#ty very much to those of you patiently waiting for this fic to finish

[redisaid]

In Good Company - Chapter 24

Parting Glass/Sing for Myself

This one will be followed by a short epilogue when I get around to it. Almost done! What a long strange journey this elf fic has been.

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Read it on Ao3!

The sun felt good on her skin. It was like a warm, lingering kiss--not unlike the kind that Sylvanas seemed to have become fond of leaving on her shoulder in the few private moments they’d since shared. Jaina felt the Ranger General had a goal of kissing each freckle that had donned her there, but it would take more than a few stolen minutes in the infirmary for her to accomplish such a thing.

But the sun. The sun. She hadn’t thought about how she’d missed it. How good it was to have her boots pad across the soil and greenery of the forest floor, making as little noise as possible, even though it was hardly necessary just outside of the city. In fact, the protected woods of Eversong were more gold than green, but it didn’t matter. Jaina felt good. So good. Despite it all, despite everything, she felt right here, putting one foot in front of the other, marching in a line with the other rangers.

Ahead of her, Cindel’s blue cloak fluttered in a light and welcomed breeze. It was fully and deeply summer now in Quel’thalas, and the sun certainly brought a heat with it. Behind her, Illeryn entertained Artemesia, humming an acknowledgement to her chatter as they strode out of the shade and into the clearing.

Having spent three months now doing mostly this--just walking, it was hard to imagine that today would be the last day she’d walk with these women like this. Tomorrow, they would go their separate ways, to their assignments and duties, and only unite again if battle called for their return as a diversified unit.

Jaina had found herself contemplating the purpose of that all morning. Why did the elves separate their military in such a way? Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to train with troops like themselves? Snipers with snipers, spies with spies, mages with mages, priests with priests?

But, it worked like this. It really did. Jaina had seen it firsthand, in and out of battle, that the variety of skills and specialties that her squadmates possessed always had some use. She wondered when would be the next time she would see someone disappear into the shadows like Valeera could, or pick up the faintest of tracks and trails like Illeryn. And for a moment she wondered what she really had to offer herself in return, but banished the thought soon enough. She knew she had plenty. Her sister rangers had made her feel it was enough, and finally, she was ready to believe them.

As she drifted back down from that thought, Jaina noticed a heavy step fall in beside her. She glanced over to find Liadrin falling back to her side from further up the line, looking at her with an apology in her shining blue eyes.

Shining not unlike Jaina’s did now, and continued to do. Part of the reason, she was sure, that Liadrin was already sorry to bother her checking in yet again.

“I’m sure you can guess what I’m about to ask, but how are you feeling?” Liadrin ventured anyway, knowing that she’d asked the same question far too many times over the last few days.

“I’m good. Really good, actually,” Jaina told her.

She still hadn’t mentioned the song that now hummed pleasantly in the back of her mind, instead of being a distant discord of confusing noise she had to make an effort to ignore. Jaina wasn’t sure it really mattered. She wasn’t sure how much more it would drive Liadrin to ask her question after endless question. But most of all, it felt so deeply personal and private. Something maybe every elf had as their own relationship to the Sunwell, so intrinsic that it was never discussed among her peers.

Perhaps one day, she’d tell Sylvanas about it. But not Liadrin. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“I’m just doing my duty, and reminding you that I’d like to see you regularly for check ups in Silvermoon, once your schedule allows. And also to remind you that if I don’t tell the magistrate that I’m taking care of it and to leave you alone, that they will likely become even more annoying than me,” Liadrin went on.

Her lips twitched up into a little mischievous smile that read of someone who spent a little too much time with a far more mischievous person, but Jaina knew by now that Liadrin’s stoic exterior was as much a front as Sylvanas’ perfect one was. She had plenty of her own mischief within, and no need to borrow from Valeera.

“I’m planning to take you up on that offer, don’t worry,” Jaina assured her. “And I will once I see how today goes.”

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Liadrin told her. “We have your back. And you are news again for an entirely different reason outside of being the first human ranger in Quel’thalas.”

“Maybe one day I won’t be news at all,” Jaina sighed. “But I suppose today isn’t that day.”

“I don’t think that day will ever come for you, Jaina Proudmoore,” Liadrin said with a deep laugh. “But I mean it in a positive way. You are influential in all that you do, whether you like to be or not. Perhaps one day you will take comfort in it and find that you do indeed thrive when all eyes are on you.”

“Perhaps I’ll find the time to split all the attention with maybe a little sliver of peace and quiet.”

Because as much as it felt great to walk in the sun, to revel in her new and personal understandings on her way to a ceremony where she would be very visible and very different despite it all, Jaina had a great longing for an evening with a cup of tea and a good book and not much else. Maybe Sylvanas quietly doing paperwork nearby, offering her a silent smile on occasion. Yes, that would be lovely, actually.

“Speaking of news,” Liadrin noted, thankfully steering the conversation away from health-related nagging, “I managed to catch up with Lor’themar just now.”

That was an easy feat, as his troops had waited out finishing their Thalasdiel until Sylvanas’ could march with them, as Jaina came to understand was promised between them. Lor’themar had taken the extra few days in the city to help manage the investigation into Kael’thas and Dar’khan’s plans--along with Sylvanas’ siblings and just about any other elf that had been friendly toward Jaina during her time in their lands.

“Anything new?” Jaina asked, knowing it was likely there wasn’t much.

Liadrin shrugged, ears pinning back a bit in her own annoyance. “Not really. You heard yourself that Anasterian formally stripped Kael’thas of his titles just before we left and declared he would be seeking a new heir to the throne. There’s rumors that he’ll offer it to Sylvanas.”

Jaina snorted out a laugh so quickly at that that there was never even an opportunity to contain it. “She would never accept.”

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Liadrin agreed with a grin. “There’s no chance she’d give the rangers up to someone else, and no chance she’d ever want a royal title to begin with. I should hope Anasterian realizes that he would be barking up a very incorrect tree there, but I think the old man knows enough to avoid the embarrassment of her turning him down.”

Jaina laughed again at this, finding it took a bit of the edge off of her nerves. Between the summer sun dappling through the leaves and joking about her superiors, she could nearly forget about what lay ahead for her at the end of this last trail.

“Kael’thas is still not talking, of course. Dar’khan has only spoken to berate his guards and call them ‘feeble-minded and near-sighted’, or so they report. Funny how he still seems to think this was a good plan, even though he’s the one rotting in a cell. He looks even stupider without that awful hat, if you can believe it,” Liadrin went on.

“What about their magisters? Did they have anything new to say?” Jaina asked.

More of Kael’thas’ followers had come forth with information in the days after Jaina awoke, especially once they learned that one of their own had been allowed to go home on house arrest for his cooperation. Together they had painted a picture of a plan that had involved Jaina from the moment she was introduced to Sylvanas in Dalaran, with neither of them being the wiser. As deeply guilty and annoyed as Jaina felt for allowing herself to be played, Sylvanas quite obviously felt it tenfold, so much so that her rage at the whole situation often slipped past her mask in polite company, and her apologies for it were a constant and steady stream in the private moments that she and Jaina had gotten to share since.

But in the end, all they knew was that Kael’thas had specifically sought Jaina out to bring to the Sunwell for some sort of fel ritual, and that he had assured his confidantes that it was of the utmost importance. Only a late ferry and the former prince’s own overconfidence had saved those magisters from the decision of whether or not to turn traitor against their own Ranger General in order to allow the ritual to come to fruition.

For her part, Jaina didn’t feel as though any part of it had. Everything had happened so suddenly, and her memory of much of that day was still foggy. She certainly didn’t feel any of the demonic energies that she had studied in her investigations into the orcish Horde. The only difference she knew for it were her glowing eyes and the pleasant song that tugged gently at her heartstrings if she listened long enough. Oh, and yes, a greater percentage of white in her hair. After actually getting time to examine herself properly, alone, Jaina found that the steaks of gold in her hair had been reduced to one singular large streak just above her forehead, with the rest gone a uniform snowy white from the arcane exposure. So there was that.

It was no surprise then when Liadrin shook her head for a “no” on that matter. Kael’thas had left his own men in the dark in an attempt to trick them as much as he had everyone else.

“I suspect it may be months, even years, before we know the whole of it,” Liadrin said. “But maybe not. Kael’thas was always vain, and I wouldn’t put it past him to write down some brilliant master plan of his somewhere to enshrine, if only so he could point out later just how brilliant it all was. Vereesa is leading a team now to search through his property on the royal estates for more information, but it’ll take time to sift through all of his notes.”

“I suppose it really doesn’t matter in the end,” Jaina noted. “What happened has already happened, and we know it wasn’t what he wanted. We won and he lost.”

“Your esteemed Ranger General and new girlfriend would argue that it’s not good strategy to ignore the motives of one’s attackers,” Liadrin said with another wide grin. She and the others had taken to teasing Jaina and Sylvanas relentlessly in their last opportunities to do so, but always with great fondness and support of their now known relationship.

“I would argue that she can worry about it all she likes, but I’d rather move on from it sooner rather than later,” Jaina told her. “Gods know I’ve learned that lesson at least from my past.”

“I don’t blame you. It seems as though you’ll be too busy to worry about it much soon enough,” Liadrin said, this time reaching out to offer Jaina an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

If she were to go back and tell herself three months ago that she’d actually come to enjoy the touchy-feely nature of the elves, then past Jaina likely wouldn’t have believed future Jaina. It had been a thing that greatly unnerved her in the beginning, but now she enjoyed it, and smiled back at Liadrin for her efforts rather than wanting it to be over as soon as possible. The tactile nature of her comrades now made her feel welcome and included, rather than standout. And she was trying her best to become comfortable with reciprocating in kind.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Jaina noted, giving Liadrin her best warm smile.

And it wasn’t so hard to do that. It came naturally to her lips and didn’t feel forced. Jaina realized all at once, out there in the manicured woods of Eversong, that it was easy for her to smile now. Easier than it had been in a very long time. Here in this place where she wasn’t supposed to belong, she had more friends who cared deeply about her than she’d ever had before. She had found love. She had found a purpose. And even when someone tried to take it all from her again, those friends had come through and didn’t let them.

She reveled in that feeling even as Liadrin broke off from her with a nod. She went to join the three captains, who seemed to have been waiting for them to catch up on the side of the path. And while they didn’t invite Jaina to join along with her, all three gave her a similar nod of respect and acknowledgement that was more than enough to have her heart soaring again.

To think she had once feared these older, battle-hardened elves, with their eyes full of steely scrutiny. Thalasdiel had chipped away at their hardened exteriors too. Illeryn had been fast to reveal herself as nosy and motherly while never admitting to either. Ayndais was quick with her blade and her bow, but snored fiercely in her sleep and had a loyalty to the Rangers as a whole that ran deeper than could be comprehended. And Tessandra’s wise gaze held a kindness behind it that also knew no bounds. Jaina had been privileged to get to know them as people rather than names and titles, and it made the purpose of this journey all the more apparent to her.

As she passed them, she found a few of Lor’themar’s rangers had intermingled with the line and were now pulling off to the side to reform themselves behind Sylvanas’ troops. Jaina looked ahead and found that she could start to see signs of buildings and activity in distant clearings ahead. They were getting close now.

A nervousness began to prick at Jaina’s skin even as she returned nods and smiles from Lor’themar’s rangers, but obviously not the fond cants of their long ears. Again, the change of her eyes she could very much deal with, but she found herself thankful that the Sunwell had left her human enough to the point where she hadn’t sprouted those ridiculous ears. Well, even if she did find them very endearing on her elven comrades.

But it was another set of ears that were instead pricked upward with excitement that caught her eye over the line, along with the dark hair they sprung from. Cindel was waiting at the side of the trail for her, and fell into step with Jaina, beaming.

“Excited to see your family again?” Jaina asked after her grin.

“Of course,” Cindel answered, and then added with a wink, “But I’m also excited for a little something else.”

And while Jaina knew what she was referring to, that was also exactly what had her on edge. Liadrin had said she needed to get used to having eyes on her, but the relief of those eyes being limited these last few months had been wonderful. And now it was about to be very much broken and very much the opposite all over again.

Oh the things she and her ambitions got herself into…

“You don’t seem so excited?” Cindel wondered, her brows furrowing as she took the time to analyze Jaina’s reaction.

“I am excited,” Jaina told her. “It’s just that I hope this is enough. I hope the Ranger Lords can see what I have to offer and that I’m worth their consideration.”

“Well, it’s Sylvanas’ say and not theirs, at the end of the day,” Cindel reminded her. “And she’s already decided.”

“I also don’t want it to seem like that’s because I’m a charity case or something,” Jaina went on.

“You are not and never have been a charity case, Jaina. As sweet as we both know she secretly is, Sylvanas doesn’t do charity cases. She would never have allowed you into the Rangers unless she saw some potential in you,” Cindel said with a nod and a confidence that didn’t seem at home in the woman that Jaina had first met at the very lodge that loomed ahead of them, with the magistrix glaring at her across the dimly-lit alcove, afraid she was staring down her replacement.

But now they had become fast friends in the portion of their walk after Cindel had warmed up to her. And while Cindel had started their trip feeling inferior, Jaina had soon found her to be a wealth of knowledge, now offered freely to her, about many things she sorely lacked expertise in herself. Whether it be fire magic, elven culture and history, or even the useful properties of the herbs and flowers of Quel’thalas and their relevance to magic. She’d truly found a kindred spirit in the realms of study and odd knowledge, and had very much enjoyed her talks with Cindel on the trail. So much so that they had already planned for Jaina to visit her and her family in Fairbreeze Village as soon as her new schedule would allow.

“And trust me Jaina,” Cindel continued. “From what you’ve shared with me, and how you plan to help people like me specifically, this is a thing sorely needed. Most elves don’t like change. We’re stuck in the languid pace of our lives and our funny little traditions, but sometimes a change is exactly what we need to be reminded of our place in the world again. Even more fitting that it should come from outside. Quel’thalas is just another kingdom of many in the world, and in the Alliance. We could stand to listen to others more, especially if they are as brilliant as you.”

Jaina chuckled at that last bit, and Cindel followed suit shortly thereafter. While her fellow mage didn’t quite possess the depths of power that she did, Cindel certainly had the intellect for the profession, and they’d taken plenty of turns calling each other some variation of smart before devolving into laughter over the last few months. It certainly wasn’t the outcome that Jaina had predicted for them as they met for the first time at Farstrider Retreat, but she was very glad that this was where they had ended up upon their return.

“You’re going to be fine,” Cindel assured her after waving off her laugh. “More than fine. Amazing. I know it. And you know it too.”

Jaina nodded to this. While she still didn’t quite have her answer as to what that potential in her was, she felt that this was right. She didn’t have the words for it, and likely never would. Some things didn’t quite need words to make sense.

She’d tried to find them in her journal, scribbling in her infirmary bed. Jaina had crossed out as many lines as she’d left uncrossed, until Sylvanas dropped by and asked what she was writing about. She’d just shaken her head and closed the book. Opening her arms to Sylvanas for an embrace was far more appealing than trying to find words that would never come. Feeling and being, in fact, might just be better than scribbling at a deeper meaning. Jaina hadn’t felt the urge to write in her journal since, at least not when Sylvanas was an option for distraction instead, and her quiet appreciation and soft smirks were just as good a sounding board for Jaina’s thoughts as pen and paper.

The line began to spread out more as they hit the clearing in which Farstrider Retreat stood. The golden oaks parted only just a bit in their canopy far above to provide a few shafts of bright sunlight to illuminate the lodge, and what appeared to be several hundred elves gathered there to welcome home the two squadrons from their walk. Jaina watched as Sylvanas broke off from the point of their line, and made her way to greet the Ranger Lords. She knew she wouldn’t see all that much of her today, due to all the pomp and circumstance of her having to officially take back her duties as Ranger General. Jaina knew she wouldn’t honestly see as much of her as she liked for quite a while after this because of the very same thing, but that was fine.

She could be content with what little moments they would get to share. Jaina was never one to feel cheated by business. She too thrived on a schedule that didn’t leave her too much time to think. Even so, imagining those evenings where she might wait for Sylvanas in the Ranger General’s suite, only to see her walk through the door and drop that mask of hers into her goofy little smile, all just for her, was worth waiting as long as she needed to for it.

But it was a different Windrunner who caught her eye next. Gold flashed near the white walls of the Retreat’s main spire, as Lirath waved to her over his other sister’s silvery head. Indeed it did appear that both Windrunner siblings were content to ignore their older sister and leave her to her important business, but were very much trying to get Jaina’s attention.

“It seems I have go pay Vereesa and Lirath a visit before things get started,” Jaina noted to Cindel.

Cindel chuckled at this as she noticed them waving. “It seems so. It will be a while before they get things set up anyway. Take your time. Liardin will probably round everyone up long before the ceremonies start and make us stand around anyway.”

“She’s so good at it though,” Jaina laughed.

She bid Cindel farewell for now and broke from the line as many others were doing. They went off to friends and family who had gathered to see them home. And while Jaina wouldn’t be finding any Proudmoores among the crowd, or any other humans for that matter, the Windrunner siblings were still waving with enough gusto for her to easily forget that fact and trot over to them.

And if those thoughts weren’t otherwise banished, they would have been choked out of her by the crushing sandwich hug that Vereesa and Lirath seemed to have weaponized for that exact purpose. At least it had that effect on Sylvanas when she wasn’t too busy, but Jaina counted herself lucky to be on the receiving end today.

“Jaina! How was your walk? You’re okay being back on your feet again?” Vereesa asked as she pulled back and looked her over.

Her silvery hair was a standout among the mostly blonde sea of clustered elves. While there were some other similar standouts, and rare dots of red or brown or black, Jaina always found herself struck with the general sameness of the elves. No wonder they were afraid of new and different things as a whole.

“I’m good, really,” Jaina answered for what felt like the thousandth time in the last week.

She’d been back on her feet since that evening she woke up in the infirmary. Liadrin and her team of fellow priests had healed her completely as she slept, and while she wasn’t exactly at the full peak strength she had previously been enjoying for a few days thereafter, she had been more than ready for half a day's walk and very much ready to complete her Thalasdiel ever since.

Still, Vereesa peered up at her dubiously from beneath the green of her Farstrider hood as she pulled back, examining her for herself, and squinted her own glowing eyes at Jaina’s when she seemed to find nothing else amiss.

Lirath, for his part, mimed annoyance with his sister. But, at the same time, Jaina could feel his arcane energy brushing up against hers in its own askance, checking to see if there was anything magically different about her. He’d done it before and reported that he hadn’t noticed anything, as had other magisters who had come calling in the days Jaina and the others had been given to recover. And while Jaina wondered at whether or not anything really had changed about her magically, she decided that if it had, it was imperceptible to the elves either way, who always seemed to take their connection to the Sunwell for granted.

“Well, we’re going to have to face facts and get this over with, aren’t we?” Lirath asked, turning to his sister with a grin after he seemed to be content that the results of his own prodding remained the same.

“Afraid so,” Vereesa agreed.

“I’m sorry, but what are you two talking about?” Jaina questioned them both.

She looked between them, finding them an odd mixture of their older sister’s features. Lirath was tall and lanky, with hair a bright buttery gold. Vereesa was the smallest of the three, and seemed more youthful in her appearance even than her younger brother. But somehow, if you were to shake them together, you’d get Sylvanas out of it. A grinning Sylvanas on the verge of some sort of mischief or scolding, and little inbetween.

“Whether or not things work out with our sister, we have decided you are now a Windrunner and shall remain one,” Lirath announced. “Mostly because we like you and find you to be very interesting and fun. Also because Sylvanas would be a fool to let you get away from her.”

Before Jaina could even react to that, Vereesa added, “And since you are now an honorary Windrunner sibling, you are now required to obey the pact of not doing anything risky or stupid for the next decade or so.”

“I wanted to impose a century, but Vereesa insisted we needed to be flexible,” Lirath offered.

“That could be her whole lifetime!”

“Look at those eyes Little Moon! I highly doubt it now.”

“But you don’t know it!”

“Please,” Jaina said with a laugh, getting in-between them again to stop whatever was threatening to start. “We can debate the terms later. But a while with no foolishness sounds good to me.”

“Wait, you’re just fine with it?” Vereesa wondered.

“That’s very boring of you, Jaina,” Lirath told her. “Not to put up a fight.”

“Boring sounds nice,” Jaina noted to both of them, pulling them both into a loose hug on either arm. “Boring as in busy but peaceful nonsense. Getting into only very mild trouble with you and the magistrate, Lirath. And dragging Sylvanas with me to visit you in Dalaran, Vereesa.”

“She hates Dalaran,” Vereesa said with a vigorous nod and a wide grin.

“She really hates Dalaran,” Lirath agreed in fashion. “So you’ll have to bring me along as well.”

“We’ll plan on it,” Jaina told him. “And thank you. I missed having a little brother. And I’ve never had a sister.”

“Jaina, I’m twice your age,” Lirath reminded her, giving her the slightest playful shove with his construct arm, seemingly not even thinking about it anymore. It was so long ago that he didn’t even trust it to touch a doorknob.

“Act like it then,” Vereesa snapped at him while still beaming all the while.

“And as for your sister,” Jaina told them, “I think I’d be a fool to lose her too.”

She found herself looking for Sylvanas over their heads. She wasn’t hard to pick out, having already dressed in her Ranger General regalia for the ceremonies ahead. She was a glittering star amongst a sea of blues and greens, whether she liked it or not. Jaina knew that some part of her did. Sylvanas liked to shine, and shine she did in that clearing, in the light of the blessed sun. While Jaina knew she carried a shared nervousness, same as hers, Sylvanas didn’t show it as she smiled at the Ranger Lords she spoke to from beneath her mask of perfection. Flawed as she was underneath it, and aware of those flaws as Jaina was, none of them dulled her shine.

Only it was the Ranger Lord Jaina didn’t expect who blocked her view of Sylvanas with a glass of mana wine that nearly spilled onto Lirath’s head.

“Jaina!” Lor’themar shouted, thrusting the glass at her again despite the precarious angle. “Drink with us a bit until we have to stand around like idiots for the rest of this fine afternoon.”

She carefully took up the glass to avoid soaking her newly-declared brother, who looked more offended that it wasn’t being offered to him than anything. “Shouldn’t you be preparing a speech or something.”

“Me? No,” Lor’themar waved with his own near-empty glass. “Everyone knows I wing it every time. You don’t need to prepare when you’re a natural speaker like me, or at least not a damn perfectionist like Sylvanas.”

He too was clad in the obnoxious ceremonial grab of a Ranger Lord, more gilded and less practical than anything. Each Ranger Lord seemed to have a different flair for their own version of the outfit, and Lor’themar’s involved a pair of pauldrons that threatened to rival Kael’thas’ in size. These were formed like bird’s wings pointing upward--the of a specific type of eagle that Jaina had since learned was the emblem of his house.

In the distance, closer toward the entrance of the main spire of the Retreat, Jaina could hear what seemed to be the beginning of a song.

“See, they’re starting without us!” Lor’themar protested as he moved to tug on Jaina’s arm and drag her away from the Windrunner siblings.

“Another tradition?” Jaina wondered aloud.

“Of course,” Lor’themar answered. “Because no one would make it through all this pageantry while completely sober, especially after three months of not having to deal with it. Better we ease our way back into our stuffy society with drink and song--one last time before it’s over. Oh, and good day Vereesa, Lirath. There’s plenty more wine back that way if you also need something to tide you over.”

“Thank the gods,” Lirath drolled and then speedily led the way toward the song.

Jaina followed Lor’themar, eventually looping her arm in with his and allowing herself to be escorted to the impromptu final party that was forming on the steps of the Retreat. As they got closer, she could make out the shapes of each of her own squadron, mixed with Lor’themar’s and a few other stray rangers or their relatives that had come to join in.

But that wasn’t the standout in her mind as they got closer. It was the song. A song she, for once, knew. A song she was pretty certain had its origins in different parts of this world, but was being sung in Thalassian as if it were made for it.

“Of all the money that ever I had, I spent it in good company. And all the harm I’ve ever done, Alas it was to none but me.”

“I know this song,” Jaina couldn’t help but remark. “It’s the very last day and you all are finally singing a song I know already.”

Lor’themar just laughed. “Everyone knows this song.”

“I thought it was Kul Tiran,” she admitted, but washed away that potential existential crisis with a sip of sweet mana wine.

“And the dwarves say it was theirs first too,” Lor’themar told her. “But I can tell you that as a proud Farstrider, this song has been sung in every tavern I’ve ever been in, around every hearth where there are friends and a bit of alcohol to be found. No one is too good for it or above its singing. So don’t worry too much about it. Sing with us, Jaina. One more time.”

And so she joined him, feeling the rumbling of his baritone through where he held her arm along his ribs, at least until he spun her out and brought her back to her fellow rangers with characteristic flair.

“And all I've done for want of wit, To memory now I can't recall. So fill to me the parting glass, Good night and joy be to you all.”

---

Ceremonies always filled Sylvanas with an age old nervous dread she could never quite shake. Though she had been through perhaps thousands of like events in her days, she always felt as though her mother was watching her with the same stern and steely gray eyes that looked back at her in the mirror and demanded attention and attentiveness--two things Lireesa Windrunner never failed to remind her were separate and equally important.

Sylvanas even swore she could sometimes hear her mother still saying, “Eyes up, recruit. They may not be watching you now, but someday they will. And you will have to be ready for it.”

Sylvanas was never quite ready, but had mastered the art of acting the part all the same. She’d spent the better part of the week preparing this speech, between being pestered by Liadrin and her healers and making sure her squadron stuck to their mandated rest and observation within the infirmary. The latter, of course, having been far more difficult than the former. Yet despite it all, she had managed to find time to spend with Jaina every day. She suspected that, despite her worrying, this behavior would be even easier when her squadron was no longer her sole responsibility to manage after today.

She had a view of about half the room below from where she stood, waiting for her introduction. Jaina was at the very end of that sliver of light--smiling between Illeryn and Lor’themar’s recruit--the young man named Hathvelion. They stood with their squadrons as they had before, ready to be addressed, though this time Jaina looked far less bewildered, if still a little nervous.

She had nothing to be nervous about, really. While plenty of the Ranger Lords had offered a grumble or two to Sylvanas about the human she’d admitted to their ranks, and her intentions for her and the changes that would come with it, they had been more than grumbles. The annoyed huffing roars of old lions past their prime. The younger among them had immediately taken to the idea of better incorporating their mages into their ranks with Jaina’s lead, and it had been all that Sylvanas could do to get away from their eager questions when it was time for the ceremony to begin.

She watched now as Halduron graciously thanked the assemblage for aiding him in his time as acting Ranger General, and watched his ears seem to fall back with his relief as he bowed and pointed toward the doorway, once again introducing her as Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner.

Perhaps one day, she’d feel like she truly deserved the title. But the doubt she felt about herself seemed a little less crushing as she found Jaina looking up at her and smiling.

“Rangers,” she began, voice echoing over the expanse of the open-air spire of Farstrider’s Retreat. “It is with great pride that I greet you today, in order to both take up my mantle again, and to mark the end of another Thalasdiel for both my own squadron, and that of my esteemed comrade in arms, Lord Lor’themar Theron. But pride really is an odd word, and one both fitting and not fitting for this day.”

“I’m often asked by young rangers, still recruits just starting their journey, what is the point of Thalasdiel? Why walk around the kingdom? I remember asking my mother this question as she left for one when I was still quite small. Her answer was that it taught the troops to appreciate the land they defend. And while that’s true, each time I walk, I’m reminded of the other purposes of this journey.”

Sylvanas gazed out over faces she would probably not see again for some time. Liadrin would go back to her duties as a High Priestess of Belore, serving under her adopted father, who seemed intent on having her replace him as he retired, while she seemed intent on not allowing him to do so. Valeera, though she didn’t know it yet, would be going to train with Anya and her spies, to see if she could adopt enough discipline to work in the quieter arts of the Rangers, and if that might be a better fit for her than the Home Guard. The others too, had their places and their duties to return to. Illeryn would go back to scouting and charting. The twins back to guarding the docks. Ayndais and Tessandra back to commanding where they were needed most at the border of the ever-present conflict with the Amani.

They would all scatter again soon, floating on the wind like dandelion seeds blown to the four corners of the kingdom.

“We walk for many reasons,” Sylvanas continued. “We walk to appreciate our land, yes. We walk to appreciate our feet, and our bodies, and the work they do to protect this place. We walk too, to get to know one another, and to connect with those we will fight alongside. But as anyone who has walked a Thalasdiel or two can tell you, pride is the first and most important thing to go as we walk.”

“We’re often seen as a people who hold pride in an unbecoming way. We think ourselves better, older, wiser than the world. But pride is often misplaced in a ranger. Pride doesn’t keep you vigilant. It doesn’t keep you strong. It keeps you from changing because you think you don’t need to. But pride doesn’t last long when you’re sleeping around the same fire and complaining about the heat and your knees together. And I think that’s often something we choose to overlook because it isn’t pretty to talk about. But it’s also so important.”

