#you know how swans carry their babies on their back?

[arttsuka]

swan spock, duck mccoy and goose kirk

More swan Spock 🦢 (+ duck Mccoy and goose Kirk).

[woso-dreamzzz]

Firsts V

Hardersson x Baby!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first steps

There's something about your little family that makes Magda feel soft.

She isn't soft. Not really.

She's one of the best defenders in the world. She's intimidating and scary and people falter when she glared at them.

But here, in Germany, she isn't any of those things.

In Germany, she's lying on the sofa with Pernille on top of her, trading soft kisses while something random plays on the tv. You're sitting in front of them, banging some blocks together aimlessly.

You babble some half-words and Magda knows that you're very close to forming your first words soon. You grunt a little bit before deciding to taste your blocks.

Magda laughs. "Does that wood taste nice?" She teases and you turn to look at her.

You grunt at her again, before throwing your block over to where your girl-swan and girl-moose are sat further away.

"Oh!" Magda says," Did it not taste nice then?"

You hum, shuffling across the floor to where your stuffed animals await you.

Magda winces. "Does she have to do that?"

You shuffle more furiously on your bum to your other toys.

"She's happy," Pernille laughs.

"But..." Magda watches as you smash your moose and swan together. "She can crawl..."

"And she wants to bum shuffle," Pernille replies," She can crawl and she can bum shuffle. She tends to crawl more at training."

Magda pouts, something truly pathetic for such an intimidating Chelsea player to have on her face. "I want to see her crawl too."

She doesn't get to see you crawl often. When she comes over to Germany, you like to be carried and when you're put down, all you seem to do is bum shuffle your away around the apartment.

You giggle from across the room as you smash your toys together again.

"She's being violent, Pernille," Magda says.

"She's making them kiss," Pernille replies, glancing over at you.

"Really?"

"Yes," Pernille assures her with a little laugh," Princesse!"

You turn to look at her, halting your playing.

"Can you show me how your toys kiss?"

Your head bobs up and down and you smash your toys together again.

"Good job, princesse!" She says before grinning at Magda. "See, she's just aggressively affectionate."

"Aggressively affectionate?" Magda laughs," Is that we're calling it?"

"I think it's sweet."

Magda rolls her eyes, dipping her head down to press her lips against Pernille's. Pernille kisses back until suddenly they're trading lazy pecks back and forth as they cuddle together.

You turn your head to look at them both.

Whenever Morsa comes to visit, she's very cuddly with you and Momma. Today is no different.

She flew in last night when you were already asleep so today is a calm day at home. That's what usually happens.

The day after Morsa flies in, there's a chill day where you do nothing but stay at home and then the day after, you will all go out and do something together.

Most of the time it's the park and Morsa will push you on the swings and help you feed the ducks.

But that's for tomorrow.

Today is for kisses and snuggles.

Momma and Morsa have gotten started without you. That was okay at first when you were still playing with your toys but you're done now and want to be included.

You whine a little but neither notice you.

With Morsa home, you don't really need to use your legs because she likes to carry you everywhere.

You raise your arms for uppies but no one comes for you.

You huff.

You don't want to have to shuffle over because it makes a silly noise and you would prefer to be picked up.

It's a little annoying and you force yourself to your feet.

You've stood before at training, holding Caro's hands even as she glanced around the room in horror at being responsible for you.

So, you've had practice at standing so you stand now.

Momma and Morsa are still taking up all your kisses.

You want kisses too.

One foot comes down in front of the other until you're standing in front of them both.

Somewhere along the way, they've stopped kissing to watch but you're just very happy to get your own cuddles and kisses to really care.

"Did she just...?"

"Yeah." Magda's face splits into a grin. "Look at you, princesse!" She grabs you, fluidly pulling you into her arms. "Walking already!"

Kisses are littered over your face and you giggle, kicking out your little legs in happiness.

Pernille stays frozen for a while before she's taking you from Magda's arms and placing you back down further away.

You frown.

You're pretty sure you've already earnt your kisses.

"Come on," Pernille says to you, a camera in one hand," Do it again. Do it again, princesse!"

You place one shaky leg in front of the other as you toddle right back into her arms.

"Look at you," She coos," Such a big girl."

"I think this calls for cake," Magda says and you perk up.

You know that word.

"You want cake?"

Your head bobs up and down.

"Let's get cake."

[mrsfancyferrari]

Dancing on Ice

Summary: FC43 + “I can’t ice skate amor, I’ll break all my bones.”

Song: Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande

Taglist: @eapunetaestoestadificil

Author’s note: I've never written about ice skating before so bear in mind! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 10.8k

You step onto the glistening surface of the ice, feeling the cool air brush against your cheeks like a gentle whisper. The skating rink is vacant, save for the faint music echoing from the speakers overhead

This is your sanctuary, the place where you feel most alive, where your heart dances in tandem with your movements. You take a deep breath and inhale the smell of fresh ice, the scent of excitement and endless possibilities.

But today isn’t just about you. Today, you want Franco to experience this world—to share a piece of your heart tucked away in every swirl of your skates.

You glance toward the entrance, and there he is: Franco Colapinto, your boyfriend, standing at the threshold, his tall, athletic frame now almost comically awkward as he awkwardly adjusts the ice skates laced around his ankles.

“Why do I feel like a baby giraffe?” he calls out, chuckling nervously.

You can’t help but laugh too, your heart swelling with affection. “You’ll be fine, amor! Just take it one step at a time.”

Franco rolls his eyes, but a smile plays on his lips. “One step at a time? It feels more like one slip at a time,” he says as he takes his first tentative steps onto the ice.

You can see the concentration etched on his face as he clutches at the air to find balance.

“I can’t do this amor, I’ll break all my bones.” he muttered, trying to balance on his wobbly feet.

“You won’t break all your bones, I promise,” you tease, gliding toward him effortlessly.

“Easy for you to say! You have a lifetime of practice,” he replies, his voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. “I can’t even stand up without feeling like I’m about to topple over!”

“C’mon, let’s do it together,” You extend your hand, willing him to take it. You know his tendency to overthink things, to become overly self-critical, and you want to ease that anxiety, even just a little.

Without a moment of hesitation, he takes your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with a grip that feels warm and reassuring.

The initial moments are filled with a few shaky steps and laughter. Every time Franco wobbles, you can’t help but giggle, your laughter ringing out across the rink.

“See cariño? It’s not so bad!” you say, your voice light with encouragement.

“I can’t tell if I’m moving forward or just inching toward certain doom,” he smiles, his eyes sparkling with a blend of fear and exhilaration.

“You’re doing great! Now, try to relax your knees. Bend them like this.” You demonstrate, your body gliding effortlessly across the ice as if it were your second skin.

He followed your movements with his gaze, a mix of admiration and disbelief etched on his face. You had seen that look before, knew how he loved watching you skate—how it made him forget the world for a moment.

“Are you going to try that jump again?” Franco called out, his voice carrying across the chilly afternoon air. You glanced back at him, a playful smile curling your lips.

“Maybe,” you replied, pushing off the ice, your blades cutting through with a crisp sound. “But only if you promise to catch me if I fall!”

He laughed, a rich sound that warmed the chill around you. “I’ll try to catch you.”

You concentrated, feeling the cool wind against your face as you executed the jump. Time seemed to freeze; with a perfect landing, your heart soared. Cheering, you glided back to him.

“How did I do?” you beamed.

“Like a swan, hermosa!” Franco exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “I swear, you get better every time.”

His praise made your cheeks flush, and you brushed your hair off your forehead, trying to play it cool. “It’s just practice. You should give it a go sometime.”

“Me? No way!” he chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I’d rather watch you shine.”

You stepped closer, feeling the warmth radiate from him. “You’re not scared, are you? C’mon, I could teach you.”

“Well, I’ll try to look as graceful as you,” he said, his voice light but filled with feigned optimism. “But I’ll probably just end up face-first on the rink.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll be right here to catch you,” you reassured him, enthusiasm coursing through your veins as you took his gloved hand in yours.

You felt the warmth radiating from him, a welcome contrast to the cold around you. Slowly, you pulled him along, watching as he took shaky steps beneath the weight of his own apprehension.

With each stride, the sound of his skates zipping across the ice harmonized beautifully with the gentle melody that enveloped you.

Observing the flicker of determination ignite in his eyes was a joy unlike any other; for a fleeting moment, you could see him beginning to ease into the rhythm.

“You can do this, amor! Just trust yourself!” Your voice was filled with a bubbling laughter that echoed in the spaces between you.

As the fear melted away, joy illuminated his features, and what had once felt like an intimidating vastness transformed into your shared world of warmth.

“Okay, okay, I’m feeling a little bit better!” Franco exclaimed, his smile infectious, making his cheeks flush against the biting cold. “But I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Ice skating! Who even likes ice skating?”

“I do!” you replied, a laugh escaping as you effortlessly glided toward him again, your fingers intertwining with his. “Ice skating is like flying, Franco. It’s freedom. It’s beautiful!”

“Flying, you say?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “I’m more like a flying squirrel, but sure!”

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection and amusement. “Alright, then let’s embrace your inner flying squirrel!”

You pulled him forward, teaching him to lean into the turns, guiding him cautiously along as he found his footing.

The ice was an echoing realm of freedom for you, but it was a whole new world for him. You could sense his insecurity, yet with every few strides, he grew bolder, the apprehension beginning to unfurl.

As you twirled in front of him, he laughed at your playful antics.

"Are you sure you didn’t slip anything into my coffee this morning?" he teased, finally smiling back at you.

“Only a healthy dose of confidence,” you responded mischievously, spinning in place again before extending your arms wide. “Now, try to match my flow.”

“Easier said than done!” he said as he mirrored your movements, wobbly yet resilient. You laughed, trying to pull him closer so he could feel your energy and steadiness.

With each revolution, something clicked within him. Franco’s eyes sparkled with determination now, even as his balance faltered once or twice, his body weaving like a willow in the wind.

You steadied him with a quick squeeze of his hands, never letting go entirely.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it!” he exclaimed, his excitement infectious. “Wait, I actually feel good! Like, really good!”

“See? You’re a natural.” You beamed proudly, your heart racing with joy for him. “Just imagine how smooth you’ll be on race day if you just keep trusting yourself.”

He shot you a playful glare. “Are you trying to turn me into an ice-skating prodigy? Because I’m more into racing, you know?”

“Well, you can be both! Just think about it—Franco, the world’s first professional ice skater and racer!” You had to stifle a laugh as he pretended to ponder that monumental decision.

“Sounds like a lot of work. How about I just stick with being your boyfriend?” he said, his hazel eyes flickering with mischief.

“You’re more than my boyfriend; you’re my partner on and off the ice,” you said genuinely, squeezing his hands tighter for emphasis. “And I’m not letting you go, so you better get used to it.”

As he looked at you, something shifted in the air—a moment suspended beyond ice and skates, creating its own magic. “Thank you,” he replied softly, sincerity shining through his tone. “For believing in me.”

The words settled warmly between you, and as your feet guided you across the surface, you felt connected not just by your hands but by the joy of shared experiences. Franco found his rhythm, those early fears evaporating with each graceful stride.

“Can you feel it?” you prompted as you began spinning, your feet gliding effortlessly. “Can you feel the freedom?”

He spun in place, attempting to emulate you, albeit with less grace. “I’m starting to! But I might need a little more practice!” He laughed, but this time, it was lighter, more joyous.

You couldn’t help your laughter, a melody shared between you. “More practice will come. And hey, if you fall, I promise to catch you,” you teased, your heart swelling with affection.

As you circled each other, the world outside the rink faded, and all that mattered was the two of you. Every worried thought he’d held on to was gently replaced with laughter, joy, and the bright glow of confidence.

Suddenly, Franco lost his balance, his swift attempt to spin faltering, and he stumbled towards you. Without a second thought, you instinctively pulled him close to prevent a fall.

As his weight leans into you, you manage to steady him, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the cold chill around you. His hazel eyes staring at you, a small smile dancing on his lips. His brown curls flutter against your cheek, and for a moment, the cold world around you melts away.

“I told you,” you chuckled, your eyes meeting his with warmth, “I wouldn’t let you break anything before your race.”

He smiled, his expression now a mix of gratitude and admiration. “I think I can manage with a little help from my favorite professional.”

Your heart soared at the endearment. “Always,” you promised, your laughter echoing against the ice.

As time passed, he not only found his balance but began to experiment with spins. “Okay, check this out!” he called, determination written all over his face.

His movements were clumsy but earnest. You stood back, watching, heart swelling with pride. “I’m going to try a spin!”

“Just remember to keep your weight in the right place!” you shouted back, excitement bubbling in your chest. Franco seemed to heed your words; he steadied himself, drew a breath, and began to spin.

Your cheers filled the air as he completed the maneuver without stumbling—an almost miraculous feat for a beginner.

“Did you see that?” he exclaimed, eyes sparkling with life. He spun around once more, a little more confident each time.

Encouraged by your enthusiasm, he shouted, “I’m going to try something bigger! A flying spin!”

“Be careful!” you hollered as he gained speed, the adrenaline coursing through both of you. He took a deep breath, launched himself into the air, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed he would soar.

But reality proved unforgiving; Franco missed his landing. Time slowed as you watched, eyes widening in horror, and instinct kicked in. You dashed toward him, desperate to help him regain his balance.

But the moment you reached him, the inevitable happened—you both fell.

The world crashed to silence as you landed on the ice with a thud. The cold bit at your skin, and it took a moment to register what had transpired. You glanced over your shoulder, concern flooding your senses.

Franco had fallen on his back, making a pillow of his body, still clutching you tightly to protect you from the impact.

“Mi amor, are you alright?” he grunted, his face contorted with discomfort.

A wave of dizziness washed over you, but your concern snapped you awake. “I’m okay, I think…” You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you shifted your weight to examine him more closely.

“Are you alright?” Your hands cupped his cheeks, brushing away the ice shavings that clung to his skin.

“Yeah, amor, just a small fall,” he muttered, attempting to smile through the obvious pain, fingers squeezing your hips reassuringly. Even in a moment of chaos, he remained protective.

