solve. And if it hasn’t been one hell of an adventure trying to figure him out. Observing him and listening and learning his subtle tells when he is angry or pleased or scheming. Lately, though, it feels as if the obsession for uncovering his truths have blossomed into something else, something that makes my heart race a little faster and my palms sweat. Something I haven’t been able to control. And how I hate not being in control. 

“Turn out onto the street,” I instruct, forcing myself to speak and get out of my own head. 

He obliges, the car absorbing the bumps in the curb as Kaz makes a graceful right turn. His black gloves glide smoothly along the steering wheel, the sleeve of his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his pale wrist. My mind begins to wander again, to whether or not Inej has touched them, if she has held his wrists down as she gracefully slid on top of him. I wonder if she has kissed him, if he whispers her secrets to her like some sort of sexy spy pillow talk. 

“Cataleya,” Kaz is saying, the four syllables of my name like chimes from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” I shake my head, swallowing and casting him a glance. “What?” 

“Where are we going?” He repeats, monotone and bored. 

His driving has already gotten smoother, his feet steady on the brake and gas as I tell him to pull onto the dirt on the side of the two-lane road and turn around. There are still no cars out here at this hour, an Amtrak just beginning its morning route on a station in the distance. I can see the outline of the city beyond the valley, half blocked by trees and tall grass. The skyscrapers are haloed by the rising sun, like a safe haven calling me back home. 

“Who taught you to drive?” Kaz says, his raspy voice surprisingly light. 

“A friend I had growing up,” I reply, surprised.

“That’s a nice friend,” he comments, voice taking on an edge I don’t understand. 

I snort. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have any family to do it.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel ever so slightly and if I weren’t observant I probably would have missed it. The way he tenses up. The way his jaw clenches and the car begins to move a bit faster as his foot locks onto the gas. “Me either.” 

“I found my mother dead.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. Kaz’s gaze shifts a bit, but he keeps his focus on the road as I continue. “I went to bury a dead cat in my mother’s old garden. We never touched it, my father never tended to it, or let me, after he said she left us. But when I went out to the garden and began to dig, I lost track of time, I dug far deeper than I intended. My father wasn’t home, I wanted to be there, in that garden, and away from him if he came home, for as long as possible. I didn’t realize how far I had dug until,” I swallow, inhaling and turning to Kaz. “Until a hand began to form beneath the dirt, and then an arm, and I saw the wedding ring, the bruises, the blue of her dress…” 

Kaz’s lips part, the only admission of emotion he gives. 

“The coroner said she had been dead for four months. Four months,” my voice broke, splintered on the fragments of my memories. “That she had been beaten and buried there. They couldn’t… couldn’t prove it was my father. He had money, lots of it. And he paid a lot of people to keep quiet.” 

“Is that why you love journalism?” Kaz asks, slowing the car to ready his turn back into the empty lot. “Exposing them? Making them pay with more than their blood money and with plain blood?”

I inhale, lips curling back in more of a snarl than a smile. “Everyone I knew. Everyone I knew who was involved. I have made them pay. In some form.” I throw Kaz a true smile, a devilish gleam in my eyes. “Although I suppose you already know that. It’s why Inej noticed me in the first place.” 

“One of the many reasons,” Kaz replies, words back to being clipped, tight. 

With a smooth arc of the steering wheel, Kaz turns the car into the same spot as before, hitting a little too hard on the brake before coming to a stop. My hair moves in front of my face at the jolt, a blessed curtain separating me from him. I can feel him thinking, churning over my words, assessing me. 

Kaz hardly seems fazed as I peek at him around my hair. His dark eyes are far away, his gloved hands slack on the wheel. I still myself, hearing the purr of the car engine, hearing Kaz’s breathing, shallow and uneven, as he goes into the place he so rarely dives. His eyes are almost glazed, like he’s been drinking, completely lost in his own thoughts. I know some of his story already. From Nina. From Jesper. From my research. 

“Your brother,” I murmur, soft and low. 

His hands tighten on the wheel until they are bone white, staring straight ahead at the tree lined landscape. “Jordie,” he pushes through his teeth. “His name was Jordie.” 

My spine straightens. Kaz has never said anything about his brother, and has never allowed any of the Crows besides Inej into his life in this way. And I wonder how far he has even let her in. I swallow, questioning if I should press or let it be. I am just about to get out and switch places with him to take us back into the city, when he opens his mouth and to my bewilderment, continues to speak. 

“My parents were mixed up in some bad stuff before we came here. We lived in the countryside, with a bit of land and no one around us for miles. My brother was older than me, only by four years, but enough to know how to keep me from looking where I shouldn’t. From keeping me happy and sheltered.” A muscle flickers in Kaz’s jaw, his pale skin going ashier with each word, “I didn’t know what was happening when they came. The thugs my parents had been hopping between towns, cities, and states to avoid for over a decade. Jordie took me, the remaining cash from the safe, that my father had stolen, and fled to New York City. He hoped we would be invisible among so many people.” 

I don’t know I am holding my breath until I release it, low and shaky. Kaz is silent again, staring off, flexing and unflexing his fingers against the steering wheel, like a silent reminder that he is here. 

“Are they alive?” I ask, voice so silent it’s almost nothing. 

“I don’t know,” Kaz admits. “But we never heard from them. I’ve never heard. So I can only assume not. And I don’t think I would want to see them if they were.”  

“And Jordie…?” I venture, terrified to hear more, but also terrified he’ll clam up. I am desperate for more. Desperate to know him. 

“We weren’t safe here. They found us. Or, found Jordie. While I was gone.” Every single syllable from his lips are forced and painful, laced with self loathing and regret. Survivor's guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but Jordie had sent me away. On an errand down in Brooklyn. He knew we were trapped, and wanted me to live, if he couldn’t. If Jordie could convince them he was alone and I had been shipped somewhere else... ” He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, focusing on some point in the distance. “They ruled it as a suicide. He had cut his own throat, only his DNA on the knife, only his blood… I don’t know if he did it before they came. Or if they staged it. The not knowing. The guessing. That’s what makes it worse.” 

“So you look for control in other places.” I say. “In the market. In investment. In the Crows. I do the same thing.” 

“The Crows stand for the same thing you do, Cataleya.” Kaz says, looking at me with an intense stare. “Exposure. We want things to be different. We want people to pay, truly pay, for what they have done. Instead of buying silence. Buying lies. We want the truth. Only the truth.” 

His words pierce me, his black hair stark against his forehead, shaved sides longer than he normally keeps them. His eyebrows are set in a hard determined line, lips closed, and jaw locked in determination. I know he made those people pay, the ones who took his brother from him. I can see it on his face. 

“How did you survive?” I begin, “without him?”

Kaz licked his lips and let out a low chuckle. “Our money was gone. But we knew some people. Kids we met on the street. They made me a fake to get into bars with; I was barely sixteen by that time, but I looked older. Rougher. I had a skill for counting cards and made a small fortune quickly by playing in run down joints and eventually, working my way into larger, more expensive establishments. It was hard, I lived and breathed revenge, for Jordie. I wanted to have him back. To have something that was mine. I built up a small fortune, studied the market, and began investing. By the time I applied to the University of Ketterdam it didn’t matter that I only had my GED and no family, my self-made fortune was enough.” 

“But why here?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion. “Why school at all?” 

Kaz continues to look at me, eyes blazing. “Because we had a dream. Jordie and I. We had a dream that we would never forget what happened. That we had to run. And that when we were older, more settled, we would build something here. In New York City, something that would last. Something with a legacy. Like Crows, Jordie had said, symbolizing death but themselves being alive. We were dealt bad luck and would bestow it on others who deserve it.” 

“Thus, The Crow Club,” I finish his sentence, gaze roaming his face. “A secret society at one of the world’s best universities that would have a legacy. Have prestige. Have a family.” 

“Something that is mine,” Kaz’s lips part, wet from his tongue. 

“Yes, yours.” I echo. 

We are both silent for a few moments. Weighing our words. Our truths. Even the trees outside seem to stop in the wind, leaves quiet and branches unwavering. Kaz has opened up in a way I have never seen before. Never expected. He has been through so much. So much like me. Dealt with death. Loss. Life. We aren’t so different. None of the Crows are. 

“What about the others?” 

“Those aren’t my stories to tell,�� Kaz responds, voice returning to its detached state.

I nod, once, accepting. I know a few of them already. Nina. Wylan. The new recruits. But Inej and Jesper are mysteries. Complete and whole geniuses shrouded in questions. I don’t like questions. Especially ones I can’t answer. 

“How did you survive? With him?” Kaz’s voice rings again, reflecting my earlier question. His words are too big for the small car, inhaling deeply through my nose as a small smile graces my lips. His long fingers move the shift into reverse to back out of the spot to drive us back to the city himself. The true test of his skill on the Manhattan streets.  

“That friend. The one who taught me how to drive,” I reply, a bit of wistful nostalgia filling my tone. “He helped me. Took care of me. Looked after me.” 

“Past tense?” He inquires, feet smooth as he presses on the gas pedal. 

“We are still friends,” I say. “I think. Things are just… different.” 

“Different. That’s an understatement.” He replies, voice drenched with irony. “Everything is different, isn’t it, depending on how you look at it.”

I nod and laugh, giving him a compliment on how swiftly he picked up driving before we settle into a comfortable silence. Crows. Allies. Friends. If we can call ourselves that. 

I hope we can. 

----

Today, I am supposed to meet the enemy. 

Kaz told me yesterday he set up a rendezvous at one of the campus coffee spots and that there would be someone waiting for me there. Someone he wouldn’t name. Someone that I am supposed to gather information from. Someone who thinks we are on a date. 

I had almost hit him when he pulled up his phone to show me the fake dating profile that was made for me. Pictures of me smiling, laughing, most of them pictures I didn’t even remember taking, all glowed brightly at me, accentuated by a bio that said I liked my men tall, dark, and tortured. 

How cliche. 

“Nina made it,” Kaz had shrugged then returned his phone back to his pocket. 

“And you would be surprised by how many matches you made,” Inej’s voice was laced with humor, lilting into the room without a trace. 

“She’ll walk you over,” Kaz said, gesturing around the room to her unknown location. “Like any dutiful girl would for her best friend about to go on a date from an app. Then, you’ll just need to proceed as normal. Ask him about his life, his job, his degree, his connection to UOK. All the basics. The main concern is reading him out for a vibe, his family has had a lot of influence in some shady shit and he’s from another society here.”

So that’s what this was about? Some sour deals that probably put Kaz out of some easy money and a rival society that was challenging Kaz’s position in the control of campus secrets and his standing legacy? I don’t feel like that is the whole story, but that’s all that Kaz was willing to give me at the time. 

And he hadn’t said anything this afternoon when I had gone into the Crow Library to meet Inej. He acted like nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t revealed some of his darkest secrets to me. Like we hadn’t shared a moment of… something. He barely looked at me from his desk, hair rumpled and face flushed from stress, in my tight long sleeve dress and tights, combat boots laced up around my ankles in case this random guy got the wrong idea. 

The air outside had turned to autumn, giving us an unusually cold and windy day. I was puttering around and trying to think of something to say to Kaz, when Inej came down the staircase with silent feet, dressed in a pair of black leggings and a cream knit sweater. Her hair had been mused in the back and her face also looked a bit red. I had almost laughed, looking between her flushed state and Kaz’s slightly red cheeks, before giving Inej a knowing quirk of my eyebrows. 

And now, outside of the library and alone, walking across the cobblestoned campus paths with autumn leaves falling around us, I turn to her. “Do I even want to know?” 

“It’s college,” she replies, so quiet it’s almost to herself. “Things happen.” 

“Things don’t just happen with Kaz Brekker.” 

She looks at me, face breaking out into a blinding smile that splits her beautifully baked face. “They do when he’s in a rather… compromising position.” 

“Inej!” I release the laugh I’ve been holding, the now pulled back coil of her hair showing off the reddened tips of her ears. Since I have known of Inej, she has always been rather modest. Sure of herself in a quiet way. The kind of confidence that doesn’t need reassurance or shields. Inej herself is a shield, a force of silent secrets she keeps hidden beneath the unsuspecting lithe of her dancer’s frame. 

We take a right turn down one of the main campus paths, small walkways opening up into a large courtyard. Students mill about, sitting on statues, kissing underneath the garden archways, reading books on their way into classes. The University of Ketterdam has always been such an eclectic place, not only because of its location in New York City, but because of its campus. Lush, green, beautiful. An ode to history and architecture and modernity all the same. The programs here are some of the best in the world and while tuition isn’t cheap, the value of a Ketterdam degree is worth it. 

“Is it bad that I kind of do want to know though?” I begin, not even sure what I’m saying. 

“No,” Inej says, voice thoughtful and not defensive in any way. This is why I love Inej. So honest and unafraid. “I think everyone wants to know about Kaz. Everyone wants to be the hero that solves the mystery or the lover that turns a prince from darkness.” She pauses, looking around at the students, seeming lost in thought. Her dark eyebrows crease together, as if in thought or sadness. “Some people just can’t be saved.” 