“Each time I walk, I am humbled by both this land, and by my fellow rangers. I am reminded that we are all just that--Rangers. Each and every one of us, regardless of differences in uniform or title. All of us are Rangers, and that’s what we have to be proud of.”

With the last line, Sylvanas made an effort to look right at Jaina, both for show and for grounding. Jaina offered her a very subtle nod, one that only she could really see from this angle above her in the crowd. One that said she understood and appreciated the reminder. And then with it her eyes conveyed a message in their new, soft glow that seemed to say, “Then come down here with me, ranger. I miss you.”

It was a wonder Sylvanas even made it through her speech, because she very much wanted to. She felt so much for Jaina that it was almost dangerous. But very good. Very good and a little dangerous, at least in terms of her productivity.

“And with that,” she went on, suppressing a smirk as she tore her eyes away from Jaina. “It’s my honor to re-introduce Lord Theron to have him honor the newest member of his squadron.”

Lor’themar reappeared from the alcove, shouldering in infront of her with his ridiculous Ranger Lord getup with a nod. He’d already made his speech earlier, a rambling diatribe about how his time among his squadron was like so many gold pieces that he collected or something. She’d mostly tuned him out to rehearse her own speech again.

“Rangers,” he started, gesturing to his new recruit down below. “It is with great pleasure that I reintroduce you to Ranger Hathvelion Sungaze. He first drew my attention during a visit to the academy that I undertook a few years past. I watched him tackle that dreaded obstacle course with ease, and asked after him. Ranger Sungaze here has a keen interest in the mountains, and was so good at that damnable thing because he enjoys climbing them. The rest of my men can attest that this is a skill we do not have, and thus I kept in touch with Ranger Sungaze to learn more about it, and to ask after his interest in joining my squadron after training. I’m pleased to say that he was interested, and that I will be announcing him as taking a leading role in our new alpine training program for Farstriders headed toward mountainous regions of Azeroth.”

Cheers erupted from below, and Lor’themar’s men piled around Hathvelion, offering their own brand of deep shouts of encouragement and pats on the back that came as audible claps that echoed through the spire.

Lor’themar turned back to look at Sylvanas, offering her a silent smile and reintroduction. After a moment, he slid his hand out in gesture, pointing the way, and whispered. “She’ll do great. I know it.”

Sylvanas nodded back to this. It wasn’t Jaina she was worried about. It never was. No, Jaina could handle herself, always. That was part of one of the many things that Sylvanas very much liked about her.

Sylvanas stepped back up to the front and said, “It is my pleasure to reintroduce you to Ranger Jaina Proudmoore.”

All eyes were on her now, and now all of them were glowing. Though Sylvanas was concerned about this latest feature of Jaina’s, this last week had assured her that the woman she was very much falling in love with remained the same, despite her newly luminous gaze. It did make her a little bit harder to pick out of the crowd of elves, but not much. Sylvanas decided she wouldn’t like it any other way.

“As you might know, Jaina is unlike any other ranger I’ve had the honor of commanding. And it’s not because she is the only human currently in our ranks. The former Prince Kael’thas clearly had other motives when he introduced us, but instead of fulfilling his sinister plans, I now have to unfortunately offer him some measure of gratitude for bringing Jaina to my attention. She demonstrated skill with the bow that matched and exceeded many of our best, and showed me a new technique she had developed of combining magic and archer in a way I had not yet seen. When I spoke before on pride, I have to admit that I myself carried plenty of it that day, and it had me initially turning the idea of bringing her in as a ranger down. But, her passion for her art and the innovations she derives from it was what sold me then, and what continues to sell me every day I have spent in her company,” Sylvanas explained.

“Rangers, I would like for you to see the same passion that I have seen before I make my announcement.”

Sylvanas gestured toward the ceiling, bidding the audience to look up, but not before making an effort to catch her brother’s eye and make sure he was ready. Lirath grinned at her before his ears pinned back in concentration, and he conjured a looping line of arcane targets that swirled through the air.

Before she could even dwell on the fact that it was good to see him confidently practicing his magic again, a set of gasps followed. Sylvanas turned her gaze to her squadron as they formed up beneath Jaina, lifting her up onto a platform formed of their backs. She stood proudly and bravely above the crowd on a carpet of blue and green cloaks, her spellbow gripped tightly in her hands. The crystals on it flared to life, glowing as they helped her to concentrate and funnel her magic into the projectiles she had mastered.

Jaina sent missiles of frost, fire, and arcane soaring to the targets, hitting each one perfectly. Her accuracy didn’t wane with the nervousness that Sylvanas knew she must be feeling, just as it hadn’t in Dalaran. Her eyes flared with the use of magic, glowing brighter with the same fire that Sylvanas had seen in them then, only now made obvious for all.

She didn’t miss a single shot, even as Lirath sped the targets up, whipping them just below the ceiling of the open spire.

“A good Ranger General knows when they are seeing something new and wonderful, something that can help them, and can help us all defend this land. I can see you too are impressed. And while I think we can all see the practical implications of this technique, where myself and Jaina see it helping our organization the most comes down yet again to pride,” Sylvanas said before nodding again. “Cindel, if you would.”

Another figure joined Jaina on the backs of her squadron, lifted up for what seemed like the first time in a long while. Cindel had served them tirelessly as a ranger mage, but had never really been given the chance to shine. Not like this. Hers was a thankless and unglamours job, or well, it once was. Not anymore.

For she too produced a spellbow. It wasn’t quite as pretty as Jaina’s or as neatly crafted. It had been a thing rushed and hastily put together with this idea over the last week--crystals that Lirath had been sent to pilfer, wood that Illeryn had conned a quartermaster out of, paint that the others had gathered herbs and pigments for from gardens all across Silvermoon. It was mostly Jaina’s effort in recreating under such duress, but really the effort of the entire squadron.

Lirath spun a new set of targets into the air. No one seemed to complain that these drifted at quite a lazy pace. Cindel had only had a week to practice, after all.

But she hit quite a few of her shots. Not all of them, but more than half. Her fire missiles seemed to be the best and brightest of them, though she did manage to create one of every kind. But more importantly, the crowd watched as a ranger mage shot a bow--a woman who had once told Sylvanas she felt a failure, and that she was assigned this job because she didn’t belong, smiled as she felt like she finally did belong.

And Jaina grinned along with her at her success, and kept it up as they finished together, both shooting in a whirl of magic at a third set of targets.

“Ranger Jaina Proudmoore has done me the honor of teaching me that such innovations don’t necessarily mean abandoning our past, our traditions. They might provide us a way to improve upon them. She will be seeking to make our ranger mages feel more at home in their squadrons by training them in this technique, as well as providing them a sense of identity and leadership within the Ranger Corps as a whole. Over the next few years, she will be working with me to create a division that the mages in our company can feel proud to represent.”

While Sylvanas had expected to meet with a bit of silence, maybe some grumbling and glaring, she was surprised to find that the reaction to this announcement was mostly one of cheers. Resounding, happy cheers. A few stunned into just offering claps and nods.

But overall, it was overwhelmingly a reaction of acceptance.

They saw it too. They’d all seen it now. Jaina caught Sylvanas’ eyes again, as Liadrin and Illeryn lifted her on their shoulders even higher, and nodded back up at her. She might not have wanted a life in the spotlight, but there was little Sylvanas could do to deny that it looked good on her. And she thought that Jaina might know that too.

Lor’themar, for his part, was at least kind enough to wait for the cheers to die down a bit before he edged back in front of her again and announced, “Way to steal the show, Sylvanas, Jaina. I have a feeling it will keep happening, but that’s a story for another day. I think we’ve all had enough of speeches and demonstrations. Shall we end this thing and celebrate?”

The cheers roiled up again to meet him from below, and were especially loud from his own men.

“Then let’s hear you two sing! One more song for the roads we’ve walked and will walk again in time,” Lor’themar commanded.

Sylvanas knew that Jaina had probably been more nervous about this moment than her magical demonstration. She couldn’t blame her. The singing had been something she didn’t seem to expect, but had embraced as their journey went on. But to Jaina, music had always seemed to feel a tad too personal. She’d balked a bit when Sylvanas had been the one to explain to her that she would be expected to lead the squadron in a final song.

But Sylvanas had also watched her over the last week, practicing when she thought no one was within hearing range, or within sight as well. Unfortunately for her, Sylvanas had excellent hearing, excellent sight, and a particular love of her voice.

She watched as Jaina readied herself, now thankfully let down from the shoulders of the other rangers, as they backed off and gave her and Hathvelion space to stand together in. Ah well, at least she had the boy to sing with. But she could do it. Sylvanas knew she could.

She was pretty sure Jaina could do just about anything she set her mind to.

“Out of the fallen trees we sing, Sing like we're losing everything. Lost and without a place to go, Sing for myself, it's all I know.”

Jaina’s solid alto mixed well with Hatvelion’s trembling tenor. They were to begin the song alone, standing out amidst the silence that greeted them from both their own squadrons and the onlookers and family members that had come to greet them.

“Born to a brand new century, Sing for our sisters patiently. Born to a day that's just begun, Sing for our mothers and our sons.”

The other rangers returning from Thalasdiel began to join them, first with hums. Deep bass and trilling soprano alike from both squadrons, and everything in-between. A place of each voice, each part.

“We sing for the voices never heard, Sing for the lessons we've still not learned. Sing for the peace we've never won, Sing for the work that's still not done.”

Sylvanas watched the ease wash over Jaina’s face as the voices joined her and Hathvelion’s fully, coming to a roaring crescendo that echoed over the alabaster walls of the Retreat. She was once again what she so very much wanted to be. A part of a whole. A piece of a puzzle. A piece that Sylvanas hadn’t realized was so sorely needed to complete it, both for her military, and for her heart.

She couldn’t wait to come down to join her again.

“And if on our darkest days we cry, Sing 'til we put our fears aside. And if I feel myself begin to fold, Sing for myself, it's all I know. Sing for myself, it's all I know.”

The chorus of rangers died down, leaving Jaina and Hathvelion alone to sing the last line. The crowd left it to reverberate for just a moment before they erupted in another set of cheers. The ranger collapsed in again, embracing and celebrating. Jaina laughed as Hathvelion picked her up in a bear hug.

A hand on her elbow finally stirred Sylvanas from her musings as she watched the crowd below begin to mingle--cloaks of Ranger Blue and Farstrider Green and Priest White and Officer Teal mixing and melding with the clothes of the audience members and the ridiculous finery of the Ranger Lords in attendance. She lost Jaina in there, somewhere in a sea of pointed ears and glowing eyes and sharp features that she was now just that much harder to pick out of.

Lor’themar squeezed at her arm, drawing Sylvanas’ attention to him. “How about you go find that Ranger Proudmoore of yours and kiss her,” he suggested. “I think she deserves that much.”

Sylvanas found herself grateful for the reminder, and answered with a smile that came easily past a mask she felt lift from her face as though it were something physical. “I think she does,” she agreed.

[honey-dewey]

Gold in the Summertime

Pairing:  Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Reader

Word Count: 2,545

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of injury, stitches, and needles, but it’s mostly just that sweet sweet hurt/comfort

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Very few good things ever happen at three AM in the Urgent Care. Let’s make a short list of things that will definitely not fall under the category of ‘good.’ 1) Having a patient who has apparently injured himself but refuses to tell you how. 2) Said patient hyperventilating and panicking until he actually breaks something because you tried to give him a tetanus shot. 3) The same patient’s three best friends yelling at you. 4) Singing to still the same patient to calm him down so you can stick him with a tiny needle so he won’t possibly die of tetanus.

A/N: The song that inspired this fic is actually a favorite of mine called ‘Gold in the Summertime’ by Matt Nathanson. Not required to read the fic, but it’s a cute song. 

“Hey.” 

“Oh hell no,” you said, turning to see your fellow night shift nurse, Tori, standing in the door of the break room. “No, I am not dealing with whatever drunken fool walked into that waiting room. It is three in the morning and I do not feel like screwing around right now.” 

Tori raised an eyebrow. “Done?” 

“Done,” you said, standing and preparing for the inevitable. “Who’s the patient?” 

Tori handed you a file. You opened it, quickly scanning the information. F. Morales, forty two years old, in decent health, up to date with all his immunizations, served in the military, and was currently in the Urgent Care for a laceration on his left shoulder. 

“How bad is it?” You asked, closing the file and following Tori to the waiting room. 

“Eh,” she said with a shrug. “He isn’t gushing blood, so it’s not ER worthy. Probably just needs some stitches and a tetanus shot, depending on what got him.” 

You blinked. “He didn’t say?” 

Tori grinned. “Nope. Have fun.” 

Groaning to yourself, you opened the waiting room door. “Morales?” 

A man stood up, clearly the injured one in his group of friends due to the wad of cloth he was pressing to his left shoulder. “Yes?” 

“Follow me,” you said, tucking the file beneath your arm. “So, what happened?” 

The man grimaced. “Uh, I busted my shoulder.” 

“How?” 

The man was silent as you pushed open an exam room door and gestured him inside. “Well?” 

“Well what?” 

You sighed. “How’d you cut yourself?” You asked again, watching the man hop up on the exam table. You walked around to his back and slowly cut away the patch of his shirt that covered his shoulder. “And while you’re at it, you got a first name I could use, Mr. Morales?” 

“Please just call me Frankie, most people do.” 

“Most people?” 

Frankie shifted as you examined the harsh tear in the skin. “My friends, those assholes outside, call me Catfish.” 

You chuckled. “Military nickname?” 

“Yeah.” Frankie winced as you pressed a finger against the wound. 

A beat of silence, and then you had another question. “Is Frankie your legal name?” 

“No, why?” 

You smiled. “We need a legal name for the records.” 

Frankie shrugged his uninjured right shoulder as you continued to evaluate the messy scrape on his left. “It’s Francisco. And that shit hurts.” 

“Sorry,” you said, stepping back. “It needs a few stitches,” you decided. “But it isn’t horribly urgent so I’m gonna go grill your buddies outside to see if they’ll give me more answers about what happened.” 

Frankie nodded, watching you leave. 

“Would the party that escorted one Francisco Morales please follow me?” You asked, pushing open the waiting room door. 

Three men stood up, and you led them down the hall a ways, so your conversation would be private. “Alright. Spill. He won’t tell me what happened.” 

The man on the left snorted. “Unsurprising,” he said. “Fish is like a damn lockbox.”

“Benny,” the man in the middle hissed, nudging the man on the left. “Santi, you wanna take this? You saw it best.” 

“Excuse you!” Benny objected. “I was there too!” 

“You’re drunk.” 

The man on the right, Santi, sighed. “Frankie got into a fight outside the bar we were at tonight. Some guy made a horrible comment about how women belong in the kitchen, I dunno, I didn’t hear that bit too well. But Frankie managed to win the fight with minimal injuries, right up until the guy’s equally shitty friend clipped his shoulder with a ripped in half beer can.” 

You nodded, jotting notes down on Frankie’s file. “So what I’m hearing is that he was cut with a piece of likely filthy metal?” 

“Yep.” 

“Perfect,” You grumbled sarcastically. “You boys can head back to the waiting room. I’ll send him out when I’m done.” 

The boys left, and you swung by the supply closet to grab a suture kit before heading back into Frankie’s exam room. “Still bleeding?” 

Frankie looked up. “Yeah.” He had taken his hat off, fidgeting with the worn out brim. “Hurts.” 

“I’ll bet,” you said, coming up behind him and gently taking his hand off the wound. “Gonna pop some stitches in, disinfect the hell out of this, then get your height, weight, the like, and send you off with a tetanus shot just for good measure. That old beer can probably doesn’t have any kind of illness, but we have to be sure.” 

Frankie was silent, which wasn’t a good thing. You disinfected the wound, which sent him into a tailspin of hissed curses in your general direction, and before he realized what was happening, you were halfway done with the stitches. 

“And that’s the last one,” you said, tying off the last stitch. “The stitches dissolve after a while, so you shouldn’t have to worry about coming back to get them removed. But do take care to change the bandages twice a day, and do not use this arm. I don’t care what you have to do, please do not rip these stitches.” 

Frankie chuckled. “Yes doctor.” 

Finishing up the bandage, you grinned at Frankie’s current shirt situation. “Do you want me to grab you a new shirt? I kinda ruined yours.” 

“You did your job,” Frankie pointed out. “But yes, that would be nice.” 

You ducked out of the room and grabbed a spare shirt from the nurse’s lost and found. “No one’s claimed this thing for almost eight months. I think the guy who owned it quit,” you said, handing Frankie the old Jack Daniels whiskey shirt. You watched him struggle to put it on, helping him a bit as the shirt got caught on his shoulder. 

“Okay, follow me,” you said once Frankie was wearing a shirt again. He followed, just as asked, and you took his height and weight, texting both figures to Tori so she could prep a tetanus shot for you. In the meantime, you kept Frankie occupied, asking him questions about military things in the exam room. 

“What’d you do in the military?” 

“I was a pilot.” 

“Planes?” 

“Helos.” 

“Fun. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. Those friends outside, are they?” 

“Military friends? Yeah, mostly. I knew Santiago before all that though.” 

A knock at the door interrupted your bonding session. Tori opened the door, holding a tray with the tetanus shot and a band-aid. “Sorry. Those shitty kids band-aids were all I could find.” 

You shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m sure Mr. Morales won’t object to a Paw Patrol band-aid.” 

However, as you turned back to Frankie, you realized he’d gone white as a sheet. “Frankie?” 

Frankie shied away from you, despite you not moving. “Don’t,” he said, voice choked. “Please.” 

Your heart squeezed at the desperation in his voice. He was very plainly terrified. “Frankie,” you repeated calmly, holding both hands up so he knew you were unarmed. “Hey, deep breaths.” 

Frankie took a stuttering breath, and you sent a silent prayer out that he wouldn’t have a panic attack here. You sat next to him, keeping a few feet of space between you and him. “Do you want me to go get the boys?” 

Frankie shook his head, eyes wide. You tried to think. Distracting him would do no good. You’d tried that before with other people, and with patients who were this panicky, a distraction made it worse. Trying to sneak up on him was somehow an even worse idea. With his background, he was likely to know when someone was trying to surprise him, and he could definitely defend himself. The only thing you could think of was calming him down and then sticking him as fast as you could. 

It took a few minutes, but Frankie’s breathing returned to normal, and his muscles relaxed somewhat. You didn’t move, simply sitting there beside him and establishing yourself as a calm figure despite your reeling mind. “Frankie?” 

He looked up at you, not saying a word. 

“Are you ready to try?” You asked. “I have to give you the shot. I don’t want you to get sick, okay? Tetanus is a killer, and I don’t wanna see you dying in a hospital bed until you’re at least eighty, okay?” 

A slow nod. You stood, making your movements obvious as you put on new gloves and opened an alcohol wipe. 

“C’mere,” you said, gesturing Frankie closer. He scooted towards you, and you met him halfway. “This is cold, just a warning.” 

You rolled up Frankie’s shirt sleeve, exposing his left shoulder. He shivered as you ran the alcohol wipe across his skin, and kept his eyes anywhere but on you as you uncapped the tiny syringe. “Frankie?” 

Frankie whined, his breathing picking up again as his body barreled towards full panic mode. 

“Frankie!” You recapped the syringe and set it aside, turning your full attention to Frankie. He jumped away from you, eyes wide once more. You stood back as he curled in on himself, breathing quickening too fast. He was hyperventilating. “Frankie! Listen to me! You’re not-“ 

You cut yourself off as the loud, ragged breaths began to turn into animalistic screams, Frankie losing his balance and falling off the exam table and crashing into the sink before hitting the floor. The thud his body made scared you, but not as much as his current panicked state. 

“Tori!” You yelled, opening the door and yelling for your coworker. “Tori!” 

Unfortunately, it was not Tori who came to your rescue. It was Frankie’s three friends, all of whom looked incredibly concerned. Tori was behind them, shouting that they couldn’t be back here. Santiago simply pushed past you and immediately rushed to Frankie’s side, the other two joining him as he attempted to console Frankie. 

You, knowing your help wouldn’t be needed, tried to step away, but Santiago turned to call you back. “Come here!” 

Sighing, you hesitantly entered the exam room. “What do you need from me?” 

“What did you do to him?” Benny asked, clearly the most worried. “He hasn’t had an attack this bad in years!” 

“I just tried to give him a tetanus shot!” You defended. 

Santiago and the other man had gotten Frankie situated back on the exam table, sitting on his sides and keeping him upright as Benny rushed in and took his hands. “Fish? You with us buddy?” 

Frankie, who had thankfully stopped screaming, whined. Benny smiled, squeezing his hands. “There’s our Fish. Hey, hey, no, look at me,” he directed as Frankie’s eyes drifted to you in the corner and his breath hitched. 

Frankie’s head slumped against Santiago’s shoulder. He hummed uncomfortably, face scrunching as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. 

“His shoulder,” you guessed softly. “Someone’s touching it.” 

The man on Frankie’s right looked at his back. “Shit. Sorry Fish.” 

Frankie sighed in relief and turned into pudding against Santiago’s shoulder. Benny still held his hands, humming softly. The other man, whose name you still didn’t know, stood and pulled you aside. “Hey. Did he tell you?” 

“That he was trypanophobic?” You said, sliding your hands in your pockets. “No. But I figured it out pretty quickly when he went white as hell as soon as he saw the syringe. No one has a reaction this severe unless they have a phobia.” 

The man nodded. “Yeah. Benny was right. Fish is kinda stubborn about these things. He hasn’t had an anxiety attack in years though. Sorry Benny gave you shit about triggering one. I know it wasn’t really your fault.” 

“It was,” you mumbled, eyeing Frankie over the man’s shoulder. “It just wasn’t my intention.” 

“Yeah.” The man looked back at Frankie. “Is the tetanus shot necessary?” 

You nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Santiago looked at you. “How good are you at singing?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“It keeps him calm,” Santiago explained. “He used to sing to the helos whenever there was bad turbulence. Kept him level. We’d do it while you give him the shot, but none of us can sing.” 

Frankie made a small, strangled noise, and you almost freaked out until Benny smiled and you realized Frankie was trying to laugh. 

Smiling, you grabbed the syringe, a new alcohol wipe, and the band-aid. Santiago moved so he was sitting mostly behind Frankie, still supporting him. The other man, who you faintly heard Benny call Will, sat back on Frankie’s right. Benny took Frankie’s hands and stood to the side a bit so you would have room to work. 

“Oh, let’s keep this going, I wanna go all in,” you sang softly, repeating some cute and catchy song Tori insisted on playing whenever she could. “We’ll never be lonely in the dark.” As you sang, you opened the alcohol wipe and cleaned a patch of Frankie’s shoulder. 

“Rooftop in soho, Prince on the radio,” you kept going, uncapping the syringe and taking Frankie’s arm. “The city streets glow, gold in the summertime.” You quickly, between words, stuck Frankie and pressed down on the plunger. He whined, shying from the pain, but you just pressed the band-aid over the tiny puncture mark and kept singing. “Summertime, summertime, summertime, I gotta get that feeling.” 

Gently taking Benny’s place, you stripped your gloves off and put your hands overtop Frankie’s. “You did good, Frankie,” you said. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here so the boys can take you home.” 

Frankie wobbled to his feet, still nonverbal and a bit unsteady. You ended up needing a break in the waiting room, which was still empty. Giving Santiago a bottle of water for Frankie, you sat next to Frankie while the boys started the car. 

You absently hummed the song from earlier, mostly to fill the stifling silence. As you reached the part you’d sung for Frankie, you noticed, with a small jolt, that he was humming along with you. 

“You like the song?” You guessed, and Frankie nodded. 

“Here.” You pulled a pen from your coat pocket and took his hand. “Give the whole thing a listen,” you said, scrawling down the name and artist of the song on Frankie’s hand. “And then call me,” you finished, adding your phone number below the writing. 

Frankie smiled. “Meet cute,” he rasped, voice practically destroyed. 

You laughed. “This is more of a meet ugly, but sure.” 

Santiago came back, helping Frankie to his feet. 

“See you again?” Frankie asked, voice still pretty shot.

“Hopefully not,” you said, holding the door open for Santiago. “At least, not here.” 

Just like that, Frankie was gone. 

That sunrise, as you settled into bed, you got a text from an unknown number. 

Unknown Number: Song was super cute. Definitely adding it to my exercise playlist

You: Is this Mr. Morales?

Unknown Number: Just Frankie

Unknown Number was saved as Just Frankie

You: Okay Just Frankie. How’s your shoulder

Just Frankie: Hurts like a bitch, but I’ve had worse. 

You: I’ll bet. 

Just Frankie: Hey, wanted to ask you something 

You: shoot

Just Frankie: do you always work nights?

You: not always, but mostly. 

Just Frankie: cool. You free tomorrow at noon? I found this cool lunch place that has the best burgers ever

You: ever? I’ll have to see about that

Just Frankie: it’s a date then 

You: It’s a date

[viking-raider]

Hill Manor - Part I

Summary: Your life has never been easy, despite being from one of the most wealthy British Families. Between your neglectful parents and a cures you’ve been saddled with since you were a young child, your life gets harder, before it gets easier.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 10,205

Rating: PG-13 - Neglectful Parents, Mention of quick Animal abuse, Abuse, Drinking, Some Victorian Era Insults

Inspiration: I’ve been wanting to do a Fic like this for some time.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernaturalhero, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa​, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas​, @oh-for-fic-sake, @henrycavill-yes

Ulysses Dante McFayden was vengeful in all things and parts of his life, from his multi-million dollar company to his family. His wife, Matilda was the near female copy of her husband, though she was capable of being warm and affectionate, when she wanted something, or thought it would benefit her and husband's financial situation. The McFayden's had been part of the British Upper Class Crust for centuries and only kept climbing that social ladder, higher and higher. They were always the talk of Woman's Tea Rooms and Gentleman's Clubs all across Britain, for some new successful business venture or setting a new fashion trend. But, the one place they never felt successful was in their only child, a disappointment for Ulysses for not being a boy and to Matilda, for not being more like her. Y/n McFayden was the spitting image of her gorgeous mother and had the strong willpower of her father, but that's where all the similarities of her parents ended.

You were sweet and attentive, deeply concerned with the welfare and happiness of those around you, human or animal alike. You once took a near dreadful beating from your father, when he caught you nursing a wounded baby duck in the overgrown garden greenhouse at the edge of the estate. You cried for a week, when you found your father had killed the poor thing. From the age of two, your parents relinquished their parental rights to a host of nannies and tutors, some as cold and feeling-less as themselves. One of your nannies, Grace, was the greatest and sweetest out of all of them, she was a much needed breath of fresh air and sunshine in the dark and oppressive expanse of McFayden Manor. Grace was the only one that cared about you, that loved you and gave you any kind of parental guidance, that understood.

Grace was also the only one that you trusted your darkest secret too. When you were seven, not long after she started as your nanny and living in the family house, you had what your parents and previous caretakers called your, hysterical terrors. You woke just after one am, a bolt of sweaty terror washing over your body, as you sat up in your bed. Despite the still warm fire in the grate of your spacious bedroom, you could see each puff of your breath, white like a wintry mist. Your heart starting to pound, goosebumps forming as you trembled, the bumps coming down the long hallway leading to your room, other than your room and Grace's room on the very other side of the hall, the rest of the floor was empty, or to everyone else, it was empty.

There was a thud just outside your door, then the sound of nails running down it. You squeezed your eyes shut and hoped to wake up before it came through the door and stood at the foot of your bed, like it always did. But, it wasn't to be. The cold of the room grew, frosting the window panes of your room as the apparition melded through the thick arched Mahogany door, making you shiver.

“Child.” It rasped, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Let me be.” You whimpered, drawing your legs up inside your nightie and pressed your palms to your ears, desperate to block it out. “You aren't real!”

“Realest anything in this manor.” It gripped back, floating several meters off the black cherry wood floor, at the foot of your bed; flowing, black and mostly translucent. “Other than you, my sweet.” It hissed, moving closer.

“What do you want?” You whined, looking up at it and squeezed your eyes shut again.

“You.” It moaned, hovering above you, a transplant and skeletal finger following the curve of your cheek, freezing your skin like ice. “Lily Hill Manor. That is where you belong, where your curse will be its strongest and most fruitful.” It rumbled so close to your ear, its wispy hair caressing your face. “Only you can protect it from its fate. From his legacy.”

A terrible clicking and knocking sound came from it, its bony hand grazing your neck. A jolt of electricity raced through your spine, a scream ripped from your vocal cords, springing up and bounded for the door, yanking it open and rushed down the hallway for Grace's room. The spirit watched and dissolved away, just as Grace's door flew open at your frantic banging.

“Y/n, what is it?” Grace frowned, tying her robes closed and looking down at your wet and terrified face.

“There's a spirit in-in my room.” You panted, pointing behind you to your room.

Grace looked to your room, open and empty, then back down at you. “It's all right.” She said softly, resting her hands on your shoulders and hugging you against her.