Your heart ached at the sight of him. “You scared me!” you said, a mixture of love and exasperation in your voice as you detected the underlying wince in his expression. “You should’ve just fallen on the ice instead of trying to catch me!”

“And let my girlfriend get hurt? Not a chance,” he responded, his eyes softening.

Shivers danced down your spine as you felt the warmth of his hands against you, a fleeting moment of tenderness amidst the chaos.

With a grunt, he shifted and sat up, still holding you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could nail it, just like you. You make this look so easy,” he replied, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“It’s okay, Franco. You did amazing for your first time! I promise, it takes practice,” you assured him, your heart swelling with affection and admiration. “The fact that you even tried a flying spin is impressive!”

“You really think so?” A hint of doubt lingered in his voice, and you could see the way his breath hitched in uncertainty.

“Absolutely! You were fearless,” you said, leaning closer for emphasis. “And I love that about you.”

His gaze fixed on yours, the warmth in his hazel eyes igniting a spark of connection between you. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said, his tone sincere, laced with admiration. “I want to learn this just to impress you more.”

Your heart danced in rhythm with the flutter of his words.

“You are beyond ridiculous,” you laughed, shaking your head.

With a grunt, he shifted to sit up, still holding onto you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could nail it, just like you. You make this look so easy.” He brushed loose strands of hair behind your ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

You examined his face, searching for any sign of injuries. “You better not be injured,” you said, half-joking and half-serious, concern lacing your words.

“I would do the same again to protect you,” he replied, his voice firm yet soft, almost as if he was convinced of his own capabilities.

“Franco, you can’t,” you said, your hands on his shoulders grounding him. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

Your palms pressed into him, feeling the steady heat of his body beneath the chill in the air, while his hands rubbed slow circles on your waist and leg, an attempt to soothe both of your worries.

“Te amo más que a la vida en sí,” he muttered softly, his forehead resting against yours. I love you more than life itself.

The warmth of his words sent shivers racing down your spine. It was a phrase you adored, an affirmation that always made your heart flutter.

"Yo también te amo, mi amor," you replied, the familiarity of the words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket against the chill of the rink. I love you too, my love.

His eyes sparkled at your reply, and in that moment, you felt that intoxicating rush, like you did when you first started dating two years ago. Your heartbeats were erratic, fluttering like a trapped butterfly.

“Would it be inappropriate to kiss you here?” he asked, his voice teasing yet laced with sincerity as he leaned just a fraction closer, eyes darting between yours and your lips.

“It might raise a few eyebrows,” you replied, feigning seriousness, though your heart was racing in anticipation.

“Like who? Your manager?” he teased, referring to the figure of authority bundled in her coat, observing from the bleachers with a look of bemusement.

Behind her, a few paramedics stood chatty but alert, ready to intervene if needed.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, you’re not wrong about that. But we’ve got all this space and ice, and if we get caught… I’ll never hear the end of it. Not to mention, you’ll probably never want to skate again!”

“Exactly! So, we should make this moment count. The ice is ours!” He leaned in a little more, his intent oh-so-clear now.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, fighting the laughter and the nerves.

“Franco,” you began, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum, but his gaze was unwavering, inviting, and mischievous.

“Okay, how about this,” he proposed with a cheeky grin. “One kiss, right here, right now. If we get caught, we’ll blame it on the ice, right?”

You chuckled, letting the moment bubble between you two. “You are incorrigible.”

“But you love it,” he beamed, his confidence unwavering.

Before you could answer, he closed the gap. Your lips met softly, and time seemed to stretch, the sound of the world around you fading into a blissful hush.

It was a simple yet electric exchange, and you could feel a thrill racing through you—not just from the kiss, but from the sweetness of the moment.

Just as you pulled away, your manager, Laura, called out, voice slightly panicked, “Is everything alright over there?”

“Perfectly fine!” Franco called back, his voice laced with laughter. The infectious nature of his grin transformed your previously solid focus into giggles as you beamed at each other, your hearts still racing.

You slowly got off Franco's lap, playfully nudging him. “Come on, we need to get back to practice before Laura comes over here.”

As you attempted to pull him up, he made a loud grunt in pain, his expression shifting instantly from playful to concerned. “Ow! Okay, maybe that was a bad idea.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, worry knitting your brows together as he rubbed his back where he'd fallen awkwardly.

He waved a hand dismissively, but you could see the wince in his eyes. “Just a little sore. You know how it is—ice can be a bit unforgiving.”

You knelt down beside him, your heart aching with concern. “Really, amor, that looked like a pretty nasty fall. You shouldn’t brush it off.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said, though the way he shifted his weight suggested it was bothering him more than he let on. “Besides, I’d take a hundred falls to save you.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not supposed to heroically throw yourself down for me.”

“Maybe I just wanted to showcase my dedication,” he replied with a teasing wink that was all Franco.

He had a tendency to turn serious moments into playful banter, and although part of you was grateful for the levity, another part found it hard to let go of the worry gnawing at you.

“Okay Mr. Dedicated, how about you let me help you up?” you offered with a hint of determination.

“Alright, but only if you promise to take me for hot chocolate afterward,” he retorted, his eyes sparkling with mischief once again.

“Deal!” You reached out your hands, and he grasped them, allowing you to pull him up. Yet, the moment he stood, he grimaced and swayed slightly, the bravado giving way to discomfort.

“Whoa! Steady there!” you laughed, though there was a hint of concern in your laughter.

“I’m good,” he insisted, his voice a mix of confidence and challenge, but you weren’t convinced.

“Franco, you—”

“Seriously, it’s just a bruise; I promise. Let’s keep skating!” He tried to brush off your apprehension, but you could see the effort was taking its toll.

The bright red of his cheeks was testament to both the cold and the strain, and his laughter felt a little too forced to be entirely genuine.

“Okay, but no stunts for a while, alright?” you retorted, crossing your arms playfully but firmly.

The worry you felt for him was overshadowed by your desire to keep the fun spirit alive.

“Only for you, amor,” he winked, and your heart fluttered.

It was moments like these that made you realise how much you adored him—the way he could light up a moment with a single glance, a cheeky joke, or unexpected charm.

Franco completed a few more cautious circles around the rink, but soon enough his bravado waned, and you noticed him retreating to the edge.

You didn’t let him out of your sight, instinctively knowing when he reached that tipping point.

“So how did it feel Franco?” your manager, Laura, asked as you two emerged from the rink shortly afterward, Franco’s eyes glazed with a mix of excitement and fatigue.

“It felt great other than falling,” he joked, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

You shot him a look, a careful mix of adoration and concern. “Can you check to see if he hurt his back?” you asked the paramedics who were on standby, a routine precaution for first-time skaters.

“Amor, I’m fine—” Franco started, but you interjected.

“I’ll know when you’re fine after you get checked,” you stated, lifting your chin defiantly. There was no arguing with you when you were in protective mode.

He sighed, clearly recognising that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Alright then,” he relented, following the paramedics to a quieter corner of the rink.

You hastily removed your skates, glancing back at him occasionally to ensure he was managing.

Inside, a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach. Nothing mattered more than his wellbeing, but the thought of him being hurt, even just a little, made you feel restless as you trailed after him.

The paramedic studied his back and neck, then carefully lifted the fabric of his shirt to examine the bruising forming there. “You’ve got a herniated disc—it’s when a spinal disc bulges out of shape and irritates a nerve.”

The words landed heavily in the air between you.

For a moment, silence surrounded you as you tried to process the implications. Your heart squeezed in your chest, and you instinctively squeezed Franco’s hand, seeking comfort in the shared warmth.

“Will he recover before his race?” you asked the paramedic, your voice softer than you intended, each word wrapped in concern.

The medic looked up from his notes, his demeanor serious.

“It depends on the severity. Usually, with rest and physical therapy, he can manage a recovery in a few weeks, but we’ll need to monitor the healing closely.”

Franco smiled at you, trying to downplay your concern. “See? Just a couple of weeks, amor. I’ll bounce back!”

“You’d better,” you teased, though your heart wasn’t quite in it.

“Alright, I promise to be more careful,” he said, his sarcasm masking the determination in his voice.

As both of you left the rink together, a new resolve defined your relationship. It was about more than just skating; it was about navigating life’s challenges together.

You wanted Franco to be bold and adventurous, but only within reason.

Days turned into weeks, and you watched as Franco adhered to the medic’s advice, resting as directed while attending physical therapy sessions.

You were by his side each step of the way, from his first hesitant visits to the therapist to his high-paced workouts designed to regain both strength and flexibility.

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered one evening, as you braided his hair, the two of you sprawled out on the couch watching old films, a stark contrast to the usual frantic energy of your lives.

“Yeah, but I probably should've done just one lap instead of forcing my way into stunts,” he said, laughing lightly. “Now, I’m stuck watching romcoms when all I want to do is skate beside you.”

It warmed your heart to see him smile, even if it was partly strained. “True, but sometimes you need to listen, especially if it’s for your health.”

“Fair enough. And you’re going to be the best skating partner,” he said, leaning closer as his gaze softened. “When I’m back on the ice, I bet I’ll surprise you.”

“You better,” you responded, unable to hide your grin. “Just don’t try to do a backflip until you’ve fully healed. Save the stunts for when you’re ready.”

“Deal,” he chuckled, and the moment swelled with an intimacy that settled into both of you.

As you journeyed through this chapter of life together, the skating rink remained a cornerstone of your relationship.

Franco’s determination fueled your own desires to push limits and explore new heights as partners, both on and off the ice. . . .

Franco Colapinto had just secured a commendable fifth place in today’s race, a result that was met with cheers from his team and fans alike. As he walked towards the media tent, his sweat-soaked face beamed with the remnants of adrenaline.

The rhythm of the crowd faded into a blur as he approached the series of microphones lined up before him, the heavily decorated backdrop emblazoned with the race sponsor's logo looming behind.

"Franco Colapinto! Great race today, fifth place! How are you feeling?" an interviewer asked, holding a microphone towards him, eager for a juicy soundbite.

Franco wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, still catching his breath from the intense competition. “Oh yeah, the car’s pretty solid. Oh, and the halo too, it didn’t move luckily unlike last time,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

His last race had been rocky, with his car’s protective halo unexpectedly shifting during a maneuver and causing a momentary panic.

The interviewer, somewhat surprised by the casual mention of such a potentially dangerous situation, continued, “That’s reassuring to hear! You drove impressively today. But you look like you have somewhere else you want to be at.”

There was a note of curiosity in the interviewer’s voice, wading into the waters of personal matters.

Franco paused, the cacophony of reporters and cameras fading momentarily. The corners of his mouth curled up into a genuine smile for the first time since his race.

“Mi Amor is ice skating today, and I want to surprise her before her event ends, so can we be quick?” His voice was light and playful, revealing a side rarely seen behind the steely demeanor of a racer.

The interviewer blinked, momentarily taken aback by his honesty. “Umm, sure! That’s quite sweet of you. How long have you two been together?”

“Just 2 years,” Franco replied, his expression softening as he spoke about his girlfriend. “But it feels like forever. She pushes me to be better, both on and off the track. I never want to miss her performances.”

“Sounds like she’s your biggest supporter!” the interviewer remarked, correctly sensing the warmth in his eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Y/N,” he replied, a touch of pride in his voice. “She’s an amazing skater—blades of ice are her world. I’ve seen her practice, and honestly, it's another level of artistry.”

As he spoke, his excitement was palpable; racing was his profession, but you were his passion outside of those roaring engines.

The interviewer nodded thoughtfully, scribbling notes. “And I bet she’s just as thrilled that you’re here. How does she feel about your racing career?”

“She loves it. She's come to a few races already.” Franco chuckled. “Though sometimes I think she’s more excited about the cars than I am! But she gets nervous, too, which makes me feel protective. I always remind her—I'm not just racing for me, I’m racing for both of us. Every time I step on that grid, I’m thinking of her cheering in the stands.”

“That's really beautiful,” the interviewer commented, glancing at his notes. He could sense the depth of Franco's feelings. “So, what’s next for you after this race?”

“Next, I need to ask her what she thinks about my performance,” Franco said, grinning. “And if I can, I’ll take her out for something nice—dinner, maybe. I owe her that much after all the support she gives me. Winning is great, but knowing that she's proud means the world.”

Before the interviewer could ask his next question, Franco glanced at the clock on the wall of the media tent, concern flickering in his eyes. “You know what? I really need to go now. Thank you for understanding. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day.”

He quickly added, “And maybe next time I’ll bring her along. You can interview both of us!”

The interviewer couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the microphone aside. “Great idea! And best of luck to Y/N in her competition!”

With that, Franco waved as he dashed out of the tent, his mind already spinning with plans of getting to the rink before you finished.

Franco wandered through the bustling media tent, a vibrant bouquet of red and yellow flowers clutched tightly in his hand. The scent of fresh blooms mingled with the more sterile aroma of cameras and microphones, creating an unexpected comfort in the chaotic atmosphere.

His recent achievement—a remarkable fifth place in the race—had almost everyone buzzing, but it was the bright flowers that captured the curiosity of the media around him.

"Franco! Over here!" called a voice from the throng of reporters. A tall man with a press badge darted in front of him, preventing his escape. Franco smiled and adjusted his grip on the flowers, determined to enjoy the moment.

"How does it feel to finish fifth?" the reporter continued, his camera poised for the perfect shot.

Franco grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "It feels incredible! I worked so hard for this, and to see it all pay off is just amazing. I was a bit nervous coming into the race, but it turned out to be a day I’ll never forget."

Another reporter chimed in, "What’s the secret behind your performance today?"

Franco chuckled softly. "It’s all about the team. We train together every day, and their support keeps me motivated. We strategised a lot, and I owe it all to them and my race engineer."

As he continued to navigate through the questions—about strategy, training, and future goals—he noticed a hint of impatience creeping into the expressions of the press.

They were all eyeing the bouquet. Finally, one bold journalist broke through the chatter.

"What’s with the flowers, Franco? Are they a good luck charm, or do they signify something else?"