I can tell she’s referring to Kaz. But I’m not sure if I agree. I think everyone can be saved. I think darkness lives in everyone and all a person needs is a bit of light to show them through. People weren’t born into darkness, or evil, they were made that way. Through that, they could be unmade. And Inej has enough light and strength in one of her hands to see any person through the blackest of tunnels. I think of what Kaz had said to me, in the car, about his story, about his desire for revenge. For retribution. Maybe I want to believe we can be saved from the darkness because I want to be saved. Because like calls to like. And there is a deep chasm within Kaz that sings to me. 

Inej moves her head to look at me, a full and unabashed gaze that somehow makes me uncomfortable. Like she can see straight to my soul. Like she can see every lie I have told or every promise I have broken or every secret I have kept. Like she can see my desires and my shame and my longing for things I can’t have.

“But we love them anyway, don’t we?” She finishes, giving me a contemplative look. 

I think of the people I love, the people I did love, when there were still people in my life that were capable of receiving such a thing; people who were dark and painful and I still loved them anyway. Love can be such a blinding thing. Blinding and binding. 

“Yeah,” I echo, her reflective tone rubbing off onto my voice. “We do.” 

The both of us descend into silence as we continue to walk across the quad. I begin to feel my stomach turn, my palms sweat. No matter how many times I have done this, not dates, but encounter new people, this feeling returns. Every time I have to meet someone new, report on something, present something for a class, I would feel anxiety grip my insides and twist. When I was younger, that anxiety was terrifying, it made me cower, it made me scared. But as I got older, I began to use it and cling to it. I began to form it into an entity that gave me courage instead of taking it, something that would ground me to myself and propel me into my fears. 

Inej begins, “Kaz texted and said he’s outside. Reading. Good luck.” Then she’s gone.

Steadying my breath, the smell of coffee hits my nostrils as I round the library steps to the small path beside it. The coffee shop is nestled into the side of the huge, brick building, almost like a tumor sprouting from the side. Inej has completely disappeared, only leaving the familiar scent of herbs in her wake. She is supposed to be going up the library steps to find a good vantage point from one of the many windows facing the coffee shop on the building’s side. Students move around through the cafe windows, in and out of the doors, little bell ringing to signal both arrival and departure. 

But I am not paying attention to any of them. 

Because there is a boy. A man. Sitting at one of the tables outside, his long legs stretched underneath the opposite chair, wearing a pair of leather sneakers. His long fingers are thumbing through a novel, covers worn and pages yellow with age. He can feel someone there, looking, sitting up and turning in that little metal chair to see who. To see me. 

It’s Alek. 

I blanch, mouth going dry and jaw slackening. I know him. I more than know him. I- 

“Cataleya,” his voice is pure night, laced and dripping with stars. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, not even phased. Not that I have ever seen him look surprised. I flash back to that day in the garden, to his hands on my face, wiping my tears, to his arms around me, murmuring condolences, to the face that I could see through my blurred tears. Dark hair, pale skin, beautifully big gray eyes. I had barely known him, barely seen him despite our houses being right next door, despite our windows being on opposite sides of the alley and me being able to spy on him when his curtains were parted at night. 

“Aleksander?” I stand a little straighter, gathering my shock and shoving it deep down. 

He smiles, standing up from the chair on the patio of the coffee shop. He is so tall, taller than I remember. His dark jeans are fitted against his legs and the black long sleeve button down he is wearing shows off a large portion of his impeccable chest. I don’t remember when the last time I saw him was, but I definitely don’t recall feeling the pulsing and intense heat that flashes through my body when I look at him. I suddenly feel naked. And stupid. 

Is Kaz trying to kill me?

Swallowing thickly, I scan the windows on the side of the library for Inej, wondering if she has already found a perch to play spy. The sun reflects off of each glass surface in the afternoon light, making it impossible to see through any of them. Blowing a breath through my lips, I attempt to quell the storm brewing and churning in my stomach. 

“What a wonderful surprise this is,” Alek starts. 

I catch the edge in his voice, the way the tone lilts at the end. A tell of how much this encounter is not a surprise. For him anyway. But I smile, I nod and I watch as he fluidly closes the distance between us and takes me in his arms. 

I hate how I exhale. 

How my whole body relaxes. 

I hate how good it feels. 

Like coming home. 

He smells like winter and barren tree branches, like snow and absence of light. Like a dark night wrapping me in its embrace and taking away the pain that days bring. Peaceful and mysterious all the same. Just as I remember it. Just as I remember him. 

“Since when did you start wearing all black?” I joke as he pulls away, gesturing to his outfit. “Are you some kind of darkling now?” 

He gives me a blinding grin, chuckling under his breath. 

“Something like that.” 

He gestures us back over to the table and I sit across from him, back rigid and legs crossed. I feel like a mannequin, still and stoic, despite the intense pounding of my heart and rush of blood through my veins. 

“How have you been?” He asks, leaning back in his chair with an amused look on his face. “I must say I was very surprised when your profile popped up Tinder.” 

I clench my jaw, working my teeth against each other. “Yeah, so was I.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Alek studies me, eyes unabashedly roaming from my face to my chest to my waist, to my legs visible on the side of the table. I swallow, trying to clear the unfamiliar lump in my throat before I speak. 

“But I’m good. Great, even. But I didn’t even know you are here. That you went here in the first place.” 

“It’s a temporary thing,” Alek responds. 

“Temporary?” I push. 

“I’m just getting a business credential for the semester,” he says, airy and dismissive. 

I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he can feel the suspicion and annoyance radiating from my look. He drums his fingers on the table, weighing my stare with a measured, even gaze that infuriates me further. I always hated when he did this when we were kids. Always challenging me. Always trying to get me to back down. Luckily, our time apart has sharpened my detective skills and my comfort with confrontation. 

Alek sighs, blinking slowly. “Fine. I’m here because of you.” 

My jaw slackens. 

Because of me? 

“I missed you,” he whispers, in a rare display of vulnerability and affection, before reaching across the table to take my hand. 

Fire lashes up my wrist and arm, chills spreading in its wake. His touch is electrifying me, his skin like a hot branding iron pushing into me with delicious pain. Alek’s jaw is set, the hard lines on his chin lined with stubble. I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him. I want to feel him against me and get lost in the impossibly deep gray ocean of his eyes. 

“Where were you then?” I venture, pushing down the pressing anxiety. 

“I had a lot to deal with after my dad died,” he responds, voice detached and noncommittal. “I’m really sorry I let our relationship fall away, but I didn’t want to drag you down into my grief. You’ve always had enough on your plate.” 

“You helped me through grief.” My tone steadies. “I wanted to help you.” 

He huffs, “I didn’t want your help.” 

The words are like a slap in the face, pulling my hand from his with a start. His dad’s death had been very abrupt and unexpected, launching Alek into a world of unknown wealth and property and an accumulation of other assets he wasn’t even aware his father had. His death was ruled under suspicious circumstances, but no leads were ever found for a murderer or any other sort of foul play. And with Alek’s mother long gone to cancer, he found himself newly eighteen and alone in the world. Except he wasn’t alone. He always had me. 

Alek releases a breath, eyes softening as he leans back in his chair, aware of the mistake in his harsh words. He pushes a hand through his hair, the dark waves parting for his hand like a saint in the sea. 

“I don’t mean it like that. I wanted you to be there, Cataleya. But some things you have to do on your own, you know? I had so much to figure out and sort through and… it was overwhelming.” 

I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Alek was never the kind of guy to ask for help, especially not from people he is close to. He always did things alone, always felt weak for not building his own empire, his own legacy, his own destiny, without anyone else. But two years, I haven’t heard from him in two years and now here he is. In front of me. Asking for some sort of forgiveness. Is there anything to forgive? The pit in my stomach says yes. But my throbbing heart and other throbbing parts of me say no. 

“I missed you, too.” 

A small smile blossoms across his face, the sight beautiful and stupefying. 

“I can’t help but notice you walked here with Inej Ghafa,” he starts and my alert senses begin to tingle. “Isn’t she a part of Kaz Brekker’s Crow Club?” 

“How do you know about that?” I ask before I can help myself.

“Anyone who is anyone knows about Kaz,” he responds, almost spitting his name. 

“Okay…” I begin, unease settling into my stomach like a stone. “But why do you?” 

“He has something I need.” 

The stone becomes a boulder. 

“Are you-” I stop, then start again. “You’re the one that this is for.” 

“If by “this”, you mean whatever scheme he is planning to trap me in, then yes.”

“But why? How do you even know him? Don’t you know who he is and what he does? What are you thinking going against Kaz?” I ask urgently, struggling to keep my voice low. 

He pins me to the chair with a dead look. “He has debts he needs to pay.” 

“You’re going vague again?” I shake my head, irritated with his bipolar intensity then flippancy. “You need to back down. Or you’re going to end up hurt.” 

A smirk tugs at his full lips, “Your lack of faith in me is really inspiring, Cataleya.” 

“It’s not that,” I retort, exasperated, crossing my arms. “Kaz is really powerful. With more networks and connections than you know. If you don’t stop whatever crusade you have on him, you’re the one that’s going to end up indebted.” 

He laughs this time, a full and deep laugh that surprises me. “Has he really dug his talons that deep in you? That you’ve forgotten how wide my own connections spread? How cunning I can be?” 

“We haven’t spoken in two years,” I respond, pettily. “I don’t know you at all anymore.” 

He leans forward, eyes incredibly dark and face serious. “You know that’s not true.”

I hold his stare, raising my eyebrows, feeling satisfied that I made my point. Alek reaches across the table and places his palm up on it in invitation. I can see the veins of his inner wrist, with dark ink snaking across the blue and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. He didn’t have any tattoos when I last talked to him. My fingers itch to push back the fabric and see them. His secrets. Like Kaz’s, they are so plain on his skin yet hidden through metaphors and signs. 

Licking my lips, I push out a breath and put my hand atop his, feeling his eyes follow mine to where the ink is displayed. Without saying anything, he pushes the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm, stopping at the inner crook of his elbow. 

Inhaling and holding, I blink at the constellation on the inside of his forearm. A night sky, swirling with black and dead space, with creatures in between zombies and ghosts with huge demon wings flying through it. There is a ship at the base of his wrist, a small stern gliding through dark sand, a tiny speck compared to the massive size of the creatures flying above it. It is dark and torturing and incredibly impassioned. I let the pads of my fingers drift softly up Alek’s arm, watching goosebumps form on his skin. 

“What are they?” I ask. 

“They’re called volcra,” Alek says. “Beings that live in darkness and are afraid of light. They feed on those who come into their path, who are unable to see or defend themselves in the black sea of sand.” 

“It’s so… intense.” I search for the right word to describe it, coming up short. 

“I want to remind myself to not be afraid of light. Of happiness. That the things that I may think make me weak, really make me strong. I need to find more light, to find my light. I have been full of darkness for a long time, Cataelya. I’ve lived in a thousand moments of it.” 

I tilt my head, fingers pressed into the inside of his elbow and looking up at him through my lashes. His eyes are trained to the spot where our skin is meeting, his lips parted and eyebrows furrowed a bit in the middle. I resist the urge to flatten it with my thumb, letting the wind and the sound of other students fill the silence between us. 

“You were the only light in my life for a long time,” I say to him, tracing the volcra’s deformed bodies with my index finger. “I had nothing. I had no one. You pulled me from that nothingness. From the darkness. And held me in your arms. Brought me up to somewhere better. Where I can hope. Where I can not only see light, but make my own. That is invaluable to me.” 

He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Can you help me, then? Can you bring me back my light, too?” 

My breathing stalls. I know what he’s asking from me. I know it’s more than just offering a flashlight through the tunnel. I know it’s more complicated than I can currently imagine. Alek stands up, coming around the table to kneel in front of my chair. Some students stare, wondering if they’re about to witness a proposal. I ignore them, keeping my eyes trained on Alek’s imploring gaze. I know in this moment, I will give him the world, the moon, and all of its stars. I will give him all of my sun and then some, I will summon everything I have to fill the darkest parts of him. 

He takes my face in his hands, palms impossibly soft on my cheeks. Subtly, slowly, I nod, watching his face break a part into a smile. Without pausing, Alek leans forward and kisses me. His lips are smooth and plush, completely stunning me into inaction as he runs his fingers along the sides of my throat. I sigh into his mouth, body realizing what is happening just as he is pulling away. Parting my lips, I stupidly sit in my chair as he gets up in one flowing movement.

Alek looks down at me with a smile. “I hope to see you soon then, Cataleya.” 

Just like that, he scoops up his book and walks away. Gone as quickly as he appeared. 

----

The room is completely aglow with light, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles lit around the room. Everything has a soft, burnt hue, like the room is on fire from below and the blaze is lighting the space. It must be the size of the University of Ketterdam quad, with hundreds of people talking, dancing, eating, and drinking. I recognize some students and faculty, but most are a blur of unfamiliar gowns and tuxedos. 

“They know how to throw a party,” Nik says appreciatively. 