“It was there, I swear.” You sobbed into her robe.

“I believe you.” Grace replied, patting you on the back, she'd never known you to lie and you were vastly too upset not to be believed, perhaps it was just a dream.

Either way, Grace believed you, when you told her about seeing it, and every one after that night. It broke your heart, when you were twelve years old and Grace fell in love with a local doctor and married him, ending her occupation as your nanny. Even though she moved away, Grace made sure to come and visit you as much as she could, knowing how lonely you were in the house, with cold parents.

At age sixteen, you no longer had nannies or tutors, you were the unwilling, for both yourself and your parents, added piece to the social gatherings and dinner parties your parents regularly threw at the manor. Your father's strict threats of never opening your mouth, unless expressly and specifically addressed, with your mother's cold and unblinking glares across the room or the table, to enforce your father's words, like they were law. In essence, they were law, with the amount of money and power he had behind his words and actions. Your life felt so lonesome, imprisoned in McFayden Manor day in and day out, the only breath of fresh air for you was the daily walks you took around the magnificent gardens on the grounds, you spent as much time out in the garden as you could, unable to endure the dark and suffocating house, all five floors, basement and attic. The estate and manor had been in your father's family for the last six generations, built by your seven times great-grandfather, after his first major and successful business venture. Your father was conceived, born and raised in the house, he never lived anywhere else, until he had the country home built, in Suffolk; which you had only been to once or twice, your parents leaving you at the Manor, on your own, with the butler and cook. Not that you cared, the place seemed cheerier without them, darkening the hallways and rooms.

“I swear, y/n.” Your mother hissed, looking you over as you gripped the post of your bed, your lady's maid tightening the laces of your corset. “If you ruin this night for your father and I, you will truly regret being born.”

“Like, you do.” You mumbled to yourself, groaning as the whale bone ribs of your corset cut into your skin.

“What was that?” Matilda snapped, looking down her nose at you.

“Nothing, Mother.” You chimed back with a forced smile.

“I thought not.” She hissed, lifting a sculpted brow at you. “This is a very important night for your father. He has several of his business partners, investors and prospective partners coming to this dinner tonight. It could turn out to be an expensive gain, or loss, depending on how it goes.” She pinched your chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at her. “Don't ruin it.” She growled at you, sternly.

“Of course not, Mother.” You told her, meekly, staring into her moss-green eyes. “I will be on my utmost behavior, I assure you and Father.”

“Good.” Matilda huffed, letting your chin go, roughly. “Though, you couldn't disappoint us more than you already have.” She commented over her shoulder, leaving your bedroom.

You closed your eyes softly, listening to the click of her heels fade down your hall. Collecting yourself, you allowed your Lady's Maid to finish helping you dress for the party, then patiently waited for your mother to return to your room, knowing better than to go down on your own, even though from the window seat of your room, you could see the carriages coming and going along the lane leading up to the front of the manor, people of only the best stations, families and companies were given the coveted and expensive invitations your father sent out to the wealthy elite. You had seen all of their faces before, the only time a face disappeared or changed was, if someone died and their heir took their place, or they fell from the Upper Class Crust and were no longer deemed worthy of the honor to attend a Ulysses and Matilda McFayden party. You flicked through the pages of a book, Dracula, and continued to wait, stifling a yawn against the back of your hand, then heard the tell-tale taps of her heels and put the book aside, stood and smoothed down the skirt of your dress; heaven's forbid you had a wrinkle in the expensive fabric.

“Come along, girl.” Matilda called from your door, mouth pinched into a fine line as she regarded you.

“Coming, Mother.” You replied, following along after her and mounting the stairs down to the formal dinning room on the main floor.

The front hall, foyer, formal dinner room, study and library were brimming with people. You followed your mother to the library, taking your place beside her as she entertained the people in that room. You scanned the room, seeing if there were any changes to the attendees from the last party your parents had two weeks before. There was the Christopher's, the Gladstone's, and the Morris's, though Mrs. Morris looked worse then she had at the garden party. Movement at the door to the library caught your attention and you glanced in that direction, blinking several times seeing someone standing there, the butler taking their coat. They were new to the Manor, you had never seen this man before, and judging by the almost lost expression on his handsome face, he had never been to the Manor before either. He was incredibly tall and broad shouldered, looking immaculate in his finely tailored suit, his chocolate brown curls shining in the candle lit hallway. He felt your eyes on him, turning his baby blues towards you and smiled, revealing straight and pearly whites, raising a warm flush to your cheeks and you glanced away from him.

“Is that him?” You heard a low voice whisper to your mother, Ms. Whitlock.

“Yes.” Your mother nodded, covertly glancing at him, as he entered the room. “Mr. Henry Cavill.” She confirmed, watching Henry greet one of the men he knew. “He owns Cavill Enterprises. His father started the company, when he was just a lad. Rumor has it, his grandfather was a poor farmer.” She explained, turning her attention to Ms. Whitlock.

“How did he amass a company for so much money, if he's the grandson of a farmer?” Ms. Whitlock frowned at Matilda.

“I heard from Mrs. Grahams, his father worked his way up through the stations of a local shipping company, until he was the owner of it, then used his shares to start and invest in his own company, passing the shipping company off to his oldest son, Piers, then turned over Cavill Enterprises to his second youngest son, Henry; when he retired. His other sons, Nik, Simon and the youngest, Charlie, all work for one of the two companies.”

“Well, if his brothers are single, and as handsome, as he is.” Ms. Whitlock giggled, blushing at Henry's back. “Then, sign me up.”

“Oh, hush.” Matilda giggled back, playfully smacking her on the arm.

You repressed your frown at her, feeling that spot of jealousy in your stomach, wishing you had the relationship with your mother, like Leah Whitlock did. There was the high and clear sound of a bell and the Head Butler, Carlo, stepped into the room, announcing dinner. The guests funneled into the dining room and took their assigned places at the table. The room was a murmur with talk, the clink and ring of silverware and fine china, compliments on the food and wine, the amazing hosting and splendid night. After dinner and dessert, the ladies and men separated, men going into the study and the ladies going into the sitting room; talking about business and the upcoming fashion and ball season, before the guests retired and went back home.

Henry nervously paced outside Mr. McFayden's office adjusting his collar and tie as he waited for Mr. McFayden to be done with his meeting and his clerk, Mr. Sims, to show him into the tycoon's office.

“Mr. Cavill.” Mr. Sims called, appearing in the doorway. “Mr. McFayden is available to see you now.” He told Henry, with a polite smile.

“Thank you.” Henry smiled back, stepping into the office and gratefully took the chair he offered.

“Mr. McFayden will be in, in a moment.” Sims told him and stepped out of the room, back to his desk.

Henry glanced around the expensively furnished and decorated office, a painting of all Ulysses's ancestors that headed the company decorated the walls, there was a photograph of Matilda on the left side of his desk and a photo of you, as a small girl, on the right side of his desk. Henry leaned forward and picked up your photo and smirked at it, the classic ringlet curls in your hair as you smiled, bright and beautiful, at the camera; a contrast to the tight-lipped photo of your mother and paintings of grandfathers, that surrounded him.

“She was four, in that photo.” Ulysses's voice called, as he pushed open a pair of double pocket doors and entered his office from a board room. “She was so easy to deal with then.” He commented, taking the photo from Henry and stared at it for a moment, before setting it back in its place on his desk.

“I'm..sure.” Henry replied, slowly, unsure how else to answer him.

“What is it, that I can help you with, Mr. Cavill.” Ulysses asked, seating himself behind his desk.

“I would like to discuss that business venture, we started to talk about it at your party last week.” Henry answered, getting right to the point of the matter.

“The mining venture.” Ulysses nodded, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and tented his fingers together.

“Yes, in Chester.” Henry nodded, smiling, glad that he remembered.

“Tell me about it again.”

“Um,” He cleared his throat, fiddling with the chain to his pocket watch. “My grandfather owned a farm that also sat on top of a mine, but wasn't able to do anything with the mine. My father wanted to make something of it as well, but got held up with running Cavill Enterprises and the Munro Shipping Company. My youngest brother, Charlie, has actually checked the mining site out and found it held a very large deposit of stone. I want to try and tap into that resource.”

“Why are you coming to me with this prospect?” Ulysses asked, brows drawing together. “I know you own and run Cavill Enterprises, as well as having stocks in the Munro Shipping Company and are on the board for it. So, you have a considerable sum of money.”

“I do.” Henry smirked, chuckling softly. “But, I have zero understanding and knowledge on mining and everything it entails. I know, one of your biggest businesses is in mining, that you have the knowledge and understanding of it.”

“You should also know, that knowledge like that has a price on it.”

“Of course.” Henry nodded and shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter. “I would, of course, pay for your assistance and guidance, entering into a partnership with you in the endeavor.”

“What sum are you considering?” Ulysses inquired, lifting a brow at the younger man.

“Well,” Henry cleared his throat, his collar feeling tight. “Until, we find out the success and quantity of the load the mine holds, I would be ready to pay you whatever fee you would like, then once it was found to be fruitful and a business could be made of it, I would be comfortable with going into a fifty/fifty partnership with you on it.”

Ulysses leaned back in his high backed and leather chair, regarding Henry with an experienced and meditative expression, drumming his fingers together. “Do you have a sample of the stone the prospective mine contains?” He asked, tapping his index fingers against his thin lips.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, reaching down to the briefcase he carried with him, flipping open the flap and plunged his hand inside, fishing a large stone out of it and setting it in the middle of Ulysses's desk. “It's Quartz.”

Nodding, Ulysses picked up the chunk and examined it, blindly pulling open a side drawer of his desk and pulled out a magnified eye piece to inspect it closer. “Hmm.” He hummed, turning the stone around and around. “It's clear mineral Quartz.” Ulysses told Henry, putting his eye piece back in its drawer. “In this form alone, this piece of Quartz can go for three pound sterling.”

“Really?” Henry squeaked, eyes huge with shock.

“Yes.” Ulysses nodded, setting the rock down within Henry's reach. “So, if the mine is full of rich Quartz like that,” he motioned to the sample. “then, it should be more than profitable.”

“The mine, rumored mind you, my grandfather investigated it not long after buying the land, but I and my brothers haven't had the time to confirm it, to contain Limestone as well.” Henry continued to explain to him.

“That's very profitable as well.” Ulysses pressed his lips together, contemplating the prospects, affordability, profitability and future possibility in the enterprise. “I would like to see the mine, myself.” He said, finally.

“Yes, of course. That's completely understandable.” Henry nodded, licking his lips and rubbed his sweaty palms on the knees of his pants, feeling like the meeting was going really well. “I would appreciate that, really.”

Ulysses shuffled through a calendar on his desk, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he considered dates and events in his near future. “I have an open weekend in a month, I can make the trip up to Chester, then. If you would like.”

“That is absolutely perfect.” Henry beamed, moving to the edge of his seat with excitement. “I can have everything you want and need arranged by then.”

“Fantastic.” Ulysses smiled tightly back, standing up from his chair and extended his hand to Henry.

Henry stood, his smile not even faltering as he took the older man's cold hand in his warm one, squeezing and shaking it, brimming with pride and enthusiasm. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. McFayden.” He thanked him, picking up his bag and putting the Quartz back inside of it. “I really look forward to working with you, and hope our future business is lucrative.”

“Same for me, Mr. Cavill.” He smiled back, nodding his head slowly. “I'll have Mr. Sims contact you ahead of my arrival and anything that comes up between now and then.” He assured him.

“I'll leave my card with him.” Henry replied and showed himself out, pulling a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Sims at his desk, before practically skipping out of the building.

Henry was invited to dinner at the McFayden's home a week later, to discuss the mine a bit more and he was excited about getting the venture started with him. He walked up the front steps of the Manor and checked his clothing, brushing off the arms and shoulders of his blazer, then rang the door bell, patiently waiting for the butler to answer.

“I'm Mr. Cavill, and I am expected for dinner with Mr. McFayden.” He explained, when the butler opened the door and lifted a brow at him.

“Of course, sir.” the Butler nodded, stepping aside and motioning for Henry to enter. “Would you like a drink, while I inform Mr. McFayden of your arrival?” He asked, pointing to the glass decanters at the small bar in the study.

“Yes, please.” Henry nodded, biting his lip. “Brandy.” He added as the Butler moved to the bar and pulled out a glass, pouring Henry his drink, then excused himself to go upstairs to Ulysses's personal study. “Oh, hello, Ms. McFayden.” Henry grinned, seeing you passing by the open doorway.

You looked up from your book, catching sight of Henry standing in the study, clutching his untouched glass. Startled for a moment, before you smiled back; politely curtsying to him and then continued on your way. Henry half frowned as the rustle of your skirts faded away down the hall, he had hoped you would stop and speak to him, or at least say something to him. When he was last there, and the first time, he had sat across from you at the table, but never heard you utter a single word the whole three hours at the dinner, you sat quietly and ate each course and dessert in perfect and polite silence, hardly even making eye contact with anyone, other than your mother, who narrowed her eyes at you a lot.

“Hm.” Henry grunted softly, pressing his lips together and resolutely deciding to get you to say something before he left for the evening. “So, how are you liking the food, Ms. McFayden?” Henry asked later, at dinner, smiling at you across the table and took a bite of his steak.

You gulped down your sip of wine and looked across at Henry, caught off-guard that he was addressing you, then looked to your mother for what to do; she lifted a brow at you slightly. “It's very delicious. Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” You replied in a quiet voice, meeting his eye again, nervously.

“Good.” He smiled at you, happy to finally get to hear your voice, but found it odd that you looked to your mother before answering. “You're very quiet.” Henry commented later, finding you alone on the back terrace, enjoying the cool night air.

“Um.” You blinked up at him, eyes shooting to the open double doors, the curtains billowing inside the house, but the pair of you were alone. “Yes, I am.” You gulped, looking back up at him, even in heels you barely reached Henry's shoulders.

“I'm sorry.” Henry frowned, blinking down at you as something struck him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked, afraid that he did.

“No.” You squeaked out, shaking your head at him, startled at the prospect that he thought such a thing. “Not at all, Mr. Cavill. I'm just not used to people addressing me, is all.” You explained to him, trying to put his concern at ease.

“Well, that's a comfort.” Henry replied, relieved, feeling a pressure in his chest loosen. “Are you an only child?” He asked, stepping closer to the railing, and you.

“I am.” You nodded, biting your lip and rubbing the edge of your sleeve, nervously.

“It must be lonely in this big house, by yourself.” He commented, looking over the expansive backyard. “I have four brothers, three older and one younger.” He explained, turning to face you and leaned his hip against the railing.

“I've always wanted a sibling.” You answered, frowning down at your covered feet. “But, even without one, I don't feel completely alone here.” You sighed and relaxed, as alone as you did feel, the ghosts that haunted your family home always kept you company, as tormenting as they were. You tensed again, hearing your mother's approaching steps and became panicked, knowing she would lose her temper if she saw you alone with their guest. “I must go, have a pleasant night, Mr. Cavill.” You bowed to him and rushed off, vanishing around the corner of the terrace.

Henry opened his mouth to bid you good night, but you were already gone. “Mrs. McFayden.” He smiled and nodded his head, as Matilda appeared in the open terrace doorway.

“Have you seen my daughter?” She asked, eyes narrowed and looking around for any sign of you.

“No, I have not.” Henry replied, lying for you.

“Hm.” Matilda huffed, pressing her lips together, then turned on her feels and went back inside.

– A Year Later –

The business venture for the Mine in Chester went off with a booming success, making Henry and Ulysses even richer. Henry spent a lot of time with your family, becoming a big part of it, your father spoke highly of him, treating him like the son he had always wanted. But, your father's attention to Henry came at the cost and jealousy from others, those that had done everything they had and could to be in the position they held in Ulysses's eyes, life and businesses. They felt the audacity of young Henry Cavill achieving such a highly coveted placement, especially with how fresh his entrance into their society was. But, Henry didn't let that bother him, he was assured of himself, he had fought hard to be where he was at, so had his father, and no one would ever discredit it.

“I don't think you deserve the distinction.” Elias Wells growled at Henry, as they stood in the McFayden library. “Some first generation Gentleman, encroaching on the position of someone with older and wealthier blood, should inherit.”

You could hear the conversation from where you sat, by the fireplace. You looked at Henry's face, but he was smiling brightly, genuinely, at the other man, his body language was relaxed and unbothered. You could tell Elias was trying hard to ruffle Henry's feathers, to heat up his blood and fight him. It was normal Elias behavior, you had known Elias since you were ten and he was fourteen, he enjoyed using his position and money to upset those he deemed the 'lesser class'. Even people wealthier than the Wells' family, got placed into the category by Elias, learned from his stiff lipped and nose-in-the-air father, who died six years before, leaving Elias as the 'man of the house' and their textile factories. But, Elias was all hot blood, he'd gotten into numerous fist-fights and duels, always highly public, he wasn't afraid to announce it, whether he won them or not. It was what he was trying to do now with Henry, he wanted Henry to lose his temper and either get into a fight with him or a duel; knowing that such public scrutiny would upset your father. Your father took his image extremely seriously, and would probably disown Henry and close their business plans together, if Henry got into a tiff with Elias, or anyone for that matter. You knew, if your father did that, then Henry would be ruined, not just because your father would end the profitable mining investment they were in together, costing Henry that money; which in itself wasn't a huge blow to Henry's financial situation and wealth, being that he owned and ran Cavill Enterprises, that was larger than the mining operation itself, and was also a board member and CEO of the Munro Shipping Company.

But, if something was to happen between your father and Henry, that would cause him to pull his wealth, name and influence with anything to do with Henry, then all of Henry's businesses would suffer. Depending on the enormity and publicity, People would stop giving Henry's businesses work, people would no longer seek the shipping company to be carried across the pond to the Americas for anything from personal items, like furniture, to official business, such as government contracts. Cavill Enterprises would suffer as well, dealing with trade and commerce. Henry could find himself in a worse situation than his poor farmer of a grandfather.

“The purity and age of a man's blood, doesn't always show his worth.” Henry replied to Elias, taking a sip of his claret.

You watched Elias's face turn the color of his Pinot Noir, his brown eyes taking on an angry sheen as he glared death holes into Henry. As hard as Elias tried to use Henry's past and bloodline against him, the more relaxed Henry became, which only heightened Elias's anger. Thinking quickly, before a full brawl broke out, you set your glass down and stood up, gliding over to the two men, a small crowd had formed as Elias became more heated, slipping between the men and rested your hand on Henry's arm, smiling up at him, sweetly.

“I do believe, Mr. Cavill, you promised me a dance at the next song.” You said, lifting a brow at him, a hint in your eyes.

A smirk twitched up at the corner of Henry's mouth as he looked down at you, getting the hint and gratefully taking the offered excuse to escape the childish conversation. “I did, did I not.” He chuckled, sitting his glass on the mantelpiece beside him, and tucked your hand in the crook of his arm. “Excuse me,” He looked pointedly at Elias. “Gentlemen. I would hate to break a promise to this lovely lady.” He grinned, turning you gracefully towards the door and escorted you out to the spacious ball room as the band your parents had hired, struck up a fresh song. “I appreciate the aid.” Henry told you, bending his head down slightly, so he could speak quietly into your ear.

“Well, it was either this, or sit by and watch Elias rage at you, like a bull in a china shop.” You giggled, turning to face him, resting one hand on his high shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath his coat flex as he hugged his arm around your corseted waist, broad palm pressed to the small of your back.

“He was turning rather red, wasn't he?” Henry laughed, his head throwing back slightly as you both held out your linked hands and started turning and gliding across the dance floor to the flow of music.

“As a beet.” You smiled and sighed, you always felt so relaxed in Henry's presence.

During one of the turns, you saw Elias glowering in the doorway of the ballroom, his hands clasped into fists with a look of utter disgust and jealousy on his still beet red face. Stomping his foot, Elias spun around and stormed out of the house, muttering things under his breath as he stormed down the gravel driveway. You and Henry danced several more times before breaking off for a breather.

“What were you doing?” Matilda's voice hissed behind you, as you poured yourself a glass of punch.

“What?” You replied, sheepish, your punch glass trembling slightly.

“You could have made a scene.”

You licked your lips slowly, stomach twisting in knots. “Was I too just let them get into a screaming match, and possibly a fist fight?” You asked her, a hot brick in your throat. “Wouldn't have that caused a scene and reflected badly on Papa?”

“You should have come to get me.” Matilda jeered at you, quietly, making sure to keep her face fixed into its usual neutral expression, not wanting the guests to see how furious she was at you. “You stupid girl.” Her hand flexing at her side, like she wanted to slap you; and you knew she wanted too.

“Mrs. McFayden, such a lovely party you've organized tonight.” Henry's voice said, cheerily, behind you both, both of your freezing solid.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Matilda replied, her face lighting up with its masterful art of hiding what she was really thinking and feeling. “I am so glad you are enjoying yourself, on this splendid night.”

Henry rested his hand on his chest and bowed, politely at her. “Would it be all right with you, if I stole Ms. McFayden, for another dance?” He asked, smiling sweetly at you.

Matilda looked at you, you could see her still seething, you had known your mother long enough to know what signs to look for, to see beyond the armored wall she erected in her mind. You took a deep drink of your punch and set the cup down on the punch table, and turned to Henry, curtsying to him.

“I appreciate your request, Mr. Cavill.” You smiled at him, trying to hold yourself together. “But, it is late and I am tired, I think I will just retire for the night. I beg your pardon.”

“Of course, it is rather late.” He nodded, his expression soft as he looked at you. “I wish you a good night.” He said, bowing to you. “As well as you, Mrs. McFayden.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Your mother smiled at him, then glanced at you.

Nodding your head, you excused yourself again and left the ballroom. You were meant to go back upstairs to your bedroom, but it was hot, your corset felt the tightest it possibly could be and you weren't actually tired. So, you detoured, using the servant hallways to reach the back of the house and stepped out into the garden. Groaning, you yanked off your shoes and walked barefoot through the dewy grass, it felt great to your sore and aching toes and arches. You knelt down at the edge of the pond, watching the ducks paddling in content circles together.

“Enjoying your night, y/n.”

You sighed, setting your shoes down and rubbed the side of your face. “Very well, and yours, Elias?” You replied, suddenly feeling the exhaustion you had feigned in front of Henry and your mother.

“Bet, you think, you are so cute in front of the ill-bred runt?” He hissed, still steaming with anger towards Henry.

“No, Elias.” You sighed again, wiggling your toes into the grass. “I was only trying to prevent the two of you from getting into a fight.” You told him. “It would have made my father look bad, and you know how he feels about people that make a scene in his home; importantly, in front of his distinguished guests.” You looked at him with a cold look, that would have made your mother unfailingly proud.

Elias snapped forward, grabbing you by the elbows and yanked you up to your feet, shaking you roughly, several times, gnashing his teeth at you as his anger bubbled over. “You will learn your place, just like that runt will.” He hissed at you and shoved you backwards, almost sending you staggering into the pond.

“What does that mean?” You hissed back at him.

“You'll see.” He growled and stormed back into the house.

“Mr. McFayden.” Elias called, squashing down his white hot anger, as he knocked on Ulysses's private study door.

“Come in!” Ulysses called from inside, shuffling around some papers on his desk.

Taking a deep breath, Elias entered the study, closing the door behind him, for some extra privacy. “Mr. McFayden, there's something I'd love to discuss with you.” He started, leading straight into what he had been considering for a very long time.

“Of course, Elias. By all means, speak your mind.” Ulysses replied, giving him his attention.

“I have been a very good acquaintance of yours, and your family's, since I was a small boy. In some respects, I consider you a father.” Elias said, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. “With that being said, I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.” He just came out with it.

Ulysses stared at Elias for quite some time, regarding him, and making Elias feel like he could see his very insides. Licking his lips and looking down at the stack of papers on his desk for a moment, Ulysses looked back up at Elias. “I will consider your proposal of marrying y/n, and give you my answer in a fortnight. Should you not hear from me on the matter, in that allotted time, take it as a no and do not pursue it any farther. Am I understood?” He told him, in a cold and business-like voice.

“Clearly, Sir.” Elias nodded, feeling his anger quiver in the pit of his stomach, he was expecting an immediate yes to his marriage proposal to you.

“Perfect.” Ulysses replied, planting his hands on his hips and glancing around his study. “If you will leave me, I have pressing matters to consider and deal with.” He said, sitting down and pushing his chair closer to his desk.

Elias stood in the hallway after stepping out of Ulysses's study, trying his best to cool and control his temper. He had wanted you as his wife for several years, he had known as a fifteen year old that he wanted to marry you, and it wasn't necessarily a love reason. His own parents hadn't married for love, their marriage had been arranged for the social status and choice blood for children. While he felt something for you, he didn't know if it was just love, or a sense of entitlement and ownership towards you. Didn't matter, your father would tell him yes, and there would be a beautiful, and very public, wedding in the fall. It would be incredibly perfect, especially when your father died and he would inherit his businesses through you.

“She'll be mine, by the end of the year.” He smirked to himself, going down the grand staircase. “Come hell or high water.”

You sat at the breakfast table the next morning, your father turned to you and announced that Elias had asked for your hand. You nearly choked on your breakfast as he said it. “When?” You squeaked, quietly.

“He asked last night.” Ulysses answered, breaking open his hard-boiled egg.

“What did you tell him, dear?” Matilda asked, nonchalant.

“I told him, I would give him my answer in a fortnight.” He replied, both of them as cool as butter about the subject, while you sat there, wide-eyed and panicked at the thought of marrying him.

“Are you going to approve?” Matilda asked, glancing at him.

“I am unsure, my love.” Ulysses replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “He comes from good breeding, his family is quite wealthy and he's quite refined.” He said, frowning down at his toast.

You gulped at his words, remembering the way his was rough with you in the garden, and how easily he was angered, even when he felt the smallest thing slighted him. It terrified you to think your father would approve of Elias. It was something you had known to expect, he was your father and he would vet any suitors trying for your hand in marriage, and being almost twenty-one, the time for him to marry you off, whether or not you liked the man he picked, was closing in on you; which only made you more anxious over the matter. You didn't love Elias, you hardly liked him, but that wouldn't matter, how you felt, it wouldn't matter to your parents, it never has. A crippling fear of being trapped in an abusive and loveless marriage, like you were trapped in the care and home of your parents was nauseating to you. You always fantasized a knight in shining armour would come and rescue you, but that was just the silly fancy of a cursed girl.

“It would be an excellent match.” Your mother commented, staring at you across the table and raised an eyebrow at you, seeing your panic. “Pull yourself together, you silly girl.” She huffed at you, rolling her eyes. “You would be lucky to marry a man like Mr. Wells.”

“Yes, Mother.” You whispered and stared down at your plate, knowing better to comment any farther.

Those two weeks were the longest days in your life, you were always on edge, when your father came home or entered the room, expecting him to tell you he had accepted Elias's proposal and you would be married the next day. But, it never came, the two weeks went by, then three and four, five and six; not a word about the proposal, as if it had never happened. You slowly relaxed over the matter, figuring your father had told Elias no, for whatever reason, and whatever that reason was, you were more than thankful for it. But, one morning, after breakfast, you were sitting on the balcony, reading a new book, when your father appeared in the doorway.

“Papa?” You addressed him, looking at him with wide and expecting eyes, waiting for him to say what he had come to tell you.

“I accepted a proposal for your hand in marriage.” He told you, plainly.

Your eyes grew large with horror and shock, book dropping from your hand, feeling faint. “Who?” You whimpered, hiccuping at the lump in your throat.

“I will tell you, when I return from my work trip tomorrow night.” He told you, then left you in stunned silence.

Twenty-four hours of waiting to find out about the marriage proposal your father had accepted, you prayed so hard that your father hadn't changed his mind about Elias's proposal and accepted it after all. But, tomorrow night would never come, you were woken up by the echoing wails coming from downstairs, for a moment, you thought your ghost was coming back to torment you, but your mind quickly identified the noises as your mother's. You pulled on a robe and flew down the stairs, it was dreadfully unlike your mother to lose her composure over anything, so when you found her on the chaise in a swoon, you were floored.

“Mama, what's the matter?” You gasped, dropping to your knees at her side and took up her hand. “What's happened?” You demanded of the butler, your mother's Lady's maid and a man you knew as your father's business partner.

“Perhaps, you should sit down as well, child.” Ulysses's business partner, Thaddeus, suggested and motioned to a chair beside your mother; which you took up. “There has been an incident.” He told you, taking your hand between his, patting it in a reassuring way.

“What type of incident?” You frowned, glancing around the room, looking for someone to explain to you what was going on.

“Your father has..” Thaddeus cleared his throat and opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by the ringing of the door bell.

The butler shuttled off and answered it, a rush of steps came towards the study and Henry appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic until he saw you and relaxed.

“I came as soon as I heard.” He told you, sitting down beside you and taking your hand from Thaddeus's.

“Do you know what's happened?” You asked him, squeezing his hand for support.