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden focus on the bouquet. “There’s a story behind these!” he said, his face lighting up. "They're for mi amor! I’m going to surprise her after her event today!"

A wave of collective 'aww' erupted from the reporters. He could almost hear the clattering of pens and the clicking of cameras as they captured the moment.

Franco straightened, proud to share a piece of his heart. . . .

The rink glimmered under the bright lights, the cool air buzzing with excitement and nerves as skaters and spectators alike took their places. Your heart raced in sync with the music hauntingly echoing through the arena.

You couldn’t believe you were standing here, only moments away from your final performance in the national skating competition. Just years ago, you had been a bundle of nerves—a small-town girl with a bigger dream—and now, somehow, you’d made it to this coveted spot, a finalist among the best.

“Okay, you’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself, lacing up your skates in front of the mirror.

You could barely focus on your reflection; all you could think about was Franco. You knew he was racing right now, but just before you left for the rink, he’d given you one of his heart-stirring pep talks.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he’d said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Just remember, it doesn’t matter what place you get. I’m proud of you, whether it’s first, second, or third. Just skate your heart out.”

“Yeah, but I really want to win,” you had replied, stuffing your nerves down.

“Then win for both of us,” he urged, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And no matter what happens in that rink, I’m going to be cheering for you. I promise to pull victory with me if I can!”

His laughter had grounded you, a buoyant wave as he left for his own race. You smiled at the memory, imagining his infectious grin that always made your heart flutter.

The announcer’s voice broke through your reverie. “Next up, we have Miss. Y/N L/N!”

A hush fell over the crowd as you stood up, your heart pounding in rhythm with the applause. You took a deep breath, your lungs filling with chilled air, and began your approach to the rink.

The adrenaline surged as you stepped onto the ice, the coolness beneath your skates sending a thrill coursing through you. You could hear the murmurs of anticipation from the audience, feel their eyes glued to you as you settled into position.

“Come on, Y/N! You can do this!” you mumbled quietly to yourself, your focus sharpening.

You saw Franco's face in your mind, his encouraging spirit radiating from across the space like a bright star in a dark sky.

The music started, enveloping you in its melody like a warm hug. You took your first glide across the ice, letting the rhythm pull you along. Each movement felt fluid, like an instinct you wasn’t fully conscious of.

You leaped and spun, the world swirling around you as you poured every ounce of passion into each motion.

You could almost sense the presence of Franco in the crowd, his unwavering support fueling your performance.

As you completed an intricate sequence of jumps, you caught a glimpse of the other skaters.

Jenna and Mia—both had been formidable competitors throughout the season, but you felt an unexpected surge of confidence.

Your training, your determination, and Franco’s belief in you surged to the forefront of your mind.

“Remember, don’t just skate; perform!” you thought, pulling energy from the atmosphere, feeling the strength in your legs as you executed a difficult spin transition.

The gasps from the audience fueled your resolve, spurring you on for the final jump—the one you had practiced countless times in the mirror and in front of Franco.

And then, you soared.

Time seemed to stretch, and for an instant, you felt weightless, like you could touch the stars themselves. You landed perfectly, a feeling of liberation sweeping through your body as the music reached its triumphant crescendo.

The auditorium erupted into cheers, the sound both deafening and euphoric. You took a final bow, your heart full. There you were, this girl from a small town who had dared to dream.

The chill of the ice rink clung to your skin, the sharp sound of your skates slicing through the frosty surface still ringing in your ears. As you glided off the ice, your heart swelled with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

The performance had felt electrifying, a mosaic of leaps and spins that you had spent countless hours perfecting.

“Y/N! That was incredible!” Lauren exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement as she rushed over to you.

“Thanks, Lauren! I just… I feel like I finally nailed the double axel!” you grinned, trying to suppress the bubbling thrill of the moment. “I thought my heart was going to stop when I was in the air!”

Zara, your team captain, approached you with a proud smile, her arms crossed in front of her. “You did it, Y/N. You’ve worked so hard for this, and it showed out there. Not to mention that spin at the end—absolutely flawless!”

The warmth of her praise enveloped you as the remaining members of the team joined in, all clapping and congratulating you.

“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Zara said, looking at you with her serious yet caring eyes. “Let’s wait for the results before we throw a party, okay?”

“True, very true,” you laughed, trying to contain my nerves. “But I’m hopeful!”

You all settled onto the benches lining the rink to wait for the scores to be announced. You fiddled with the cuffs of your skating dress, glancing back at the empty rink where your performance had just taken place, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Minutes felt like hours as the announcer’s authoritative voice cut through the chatter. “And now, we have the first results for the Women’s Singles finals competition. Y/N L/N has been given her first score of 89.95!”

A loud cheer erupted from the audience, accompanied by the resounding applause of your team. You could hardly believe it; your dreams felt within reach, each note of admiration from the crowd pouring warmth into your heart.

“Oh my God, Y/N! That’s amazing!” Lauren jumped up, a look of pure joy on her face.

“Yes! You crushed it!” Zara added, hugging you tightly. “This is just the first result though!”

You felt slightly dazed. “I can’t believe it!” you managed to say, your voice trembling. “I did it! It’s all happening!”

It was like being on stage as the spotlight focused solely on you, and you felt every ounce of love emanating from your team, pushing you to embrace this moment.

This was the highest you've ever scored for one result and it was highly impossible for someone else to replicate the same as you.

The atmosphere in the arena was electric. Vibrant lights flickered above as Mia, your fiercest competitor, prepared to take the stage.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation after your impressive high score on the dance challenge. You watched from the sidelines, your heart racing, and a mix of pride and anxiety surged through you.

“You’ve got this, Mia!” someone shouted from the audience, her friends cheering her on.

You appreciated their encouragement, even though you desperately wanted to maintain your spot at the top of the leaderboard.

As she stepped onto the stage with her usual flair, you leaned back in your chair, waiting to witness what she had in store. The music pulsed through the arena, a heavy bass that resonated within you.

Mia’s dance style was captivating, fluid yet sharp, and she quickly drew everyone’s attention. You couldn’t help but admire her talent, even if it was your score she was trying to beat.

Just as you were lost in her movements, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by Lauren, your manager.

“Hey, awesome performance today!” she greeted you with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Thanks, Lauren! I just hope I can hold onto my score,” you replied, the concern evident in your voice.

Lauren’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “It looks like your boyfriend is also doing good too,” she said teasingly, holding up her tablet to show you the race currently unfolding on the screen.

Your heart fluttered. You took the tablet from her hands and focused on the live feed of Franco, your boyfriend, who was battling fiercely in a Formula 1 race.

You squinted at the screen, watching as he maneuvered through sharp turns, his car a blur in the midst of the chaos.

“No way!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over. “He’s in sixth! And look at him go against Lewis Hamilton!”

“Yeah, it’s insane! Look at how close they are!” Lauren pointed out, clearly as captivated by the race as you were. Franco’s car swerved to the right, narrowly missing a competitor as he attempted to overtake Hamilton.

You cheered, barely able to sit still. “Come on, Franco! You can do it,”

The crowd’s cheers for Mia faded into the background as your focus sharpened on the race. Each moment was an adrenaline rush as Franco pushed for fifth place, expertly navigating the track.

You glanced at Mia, who had just finished her performance, but you were hardly aware of whether she had topped your score. Your heart felt tethered to Franco's every move.

“I can’t believe how intense this is,” Lauren remarked, her eyes glued to the tablet. “He’s really giving Hamilton a run for his money,”

“He always does,” you grinned proudly, unable to hide the swell of admiration for Franco.

Memories of his early morning practices and late nights working on his skills flooded your mind. He lived for racing, and you knew he had the talent and determination to make it.

As you watched, Franco made a daring maneuver, slipping past another driver while inching dangerously close to Hamilton. “Come on, come on,” you whispered, practically bouncing in your seat.

“There he goes!” Lauren shouted, her excitement matching yours. Your heartbeat quickened as Franco, with a burst of speed, eased alongside Hamilton’s car.

In an instant, the traffic from the cars ahead created an opening, and Franco seized his opportunity. “Yes!”

“He did it!” you hollered, clenching your fist in victory.

Franco zoomed past Hamilton, securing the fifth position.

“That’s my boyfriend!” you exclaimed, your voice ringing with pride.

The crisp air inside the ice rink was filled with the sharp sound of skates slicing through the ice, intermingling with the echoes of the audience’s excitement.

You stood near the edge of the rink, your heart racing as you watched Mia walk off the ice. Her graceful movements and flawless execution had captivated everyone, but the scoreboard had revealed a different story.

Despite her efforts, she had fallen just short of your high score.

"Great job, Mia!" you called out, forcing a smile and clapping politely as she skated off, a mix of disappointment and pride etched on her face.

"Thanks!" she replied, breathless. "Just not good enough. But I’m proud of my performance."

You knew how hard she had worked. Hours spent practicing, each routine polished to perfection. But in this competition, there were no guarantees, especially with Jenna gearing up next.

Jenna had always been a formidable opponent, her talent almost inhumanly immense.

You turned your attention back to the rink as Jenna took her place. The crowd hushed, eyes fixated on her. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and trepidation.

As the music began, Jenna took off, her body flowing effortlessly to the melody. You watched in awe, marveling at her flexibility and rhythm. Each twirl, each leap took your breath away.

But then it happened. Jenna attempted a triple axel, the crowd holding its breath in anticipation. As she launched into the jump, time seemed to slow. You felt your heart in your throat. And just like that, she fell—hard.

Silence blanketed the rink, the world around you fading as you watched her scramble back to her feet, determination painted across her face.

She finished her routine, but everyone—judges and spectators alike—knew the score would suffer.

“Ugh, that’s going to hurt her,” Lauren muttered beside you, shaking her head sadly.

You nodded, feeling a pang of empathy for Jenna. It was a cruel twist of fate.

Moments later, the scores flashed on the screen, and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw your name at the top of the list. First place.

The cheers erupted around you, but your thoughts went to the second dance round, the deciding performance of the national competition.

“I’m so proud of you!” Lauren squealed, pulling you into a tight hug. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and you did it.”

“Thanks. But it’s not over yet,” you said, swallowing hard. “I still have the last dance, and I’m really nervous.”

“Just breathe. You’ve got this,” Zara encouraged, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Remember, just be yourself out there.”

But how could you ignore the rising anxiety gnawing at your stomach? You watched the clock tick down as Jenna walked off, looking crushed.

The rink was alive with bright lights and the soft hum of anticipation, a magical venue for a competition you had worked tirelessly for. The cold air bit at your skin, but the chill did nothing to dampen the warmth flooding your heart.

Dressed in a shimmering costume that sparkled like the stars above, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself on the ice.

It was time for the final dance, the moment that could decide your fate in this championship.

As you glided towards center ice, your mind flickered away to Franco. You could almost hear the roar of the crowd at the Formula 1 Grand Prix track, the high-pitched whine of lionhearted machines, and the scent of burning rubber in your nostrils.

He was out there right now, racing his hardest; you could imagine him, resolute behind the wheel of his sleek car, forcing every ounce of energy into each sharp turn.

He had always made it seem so effortless, the way he commanded the racetrack—and today, you wanted to emulate that fierce passion.

You took your position, heart racing in time with the beat of the music. The lights dimmed, and in that hushed moment, you could picture Franco's smile, the way it brightened his face when he spoke of racing.

“Do it for you,” he would say, his hands animated as he gestured roughly, “Every race is a part of you. Just feel it.”

As the music began to swell, cascading harmonies floating into the air, you closed your eyes briefly and thought of his encouraging words.

The melody wrapped around you like a gentle embrace, and when you opened your eyes, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just you and this ice rink, a blank canvas for your passion.

You eased into the first few movement sequences, every swish of your skates a declaration of your determination. The world fell away; there was only the pounding rhythm of the music, echoing in your chest, and the cold serenity of gliding on ice.

But then, as the choreography unfolded, you felt the raw energy of your emotions surging. It was intoxicating and terrifying, amplifying the rush.

Each leap and twirl brought back memories of Franco, seamlessly intertwining his influence into the elegance of your routine. As you spun, the echoes of his laughter and playful teasing reverberated through your mind.

You recalled the night he had surprised you after a practice, whisking you away to an alpine cabin just outside the bustling city.

“I know you’ll win,” he had said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as you stared out at the snow-covered trees. “Just remember—every time you dance on that ice, you’re racing against yourself.”

Those words spurred you forward now, transforming challenges into opportunities. With each line and curve of your performance, you felt your spirit soaring. You wanted to make Franco proud.

Then, as you reached a soaring climax in your routine, you stumbled—it was a slight miscalculation, an error that rippled through you like a thunderclap.

Panic gripped you for a moment, and for a second, you nearly let it consume you. But all you could think of was Franco, cheering for you from afar, just as he had when you practiced late into the night, insisting that you embrace the falls as much as the victories.

“Just keep pushing! It’s in you!” His voice echoed again in your mind, imbued with unwavering faith in your strength.

You kicked into a powerful leap, determined to regain momentum, and landed it smoothly. The final notes were washing over you like a warm wave, urging you onwards.

With renewed focus, you finished your piece with a burst of extravagance that set the audience on fire—an eruption of applause greeted you, and you greeted it with a radiant smile.

Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you skated to the edge of the rink, where you raised your hands in exhilaration. The joy surged through you like a whirlwind of color.

And as the crowd's cheers faded into a distant hum, the only sound you wanted to hear was the familiar timbre of Franco’s voice celebrating your talent and ferocity.

You stood at the edge of the rink, your skates still laced, your heart pounding in your chest. Just moments before, the announcement had been made.

“And now, we have the results for the Women’s Singles finals competition. Y/N L/N has been given her total score of 168.46!”

Your score hung in the air like a gossamer thread, oscillating between pride and anxiety.

Flashes of the routine you’d executed just minutes ago danced in your mind—perfect pirouettes, soaring jumps, and the way the music had whispered secrets to your soul.

But now, all of that felt like a distant memory as you focused on the rink and your competitor, Mia, gliding towards the center.