“If they didn’t, no one would take them seriously.” Zoya retorts, leaving Nik’s side without so much as a glance to drift into the crowd. The smell of honey and sweet drinks spreads through the room, long tables lining either wall stacked with a massive spread. 

“That’s where I’ll be,” whispers Nina. 

I smile at her, gathering my dress in my hands and descending the few flat stairs to the main rooms. The floor is a beautiful tile, mosaics and colors that I can’t decipher flowing from the entry way beneath the mass of bodies. There is something magical about it all, something historic, like stepping into a time machine. The walls are lined with thick tapestries, with small halls leading into different areas of grandeur. I shouldn’t be surprised that wealth like this still exists, but every time I see it, I am. 

Scanning the space, I see Alek from across the ballroom, near one of the food tables, his gaze drifting across my body before a smile forms on his lips. He is wearing an all black suit, lapels crisp and smooth, with a single blood rose pinned above his heart. It mimics the read of my dress, the stain of my lips, the seduction in his eyes. He cocks his head slightly, dark hair falling over one of his beautifully arched eyebrows. 

I hold his stare, letting the bubbling pit of fire burn deeply in my stomach. The pit that forms when he looks at me, seated low and hot. The pit that would cackle and seethe if he would touch me, if his pale hands would settle on my hips and his lips would touch the shell of my ear, whispering sweet nothings and dirty everythings into my ear. Snaking my tongue between my lips, I watch as Aleksander tracks the motion, his posture straightening ever so slightly. 

And then Kaz is there. In my line of vision. 

The fire sputters out, replaced by something else. Something that grips my lungs and forces my heart to beat faster. His suit is a deep navy, bringing out the smooth pearl of his skin and accenting the night of his hair. He looks like a shooting star, dark and light at the same time. I wonder who picked it out for him, or if he selected it himself. I can’t imagine Kaz in a tailor’s shop, trying on suits and drinking bourbon with the upper elites with him. 

But then again, maybe I can. He is a business man after all. And great at faking it. 

Kaz catches my stare, tipping his head up in greeting before disappearing into the crowd. Nina and Nik dissolve from my side as well, going to observe and mingle before the drama begins. Alina is the only one left next to me, her golden dress sparkling in the chandelier light. She turns to me and sets her hand on my arm gingerly, sun earrings dangling from her ears. 

“Be careful,” she whispers. “He’s not who you think he is.” 

I open my mouth, about to ask her what she means before her hand is gone, and so is she. I watch her move into a group of people, hugging a man in a dark gray tuxedo from behind before giving him a kiss. Must be Mal. I don’t feel right, especially after what Alina said to me. I feel like something is amiss, but I don’t know what. 

I spot Kaz again, whispering something to Inej along the back wall. Her dark eyes drift to me, cementing the feeling in place. 

Alone, I cross the space to Alek. I had seen him twice since our fateful coffee date and both times had been very formal and full of business. Full of me trying to help him get his light back. Through some sort of grand scheme, it seems. One that required me to also recruit Nik, Alina, and Zoya to help Alek while seeming like they are helping Kaz. Sort of like a double agent, except I don’t know which side I want to be standing on at the end. 

“How are you?” Alek asks, tone casual to an untrained ear, but clipped enough for me to hear the true question behind his words. 

“Something’s wrong,” I respond under my breath before I loudly declare my happiness.

He lets his gaze linger on my face for a moment, schooling his features into neutrality. 

“Can you handle it?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admit, dropping my fake smile. “I might need help.” 

Vague enough, but he clearly gets the message, rolling his shoulders before giving me a dazzling grin. Alek reaches a long arm to stop the waiter passing by, grabbing two flutes of sparkling gold champagne and extending one to me. As if this is only our second time meeting. As if we both happened here by incident and he is looking to get lucky.

“I could never refuse such a beautiful woman.” 

I return his smile, throwing back the entire drink for some liquid courage. It tastes sweet and fizzy against my tongue, a faint acidity coating the roof of my mouth. Alek takes a long and thoughtful sip of his own champagne, much more graceful than me and folds my arm into the crook of his elbow. He begins to lead me from the ballroom, towards the Crow’s meeting spot. I look behind my shoulder, searching for their familiar faces. But all I see is Nina, already watching, her eyes focused intently on the joining of my arm with Alek’s while she pretends to listen to Nik, whose lips are moving with passionate fervor. Her mouth parts ever so slightly as she catches my eye. 

“Careful,” Alek mutters, forcing me to turn my head back in front of me. 

Dread and fear coil in my gut. I have never seen Nina look that way. I have never seen her look at me and not see me. I still don’t spot any of the other Crows at their reported positions around the room, where they were supposed to stay until I could get Alek alone and before I could lead Kaz to Alek and they could duel it out and I could decide who to side with then.

 I swallow, mind racing, trying to calm myself by believing that there’s a reason for their absence. 

 Alek seems to sense my trepidation, holding my arm a bit tighter as we meander from the crowded room into a near empty hallway. 

“Something’s wrong,” I repeat, trying to unravel everything quickly. Too quickly. 

Kaz, pushing everyone into this heist with such force. The others, more quiet than usual, less pressing for Kaz to give them details. Kaz, letting me teach him to drive, letting himself be vulnerable for me. Inej, barely talking to me a week into our plan. Nina, completely open and honest and warm until she saw me with Alek. Jesper, less happy than usual, less enthusiastic, more solemn and quiet, often excusing himself when I came into the room. And Wylan, always seeming to be off rekindling his relationship with his father. 

I didn’t need to help them with appearances at all. 

When fear arrives, something is about to happen. 

“It’s a trap,” I breathe, clenching my jaw and letting my stomach pit out inside of me. 

“I know,” Alek replies, cool and distant. 

My blood turns to ice. “What do you mean, “I know”?” 

He doesn’t respond, turning right down the hallway that leads to a back patio exit, and not to the left, to that private seating area where the Crows were supposed to be waiting. Alek increases his pace ever so slightly, giving me a glazed and lusted look when people come out of the rooms to pass us by, too high or drunk or exhausted to care. 

I try to stamp down the panic in my bones. How could I be so stupid? How could I get so caught up playing both sides that I didn’t see what was right in front of me? This is not the part where things are supposed to go wrong. I am supposed to get to choose. I am supposed to see them interact, gauge my feelings, myself, my words, and decide which side I want to be on. If I want to be a Raven or a Crow. If I want to be crime or creation. Of course, Alek is one step ahead. And so is Kaz. 

“We need to be more casual, less uptight,” Alek states as he pushes through the glass doors leading into the large mansion courtyard at the end of the corridor. “If any of them are watching, they’ll hurry things along if they sense we’re onto them.” 

“I think they already know,” I swallow, the night air turning cold and bitter. We hover on the cramped patio for a moment, not descending the small set of stone stairs into the gardens beyond. I can hear voices from inside, music drifting about, people laughing and heavy breathing from behind bushes. I wish I could have gone to this party with no other intentions than for fun. 

Maybe in a different life.  

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Alek shrugs. 

And then I am up against the thin black railing behind me, Alek’s hands settling into the curve of my hips. I can feel his warmth through the satin of my dress, bleeding fire into my skin, my heart, my core. He licks his lips and pushes me tighter against him. Our bodies are flush in all of the right places; hard and soft in all of the right places. 

“Kiss me, Cataleya,” he baits me, voice low and raspy. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. 

I surge forward, his lips plush and velvet against mine. He smells like winter, like snow and frosty tree branches and endless starry nights. I grew up with this smell, revelled in it, fell in love with it. His dark hair brushes against my forehead, the strands so soft and gentle in a way I had never known Alek to be. He is always pushing, moving, plotting. 

He reminds me of Kaz in that way. 

Kaz. 

Alek’s tongue slips along mine, sparks flying and thundering in my ears. Haven’t I wanted him like this for so long? Haven’t I imagined what this would feel like since our first kiss, being barely a peck? Haven’t I dreamed that he would want me? That he would have me in the way I desired? 

So why is this falling so flat now? 

Kaz. 

The voice reverberates through me, like a Crow picking from a dead body, peeling flesh from bone until I am stripped bare. My head begins to pound, a dull ache in the base of my skull. Alek runs his fingers up my bare arms, drawing goosebumps in his wake until I am shivering beneath him. 

“Cataleya,” he murmurs, deep and throaty. 

The old feeling returns, the burning desire, the expectant eyes. The little girl waiting for her master to approve. The little girl waiting for someone bigger, someone better, to grab her hand and drag her from the dirt. I feel ridiculous for not being able to squash it down, to tamper it. I don’t know if that feeling would ever die. The feeling of dependence. Of unworthiness. 

Alek seems as if he’s about to say something, but his head whips to the side. I follow the movement, the stone of dread in my stomach sinking deeper when I realize the courtyard has gone quiet around us. Not a single sound from behind the bushes, not a giggle or a whisper or a moan. Too quiet. The sound of death. 

The headache threatens to split my brain a part, eyes blurring as I watch Alek attempt to stumble down the stairs. He gets one step in before a figure blocks his path. My breathing becomes laborious, squinting through black spots clouding my vision before I can see who it is. 

Wylan. 

His suit is a forest green, dark velvet tailored for his tall lanky frame. The color perfectly offsets the ruddiness of his hair and his shoes are a deep brown leather, squeaky clean and new. Leave it to Kaz to outfit all of the Crows with his endless bank account. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says, face truly betraying some measure of regret. 

The pieces click together, like a lock sliding into place. 

He hasn’t been working with his father all these weeks. He has been working on something else entirely. Something that would take lots of time, lots of care, and lots of studying. When Nina said those things I thought she was talking about how he was mending the relationship with his father. She was not. And not just that, but his studies most likely required more than himself for success. Probably Leoni, the incredibly kind and intelligent biochemical engineering major who Kaz sometimes recruited for special missions that required more stealth, less blood. 

Wylan was studying poison. 

And we had ingested it from the champagne. 

----

My head is throbbing when I come to, the sound of a car engine roaring in my ears. I don’t know how I got here. All I remember is Alek, his hands on me, his warmth leaving me to spin me into the arms of someone else. The shaved hair, the deep brown eyes, the palor of his skin, the stability of his grip around my waist. Then Alek again, his lips on mine, my back against the wall.

 I force myself to swallow, trying to see anything through the blindfold at my eyes. I am still in my dress, the silk smooth on my skin, and I can feel the car coming to a stop as I struggle to find the strength to say something. 

My bones feel like liquid, muscles weak and shaking. But Alek had been the only one who offered me a drink, he had been the only one I trusted enough to gulp heartily. Wylan. I remember Wylan. Standing at the ledge of the stairs in the courtyard. Me and Alek. 

Poisoned. 

The car’s back door opens and I feel a rush of the cold night air as two gloved hands drag me by my feet from the vehicle and out onto the street. Dread coils in my stomach and my skin pricks with goosebumps, the cobble stones ripping at my exposed ankles and arms. After being dragged a few hundred feet, hissing at the burn of scapes and tearing on my skin from the uneven street, I am forced onto my knees.  I don’t feel right. Nothing feels right. Where is Kaz? 

As if in answer, the blindfold is yanked down my face from behind, my eyes blurring and struggling to adjust to the dark light of my surroundings. I am in an alley, wedged between two buildings built of collapsing brick. I can hear the faint whiz of cars, but in front of me is only a few hundred paces of the alleyway and then trees. I am not being brought here to talk. It’s too secluded. Too quiet. And the smell, bark and sap and something else… I clench my jaw. 

A shadow fills my periphery and I struggle to stay up on my knees as a figure takes shape in front of me. The navy suit, clean white shirt, the black leather gloves, the hard lines of his jaw and set of his eyes. I know why I am here. I know what this is. His stare is furious, rage and ice and merciless vengeful eyes boring into mine. 

He made the choice for me.

“Kaz,” I rasp, voice cracking and broken. 

He snarls at his name from my mouth, shoving me up into the nearest building. I stumble in my heels, his movements fast and forceful enough to drive my back into the wall with no problem. The rough edges of the brick dig into my back, clawing at my skin. This is nowhere near the last experience I had against a wall, with Alek. Caressing me, kissing me, igniting me. I try to stay calm. I try to think. But all I can see is Kaz’s face in front of me, burning with hatred and disdain as he rams me harder into the unforgiving bricks. 

I try to hold in my scream as a knife plunges into my side from one of the roofs above, deep and intense pain bursting through me. I don’t know who threw it, I don’t know how many of them are up there and how many stayed behind. I don’t know how long they’ve been in on it, I don’t know if Kaz has been aware the entire time. But I do know that now he knows, they all do. And that I won’t be leaving here alive. 

I can’t move enough to take the knife from my side, the hilt small, but the blade curved and lodged deep above the bone of my hip. Blood seeps through my dress, the red becoming impossibly darker, and the drip drip of the liquid pings against the stone street as it runs down my legs. It’s the only sound between us besides my ragged breathing, pained and desperate. 

“This was all a test of loyalty,” he says evenly. “You failed.”

And I would die for it. 