“No, all I heard was there was an incident at the McFayden residence, and rushed right over to make sure you all were all right.” He explained, squeezing your hand back and rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “What's happened, Thad?” Henry asked, looking up at the older man, still hovering over you.

“Mr. McFayden was discovered in his hotel suite,” Thaddeus gulped, looking between you and your recovering mother. “dead.”

You gasped, pressing your knuckles to your lips and turned your body into Henry's, laying your forehead against his shoulder as silent tears overwhelmed you. Dead, your father was dead. Ulysses Dante McFayden was no more, he was never coming home, you would never see him ever again. The darkness of the Manor seemed to grow even more as you clung onto Henry, who pressed his cheek to your hair and rubbed your back, shushing you softly and offering all the comfort he could.

“How?” Henry asked, looking up at Thaddeus, rocking you gently.

“I don't think, it's appropriate to discuss that in front of the ladies.” Thaddeus replied, looking at you and your mother again, sheepishly.

You looked up at Thaddeus, setting your expression. “How?” You asked, firmly.

“He was..” Thaddeus gulped, wringing his hands. “He was stabbed, repeatedly.”

Matilda whined on the chaise, blanching. “My poor sweet Ollie.” She whimpered in a broken voice. “My poor poor Ollie.”

“By whom was he attacked?” Henry asked, gobsmacked.

“It is unsure.” Thaddeus replied, deeply uncomfortable. “He had a client meeting in his rooms, but it is unsure if that's who attacked him, or if that person even arrived for their appointment.”

“Do they know who this client is?” You asked him. “To question him? To make sure, he isn't the scoundrel that did this.”

“The authorities are checking into him, I assure you. We are doing everything that needs to be done to bring this monster to justice and close the matter as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“Thank you.” You whispered and got a hold of yourself, gratefully taking the handkerchief Henry offered you.

“You and your mother will have to finalize your father's estate and businesses.” Thaddeus said, reluctant to bring the matter up so soon, but it needed to be done.

“Of course.” You nodded, your mind reeling even more.

“Don't worry.” Henry smiled at you, squeezing your hand. “I'll be with you, every way I can.” He promised, thumbing away a tear on your cheek.

“Thank you.” You sniffled, throwing your arms around his neck.

Henry was true to his word, he was there for you and your mother in the aftermath of your father's murder. That was still hard to come to terms with, your father was murdered, by someone and you couldn't understand why anyone could be such a monster to kill someone else. Henry went with you, to identify your father's body, being your mother was bedridden in her grief. You clutched Henry's strong arm as the undertaker pulled back the sheet from your father's face, his face a chalky white and flaccid. You reached out and touched his temple, trying to make sure it was all real and not some surreal dream you were having. But, the ice cold skin beneath your fingertips was all too real, shocking your system even more.

“That's him.” You whispered, your voice distant and foreign to your own ears.

“Is that all you need of her?” Henry asked, hugging his arm around you, tucking you into the warmth of his side and body, pushing out the eerie cold of the morgue.

“It is.” The Undertaker nodded, covering your father up again.

“Your mother has asked me to arrange the funeral.” Luis, your family lawyer, said as he stood beside the undertaker, a pile of papers in his hands.

“That's fine.” You nodded, not really paying attention.

Wishing you could be away from this place, squeezing your eyes shut as the throb of a headache pressed in on your temples, you could feel them, the lingering spirits, hanging closely to their now empty flesh; angry, confused and lost on what to do now, that life had left them. You could feel one close to your shoulder, the chill of it reddened your earlobe and a shiver quaked down your spine. Henry felt it and held you closer to him, supporting you against his strong and tall body. You dared to glance at the spirit floating over your shoulder, praying it wasn't your father, thankfully it was not. It was a young-ish woman, eyes white and blank, with half a caved in skull; you jerked at the sight of her, whimpering and squeezing your eyes tight against the sight, willing your mind not to etch it into a permanent place in your brain.

“Let's leave.” Henry said softly, looking down at you, concerned for your well-being. “We can sign the papers at the house.” He suggested, already turning away with you, your solid and living form brushing through the spirit of the young lady, displacing her like a plume of smoke, before her form righted itself. “Are you all right?” He whispered to you as you blinked at the bright sunlight, feeling it warm away the chill of death.

“I'm fine.” You whispered back, taking a deep breath and pushing it all away from your mind.

Henry cupped your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, a crease of deep concern on his brow as he looked into your eyes. “You can confide in me.” He told you, sincerely.

“Mr..”

“Henry.” He interrupted you, gently, smiling at you, hopeful. “Please, please, call me Henry.”

You blinked at him, and felt a flutter in your stomach. “Henry.” You whispered his name for the first time. “Y/n.” You mumbled back, shyly.

Henry grinned, brimming with joy. “Y/n.” He whispered your name back to you, his chest light. “Let's get you home.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms as you shivered, the cold London wind whipping around you both.

“Okay, Henry.” You nodded, it felt nice to say his given name.

“Okay, y/n.” He nodded back, folding your hand into his arm and walked to the carriage with you, opening the door and helping you inside, before following you in and tucking a blanket around your lap, for added warmth.

“Would you..stay?” You asked, walking into the foyer of the Manor and looking up at Henry, so tired and depressed.

“Here?” Henry squeaked, blinking down at you. “With you?”

“You see how big this place is?” You said, waving a hand around. “A person can, and has, gotten lost in this house. It takes a week to go from one side of the house to the other.” You laughed, trying to lighten your and Henry's moods.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable.” He said, biting his lip, really hoping he wasn't overstepping.

“It really would.” You told him, softly. “My mother has my aunt, Bella. So, she won't notice in the slightest.”

It was a week later that you attended your father's funeral. Your mother sobbing on her sister, Bella's shoulder. Your aunt had come down from Yorkshire to be with your mother in her time of need. Thankfully in that time, you had Henry to be your strong arm and shoulder, your borrowed ear as you stood at the graveside in your black dress. Henry's hand rested on the small of your back, while holding the umbrella with his other, the wet snow fell all around you and the large procession, over four hundred people came to your father's funeral.

You laid in bed, staring up at your ceiling, that night, drained in so many ways, but sleep wouldn't take you. You shivered and pulled your blanket over yourself more, and groaned seeing your frosty breath in a mist above your face. A pounding vibrated through the house, shaking your bed, it happened repeatedly in a rhythmic kind of way, it was nothing like any of the ghosts in the house had acted before. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you got up and grabbed the candle stick beside your bed, lighting it and went to your bedroom door, pressing your ear to it. You slowly opened your door and started, seeing the spirit that tormented you the most.

“What's the fuss?” You hissed at her, tired of dealing with the dead.

The spirit extended its arm and pointed down the hall to the stairs. Narrowing your eyes, you took the hint and made your way down the stairs to the landing, leading down to the second floor of the Manor, where you could look down over the railing to the foyer and front floor below. Your mouth slowly dropped open, seeing a spirit floating in the space in front of you.

“Papa.” You gulped, biting back tears as you saw him.

“Y/n.” Ulysses groaned back at you, glancing around the house like he didn't know where he was or why he was there.

“Oh, Papa. No.” You whined, heartbroken, setting your candlestick on a nearby table. “Why are you here? Go, in peace. Please, Papa.” You cried, gripping the banister. “You don't belong here anymore.” You tried to convince him to cross over, you looked over your shoulder to the other spirit. “Helena, help him. Please!”

“Lily Hill Manor.” She rasped back, crooking a bony finger at you.

“I don't care about the stupid Manor.” You roared, tears dripping from your face. “Help him cross over! I beg of you.”

“Say, yes.” Your father echoed, like the hiss of steam being released. “Tell him, yes.”

“Lily Hill Manor is where you belong.” Helena moaned back. “He needs you, his legacy.”

“Ah!” You screamed, frustrated and at your wit's end. “Papa, take my hand.” You begged him, leaning over the banister and stretching your arm out to him. “Take my hand, Papa. I'll help you, just touch my hand.”

Henry had been woken up by your cries and got out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself, he had stayed in the Manor at your request, concerned for you, since your mother and aunt only seemed concerned with each other. He went upstairs to your floor, found your bedroom door open, but empty and icy cold.

“Papa, please!” Your voice echoed up to him.

Turning he started to the ground floor, and found you teetering over the banister, arm extended to your max reach over the far distance to the ground, toes barely touching the floor. Henry's heart started at the sight of you, the look of sheer terror and panic on your face, tears flowing. He shivered, unaware that he was standing right behind Helena.

“Papa, crossover! You can't allow yourself to be stuck here. Not like the rest of them, please!” You begged him, desperate.

Helena turned to Henry, making her clicking and popping sounds as she brought her contorted mouth to his ear. “Save her.” She hissed to him, making his thick body shake with cold, then ran the sharp tip of her finger up his spine, and with a flicker and shake of his head, Henry could see the white, contorted and transparent floating apparition of your father.

“Dear, God.” He gasped, mouth falling to the floor.

Ulysses locked eyes with Henry, his pure white eye sockets burned holes into Henry's very being. “Tell her. Make her, say yes. Protect her.” He rasped and moaned at him.

You looked back and finally noticed Henry standing there. “Henry!” You called out, surprised to see him.

“Y/n!” Henry yelled back, starting forward as you started to slip and lose your balance, just managing to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back from falling, potentially, to your death. “Y/n.” He repeated your name, in a scared pant, hugging you back against him.

“You saw him.” You panted back, in shock.

“Yeah.” Henry let out in a startled rush, glancing back, but didn't see your father anymore. “Is he gone?” He asked, looking back to you.

You looked back and saw nothing either, but still felt the chill of Helena. “No.” You shook your head. “I think,” You gulped, pressing your hand to your forehead. “I think he's crossed over.” You said, softly.

“Well, that-that's good.” Henry sighed, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “Y/n, I know this isn't the best time to tell you this.” He said, gulping and licking his lips as you turned to look up at him. “But, two weeks before your father died, I asked him for your hand.” Henry confessed to you. “He gave me his answer, the day before he left for his trip.”

“You?” You squeaked up at him, stunned at the revelation. “My father agreed to allow you to marry me?” You asked, shaking your head.

Henry looked at you, hot knots twisting up in his stomach, fearing your reaction. “Yes.” He nodded. “He said, he would tell you after his trip and that our courtship would start there after.” He explained to you, chewing on his lip and cheek.

“It was you.” You said softly, feeling incredibly relieved. “Oh, thank the heavens.” You let out a relieved breath, relaxing and slumping against the wall behind you.

“You're not upset, or opposed to it?” Henry asked, shocked that you seemed joyous about it.

“No.” You grinned and laughed, a sense of freedom washing over you. “No, not at all. He told me, the morning he left, that someone had asked, but wouldn't tell me who, until after he returned home.”

“But, you were afraid to find out who it was.” He said, it was plain to see.

“Yes.” You admitted, honestly. “I feared that my father had reconsidered Elias's proposal and told him yes.”

“Elias asked your father?” Henry asked, eyes wide with shock, and anger.

“The night of the ball, where he was trying to provoke you.” You explained to him, and rolled your eyes. “Probably his attempt to 'put me in my place'.” You huffed, shaking your head at the memory.

Henry growled at the thought of Elias trying to encroach on you. “Well, I know, it's not conventional or the best timing, but, would you like to marry me?” He asked, shyly.

You smiled up at Henry, resting your hand on his forearm. “I would love to marry you, Henry.” You told him, out of your wildest fantasies about being rescued from your life, Henry was the closet and most perfect depiction of that knight. “Does anyone else know about this?” You asked, narrowing your eyes, knowing that if you both were to go public with your courtship, Elias might dispute the claim, and now your marital status was in the feeble hands of your mother.

“Yes, Thaddeus was in the room, when I asked and when your father gave me his consent.” Henry assured you, cupping your hands in his, following your train of thought.

“That's good.” You sighed, relieved.

Henry smiled at you, and couldn't help himself, he cupped your cheek in his hand and kissed you, delicately on the lips. You smiled and giggled, your first kiss, and kissed him back. “I should get you back to bed.” Henry whispered, breaking the kiss, but still very close to you. “It's late and been a trying day.”

“It has.” You agreed, feeling the exhaustion and soreness in your body. “I'll tell my mother in the morning.” You said, as you walked back up to your room with him.

“I think that's a good idea.” Henry agreed, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. “Is it all right, if I stay in one of the rooms up here?” He asked, turning his body towards the other closed doorways on your floor, he wanted to be closer to you, in cause you needed him again, but still respectful and proper, at least until you were truly his wife.

“Of course.” You nodded, getting into bed. “There's one at the end of the hall you'll find more comfortable. The others haven't been used in, at least, my lifetime.” Henry bowed his head at you, resting his hand on the knob of your door. “Don't.” You gasped, as he started to close it.

Henry looked at you, a small crease on his brow, but smiled gently at you, nodding his head. “Of course.” He assured you, letting it go. “Good night, y/n.” He bid you, softly.

“Good night, Henry.” You replied, laying down on your side.

You watched Henry go down the hall to Grace's old room, opening the door and stepping inside. He glanced around the room that had been shut up for several years, but you still occasionally went into the room, to sleep, when your hysterical terrors became too much for you. Her room had become a safe haven for you. Henry pulled back the quilts on the bed and laid down, both of you could see each other through the open doorways, and you fell asleep with the calming assurance that Henry was there, watching over you.

-- Part II --

[miracleonice87]

Make You Feel My Love with Nathan MacKinnon

a Nathan MacKinnon song fic

a/n: season outcome, timing, and stats = totally fake. based on Nate’s public mentions in past interviews of seeing a sports psychologist, which is really inspiring to me. seeking professional advice is a GOOOOD thing! also, wasn’t originally intended to be a song fic, but Adele’s version of Make You Feel My Love (originally by Bob Dylan) came on while I was finishing it up, so I went with it! last note: pretending Tyson never got traded to the Leafs is the best part of writing hockey fanfiction. 🥺

summary: Angry/Sad Nate loses in the playoffs and takes his frustrations out on his girlfriend Sam, who gets comfort and advice from his teammates and friends.

warnings: swearing; isolated, individual outbursts of anger but NO physical violence; mentions of counseling/therapy and the practice of sports psychology (obviously, like I mentioned, this is a good thing but just something to know); crying Nate (I feel like that deserves a warning)

_____

Deflated, I sat in a bulky black chair in the team family room deep in the recesses of the Pepsi Center for several minutes after leaving the wives and girlfriends suite, needing a moment away from prying eyes and cameras to process what had just occurred.

The Avalanche had been one of the highly favored teams in the West all season long, yet had just been swept in the second round of the playoffs. My boyfriend, Nathan MacKinnon, widely regarded as one of the best players in the NHL, had totaled only one point in the 11 playoff games the team had played this year, earning a single assist on a Mikko Rantanen goal.

Needless to say, that hadn’t been sitting right with Nate.

He’d been short with me since the first few games of the postseason; even shorter than he typically got when he was in a drought. I had tried to give him space, but he snapped about the smallest questions I asked or requests I made of him: what he wanted for dinner, or to be sure he called to wish his sister Sarah a happy birthday. He sometimes mumbled an apology in my general direction, but more often than not, he simply left the room in a huff. I tried my best to be patient — to give him space.

It was abundantly clear that the pressure that always loomed heavy over Nathan like a thick, dark cloud had now intensified. I knew, without him ever verbalizing it, that he felt more burdened than ever before to live up to the hype — to the expectations he had for himself, and to those placed on him, either explicitly or implicitly, by the entire hockey community and the media.

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

I sat still with my head in my hands for what seemed like forever, until sweet Mel Landeskog, whom I had become so close with over the last four seasons of watching our significant others play together, came and rubbed my back gently through the custom Avs denim jacket that hung on my shoulders. I lifted my head to look at her, a sympathetic smile etched on her beautiful features.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Mel offered. “I know he’s gonna be so hard on himself. But he had such a great season — he needs to be proud of that,” she reasoned. I nodded.

Mel was right. He had had a truly remarkable regular season — he had scored 95 points in 82 games after a enduring a considerable slump for much of the previous year. This year stood in stark contrast to last. He had been riding high for many weeks; that is, until playoffs hit.

I stood to wrap Mel in a hug, appreciative of her gesture of support but unwilling to reflect on Nate’s play right now. “Thank you, Mel,” I told her as I squeezed her tightly. “I’m gonna miss you so much this summer,” I added, gesturing to the car seat on the floor beside her. “And Nate and I will both miss that little one, too,” I said as I blew Linnea a kiss, making her giggle, a welcome sound after a heartbreaking display on the ice. Mel glanced down at her baby daughter, beaming.

“I know, honey. We’ll miss you too. But it won’t be long until we’re all back here together, plus we’ll see each other for a couple of these bachelorette parties and summer weddings and get-togethers, yeah?” she said with a nudge.

“Yeah, that’ll be nice. Until then, you guys be safe,” I told her. With one last hug and quick kisses to each other’s cheeks, Mel picked up Linnea in her seat and exited the room. I realized that she and I had been the last two wives or girlfriends to leave, with most of us having exchanged quiet goodbyes in the suite before making hasty escapes to the parking area to console our respective sad hockey players.

With a groan at the depressing thought, I pulled my jean jacket tighter to my torso and walked slowly out the open door.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

The locker room doors stood maybe ten yards down the hall. The usual rambunctious ruckus that so often echoed off the cinderblock walls was tonight exchanged for a thick silence. It seemed that most of the guys had already left, and those who remained were noiseless. I softly greeted a few of the familiar men who made their way out the doors, offering only a sad smile and a few words of comfort to each, knowing that they weren’t in the mood to engage. They were, however, still polite, with several of the players embracing me briefly or kissing my cheek as they left the building.

Gabe Landeskog was among the very last to leave the room, unsurprisingly, as he was ever the responsible and respectable captain. He spotted me immediately and enveloped me in his strong grasp.

“Hi, friend,” I whispered into his shoulder, worried that my voice would break. “Hi, söt flicka,” (sweet girl) he countered.

“I’m sorry, Cap,” I told him quietly. He pulled back and shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Wasn’t our year,” he replied with a shrug. “As you can imagine, Nate is taking it pretty hard...” his voice trailed off. “I just want you to be prepared,” he finally added, carefully.

My stomach knotted. I tucked some of my hair behind my ear and swiftly licked my lips, feeling anxiety pool in my gut.

Gabe placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Just remember it’s not you he’s upset with. It’s himself,” he said softly. I quickly glanced up at him and nodded. “Thank you,” I choked out. “Now you better get going. You’ve got two beautiful girls waiting for you,” I told him, feigning a bright grin. He tried to mirror my expression, but fell short. It was unnatural to see such sadness in his normally joyful visage. He squeezed my upper arm.

“That I do,” Gabe agreed. “We’ll see you soon, Sam.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “Bye, Cap.” He gave a solemn nod and disappeared down the hallway.

My unease only multiplied after my exchange with Gabe. I began to pace slowly in a circle. I jumped a few moments later when the door flew open with a screech, Nate emerging from behind it, a bitter, dark expression on his face.

I greeted him softly, tentatively, reaching a hand toward him.

“Nate, baby, I —“

My boyfriend brushed past me in a flash, causing a literal draft of air to hit me as he held up his hand, never even making eye contact with me as he practically stomped down the corridor.

My blood ran hot — how dare he not acknowledge my presence after I had attended how many home games, and even road games, supporting him and cheering him on, no matter what? And that was just this season — what about the three prior? Why was he shutting me out? My heart thumped against my ribcage.

“Nathan,” I called, my voice firm this time, whipping around to face his back and then fumbling with the chain of my Louis Vuitton bag as it fell from my shoulder. Discombobulated, I threaded it back over my arm clumsily and took two hurried steps in Nate’s direction, but he was already out of sight.

Just then, I noticed our close friend Tyson Barrie standing a few feet behind me. I could infer from the way he was approaching me gingerly, which was highly unlike him, that he had witnessed our exchange, or the lack thereof. I sighed and pressed a hand to my forehead, his hand coming to grip my other elbow.

“Sam, sweetheart... you okay?” Tyson asked softly. Hot tears pricked my eyelids, but I refused to let them fall, blinking them back with a sniffle. My hand fell back to my side — I was shaking now.

“I knew he would be mad...” I began. “But what the fuck, Tys?” My voice wavered.

Tyson instinctively pulled my waist to his side, giving me a quick, protective kiss to the temple, before pulling away and offering me his hand.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he volunteered. With another sniff, I shook my head. “No, it’s okay, Tys. I drove, thank god,” I spat. “Besides, you’re dealing with the same disappointment. You need to go home with Em and unwind,” I insisted, smoothing one hand over his suit jacket. His head dropped and he offered a weak nod.

“I guess. But listen, if he’s still not acting right, call me, okay? You know you can come over. You’re always welcome, especially when he’s being such an ass,” Tyson said, the end of his sentence turning into a growl. We both sighed; I nodded.

“Thanks, Tys. I’ll let you know. And listen, I’m sorry... about tonight. I know it hurts,” I told him, hugging his neck with one arm. He spread his fingers over my back and gave me a squeeze before stepping back to look into my eyes.

“It’s just hockey,” he said quietly. I smiled weakly and nodded once. “Bye, Sam. See you soon,” he said, rubbing one hand over my shoulder as he turned and made his way down the hall to find Emma.

If only Nathan shared his friend’s logic and sentiment.

I dropped my head back at the thought, tears once again collecting in my eyes. I forced them closed in an attempt to stay composed. With another sigh, I slowly started toward the private parking garage where my vehicle waited.

Unsurprisingly, as I stepped through the glass door and into the garage where I spotted my Audi, the spot next to me where Nate’s Porsche had been was empty. I unlocked my car, tossed my bag and scarf into the passenger side, and slammed my door shut before giving the steering wheel two firm bangs with the palm of my hand. My body still hadn’t stopped trembling.

I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue

I'd go crawling down the avenue

No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do

To make you feel my love

I rested my forehead against the leather steering wheel for a moment before drawing a breath and finally backing out of my spot and exiting the garage, apprehensive of the scene I might find at the condo Nathan and I shared.

_____

I stepped through the front door tentatively, chewing on the inside of my lip. I was careful not to make a sound, walking on tiptoes to avoid clicking my heeled boots on the white tile floor. I dropped my purse onto the table in the entryway and reached to hang up my keys on the rack by the closet when I heard the distinct sound of glass — a lot of glass — shattering.

I froze.

The plans I had formulated in my head during my drive to confront Nate as soon as I arrived home suddenly seemed too unnerving to carry out.

My knees were nearly knocking together as I zipped through the living room and tucked myself behind the wet bar in one corner of the room. I hid myself in a partially-enclosed area where the wine and beer fridge stood, then felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I fumbled to answer it, not wanting to make too much noise.

Sidney Crosby, the onscreen caller ID read. I tapped the green button.

“Hello?” I was caught off guard by how frightened my own voice sounded as I answered.

“Sam, hi. Are you home?” Sid’s usually calm and collected tone was now bathed in concern.

“Hi, Sid. Yeah, I just got home. He’s, uh... it’s not good,” I said quietly, glancing at the staircase as I heard another thud upstairs, this time what sounded like a pair of shoes against Nate’s closet wall. On the other end of the call, Sid heaved a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, I figured,” he said tensely. “I tried calling him thinking I might catch him on his way home and talk him down a bit, but he ignored my call. I’m sorry, Sam. Are you alright?”

I glanced down at my free hand which rested on the oak wood of the bar. I was still trembling, my fears of coming home to chaos having been realized.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I choked out, lying through my teeth. “It’s just hard to watch.”

A deep hum of understanding came from Sid’s throat. “I bet. Have you talked to him?”

I shook my head, despite the fact that Sid was nowhere nearby to see the gesture. “No,” I vocalized weakly. “He uh... he kinda... he didn’t wanna talk to me at the arena... I don’t think.” I fiddled with my promise ring on my left hand as I made the admission. It didn’t even sound like Sid was breathing on the other end of the line.

“You’re telling me he blew you off?” he asked gruffly. I could envision Sidney running a hand over his face before gripping his neat curls atop his dark hair, as he often did when frustrated. I opened my mouth to confirm, but couldn’t actually bring myself to do so, knowing what his reaction would be. I also didn’t want to confess to the commotion I had just heard upstairs, knowing that it would further upset my concerned friend, on my behalf. Instead, I let my silence do the talking.

“Goddammit, Sam,” he growled. “I’m so sorry. He’s young. He- he... I used to do this shit, too,” Sidney admitted with a quick breath. “It’s bullshit. He’s just angry with himself and he’s taking it out on you and it’s not fair. I had hoped I had set a better example about how to deal with these things when they happen... but apparently not.”

A couple of hot tears fell to my face as I responded. “This isn’t your fault, Sid.” He retorted immediately, “Well, it’s sure as hell not yours, either.”

We both sat in contemplation for several moments, neither sure of the next step to take. Then, Sid decided.

“I won’t call him again because he needs to talk to you first. But I am going to text him and urge him that he needs to let you in,” Sid insisted. “He needs to let somebody in,” he repeated. “And it needs to be you first.”

More tears were falling now, and I glanced up at the chandelier overhead and pulled my phone from my ear for a beat to try and settle myself. I wiped at my face with the bottom of my thumb.

“Okay,” I finally whispered. I hadn’t ever really cried around Sid, and while he was one of the nicest and most genuine human beings on the planet, I knew he wasn’t quite accustomed to emotional encounters like this one, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by letting him hear the sobs that were bubbling up in my chest.

“It might not feel like it right now,” Sid broached, speaking in a soothing tone reminiscent of my father’s or brother’s when trying to console me. “But you’re right where you need to be. So is he. He needs you, Sam.”

I've known it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong

“Sam?” Nate suddenly called out from the balcony above me, his voice not sounding heated, but doleful instead. From where he stood upstairs, he couldn’t see me.

“Was that him?” Sid asked. “Yeah,” I said softly, somewhat in response to both men. “Good. He’s coming around. Trust me. I’ll let you go. Text me later, eh?” Sid requested, sounding slightly relieved. “Yeah, I will. Promise. Thank you. Bye,” I said hurriedly before ending the call.

“Sam?” Nate’s voice echoed off the walls once more, sounding desperate this time. My pulse quickened.

“Yeah. I’m coming,” I said softly. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, took a steadying breath, and turned to walk upstairs and face him.

By the time I arrived on the second floor only a handful of moments later, Nate was already back in our bedroom, seated in the oversized Queen Anne chair near the center of the room, elbows on his knees, chin almost to his chest. I was shocked to hear small sobs escaping his lips. He glanced in my general direction, not meeting my eyes, and cried harder.

“I can’t even look at you right now,” Nate finally spoke, somewhat coarsely. My heart seemed to shatter right then, and I felt my body steel in self-defense, preparing for war.

“I can’t even believe how I treated you back there. I’m such an awful fucking human. I’m a monster. I’m so sorry,” Nate added tearfully, catching me off guard.

The storms are raging on the rolling sea

And on the highway of regret

The winds of change are blowing wild and free

You ain't seen nothing like me yet

I immediately let out three sobs that seemed to have been lodged in my throat for almost an hour now and, in an instant, closed the gap between us. I dropped to my knees in front of him and laid my head in his lap, hugging his calves. Never before had we shared such an intensely emotional moment. Above me, he covered his eyes with his hands and drew shallow, gasping breaths in an unsuccessful attempt to calm himself.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he cried, not touching me of his own accord. “I’m so sorry.” I picked up my head and looked at him, urgency coursing through my veins. I needed him to come back to me.

“Nathan, baby, hey,” I coaxed, rubbing his big thigh with my hand, which looked so small in comparison. “Look at me. Please? I need you to.”

After a beat, Nate finally lifted his head from his hands, his pale skin slightly splotchy and tinted red, blue eyes shimmering behind more tears that threatened to fall.

“There’s my handsome man,” I said softly, combing my fingers through the neat hair near his ears, watching him slowly return to me.

“Hey, I want you to listen to me, okay? Tonight you’re allowed to cry it out, or punch our pillows, or run on the treadmill all night to blow off some steam. And then I’ll give you a couple more days to swallow this. But after that? We’re gonna check in with Dr. Butler, both of us, so she can give us some ways to cope with this.”

Nate’s shuddering breaths had finally started to slow as I spoke, referencing one of his most trusted allies, the Denver-based sports psychologist he had been seeing now for a few seasons to help him deal with not only hockey-related challenges and mental blocks, but also general anxiety, in order to boost his mental health. I was careful not to allow my tone to come across as if I were babying him, but instead offering comfort and, more importantly, suggesting help. “Because tonight? These last couple weeks? This can’t be it. We can’t deal with things this way. I don’t want you shutting me out, or Sid, or your family, okay? You wouldn’t let me do that — I’m not gonna let you,” I added.