Mia had always been your fiercest rival, a skater gifted with an infectious smile that could charm anyone watching. Still, on the ice, she was a lioness—a woman who left nothing to chance.

You could see the determination etched on her face as she prepared for her final performance. With a powerful thrust, she began her routine, her arms slicing through the air like a dancer born for this moment.

You turned to Lauren, who was leaning against the railing, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “She’s going for the triple axel,” you muttered, anxiety lacing your voice.

“She has to,” Karen replied, her eyes never leaving the rink. “Your score is very high to beat.”

As Mia took her first leap, your heart skipped a beat. The smoothness and grace with which she spun in the air was nothing short of breathtaking—the crowd holding their collective breath.

Just below you, Jenna paced back and forth, her nerves palpable. She’d stumbled during her first attempt but was determined to reclaim her moment on the ice.

You turned your attention back to Mia, who was finishing her routine with a confident flourish. As she struck the final pose, the crowd erupted into applause.

You swallowed hard, the reality hitting you again. She was so close to your score—if she performed well, she could easily surpass it. All of a sudden, the pressure felt immense.

Your heart pounded, and you could feel sweat collecting under your collar. You had poured everything into that routine; now, it was out of your hands.

“Mia’s going to take it,” you said, nervously biting her lip. “I know it.”

“No,” Lauren said impulsively. “She’s good, but so are you. You’ve worked hard! You’ve got this.”

The announcer's voice cut through your thoughts. “Jenna Davis is next. Let’s see how she embraces the challenge.”

Jenna took a deep breath, centering herself as she stepped onto the rink. The atmosphere changed dramatically; the crowd's energy was palpable, buzzing with nervous optimism.

As Jenna began to skate, you could hear the soft notes of her music drifting through the air. She started strong, executing her initial moves with poise.

The chorus swelled, urging her on, and she embraced it. The crowd was on edge, and so were you.

Her eyes flickered toward you as she flowed through her routine, visibly gaining confidence with each passing turn. Then it happened. With a powerful jump, Jenna attempted to land her double axel.

Time seemed to slow. The moment she landed perfectly, the crowd erupted into cheers, and you felt the warmth of hope blossom in your chest.

Jenna finished with an elegant twirl and a final pose, tears glistening as she skated over to you, glowing with triumph.

The announcer’s voice echoed again, “And Jenna Davis has redeemed herself, scoring a fantastic 152.03!”

Mia was still there, poised and ready for her scores. The moment felt surreal as the lights dimmed slightly and the focus centered on her.

“Mia’s going to be tough to beat,” Lauren said, shaking her head a little, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “She always rises to the challenge.”

“Let’s just wait,” you said, trying to find that calm center again. But deep inside, you felt the tension thrum beneath your skin. It was a competition, and you wanted nothing more than to win.

You could already sense the warmth from the audience roll toward Mia as the announcer spoke her name.

As the results were announced, your heart raced. “Mia... 167.97! A solid score, but not enough to beat Y/N!”

You gasped, feeling a wildfire of disbelief. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The arena was suddenly a cacophony of cheers, and the warmth from the audience rolled toward you like an overwhelming tide.

A surge of adrenaline pumped through you. You jumped up and down, throwing your arms around Zara, who was nearly as ecstatic as you were.

“I can’t believe it! You did it! You really did it!” Zara laughed, her voice carrying over the noise, pure joy radiating off her. “You’re the national champion!”

You couldn’t even find the words to respond. Instead, you nodded vigorously, a bright smile stretching across your face as you felt the joy erupt within you.

You allowed the feeling to wash over you because this victory wasn’t just about the medal or the title; it was a culmination of everything you had worked for, every late-night practice, every injury you pushed through, all of it leading to this moment.

And then, the announcer’s voice broke the stillness in the air again. “Y/N... 168.46! A remarkable display of skill, and our 2025 National Champion!”

Joy explodes within you, bursting forth like a pent-up dam. You instinctively clutch your chest, feeling the tremor of disbelief mixed with elation.

Your eyes glaze over, and before you know it, tears begin to spill down your cheeks, tracing paths of exhilaration. You’ve made it.

All those years of grueling practice, early mornings, and late nights have culminated in this very moment.

“Y/N! Oh my gosh, you did it!” Lauren, your manager, bursts forth, her arms wide open.

You barely take a second to wipe the tears before she envelops you in a tight hug, her warmth a welcome anchor in the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling.

“Thank you, Lauren! I couldn’t have done it without you!” you manage to say, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

“Of course, but let’s be real, that was all you! You were phenomenal out there!” she exclaims, stepping back to look you in the eye. There’s a twinkle of pride in her gaze that makes your heart swell even more.

You take a deep breath, glancing around at your team, all gathered with wide smiles and glittering eyes. Their enthusiasm fuels your own, and you laugh, feeling the thrill of triumph wash over you like a warm wave.

“I couldn’t have done it without each of you. Every practice, every pep talk… it all counts,” you say, making eye contact with each team member.

With a grin, you turn your focus towards your competitors, Mia and Jenny, both of whom had pushed you to the limit this season. Their expressions are a mixture of admiration and disappointment, but you know all too well how they feel.

“Hey, great job out there,” you say, skating over to them, your skates gliding effortlessly on the ice. “You both made me really work for it.”

Mia smiles faintly, her confidence unbroken. “You were incredible. I can’t believe how close it was. Next time, I’ll bring my A-game for sure.”

“Definitely! We can’t let you have all the glory,” Jenny adds, her laughter brightening the tense atmosphere.

The three of you share a moment of camaraderie, which dissolves any lingering tension from the competition.

You breathe deeply, inhaling the fragrance of ice and adrenaline, your thoughts drifting to the next steps.

As you approached the podium, you caught sight of your family in the crowd, their faces beaming with pride. You waved at them, half-laughing and almost crying from the surge of emotions.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the rink, breaking your trance. “In second place, it is Mia Johnson!”

Mia jumped up onto the podium, her expression a mix of disbelief and joy. “At least I’m on the podium!” she called out, her laughter ringing in your ears.

“And in third place, we have Jenna Taylor!” The announcement sparked another round of applause, and as Jenna took her place, you readied yourself.

The excitement was palpable, but you felt a familiar flutter of nerves. You had to go up next, and this was the moment you’d been waiting for.

The host stepped forward, and all eyes shifted to you, a wave of silence falling over the crowd like snowflakes drifting to the ground.

“And in first place, it is Y/N L/N!”

You could hardly contain yourself as you leaped onto the podium, arms outstretched and a broad grin plastered on your face.

Cheers erupted like an explosion, and the applause felt like a physical blanket wrapped around you, warming your heart even amidst the chill of the rink.

As the medal was draped around your neck and the camera flashed, a sense of pride swelled within you. This wasn’t just an achievement; it was the culmination of years of hard work, determination, and a thousand early mornings driven by your passion for the ice.

After the ceremony concluded, you made your way outside of the rink—still buzzing from the final adrenaline of the performance, the applause ringing in your ears like a joyful chorus.

You needed to breathe, to process everything, but before you could step too far into your thoughts, a familiar voice called out to you.

You also needed to know how Franco finished in his race. It was a shame that he couldn't be here right now to celebrate but you know he was probably suffering in his media duties.

You had made it; your journey as a skater had culminated in this triumphant moment of glory.

You stood in the middle of your team, your heart swelling with pride. Cameras flashed as everyone posed with the medals, capturing the moment for posterity.

Each smile, each laugh, each joyful expression created a beautiful cacophony of success. It felt surreal, almost dreamlike.

Just as you were about to step away for a candid candid shot, Lauren, your manager, stepped into your line of sight, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“Hey, turn around for me!” she exclaimed, her voice cut through the celebratory noise with authority.

You narrowed your eyes, momentarily confused but eager to comply. “What for?” you asked, glancing back at her with a teasing pout, but her gaze was insistent, her gesture animated.

You turned, spinning on your skates, a smile still on your lips from the excitement.

And then, time felt like it froze. Standing there, just a few feet away, was Franco, your boyfriend. He was holding an enormous bouquet of flowers that dwarfed him, its vibrant hues almost electric against the acidic blue of the rink.

The bouquet was a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly filled with your favorites: soft lavender orchids, deep blue hydrangeas, and delicate red roses, the very ones you’d mentioned to him months ago as a blush crept into your cheeks.

“Congratulations, amor! I told you I would make it!” he exclaimed, his grin wider than the expanse of ice before you.

Franco stood out not only because of the grand bouquet he was wielding, but his passion seemed to ignite the air, drawing every eye towards him.

Your heart raced—a joyful shock and a wave of warmth coursed through you. “Franco!” You gasped, your hands instinctively running through your hair as you ran toward him, leaving behind the jubilant crowd.

You felt like a child on Christmas morning, caught off-guard by an unexpected gift.

Wrapping your arms around him, you buried your face in the fragrant blooms, inhaling deeply as if the scent alone could capture this moment eternally.

Franco chuckled, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. “You’re amazing! I knew you’d take home the gold!”

Pulling back to take him in, you brushed tiny remnants of ice from your hair and gazed deeply into his warm brown eyes. “I can’t believe you came. I thought you were going to be in media duties all day!”

He waved a dismissive hand, “I made them hurry up. I couldn't miss this. Not for anything,” he insisted, his gaze steady and earnest as he held the bouquet out to you.

“These are just a small token of my love. You deserve more than I can ever give you.”

“You're the best!” you breathed, still overwhelmed. As you took the bouquet from him, your fingers brushed against his, sending a ripple of electricity through your body.

You caught the attention of your teammates who were now grouped around, playful envy written across their faces.

“Can you even top that?” one of them teased, nudging your shoulder with an exaggerated wink.

Franco flashed an innocent grin, pulling you closer into his side, his warmth wrapping around you. “Oh, I can think of a few ways,” he fired back playfully, and laughter erupted around you.

“Once the cameras leave, I want a private celebration—just you and me,” you whispered, tilting your head up toward him, your playful tone hiding a genuine yearning.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “But first, I think you owe me a victory dance on the ice.”

You narrowed your eyes, feigning indignation. “A victory dance? What do you think this is, some cheesy movie?”

“Cheesy? Nah, it’s romantic!” he insisted, a teasing grin playing at the corners of his mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

With a dramatic flair, Franco led you back toward the center of the rink, the bouquet clutched in your hand like a trophy of your own victory.

As the laughter of your teammates faded into the background, the two of you spun around, gliding across the ice, arms raised high for a moment of carefree abandonment.

“Okay, okay!” you shouted, breathless from the joy of it all. The icy ground beneath your skates felt less like a challenge and more like an expanse of possibility. “But first, you need to wow me with your skating skills!”

Franco narrowed his eyes dramatically, taking a moment before he pulled off a series of impressive spins and moves that left you clapping enthusiastically.

“Ta-da!” he announced with a flourish, bowing comically as he stumbled slightly on the last move.

“You’re unbelievable,” you chuckled, more enamored than ever. “Why did I ever doubt you?”

He skated over to you easily, the applause still ringing in his ears. The twinkle in his eyes spoke volumes, and the delight on his face made your heart swell.

“You wouldn't believe how many lessons I took to just do that, amor,” he said, his breath coming out in little puffs against the chilly air.

“You took lessons?” you whispered, placing a hand on his cheek, your thumb grazing the stubble there. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the icy surroundings, making you feel a spark inside.

“I knew you were going to win, so I had to learn for you,” Franco muttered, placing a hand on your waist and drawing you close.

Laughter filtered through the air again as you lightly patted his cheek. “Cut it out. You’re going to make me blush!”

“I can’t help it,” he grinned. “You’re radiant, especially in this moment. Just look at you, the National Champion. You deserve the world!”

You felt the heat in your cheeks intensify. “Okay, okay! But you helped me reach it!” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before continuing, “Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone else standing here with me.”

“Then don’t,” he whispered, stepping closer, his hand finding a home on the small of your back, drawing you into him.

You could feel the world fade away, the cheers and the noise rolling into the background. The ice felt solid beneath your feet, grounding you as you lost yourself in his gaze. “Franco, I—”

But before you could finish, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, a hesitant dance of two souls intertwining, before passion ignited it into something deeper, something that sent fireworks dancing in your chest.

When he pulled away, breathless, you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he confessed, running a nervous hand through his hair. “But I didn’t want to distract you before the competition.”

“Distract me? Not at all! I needed a distraction from all the pressure!” you teased lightly, still lost in the lingering warmth of his lips against yours.

Franco chuckled, drawing you closer still, your bodies almost fitting perfectly against one another. “Well, hopefully that distraction was a winning one,” he replied playfully.

“Definitely! Maybe I should have put it in my training! ‘Ice skating: 25% skill, 75% kissing my boyfriend.’”

He erupted into laughter, eyes twinkling with delight. “I’d be honored to provide the kisses,” he said, his voice a low rumble that enveloped you, making you feel warm in a way you had never quite experienced before. . . .

[sigilsmut]

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

Damn my ass did not make it in time again. Am I still gonna post it? Sure why not.

This goes out to @sanjisblackasswife​ as a small present. I hope this is ok Timi 😭 🖤 Happy (belated) birthday

CW: established relationship, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, lingerie, a few petnames, Sanji being a pervert per usual, just plain nastiness

“How are you fairing, mon cher? Are you still with me?” Sanji’s muffled voice asks you as if he hadn’t snatched three orgasms from you in the past 2 hours. 

As expected, you couldn’t form a proper sentence, your mind as hazy as your watery vision. He was three fingers deep into your pussy while his other hand kept a vice grip on your body. That didn’t stop it from squirming as much as it could, however. A string of moans blessed his ears like the sweetest melody. Smooth, creamy legs spasming around his dizzy head.

The blonde had surprised you with a heartful breakfast earlier, slaving over the stove at the ass crack of dawn to make sure your birthday started off on the right foot. When you expressed concern over how tired he’d be, he simply brushed it off, reassuring you that ‘it’s what my goddess deserves’.

Of course, a banquet was also held for your special day. It was filled with numerous activities, rounds of bubbly drinks, and little heartwarming speeches of how each Straw Hat (in their own quirky way) was grateful to have you in their lives. And you were just as grateful to have them in yours.