Kaz’s hands close around my throat, gaze steely and intent. I try not to panic, my jaw locking and lungs constricting with the pressure of his grip. The warmth of the blood continues spreading and soaking through my side, red and sticky and filling my nostrils with the scent of copper. I can already barely breathe, trying and failing to make it through the pain. It makes sense how loose Kaz’s lips had been with me, all the questions he had asked to try and taunt me, to reveal my relationship to Alek, how he let me teach him; he thought I would be a dead woman soon. And dead women don’t spill secrets. Or give lessons beyond the grave.

“We knew it was you all along,” Kaz says in my face, tone even as he chokes me. “Funny. You didn’t even know he was here until we flushed him out for you. Until we set up that date and watched you become the person we suspected you were. Until you crawled back to him and pretended he was the only light in the pit of darkness that’s been your life.” Kaz’s gloved fingers are hot against my pulse and his hair is falling down his forehead, sides freshly shaved. I can see every prick of stubble along his chin, see the muscles feathering in his jaw. I’ve never been this close to him before. Not even in the car. A day that felt so long ago. Like a lifetime. 

“Don’t you know why we scouted you in the first place? We knew he would try to ruin us from the inside out and use you to do it, it was only a matter of time. But that game can be played by both sides.” His voice is low, a snarl that roars in my ears, my side throbbing. “Nikolai, Alina, Zoya… you thought that you were bringing in new recruits to then turn against us. We had them first. They were always Crows, not one of Aleksander Morosova’s ravens. They have even more of a reason to want revenge on him than I do. And I’ll bet they’re being even less pleasant with him than I am with you right now.” 

A pit burns inside of me, low and feral, deepening with each of his words. 

“But even before that, I wanted you.” 

And I know, at the tenor of his voice, it’s not the kind of want that I would ever seek. At how his voice drops, so no one else can possibly hear, that I will not like what he is going to say. 

“I wanted you the moment I saw you and your father’s face in the news. When I heard what he did to your mother even though no one would believe he could have done it. I knew he did.” He is seething, spitting on me as he goes on. “I knew that he was capable of ordering violence. Of committing it and buying people’s silence. I could see it in his eyes, I could see it in the way he held you against him. Possessive and consuming.”

I have gone completely still, the very blood in my veins seeming to stop, the pulsing at my side ebbing into a dull ache. His words are in a bubble, trapped between our lips. Each syllable pops and rebuilds it, over and over. Trapping me, over and over. 

“I didn’t leave the day they came to kill Jordie.” He continues, “I thought something was wrong, for him to force me out the way he did. I hid on the roof of our building and climbed down the stairs of the fire escape a few hours later. Then I saw him. Your father. Positioning my brother’s body on our couch, I saw him take the bloodied knife and place it on the floor, beneath Jordie’s fingers. I watched as he cleaned off any fingerprints, stole away any evidence. He had no blood on him and by the two men that stumbled onto the street and disappeared down an alley, I knew he hadn’t done the actual act...

“But what’s worse? Following an order for murder or sanctioning it?” 

I feel tears slipping down my cheeks, dropping like flies on Kaz’s gloves. 

“I followed him. Learned everything I could. I learned that he had been involved with an underground drug operation for decades. That my parents had been in debt with them due to some bad decisions in my dad’s twenties. And that your father had been sent to collect or kill. To send a message to the other debtors. Little did your father know that the victims had two children, that they escaped. And that they would be coming for him.” 

The air around me turns infinitely colder, everything still and quiet except Kaz’s voice. 

“I watched you too.” He continues, fingers losing their grip a bit on my throat. “I watched to see who you would be. If we would indeed become enemies, as our parents were. I observed you grow with Morosova, how he controlled you, how he led you away all those years, how he kept you quiet and kept you in the dark so you would never find out the truth and be killed, like your mother was.” 

His words stab me deeper than the knife, my heart in ribbons. Hearing him confirm my darkest fears unleashes the worst parts of me, the parts I tried so hard to keep hidden. Terrified. Insecure. Silent. Obedient. The little girl with an abusive father and dead mother. I hadn’t been her in so long, but Kaz is stripping me down. Shredding me. 

 Kaz’s voice drops lower, as if he’s telling me a horrible secret. “He knew about it, Cataleya. Aleksander,” he purrs the name like a curse, “he knew everything. His father was one of the men your father ordered to kill Jordie. Who was a part of the team dispatched to eradicate those who didn’t pay, eradicate my parents. Your parents were working together, how fitting that you and Aleksander would, as well. Fate is funny that way.” 

The world shatters around me, broken and splintering into a million pieces. Alek knew. He sat there and listened to me while I cried about my mother, how I had desperately wanted his help to look into what happened. He had warned me to want anything was to give myself up. That the only way for me to find peace was to move forward and never look back. That if I continued to want for closure, I would never find it.

 “The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.” He had said, over and over. 

How ironically true that had become. 

Kaz isn’t done. He continues to pick at me, the Crow in him unable to stop, his dark eyes burning with hate. “Where your own father failed, Aleksander’s father succeeded. He remembered seeing pictures in my house, of me and of Jordie. He remembered that there were two boys. And when I killed him by placing a bomb under his car to be rigged as an oil problem, his son stepped into the role to finish what his father started. To silence me too. But he didn’t and for me, for Jordie, I swore I would destroy them, brick by brick.” 

My breathing is coming out in short rasps, eyes blurred with tears of anger and embarrassment and white hot pain. I have been played. So horribly. By everyone in my life. Lied to. By every single person I had known. Even Alek. Alek, who had been the one person I thought would save me. Would be the one in the end to stand by me, to see me, to understand me. But he didn’t. He never did. He used me. Just like my father did. To be a sweet, obedient girl. 

In the few months I had known Kaz, he has seen more of me than Alek ever did. 

All we ever wanted, me and Alek and Kaz, was to feel safe and be loved. But we never trusted anyone enough to be either. So we fought and resisted and pushed. Into darkness. 

A whistle sounds from above, quick and melodic. Inej. Signaling Kaz that he needs to hurry. That enough is enough. But I can see it in his eyes. The hardness. The black pits of revenge and hatred and loathing he feels when he looks at me. It would never be enough. This retribution that he savored for years will never last as long as he wishes it to. I want to wither away into nothing under his stare. Not enough. Not his. Never his. Never a Crow.

“I know you love him,” he whispers so none of the others lurking can hear. “I know he’s the one who saved you. But he used you, Cataleya. He controlled you. You could’ve been so much better, so much bigger. It’s a shame the apple never falls far from the tree.”

I wish it had been you to save me instead. I think, shoving the words down my constricted throat. Maybe if it were Kaz, all those years ago, then things wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. Then maybe I would have been more like Inej, graceful, strong, full of more purpose than what Alek gave me. Maybe I could have meant something. To someone. To the Crows. 

But Kaz didn’t find me. Alek did. Alek led me from the garden and held my hand. Alek stroked my hair and told me it would be okay. That I would be okay. Alek raised me to be unforgiving, to scheme and stab people in the back to fill the empty hole in my life. Control. Kaz had said. How he controlled me. How he deceived me. With love. Love. Fake. Love. Fake love. I want to cry or scream at all of them, shaking with rage. I have been a pawn this whole time. 

“We are all controlled by something.” I push out, my voice weak. 

I try to swallow and fail at the reapplied pressure of Kaz’s palms, drool and spit bubbling from my lips. The alley wall is hard against my back, the night sky black and endless above me. The smog cover is so thick I can’t see the stars, despite the bright spots beginning to dance in my vision. I feel something prick at my spine with the pressure of my position like a silent reminder, mind sharpening and resolve strengthening. Love or no love. I have to finish what I started. I have to complete my assignment. Even if it isn’t one from Kaz. 

Even if it is from a liar. 

Lies are all I have known. 

All I have to hold on to. 

I can’t be saved. From darkness. My own or from others. I have waded too deep, gone too far. I may not be a true Raven, but I am definitely not a Crow. No matter how much I wish I could be. No matter how much I came to appreciate them, to care for them, to trust them. 

Trust is the most dangerous weapon of all. 

Slipping my hands behind my back as if I am trying to scramble against the wall, I reach for the cool metal of the blade attached along the zipper of my dress, letting out a choking cry to cover the unsheathing of my knife. The movement burns my side, ripping open my wound further to pour more blood. It runs over Kaz’s dress shoes, stains my legs. I am losing it too quickly, too much of it ebbing from me at once. Kaz’s hands press harder to my throat, forcing me, willing me, begging me to die now that his speech is over. I know he doesn’t enjoy this. I know he doesn’t relish in murder. Neither do I. 

But love is love.

Control is control. 

And business is business. 

Kaz would agree on that. 

“If I’m going down, Kaz,” I begin, voice barely a whisper. “You’re coming with me.” 

Without wasting another second, I shove the tip of my knife deep between Kaz’s ribs, watching his face contort in pain and dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then furrow in agony. Almost immediately, I hear a scream tear from somewhere on the roofs above and feel a pang of sorrow course through me. Inej just watched me stab the love of her life. Inej, the strong, graceful warrior who had been through more than all of us. She had screamed. Wailed.

I hear her words echo around my brain. The autumn leaves. Her cream sweater. The weight of her stare. “Some people just can’t be saved. But we love them anyway.”  

My sight falters.

 Kaz’s grip on my neck loosens, then completely disappears as he stumbles back and I fall towards the concrete without him holding me in place. An arrow pierces my shoulder from above, Jesper no doubt. With that incredible skill for landing true. The impact pushes me forward into Kaz’s already falling body, his white tux shirt now stained with blood. 

The world spins, my head making hard contact with the street. 

“This action will have no echo.” The rough words leak from Kaz’s lips, voice faint and faraway. If I could cry now I would, remembering the meaning of those words that Inej had told me just days ago. We would repeat nothing now. No more harm. To ourselves or others. This is our repentance. Our forgiveness.

Kaz is close to me, for I can feel the warmth of his body and the slick of his blood as it mixes with mine and stains the concrete.

If someone told me nine years ago, when I buried that cat and found my mother buried instead, that this is where I would end up, I wonder how differently my life would have been. I wonder if I would have chosen a different path. One full of forgiveness and happiness. The one of creation instead of crime. Instead of revenge and retribution. The weight of those decisions hang over me like a cloak, protecting and exposing me at the same time. Using the last bits of my strength, I turn my head to the side to look at him. 

Kaz is on his back beside me, so close that I can reach out and touch him. Touch his hand that is limp with resignation, his side that is red with blood, his lips that are white with death. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Even as a small line of blood trickles from the corner of his lips and pings onto the stones. I let my eyes close, pretending the stars behind my eyelids belong to the sky and not to the Grim Reaper. Pretending the stars are his eyes.

We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all taken on assignments that were too big for us. We’ve all done things we regretted and we all leaned on each other too much for our own good while leaning on no one at all. We all let the ghosts of our pasts haunt us into our future. Especially Kaz. And that’s the problem with trusting ghosts, in the end you become one. 

You become transparent, empty, without an echo. 

“No mourners.” I manage to mumble into the night. 

“No funerals.” A disembodied voice murmurs back, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. 

And then there is nothing but darkness. 

---

~Admin Eggplant

[wonderlander-i]

How to nail a study date when you’re not even dating

Pairing : Beckett Harrington x f! MC (Eli Russell)

Warnings : none, it's pure fluff (if you exclude one bad word... Or maybe two 😂)

Words count : 2,5k

Author's Note : The world needs a little bit of domestic love and well... I'm an emotional ball of drama who'd rather spend a week working on this than read my school books.

*sends virtual hugs to everyone*

On the afternoon of a rainy autumn day, Eli stood by the closed window of her dorm room, watching the clear water droplets hit the glass then race down to the wooden frame. She smiled to herself. Being a sun att and all, she loved the summer. But there was something about the rain that calmed her buzzing mind. This whole season brought her soul to an unusual peace. The mixture of the earthy sweet smell rising from the ground, the unanticipated flashes of the lightning followed by the roaring thunder in the darkening sky, the steady beats of the drizzle when it meets the window. She hugged her arms tight, humming to herself a song. She barely noticed when the door opened, and Becket stepped in with a pile of books in a hand and a dripping umbrella in the other. He set the books carefully on her desk and looked around. She already had her hanging lights on the wall next to her bed, and they were casting a soft glow across the room. It smelled the gentle spice and freshly baked cookies. That was no mystery to him; she had something baked for him each time he visited.

Finally, his eyes landed on her. And he chuckled when he noticed that she was wearing a pink cotton onesie. He walked to join her by the window, where she was deep in her thoughts.

“It’s beautiful” He mumbled, looking at the rain pouring from the grey clouds.

“Yes” she sighed wistfully “And you’re late” She turned to face him, poking his chest.

“I had to fetch my umbrella”

She shrugged “Still not an excuse”

“I brought us some hot chocolate”

“That’s a damn good excuse”

He clicked his fingers, and two mugs appeared on the desk next to his books.

“I couldn’t carry them all the way to your room, it’s too cold outside”

“And you wouldn’t miss a chance to show off your powers” She rolled her eyes, amused.