Nate nodded quickly. “Absolutely, babe. I was just gonna say, as soon as I heard you on the phone downstairs, it really just hit me. I realized I needed to text her and set up an appointment,” he told me, his voice no longer shaky. “And that I needed to apologize to you,” he added softly. I nodded, and he grabbed my hands, pulling me to my feet and then back down to lie in his lap. I threw my legs over one arm of the chair and settled against his chest.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to find comfort in Nate’s heartbeat for a moment, as he pressed soft kisses into my hair, before I looked around the room, assessing the damage. I noticed that his suit coat lay crumpled in the middle of his closet floor, his shoes having bounced off the wall there as I suspected, and they sat out of place atop his neatly assembled collection of footwear. Across from us, I noticed the source of the shattered glass — a shadow box display from Nate’s unforgettable rookie season hung just slightly crooked on the wall, the glass in the front completely broken out, save for the shards along the inner edge of the frame.

Nate followed my gaze to the mess and sighed. “I’m really sorry about that, Sam,” he said, shame creeping into his tone. I nodded knowingly. “What did you throw?” I asked. “That puck they gave me from the last game of the regular season. It was on my dresser when I set my wallet down and it just set me off,” he admitted sheepishly. “It was stupid.”

“Yes, it was stupid to break something that’s valuable to you, but it’s not stupid, what you’re feeling,” I told him firmly. “Besides, we’ll get a new glass panel and it’ll be good as new.” His grip around me tightened, appreciative of my response. “Thank you,” Nate whispered into my ear. I turned to kiss his lips slowly and deeply. He finally pulled back, only to murmur, “I don’t deserve you. I’m so grateful I have you.” I smoothed my thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m always going to be here for you, Nate,” I promised. He gave me one more solemn kiss.

“Listen, I’m gonna carry you into the bathroom so you don’t even get close to any shards of glass, and I’ll clean all this up while you run us a bath,” Nate told me. “I’ll join you soon. I think it’ll be good for both of us, eh?” I nodded, wrapping my arms around his neck as he easily picked me up bridal-style and headed toward the en suite.

Things were far from perfect, but I was prepared to do everything in my power to get us as close as possible. From the change in his demeanor, I knew Nate was, too.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

Nothing that I wouldn't do

Go to the ends of the Earth for you

To make you feel my love

[writer-dreams]

Colors (Draco Malfoy X Reader)

I'll be honest, I've had this one fully written since last week. I've just been very nervous to post it because the ending is so bad 😅. I haven't been sure how to fix it and I've re-written it several times. This fic is definitely rushed but hey, it's a one-shot (and I wanted to try writing something short and sweet for once). This is still part of the Cliche Month Challenge by @wreckofawriter (sorry this was so late). I've finally gained enough courage to post it and I hope you enjoy this messy fic.

Prompt: An AU where you can only see the shades of your soulmate's eyes until you first touch.

House: You choose

Blood Status: You choose

Warnings: Possible swearing

Note: Again, very messy. Not sure I like this one too much. The reader in this story is female / uses female pronouns.

Word Count: 1,694 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV

Y/n opened her eyes to see the world was still the same shade of steel grey. She longed to know what the world truly looked like, to see actual colors other than this grey. When she was younger, she was ecstatic to learn that someone out there was destined to be with her. She used to fantasize about meeting her soulmate, seeing in color and her falling in love. She imagined what her soulmate would look like, what their personality was like, their likes and dislikes.

Now, as she grew older, she began to develop fears. What if they didn't like her? Even if the universe had put them together, there was still a chance they could reject her. What if she didn't like them? She never considered herself to be a picky person, especially when it came to love, but that didn't mean that they couldn't have a horrible personality. All of her friends have already met with their soulmates, and it did seem like they matched each other perfectly. They always talked about how beautiful the world was and how they couldn't wait until she could see the colors too.

She snapped out of her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she walked off to the courtyard, hoping a good book could distract her from the whole soulmate situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n wasn't sure how much time had passed when she finally finished her book. A few hours, at least. She looked around the courtyard, seeing that she was the only one there. She sighed, deciding to go back inside. Y/n looked at the sky, dreaming about the day she could finally see the blue sky her friends talked about. She wondered how beautiful the night sky looked when it was in full color, how pretty a sunset could be. Yet, all she could see was grey. She was almost at the point where she would begin to resent the color. Still, she remained patient, still trying to hold on to the small shred of hope that she would someday meet the one.

On her way in, she bumped into someone rather harshly. The two fell back, Y/n closing her eyes and rubbing her head gently from where it hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, her mind was blown as suddenly, she could see the world in color. Amazed, Y/n slowly took in her surroundings, admiring the green grass and the blue sky. She looked at the bark of the trees, the castle, the white fluffy clouds. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she slowly let it all sink in. She could see, she could finally see! It was all so much more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.

The boy in front of her got up with a groan. In her dazed state, Y/n had almost forgotten about him. She looked back at him to see platinum blonde hair and grey eyes looking back at her. Her face immediately became shocked as she recognized that familiar face, those eyebrows, those thin lips, those sharp cheekbones. Draco Malfoy.

Said boy looked back at her with the same shocked eyes. He glanced quickly around him, an astonished expression on his face. His grey eyes landed back on her, almost in disbelief.

"You're my—" They both whispered.

Y/n couldn't do this. Even when he didn't know they were soulmates, Draco Malfoy was a bigoted twat. How could the universe possibly pair her up with him? Y/n shook her head, before she got up and quickly retreated to her dormitory. She could hear Draco calling after her but she ignored him and simply kept running.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she arrived, most of her friends were already there, talking amongst each other on their beds. At the sound of the door opening, they all turned their heads and greeted her. Y/n still couldn't believe that she could see in color because of Draco Malfoy. Now, she could see the color or her friend's hairs and their eyes. She turned to a mirror and examined her reflection, playing with her (h/c) hair. She could see that she had (e/c) eyes, which was so surprising, considering that she had only seen a grey version of herself for years.

"Hey, Y/n! I just want you to know that you're beautiful and you better not be saying bad things about yourself to that mirror!" (F/n) said.

"I'm not....I just...."

"You'll find your soulmate eventually, Y/n. Then you can finally see how pretty you are." Another friend reassured.

Y/n smiled back at her, not sure if she should tell her friends that she met them and that it was the worst possible matchup ever. She decided against it, telling herself that the universe had made a mistake. There was no way that Malfoy was her soulmate, she refused to believe it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Almost a week had passed after that incident and Y/n was still avoiding Draco. She could see him trying to reach out to her but she would quickly lose him in the crowded hallways. Everyday, every hour, she was playing a game of avoidance cat and mouse. She had gotten pretty good at it too, swiftly navigating her way through all the students.

Today was just another one of those days. There she was again, quickly walking through the crowds, afraid that she would see Malfoy and have to talk to him. Luckily for her, she managed to make it to class without running into him. She settled into her seat next to her friends, who were quietly gossiping to each other.

"Malfoy's been pretty quiet lately. Hasn't been taunting Potter or anything. He's not even picking on any first years."

"Maybe Dumbledore's finally had enough of his behaviour. Or maybe his father threatened to ground him or something."

Y/n stayed silent, listening in to their conversation. Great, even if she could physically escape Malfoy, he was still there in conversation. It really seemed like the universe was insistent that it was right with this pairing.

"Could you guys stop talking about Malfoy? He's old news anyway. Who cares if he's not bullying anyone for once? Maybe he's actually become a decent person." Y/n snapped.

Her friends looked at each other. "What's gotten you so riled up? You care about him or something?"

"Nothing. I just don't wanna hear about him. Let's just focus on the class, okay?"

Her friends nodded slowly, looking at her suspiciously before they changed the topic of their conversation. Why did she defend him? Everyone, including her, knew that he was a prat and that wasn't changing. Y/n sighed quietly, feeling frustrated. Another thing she had kept to herself was a feeling of longing for the blonde male. He appeared in her dreams like a prince offering to sweep her off her feet. She'd feel drawn to him when she saw him in the hallways, even when she forced herself to stay away from him. Y/n was afraid as to what it could mean, she couldn't accept the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After classes ended, she continued through her usual route back to her dormitory. Unfortunately for her, Draco Malfoy was waiting for her right at the entrance. She quickly turned to try and make a getaway but he grabbed her arm.

"Wait. L/n, can we please talk?"

"What's there to talk about?" Y/n asked coldly, even when her heart fluttered at his touch.

"Just, come with me." Draco began pulling her away as Y/n rolled her eyes and allowed him to drag her.

He took her to an empty hallway, where he finally let her go. Y/n looked at him expectantly, putting her hands on her hips. She knew this was coming, there was no avoiding it, especially when the universe constantly pushed them together. The universe can rot in hell.

"So...we both know that we're.....soulmates. Why do you avoid it?" He sounded hurt, and Y/n's heart ached at the thought of that.

"Because, you're Draco Malfoy. You bully Potter and practically everyone else in this school. All you care about is blood status, the Slytherin house, and impressing your arsehole daddy. You're a spoiled brat who acts like you're entitled to everything, and I refuse to be one of those things just because I'm your 'soulmate'." Y/n growled at him.

He seemed to take everything she said into consideration, which was extremely out of character for him. "I can change, Y/n. I can change for you. In fact, I already have. Haven't you noticed how silent I've been? It's been the talk of the school this entire week." He said, desperately. Y/n wondered why he was so persistent, why did he continuously chase her, even when she actively ran away?

"You feel it too, don't you? A pull to me, like a bond?" Draco asked, watching her carefully. Y/n didn't answer but her silence gave her away. "I feel it too. I see you in my dreams and Merlin, I feel my heart race when I see you. I know you think this is a mistake, but the universe doesn't make mistakes. I love you, Y/n. Just give me a chance to prove it." Draco took her hand softly.

Y/n felt it. Some sort of invisible bond tying her to him. The universe had her in its clutches and it would not let her go. She felt her heart tighten and she sighed. What could it hurt to try? Clearly, the universe wasn't giving up on this and maybe there was a good reason for that. She remembered that feeling of longing for the Slytherin boy and bit her lip.

Damn it all.

She took Draco's face and smashed her lips against his. It felt like everything clicked into place as he held her face and kissed back. His lips fit perfectly against hers and she could feel the world around them stop. It was as if the universe was satisfied with its work and was allowing them to enjoy their moment. She pulled away and opened her eyes, the colors around her seemingly more vibrant than before. Draco looked at her with the widest smile on his face.

"I'll take that as a yes?" He chuckled.

"Don't make me regret it, soulmate." Y/n smiled back.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Permanent Taglist (if your name is crossed out, I couldn't tag you for some reason):

@my-name-is-jazzy-x

**********************************************

Thank you so much for reading! This was pretty hard to write (I guess I'm not that good at soulmate AU's yet 😅). I hope it wasn't too horrible to read. Yes, I am still working on requests while I'm writing these things (I promise). Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Until next time.

-Jade

[yuzuriha-sayori]

hello! i really fell in love with benimaru taking care of a sick reader (；ω；) can i ask a nsfw scenario with him x reader ( something like “please be gentle” and he is like “ no” ) im sorry if this is a very stupid request (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

You asked and I finally answered! Thank you for waiting so long and so patiently as I worked through my writer’s block. I hope you enjoy this little fic that took me way too long to write! I enjoyed writing it nonetheless, dom Beni is just…yes.

NSFW Shinmon Benimaru x F!Reader

Don’t make demands of Shinmon Benimaru

 Benimaru was a man of many things; quick tempered, blunt, yet hard working and respectable. However, patience was not one of those things. And for the past several days, his patience was constantly being tested. The culprit, a cute little vixen who spent most of her time causing quite the trouble for him. While he spent his days doing paperwork and cleaning up the mess that he created after Infernals would break out, she spent it causing mischief around him as if it was second nature. Not in the form of real crimes but it certainly it must be a crime somewhere.

“Shinmon-saaaaan~!” The soft mewl of the culprit at large startled the Captain out of his work. He had been writing down the reports of the recent SHC in Asakusa, a young woman who ran a vegetable stall. It was while he was working on the report that [y/n] decided to pay him a visit. She had snuck up behind him as he sat in the guest room. She wrapped her arms around his waist and placed a delicate kiss just below his ear. The feeling sent a jolt down to his stomach and he furrowed his brow.

“[y/n], don’t you see I’m busy? Go find something entertaining like pestering Konro.” Benimaru said, trying to shrug the young woman off of him. He was met with blatant protest.

“I don’t want to!” She whined, nipping at his neck. “You haven’t spent time with me in weeks, I’m beginning to think that you’re not interested in me anymore.”

The raven-haired man had to fight of the urge to let out the grunt that began to travel out his mouth at the feeling of her nipping at his neck. He had so little patience. It not that he wasn’t interested in her, it’s that her drive had been out of control lately and he always ended up pounding her into the sheets until morning, leaving barely any time for him to complete his tasks.

[y/n] didn’t take being ignored lightly so she moved in front of him and slid into his lap, rolling her hips against him so he could feel the scorching heat between her legs. Her hands snaked over his shoulders and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, the warmth of her breath fanning over his sensitive skin. “But I need you. Pleeeease.” Her voice was soft and desperate, and it would have been a lie if he said he wasn’t thinking about shoving her down right then in there and making a mess of her throbbing cunt that was soaking into his pants.

His lips parted to let out a throaty moan but caught it in his throat and grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her back. “[y/n] I’m not going to say it again, not right now. I’ll make time for you later. I’m busy.”

His lover pouted, tears threatening to spill over, but she nodded in understanding. After removing herself from his lap, she stopped at the door and glanced once more over at Benimaru to see that he was back to staring at his papers. She did the same thing every time she pestered him; he had learned her routine down to the time. About two hours later, she would come to him asking for snacks, tea, or a walk and try to tease him again until he couldn’t stand it and was sending her off again.

Finally done with his work, he realized it had gotten quite late. Where was [y/n]? He realized that she didn’t come to pester him. It was strange at first, but he dismissed it and though that she must have went home. After a few stretches to loosen the tight muscles of sitting down for so long, he made his way to the bath house for a soak. Usually by now, she was trying to find her way in, or was already in but there was no sign of [y/n]. Throughout the entire time he was bathing, he heard no peep of her. “[y/n]?” He called out. Maybe she was hiding? But still no sound. An uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. It’s not like he wanted her to come bug him, he rarely had time for himself. He just wasn’t used to it.

The sound of feet hitting the tiled ground of the bathhouse made him whip around expectantly only to be met with his Lieutenant’s confused and slightly amused expression. “I didn’t see or hear [y/n] around here so I thought it was clear to take a bath. What’s with that face Waka? Disappointed?”

Benimaru furrowed his brows and the corners of his lips tugged down into a frown. “I’m not disappointed.”

“Well, I did see [y/n] leave a couple of hours ago after having a stroll with Hika and Hina.” He watched as Benimaru’s shoulders sank ever so slightly and then raise to hoist himself out of the bath. “Maybe she’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope not.” His Captain said, throwing his dark blue striped robe around him and tying it. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing the wet strands back away from his face. “I have a lot of work tomorrow too and don’t need more distraction. Enjoy your bath.”

“You know, you should really let me handle some, I’m your Lieutenant after all.”

Benimaru didn’t answer him as he walked out of the bathhouse and towards his room. He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling. Slightly irritated? No, there wasn’t a reason to. He didn’t miss her, or at least that’s what he told himself. His mind wandered back to the events of earlier, where [y/n] was desperately grinding against him. He could feel how aroused she was just by the heat radiating between her legs. It took only seconds for her to soak down to his cock.

Just the thought of how he could’ve taken her then caused heat to flow down to his dick and swell up. “Fucking shit, now? Really?” He groaned at how painful it was becoming and hurried to his room. It had been quite some time since he took care of it. Actually, it was always [y/n] taking care of it for him. He cursed at himself. And he was the one who sent her away.

Finally at his door, relief flooded through him. All he could think about was how he was going to be able to take care of his problem when he slid open his door. However, there were other plans waiting for him.

Prostrated with their ass to him and stark naked on the bed was [y/n]. Benimaru’s eyes flew open is confusion and surprised. “[y/n]? What the hell are you doing here? I thought you left.”

“I couldn’t stand it anymore…Beni…please.” Two delicate fingers reached down to spread her dripping lips apart, juices running down her thighs and dripping onto the bed. The sight sucked the air right out of his lungs. His already painful erection began to pulsate in need, wanting to feel the clenching of her walls around him. He could see how bad she wanted him, and damn did he want her too.

He made his way to her in only a few strides, standing behind her and taking a good look at how much she was pining for him. “You didn’t come pester me for the rest of the day.” Smack. A startled yelp left [y/n]’s lips.

“You told me not to.” She turned to look at him and was met with a deadpan expression. Smack. Another small cry was brought out of her.

“Don’t backtalk me.” His voice was calm but [y/n] could feel the irritation in it. Was he upset at her for being in his room or for listening? He wasn’t even sure at this point, but he felt the need to punish her. Untying his robe, he let it slip from his shoulders and down to pool around his feet. His erection stood proudly, each vein prominent on the sensitive skin of his shaft. Crouching down to position himself behind her, he gave himself a few pumps and lined his member up to her eager hole. He could feel the pulsing of her pink entrance just ready to swallow whole.

“Please hurry~!” [y/n] whined. It earned her another slap on her ass. Though painful, it caused her cunt to flow with more juices and Benimaru took the liberty of smearing it all over his length.

“Naughty girls don’t get to make requests. You do as I say.” Another whine left [y/n]’s lips but she wouldn’t dare say another word against him. This was the first time in weeks he’d shown her any sexual interest. He grabbed her hips roughly in his big hands and rolled his hips as his cock slid between her pink folds, the head of his cock teased her clit and occasionally her entrance. “You pester me for weeks on end and think you can make demands of me?”

“N-No sir.” Her voice was shaky and soft, her mind was too focused on the sensation of him between her legs. Such little teasing and she was already at her limit. “Beni wait…! I’m…I-I’m-!” The first orgasm in weeks that weren’t by her own fingers washed through her like a violent storm. Her legs shook at her whole body tensed up as a feral moan drew from her mouth. Her legs started to relax and go limp and she would have collapsed completely onto the futon if it weren’t for Benimaru’s solid grasp on her.

It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t immensely turned on by the fact she got off just by him teasing her, but he wasn’t having her give out just yet. “I haven’t even put it in and you’re already finishing? I don’t think so you little minx.” Positioning the tip to her entrance again, he slammed into her without giving her the chance to recover. The sudden intrusion caused her to buck forward and cry out.  

“W-Wait please I’m still really sensitive.” [y/n] whimpered. Her walls clenched tightly around him that it was almost uncomfortable for both. It’d been quite a while since she took his impressively large member in that she wasn’t prepared for him to stretch her out so suddenly. The feeling of being so full so quickly ignited a fire in her belly.

“What did I say about making demands?” Benimaru pulled out only to slam back into her. Gritting his teeth, he let out a deep growl. “Fuck it’s almost hard to pull out, you’re gripping my cock like your life depends on it. Miss me that much?”

[y/n] could only let out soft pants in pleasure as her legs trembled. She was so sensitive, and he wasn’t giving her any time to adjust. She felt as if she was going to drown in pleasure. “Please…please be gentle.” She pleaded once more. If he kept being as rough as he was, she didn’t think she’d be able to walk out of here any time soon.

Benimaru’s hand shot out the grab a fistful of [y/n]’s [h/c] locks, strands tangling in-between his fingers, and pulled her up as he leaned down to let his lips graze her ear.

“No.”

He could feel her clench down around him which caused his voice to come out huskier than he intended. It was hard to speak when her tight walls didn’t want to let him go. He kept one hand in her hair, and the other gripping her hip as he started drilling into her sloppily wet cunt.

“Beni…oh my…my god…fuck!” Each thrust sent jolts of electricity coursing through [y/n]’s body. It wasn’t that long ago that she had her first orgasm of the night and the second one was approaching at terrifying speeds. His brutal strokes did not help. He rocked his hips into her harshly, the sound of skin slapping against skin vibrated off the walls. He didn’t care who heard, his only focus was fucking the life out of [y/n].

Strings of curses and pleas fell on deaf ears as he continued pounding into her. The soft warm feeling of her slick walls was something he missed terribly and wondered why it took him this long to treat himself to her wanting cunt. “Fuck [y/n] how can you be this tight still?” He figured it would take a bit for her to relax around him, but she was still clutching on him for dear life, crying out his name as if it were the only word she knew.

His voice was all it took to send his lover over the edge as another orgasm racked her body. The sudden tightness made his hips stutter and he had to still himself less he spilled all that he had saved up into her right that moment. “[y/n]…shit…!”

Her orgasm was so intense that she sobbed out his name and he released her hair and stroked her back to comfort her through it. “That’s it, just relax…” Her body was slick with sweat and he was getting quite worked up himself. Strands of his raven hair was plastered to his forehead and sweat ran down his chest. His cock was still buried deep inside her, the tip pressed right up against her cervix. Her body still trembled as he began slowly rolling his hips. He was going to get one or two more out of her before he emptied himself into her. But at this rate, he might only get one because he was close to his limit.

“I can’t…Beni I can’t!” Her voice was a pitch too high and the only thing she could see were stars. She was going to go crazy if he kept moving. “Please it’s too much.”

“You wanted this so bad, you’re going to take what I give you. I’m going to give you a week’s worth of orgasms.” Benimaru began picking up the pace but his strokes were gentle this time. “You won’t be able to walk straight for days.”

[y/n]’s moans came out more as sobs and sharp cries as he fucked her. The pleasure was too intense. She was going to break if she came again. Benimaru didn’t care if he made her go crazy, this was exactly what she asked for. Both hands gripped her hips as he took a steady pace thrusting in and out of her. The tight feeling in his gut was growing and he clenched his teeth. He was determined to make her cum one more time. One hand let go of her hip to slide down between her legs and his fingers made quick work of her clit. [y/n] immediately clamped down around his cock.

“N-No please don’t! I can’t!” She tried to pry his hand away, but he was much stronger. He could feel that another orgasm was about come over her with how high her voice was getting, and how tighter she was becoming. His free arm went to scoop her up so that her back was to his chest as he rutted up into her. One arm held her as he bounced her up and down his cock while he teased her swollen pink bud.

“That’s it, come for me sweetheart.” His pace quickened to catch up to her orgasm, letting soft grunts fall from his lips. The heat building in his stomach became more intense and his strokes became sloppy as he slammed into her, hitting her cervix with each stroke.

“A-Ahh!” [y/n] screamed once more as explosive pleasure made work of her soul. She shuddered intensely, eyes rolling to the back of her head, and tongue lolling out of her mouth. Saliva ran down her chin from the corners of her mouth from sheer bliss. It only took a few more juts of his hips before all of Benimaru’s saved up cum finally burst free, his balls tightening as he came. A strained moan came out as he wrapped his arms around her and buried himself as deep as he could get, pushing up against her cervix. He buried his face into the crook of her neck and let out another moan against her skin, his hips jerking a few times. It felt like he was cumming forever as spurts of his seed coated every inch inside her and spilled out, running down his twitching balls and dribbling onto the futon.

“Shit…” He lifted her limp body off of him and more of his thick seed came gushing from her twitching hole. A whimper left her as he pulled out. He did tell himself that he was going to make a mess of her, but he didn’t consider the bed apart of the equation. Sighing softly, he gently laid her down and used his robe to clean her up, then himself, and then wiped all of his cum off his bed.

[y/n]’s body finally stopped twitching but forming words were still too much for her. “You…are…You’re mean…” She mumbled, eyes half lidded. He figured she was still off in her own little world as he laid down beside her after tossing his robe to the other side of the room. “You say that while your face shows contentment.”

“Shut up.” She weakly smacked his chest as he was pulling to covers up over them, but it only caused him to chuckle lightly.

“The twins hit harder than that.”

[y/n] could only grumble in response. Silence fell upon them and he figured she must have finally passed out. He was dozing off himself, completely spent after all the work he put into destroying her insides, when he heard his lover’s soft voice, “Beni…?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to cuddle you.” He didn’t answer right away, kind of perplexed. He didn’t know why she was saying that as if to ask him. She usually did it anyways, clinging to him almost every night she could like he wouldn’t be there when she woke up. Though it was kind of cute if she was asking.

“You can?”

There was a long moment of silence before she responded and he thought she passed out when she finally spoke, “I…I can’t move my legs…”

A surprisingly hearty laugh left Benimaru. Of all the things, he didn’t expect to fuck [y/n] that hard. They had rough sex before, but he guessed it really must have been quite some time if she couldn’t move her legs. He felt a bit satisfied as he pulled her to him and hiked her leg up and over him. Her arm snaked up his chest and to his head, fingers running through still damp hair and rested there, a content smile on her face. He kissed the top of her head and watched her doze off, following moments after. She really was a little vixen, and she always got her way.

[f0xfordcomma]

Hello!! Happy FFWF!! Is there anything in particular that you find hard to write? Are there any WIPs that you've just absolutely given up on cause you think it'll go nowhere?? (would you share a bit of it? :D)

Croisty! Happy ffw tuesday (which tbh is earlier than I thought I'd be able to do these, so be proud of me lol)

I wish I had more to go off of in my writing portfolio to answer this question, but I think the thing I have the hardest time writing/ have avoided writing in my wips is just unfettered angst or like horror/ violence. Like character death? Gore? Fight scenes? (ooooh baby I SUCK at fight scenes) all of /that/ is just not really my forte as a writer. Don't get me wrong, I am not opposed to hurting my characters, but hurt/comfort is more where its at for me. You've read my stuff, so you know how emotionally driven a lot of my writing is. I think I would have a hard time writing more graphic/ heartbreaking/ violent *stuff* in my style. Idk, it would probably be a good thing for me to practice.... but.... I don't wanna (hands on hips) sooooo I'm not planning to really do anything quite like that anytime soon.

As far as abandoned wips go, I've got plentyyyy (or just verrrrrrry dusty wips that are not quite abandoned but are sitting very patiently on the shelf waiting for me to have the time to get back to them) Violent/ angsty/ deathy/ fighty abandoned wips though? Not so much.

But for you, mon petit croissant, have a bit of a miraculous ladybug reveal fic that I wrote one night after having a little ~ouid~ and convincing my husband to put on a sheet face mask with me that I now have no intention of finishing (oops, rip me).

okaaaaayyy so this is actually pretty dang long lol but I'm going to share the whole thing with you because I just re-read it for the first time in months and its pretty funny ~if you ask me~ so anyway... under the cut <3

NIGHT OFF

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a totally crazy idea to take a night off.

Besides, Shadowmoth’s akumatizations had slowed down considerably in the past few months, and he rarely ever sent out two akumas in one day. The battle that she and Chat had fought that morning was brutal, but they’d come out victorious against HoneyBadger. Still, the fight had left her exhausted and wound up. Shadowmoth was planning something, she was sure of it. She just couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out what it was.

Ladybug was stressed.

Add to that, the fact that end-of-term exams were starting up next week and she’d not had nearly enough time during dead week to actually cram. Something about black butterflies and cranky kwamis and a cheeky cat (who, in recent weeks, had been considerably less cheeky.) Not to mention, she had been receiving an awful lot of memes, seemingly without preamble, from Paris’ favorite male model. Nino thought it was hilarious. Alya thought it was suspicious. Marinette thought it was confusing.

Marinette was stressed.

All of it was stressful.

*

Alya knew when her best friend was stressed. She could usually gauge the amount of Marinette’s exasperation by the frequency with which her bangs went flying from her face, propelled by a huff and a heavy sigh. Right now, Marinette’s bangs were a mess.

“Okay, girl. You need a night off.”

“What? No, I’m fine! Really! Plus, I can’t really afford to take a night off right now, Alya… I don’t know what Shadowmoth ha—”

“Yeah, no. I’m stopping you right there. For the next twenty-four hours, this space is a Ladybug-talk free zone,” she gestured vaguely around her bedroom, which was scattered with printouts and pictures that Marinette had brought over to work on nailing down Hawkmoth’s possible location using Alya’s beloved akuma-map. “I know, I know. It pains me more than it pains you, truly. But I’m doing this for you. Tonight: you, me, drinks, distractions. You are taking a night off.”

“But Alya! What if—”

“Hush, you know that’s incredibly unlikely. And, in the event of this IF you are so set on, you know that cat boy and I will have your back. Even drunk ladybugs can purify akumas when they have the clawed crusaders on their side.”

“I can’t believe you gave in to his silly nickname.”

“It is a badass nickname and you are just jealous that we bonded.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m annoyed.”

“Mhmm… keep telling yourself that, girl. Now, back to the matter at hand: what kind of drunk do you want to get tonight? Classy or trashy? I still have that peach stuff from last month, but if we are thinking classy I might need to call in the reserves to get us some decent wine.”

“You won’t need to call in anybody, Al, because I am definitely not getting drunk tonight.”

“Night off, Marinette. Drunkenness is a prerequisite.”

“Can’t we just watch movies or something? I really don’t know if that’s too good of an idea…”

“Girl, we watch movies every night. This is a night off. Don’t think I don’t see you stressing all throughout movie night every week, anyway. You need to take your mind off Ladybug,” she gestured at the mess that had consumed her bedroom. “And get your mind back on Marinette. Superhero or no, you’re still a teenage girl who is supposed to be enjoying the last few months of college.”