But what kickstarted the moment between you two was towards the end of the night, where Sanji had walked in on you changing. By accident? On purpose? Who fucking knows. If his flushed cheeks, slick grin, and nose running of blood was anything to go off of, he didn’t feel any remorse seeing you in your scantily clad lingerie. 

A baby blue set, complete with white garters and a pair of blue satin panties. All in his favorite color. You went on a birthday shopping spree with Nami earlier and the set caught your eye. Thinking it’d be cute for you and your boyfriend, you immediately put it on after purchase. It was apparent now that it was a good choice to make.

After locking the door behind him, his long legs carried him to where you stood near the bed. He gently set his hands on your waist, and after giving him the go-ahead, it was downhill from there.

Hands groping and tracing over areas where his lips followed close behind, no part of your sun-kissed bronze skin was left unmarked. The stubble on his chin tickling your belly and inner thighs as he went along. It’s what led to now, with three of his fingers curling into you and his tongue tracing circles around your clit. The sheets became stained with the mixture of your juices and his saliva, but neither of you seemed to care. The bed shook from how aggressively he humped into the mattress, rolling his hips and dragging his hard on against the sheets. The friction made a delicious burn grow against the tip of his cock, and a groan bellowed from his chest.

“Lemme have another one, Y/N-swan...” He mumbled. He took your clit into his mouth and hummed, picking up the pace with his fingers. Your back arched off the bed, screaming into the darkness of the spare bedroom as you gushed into his mouth. He lapped up everything you gave him and only eased off of you once your fingers pushed his head away. 

“You taste absolutely divine, darling, like the sweetest nectar I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. I can never get enough of eating you out.” He heartfully grins like the nasty pervert he is.

Finally he sits up and strips himself of his boxers, groaning as his cock sprang free and slapped against his abdomen. In your stupor, you drooled at the sight and weakly reached forward to dab at his tip. He shudders.

“Such a pretty dick, ‘Ji...” you sweetly murmured. You swear you’ve never seen a man move so fast.

You blinked and he was hovering over you. Your body quivered as you realized that he was already pushing inside you, eager to bring you back to cloud nine with him this time. As his pelvis kissed yours, so did your lips, your eyes rolling back into your head as you tasted yourself. The bedframe slammed into the wall as his lithe hips snapped into yours. Your eyes widened, balling the sheets into your fists as you held on for dear life. Sanji gazed down at you in astonishment.

From his perspective, the moon was absolutely gorgeous, but not as gorgeous as you. Sanji thought he might cry, still in disbelief that he got to have and pleasure someone as beautiful as you. Your watery brown eyes looking up at him with so much love, your locs sprawled out all over the pillows and yet framed your face perfectly. Your puffy lips in an ‘O’ shape, crying out from his purposeful thrusts. Your brown skin seemed to be glowing with how the moon shone on you. In his eyes, your beauty outshone all the stars in the sky, your angelic voice reaching the Heavens at this point. 

It’s almost as if that was his goal with how fast he was going. 

His slender hands lifted your lower body, wrapping your smooth legs around his waist to push himself in deeper. The blonde craned his head back and moaned, feeling your velvety walls clamp around his cock in a vice grip. His breath hitched, slamming his hips into you even harder and rolling his mushroom head into that one spot that made your toes curl. The bed creaked and croaked underneath the two of you, and it was absolutely certain that Nami would give you shit for how loud you’re being.

“Gimme another one, cherie, pretty please..” He weakly begged of you. His fingers rubbed over your clit rapidly and you groaned, the amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Your whole body shook as a silent moan escaped. Your walls squeezed again and the tension in your belly released. “S-Sanji-!”

“That’s it, princess. Let go for me” he encouraged you. He mewled as you reached your high for seemingly the fifth time tonight, your juices gushing all over his pelvis and all over your thighs. His curly brows scrunched together and tears began to swell in his eyes, groaning as he filled your walls with his warm, sticky load. You have never felt fuller than this moment. 

His body curled over you, his hot labored breath in your ear. He turned to you, moving a loc out of his way to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “Happy birthday, my sweet Y/N.”

“Thank you Sanji.” You smiled lovingly and he returned your expression. Once you calmed your breathing, you reached your hand up to caress his cheek. Sanji was eager to lean into your touch, swooning at how adorable you looked in your after-coitus glow. Suddenly his eyes widened in realization. “I almost forgot.”

He then reached over and took your panties in his grasp, stuffing them in the deep recesses of his pants pocket. You furrowed your brows at his actions, even though you knew good and well what the reason was.

“For safe keeping.” He grinned. He was gonna keep the pair as a reminder of tonight.

“You play too damn much!” You laughed, lightly smacking his shoulder. He laughed with you, stretching back on the bed and collecting you in his arms. Peppering your face in little kisses, he looked up at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Would you like to go again? You’re welcome to ride me if you want, you are the birthday girl after all.”

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

What They Text You: Applies to any...cause they're all a bunch of dorky teens and i dont care what anyone says.

Leo:

• look at my new plant

• would you like to have tea tomorrow?

• you look so pretty 😍 leo you cant see me and? i bet you do

• am i really an old man???? 😭😭😭

• be honest, do you think raph can beat me in an arm wrestle? if you dont answer in 5 minutes, i will assume it's yes and i will prove you wrong.

• good morning honey. have a wonderful day today! ❤️

• are you still mad at me...? LEO YOU SET MY MICROWAVE ON FIRE. so is that a yes?

• have you eaten yet? you need to eat...and drink something other than (your favorite drink)

• i got benched because i can't stop throwing up. i'm fine! leo...you threw up blood literally 10 minutes ago. it was only a little 🙄

• i'm in desperate need of a kiss right now.

• check out my new katanas

• remember that i love you 🥰🥰❤️

• for the last time, i wont download tik tok. you know how bad i hyperfixate 😠

• stop playing candy crush and pay attention to me

• keep it up and you won't get the knots worked out of your shoulders.

• mikey just called me a boomer...i feel like i should be offended. you are a boomer. I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.

• y/n, i love you, but for the love of god, PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SOCKS.

• *drunk* im in a relationship why do i have your name as my love cause my girl/boyfriend/partner will definitely not like that and i dont know who you are but they will kick your ass and i dont even feel sorry cause you arent love leo...you're drunk. NO IM TAKEN

• call me cause i would like to hear about your day and i miss you

• i love you my love ❤️

Raph:

• come watch me bench im bored

• can you please come get mikey before i hit him?

• wear that giant sweatshirt to our date. ya look adorable in it

• why did you ask donnie to help you with your homework?? um...cause it's about neurons and receptors in the brain. i could've helped with google! 😒

• YOU NEED TO COME KILL THIS COCKROACH RIGHT NOW.

• hey babe. how was your day? ❤️

• have i ever told you how beautiful you are? what did you do. nothing...? i just think you're beautiful. raphael. fine..i broke casey's nose. AGAIN!?!

• i'm so tired...wanna come nap with me?

• facetime me so i can show you this cool trick spike can do

• remember how i said i was going to be more level headed? well donnie's new robot almost broke my arm and it's no more. you lasted 1 day more than the last time.

• *you sent a selfie* yeahhhh that's my baby 😍😍

• eat or im fighting you.

• jokes on you ive always been completely unhinged and it's bold of you to think i cant be worse.

• im sick. can you bring me some soup? 😣

• i miss you like a lot and i hate when you're gone

• i love you a whole lot 😘

• im just gonna start carrying you everywhere if you dont stop tripping over NOTHING. im just gonna trip harder. Y/N NO.

• mikey said we're his parents just an fyi. he's always been my son

• i made waffles. you better come eat some

• damn babe you're fine 🤤

Donnie:

• no i wont do your homework for you

• tell shelldon to stop talking back to me before i ground him for eternity

• im in a house of IDIOTS. technically it's a lair. not now y/n.

• you look like a pile of swans in that sweater 🥰

• i can't sleep. wanna play online scrabble?

• sweetie you need to eat more than a bag of gummy worms and a bag of doritos

• you need to come sit with me while i work because i need an extra set of eyes. you just miss me 😏 don't start.

• don't call a plumber! i know how to fix the sink. i got this 😎 donnie the pipe exploded the last time you "had" this.

• *you sent a selfie* you look nice

• im gonna blow up. a person, a thing, a place, all of the above? yes.

• you need to drink straight broth, it'll help soothe your stomach ache

• im dying. you have a cold.

• i love you but please stop trying to assemble ikea furniture on your own.

• good luck on your exams/work project! 😘

• TELL RAPH TO STOP PICKING ME UP TO MOVE ME.

• leo just called me an asparagus. i didn't know how to respond so his phone will self destuct in 5 minutes. DONNIE.

• you're so pretty 🥺

• i made you something and you have to come get it right now. im literally about to have my wisdom teeth out. reschedule it

• listen to the playlist i made you or else im disabling your pirated tv show service

• thanks for listening to me 💜

Mikey:

• babe come snuggle with me

• i made you brownies so come eat them with me while we watch crognard

• i haven't seen you in so long 😭 you saw me this morning. BUT THAT WAS HOURS AGO

• angelcakessssss i love you

• look at this cat video i found

• FACETIME ME THERES A PUPPY

• are you awake? mikey it's 3 am. good, so would you still love me if i was a worm? go to sleep.

• i bet you look like a cuddly bear today 🥰

• im so hungry. can you bring me ice cream?

• raph wont stop being mean to me. can you beat him up? cause a (your height) tall human can beat a 6ft turtle's ass 😑 i believe in you.

• im coming over with my new call of duty game and we're having a game a thon!

• i found a cat. mikey no. his name is gerald. MIKEY WE ALREADY HAVE 10 OF THEM. HALF ARE NAMED GERALD.

• i made you a mixtape i cant wait for you to hear it

• how mad would you be if i crashed the shell razor in a derby and broke my arm? very. then i did not do that.

• im sick. come help me feel better 😭

• call me cause april just told me something about casey that's wild

• i found this cool rock that i think you'll like

• it's so cool i can date you. you're for real the coolest. you broke my coffee table again didn't you? no...maybe.

• im bringing you lunch cause my baby needs to eat!

• this song reminds me of you 💕

[fashionteahouse]

Can I get a Charlie swan x reader where he and the reader don’t get time alone considering their 5month but Bella offers to babysit with Rosalie so u could have some alone time

yes you can🙂‍↕️ hope you enjoy :)

bouncin - charlie x reader

The trills of the infant crying, erupted from their throat. Trying to give them a pacifier, they didn’t want it. They weren’t hungry. Smelling and feeling their bottom, they weren’t wet or showed any indications of needing to be changed.

You sway with them in your arms, “Shhhh.” you say to it softly as you sway them and bounce them lightly in your arms, not knowing why they are crying. You sit in the rocking chair, rocking back and forth as you try to soothe the 5 month old. Their gum filled mouth, is wide open, making their cries heard.

“Holy crow. Not calmed down yet?” you heard and you look up to see Bella standing in the doorway.

You shake your head and give her a tired smile, “I don’t know what’s wrong.” you say and still try your attempts to coo soft words to them.

“Here.” Bella says and reaches her arms out. You carefully transfer the baby from your arms to hers, making sure their head is secure.

The cries slowly fade and stop, Bella reaches and grabs the bottle, and the baby starts to drink. You slump into the rocking chair and run a hand over your face. “I tried to feed, they kept refusing.” you say, staring at the child who is now looking up at Bella.

Bella tinkles a laugh, looking at you. “Looks like they also refused sleep as well.”

You sigh, “Yeah, I forgot what sleep feels like.” you say with humor as you causally rock back and forth softly.

She eyes you with concern and feels bad, looking at the eye bags under your eyes. Your face was the epitome of tiredness.

“I mean…If you don’t mind..I can babysit for you guys.” she offers but you shake your head.

“It’s okay Bell.” you say, not wanting to put your duties on her.

“No, really. Rose can help out too. She loves babies.” Bella says and looks down at the baby. Smiling softly at them and setting the empty bottle down.

You actually consider. The idea was tempting but you didn’t want to make her feel like you were handing your baby off to her just because you were tired.

“It’s fine, Y/N. Let them spend time with their big sister. I know what to do. You know that.” Bella reassures you as she looks at your face, knowing for a fact that you’re debating with yourself.

“Okay. Fine.” you say, giving in and she gives you a very happy smile.

Giving her the diaper bag, you watch her sling it over her shoulder and carry the infant in their car seat. You and Charlie walk her out to her vehicle.

“Please call me for anything. I mean, anything.” you say to her.

She playfully rolls her eyes and straps the baby in, nice and secure. “They’re going to be just fine.”

She gives you and her father a hug. “I promise.” she says to the both of you. You give your baby one last kiss and let them know how much you love them.

Charlie guides you back into the house and chuckles, “Bella will take great care of them.”

“I know, but…”

“Just relax.” he says and you gaze up at him and give him a soft smile. He gives you a kiss but you pull back.

“Ugh, I feel dirty. I need a shower.” you say humorously and climb the stairs. You stop halfway and put a hand on the railing, “Aren’t you going to join me?”

His cheeks turn a bit red and follows you up the stairs.

Peeling off your clothes and helping him out of his, they’re long forgotten on the bathroom floor. The stream of water beats down as you pull him in. Running your fingers down his chest, following the water, you reach to give him a peck. You reach to grab the soap, sudsing his chest and you reach with your other hand and stroke him. His face looks to the sky, barely with his eyes open. You stop once he’s stiff and he runs the soap on your chest, as you arch your body to him.

You didn’t feel the need to wear clothes as you pulled his arm to lay down on the bed that you and him both shared. Stroking him slowly, you faintly smiled at his reaction. Groaning and grunting from the stimulation you were giving him. A white leak comes out but you just collect it with your tongue. His fingers move through your hair as you take him in slowly with your mouth. Two hands are wrapped around him. going in a twisting motion as your mouth bobs up and down on him. Before he could get a release, you sink down and you both groan as one. Connected as one. His hands immediately knead and pull at your breasts as you bite your lip and breathe out. You lean forward, chest to chest, and deeply kiss him. Your hips don’t stop grinding forward and bouncing forward, savoring every inch of him, making yourself whine and quiver.