“That’s nonsense” he objected, swishing his fingers to channel an air current around her. She crossed her arms over her chest as the air pushed her straight to her bed, making her fall on top of the mattress.

“you pretentious little–” She got up, but he was already sitting down next to her. He handed her one of the mugs, and the rich smell of chocolate persuaded her to let this one slip through. He opened one of the books on his lap.

“I found this one is the hidden aisle in the library, I thought you’d find it interesting”

“Pendragon: a history of mythical fire breathers” She read out loud “You mean to tell me that dragons are real?” her eyes lit up as she flipped the pages, stopping at the drawn image of a burgundy creature with fire bursting from its mouth. “The Morelth Nighthowler” She ran her index finger under the name “Burns his victims alive after trapping them in…”

“Slow down” He interrupted her laughing “You didn’t know?”

“How am I supposed to know?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “It’s not like I walk around asking people if leprechauns exist. Or how the dwarfs keep their beards perfectly trimmed”

“To answer your questions, yes and dwarfs go to barbers like anyone else would do”

“That was sarcasm!” She exclaimed “Wait are they really that short? do they really have a hidden pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”

A strange warmth invaded his chest when he looked at her excited expressions. Born to a magical family, nothing was unusual or unbelievable to him. All the things that made Eli’s eyes go wide were mere facts to him. To be the one who introduces her to these small fragment of their world, of the world she lived far away from for most of her life, was an honour he didn’t believe he deserved. He shared all his knowledge with her, not holding back anything. And it made him... Proud ? No... Happy. Happy that she’d listen to everything he teaches her. Happy that she was passionate about those things the same way he was. Happy that she understood him.

“Eliana, your curiosity is a breath of fresh air” He chuckled “Let’s start from the beginning now shall we?”

She nodded, scooping closer to him so she’d get a better view as he flipped to the first page and started reading to her “Chapter one... “

Many hours later, he was halfway through the book when something clicked inside her head. She picked up a sharpie and looked at him with a strange glow in her eyes.

“It has been proven that his scales could be useful to treat battle wounds if they’re properly smashed and mixed with Hooded Skullcaps at high temperature to make a salve–”

He stopped reading when Eli leaned forward and started drawing lines from his cheekbones to his nose.

“What are you doing?” He asked her, crinkling his nose as he felt the ink running across his face.

“Playing ‘connect the dots’ ” she replied, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“On my face?” he arched an eyebrow, still confused

“Yes”

“With a sharpie?”

“Yes” she huffed; blowing away a strand of hair that slipped from her bun and fell on her forehead

“May I ask why?” He shook his head, waiting for her answer.

She didn’t reply, biting her lips instead as she studied his face, contemplating her work. After few moments of silence, she mumbled.

“Orion”

“Excuse me?”

“Orion, the hunter” A grin broke into her face. “Your freckles match the constellation”

He was speechless. He looked at her, his jaw dropping. How does she manage to make everything poetic? Moreover, for how long did she need to gaze at his freckles before she could join them up into a constellation? Did the Eli Russell really pay him that much attention?

“Right” He cleared his throat, looking away blushing. He took a sip of his drink “Maybe you can focus back on your lesson now?”

“You’re so bossy” she rolled her eyes, shifting her gaze back to the page he was reading.

“The Cordonian Gronkaloth dragon” He carried on “Though it was thought to be a descendant of the latter, was nothing compared to the Corpsebreath Pelagius, which was last spotted in the Irish highlands in 1783. With its ability to change the colour of its scales to fade in the surrounding environment, this beast represented a major threat to the kingdom…”

Eli smiled to herself, looking at him recite the history passages as if they were poetry. She loved the way he was passionate about it, as if he was lost in the words that ran from his lips like a sweet melody. Everything makes sense when it comes out of his mouth. It was his secret talent perhaps. His eyes twinkle with every name of a forgotten king he reads. The corners of his lips lift up to a discreet smile whenever he stumbles upon a reference from an ancient historian. Sitting there beside him, with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands and a blanket around their shoulders, was her favourite getaway spot. Just seeing him all relaxed in his world made her heart flutter. And she felt grateful that he never rejects her when she asks him to come over. Little did she know that he’d throw away any plans he had scheduled for the day each time she’d call him, that their study sessions meant more to him than to her. She was roughly the only person he’d be willing to read to.

“The prohibition law came afterward on January 1863” His voice ran through the room “banishing every act of… Eli, are you following?” He paused, looking at her from the corners of his eyes.

“You aren’t wearing a blazer” She ran her fingers across his arm, caressing the fabric of the dark green wool sweater that replaced his usual button-ups and blazers.

“I’m not” This came out more like a question than a statement, looking down at his sweater. “This is more suitable for the season isn’t it?”

“Well” she chuckled “It’s refreshing to see the ‘Always-put-up-together-Beckett’ cozy up”

“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow “Are you saying that I’m uptight?”

“Of course not!” She exclaimed “More like…constipated” She giggled, covering her mouth with her fist.

He glared daggers at her, but the smile that he was fighting to hide gave him away eventually.

“Very funny, miss ‘I wear pink more than I wear my own skin’” He smirked.

“That’s not true!” She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, which he easily caught before it made contact with his face.

“And you’re not wearing a pink onesie” He pointed out “With this... unicorns and rainbows pattern”

“But... It’s cute” She pouted, giving him the biggest puppy eyes she could manage.

Don’t say it Beckett.

Don’t give her the satisfaction of hearing it from you.

Her eyes grew more insistent, and he sighed defeatedly .

“Yes, it is cute”

Her face light up, mischief gleaming her eyes. “Hum...” She tilted her head to the side, looking at him thoughtfully.

“Eli, why do I feel like you’re going to make me regret saying that?”

“No reason”

Three minutes later, he was standing in a pair of pyjama pants that were identical to her onesie.

“Don’t say a word.” He said through his gritted teeth.

She was in the middle of forming a snarky comment, when loud music blasted from the room next door.

“Shreya!” Beckett groaned and walked to the wall, knocking on it furiously “We’re trying to study here”

“Can’t hear you over the sound of my one person party, you loner nerd” Shreya’s voice echoed over the song.

Eli exploded laughing and he turned back to face her.

“What’s funny?”

“Dance with me, Beckett” She smiled, offering him her hand.

Eli wasn’t the dancer, and he knew it. He pursed his lips, studying her facial expression to detect any ulterior motive behind her request. And when he found none, that she genuinely just wanted to dance, he gladly took her hand, joining her in the centre of the room.

“Don’t step on my toes” he warned her as he moved them both, guiding her around in swift movements.

“I make no promises” She twirled, her hair completely breaking loose from the bun, flying around her with each turn, then landing back to her shoulders. She looked up to him, biting her lips to cover a giggle as he missed a step while looking at her.

The song came to an end too quickly; the upbeat vibes were replaced by a softer serenade. They slowed their pace, and suddenly aware of how close they were, they stopped dead on their tracks. Eli looked down, a million thoughts rushing through her mind and each time she’d try to grasp them they’d fly away, leaving her heart in utter confuse.

Beckett Harrington was a handsome man indeed. Even if it took her a lot of time to realise it. He wasn’t just a pair of beautiful eyes, a strong jawline and the body of a Greek god in tight jeans. He wasn’t just the sum of perfectly crafted parts. He was more than that. He was the smartest man she’d ever met, with the heart of a lion and the good manners of a prince. And for the flicker of a second, she saw the heaven in his eyes.

He brushed his knuckles under her chin, and then lifted her head up to meet his gaze. She blinked, then looked up, her mouth gapping. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers running through the strands of his soft hair.

“Hello” She smiled shyly.

“Hi there” He breathed out. He clutched her hips gently, his eyes widening at how perfectly she fit between his hands.

He swayed her slowly from side to side, the soft light of her pink lamps reflecting on her eyes, turning the whole room into some sort of pink/purple-ish wonderland. She smelled like wild lavender and white honey, and he inhaled deeply, letting the scent flood his senses, making it even harder to focus.

It was like a snow globe. He wished he could be stuck in a glowing snow globe, dancing with her to the endless song his heart was beating to.

But why was he thinking this way? What has gotten into him? She’s just Eli... The same Eli he shares all his secrets with. The same Eli he’d give the last slice of his blueberry pie. The same Eli he knows like the back of his hand. The one who makes him feel ever so... Alive?

She was always something else, something extraordinary. With the way her face lights up when she walks by an ice-cream shop. How her eyebrows crease when she’s so focused. When she tears up after laughing too hard. The way she blushes when he pokes her little nose.

She lived with her head over the clouds, just like the golden sun. Always so warm, so dreamy. Nothing was so far beyond her reach. She believed that everything was possible. What was impossible is the way his heart raced with her in his embrace. It’s like a wave of sunlight was rushing through his veins. This newfound idea thrilled him in the most delicious way. His shoulders relaxed, his mouth curved into a euphoric smile. He gazed at her eyes, at the dilated pupils which starred right into his soul through her batting eyelashes. And he knew. He knew that these were the eyes he wanted to be lost in forever.

He blushed, muttering the first question that popped in his hazy mind.

“Did you put something in my drink?”

“No I didn’t”

“Then why am I feeling so... light headed?”

“I may have bewitched you” She whispered, her cheeks burning to match the shade of his.

Too shy, he stutters after planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“That, you did”

The next morning, Atlas walked into Eli’s room to wake her up for their usual training. And she was greeted by the sight of her sister and Beckett in a deep slumber. They were curled up together on the blanket fort they made last night with a lot of bed sheets and pillows. With her head resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her smaller body, they were holding into each other like nothing else mattered. It was only them, snuggled up in their little world, surrounded by the open books of last night, the papers they scrabbled together, and Eli’s million sharpies.

Atlas groaned, slamming the door shut.

“Fucking teenagers”

[potatocrab]

steady

Butch takes Rosie out on their first date in Megaton, more than month after he initially asked her. Better late than never. 

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2616 words | [read on Ao3]

Butch must’ve checked his reflection in the cracked mirror a dozen times, restyling his hair until every stray, black strand was perfectly in place. He’d inspected his teeth, breathing into his palm and wincing when he smelled nicotine and that morning’s breakfast. Good thing he’d swiped all those hygiene products when he left Vault 101—better for his breath to smell like artificial mint than stale cigarettes and cram. A little bit of toothpaste and a quick rinse and he was good to go—well, not before a generous spritz from his trusty bottle of cologne.

Then came his appearance, wondering if his clothes were presentable enough. He’d found the cleanest shirt from his duffle bag of clothes, tucked it into a pair of jeans that were relatively free of wasteland grime, and swapped his combat boots for a pair of sneakers instead. With his Tunnel Snakes jacket, he looked and felt like his usual self—he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good or bad thing, given the occasion. Butch didn’t know why he was so nervous, in his head about that evening—it was just a date. He’d been on plenty before in the vault, where else would he have gotten his reputation as a ladies’ man? Okay—that was definitely not a good thing, not anymore, not when he was trying to go steady with one lady in particular. Tonight wasn’t just a date—it was the date—his first date with Rosie.

Butch would’ve taken her on one earlier but hadn’t found the nerve to ask until after they’d kissed. Well, after she dared him to kiss her, which he eagerly obliged to. Kissing was one thing but asking Rosie on a date was another—lucky for him, she agreed. Unlucky for him, they were constantly sidetracked, the Lone Wanderer needed on important missions for the Brotherhood and other wasteland factions. As long as he was at her side, Butch didn’t mind, and if Rosie was happy, so was he. It wasn’t until they put a label on it that she shyly reminded him he owed her a date. That’s when he started his planning—anything for his best gal.

The sun was just setting when he arrived at Craterside Supply, pausing outside the door to adjust his jacket and hair one last time before entering the shop. Inside, Moira and her mercenary were in the middle of a one-sided conversation, the red-head excitedly talking about robots and how to reprogram them. As soon as she noticed Butch, she widened her eyes, clapping her hands together.

“Oh, Butchie, you’re here!” she exclaimed with a grin.

He didn’t mind that Moira called her by the same nickname his ma used to use, though he was sure that if any other woman tried, he’d have more of a visceral reaction. There was something endearing about the shopkeeper, even if her voice grated his ears sometimes, she was Rosie’s closest friend. He tried to mimic her enthusiasm, though he was preoccupied with scanning the room. Moira noticed.

“She’s upstairs getting ready,” she explained before leaning over the counter. “Rosie, my sweet potato! Your lil’ cutie-pie date is here!”

Whatever awkwardness he felt was brief as Butch smiled, listening to the scrambling along the upstairs rafters—was that a hushed curse? —before Rosie appeared along the railing, bright-eyed and breathtaking. She was wearing a baby-blue dress he hadn’t seen before with the same saddle-shoes she always had—mole-rats would fly before she’d ever wear heels. She’d pinned back her long dark hair on both sides with bobby pins, and—were those new glasses? Butch was so fixated on her face that he didn’t realize she’d moved downstairs until she was standing in front of him, wringing her hands together, looking just as anxious as he felt.

He smiled at her, pushing back his nerves as he stepped closer to her. “Hey girlfriend.”