Marinette pouted.

“Stop pouting. You know you deserve to have normal girl fun.”

“But Alya I—”

“No buts.” An unnervingly devious look crossed Alya’s face. “Unless it is your butt in that pair of skinny jeans that you and I both know you-know-who loves. Boys will be here in twenty. Get to it, girl.”

Marinette just gaped at her. She didn’t even notice that Alya had grabbed her phone, but alas, there was the tell-tale ping.

Alya Cesaire → Akuma class OGs chat

Alya: anyone down for a little last minute get together—my door is open and my bar is stocked

Nino: HELL YEAH babe!

NL: got a new mix i’ve been meaning to show you… so entertainments on me fam!

Alix: This thing got an itinerary or just drunkenness for drunkenness sake?

Alya: the latter, natch.

Alix: Sick! Count me in.

Kim: same!

Rose: Do you need us to bring anything?

Alya: anything you feel like sharing

Alya: otherwise, just yourselves!

Alya: Agreste~you better bring us some of that expensive shit that i know your pops keeps somewhere in that castle of yours

Alya: no fancy wine, no admittance

Alya: the rest of you peasants just bring wtvr

Adrien: uhhhhhhhhhh

Adrien: ALYA

Adrien: dang it! You know I feel obligated to steal wine from my dad’s cellar now

Adrien: do you know how scary my dad is!!!??

Nino: DUDEEEE

Nino: DO IT you wont!

Adrien: shuddup Nino

Marinette: Adrien you totally don’t have to! Alya is just being **extra** Alya today

Alya: i plan a night off for this girl

Alya: and this is the thanks i get??????

Alya: can ya’ll believe this?

Alya: ridiculous

Zoe: UTTERLY RIDICULOUS

Adrien: utterly ridic

Adrien: dangit

Zoe: lol first! sorry adrien

Marinette: ugh ty I guess Als xxxxx

Alya: awe she DOES care, youre welcome babe!

Alya: so sunshine… about that wine?

Adrien: yeah yeah yeah

Adrien: use my people pleasing against me why dontcha

Alya: gladly <3

“Alya, stop bullying Adrien.”

“No way, girl. Giving that boy a task is the only way to ensure he shows up. Speaking of which… butt, jeans, go, now!”

The doorbell rang. Nino had perfected the quickest route to Alya’s house from every part of Paris years ago. Yes, he was whipped; and yes, he was proud of it.

“ALYA! I have to clean all of this up and I have to go home to get those jeans that you’re so dead set on and…”

“No you don’t. Kaalki?”

“Right here, Ms. Rouge.”

“YOU USED VOYAGE TO BRING ME JEANS?”

“No way girl! Don’t be silly. Kaalki and Roaar just volunteered to be my errand kwamis.”

“You guys do realize that I am the guardian, right?”

“Of course, that’s why we worked so hard to get everything that you need for tonight.”

“I—you… wait is this my good bra? How did you—”

“Us kwamis pay attention, Marinette.” Tikki cuddled up to her cheek.

“Et tu, Tikki?”

The ladybug kwami just giggled and made her way to the pile of papers scattered across Alya’s bed, starting to organize them back into neat stacks.

“Night. Off.” Alya punctuated each word with a shove and a smack on the bum, directing Marinette toward the bathroom and shutting her in to get ready while she got the door for Nino.

[lynnsaundersfanfic]

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order:  Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded  |  Chapter Ten: Dreams  |  by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.���

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

[musedblues]

Born To Love You [Part: 7]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there’s no telling if he even has a clue

a/n: I can't really believe I've finally finished this. If only you all knew how long this story sat in my drafts before I even considered sharing it. I'm eternally gratful to those of you who’ve stuck around and shared your thoughts and shown me and this fic such sweet love. I can only hope I've done some kind off justice in bringing this wild ride to a close. As always, and especially now,  I really can't wait to hear what you lot think. So here you have it.... The End! 💖

w/c: 4k

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Even after all this time, not a moment passed that didn't dazzle you. No little gesture slipped by unnoticed, or underappreciated.

From across the room, you adored the way his eyes glowed as he laughed. How they shined and crinkled in a pattern you'd memorized long before you were brave enough to stare. How they always sparkled just so when he spun into a fit of giggles, a sound you couldn't help but turn toward.

Joe tossed his head back, letting out a hearty chuckle as James and Andy filled him in on the details of their recently disastrous road trip. For their anniversary, they planned to cruise around the countryside for a week. But a flat tire, and a run in with a couple wild animals sent them running back to London before the week was up.

You couldn't have gotten luckier, when you found the perfect house in the safest part of the city with the best schools; just a half an hour drive from where James and Andy had moved a couple years before- after living with you for longer than you could recall in a flash.

They helped you move boxes from your old flat, and stood with you in the empty place, taking a  silent beat to say goodbye to all the life you each lived there. You'd fondly remember the parties, and even the tears. The day you found out about Olive. The room you brought her home to. The place you loved. But it was never the same after your dear flatmates found a home of their own.

On their generous drives to help you unload boxes in an all new place, that's when your pair of best pals really got to know Joe. They (like everyone else) laughed at most of his jokes, and beamed when he laughed at theirs in turn. When they weren't helping you unload boxes, they were off cackling with Joe, too awestruck by shared conversation to help you move your sofa into a reasonable spot.

And when you and your man with fossil colored eyes were settled, James and Andy still managed to stop by for plenty of surprise breakfast visits. And every time they stopped over, they each took turns insisting that their location was the sole purpose you'd been so keen to move to this part of the city. And while they might have been half right, you'd never let on that it was one of the many reasons.

London just made sense. It was closer to Gwil's new place. He'd been traveling to and from the city for work so often that he'd felt like his usual train car was more of his home than the one down the road from your old flat. So he found a cozy space just outside of London and loads more work within the first few days of settling in. When he wasn't busy on set, or away for an audition, he was just a few streets away- ready and willing to come and take Olive on days he hadn't planned to, at her beck and call.

Some days you missed when all Olive knew how to say were a handful of words. But you knew you'd soon miss all of the girls never ending questions, too. "Why can't cats talk?" "Where do all the badgers sleep at night?" "Why do I have to wear socks with my shoes?" She had a knack for asking the silliest questions when you least expected it. She'd come out of no place while you were busy making dinner. While she should have been practicing tying her shoes. In the dead of the night, at the edge of your bed. She'd stop everything just to ask a question or two, and some days you reckoned she fancied getting you to giggle more than hearing an actual answer. You always chuckled before you could muster the brain power to give any semblances of an educated response. And when you were too busy, getting ready for work, or hurrying about the market before it closed, Olive would ask Joe.

You loved the way Olive made him laugh then, too. Just like you. But before ever giving a reasonable answer, he'd always ask her the same questions back. "Well, what do you think is at the bottom of the ocean?"

And as she decidedly rambled about imaginary creatures and cities, Joe would listen. He'd even remember the names of some of those made up monsters long after Olive had moved through several more memorable questions. You couldn't believe how patient he was. It was astounding to you, the way Joe dropped everything to bend at Olive's will, as she wrapped her fist around his wrist and yanked him across a bookstore toward the children's section.

You'd find them after getting what you strolled in for, and join in for story time, before checking your watch and ruining all the fun. Joe was usually more disappointed for those moments to end than the kid who was hooked on his every fictional word.

You loved Joe's heart. How you could tell when it was in the right place. When he offered help and advice and suggestions to anyone who trusted him enough to pour their heart out to his open ear. How he at least pretended to be excited when your friends begged the two of you to join in a night out at the end of a particularly busy week. Neither of you were keen on letting them down, because you'd come to value those rare nights out with the people you loved. You'd made a sacred, personal decreed to never let your friends forget how vastly you'd cared for them. So you were right behind Joe each time another offer came to sit among your pals and listen to their lame jokes and drunken singing.

But it was no secret that nights in were your favorite. You might have marveled even more so, over Joe's heart, then. You relished how it hammered under your palm, as his pulse raced from your touch. You loved the sound of its steady beat under your ear, as you rested against his chest till morning. He'd run a lazy set of fingers through your hair while the quiet of the new day threatened to lull you to sleep again. Then he'd say something so ridiculously hilarious that you'd laugh your drowse away.

You never took for granted Joe's countless attempts to get you to smile, despite yourself. In the middle of movies, at the end of long hard days- and during times you wondered how much stress you could endure before your head exploded and your dramatic expiration ruined the upcoming holidays.

When you and Gwilym argued over Olive's imminent school year and how many summer holiday trips were one too many, Joe waited for the bickering to end. Then he'd say something that made stupidly perfect sense. He'd make you and Gwil  apologize to each other, and you did with all the grace of two grumpy toddlers. Then you'd all go to some posh brunch place and try and enjoy the last of the perfect summer weather that crept into the first few weeks of London's picturesque autumn.

Olive would stop eating to ask one of her latest queries to the sweet elder waitress who dropped off another round of drinks. You'd all take turns giving the kid answers, and steal bits of the chips she'd left over. When your meal was finished, Joe and Gwil went off to see a game together, and you were left with your darling girl for a whole glorious day.

Times with just the two of you weren't very rare. When you could, you made sure to take afternoons off work and save the laundry for later to spend a day with Olive. Of course, some were just as difficult as ever. But between odd growing pains and missed nap times, were icecream dates and trips to the aquarium. The latter, a place she always begged to spend hours strolling through. So when you could, you'd be quick to take her.

And when Gwilym took Olive along to visit his mother's family in Wales, you'd gotten used to the tiny wave of melancholy that came when your girl wasn't attached to your hip. But unlike all the other times before, you weren't nearly as lonely.

When it was just you and Joe, and a handful of days to waste however you pleased, you had to stop yourself from wondering how you'd gotten so lucky. You knew if you thought too long, you'd start to feel bad about how everything came to be. But you learned to let go of the regret attached to the mess you'd made during your first month long visit to London. You realized that it was silly to wish for a redo. Because everything worked out anyway, didn't it?

Joe was always quick to remind you how lucky he felt, too. Sometimes he'd say so, when he worried about the future and stopped rambling long enough to let you promise everything was going to be okay. Or first thing in the morning, when you got to wake up with the sun instead of a blaring alarm. But most of the time, he showed it. He'd leave silly little notes for you to find while you brushed your teeth. He'd bring your knuckles to his lips while waiting in the queue at the market. He'd take photos of you walking through the park and pointing to a pair of birds flying close overhead. He'd upload them in the middle of the night- when he said he was staying up to finish writing a script, or memorizing lines of another.

You'd get the notification and smile to yourself while you pretended to be asleep in the other room. When it was just you and Joe, it felt too good to be true. But that feeling didn't go away when your time alone was over.

Ben asked you to fetch him from the airport after he'd spent months away filming in another country. You and Joe fought over who got to hug him first, but when the blonde materialized from baggage claim, his arms were too stuffed with packages to dream of embracing either of you. He'd collected far too many presents during his time away- all of them for Olive. You scolded him, reminding Ben of the article you read about how kids with fewer toys grew to become more creative and resourceful. Ben argued that since you weren't going to spoil her that he was just going to have to. He'd leave the dozen gifts in the back of your car, and drag you and Joe out to a pub until you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Life felt too good to be true on nights like then, too.

And the feeling remained when Lucy and Rami got back from acting their hearts out in America. They stole Olive away as you and Joe ambled behind them on trips through high end shopping centres. When that day turned to night, your remarkable friends settled onto your sofa to tell all the stories they'd been saving up. Then they crashed there, when the night turned to morning and the sun threatened to rise before you'd stopped giggling long enough to sleep.

Those times were cherished. When your friends came around. When you went out of your way to go and see them, because it had been too long. You knew you were lucky to have mantiatiend a handful of connections with some of the most adoring and admirable friends that must have ever existed.

And on some especially rare, but guaranteed occasions, everyone got together.

The thought of joining forces was usually a never ending sentiment exchanged through the group chat that kept you all in touch. But it was Lucy's eventual doing, of course. She went about renting that darling little cottage in the countryside- the one she'd found last minute for Joe's birthday.

She got there before everyone, before Rami, even. The paint was a little more chipped, and the trees seemed even more mighty, guarding the home nestled miles away from the nearest town.

"You're just in time!" Lucy squealed as you lugged a bag into the house that hadn't changed a bit since your stay a few years back. You snorted a laugh as you stepped closer to the den full of mismatched furniture.

"For what?" You wondered. No one else had shown up yet, the night was very young.

"To keep me company, duh." Lucy shrugged as she moved to wave out of the open front door.

"Does bigfoot live out here?" Olive asked, as she skipped inside, her beloved worn down stuffed penguin tight in her clutch.

"He might." You chuckled. Because hell, you'd come to believe anything was possible at this point. And you didn't realize Olive even knew about the mythical creature, but you had a hunch about who'd been the one to tell her.

"I can't believe this place is still standing. It's charming as ever." Joe marveled, shutting the door behind him. Lucy beamed, turning to glance around.

"Yes! Remember last time?" Lucy asked, like she really wanted to know. Like it wasn't something the lot of you thought back to often. And right when you considered responding, she spoke up again. "Well forget it because this time is going to be the best ever."

The bubbly blonde recruited Joe to help her finish unloading all the treats she'd brought along to store away for the entire weekend you planned to stay. Olive trotted ahead of you toward one of the dozen tiny rooms you remembered struggling to sleep in last time, finding no reason to bite back your smile now.

It was too cold to think of going out back to enjoy the chest full of sporting goods, or the tattered net that somehow still remained. Olive was already complaining about the chill, so you abandoned your bags and tossed her a sweater, deciding to start a fire in the stone place while you awaited everyone else.

Ben was the next to arrive, bringing his usual ton of liquor and a brand new set of books and crayons to keep Olive entertained. You flashed a middle finger his way when the kid wasn't looking, and called dibs on his most expensive bottle of booze he brought to decorate the counter tops much like the time before.

By then the kitchen had been stocked, and Lucy was on a new mission to make some Pinterest worthy snacks. You scolded Ben for encouraging Olive to dance around the countertops and banished them to find some new trouble to cause. Lucy kicked you and Joe out soon after, following close behind with her plate of savory treats.

Rami dashed in from the cold around then, chucking his bags away and rushing to join the rest of you in record time. The fire you'd maintained was starting to die, and the home was too perfectly warmed to dream of starting up another, for a while. So as the evening shifted, you and Ben offered to clean up and carry everyone's rubbish away, while Joe offered to pour everyone a drink. While you went about your duties, Olive was busy yanking on the strings of Rami's hooding, begging him to join in some imaginary game the two of them made up long ago.

"I'm really glad she's joined us this time around." Ben grinned, catching a glimpse of Olive, her curls peeking around the corner, her laughter floating from one room to another. You agreed with the sentiment as you tossed your collection of rubbish in the bin. And as he followed suit, Ben rambled about his high hopes to have a couple of children of his own one day. It was something you'd always suspected Ben was keen on, but a subject he'd only just ventured into discussing lately.

"You ever think about having anymore?" He wondered in passing.

"Sometimes." You smiled to Ben, offering an innocent shrug, before catching Joe's eye from across the kitchen. He balanced a trio of glasses of wine on his way out, shaking his head of coppery hair. He shot you a look you knew well, an eager grin below a set of fiery eyes. "Sometimes" was an understatment. But Ben didn't need to know everything.

By the time Gwil showed up, Olive was on cloud nine. She ran to attach herself to his ankle, so you took his bags while he bent to scoop her up. Then, you reckoned, that this might have been the first time everyone was together that Olive might be able to recall for years to come.

She bounced from one person to another, showing off nicely colored pictures in the books Ben had brought along. He shot you a wink from across the room before she fell asleep with a dozen sunset toned crayons in one fist. You gathered her from the floor and carried the girl to the room you'd chosen hours earlier.

And before you'd even finished tucking the kid away in bed, another set of feet creaked into the room behind you.

"Here's this. And some things she forgot last time." Gwilym extended Olives favorite stuffed penguin in one hand as he rested a bag decorated in cartoon drawn bats on the chair in the corner. Your tradition of trading the girls things might never end. You'd be rattled if it did, actually.

"Oh, thank God. I mean, I know I asked you not to forget that, but I'd forgotten." You chuckled in a whisper, tucking Olive's ratty old penguin beneath the covers at her side.

Gwilym chuckled too, saying something about how he'd nearly left her bag behind on his rush to get here before nightfall. And then a silence fell, as you both waited a beat to make sure Olive was out cold. It was second nature, something the pair of you became accustomed to after the first year, when leaving Olive alone for a minute was usually followed with unhappy, ear piercing cries. And as you thought back to then, you seemed to think back to everything all at once.

"Lucy said that last time we stayed here won't be worth remembering, because this time will surely be the best." You said with a lithe grin. "And I think she may be right, but last time wasn't so bad."

"It wasn't?" Gwilym turned to you with a quizzically raised brow, a hint of a smile on his lips. You knew he was asking if you were sure. If you remembered correctly. How he'd said things he didn't mean, last time you were here. How you hardly slept that night. How it haunted you for days afterward. How he knew that.

"It wasn't." You kept your smile, sure. It could have been much worse. You could have been alone through all of that shit. But you weren't. You had Gwilym. And you hoped he knew what you meant, now. How grateful you were for him, and the kindness he'd show you, how it still remained. You couldn't go on worrying that his company might fizzle away in the years to come. Because it couldn't. You wouldn't let that possibility come to pass. So you bumped your shoulder against his arm and nudged Gwilym to leave the room.

"Let's go have some fun." You whispered. Gwilym let his smile linger as he studdied you for a beat. Then he nodded, and led the way back to everyone else.

The coloring books had moved to rest on the mantel, and bottles of alcohol had moved to the coffee table for easier access. And then you all took turns cleaning up for the evening and flipping through stations on the telly till some classic film flashed across the muted screen. And it was lots better than last time, with familiar drinks mixed in fancy new ways, and favorite laughs decorating the old unchanged home.

By the time Ben had drunken himself into a fit of random laughter, and Gwilym was nodding off between Rami and Lucy, Joe was saying something about American traditions. He demanded everyone's attention, and insisted the lot of you confess at least one thing you were thankful for. And after Lucy shouted the name of the drink in her hand and Gwilym sat up to clink his cup to hers, you all started giving actual answers. Each revolving around family, and friends, and health and happiness. But before anyone could get too choked up, Ben stood to shift gears with his favorite game of drunk history that never really went the way he wanted it too.

But it wasn't till the next morning that you realized it must have been that silly American holiday. And when you rolled over to find Joe was already awake, you announced how poorly you felt for not realizing when he made everyone say thanks. You hadn't even said good morning before you started yammering promises about how you'd remember to have a proper celebration next year.

But instead of saying good morning, or acknowledging your apologises, Joe broke into a laugh. The kind of laugh that reaches his eyes, the way you love so much. Then he told you he loved you, and you said it back; and then you sprung into another lucky day among friends.

You spent the weekend watching Gwilym teach Olive how to bake and assisting her in passing around treats she helped pour spoonfulls of ingredients in to create. Rami was most often roped into her imaginary games, and he played along with ease. You and Joe were invited to join in one morning, but neither of you could grasp the ever changing rules to Olives satisfaction, and you were swiftly kicked out of the loop while she and Rami played on.

Lucy made sure Olive was perfectly content snuggled up with Ben to watch cartoons, before she pulled you into her room with a bottle of wine for each of you to sip from. You spent a whole afternoon there with her, taking turns spilling your guts over all things you could only discuss with your dearest darling Lucy.

And when the getaway was over, everyone left in separate hurries much like before. But unlike then, you weren't so worried about where everyone might end up. You weren't worried about where you were going, either. You'd all managed to keep coming back together so far, and with an established faith that your group would keep finding excuses to do so, you didn't despair.

You remembered everything, on your drive back to London. The time you'd closed your eyes on this ride, years before. How you and Gwilym survived the nonsense you'd swept yourselves up in. Lucy's unconditional friendship. Rami's strong hugs. Ben's strong feelings.

You thought of what Joe said to you, when you met. How he said he saw a future with you, before he even knew your name. And the thought tore you away from remembering everything to look ahead. To look over, and settle your gaze on Joe. His pretty profile, and the shine of his moonstone eyes. You couldn't quite picture the places you'd end up, but you realize that you couldn't dream of a day without Joe at your side. He was always meant to be there.

While you drove, he entertained every one of Olive's questions that echoed from the back seat. You turned a grateful smile his way every now and again and savored the way he smiled back, in the way you loved so much. In a way that you didn't have to wonder how he felt, or what might come next. Unlike before, Joe made up a million of your memories. And unlike before, you knew he always would.

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taglist: @sonic-volcano @imtheinvisiblequeen @redspecialty @itscale @stardust-killer-queen @joemazzelo @dancetohotspace @kiwi-hardy @joeneslee @borhapqueen92 @im-an-adult-ish @johndeaconshands @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @beepbeephardy @slutforbritdick @joemazzmatazz @almightygwil  @sadhwstudent​ @freakibanana @lelifesaver @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band

[dulce-pjm]

tag game !

tagged by @jtrbluv !! ty love, i’ve seen this one going around and it looked fun !!

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

i only started writing fanfiction this year, so bts is the one and only lol 

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

bts !! i think i’ll be sticking to just bts x reader fics during my time here :) (but i am def a big fan of other groups and post about them sometimes !! my other interests can be found through the navi and i’m down to chat/fangirl anytime)

3. how long have you been writing?

like five or six years? i used to write original stories on wattpad in middle school but i have unfortunately forgotten both the username and password to that account and just realized those monstrosities might still be floating around on there oof 

4. on which platforms do you post your stories?

just tumblr !! i’m the process of making an ao3 in case something happens to my account, but i probably won’t crosspost unless i have to, just kinda depends

5. what is your favourite genre to write?

def fluff and comedy !!! i enjoy angst but i’m a bit of a method actor in that i deeply feel whatever i’m writing so i normally don’t make it far writing angst lol but i will try one day !!

6. are you a pantser or a planner?

planner for sure !! i have def written fics that weren’t planned, but i tend to feel way better about the ones that i plan out. they flow better when i plan them and when you know where your story is going it’s easier to foreshadow and actually build tension towards the climax and ending !!!

7. one shot or multi-chapter?

it really just depends on the story !!! it’s all in how i envision it tbh. if i see the scenes more as episodic and almost separately working towards the ending, then it’ll probably end up fitting into chapters. but if the scenes and arcs all really rely on each other and flow as a group, then yeah it’s a big one shot !! as a reader, i tend to binge anyway so it doesn’t matter to me lol

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion?

lol again it depends on what suits the story !! and i think it’s fun sometimes for there to be a variety of chapter lengths 

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete?

stepsisters and squires at 11.0k, and yes it’s complete !! although my current biggest project is probably going to end up around 15k and if i had to guess, part two will probably be a bit shorter than that 

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most?

hmmmm for sure @alpacaparkaseok’s request case closed!! i was being very silly writing it and had a grand time, but takes two to tango is a close second behind !!!

11. favourite request you've have written and why (if any?)

oh well there we go it’s case closed !!! i love some good silly ridiculous romance and i feel like i did an okay job achieving that lol

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories?

awkward people finding love ???? LOL and lots of overthinking only to realize things aren’t quite as big as they first appeared wait omg yeah that’s it that’s the one lmao. scrolled through my masterlist and it seems that the central conflict is always the main character versus their own mind which is basically my day-to-day life so makes sense i guess 

also i’ve accidentally written people talking over each other and then said something like “timing’s funny” right after in two separate fics and needless to say i’m disappointed in myself LOL how did i do that ??? tsk tsk 

13. current number of wips?

ahhh i’m not really sure how to count them but i’m like actively writing around four or five, i tend to bounce around and then suddenly binge write an entire one

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing?

hmmm well 1) we’ve learned my characters are too caught up in their own heads (like me muhahaha), 2) i tend to write pretty colloquially even though i have the vocabulary to be more descriptive lol, and 3) even when i don’t mean to i tend to end up writing based off of things i’ve experienced before

15. a quote you like from a published story

lol this isn’t particularly well written or anything i just think it’s funny and i really enjoyed writing this scene. it’s from stepsisters and squires !

“Maybe you can trick the witch!” You suggest, words muffled by the dessert you’re chewing on as you blatantly talk with your mouth open. All manners have been abandoned as Taehyung is eating two eclairs at once, equally focused on the matter at hand. “Well, no, maybe trying to trick a magical scary lady is a bad idea.”

i’m very attached to tae’s character despite him making a very minor appearance and i love his and the oc’s chaotic energy together haha !! i’d like to write him his own spin-off sometime based on their interaction 

16. a quote from an unpublished story

hehe imma keep teasing the tae twoshot in the hopes that it makes me ACTUALLY FINISH IT FJKDLSHGLSDKJF anyway ~~~

“Your singing, on the other hand, is just fantastic,” he adds, smirking as he side-eyes you. He suppresses a laugh when he sees your mortified expression. You’re quick to cover it, crossing your arms and feigning pride.

“I know. You guys are lucky I’m not participating in the battle of the bands. I’d crush you.” Taehyung full on giggles then and you don’t hate it all that much. It’s a little squeaky though. But then his eyes light up and he’s grabbing you by the shoulders, a desperate look in his eye.

“Wait, would you wanna join? Because we could really use a mezzo voice, it’d completely change the sound—”

hopefully an official teaser will be dropped soon we’ll see !!!

17. space for you to say something to your readers

thank you guys for being so patient and supportive :( i know i’ve been very sporadic about posting and really haven’t posted at all in like a month and a half. it was very much my intention to write a bunch and then release things on a schedule (and it still is!!) but things have been difficult recently and prevented that from happening. to get to the point, you guys are so great and every piece of feedback and every like and every follow absolutely makes my heart soar. you guys remind me that i’m still capable of writing even when i really don’t feel like it and i appreciate you !! much love <333

tagging @softbobamilktae and @hyungieyoongi my go-to’s lol (sorry if you’ve already done it !!!)

[chelsfic]

Say You’ll Be My Baby - Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy - Narcos Fanfic

A/N: Title from “Make You Smile” by Elle King (thanks to my Anon of Music for their consistently awesome song recs). That song is pure Steve/Connie to me. This fic is fulfilling my deep desire to just wrap my arms around Steve and Connie. I tried to capture some of Connie’s sassy nature.

Summary: How Connie and Steve get together. That’s it, that’s the story.

Warnings: Fluff!!, Mention of gun violence

---

“...So it wa’n’t fake...”

And just like that he had me. It was that lazy West Virginia drawl rasping over the phone line and caressing the shell of my ear, smooth as Hershey syrup. And the balls it took to actually dial my number after that stunt at the bar. I was intrigued. And I won’t lie--the DEA thing was hot. I felt my lips quirk up in a pleased grin, my stomach fizzing with nervous excitement. I figured we could have some fun together...nothing serious.

The first date was a disaster. 

We agreed to meet for drinks. Nothing serious, just some casual fun and then...who knows? Only we never came close to “who knows?” because he stood me up. The worst part was that in the days leading up to the date I had truly grown excited about it. The more I thought about that tall, lithe frame leaning up against the bar, his blue eyes focused on me like I was his whole universe, the more nervous energy I felt churning in my stomach. Until I spent an hour sitting by myself, sipping beer and getting hit on by every guy in the bar. I was not the girl who sat around waiting for a guy to show up. Except that night I was. I left the bar with a lump in my throat and my face burning with wounded pride.

I trudged back into my apartment, alone and wearing my best date-night dress. The answering machine glared at me as I passed through the living room. No messages. Fucking hillbilly asshole.

When the phone rang in the middle of the night, startling me from a deep sleep, I figured it was work. I poked my head up to read the time on my alarm clock. 3:32 AM. Jesus.

“Connie, honey, I am so sorry--” the accent wasn’t so cute now.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked sleepily, my voice hushed but steely. “First you stand me up and now you wake me up in the middle of the night?”

“God, I feel terrible. There was an emergency situation here. At work. And I...it just slipped my mind. Lemme make it up to you.”

I didn’t answer for a minute. I could understand work emergencies. I’m an ER nurse, I get it. What I didn’t want to consider was a man who could forget about me until 3 o’clock in the morning after standing me up. 

“Goodnight, Steve,” I sighed, hanging up the phone and falling back into my pillows.

So much for first impressions.

I didn’t see him again for a couple weeks. I sure thought about him enough, though. Why couldn’t I get this guy out of my head? I was ready to dismiss him and never set eyes on him again when he came up to me the night we met. But...somehow he’d wormed his way into my consciousness. I found myself remembering the deep timber of his voice. Every time my phone rang I felt butterflies wondering if it might be him. But he didn’t call.

Finally, fed up and a little drunk after a night out with the girls, I called him.

“You know, the polite thing to do would be to send me flowers or a card or something! You know, really grovel!” I slurred into the phone, cradling it between my ear and shoulder as I stood at my kitchen counter scooping Häagen-Dazs into a bowl.