“This is really good, I love it.” Charlie says as he cuts into the dinner that you made for him. You decided to make his favorite. To be fair, all of your cooking that you made was his favorite, but you knew which one he liked the best.

Your phone buzzes after you and Charlie lounge on the couch. You pull it out after seeing a picture attachment.

It was pictures of Rosalie, beaming at the camera with your 5 month old baby and a text under it saying:

“Rose wants to know if we can keep them overnight lol”

You show Charlie and you both melt at it. He runs a hand over the skin of your shoulder, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” he says, eyeing you. He knows you could use a night of interrupted sleep. You smile at him, knowing that sleep would still be slim to none. The butterflies you felt in your lower stomach, let you know that sleep would be forgotten.

[drghostwrite]

Until my Last Breath

Okay so this one didn't win the vote but per special request by @maiveeetheone I’m going to write it! Hope you enjoy! xoxo

Pairing: Regina mills x pregnant!reader

TW: mentions of blood, almost miscarriage, kidnapping and minor torture.

Summary: Regina’s mother, Cora, returns and tries to turn her dark again but Y/N, her wife, has given her everything she’s ever wanted: true love, family, marriage, power and now a baby. What happens when she stands in the way of Cora’s sinister plans.

******************************************************** You sat across the conference room table as Regina conducted the meetings, it was for the town so Sheriff Swan, along with David and Snow, Mr. Gold, Regina the mayor, Zelena, a couple others and you, now you weren’t only married to the mayor and carrying her child but you helped run the hospital. You were Chief of surgeries after Dr. Whale had that taken away with the Daniel incident.

“So right now we’re using funds to help with remodeling of the school, so…” Regina was doing a funds recap and taking with Snow about what would need to be done and you started to drift off staring out the window. You ran your hand over your swollen bump feeling your baby kick and knowing that Regina’s voice was soothing to your unborn child even though she was talking finances for Storybrooke. You began to daydream about mornings where she would wake up with that slow morning growl, it made you feral for your wife and she knew it.

“Y/N…Y/N?” you heard her calling your name and it snapped you back to reality, back into the conference room with its white walls and black and white modern decor. Regina was looking at you amused, she could only imagine what had stolen your attention but had a good idea it was her and the baby.

“Oh yea, so as of right now we’re okay, we thought of possibly coordinating with the schools to give more volunteer opportunities to the kids, but we also have to discuss my leave, due to the Dr. Whale situation we’ll have to find a replacement for my maternity leave.”

“Well how about Zelena?” Regina asked, her relationship with her sister had grown tremendously, in fact that’s the only other person besides Emma and the Charmings that she’d trust with her life and family’s life.

“And what use would she be?” Asked the skeptical Mr. Gold.

“Well I mean she is a trained midwife.” Snow suggested.

“Because of a curse,” Emma reminded.

“And I’m a trauma surgeon because of the curse, Snow you’re a teacher even though it was a curse it created a version of us, a true version of us with all the training and skills," Regina watched you a grateful look in her eyes, “All I’m saying is that we give her a chance, I can set her up to assist Dr. Whale and keep him in check while I’m out and I can have Blue and the other fairies or nuns, whatever, check-in and help with outpatient care.”

Everyone exchanged looks and Regina mouthed a thank you, they then agreed that you were right and that’s the plan they’d go with. You discussed a few more minor things and then decided that it was time for everybody to go home after a long day, you stayed in the conference room until everyone was gone and then retreated to your office. You have an office at the hospital but it's in a secure part due to dealing with patients and HIPAA info so days like this Regina converted one of the old conference rooms into an office for you. It wasn't as big but she made sure to have the comfiest chairs and couches, it was decorated very modernly like her office with contrasts of vibrant forest green instead of the complete black and white, she had your favorite flowers on the desk, orange hibiscus flowers with a towering monstera plant in the corner both enchanted to never die. You had couches and chairs with a large rug on one side like her office and you had a bookshelf wall and a built-in mini-bar that quickly turned alcohol-free when you found out about the pregnancy, there was also a portion that pushed into a secret room like her vault allowing you to keep sensitive information. She wanted to make sure that you were comfortable, in your office and that it could be an escape for you considering what you did on a daily basis and the fact that she got to be closer to you during the workday, able to visit whenever and for whatever she wanted.

You finished some reports for the day and made your way down the hall to her office, you knocked and heard her call for you to come in. You walked in and before you could shut the door you felt arms wrap try and wrap around your waist but instead your bump blocked the little arms.

"Y/N!!!" you reached down and ruffled Henry's hair, and then ran a hand on his back looking up to make eye contact with Regina, she watched the interaction and her heart swelled, Henry loved you but he didn't take the idea of a third mom the easiest at first. Now don't get me wrong he was great and excited about a sibling but he had a hard time, with the whole new mom thing, he never called you mom he always said his mom's wife or your name, and he also wouldn't ever come to you either he went to Regina or right to Emma one time he even went to Snow before you knew. You wanted nothing more than to let him trust you so ever since the wedding you've been earning his trust, so it meant the world to Regina to see him so excited to see you and she knew it meant the world to you.

"Hey buddy, you have a good day?" you glanced down at him as he looked up at you.

"Yea we had a field trip today and then David offereed to take me to the stables to go riding."

"Oh really?" you smirked, looking back up to Regina as she just shook her head. "Well, then does my brave knight need me to drop him off?"

He laughed, "No, he's here, I just wanted to come in and see you before I went over, so I made him stop."

"Well in that case have fun, be safe, and take some pictures so I can brag to the nurses at work." you leaned down and kissed his hair as he hugged you tighter, he then ran back out of the office, but before the door closed you heard him yell back, "Bye, Moms!" You tuned looking at Regina, she got up walking over to you, a tear rolled down you face and she swiped it away letting her hand linger on your cheek and you leaned into the touch, she had her other hand holding yours running her fingers over your wedding ring.

"He really does love you." her coffee-brown orbs looked into your emerald green ones, as more tears ran down your face for her to swipe away.

You laughed, "God these pregnancy hormones are killing me."

“Darling, I…”, all the sudden you heard a crash outside, Regina turned and moved to the window. You held her hand in both of your as she reached to move the curtain.

“What the he…” that’s when she heard the moving of a cloud of smoke behind her and no longer felt the warmth of you hand, she spun on her heels and spotted the figure across the room.

“Mother? What’re you doing here?”

“Ahh sweet girl I’m here for you.”

“Where’s Y/N, What did you do with her?”

“You mean that peasant you call a wife,” she laughed at her daughter in front of her waving her off, “she’s in a safe place or at least it’s safe for a normal person, but not sure about her and the bastard child of yours.”

“No Mother that’s my wife and my baby, biologically both me and Y/N. She has more heart and passion and power then you’ll ever know and she loves me, truly loves me and Henry and I’ve never doubted her for a day, I LOVE her.”

“Oh darling you just live the idea of her.” Regina was done talking she whirled a fire ball, grabbing the spare dagger from the sheath attached under the desk, courtesy of you, and whirled it in that direction. She watched as smoke cleared and the dagger was no where to be found she prayed that she at least stunned her mother.

———time jump———

You were slumped forward and felt the restraints digging into your wrist and ankles as they were tied to the legs of the wooden chair. You were quickly jolted awake by Cora grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at her. Ugh, she let out a disgusted sigh and shoved you face away turning back, you watched as she walked out of the room into a smaller side room, looking around you realized you were in an older cabin, wait this was the cabin that’s hidden in the woods the enchanted cabin that… you heard heels coming towards you and turned your head, Maleficent and Cora both stood looking at you. Maleficent knelt down in front of you studying your features, she stared at your bump deciding whether or not to touch, as if it wasn’t real, you thrashed in the seat and she looked into your eyes, she ran a hand over your bump feeling your baby move.

“Cora, this is not the way to do this.” Maleficent spoke out but kept eyes trained on you as you gave her the smallest most gently terrified look you could.

“I decide how I do things, you’re just here for support on getting her back.”

“But her wife and unborn child?” Maleficent stood going to Cora.

“If they’re gone nothing will ever stop her from going back to dark and staying there.”

You started yelling into the gag and thrashing in the seat. Cora moved over to you and you felt as she slapped your face the sting of her fingers meeting your skin and the ringing in your ear her ring sliced into the skin of your cheek and you felt the blood run down, you knew you would have a black eye. She then grabbed the gag sliding it from your mouth.

“I swear if you lay a finger on Regina or my baby… so help me God.”

“Oh darling, I see why my daughter loves you.”

“My WIFE will be here before you know it and when she gets here nothing will stop her or me from destroying you!” You yelled at the woman in front of you. She bent down getting in your face, “nothing will stop me from getting my daughter back.”

“She’s not your little play toy anymore.” Again you felt a slap this time blood ran from you lip. You looked up and saw a shadow go by the window, Cora walked back over to Maleficent and retreated into the other room as you sat there hearing them argue. You watched as the shadows moved towards the door and then the door cracked, revealing Snow and Regina was right behind she pushed past the other woman and rushed to you, she ran her fingers over the cut on your lip.

“God what did she do to you?” Regina undid the restraints pulling you up into a hug.

“I’m okay…” you trailed, she pulled back placing a hand on your bump and running it over your large 8 month swollen stomach, “the baby too, we’re both okay.”

“Regina!” Snow yelled before being thrown against the wall by Cora, she used her body to shield you from her mother, taking her stand.

“My brave girl, protecting the mother of her child, but I ask who protects you, who truly keeps you from falling back into darkness.”

“I do.” You spoke up moving to stand next to her. Cora laughed out loud and Maleficent moved to check on Snow who was waking up, “Maleficent, what’re you doing?”

“This is wrong Cora.”

“And who are you to decide what is right and wrong, you destroyed villages and kingdoms with a single breath during your dragon days.”

“Mother my reign of terror and bloodshed is over, I’m never turning back.”

“Oh shut up stupid girl, I’ll show you terror.” She flicked her wrist and you felt a pain rip through your abdomen, it was so hard it brought you to your knees and you reached grabbing Regina’s arm as she turned to you.

“Oh God… Oh God the baby.” You let out a moan as tears started to fall, you felt the pain coming and going in waves, you looked down and saw a small stream of blood running down your leg.

“Mother, Stop!” Regina shouted and you watched as her magic collided with her mothers. You fell forward now on hands and knees as another pain tore through your body, you felt hands come around your sides and Snow tried getting you up.

“We need to get you out of here,” she let you lean into her and tried guiding you out the door. You reached a hand down brining it up coated in blood, again wincing in pain.

“But…but Regina,” you stuttered out in pain, letting out another moan. Maleficent placed a hand on your shoulder rubbing your arm as you tried breathing through it, “Let me save her for once you get out of here and get help before we have an injured Regina and a premature baby on our hands.” You looked into her eyes and saw she genuinely wanted to help, you slowly shook your head in agreement.

“Please get her back to me, please.”

She shook her head not breaking eye contact, “I promise, on my life.” Snow quickly turned taking you to the car as Maleficent threw her the keys,”I need to call Zelena we need to get you to the hospital.”

“No…” you struggled through another contraction.

“Y/N you’re in premature labor, there’s to much blood.”she tried reasoning with you.

“Snow if you take me all the way there…” you stopped breathing through another searing pain, letting out a low groan. “If we wait this baby won’t make it…God Snow… I won’t make it.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Okay just hold on.” You felt the car lurch forward as she pressed the gas harder.

She quickly rushed you back to the loft and called Emma filling her in, she reached over reassuring you again as you tried breathing in the passenger seat every wave coming stronger and faster. Once in the loft you were laid on Snow and David’s bed, Zelena and Emma quickly ran in the door, Zelena made her way to you. Seeing the blood on your thighs staining the white sheets red as you white knuckled the blankets, Snow brushing the sweat coated hair out of your face.

“What happened?”

“I…” you moaned, quickly being cut off by another pain.

“It was Cora she cast a spell and quick flick of her wrist and then Y/N was bent over in pain and the bleeding started.” She started to explain.

“Oh please don’t let her miscarry.” Snow said worrying.

“Don’t let me lose this baby.” You spoke out through another sharp pain.

“Labor?” Asked Emma looking to a very concentrated Zelena.

“Sort of, by the looks and sound of it mommy dearest used a pregnancy acceleration spell, if done right can work for mother and baby but if done wrong can cause a lot of problems.” Zelena explained, she lifted you shirt and felt your stomach pressing down in a few spots and releasing pressure as she felt the muscles tighten.

“Can you reverse if?” Snow asked concerned.

“I can I need to do it fast, and it will hurt like hell.”

“Will the baby be okay?”

“Y/N but you…” Snow started.

“Will the baby make it?!”

“Yes. I’m not sure the toll it will take on your body.” Zelena explained.

“I don’t care about me, you save this baby, whatever it takes you save my baby, our baby.” She slowly shook her head as you laid back against the pillows, Snow held your hand tightly understanding what could happen, Emma quickly gathered supplies and then came around to your other side, you felt Zelena swirl her hands on your bump, positioning them, you breathed through another pain.

“5 count?” She asked.

“Surprise me.” You let out a nervous breath as she nodded.

“Okay, 1…2…3…” she started before 5 not giving you much time to adjust, the last thing you heard was a bloodcurdling scream, realized it was you and then everything went black.

——— time jump———

You felt lips on your forehead and a hand holding yours, you felt tears as they landed on your hair. Slowly blinking open your eyes you realized it was your wife, she looked unscathed from events earlier. You quickly shot up on your elbows allowing the blanket to fall away revealing your bump, Regina was sitting next to the bed and laid an arm across you lap as you scooted up against the pillows resting her hand on your bump. You let out a small moan feeling the soreness in your muscles.

“Hey,” she spoke gently.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You slid your hand onto her cheek watching her eyes, she leaned into your hand.

“Well Zelena told me what happened, she told me though that you blacked out during the reversal spell.” She avoided the question.