As expected, the term only made her cheeks flush with color even as she kept her eyes focused on his face. “Hey…boyfriend.”

Rosie was too damn cute without even trying and it drove Butch crazy—in all the best ways. He leaned forward, thinking he could steal a quick kiss when two arms came flying between them, one hand landing firm against his chest to push him back several inches.

“Oh no you don’t!” Moira voiced, sternly. Despite the fact she couldn’t be more than a few years older than the two, she preferred to act like some kind of zany mother figure, always wanting to look out for their best interests. Even if that also meant sending them out into the Capital Wasteland on ‘scientific endeavors.’ For science!

“That’s reserved for the end of the night!” she instructed, waving her finger at him. Moira’s expression quickly shifted, eyebrows knitting together. “On second thought, no kissing on the first date!”

Butch stifled back a snicker, thinking about all the fooling around the two had been up to in the last month. Nothing serious, nothing too heated or nefarious, but there’d been more than enough heavy petting and make-out sessions that a finger wag didn’t scare him. “You know that we’ve—”

Rosie reached her hand out to snatch his, giving it a proper pinch that had him yelping into a laugh. She eyed the door. “Should we go?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, moving to wrap his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go, Rosie baby.”

When Butch and Rosie first got back to Megaton, he’d started working on an extravagant date fitting for his best gal. After all, he had a lot of lost time to make up for—all the weeks, or months he’d been skirting around how he truly felt about her before finally making a move…or maybe it went years beyond that. Maybe if he hadn’t been so blind or stupid in his youth to notice the girl of his dreams was right there in front of him all along. Took her father’s death and a vault uprising to bring them together in an uncertain world. But that’s what they were now—together. Of course Rosie deserved the best, even if Butch was limited with resources in the Wasteland. Not a lot a young couple could do in one small town, and he wasn’t about to risk taking her outside the gates. Well, they could leave, but then it would just end up like any other evening, with the two on some kind of shooting spree with raiders or ghouls. Not exactly romantic.

All that anxiety from before was returning, making him second-guess the planned itinerary. What if Rosie thought he was trying too hard, thought he was a square? He pegged her for a gushy romance type, with all those novels she read (yeah, he’d snuck a peek) and he wanted to impress her, even if it wasn’t his usual shtick. The nerves tightened into a ball in the pit of his stomach when he thought about other, lingering fears. He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting the ghostly specter of Rosie’s dad to jump out and voice his disapproval.

“Butch?”

He turned his head back to find her looking at him with a mix of concern and confusion, brows furrowed together. Not wanting to worry her, he pressed a quick peck to her cheek—not like Moira could see them now. Rosie instantly brightened, smiling as he tightened his grip around her shoulders.  

“Come on,” he nodded his chin, gesturing towards the town’s crater. “Leo saved a table for us at the Lantern.”

Rosie continued to smile in her little way, letting him lead the way down the ramps to Megaton’s only restaurant. Well, the only place to get a reputable meal—Butch wouldn’t dare to take her to Moriarty’s and risk food or radiation poisoning. He upped the gentleman factor, opening the door for her with a cheeky grin before rushing ahead to pull out her chair at their reserved table.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” she remarked.

He sat down across from her and chuckled. “Not with the Butch-man it ain’t.”

As soon as Leo Stahl noticed the two sitting in the private corner of the Brass Lantern, he was quick to bring them two bowls of freshly prepared noodles with a couple bottles of ice-cold Nuka-Cola. She flashed a polite smile, and while Butch hungrily dug in, she took slow, careful bites. Though, after a few moments, they both shared similar squeamish expressions, Rosie raising a hand to cover her mouth as she hid her nausea.

Butch poked at the mush of food they’d been prepared. Maybe they’d would’ve been better off at the dive bar after all. “The hell is in this?”

“Even you could’ve made something better,” she laughed behind her hand—at least she wasn’t completely disgusted, or disappointed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed, washing away the taste with a swig of cola. “Whole point was getting’ out,” he frowned, struggling to meet her curious gaze. “Sucks those pre-war drive-ins aren’t around, ya’ know I swiped some holoreels from the vault just in case.”

“What didn’t you take?” she asked in a teasing manner. Though, he could tell she was delighted by that last tidbit of information. He always knew she was a movie buff, even if she tried to hide it with her love of the written word. Now, if only he could get his hands on a projector, the possibilities for movie-dates were endless.

Butch sighed, thinking about his stash of Vault-Tech goods. “The good food rations,” he lamented.

“Well…” Rosie paused to drink some of her own Nuka-Cola. “Next time, maybe we should avoid the noodles.”

Next time. At least there was the hopeful promise of a future date. Butch grinned, and relaxed in his chair, comfortable to sit in the amicable silence, just looking across the table at her bright expression. His pride swelled, knowing he was the cause—good—if he had it his way, she’d never stop smiling. When their drinks were empty, he placed a handful of caps on the tabletop to cover the cost of their barely eaten meal before jutting his thumb over his shoulder.

“Let’s blow this joint.”

Outside, Rosie lingered near the neon string of lights, hugging herself as a chill passed through the air. Butch didn’t hesitate to shrug off his Tunnel Snakes jacket, surprising her as he draped it across her shoulders. She initially resisted, raising her arms to push the fabric away, but he continued to wrap it around her slim body until she was practically drowning in black leather. No wonder she never wore the first one he gave her.

Rosie adjusted it around herself, clutching the front lapels in one hand before realizing he was staring at her with a sideways smirk. A blush creeped up her neck and her eyes darted away from his. “W—what?”

Butch reached out to grab her free hand, yanking her close. Still, he looked her over, eyes dancing across her face and body. “Ya’ look cute in that.”

He didn’t think her cheeks could get any brighter. She tilted her head a little so she could get a better look at him, the blue of her eyes sparkling under the lantern lights of the restaurant. She seemed equal parts nervous and excited. “Where to next?”

Fingers laced, Butch walked them back through the city ramps, up to the highest point in Megaton where you could see the landscape of the Capital Wasteland and a perfect view of the stars above. Rosie quickly steadied herself against the railing as she looked up at the nighttime sky, smile instantly widening.

“I found all these books on space, stars and the moon the last time we were in DC, at one of the Museums,” she started, raising one hand to point up at a grouping of sparkles in the sky. “I’ve been learning about constellations and ancient civilizations beliefs on something called astrology.”

He positioned himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she talked, more than she ever had in recent months about anything. At least in a positive, excited manner. Butch couldn’t help but listen, drawn in by the radiant and rare woman he was seeing, as if for the first time. He rested his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes as she continued to sweetly chatter about the great unknown.

“That line of stars makes up something called the great dipper and those lines make up the cancer constellation, which apparently, correlates to by birthday, and—” she suddenly cut off. Butch peeked open his eyes to find her cheeks were dusted pink. “Oh—I’m rambling.”

He nuzzled his nose against her ear, very much tempted to kiss the exposed patch of skin along her neck. Instead, he hugged her close, mumbling sweet nothings into hair. “Yer adorable, talkin’ about this stuff.”

“R—really?”

Like she needed to be surprised. That time, he pressed a kiss to her temple. Two-for-two. Moira wasn’t going to be happy. “Yeah, Rosie baby,” Butch reassured. “Don’t you know by now I like it when yer all nerdy? You and your big, sexy brain.”

Rosie leaned back into his embrace, head tilted back as she dissolved into a fit of giggles. It was music to his ears, and he couldn’t help but match her laughter, warm with her wrapped up in his arms.

“I don’t think,” she paused to compose herself, turning around to face him. “Nobody’s called me—my brain that before.”

“Yeah well,” Butch shrugged, tightening his grip around her so she couldn’t slip away. He was entranced by the brightness of the blue in her eyes, the shimmer of the stars in the reflection of her glasses. “It’s true.”

She didn’t say anything in return for a long moment, just staring back in a certain kind of wonderment. Finally, she shifted, shivering even as she smiled. “Walk me home?” she asked, quietly.

Butch nodded, adjusting his jacket around her shoulders before lacing their hands again. It was a short walk back to her Megaton home—even if he had a room in the residence, he struggled to call the place theirs. Rosie glanced over to him as their steps slowed outside the structure.

“Unconventional for a first date, considering we live together,” she nervously laughed.

He shrugged. “I can stay somewhere else, if we wanna play into it.”

Rosie shook her head, and a new silence settled over them as they stood there outside the front door just staring at each other expectantly, still holding hands. Butch’s mind blanked, and all the cool confidence he’d gathered throughout the evening fled his body as he forgot all the planning and perfect ways to end the evening.

She flashed him a nervous smile. “You—You aren’t going to give me a kiss goodnight?”

“What?” he blinked himself back into the moment and immediately stepped forward, simultaneously pulling her towards him. He raised his free hand to cup her cheek and grinned. “Course I’m gonna kiss ya’”

Rosie was already beaming. “Oh, good—”

He cut her off with a sweet kiss—nothing overly passionate despite the itching desire to completely ravage her right there against the door. Butch broke away with a sigh and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

She looked at him skeptically. “You aren’t really going to stay somewhere else tonight, right?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he answered, resisting the urge to laugh.

Rosie was quick to pull him back so he was close, lips hovering over hers. She reached back with her other hand for the front door. “Good—I’m not done kissing you yet.”

[acelikesturtles]

“For The Love of Cake”

Prompt: Bakery AU - Mikey x Gender-Neutral Y/N

Warnings: Profanity

Word Count: 3,885

A/N: Okay so despite what the screenshot looks like, the original prompt came to be from a conversation on discord, but @wacheypena was the one that officially came up with the prompt, @dw-im-just-sad just sent it to me because I consistently have the memory of a goldfish, so credit for the idea totally goes to wachey. @dw-im-just-sad also wrote her own version of this prompt so go check it out on her blog and give her some love!

“Fuck.”

A blast of warm air from the oven hit your face and pushed the stray hairs out of your eyes. Despite how delicious the freshly baked poppy seed muffins smelled, there was no way in hell that these met the signature Paisley's standard. You tucked a loose strand of hair back behind your ear with your free hand as you set the tray down on the steel counter behind the oven. Two other perfectly top-notch batches of muffins from 45 minutes ago sat only a couple inches away, freed from the confines of the muffin tray and sitting pretty on the tabletop cooling rack. You popped one of the new muffins out of the tray and set it on the counter as a half-pout began tugging at the corners of your mouth. All the muffins here were caved in on the top and looked dense and chewy instead of moist and soft like they were supposed to.

You racked your brain, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. You poked the muffin with a toothpick to check the center then sliced it open with a fork to check the inside. Little tendrils of steam escaped from the muffin’s tortured core; a squashed, condensed, pathetic looking center that seemed ashamed of its own existence sitting beside the high and mighty rises that all its cousins had managed to achieve. You figured that in a moment of absent-minded baking you must have put too much baking powder into the batter, thus creating the chewy texture and the catastrophic cave-in on the tops. With a firm frown and a short sigh through the nose in defeat, you picked up the muffin tray and headed towards the back door quietly.

Normally you wouldn’t be so secretive about bad muffins and tossing them in the bin outside, but the manager, Heather, had been cracking down on all the wasted ingredients that went into batches of bread and cupcakes and muffins and cookies that ultimately ended up ruined beyond relief by new-hires. Admittedly these muffins weren’t as bad of a mistake as per the other new-hires’ usual (like leaving whipping cream mixing until it turned into butter), but these sad excuses for poppy seed muffins were still a recognizable mistake that could easily be attributed to you rather than Rosetta, who always managed to forget at least one egg when she made cake batter.

You opened the door to the back alley behind Paisley’s and kicked the rubber doorstep underneath the gap to hold it in place. You balanced the tray in one hand and used the other to lift the lid off the unofficially named “Fuck-Up” can. With a few small taps against the rim of the bin, the muffins tumbled out of the tray and into the trash, only leaving behind the faintest lingering scent as you returned the lid. You wiped the sweat that had gathered on your brow with the back of your hand. Looking up, the sky had turned a shade of pinkened violet that felt reminiscent of the childhood summer sunsets you had enjoyed back home. You checked your watch. Five minutes until the end of your shift. You hauled yourself back inside and began cleaning up your work station with the torn and stained damp rag assigned to your work space.

Your mind felt full with thoughts, heavy even. Five months in New York and aside from securing a relatively nice apartment with only a mildly concerning roach problem and an “only kinda-severely-cramped” bathroom, you weren’t feeling as if you were making much progress like you had maybe anticipated when the opportunity to move had first arisen. You had moved, after all, in the hopes of starting your own café. It would be something small and quiet, a safe space in the heart of the city for people to come and bask in the welcoming atmosphere and enjoy the soft sounds of Lo-Fi playing above their warm cups of coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. You’d donate food to the homeless on Wednesday evenings after closing time, and on Sunday nights the café would host Bingo and Trivia competitions for charity like they did at some of the local bars. The thought of being able to make your dream come true here made you feel immensely grateful to be on the path your heart had been calling you to. Paisley’s was better than being stuck in your hometown selling discount jeans. Right now though, working these grueling hours made you feel even farther away from the finish line than you had thought it would when you started. Rather than a feeling of excited and determined immersion in a career area that would someday be a part of the larger puzzle you longed to complete, Paisley’s felt like a chore that truly nobody enjoyed aside from Heather’s domineering managerial attitude.