“Is this...Connie?” he asked, confusion obvious in his tone. “You drunk?”

“That’s besides the point,” I huffed. “I shouldn’t be the one calling you. ‘S not how this works, buddy.”

“And how does it work?” he drew out his syllables, letting his voice melt with intrigue.

“Oh, no you don’t! That stupid, sexy voice isn’t gonna to work on me this time!” I warned him, licking the ice cream scoop.

His laughter floated over the phone line as he responded, “You think my voice is sexy?”

“Shut up! You’re on thin ice. You’re supposed to chase me, beg me for my forgiveness. That’s how it works.”

He infused his voice with mock seriousness, “My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t realize. I’ll get right on that.”

“Good! You better,” I said, hanging up on him and letting the cordless phone clunk onto the countertop. As I stood there, eating ice cream and momentarily congratulating myself, it occurred to me that it was possible I’d regret all this in the morning.

Lucky me, there wasn’t much time for regrets. I was just finishing up my rounds when the Nurse Supervisor dropped a new patient intake sheet into my hands. 

“Gunshot wound. Very minor. Just needs some stitches,” and then she was off, rushing past me and trusting me to do my job. 

My feet were already leading me down the hallway in the direction of the appropriate exam room when I scanned the paper in my hands and saw the hastily scrawled name at the top. Stephen Murphy.

Gunshot wound. Oh god.

He was up on the exam table when I walked in, long Levi-clad legs dangling over the edge. He sat hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing a handful of gauze to his neck. I cleared my throat as I walked inside, standing momentarily frozen in the doorway as he turned those striking blue eyes on me. I watched his face light up with a smile that even the blood-soaked gauze in his hand couldn’t dim.

“And here I thought I was havin’ a bad day,” he drawled, wincing only slightly as the movement tugged at the wound on his neck. 

“Jesus, Steve!” I breathed, pulling away the gauze and getting my first look at the shallow abrasion along the side of his neck. “This was...a really close call.”

My voice must have betrayed my emotions. I barely knew him, but this sudden, visceral introduction to the reality of his life was somehow pulling me in instead of pushing me away. 

He smirked and made light of it, waggling his eyebrows as he breezed, “I know, just an inch to the left and I woulda lost my sexy voice.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and held up the suture kit I was about to open, “Maybe not a good idea to tease the woman about to stick a needle in your neck?”

He held up his hands in capitulation, his smile blinding me as I readied to close the wound. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me stick out my tongue in concentration as I worked. 

I addressed him without looking up, “So, I guess you’ll do anything to get out of a date with me, huh?”

He huffed a laugh and I put a steadying hand to the side of his jaw to still the motion.

“Be still, honey,” I murmured under my breath, tying off the last suture. Steve went docile at the touch, looking up at me with stars in his eyes as I bandaged the wound. 

“Do we have a date?” he asked, his voice low and unsure. I watched his hands close into nervous fists in his lap.

“I don’t know,” I said, snapping off my latex gloves and dropping them in the trash. “Do we?”

And so our first real date was that afternoon in the hospital cafeteria. Steve insisted on buying my lunch and carrying both our trays despite his fresh injury.

“Eh, it’s nothin’,” he scoffed, but I didn’t miss the wince of pain as he set everything down on the table. 

“Big, strong man, huh?” I teased. 

He arched his elegant, blond eyebrows in response and his lips tugged up into a smile that cut straight through me. He watched me with that intense stare of his while I fidgeted nervously under his scrutiny, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear and looking down at my plate. I’d never felt like this with any other guy. I was always the cool, aloof one. Never shy and lovestruck like I felt at that moment.

“So...is this something I’m gonna have to get used to? Missed dates and trips to the emergency room?” I asked only half joking. I could feel myself falling into something more serious than I’d intended with this man. Something about him just kept drawing me in.

He snorted, not picking up on my somber thoughts, “I promise you, this is my first trip to the ER.”

“What happened?” I rested my head on my hand, watching as he took an enormous bite out of his turkey sandwich and smiling despite myself.

He took a minute to chew, opening up a packet of mustard and drizzling it onto the sandwich as he considered his words, “Streets are more and more dangerous, Connie. I was out with my partner. Followin’ up on a tip. Broad daylight. Son of a bitch pulled out a semi-automatic and almost blew my head off.”

I shook my head in horror, “Did he get away?”

“Nah, my partner managed to grab him,” he answered, then added laughingly, “Musta been a burst of adrenaline when he saw me get shot ‘cause Kevin can’t run for shit.”

We turned to other topics: family, how long we’d each been in Miami, my job as a nurse. My lunch break flew by and before I knew it I was walking him out to the sidewalk. 

“So...I know getting shot and turning up as your patient doesn’t exactly count as wooing you but…,” he broke off with a laugh, ducking his head and looking up at me with those blue eyes I loved already, “You think you’ll let me see you again?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a stern appraisal, letting my eyes flick up and down his long, long body before shrugging and faking a casual tone, “Sure, you can see me again.”

He grinned, stepping closer and brushing his fingers over my crossed forearms.

“Yeah?” he smirked, holding my gaze until I couldn’t help but return his contagious smile.

“Yeah! If you can remember our dates, that is.”

He put a wounded hand over his heart.

“Ouch! Baby, that hurts! I promise you--,” he broke off, bringing his hand up to cup my face and stroking his thumb along my cheek. I sucked in a breath at his touch. “I promise you, baby, I’ll treat you right.”

He spread his fingers, letting them thread through the flyaways escaping my ponytail, leaning down until our foreheads almost touched. 

“Would you get in trouble with your boss if I kissed you now?” he drawled, his eyes already fixated on my lips. 

I let my own eyes wander to his mouth. His pouty, pink lips were a little chapped and I watched as he darted out his tongue to wet them. He leaned in even closer until I could feel his breath mingle with mine. 

“I don’t think I care,” I answered and then I closed the gap between us and caught him in our first kiss. 

He brought up his other hand to cradle my head, moving his lips over mine and flicking out his tongue. I drew myself up on my tip toes, clutching his shoulders and melting against him. I could feel myself surrendering. To the kiss and to this man. Whatever I might have thought when he first swaggered up to me in that bar...I knew now that my life was changing. I felt myself moving inexorably closer to a future that included Steve. 

I smiled against his lips before forcing myself to pull away. 

“You better call me, Steve Murphy,” I called as I walked away, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with a freshly stitched wound, kiss-swollen lips, and the conviction that he had just had his first kiss with the woman he was going to marry.

Boyd Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor

[wallywrites]

colored-rain asked:

Hey! Can you do "dont leave" or "youre my everything" with wolfstar? Ty♡♡

Thanks for the request!! I love this idea already!! I love both these prompts too so why not use both! Sorry it took so long! Been super busy with uni assignments but here it is!

Prompt #21 “don’t leave” and prompt #39 “you’re my everything” from my prompt list! If you want to suggest any prompts check out my list here! :)

Initially I had this really angsty idea in mind since the last wolfstar fic I wrote (still haven’t finished that one oops) was super sad and angsty but after finishing three assignments in the last couple of days I just wanted some cute fluff so here’s my attempt at that! (Still a little angst though)

(Repost because my fic was long and Tumblr decided to delete my “keep reading” bar and won’t let me edit on my laptop because I posted it on my phone, and I HATE that I don’t have one so I’m reposting it so it doesn’t annoy me because I don’t know how to fix it)

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232955 

✨Wolfstar au✨

Full moons were always bad. But at least Remus didn’t have to spend them alone anymore. Even though he never really remembered what happens during the night, only flashes and glimpses of images through his nightmares, he knew that he was safe, that others would be safe, too. That Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would make sure nothing bad could happen.

But they couldn’t stop the inevitable, and sometimes, like last night, things got a little too out of hand. The moon was bigger than usual, Remus was already feeling angsty and sore days before he was meant to shift, more intense than he usually does. He knew something big was coming, didn’t want to worry the others, should have worried the others.

Instead he pretended he was fine, until he wasn’t. Until he shifted and claws ripped at his skin and teeth bit at his friends, and then he was alone. The rest of the marauders didn’t even know how he managed to get away, spent the whole night looking for him, worried, Prongs still limping slightly from where Moony had latched his jaw into the others leg. Padfoot didn��t stop looking, didn’t stop running and sniffing and tracking, even when the others needed a break, even long after they decided to split up, to track more ground that way.

And then the sun began to rise, and the worry turned into fear. Remus had spent practically the whole full moon alone, and god knows what could have happened without the others there to distract him, to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else.

And then the scent of blood caused Sirius to stop dead in his tracks, his legs pushing himself harder and faster than he had pushed before, because blood was never a good sign, and the sun was practically up and Moony was alone and-

There he was. Lying cold, naked, shaking at the bottom of a ditch, more blood than Sirius had ever seen before. Sirius didn’t even realise that he had shifted back until he saw his hands, reaching out to gently pull Remus’ very cold very scarred very bloody body closer, pulling his own jacked off to drape it around his shoulders, trying to heat up his body. It was bad, so much worse than they’ve had before, nasty wounds drawn long across his chest and stomach, another smaller one across his forehead.

And he couldn’t help but think that this was all his fault. If he didn’t loose Remus, if he had been paying attention, if he had realised how big the moon was earlier and how bad it was going to get-

He didn’t remember making his way back to the castle, Remus floating above him from the levitation spell he must have used. Didn’t remember when he found the other Marauders either, didn’t remember waiting and waiting and waiting for Madame Pomfrey to finish healing their friend.

He did however remember the fear that Madame Pomfrey let into her expressions the brief moment before she moved Remus to a hospital bed and started the healing.

Everything happened in a blur, until he snapped out of the daze he was in, his eyes fixated on Remus, lying cold and still in the hospital bed. He hadn’t even realised he was crying until he glanced down, noticing his forearm covered in tears.

“-Pads?”

He looked up for the first time, blinking a couple of times as he looked towards James, who stood, eyebrows furrowed, hand resting on Sirius’ shoulder - when did that get there?

“You alright? You spaced out?”

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked what happened? You kind of haven’t spoken since we found you two”

A sigh escaped Sirius as he looked back towards Remus, watching his chest rise and fall, the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart. He tried to think, of what actually happened, but his mind kept wandering, jumping from moment to moment, nothing making any sense. He groaned out as he closed his eyes, rubbing his hand down his face. James waited patiently, not really understanding what was happening, but he knew Sirius, he knew how he acted when they had a particular bad moon, knew that stress and worry can cause his brain to get a little muddled. The same thing happened when Sirius first moved in with the Potters, and James was more observant than he would admit.

And so he drew his hand back and waited as Sirius sighed again, leaning back in his seat, his eyes still trained on Remus.

“It’s all messy, I don’t know, I just..” the image of Remus’ body lying in the ditch came back into Sirius’ mind, causing a shiver to run through him. Out of all the memories and thoughts and images, that was the only one he really could make out, the one he really didn’t want to remember.

Because it hurt. It hurt more than he thought it would, more than he would ever admit. And he didn’t know why. Of course he cares about Remus, he’s cared and worried and stressed about him the day they met, even more the day he found out what happens on a full moon. Remus was one of his best friends, so it makes sense that he was worried, that he was concerned and upset. But it didn’t explain the strange feeling he was getting in his chest, his stomach, his gut. Didn’t explain why his head hurt and his legs couldn’t stop moving and his mind couldn’t stop racing and he couldn’t stop thinking all the worst things he could possibly be thinking and Merlin what if it’s too late and what if he doesn’t make it and what if he never knows how much he means to me and how much I need him and that I love him and-

Sirius physically flinched at the realisation, the words hitting him as hard as he hit the wall he accidentally flew into one day at practice.

“Pads? What is it?” James asked, moving closer as Sirius’ whole body began to shake. He loved Remus. He was in love with Remus fucking Lupin and oh god it made so much sense, so much that he didn’t know how he couldn’t see it before. He was always wanting to be close to Remus, wanting to hear his voice and make him smile and god he was handsome, and sure, he always wondered what it would feel like to hold him and kiss him, and now he knew why.

He started crying again, couldn’t tell when it started, and when he looked to James, the tears kept coming, because he loved Remus, and Remus was hurt, and he was cold and he was bleeding and scarred and Sirius wanted to hold him and tell him it’s going to be okay and tell him that he loves him and what if he doesn’t wake up? What if it’s too late?

“I think love him, James. And I didn’t realise until I saw him- until he.. what if I never get the chance to tell him?”

James was shocked to say the least. Love was a strange topic to Sirius. Sure, he loved a lot of things, in his own way. He loved his friends, loved the Potters, he loved quidditch and pissing Severus off. But love was hard for Sirius, they had his parents to thank for that. It took time for Sirius to even admit that he deeply cared about the other marauders. It was such a foreign concept to Sirius that often times he doesn’t know how he felt, or wouldn’t believe that someone could love him, that he could love someone.

Love was hard for Sirius. But to be in love with someone? James often worried that it would never happen, not because he’s not capable of it, but because he believed Sirius would ignore it, wouldn’t let him feel those things, would push those feelings far away until he forgot about them.

But instead of asking questions and fussing over Sirius being in love, Sirius being in love with a boy, Sirius being in love with Remus, he shook his head, knowing exactly what Sirius is thinking, exactly what he would be freaking out about.

“No, stop that. He’s going to wake up, and then you can tell him how much you love him, okay?”

James had time to question Sirius later, but now he needed to be there for his friend, his brother. Because he knew love, and he knew loss, and he knew Sirius, and he knew he needed to help, to calm him down.

“He’s hurt real bad James-“ he could hear the hurt, the pain in Sirius’ voice, and wondered how he never noticed before, how he always seemed to get worked up and upset whenever they had a particularly bad moon, more so than the others, even when they know he’s safe and going to be okay.

“He’s always hurt bad, and then he wakes up and then he’s fine. He’s going to be okay. Come on, Sirius he’s stronger than all of us combined.” It wasn’t a lie. The moment they found out about Remus’ lycanthropy, James knew he was stronger than anyone he had met, than all of them.

Sirius still wasn’t convinced. They had never had one this bad, and he still couldn’t shake the image out of his head. James watched for a moment as Sirius looked back towards Remus, still asleep, chest rising and falling, shallow but steady, thanks to the professor. She always knew what to do, how to heal Remus, make sure he got better, and they were beyond thankful for that. She even let them stay by his side until he woke up, not that they were technically allowed. Never questioned them either, though they all know she must wonder how the three of them manage to find and bring Remus back after a full moon. She had her guesses, of course, but never questioned them on it, which they were thankful for.

And she always made him better, they knew that, this was no different, but then Sirius started to shake again, because he was so pale, and he was cold and hurt and his skin was already starting to bruise up around the scars and the scars, Merlin the scars were so big and-

James noticed that Sirius started to spiral again, could see the way his brows furrowed and his eyes turned glossy due to more tears threatening to spill. He knew that his mind ad started to race again, so he placed his hand back on his brothers shoulder, and spoke as softly as he could, as calm as he ever had.

“Hey, you’ll get your chance to tell him. I promise you.”

Sirius took a deep breath, calming down slightly, but his legs still bounced under him. And James watched as he just sat, eyes never leaving Remus’ body. Sirius didn’t speak, instead lent forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the bed, next to where Remus laid. And they stayed like that for a while, James’ hand resting on Sirius’ shoulder, his eyes moving between two of his best friends, both broken and hurt and exhausted in different ways. Sirius leaning on the hospital bed, eyes never pulling away from the rise and fall of Remus’ chest, scared that if he looked away, the breathing would stop.

And James knew what he had to do, what Sirius had to do. He didn’t want to leave, but he knew Sirius needed time to think, needed time to just be with Remus, so he moved closer, giving Sirius’ shoulder a small squeeze as he spoke.

“Hey.. I’m gonna give you guys some room, maybe you can think about what you’re going to say when he wakes up?”

Sirius just nodded, a good sign that he wasn’t completely stuck in his head. James pulled back to leave, but he paused, looking back towards Sirius, unmoved, legs still bouncing and body still shaking.

“Hey, uh.. thanks for telling me. You know you can always trust me with that stuff, right?”

Sirius turned his eyes away from Remus for the first time, his eyes finding James, as he nodded, a small smile making it’s way onto his face. Sirius was truly grateful for James, who always let him be himself, who he trusted with everything. “I know.”

“And after this I’m gonna have a hell of a lot of questions to ask you-“

Sirius couldn’t help the chuckle that left him, shaking his head slightly at his friend. “Yeah, yeah I know. I’ll answer all your questions.”

Sirius knew he would have to tell James everything after this, explain everything, including what he still didn’t quite know or understand yet. And if he wasn’t so shaken up or upset still, he might even had been excited to talk to James about it, to laugh with him as they realise how ridiculous he had been, never realising what his feelings had meant. Might’ve even been excited to gossip like normal teenagers do, about Remus and Lily and the absurd amount of pining they’re bound to endure.

James just smiled, nodding his head, before pausing for a moment. And the smile never faltered when he spoke.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

Those words meant more to Sirius than any words he’s ever heard before. Any time James, or the Potters, or Remus or Peter would tell him that they’re proud, his body would heat up, warmth running through his chest and to his stomach. He didn’t even realise how different this conversation would have been if it was with anyone else, because admittedly he had just come out to his best friend, something that he knows isn’t very accepted, couldn’t even imagine the reaction his parents would have to the idea of their son being in love with a boy, but he was happy that he felt safe enough to do that here. Because James really was his family, really meant a lot to him. And he couldn’t help the smile that made its way to his face at his brothers words.

“Thanks prongs.”

“Give Moons a kiss for me.”

And then James was gone, and Sirius was back to staring at Remus. A long sign escaped him, one he didn’t realise he had been holding, didn’t realise it needed to get out. He reached out, leaning his elbows back where they were, but he paused, his eye drifting to Remus’ hand, lying by his body. Sirius had always wondered what it would feel like to hold his hand. He thought it was ridiculous, that he sounded so sappy, but he didn’t try to stop himself as he reached out, tangling his fingers with Remus’, who was still cold, sending a shiver up Sirius’ arm.

He pulled Remus’ arm towards him gently, placing a kiss on the back of his hand, before resting both arms back down onto the bed, his thumb rubbing over were his lips had touched.

And he sat, and he thought, about what he was going to say. God what was he going to say? And how was he going to say it? What would Remus say? Would he even be okay with it?

He couldn’t imagine Remus ever hating him over the fact that he loved him. Remus probably wouldn’t care that Sirius liked boys either, but would he love him back? Did he love him back? And then Sirius started to panic, because what if he doesn’t? What even would I say? How am I meant to tell Remus that I’m in love with him, and the thought of him gone makes me want to die? That I want to be with him forever, and that I hate when we’re apart, and Christ what am I going to say?

But then he paused, and the worry flooded back to him. He didn’t care what he was going to say, as long as he got to say it. As long as Remus was okay. And he let his eyes wander back over his body, and he could already feel the tears. And then suddenly, the quiet was too much, too suffocating, so he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before he spoke, spilling out all his feelings as best as he could.

“I’m so sorry, Moons. Christ, please be okay. Please wake up Moony..” he spoke, hoping that he could make some sense of what he was feeling. He opened his eyes, focusing on their hands together, before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“I’m so sorry I never told you, that I love you.. I didn’t know.. I didn’t realise I loved you.. I always knew I felt differently about you, but I didn’t.. I was scared, Moons, of a lot of things, but.. seeing you like this.. I can’t imagine never being able to tell you how I feel..”

His eyes were closed again, and he really didn’t want to cry more, so he took another deep breath, his chest shaking, his legs shaking, his hands shaking, and he focused on Remus’ hand within his own. The feeling of their fingers being wrapped up together, the heat from his own body warming up Remus’, which calmed him down. Because he wanted Remus to be warm, to be safe and healthy and okay. He wanted Remus to be okay, because he needed Remus. He needed Remus more than he thought he would ever need anyone.

“Merlin, you’re my everything, Remus. I need you, please wake up.”

And Sirius didn’t know when he realised that Remus was awake, staring at him, tears in his eyes. He didn’t even realise he was staring back, shocked, confused, concerned, until Remus squeezed at his hand, bringing him back from whatever frozen state he was in.

“Merlin Remus” he said simply, dropping down as close to Remus as he could without hurting his wounds, wrapping his arms around his shoulders at an uncomfortable angle to hug him. He didn’t care, Remus was awake, he was okay.. and he might have heard the confession Sirius had made.. and he knows, god he knows.

Sirius didn’t want to pull away, one because he loved the feeling of Remus’ arms wrapped around his back, but also because then Remus would see how red his face is, and then he’d have to face the fact that he unknowingly and unintentionally confessed his feelings to his best friend.

And Sirius’ mind was rambling, trying to think of what to say, or what to do, a million thoughts rushing through his head and around his skull. He was going to get a headache later, already felt it coming along, but he couldn’t possibly worry about that with his heart pounding so loudly in his chest against his rib cage, Moony pressed so closely to his body.

And then Remus’ breath on his ear caused him to freeze, suddenly every thought and sound whirling around in his skull gone as he listened.

“I love you too, Pads.”

Sirius didn’t mean to pull away as fast as he did, but as soon as he saw the calm look on Remus’ face, the sparkle in his eye, he instantly relaxed, even let out a small laugh, eyebrows furrowing together, causing Remus’ smile to grow.

“So you heard all of that?”

Remus laughed out, winching slightly, but his smile never faulted. “Bits and pieces. But I got the gist of it.”

Sirius placed his hands on either side of Remus’ face, careful not to touch any of his healing wounds, and he couldn’t help but smile, warmth pooling throughout his body, because he was holding Remus, and Remus was holding him, and he loved Remus, and Remus loved him.

“I was so scared, Moons.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Sirius chuckled at that, shaking his head. Only Remus would apologise for something that he had no control over. The other marauders have had to tell Remus to stop saying he was sorry on multiple occasions, had explained to him they they know it’s not his fault, that they don’t blame him for anything, would never blame him for anything. That they’re scared and worried because they care, that it’s not his fault. Remus tired to believe them, but the words “I’m sorry” just seemed to slip off his tongue so naturally that he could never really help it.

“No, don’t be sorry. You don’t have to be sorry.”

And he meant it. He didn’t want Remus to ever feel like he had to be sorry, like he was doing something wrong. Because he wasn’t. Sirius thought that Remus shouldn’t ever apologise for anything, because really there isn’t anything Remus could do that would make Sirius want an apology.

They didn’t move, didn’t speak for a while, instead all they did was look to each other. Sirius couldn’t really tell what he was feeling, nor did he completely understand Remus’ expression, but he didn’t want to ask, wanted to just stare a little longer. So he let his eyes move over his face, leaving his eyes and moving across his scars and freckles, and down to his lips. Christ Sirius wanted to kiss him. To finally find out what Remus’ lips would feel like against his own. And it seemed like Remus was reading his mind when he spoke.

“Merlin, Sirius just kiss me already-“

And that’s all Sirius needed before he pushed himself closer, his hands holding Remus’ face as he kissed him. Remus’ arms tightened around Sirius’ back, and Sirius could feel him smile as he kissed him, leaning his body closer, wanting to be closer and closer and closer.

He ran his tongue over Remus’ bottom lip, which Remus returned with a moan, letting him in almost instantly as Sirius’ hands moved up to tangle themselves in his hair. A part of Remus thought he was still dreaming, that this wasn’t happening, that Sirius wasn’t here, kissing him, tugging at his hair, but then Sirius would moan, reminding Remus that this was very much real, that this was very much happening. That just made him want to squeal.

But they were both exhausted, so it wasn’t long before they pulled apart, not really wanting to, but knowing that they probably should. That they would have time to do more of that later.

The two of them couldn’t help but laugh, Sirius leaning his forehead on Remus’, a sigh of relief leaving both of them, a sign that both boys had wanted this for a while, despite Sirius only realising it moments before. Remus shook his head slightly, his smile never fading as he spoke.

“You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve waited for that.”

Sirius felt warm, his whole body tingling at the idea of Remus wanting to kiss Sirius, of Remus waiting for the moment. That thought made Sirius’ face blush red, his cheeks beginning to ache from the grin he didn’t notice having, which refused to leave his expression.

Sirius wanted to be closer to Remus, to hold him and kiss him, the thought itself getting him excited, but as he pulled away slightly, Remus froze, his grip around Sirius’ back tightening as he closed his eyes.

“Don’t-, don’t leave, please.”

Sirius couldn’t help but chuckle, leaving being the last thing on his mind. So he lent down again, catching Remus’ lips in another kiss before pulling back slightly, not as far as before. He pushed himself up onto the bed, Remus moving slightly to the side as he helped Sirius under the covers. Sirius laid down, his arms wrapping around Remus, whose body was now warm, pulling his body into his own. Remus sighed out again, his body shaking slightly as Sirius placed a kiss to his forehead, closing his own eyes before speaking.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[fallenfurther]

Explorer

A little young Gordon fic for @gumnut-logic sensory sunday challenge. I got the idea for this little bit of fluff (with a little whump at the end) and decided to try get it down in one night. Hopefully I’ve got most the errors out. This is based on things me and m friends found on the Devonshire coast last year. 

******

The barnacled rock was rough against his feet, but it didn't bother Gordon. With his bucket full of water, he carefully clambered over the rocks, looking for a good pool. A holiday in England, visiting the seaside holiday home of a family friend, had become quite the adventure for the five-year old. The water was cold, even with the sun shining down it seemed to freeze his body. The sun was warm on his skin and it was cooler than the summers he was used to. His brothers complained but Gordon saw the opportunity. A new country meant a new beach. The different temperature meant new and different sea life to find! The beach may be sandy, but it was enclosed by dark ragged rock which he just knew would contain rock pools. Last night Gordon had gone into the library to pester John and had found a set of old coastal handbooks in the shelves. The one on rock pools was now sticking out his back pocket, ready to be opened. His fingers slipped into the crevice of the craggy rock and he pulled himself up. As he clambered over the top, before him was his prize.

Gordon lent in close to the rock as he edged over to an outcrop that would make a good seat. He had to use both hands and his bucket splashed against his arm leaving a red mark where it banged against his skin. He settled himself on the rock and gave his arm a quick check. It didn't hurt when he poked the mark, so he turned his attention to the still pool of water. Gordon wasn't known for being patient or sitting still, but Dad had shown him how moving scared the creatures. It was hard, especially as his bottom slowly became numb against the rock, but Gordon sat and observed. His eyes scouting the water for any movement. Suddenly, movement near some seaweed caught his eye. Small fish darted across the pool and a smile crossed Gordon’s face. His hand reached for the book as he took in as much detail as he could about the little fish before they disappeared. Small, some shiny scales along their sides. He flipped through the small book to the chapter on fish. Gordon had picked it for the pictures, and he flicked through, scrutinising each picture until he came to the one of a fish with blue-green scales dotted in a line along its side. Gordon still wasn’t great at reading, but he knew it was what he had just seen. Slipping the pen from his front pocket he put a tick next to the name.

Placing the book and pen on the side, Gordon reached down and waved his hand through the seaweed. The bright green seaweed floated in the cool water and felt like hair in his hand. The little fish darted out from their hiding place. Gordon started chasing them about tying to catch one, but they were just too quick. He wouldn’t be able to show one of those to his brothers. All the splashing had rocked the seaweed exposing a small orangey starfish. Gordon dried his hands on his shorts and grabbed his book, matched the picture, and ticked it. He would have put it in his bucket, but it was too small. He’d need a bigger one to impress his brothers. He quickly flipped to the seaweed section and ticked off the two types in the pool. A quick flick through and he found the page with the barnacles on it and the one with the limpets on. These were scattered all over the rocks and thus boring.

Having exhausted that pool, Gordon slipped the book and pen back into his pocket and climbed deeper into the rocks. There were loads of small pools, which held the odd bit of seaweed and nothing else. After climbing another jagged rock Gordon paused to look at his hands. His palms were sore and some of the skin had been roughened up by the barnacles. Gordon turned towards the way he had come. He could barely see over the rocks and he certainly couldn’t see the beach, but the idea of turning back without something cool made Gordon continue. He clambered over another rock, only to see a red bodges in a nearby pool. He headed straight to the pool and he crouched over it, getting a good look at the anemones. He’d seen them at the aquarium, and they had looked so squishy. Gordon reached in and stuck his finger into the extended red tentacles. The tentacles retracted but they had felt sticky to the touch. He did the same to the other one in the pool, chuckling slightly as it retreated. He ticked them off before heading toward the rocks closer to the sea. There were more red anemones as he got closer, however just as he was about to start climbing, he noticed a big dark red bulb just above the water. Moving closer, he noted the small yellow spots coating it. He reached out and poked it. It was slimy but soft, and very squishy. He rubbed his finger on it a bit more before stepping back and locating it in his book. The name he ticked contained the word ‘strawberry’. He was going to have to get someone to read the description to him later. Gordon continued to explore the rocks. He found a small crab, some more of the spotty anemones, some of them open with their tentacles flailing. Gordon was climbing over yet another rock, where there was a larger rock pool on the other side. What caught his eye was the bright green tentacles with purple tips in the water directly below. It looked like an alien. There was a thin ledge just above the pool, which Gordon tried to reach with his foot.