“What happened with your mom?”

“Cora, I don’t consider her family after she went after you like that, Maleficent helped me and she pushed her back through a portal, she fell through with her though, I owe her my life.”

“Me too, how long was I out.”

“Two days, everyone has been asking about you.”

“Mmm, where’s Henry?” You rubbed at your eyes.

“With Emma and Snow and David they went out. Y/N I almost lost you, my love I’m so so sorry.” You watched as tears started to fall and you placed your hand back on her cheek, wiping tears with your thumb, she embraced the touch. You both let tears fall for a moment before she leaned forwards placing a kiss to your lips and then allowing you to lay your forehead against hers, “Y/N I will always fight for you, until I draw my last breath, I love you more than anything and I can’t wait to watch our family grow and I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“Regina Mills you make me the happiest woman alive, don’t for a minute think that I’ll ever leave you, I love you, besides the ring is already on so it’s going to take a lot more than that to scare me away.” You both chuckled.

Zelena walked down the stairs and turned coming up to you and sitting at the edge of the bed, “So mama, looks like everything went okay, you’re gonna be sore for a little while, and as of yesterday you are officially on bedrest aside from coming in to visit.”

“Thank you Z, for everything.” You gave her a gentle smile.

“Don’t mention it just promise me that you’ll rest up and come back to show me the ropes before you have my niece or nephew.” She winked, patting your leg.

You heard the lock click and watched as the door swung open at first everyone moved in slowly until they saw you, they stood shocked until Henry came running around the corner and jumped on the bed hugging around your neck the best he could with your bump in the way. Zelena took her leave joining the others in the kitchen.

“Mama I thought I lost you!” You hugged him with one arm as tears rolled down your cheeks, Henry has never actually addressed you as mom before. You felt as Regina squeezed your hand and gave you a look, you closed you eyes living in the moment.

“Henry, love you’ll never lose me, I love you little man.” He wouldn’t let go of your neck and then you realized that he was crying, Regina reached around rubbing his back, “Baby it’s okay.” She reassured him.

“I…I…I just thought I lost you, I can…can’t lose both my m…moms, or my little sister I can’t wait to meet he…her” He said through sobs. You both smiled gently at him as he clung around your neck.

“Henry love what if you got a little brother?” Regina asked gently.

“No, I think it’s a girl.”

“Oh okay.” She chuckled looking at you as you held him and rubbed his back.

“I’d say someone agrees with that.” You let out a smirk, Regina looked at you hopeful.

“Really?” You nodded and she moved her hand down feeling as your baby kicked, a tear rolled down her cheek and she leaned up to kiss you.

“I wanna feel.” Henry said turning his head and placing a hand near Regina’s feeling the baby move. He let out a toothy grin making you both laugh at your sons reaction.

He pulled away but only to curl into your side holding Regina’s hand that was spread across your bump, he started talking to the baby, you sat there content knowing that no matter what you were all loved and that you finally had the family you always dreamed of.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #31] The Photo Booth

warnings: THE photoboth chapter!!!! a legend amongst bd readers!!!! we meet jaykays mum (shes the best) and his dad (legend), byeol gets her own back for the 'daddy' debacle, teasing, shameless flirting, a lil dirty talk, jaykay is desperate and whiney (just how we like him!!), precum...swapping?? as much as it can be swapped lmao, jaykay does her glitter ::(((((, a date! between friends!! some would argue!!, photobooths, kissing !!!!, oh god I love them so much, very cute, mmmmmm the way he says goodnight!! or alternatively, the way he doesn't say goodnight!!, our babies are v confused <3 cos they are stewpid <33

wc: 9k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Mum? Dad?" Jeongguk calls into the entryway of his family home, pushing the door further open with his shoulder.

Your bag is hooked over his broad back, along with his own, Jeongguk not even considering it a favour. Just helps you out in little ways whenever he can, just because he can. You do what you can to make his life easier, and so it's reciprocated without a second thought.

Carrying a bunch of fresh flowers that had hastily been picked up from the shop across the street, you're a little nervous. There was no way you could show up empty-handed, but had been so scatterbrained when you left your place, it had completely slipped your mind. They're pretty pink posies and are something - which is always better than nothing, even if they aren't all that impressive.

"Oh, you're here!" A sweet voice calls from the back of the house. The sound of indoor slippers scuff against the wooden floors, as his mother scurries to greet you both. "I thought you'd call when you were on your way!"

"Sorry," he apologises and leans down to let the bags softly tumble to the floor, before outstretching his arm for a hug. "Left in a bit of a rush."

Squeezing his mother gently, his back eclipses her from your view. Hands patting his back, you think you can tell a lot about a person from their hands - and she's no exception.

Well-manicured, his mum clearly looks after herself. She wears just two rings - her wedding band and engagement ring. Gold. The only remaining elements of her wedding jewellery that had survived the '98 gold drive.

"Spent my whole life in that house," Jeongguk had said of his family home on the journey to Busan. He'd been opening up. Telling you tales that you'd have never heard if you had declined his offer. Is clueing you in on the life that formed him. Wants you to know. "They held onto it throughout everything. The financial crisis, turn of the century, everything. I'm lucky. We were never well-off, but they never let me know when we were struggling."

It explains a lot about who Jeongguk is, you think. Never wants others to shoulder his burdens. Keeps things bottled up until the glass shatters - but you can see through glass. You always know.

A modest three-bed, there's something nostalgic about the four walls he calls home. Though you've never been here, it somehow feels familiar - but that's perhaps more so to do with the scent of laundry drying, and the fact that Jeongguk uses the same fabric conditioner as his mother always has done.

Swanning Jeongguk out of the way, his mother greets you with a smile that could stoke warmth in even the coldest of hearts - and suddenly, you understand exactly where Jeongguk gets it from.

Dark, round eyes, and a smile as radiant as a spring day, she's got the kind of delicate nature bestowed upon Disney princesses. If you were to learn she'd been a model in her youth, you wouldn't be surprised. 

Introducing yourself,  you hold out the flowers for her to take.

"For you," you offer, a little shy and reserved, in a way that Jeongguk doesn't see too often. Your glitter - toned down today, for some reason - sparkles in the late afternoon sun that pours through the windows. "Thank you so much for offering to host me. I really hope it hasn't put you out too much-"

"Oh, don't be silly," she tuts, flipping her hand away as if to emphasise that it really is no big deal. "It's always lovely to have Jeongguk's friends staying with us."

She glances over to Jeongguk. Leans in a little closer. Whispers just loud enough for him to hear. "Plus I'm sure you'll be a far better house guest than Jimin ever is!"

"Mum!" Jeongguk goes to defend his housemate - but he knows his mother adores Jimin. Treats him like a third son. Knows she's creating an alliance with you, given the little lie Jeongguk told about you previously dating Jimin.

"What?!" She plays innocent, and it's suddenly so easy to see why Jeongguk is the way that he is. A product of the people around him, he soaks up their best qualities like a sponge in search of water. His playfulness must come from her. Taking the bunch of flowers, she smiles. "Let's go put these in a vase. You must be hungry."

"Ravenous," Jeongguk confirms, as if he didn't eat half an hour ago. "What's for dinner? And where's dad?"

"At the driving range," she tuts, encouraging you both further into the house.

Large and open plan, the sitting room is adjacent to the kitchen; a space designed for socialisation, it's clear that Jeongguk's parents enjoy hosting. It's no surprise that they agreed to let you stay without hesitation, and is also why Jeongguk had no qualms about asking.

"Minhyuk got a new driver that he wanted to show off, apparently," she continues. "A Titlelist. Got it in some dodgy back alley sale. Your father reckons he's been scammed, but Minhyuk reckons it's the real deal, so I'll guess we'll see."

"Minhyuk lives down the road," Jeongguk explains to you as his mum rummages around in a cupboard to find her favourite vase. He's smiling, amused by it all. "Bit of a busybody. Likes being in people's business, so Dad likes to return the favour. Petty middle-aged man shit."

"Watch your language," his mother scolds. He apologises immediately.

It's sweet, seeing Jeongguk like this. He's always been respectful, even if he does swear like a sailor and has a sense of humour that would send a prude to an early grave.

"As for dinner, I told your father to meet us at the samgyeopsal place you like down by the beach-"

"Ugh," Jeongguk smiles, beaming from ear to ear. "Thank you."

"Don't know why you're thanking me," she hums sweetly as she arranges the flowers in the vase. A little lacklustre while they were still wrapped up, she manages to preen them to look far more beautiful. "You're paying."

"I'm- what?!" He whines, now, taking on the role of youngest son perfectly.

She's just joking, and you all know it - but you also know Jeongguk will likely try and cover the bill regardless. Glancing over to you with a cheeky grin, his mum playfully shrugs her shoulders. You return the smile, and giggle a little harder when Jeongguk continues to whine.

"Oh hush your moaning," she simply says. "Go take your bags through to your rooms. We'll head out in half an hour."

Jeongguk doesn't protest. Drags you along with him back to the entry hall to retrieve the bags.

"See," he says quietly, finding your shyness all rather curious. You're never normally like this. Never so quiet. "Told you there was nothing to worry about. Mum always likes my friends."

Picking up your bag to hoist it over your shoulder, you simply say, "Nerves are natural."

Jeongguk doesn't entirely disagree, but really thinks there's no need for you to feel this way.

"Yeah, if you're meeting, like, a girlfriend's parents," he says. "My parents are nothing to be scared of. Idiot."

"Doesn't matter if I'm not your girlfriend, Gguk. I still want them to like me," you remind him. "And let's be realistic here, parents aren't one for subtleties. You've brought a girl home and have hickies on your neck - I need to touch up the foundation, by the way. If they notice, they're gonna add two and two and get five."

"Well actually," he interjects. "They'll add two and two and get four. You are the girl who gave me them."

You laugh. He's got a point. "But I'm not your girlfriend ."

Yep , he thinks. Thanks for the reminder.

It's not like he even wants that. He knows that things are good as they are. Knows that any indication of things getting serious will likely make you run for the hills.

Things feel easy, now. He doesn't wanna do anything that will complicate it. Won't tell you how he's feeling, 'cause he knows the second it does, things will change.

He doesn't know if it would be for better or for worse, but he knows you. Knows his own lived experiences.

The mistakes made with Hayun have contorted his ability to go with his heart, because he knows the pain it can cause. Will take the nail-biting uncertainty of his feelings for you over the soul-crushing certainty of rejection any day of the week.

You're equally as shaped by your own experiences.

Once had a man who would declare his love for you on a Monday morning before his monthly business trip, only for him to spend the entire week in bed with a girl from the accounting department. You've no trust in words. No trust in anything, really, when it comes to matters of the heart. All you can trust is how you feel - but even that's a little more confusing than usual, these days.

"And thank God for that," Jeongguk teases, which seems to settle the woes within you. He tilts his head to the side and guides you up the hallway. "C'mon. I'll show you to your room."

He deliberately doesn't show you his own room. Will show you later, once he's had the chance to hide away most of the embarrassing stuff he hasn't touched since he was a teenager.

Instead, he leads you straight into his brother's old room, and winces.

"It's worse than I remembered."

Jeongmin's bedroom walls are coated in the Lotte Giants; like an oil slick on the surface of a road, or ice cream dripping down the side of a cone. Unsubtle, garish and impossible to ignore, the man is an interior decor menace.

Flags, shirts, commemorative posters, you name it; Jeongmin has it. You think he must have personally spent enough money to fund an entire season of the KBO.

It's a pretty inoffensive colour scheme - white, blue, red - but it's still an eyesore. The rest of the house is well-decorated. Tasteful. Roses do come with thorns, you consider. Maybe Jeongmin and Jeongguk's rooms qualify for that position.

"So your brother likes football?" You deadpan - although you're sure if there was a Lotte Giants branded football, you'd be able to find one in this room.

Jeongguk just shakes his head. Doesn't even dignify it with a proper response.

"It's a miracle he even managed to get girlfriends during high school. This shit is... I didn't recall there being so much."

Signed baseballs, bobbleheads, foam fingers. God. It's endless. Trading card binders, house slippers, even a rubber duck. It's overwhelming.

"What about now?" You ask of Jeongmin's passion. "Still obsessed?"

"Less so," Jeongguk shrugs. "Did call his dog Seagull, though."

The prospect of a dog being called Seagull has you bursting into laughter. You half think Jeongguk is joking - but quickly realise he isn't. For some reason, that only makes it even funnier.

"Will he be at dinner? Your brother?" You ask, setting your bag down on the freshly made bed. The scent of laundry detergent wafts up, and it reminds you of being back at Jeongguk's place in the city. You've never felt more at home in a stranger's bedroom.

"Why?" Jeongguk asks, narrowing his eyes, remembering what you had said earlier. "You're not allowe-"

"Oh give over," you laugh. "You know I won't."

You've never seen his brother, but already know Jeongguk must be the brother. The one that the girls go crazy over.

Then again, Jeongguk did say that his brother is a fuck boy. Perhaps he's just as handsome.

Impossible .

Thing is, Jeongguk doesn't know you won't go for his brother. You made threats earlier. Knows he ignited a fire in you the second he pulled the 'Daddy' stunt. Knows you're competitive. Regrets it a little bit now. Only has himself to blame.

"Anyway, piss off," you playfully tell him. "I wanna get changed."

Jeongguk doesn't care. Takes a seat by his brother's desk, instead. Smirks. Raises his brows in that promiscuous, boyish way that always disrupts the butterflies who peacefully rest in your diaphragm. "Okay. Get changed."

"Gguk," you deadpan. He's pushing his luck, and he knows it. Glances over to the door. It's ajar, but pushed shut enough to obscure any unwanted eyes. Just means he needs to keep his deep voice quiet.

"What?" He flirts. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Your mum is down the hallway!" You whisper-shriek. Sometimes you forget how much of a boy Jeongguk is, and then he pulls shit like this.

The worst part?

You love it when he's like this; all cheeky and brazen, audacious in his quest to get what he wants.

And when it's you that he wants? Oh, it gets you all hot under the collar. He has that effect on people, you think. It can't just be you.