You tossed the dirty rag into the laundry bin on the other side of the kitchen and began making your way towards the time clock to punch out for the night. Your aching feet were relieved just knowing that rest was coming soon.

“You headed out for the night?” A coworker asked, bumping into your shoulder while you punched in your employee number.

“Yep,” You stifled a yawn. “Poppy seed muffins at my work station still need to be stored for the catering thing tomorrow, so have somebody do that when you close.”

“Sure thing, on my way to do that right now.” They responded.

You finished clocking out and lazily shuffled back through the kitchen towards the rear door again, now fully caught in a yawn. You opened the door and took two steps outside before waiting to hear the slam and the click of the lock behind you, finalizing the official end of your shift. Now that you were outside though, something felt off. You glanced down at the “Fuck-Up” bin. The lid was ajar instead of firmly placed like it had been when you had messed with it earlier. Perplexed, you picked up the lid and peered inside the can only to find it empty of the muffins you had tossed in there before. Bizarre, but not unheard of. Paisley’s didn’t donate any of their leftover food to homeless shelters and you had heard from your coworkers that the homeless often peruse through the large dumpster behind the bakery for scraps hoping that the trashed food wasn’t as bad as employees thought. You could hardly blame them for trying. One company’s terrible batch of cookies is another man’s saving grace. At least someone was making use of your mistake.

You yawned again, shuffling down the concrete steps towards your neon green motorbike. You knelt down to unlock the chain holding it to the company bike rack, absently humming some commercial jingle that had been stuck in your head for the last day or two. Once the lock was completely freed you stuffed it into your bag, kicked the kickstand back up, and fished your keys out of your pocket to turn the ignition. Just as the motor began to sputter to life, you heard shuffling feet and a faint and stifled cough echo in the alley around you. It was near impossible to not feel spooked or even just a little bothered at the thought that the person from earlier could still be lurking in the alley, even if you had no real proof that they were harmful. You had heard too many horror stories and seen too many documentaries to be foolish. Not taking any chances, you hopped onto your motorbike and immediately hit the gas, taking a sharp turn into the street and not daring to look behind you. You could have just been paranoid of course, squirrels and other animals liked to dig through their trash and make noise in the alley too, but when confronted with the silliness of the concept of hundreds of rats carrying the muffins away you found yourself instead hoping that the person that had fished through their trash had gotten what they needed (and that they wouldn’t still be there by morning).

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

The next morning as you came up the back steps to the kitchen you noticed a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the lid of the “Fuck-Up” bin that hadn’t been there the night before. At first you hesitated to read the note. There was an anxious pang in your gut that made you feel uneasy about it in a way that you couldn’t put you finger on. You reached your hand forward to open the door to the kitchen, but found your hand only hovering over the knob with no real intent of going in yet. You needed the closure that would likely come with reading the note, even if it was a little intimidating, the thought of someone interacting with you by way of your ruined poppy seed muffins. You plucked the sticky note from the rusty lid and held it up to your eyes, squinting to read the chicken scratch.

“Hey dude! These ones were not my favorites but still yummy! Get me some oatmeal cookies next time, the crispy ones! Those are fuckin’ delicious! -MC Mikey.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion. Was this person seriously asking for more rejects? The only crispy oatmeal cookies that Paisley’s made that ended up in that bin were overcooked or half burnt, unless…did they think that this was a donation bin? Confused, you pushed your way through entrance and into the kitchen, claimed an empty work station, and headed over to the time clock to punch in your employee number. You were suddenly feeling a little bit more concerned for this individual than you did afraid of them. Maybe this was just someone ridiculously naïve. Maybe this was a kid that didn’t know any better and liked the smell that the trash behind Paisley’s had. Your sympathy had kicked in alongside a compulsive desire to bake those requested oatmeal cookies, and once you’d returned to your station you began flipping through the company cookbook for the recipe so you could sneak a mini-batch in-between actual requests.

After about 20 minutes, you pulled the first batch of cookies out of the oven and pushed the next sheet in. The smell was heavenly, an intoxicating mix of warm vanilla and cinnamon that made you salivate at first whiff. You picked up a cookie to check for the soft texture that was so characteristic for the recipe and sighed in relief when they pulled apart just like desserts did in those viral Instagram videos, softly and delicately. Hopefully these cookies would become this stranger’s new favorite. Whoever this was could have the experience of a real oatmeal cookie without the element of burnt edges interfering with the flavor, and the thought of being able to provide that joy was enough to put a little more pep in your step than was there before.

Several hours, a lunch break, and a couple run-ins with your bitch-of-a-manager later, you found yourself in front of the time clock again with a small Ziploc baggie of oatmeal cookies secured in your bag. They wouldn’t be as fresh as they were when they first came out of the oven unfortunately, but they’d still taste better than burnt and crispy cookies--that you were at least certain of. Once you’d finished punching in your employee number you made your way towards the back door as quickly as you could with aching arches and a stiff lower back. You stepped out onto the concrete stairs and waited for the latch behind you to click before making your way down the steps with one hand firmly grasped on the chipped railing beside you while the other dug around in your half-zipped bag for your keys and the Ziploc filled with cookies.

Your sneakers hit the alley and you let out a loud yawn while rolling your neck from shoulder to shoulder. You turned towards the “Fuck-Up” bin and gently placed the baggie on top of the lid. Should you have left a note? Would this person even care if there was a note as long as the cargo inside was sealed away from the elements? You let a puff of air out through your nose and let the worry roll of your shoulders as you turned back towards where you had parked your bike, keys jangling in hand. Just as you were about to reach your bike, you heard the shuffling sound again. Without hesitation you turned on your heel and looked back towards the garbage bins. Nothing had changed, nobody was there, but the noise of muffled footsteps said otherwise. This time you didn’t feel like running as much as you did like investigating the source of the noise to ease your curiosity to rest. You kept one hand firmly gripped on your pepper spray, and slowly stepped forwards, stopping at about the halfway point between you and the trash.

“Anybody there?” You called out. Your voice sounded particularly sick and crackly from the long work day. There weren’t any response and the sounds in the alley went dead quiet to underscore the sound of your own breathing instead. “If you’re the one who came by yesterday digging through our trash-” You started, wincing at your own condescending tone. You sounded so harsh, especially considering the fact that this could easily be a child based on what the handwriting had seemed like. “Sorry, I…I left you some oatmeal cookies. They’re on the lid.” You spoke softer, gesturing towards the “Fuck-Up” bin vaguely. The silence persisted. Now you were beginning to feel uneasy. The hairs on the back of your neck were practically standing up and you were beginning to think that you had either gone crazy or that maybe you were dealing with some kind of back-alley ghost.

Do ghosts even eat? Can ghosts even eat?

Without warning, a large hand partially cloaked by shadows broke free from the dumpster and began swiping in the general direction of where you had left the Ziploc bag. It would almost be comparable to a scene from a horror movie if the hand and the arm didn’t seem so clueless and desperate to get to the baggie. You fought back a smile and took a couple steps closer. You still had a grip on your concealed pepper spray just in case, but the thought of the stranger assaulting you was fading from the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t until you got close enough to see that this person’s hand was noticeably malformed—only two large fingers and a thumb—that fear was pushed onto the main burner once again. Clearly frustrated with the whole ordeal, the head and shoulders the appendage was attached to slammed up against the top of the dumpster and pushed the lid up against the wall behind him. That’s when he made almost immediate eye contact with you. Crystal blue eyes clashed against orange fabric and scaly green skin in a way that shocked your system to your core. This wasn’t a child, and it wasn’t a human, and it wasn’t, as far as you could gather, anywhere in between. A large shell was fused to his skin in a way that further broke your perception of reality as you tried to rationalize what you were seeing without thinking about costumes or special effects makeup or even aliens. You stood in shock for a moment, unblinking, watching as he strained to reach the baggie in front of him. He poked his tongue out and grunted as he stretched over the side of the dumpster, just barely missing the Ziploc with each swing of his arm.

“Dude, you could at least help!” He groaned, collapsing his upper body over the side of the dumpster in defeat.

You blinked and suddenly you were forced back into reality…or at least, whatever reality this was.

You took several more steps forward and snatched the Ziploc up in your hands, gently handing it to the…creature that was currently in the company dumpster. You had so many questions you needed to ask, too many questions, and without even opening your mouth the turtle began answering at least some of them one-by-one while shoving oatmeal cookies down his throat.

“I see you’re kiiiinda freaked out, and that’s okay! I get it, Mikey’s just so overwhelming to the ladies,” He said with a smug grin. “Turtle, mutant, ninja, sex god, what isn’t there to love angelcakes?” Your carefully baked batch of oatmeal cookies were disappearing in seconds, miniscule in comparison to the size and capacity of his stomach. “Oh, also?” He spoke through a mouthful of crumbs, spewing half-chewed chunks of oats and sugar all over the concrete beneath them. “These could use more cinnamon.”

“I-“ You hesitated for a moment. Your mind was filled to the brim with unfinished thoughts and rabbit trail theories about how Mikey himself was even possible (that is, if you weren’t dreaming) but they all came to a screeching halt when his comment about the cinnamon broke through your occupied mind. “Wait, really? I thought there was plenty, let me try that.” You huffed, snatching a cookie from one of his oversized, mutant hands. Within the first bite you were able to tell that he was right. The cinnamon flavor was more subtle than you had intended; a mere hint of warmth rather than the overwhelming comfort that you had been aiming for. “Oh. Yeah, I-I guess you’re right…Mikey.”

“Yeah, and those cupcakes the other day were-“

“Too much baking powder, I know,” You laughed and shook your head. “Those must’ve tasted gnarly, sorry,” You stopped mid-breath. “Wait. Cupcakes? Those were muffins.”

“Oooohh! So that’s why they didn’t come with frosting,” Mikey laughed. “Well that’s disappointing, I thought I was getting cupcakes. No wonder.” As the turtle crawled out from the dumpster with his empty Ziploc in hand, you became dwarfed beside him. He was tall, but not as menacing as you may have originally assumed. A half smile gradually worked its way onto your face as you looked up at him, trying to avoid grimacing at the smell of liquid garbage dripping all over his body.

“Next time I...I could make you cupcakes if you’d like.” You responded.

Mikey’s eyes looked alive with excitement as he nodded in complete agreement, musing aloud all his favorite flavors and fillings and frostings to you with a childlike delight. First there was snickerdoodle with extra cinnamon, then there was lemon meringue with more meringue than there was lemon. Red velvet with a whipped cream filling, double chocolate fudge with a gooey peanut butter center, tangy orange creamsicle with a tangerine wedge on top. You weren’t taking notes, but you figured that your personal investment in listening to a mutant turtle talk about his own takes on classic (and invented) flavors was enough to hold onto what he said in your memory, even if in the morning it may all seem like a hazy, drug-induced fever dream. You actually found yourself so intrigued with some of his flavor combinations and substitutions that you barely noticed that the grip you had been holding on the pepper spray had been entirely released, instead allowing that hand the freedom to gesture in a more relaxed manner as you articulated.

It wasn’t until the sound of a distant police siren echoing several streets away that the conversation stopped rather abruptly. The sound had grabbed the turtle’s attention in a way that stopped him in the middle of a sentence and replaced his excited expression with one of worry and concern. His eyes fell back towards you. You were searching his expression for a reason behind his troubled gaze just as much as you were looking for a clear answer behind what it was that made him who he was.

“Do you have a Sharpie?” He asked urgently. He looked behind him and over both of your shoulders nervously, as if he was waiting for someone to pounce, and that alone was enough to make you feel on edge again.

“Why?” Bewildered, you began digging in your bag again, searching for a permanent marker. You couldn’t find one but after clarifying that something similar might work, you managed to fish a red ink pen from the depths of your disorganized mess of a bag. Mikey snatched the pen from your hands, pulled the cap off with his teeth and spit it out onto the concrete, then stretched your forearm out in front of him. He scribbled a bunch of numbers rather messily onto your skin. He had accidentally smudged the undried ink a time or two and had to correct it, but when he was finished the string of numbers came out looking exactly like a standard, New-York area phone number. If this was a dream it sure was a detailed dream, you had to at least give it credit for that.

“My digits,” Mikey beamed while making the oh-so-stereotypical ‘call me’ gesture with his hand. “Call me, angelcakes. Unless you don’t want to, then like, don’t call me.” He shrugged. His confident aura practically dripped off of him as he began backing away into the shadows, shell nearly flush against the wall behind him. His hands rested on his holstered nunchakus as the police sirens faded away into the distance.

“Wait,” You faltered. Seeing him leave just as quickly as he had arrived made the flood of jumbled and confused thoughts come rushing back to you all at once. He couldn’t leave now, not when you were just beginning to get a grip on having him be a part of the same reality you were in. “Where are you going? What’s going on? What about the cupcakes?”