“Gordon Cooper Tracy!”

Startled by the sound, Gordon turned to see his mother standing on a rock with her hands on her hips. At the same time, Gordon’s foot slipped, and he fell towards the pool. His foot and leg brushed against the tentacles while his other knee scraped against the rough barnacles.

“Gordon!”

His mother’s voice had lost its stern tone and was now full of concern. Gordon managed to hang on with one hand and pulled his leg out of the water. He got his foot on the ledge, the rock digging into the damp sole. But the feeling was nothing compared to pain that was radiating from where the alien tentacles had touched his skin. Tears were already forming in his eyes. The first one slid down his face and plopped into the water below. A firm hand on his arm made him look up into his mother’s brown eyes. She pulled him up and into her arms and he let the tears fall, burying his face into the soft fabric of her top.

“Shush. It’s okay Gordon.”

His mother rocked him slightly before carefully making her way back over the rocks. Gordon didn’t stop crying. Both his legs hurt. Soon they were back on the sand and his mother was placing him onto the blanket.

“Jeff, get the first aid kit. Gordon’s scraped his leg.”

Gordon couldn’t stop the tears as the soft antiseptic wipe stung his knee as him mother cleaned the wound. Between blinks he could see where the barnacles had broken his skin. He sobbed as band aids were placed over the bleeding areas. Once done, his mother took his other leg and turned it. There was a red rash that started just under his knee and finished at his foot. It really hurt. Gordon sniffed, trying to hold back the tears as his brothers gathered around him.

“How did you get this, Gordon?” His mother asked.

“The…the alien tentacles.”

His mother looked a confused and turned towards his dad, who just shrugged. It was John who stepped forward and grabbed the book from Gordon’s pocket and started thumbing through the pages. He stopped on one before turning it to Gordon.

“Is this what stung you?”

On the page was a picture of pale green tentacles with light purple tips. Gordon nodded, and John turned book back to himself and read it aloud.

“Snakelock Anemone, Anemonia viridis, found on the south and western shores of Britain. They have distinctive bright green tentacles with purple tips and fluoresce under UV light. The Snakelock tentacles sting leaving a painful and sometimes itchy rash that can last up to one month, so be careful not to touch them.”

John passed the book to their mother, who checked it over. His Dad sighed.

“This Gordon is why you don’t run off. Not only could you have been washed away if you had fallen in, you could have become trapped by the tide and the coast guard would have need to be called to come rescue you. You knew you shouldn’t have gone rock pooling alone, yet you did anyway. Let this be a lesson to you, son.”

Gordon nodded, though he could hear the worry in his father’s stern words. He had known he was going to get told off for running off. He had just hoped to have come back with something cool. His mother moved and scooped him up, as his brothers and father went back to their game of catch. His mother removed the pen that had been digging into him and wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. She held open the book at the page of the snakelock and ticked it off for him.

“How about we see what else you found, hey?”

Her head was rested on his, a comforting pressure that helped Gordon fight the tears. His mother thumbed through the book, reading to him all the names and information about the things he’d found. She helped him pronounce the Latin names, and all this distracted him from the tingling pain in his leg. It turned out he’d found a lot of things, including beadlet anemones, Actinia equina, strawberry anemones, Actinia fragracea, and the little fish were 2-Spot Goby, Gobiusculus flavescens. Gordon still wished he’d found a big crab, but that could wait until another day when his legs didn’t hurt anymore.

[saltnhalo]

For @violetlyvanilla, the first place winner of my 1k fic giveaway!

Out on the very edges of the solar system, past the point where any civilian would dare to venture, Dean Winchester pilots the vessel 1MP4L4 towards one of the most notorious prisons in the galaxy.

Someone has to draw the short straw of doing the bi-monthly cargo run out to the prisoners and staff, and this time, that unlucky motherfucker is Dean. It’s a week-long trip in the old, slow spacecraft that the Alliance allocates to the lower-ranked corrections staff, and by now, Dean is so bored that he would give anything to be back at his desk filling out paperwork instead.

All it is is a routine cargo run.

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Out of the emptiness of space, the prison slowly comes into view, a tiny speck that first blends in amongst the stars but finally solidifies itself as an actual structure. It’s remarkably unremarkable; dark metal against grey rock, built on a chunk of space debris orbiting an ancient moon. From looking at it, it’s almost impossible to discern that the prison houses only a small handful of the most dangerous enemies to the Alliance in the entire galaxy.

Dean knows better, though.

Once he’s almost in contacting distance, he settles himself into his pilot seat and buckles in, then prepares to engage the manual controls. Just an hour’s work of moving the cargo, and then he can begin the long trip back to civilisation. He rolls out his neck, reaches for the joystick, then flips the switch to engage his controls.

Nothing happens.

The ship doesn’t slow, doesn’t respond. The manual light doesn’t even turn on, so it’s not even pretending to be working. Instead, the 1MP4L4 continues to hurtle towards the prison at a speed suitable for interspace travel, but most certainly not ideal for approaching his destination, let alone a finicky docking routine.

“What the fuck,” Dean mutters, flicking the switch off and then on again. When it doesn’t work, he swears again, louder and more creatively. Dean reaches for the comms button and presses it with one hand, the other still frantically trying to engage the manual control. “Detainment Facility Delta, this is cargo envoy One-India-Miko-Four-Lima-Four, manual controls have failed and I cannot override the autopilot. I repeat, manual controls have failed and I cannot override the autopilot.” There’s no response, just crackling static from the prison’s end, but suddenly that becomes the least of Dean’s problems.

An error appears on his screen, and Dean’s eyes widen as he reads it.

Foreign control identified. Manual override unavailable.

“Mayday, mayday!” he shouts, trying every possible solution he knows as his ship hurtles towards the prison that is now growing rapidly larger in his front window. If he can’t shut it down, he’s royally fucked. This is not how he wanted to go—smashed into tiny pieces against the side of the most remote prison in the galaxy, just because his ship refused to obey him.

He’s frantic now, pressing any button that might even remotely help while shouting into his comms unit, but none of them help. In fact, none of them have any effect at all. Something else is in control of Dean’s ship now, and it’s all he can do to brace himself and hope that he makes it out alive.

The prison looms closer and closer, and the ship doesn’t stop, just keeps hurtling directly towards the prison wall. Dean watches as he passes through the outer shield, the gravity zone, the oxygen bubble. There’s no hope, now.

He braces himself against the control panel and closes his eyes—

The ship brakes at the very last second, just enough to lessen the impact slightly, but it’s far too late.

There’s a bang, and a split second where Dean feels all his forward momentum just stop, and then everything goes black.

~

The dust is slow to clear as Castiel Novak stands in the very back corner of his cell and uncovers his face to reveal the aftermath of the crash.

His little computer, cobbled together from reused tele-screen and cleaning robot parts, lies discarded in the corner, no longer of use. It served its purpose of hacking into both the mainframe of the cargo ship and in overriding the locking mechanism of his cell, and now freedom is within his grasp.

The dust from his half-destroyed cell wall settles to reveal the nose of the cargo ship where it intrudes into Castiel’s cell. The old ships are slow but sturdy, and Castiel had hoped that it would be enough to break through, but actually seeing his success is so much more invigorating than he could ever have planned.

The front window looks a little cracked, and he can see the silhouette of the pilot inside, slumped in his chair, but neither of those facts concern him right now. As long as everything holds together long enough for him to make it to the nearest port and disappear, he’ll be home scot-free.

Not wanting to waste any time before the wardens arrive at his cell and find that it can’t be unlocked, Cas clambers over the stones from the wall and hits the button for the ship’s hatch to open. For the first time in six months, he’s going to be free again, and he can’t wait.

He’s quick to make his way through to the cockpit, barely giving the pilot a second glance as he leans over the control panel and does a quick assessment of the damage. Cracked window, as he’d suspected, and a few failed shield-points, but nothing crucial to his escape. “You’re a sturdy lady,” he murmurs, then sets about priming the ship for take-off.

Now that Castiel’s device is no longer blocking communications, the warden’s voice and threats come crackling through the speakers, but he simply switches them off. He needs to focus, despite the satisfaction in hearing that he’s bested the Alliance once again.

The ship’s computer lights up, telling Castiel that he’s ready to depart, and he can’t keep the grin off his face as he wraps his fingers around the joystick. He’d told the wardens that they wouldn’t be able to hold him, and they’d laughed at him, but now…

Once again, all of space is his oyster.

Castiel pulls back on the joystick, settles into the controls of his stolen ship, and gives the prison a middle finger salute as he speeds away.

~

It’s only once he’s been flying for about an hour and put a decent amount of distance between himself and the prison that Castiel lets himself consider the man still strapped into the pilot’s seat behind him.

From the shallow rise and fall of his chest, it’s clear that he’s still alive, at least, but whether he was injured in the crash, Cas can’t be sure. There’s a cut on his forehead that’s been bleeding sluggishly, and he still hasn’t come to, but the longer he can stay unconscious, the better that is for Castiel.

Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t stay out for long.

Castiel has just finished tying his hands together behind the chair when he begins to stir, his head lolling and eyelashes fluttering. He’s pretty, Castiel had noticed earlier—skin dotted with freckles, nice cheekbones, full lips. And when his eyes open, slowly and hazed with confusion…

They’re a shade of green that Castiel hasn’t seen in so long that it takes his breath away.

“What th’ fuck…”

Castiel takes a sharp step back as the man’s bleary gaze focuses on him. The guy squints, his nose crinkling, and in that moment before the realisation kicks in, he’s truly beautiful.

And then his eyes widen, and he sucks in a quick breath.

“Castiel Novak.”

Castiel should have known that his reputation would precede him, especially among those who work for the Alliance. Hell, he’s been paid to kill so many of their corrupt administration so many times that he’d be surprised if he wasn’t mentioned in the training of new cadets as public enemy number one. But seeing this beautiful man close off before his eyes…

It stings a little.

“That’s me,” he says, lips quirking up in a quick, tight smile. “And you are?”

The man pulls against the ropes binding his hands—sluggishly, like he still isn’t fully conscious yet—and scowls. “Winchester,” he bites out after a few moments. Castiel raises his eyebrow and waits patiently for a handful more seconds, until the guy adds a reluctant;

“…Dean.”

“Well, Dean,” Castiel says, turning back towards the control panel. “Nice to meet you. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances, but…” He shrugs one shoulder, tapping the computer screen and making a few adjustments to the autopilot’s trajectory. “Desperate times and all that. And now that you’re aiding and abetting my escape, I doubt you really want me to let you go. So I’m very sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

The guy—Dean—blinks at him. Castiel hopes that it’s the concussion slowing his thought processes and not the fact that he’s been saddled with an idiot, otherwise he’s going to let him off at the nearest port, pretty face or not.

“You’re really that dangerous that the Alliance would rather kill me than accept me back into their ranks, huh?” Dean says quietly, leaning his head back against the chair and watching Castiel with an unreadable expression.

Castiel rolls his eyes and leans one hip against the control panel—he doesn’t miss the way Dean’s gaze follows the movement, or the way his eyes flick over his silver jumpsuit, to his lips, up to his eyes. Interesting. “Trust me, Dean,” he murmurs, “I’m more dangerous than anyone you’ve ever met. If you want to be let off at the next station and risk your luck with the Alliance, fine by me. But I’ve killed members of the Alliance, and I’ve killed for members of the Alliance, so you might want to listen when I tell you that you’re better off sticking with the interplanetary assassin than you are going back to your employers. Especially if they think you were even partly responsible for my escape.”

Dean stares at him, his thoughts clearly processing behind those pretty green eyes. It’s a lot to lay on someone all at once—and to be honest, Castiel isn’t even really sure why he’s giving the guy this option. He should just be getting rid of him, but there’s something about this man; whether it’s his attractiveness or the way he’s watching Castiel, thoughtfully, with an edge behind his eyes that suggests that he might be able to keep up with Cas instead of slowing him down.

Either way, he’s intrigued.

For a few long moments, the only sound between them is the humming of the ship’s engine and the quiet whirr of the control panel. Dean bounces his leg as he thinks, but his gaze never leaves Castiel’s face.

Finally, he nods. “Yeah,” he says, quietly at first, and then more decisively. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay with you at least until I see how the Alliance reacts to your escape—but if I change my mind, you’ll let me go, yeah?”

Castiel shrugs, allowing himself a pleased smile at Dean’s decision. “Of course. But—“

He cuts himself off as the computer screen flashes with an Alliance-issued emergency announcement. Two photos flash up: one of Castiel’s mugshot, and the other of Dean’s staff ID photograph. Dangerous fugitives, the text reads. Apprehend at all costs.

Dean pales slightly as he stares at his own photograph, whereas Castiel just chuckles. He pats Dean on the thigh as he circles around the chair, then pulls his knife out of his belt and slices through the ropes binding Dean’s hands.

“Would you look at that,” he murmurs next to Dean’s ear. “Looks like you’re an outlaw now.”

[keelywolfe]

Kinktober Spicyhoney Shorts

FIC:  Bound and Determined

Summary: So, I decided I wanted to try a few of the Kinktober prompts for my favorite Spicyhoney boys. I probably won’t manage them in any sort of order, but I thought it would be fun! This first chapter is for the ‘Bondage’ prompt. FYI, I do not claim to be any sort of expert on any kind of bondage, but I gave it my best shot!

WARNINGS: Rope Bondage, Lemony Goodness!

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus couldn’t even imagine the courage it took for Edge to ask for something like this.

The first step into anything was always the worst, plunging headfirst into the unknown and, like always, Edge was the one who took it. He’d looked Rus straight in the face and asked him with preternatural calm, “In all my life, I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you. I want try something, I want to feel what it’s like to be completely bound.” He hesitated and for the first time a hint of uncertainty crept in. “If that’s something you’d like?”

Yeah, as if Rus could ever say no to that? Not likely.

Rus had the easy part. Shopping for rope, researching different knots and tying patterns. Long hours on the internet and in stores, taking careful notes and coming up with a plan.

Okay, so, actually, Edge had it the worst and the best; once the first part was done, all Edge had to do was wait.

Wait as Rus did his research, practiced diligently until he was confident. Waited while he decided on a position, even waiting as Rus carefully chose a pillow for him to kneel on.

He didn’t think he’d ever worked so hard on something in his life and it was just a damn shame he couldn’t use it as an example for his bro. But then, Rus couldn’t remember anything else he’d wanted so desperately to get right.

This first time, Rus chose clothes for Edge as well. He went with soft pants and a sleeveless shirt, partly to act as a cushion for the ropes, but also to keep this first journey into vulnerability together from being overwhelming.

That decision wasn’t only for Edge.

When Rus was ready, he chose a time, set up everything and waited in their room while Edge showered and changed. His nerves were a live wire; what if he messed this up, hurt Edge maybe, what if this went wrong and the damage wasn’t to bone but someplace deeper and harder to heal?

Edge coming in helped relax him. His lover was calm, ready, and he stood waiting as patiently as he had from the very beginning for Rus to settle himself.

Rus took a deep breath as he picked up the rope and began.

First Edge’s arms, bound behind him, laced together from wrist to elbow. Not too aggressively, careful of his left shoulder where Edge’s range of motion was limited by an old injury. Some of his bones were heavily scarred and needed caution and he wound the ropes carefully so they wouldn’t rub or aggravate them. The point wasn’t for this to hurt.

Distantly, Rus marveled that his fingers moved so steadily. Inside he was nothing but a tumultuous roil of overheated emotion, but none of it reflected in his hands. He moved with deliberate care, winding and knotting, moving Edge’s unresisting limbs whenever it was needed.

Next came the harness across Edge’s torso, the ropes woven across his rib cage like a basket to hold him. There was no sound but Edge’s slow, even breathing and the hiss of the rope as Rus pulled it through the coils.

Lastly came his legs, femurs bound first to his tibias, and then bound together. It took some time, but soon the knots were crawling up his legs like a ladder. Each one evenly placed, tied with endless care.

Rus spoke as he worked, keeping his voice low and soothing, ”there you are. always so controlled, babe, let it go, you’re safe here, you’re safe.” Edge kept his sockets closed, his breathing slow and even as he allowed Rus to bind him. Tears prickled and Rus blinked hard to hold them back. There was so much trust here it ached, Edge giving himself over to Rus so completely, trusting him to keep him safe.

The last rope fastened his arms to his ankles with little slack. When he was finished, Edge was kneeling on the pillow, completely bound and encased in precise coils of rope. The gag was last, not terribly wide and malleable to allow for the jaggedness of his teeth.

Rus was panting as he finally stepped back, his internal trembling leaching into his fingers as he wiped away a trickle of sweat. But the effort was well worth it.

Edge’s expression was a wonder. Serene bliss was the best description Rus could come up with. They didn’t exactly have endorphins but the effect was the same, offering peace as he knelt safely cradled in cotton fiber. His magic glowed softly in his joints, subtly roused as he relaxed into the rope’s embrace.

Rus took a moment to circle Edge, admiring the precise lines of the rope, pale against the dark clothes, paler even than the ivory of bone. The pattern was relatively simple and yet bound Edge completely.

A beautiful scene, so very beautiful. Kneeling there, completely restrained and yet freer than perhaps Edge had ever been.

“you’re doing so well,” Rus crooned to him. A shudder went through Edge, the ropes creaking faintly.

Trickles of pink saliva were beginning to run from the corners of his mouth from around the gag and Edge shifted his weight. His sockets opened and his eye lights were defused, little more than a soft crimson haze. But he blinked a slow pattern, one of a couple that Rus insisted they both learn. That was asking for the gag to be removed and Rus did it hastily, the quick release allowing him to open the buckle at the back of his skull easily.

Edge coughed a few times, rocking lightly against the ropes, working his jaw before he rasped out. “Give me something better to do with my mouth.”

“yeah,” Rus let out a shaky breath. “yeah, i can do that.” Not even a question, he’d been painfully hard since before he’d tied the first knot. He unbuckled his belt, allowed Edge to watch him unzip his fly and pull out his cock.

Edge only parted his teeth in anticipation, accepting the length of it between them and into the hot wetness of his mouth. His head wasn’t restrained at all, but he let Rus do all the work, thrusting slowly, falling into a careful rhythm. Edge only knelt there, unable to move or talk, safely bound. Soon he was moaning, muffled and low, his slick tongue curling eagerly around the length of Rus’s shaft.

Rus cupped his jaw gently, stroked his thumbs over the mandible joints. He thrust a little harder, let Edge take him as deeply as he wanted, groans of his own coming loose, much louder than Edge’s.

“shit,” Rus hissed, hardly a decent warning, but Edge was too fucking beautiful, he couldn’t last. He came hard, spilling into the formed throat that swallowed against the hot pulses. When he withdrew, Edge was panting, a trickle of orange down his chin along with the drying remnants of his own saliva.

His magic was glowing through the thin material of his pants, crimson and bright. Rus crouched down, tucked his fingers between those bound femurs and all it took was a tweak at Edge’s pubic symphysis and he was coming, an uncontrolled explosion of magic that seeped hot and wet over Rus’s stroking fingers.

By the time Edge’s breathing slowed he was listing to one side, almost straining against the ropes.

“okay, that’s enough,” Rus said firmly. He gave no opportunity for argument, but the only sound Edge made was a low murmur of assent.

Quickly, Rus tugged free the slipknots and the ropes fell away in coils, like thin white snakes laying on their bedroom floor. He caught Edge as he sagged, and he wasn’t as strong as his lover but he could help him to the bed. Lowered him to the mattress and quickly stripped away his damp clothes.

A bowl of warm water and a washcloth were sitting on the nightstand. Rus wrung out the cloth, wiping away sweat and splatters of magic as he checked Edge over, scrutinizing every bone, every chafe mark. There was no visible injury and Rus washed him clean, then pulled the blankets over them both before the cool air was too much. He kept his hands on Edge, stroking, murmuring soft words of love and reassurance.

Finally, Edge stirred, his sockets opening into mere slits. “Thank you,” Edge slurred out, “thank you.”

“anytime, babe,” Rus told him softly. “anything you need.”

For a moment, Rus thought he’d fallen asleep, but then Edge spoke again, low and touched with uncertainty. “Could you hold me?”

Immediately Rus pulled him close, binding him with his arms rather than rope. Held him as Edge settled in, stroked him gently.

Edge drifted off, but Rus didn’t try to pull away. Instead, he followed the invisible paths of the bindings with his fingertips. Traced his way through imaginary restraints and knots.

He was caught between memory and hopes for next time, spooling out a fantasy and already picturing how beautiful his love could, would be.

Anything Edge needed in this, Rus would give, anything at all. Plans for different restraints were already dancing in his mind, more elaborate knots, more difficult positions. Allowing his love to test his boundaries, push his trust as far as he wished.

Rus couldn’t wait.

-finis-

[wellhellsbelles]

There Goes Our Love Again

this is my fave chapter i wrote for this fic. i hope you enjoy it just as much as i do!

ao3 link here.

//

xii. Fall Back Into Place

“Do you have to leave?”

“I’ve got to meet Maya for lunch. You know that,” Farkle told Naomi as he pulled on his boots, tying them securely. “You know, you will have to meet my friends at some point.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed in her bed next to him. “I just—I like the bubble. I like us just being us right now.” He smiled at her, reaching over to grab her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

“I feel the same way. I’m just going to get a headache if I have to hear Zay badger me about it again,” Farkle rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. See you later?” Naomi nodded her head at him, grinning as he gave her a chaste peck on the lips before grabbing his wallet, phone, and keys off her nightstand.

“Bye!” she waved to him as he exited the room and then her front door, turning on his phone to check it once he hit the hallway. His phone vibrated immediately, alerting him to a barrage of texts from Maya.

  Maya ♥: Farkle

Maya ♥: Faaaaaaaaarkleeeeeeeee

Maya ♥: DOCTOR FARKLESTEIN

Maya ♥: Whatever you’re doing better be good since you’re obviously IGNORING ME

Maya ♥: You’re lame Minkus!!

Farkle snorted, typing out a quick response.

  Farkle: Why do you beckon me so, Maya?

. . .

Maya ♥: FINALLY

Maya ♥: What took you so damn long?

Farkle: I was otherwise preoccupied

Farkle: But I’m on my way to meet you now, no worries!

Maya ♥: That’s fine and dandy, but I was just going to tell you to meet me at my apartment.

Maya ♥: I got held up and need to do something in the house before we go

Maya ♥: So just get your ass over here and quite ignoring me!

Farkle: Yes ma’am!

  Farkle stuck his phone back into his pocket and hailed a taxi once he got to the sidewalk. He got in and told the driver Maya’s address, playing mindlessly with his phone and looking out the window until he arrived.

The sun’s rays billowed over the city, cascading it in a halo of light. Farkle was glad the weather was changing—not quite as cold as it had been the month prior, but still cold enough that he had to wear one of his fleece hoodies while he was out. His leg bobbed up and down—it had been one of his nervous habits ever since he could remember. He had reason to be anxious, too, even though he was just meeting up with Maya; she told him they had to talk, which was why they planned to meet up for lunch.

No matter what, whenever someone said they had to “talk”, it never meant anything good. That was a rule of thumb, for sure.

The taxi finally paused when they reached Maya and Lucas’ apartment complex and Farkle handed the man a five-dollar bill and then exited the cab, shutting the door and walking up to the front doors of the building. At the panel by the door, he hit the button to apartment number 305, the buzzer going off right away.

“Come on up!” Maya’s voice came from the intercom, the doors allowing him entrance inside. He walked in and up a few flights of stairs until he reached her floor, making a beeline for the right side until he found apartment 305. He knocked on the door and Maya answered it, appearing to him at once, pretty as ever.

“Hey! Come on inside!” she waved him in quickly, closing the door behind him. “Can you do me a favor and wait on the balcony? I know it’s a weird request, but don’t ask,” she added. Farkle shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, of course. Weirdo,” he added under his breath as he made his way to the balcony, making sure it was loud enough for Maya to hear it.

“I heard that! Quit sassing me, Minkus!” she shouted, but Farkle only laughed, taking a step onto the balcony and shutting the door behind him. And when he stepped out there, he realized just exactly why Maya had insisted they “talk”, why Maya made him come over to her house before, why Maya had him wait on the balcony. And judging by his counterpart’s expression, she had been bamboozled, as well.

“Farkle?” Riley called out to him when she noticed he was there. She had been waiting patiently by the brick enclosure surrounding the balcony, looking over the city. The slight breeze the weather had promised played at the locks of her hair, which had been cropped short recently by the looks of it.

“Riley,” he said breathlessly, his fight-or-flight response kicking in heavily. He reached towards the doorknob to see if he could escape, but it was no use. Maya was already standing by the glass of the door, shaking her head.

She locked it.

Farkle turned back toward Riley, sighing heavily as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying his best to maintain as little eye-contact with her as possible.

“. . . You cut your hair,” he said, pointing to her new bob. She nodded slightly, just as shy to interact as he was as she tucked a strand behind her ear.

“Yeah. I thought I needed a change,” she told Farkle, hugging her arms against her chest. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap dress and he figured she must have left her own jacket inside. He slid out of his own and offered it over, not bothering to take no for an answer. Riley grabbed it gently from him, offering a soft, “Thank you,” in return as she pulled it over herself, embracing the warmth it gave her once it was on.

They stood there quietly again, Farkle joining her by the brick fence to look out over the city. As the rush of cars bustled below and the wind blew in and out of existence, Farkle couldn’t ever remember feeling younger than he did in this moment.

It was easy to forget that they were much older now, after being friends for practically their entire lives. It was like the world around them grew, but they were still those two young kids at that Halloween party, and he was quickly there at her side to rescue her.

He guessed he was doomed from the first day he met her.

“Farkle,” Riley interrupted their bout of silence, turning to face him. There was a hesitancy in her gaze that he couldn’t fault her for, but so much of it he really couldn’t read, and that frightened him. “I’m sorry.” Farkle was floored.

She was sorry? What did she have to be sorry for? He was the one that fucked everything up.

“Riley,” he pressed, “What in the world are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get into contact with you, it’s just . . . I didn’t know how to deal, and you said you wanted time apart and I thought . . . I miss you,” she blurted out. “I miss my best friend so much.”

“Riley, this isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I could’ve contacted you, too, I was just—”

“Scared?” Riley finished the thought for him. Farkle nodded.

“I thought I ruined everything. I miss you, too, more than anything. My life is terrible without you in it.” Riley eyed him a moment before a sly smile played at the corner of her mouth, her expression coy.

“You still have your necklace I gave you back at Christmas?” she asked.

“Duh, you dork,” Farkle rolled his eyes, tugging the chain out from under his shirt. “I haven’t taken this damn thing off since the moment you gave it to me.”

“I had to check!” she said before pulling her own out from underneath the sweatshirt. “I got these made for us because we’re Mars and Pluto, the two best planets out there and the two best friends out there. I don’t want you to think anything could ever change that, okay? You’re my best friend until the end, no stipulations required. I need you in my life just as much.” Farkle smiled at her.

“I guess that makes sense,” he teased, earning a light punch on the arm from Riley.

“Alright, Farkley, I think you can make up all this time apart to me. You want to grab dinner tonight?” she asked. Farkle stopped a moment, biting his tongue on accident.

“Merde,” he muttered under his breath before telling her, “Actually, I can’t.”

“Can’t?” she tilted her head at him. Farkle breathed, realizing he had to tell her the thing he was sure he wanted to tell her at all.

“Uh, yeah. I have a girlfriend now,” he explained quickly, adding, “And I promised I’d have dinner with her tonight.” Riley fell silent again, and he tried his best to gauge her reaction. He almost thought he saw something, a hint of . . . shock, maybe? But it disappeared in a flash, her expression settling as she grinned at him, only slight.

“That’s okay, we can have dinner another night,” she rebounded. “But you’re going to have to introduce us at some point, mister,” she poked him in the arm.

“Can do. You’re not the only one who’s been bugging me about it.”

“And . . . I have a better way you can make it up to me.”

“What’s that?” Farkle wondered.

“Bill invited me to his wedding, and as stupid as it was of me, I said yes. But I knew I couldn’t alone, so I added a “plus one” to my R.S.V.P., and I was going to ask Maya, but I’d rather have you be my plus one, if that’s alright. Can you do it?” Farkle understood how hard it was for her to go through this, watching her ex get married so soon after dumping her after three years of commitment. He very well couldn’t say no to her.

Not that he wanted to.

“Of course, Riley. I’d be honored to accompany you to his trash wedding,” he winked at her. Riley snorted.

“I’m glad to have the solidarity. Now do you want to see if Maya will let us off her balcony?” she offered her arm. Farkle looped his arm with hers, joining her.

“I happily oblige,” he answered, ecstatic to have his best friend back in his life once again.