“Orange dreamsicle,” Mikey called back with a song in his voice. “Extra orange!” He said with a wink, while gesturing toward the cloth that covered his eyes.

Mikey had vanished into thin air, and just like that, you found yourself immersed in relative silence again. You pinched your forearm but didn’t wake up. You pulled on a singular lock of hair really hard, but didn’t wake up. Whatever you had just witnessed was still your reality, as evidenced by the smudgy red ink on your skin. You blinked once, then twice, then wiped the sweat off of your keys and your pepper spray and began shuffling towards your motorbike again. You turned your keys in the ignition, but when the engine started you didn’t feel the relief that you normally did when you were getting ready to head home from a grueling shift at work. If anything, your energy levels had peaked alongside your need to satiate your newfound curiosity aching in your bones. You pushed the kickstand up, removed the lock, pulled your phone out of your back pocket, and took your seat. You glanced down at your forearm again. The messy red ink was becoming clearer the more you stared at it. Perhaps it was just natural human tendencies at work, or maybe even fate, but the words just seemed to naturally tumble onto your keyboard once you’d copied the smudgy numbers into your contact list.

“Hey, Mikey right? I forgot to tell you my name. It’s Y/N.”

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

MASTERLIST Warnings:My English and pics aren’t mine. This one is a stepping stone.  Word Count~ 3k Prologue |  Mercury | Delicate | Blue | Running | Aftermath | Stardust |December | Nightfall  Chapter 10. Revelations. 

      Being on her own, a bit of a loner anyway, felt like a breather – even for just mere days. She never thought that she needed it as much as before. She hadn’t been chasing one relationship after another – perfectly content on her own. She smiled at the memory that popped into her mind; her best friend, heartbroken after a breakup that had costed her an entire year. The thing was no one had to be in a relationship and she meant it when she had told her that. It was an idea, forced down people’s throat until they choked on it. Women weren’t pretty unless they’re wanted. Guys weren’t men unless they had sex. People weren’t lovable until they were dating each other.          As wonderful as romance was — it wasn’t the only love that existed. It was not the answer to everything. She was constantly bombarded by the words “nobody loves me”, words escaping from the mouths of people who happened to be single. Love didn’t diminish just because someone didn’t want to have sex with another. In fact, it made that love more real. It made it into something that surged beyond physical attraction and surfaced level companionship. It made it unique.       She knew it all too well, it was pretty to be in love. However, it was also wonderful to stop for ice cream in that beautiful dress after a wild night with three other girls. It was also wonderful to drive in the middle of the night with a bunch of people who were family. Being on her own, never phased her and this time was no different. What was different, however, was his maturity – in the age of eighteen he was more mature than almost all of her previous partners. And just like that she realized that maybe, instead of looking for other halves, people should really be piecing themselves together.  And maybe, she wasn’t born unfinished.       She had said her goodbyes and walked them down to the castle entrance. James and Peter hugged her; Lily kissed her cheek while Remus smiled in a way that told her it was a bit too soon. Sirius even though he did want to hug her, he winked at her as he was the first to walk away with Marlene. She had to stop worrying about him. She turned around and walked toward the kitchens, hungry and ready for the therapeutic few days in front of her.         She was mumbling a song that had stuck in her mind without paying attention where she went, resulting in a collision. She apologized but he waved it off kindly until he saw her face – even without her robes, everyone knew the girl who fell from the sky. He grew distant and cold; she didn’t have to look at his robes to know that the boy was a Slytherin but what she hadn’t been expected was that particular one.       “You’re the Gryffindor everyone talks about” he pointed out. She shrugged, already gathering the ingredients and preparing a big Caesar’s salad and politely asking the elves not to help her, causing the boy to smile.        “…and you are?” she chimed, not really interested in his opinion. He was intrigued and grew reluctant of storming out.         “Regulus Black” a simple answer made he mind freeze and think that made she had been sent to hell. Her personal hell… She shook it off fast and cooked the sliced chicken in to a hot pan – thank Zeus this place had everything.         “I gain from the silence that you know my brother and you now feel awkward” he described her attitude in a nutshell. Trying not to burn her food, and remaining calm, she put the garlic, bit of olive oil and two anchovies in the food processor that had magically appeared in the counter and beat them until the garlic had completely broken down. She hummed as she transferred the sauce into to a large bowl and added the parmesan, lemon zest, lemon juice, mayonnaise and lots of pepper.           He enjoyed how simple she was being, how down to earth and self-sufficient, so much so he got comfortable near her – and she noticed.          “True, but still not my problem. Care for a bite?” she offered him as she was already setting two plates on the table, two glasses filled with her favorite sparkling wine and the big bowl of salad in the middle. He was startled. She was fast when she was hungry. Also, not having to wash the dishes was an added bonus of relief. He knew he had to say no, but no one else from his house was there anymore – everyone had already left and he was supposed to take the train tomorrow – and he was a bit hungry himself.        She sat down next to him, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a grey shirt. He pulled of his robes, remaining in his sweater as he took the salad tongs and served her plate first and then his. She was impressed but then she remembered the way all those manners were imposed on him and took that back. She raised her glass without making a toast, waving it just a tad, and taking a generous sip.          “How come you haven’t slept with my arrogant brother?” he asked nonchalant making her laugh loudly. He was entertained as he ate the tasteful lunch.         “I made lunch, I should be the one asking the questions, don’t you think? But, it’s not from the lack of effort, if you must know” she answered, leaving him startled yet again. She was indeed, something else. He took notice of how unafraid she was and envied that.      “Alright, it’s only fair, I suppose” he agreed. He found himself very happy – as if all of the sudden he had a sibling again and that left him shallow. She had plenty of question to ask but didn’t want to make him hurt again – he saw that and felt grateful.      “What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” she asked innocently enough. If she could just change one small detain in the story… just one. Their conversation was refreshing and nice… McGonagall had almost interrupted them but her quick thinking saved it. She knew that her professor would like to discuss this with her and she also knew that she wanted to discuss something herself. She was determined – she would tell her the truth.       The evening chill begun to creep inside the kitchens as they sipped their freshly brewed hot cups of tea. He had opened up in ways he never thought possible for him and she had been the most accepting person he had met. She hadn’t been sure before, but she was most certain now – she had to save the pour child. He was fifteen years old and had been surviving in a sick environment. She knew how that would play out. He was smart and she could tell but what if she could prevent all the bad things from happening? She already had the knowledge that those bad things had brought on – what if she used that in the first place?         She waved him goodbye and walked towards her room – she would have to face her demons and talk to Minerva at some point, but tonight, she wanted to lay in bed and read one of her favorite books – the little prince. Maybe she would find all the answers she was looking for in the few pages of the most enticing story she had ever read.

      Waking up slowly, indolently stretching, not worrying about the day before it begun, felt refreshing and new to her. She could see the freezing blizzard outside the tower but she was perfectly content with her soft, warm and cozy bed. She would take it easy, one step at a time – and today was all about blowing off steam.           She got up and went to her bathroom with a very interesting idea in her head. Making sure to seal everything properly, so no steam would escape, she lighted all the candles around the room, creating an enticing atmosphere. The aromas started spreading, capturing her senses. She ran a hot shower and drenched herself in the water, which helped relax the tension in her muscles. She could physically feel the steam softening her skin.          Thankfully she had everything she needed, right next to her. Applying a thin layer of black soap all over her body, she closed her eyes and remembered the hot summers she spent in the sea She let the product worked its magic for about twenty minutes – the most relaxed minutes of her recent days. Beautiful beaches, blue waters, white sand, hot sun, cold cocktails, chilled music blasting from the megaphones of the bar and sunbathing – she loved her life and she didn’t even know it back then. Every dive in the wonderful sea let her explore the underwater world and block every noise; it was just her and the water and she had never felt more alive.         She had to rinse the black soap away with lukewarm water and prepared the scabbing glove by soaking it in warm water for about 30 seconds and letting it dry. Her mind traveled back to a particular memory; she was on vacation with her boyfriend and the island’s beaches were packed so they had decided to rent a small boat and go a bit further away into the sea. It had to be the best decision of her life – beautiful blue sky, mesmerizing teal waters, no one else around. She had been in the water more than three hours and her skin was all soaked up but she had fun and enjoyed herself more than ever.        She rubbed the glove in circular motions all over her body to remove dead skin cells and grime. She made sure not to rub too hard, though because those gloves were abrasive and over-scrubbing could hurt her skin. She took care of everything with an almost ritual attention, as she continued her blissful experience with Moroccan red clay powder, mixing it with a splash of water and applying it to her whole body, including her hair. She was being a mermaid in her day off and she was perfectly okay with that.          This time, she simply didn’t think about anything and so, twenty minutes passed without even realizing it. Rinsing it off was the last step before slathering her skin in argan oil while still moist to allow full penetration of oil goodness. She didn’t have argan oil but two creams with it and so she adjusted to that, massaging her body with them as she wrapped her hair in a soft towel and allowing herself to enjoy a few more moments before going back to reality.

          It was after the Christmas lunch that Minerva kindly asked her to follow her to her office, a small study located off of the first-floor corridor, to the right of a staircase ascending to the Serpentine Corridor on the third-floor. It has a large fireplace, windows overlooking the Training Grounds and the Quidditch pitch and a sparse stone-floored bedroom behind a concealed door.      Minerva was very protective of her students, especially the troubled ones, such as the Black brothers and she understood completely. She knew her backstory and what decisions led her here – and respected her the most.       Having already decided to tell the whole truth, her mind didn’t twist in order to find the perfect lies, didn’t pain with thoughts. Whether she would believe her or not, that was a different question, one she had yet to see answered. She offered her one of the two armchairs by the fireplace and a cup of tea, which she gladly accepted and sat down.        “I don’t know how much you are aware of but things between Sirius and Regulus are um, a bit different” she began and took a sip of her tea. This was it.       “I know, not because Sirius told me; not because Regulus opened up that much. I know their relationship the way I know Dougal McGregor, the way I know Ariana and Aberfoth” she confessed and placed the cup next to her, on the small table. Minerva was shocked, to say the least. Her face was pale and her eyes wide open.       “How is that possible?” she asked bewildered the girl in front of her, who was seemingly holding all the answers. She took a deep breath and spilled it all out.       “Whatever I’m about to say, it will remain within these walls, please” she begged her and sure enough, Minerva understood that something bigger than both of them was taking place, as she nodded.        “My birth year is 1997. As in… twenty years from now, but that you already knew. What no one know is, that I wasn’t born in this dimension. In my world, I am an archaeologist, and was supposed to begin my master’s degree. In my world, there is no magic and this, you, Hogwarts and everything and everyone in it, it’s a book – seven, actually – about a boy, Harry, who learns he is a wizard and through his eyes, we, the readers, get to discover this world. The journey begins in 1991 and results in one more war against Voldemort and too many tragedies. So, yes, I know who dies, who lives, who betrays, who loves and who hates. I know your past and future just as I know everyone else’s – and I had never felt the weight of such a big secret, hanging around my neck, trying to push me down. I didn’t plan on traveling through dimension and timelines – I don’t even know why or how that happened. At first, I thought I was in a comma and dreaming but my imagination was never that wild. And the worst thing, is not never seeing my family and friends again – it’s knowing how this story ends and not being able to change one bit. Knowing that the people I now call friends are going to suffer, that one of them is going to die and leave behind a child, the other is going to be accused of murder and spend twelve years in Azkaban, the third is going to end up alone and the fourth is going to betray his brothers not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t have a choice. So, yes, I know that the relationship between the two brothers is rocky” she let out, feeling for the first time how severe her position was, how much it weighted and how tragic her presence there was. It was the first time she said it out loud. Before Minerva spoke, she continued because she had opened the gates of hell and every demon was about to get out.         “But then I think about my very existence in this world. I wasn’t supposed to be here, which means that the story is already changed and different from the one I knew. However, if that was the case, I would have been able to intervene in some way – or maybe I was here and I simply wasn’t mentioned in the story because it wasn’t a story about this time and the Marauders but about Harry. Why am I here? Just to become a witness of all those terrible things I cannot prevent from happening?  Should I try to change the story? Should I tell them?” she went on without really asking Minerva – who was still trying to adjust to the new information. She believed her – she believed her despair. She wouldn’t be so hopeless if she was lying. Not only was from the future and had to adapt in her new environment, she had also – possibly – no chance of living her own life the way she was supposed to, but the single most tragic thing about her was the inevitability she was facing. Knowing the outcome and not being able to change the course of the path. Silently, waiting for the doom to come. All those months, she had said nothing.          “I don’t know why you are here, but I will help you to try and change the story. I believe you. I just… I want to know. I understand that this is too much for you. However, I think that if I know, there is a possibility, I can be helpful. How is Harry?” Minerva told her truthfully. She didn’t believe her ears – she had thought that the professor would have believed she was crazy. Without a second thought, she told her everything. For the next five hours, they would talk with only truths, occasionally pausing for a sip of tea and a bite of the sandwiches Minerva had summoned out of nowhere. In her face, the girl found an ally.

____ Tagist: @nadinissavage​ @mycobrakai1972​