"So?" He licks his lips. Rakes his eyes down your body. Looks fucking hungry - and to him, you look like a 5-course meal he'd gladly get on his knees and beg for. "She's not gonna come in."

His lips press down against one another, tightly. His lip ring does the thing. You whine.

"Gguk."

"Byeol." He teases. "It's not like you're getting naked. Not like we'd be doing anything. Seen you in your underwear so many times."

He'd like to know that he still can. Wants to know he hasn't fucked it all up by getting you a little vulnerable earlier.

"Maybe I am getting naked," you whisper back, feeling challenged now.

"Are you?"

"Should I?" You tease. He sits up a little straighter. Tries to be subtle as his hand drops between his legs, the heel of his palm pressing against himself. Fails. You know he's adjusting himself. Know that it means he's getting a little excited.

"Think if you need to, then you should," he simply replies. "Just a little revision of a bird, no? Nakedness ? It'd be good."

You don't need to get fully undressed. Not in the slightest - and you're not gonna.

In fact, Jeongguk isn't gonna see anything - but you're still gonna fuck with him a little first. He deserves it after this morning.

You turn away from him. Shrug the jacket off your shoulders. Toss it onto the bed. Open up your bag, and have a little dig around.

"I'm not sure what to wear," you hum, sounding a little defeated. It's intentional. Want him to think you're being genuine.

Turning to face him, you hold lingerie in either hand. Packed deliberately just to fuck with him. Had figured you'd wear it discreetly, letting him know as and when he deserved to know. Would use it to wind him up - and not to give him any satisfaction. He's right in thinking he's ignited a little competition in you.

Didn't realise you'd take him to war, instead.

He's not seen you in either of these. Has never really seen you in your 'nice' stuff. All of your underwear is nice to a certain extent, because you're intentional with your purchases. Like feeling good beneath even a pair of sweats.

However, Jeongguk has only ever been treated to matching sets.

After all, you've never tried to seduce him. He's your friend. You fuck each other, sure, but it's cause it's comfortable. Safe.

The lace in your hand is far too exciting for your established arrangement.

In your left hand is a lace bodysuit. Mesh panels make up the structure, but it's the ornate, hand-sewn lace that really makes it beautiful. The neckline is fairly high, so sometimes you get away with wearing it at a top on nights out. Been a while since you went that risque.

In your right hand, it's a classic black garter belt. Jeongguk has no idea what the fuck they're called, just knows he likes them.

He swallows. Licks his lips. Doesn't know where to focus his eyes. Barely realises he's gripping himself now. Is so fucking hard.

"Which is your favourite?" You ask, eyes innocent, voice nonchalant.

Jeongguk thinks he'll die if you wear either.

"Both are fine," he manages to say, eventually.

"Fine isn't good," you pout.

"Well what do you want me to say, B?" He whispers, clearly a little frustrated. Not with you. With himself . "That as soon as you put them on, I'll wanna take them off you? They're fuckin' hot. Both of them. Fuck ."

He tilts his head back. Whines a little. Moans. "Why do I do this to myself?"

"Think you might be a masochist," you giggle now, tossing the lingerie back down by your bag. Will save it for later. Poor boy is going through it. "You did this to yourself."

He looks at you with a huff and a frown that is far too sweet for the situation at hand.

"I'm stupid," he pouts. "Pea brain. You're the one with a big brain. You should tell me to stop doing pea brain things."

"You wouldn't listen to me even if I did," you smile fondly as you walk towards him - 'cause even if it looks like he's admitting defeat, you don't trust him yet. His cock is too hard to be making sensible choices.

Coming to a stop between his legs, you don't stop Jeongguk when his large hands stroke up the backs of your thighs. Your own hands are toying with his hair. It's all very amorous; affectionate despite the allure.

"You don't know that," he whispers, still. Cupping his strong jaw, you tilt his head upwards. Your hair is still up from earlier, and he regrets it now. Always loves it when your hair tumbles around his face. Likes being consumed by the entity of you. The scent of your shampoo, the softness of your well-conditioned hair. Heaven.

"You made a bad decision this morning," you remind him. "Would have done it even if I told you it was a bad decision."

Regretfully, Jeongguk thinks this is true. That instant gratification of his ' Daddy' stunt made it worth it.

Worth it at the time, at least.

He's not so sure, now.

Sinking to your knees, your hands stroke up his thighs. Jeongguk looks down at you, tongue wetting his lips. There's a change in his breathing. Anticipation.

"You know," you say quietly, making sure no sound travels at all. You're not looking to get kicked out of Jeongguk's house within an hour of being invited in. Looking directly at his hard crotch as your hands squeeze his thighs, you simper. "I really thought you were gonna take charge this morning. Thought you were gonna get me where you wanted me."

"Yeah?" he husks, pulling on his shirt, releasing it from the belt around his waist. Lifts it a little. Gets his abs out. Is doing shit he knows will make you salivate. One of your hands follows his encouragement and pushes up his chest. Hard beneath your warm hand, his body really is a gift from the gods.

"Yeah," you tease.

"What did you think, huh?" He says, his hand cupping your cheek to raise your gaze to his. It'd embarrass you, if it were anyone else; but for some reason, you don't mind worshipping Jeongguk unabashedly. Are on your knees like his body is your alter. Whisper words of sin like you're in a confessional. Pray that you'll never have to give this up. Religion is wasted on you, and Jeongguk is a false God, but you've never felt more holy than when you're committing cardinal sins with him. "Where was I gonna get you?"

Smiling in that coy way you so often do whenever he gets you a little vocal, your eyes rake back down his body.

"Right here," you shrug. Give him those eyes; the ones that make Jeongguk think he's seeing fucking stars. Smirk, before you say, "thought you were gonna get your cock in my mouth."

"Shit," he curses as you press down over the hard ridge in his pants. He's always so pleased to see you - especially like this. "You want that, huh? Wanna suck on it?"

Nodding, you bite on the lip, sin written in the constellations Jeongguk's gazing at. "Wanna make you feel good, Koo."

If Jeongguk doesn't get his cock in your mouth within the next minute, he's pretty sure he'll die. Has wanted it for weeks. Months . Wants you in any capacity he can get you, granted, but there are few things in life better than a good blow job. Good pussy, is, admittedly one of those things, but he already knows you have that. Thinks your mouth must be just as good.

His hands drop to his belt. Metal clangs as he races to get it undone. You let him. Don't stop. Watch on with sated pleasure as he hurries. Undoes his buttons, and then his zipper is down, too. His Calvins are on display. There's a teeny tiny damp mark showing through; evidence of how badly he wants you. "We don't have long. Be quick, B. Gonna nut so fuckin' fast."

Smirking, there's something so painfully endearing about how needy Jeongguk is as he untucks himself from his boxers. Thick and firm, his cock is just as pretty as it always is whenever he's desperate for you. The little bead of precum pooling at his tip is begging for your tongue, the freckle on his shaft deserving of a pretty little kiss.

And then you pull back. Look at his pretty, needy face and raise a brow. Poor baby .

"Said I wanna make you feel good," you smirk. "Not that I will."

You get to your feet. Walk away. Giggle to yourself as Jeongguk fucking whines as quietly as he can. Needs that door closed. Needs you to know that this balling is gonna kill him off. Head thrown back, cock in his hand, he's gonna fucking die .

"B," he growls a little, faux sobs echoing from his throat.

"What?" You smile. He looks like a fucking state, desire taking hold of the way he's staring you out, chest heaving a little bit. And then, to add insult to injury, you remember to 'address him properly'. "Something wrong, Daddy ?"

His face bunches up. Regret embeds itself into the lines on his face. He whines. "You're so mean, Disco Ball."

He's cute. Really fucking cute.

It makes you feel bad.

And fuck, you want him.

Seeing him like this gets you all sorts of fucked up - but he deserves it.

He watches you cautiously as you walk a little closer.

You crouch between his legs this time, instead of getting down on your knees. Replace his hand with yours. Have missed how it feels to have him in your grip.

Eyes on his, you watch as his chest begins to beat a little fast. His lips are ajar. Eyes forlorn, he's desperate . His cock twitches in your hand, so you tighten your fingers. A hushed moan lets you know he likes this. Likes every fucking thing about it.

Licking your lips, you position yourself a little better. Glance down. Think it's a miracle you haven't given him head yet. Have never wanted to choke on a cock more - cause what are friends for, if not that?

"I'm not mean," you whisper. You drag your wet tongue across the tiny slit that is fucking oozing for you. It takes everything in you not to give into what you want. "I'm so nice to you, Koo."

You've got a point to prove, though. Ease your grip. Stand. Replace the now empty space in your hand with his chin between your thumb and index finger, grasping onto it as you tilt him upwards.

You hold your tongue out, encouraging him to do the same - and without even a second fucking thought, he does it.

Eyes wide, Jeongguk wants this. Want you. Wants your tongue on his.

And what Jeongguk wants?

Well, eventually , he always gets it.

Your tongue swipes against his; traces of his own precum sinking onto his tongue, masking the taste of you.

He wants more.

Wants you to do it again. Wants to taste you. Wants you to sit on his lap, tongue in his mouth. Wants to be too fucking busy with his lips to remember how to breathe.

And, like always, he will get it - just not now.

Eventually, yes.

Immediately, no.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me one day, B," he whines as you walk away from him again.

"Good," you smile, talking at full volume now. Playtime is over.

You do, however, take off your shirt, and let him watch. All he can see is your back, but even that drives him insane. He can't remember the last time he was this worked up without any indication of a release. He's been horny all fucking day.

Pulling a fresh shirt over your head, you're a little sad to see he's tucked himself away when you turn around again.

"Go get ready," you say fondly. "We don't have long."

Jeongguk is pouting. A crease between his brows, he looks hard done by.

" So mean."

His stroppy demeanour makes you laugh. It's so classically him. A Ggukism, if you ever did see one.

"That's what you get for making me call you Daddy," you say quietly. Find it funny how much of a baby he's being - and consider that maybe he's the one that is better suited to the nickname.

He whines again. Louder this time. You glance to the door. Make sure you're still without disturbance.

You want to call him baby.

Just because it works, and it's funny, and - fuck it - maybe it'd be nice.

But it would also be a step too far, you think.

"Shush," you say affectionately, not accenting your command with 'baby' like you really want to. Instead, you walk over to him and cover his mouth with your palm. "What if someone hears you whining, huh? I don't wanna have to tell your mum you've just been tasting your own cum in your brother's bedroom, do you?"

"You're so fucked up," he wails, feeling incredibly hard done by. He needs to learn how to resist you. Never wants to have to endure this again.

"We're so fucked up," you correct. "I wouldn't be so mean to anyone else - but you deserved it."

He can't even argue against it. He knows that this is a product of his own creation.

"Go, get yourself sorted out," you encourage him along. "We don't have long."

He nods. Sighs. Gets to his feet, and does his trousers back up. Is convinced he'll die before your trip to Busan finishes if this is the game you're playing.

Leaving you to get ready (and to let his raging boner die, even if he won't) Jeongguk returns within 15 minutes. He's nonchalant, as if what happened the last time he was in the room was simply a fragment of your own imagination.

You're sitting by the floor-length mirror (which is, of course, adorned in Lotte Giants memorabilia), doing your makeup. Hair claw-clipped now, Jeongguk is a little sad to see your space buns go, but understands why. You seem to be a little more demure than usual.

He nudges his knee against your back, gentle in how he touches you, your body swaying ever so slightly.

"Don't," you smile, pulling the liquid glitter away from your face. "I'll get it in my eye."

There's an innuendo to be made there, but Jeongguk knows better. Just smirks. Plonks himself down next to you; cross-legged, knees up, arms hugging around them. He looks like a condensed version of himself like this, sitting as close to you as he possibly can just so he can see himself in the mirror.

"Little disco ball," he says fondly, watching you dab the glitter onto the inner corners of your eyes. It's not something he often calls you these days, but there's something about hearing the name now that makes you smile.

"Strange, isn't it?" You muse. "This time last year I was just disco-ballin' in your club. Didn't even know your name."

He nods. Smiles. "And now you're in my brother's bedroom turning yourself into a disco ball."

"Funny little lives, we live," you muse fondly. How far you've both come. If it wasn't for the glitter, you don't think you'd recognise yourself.

"Would you have ever predicted it?" he asks. Knows he was intrigued by you from the very moment he first saw you. Has no idea what you thought of him. Wonders if you had 'what if' thoughts about him. Who he was. Who he could be. What you could become. "That you'd end up here?"

"Honestly? Sorta wanted to curl up and die after you found me in your living room."

The memories are a little hazy, but you still remember the look on Jeongguk's sleepy face in the early morning sun that was intruding on his living room at the time.

Jeongguk nods. Smiles. Remembers it far better than you do. "Yeah, wasn't your finest hour."

You turn to look at him, chin resting on your shoulder. There's a glow about you now that Jeongguk can't seem to get enough of. Wants to drink you in like purple starfuckers at 2am in the heat of full-capacity Dionysus nights.

"I mean, I don't know," you say with a small shrug. "How often do you become friends with your punters?"

"Not often," he admits. "How often do you become friends with your bartenders?"

You're coy as you smile. "Not often."

Not ever, actually.

Yeonjun doesn't count - you've never spent any time with him sober, even if you do always enjoy seeing him behind the bar. Even then, it doesn't compare to the way you seem to light up whenever Jeongguk is serving your drinks.

Jeongguk's the first. The only.

Taking the liquid glitter from your hands, Jeongguk scoots a little closer. Gets more product on the wand, and sets the tube down beside him. Pinches your chin between his index finger and thumb.

There's no opposition from you; just a silent acceptance of Jeongguk dictating your movements. Lips parting as he draws a little closer, there's apprehension to the way your eyes flicker between his own pair and his lips.

Jeongguk is pleased, but tries not to let it show. Fights his smile. Battles the inner voices telling him that kissing you would be a good idea.

Breath hitched as his dark eyes survey your face, you're regretful of the way your body responds to him. Friendship tainted by desire; a natural by-product of fucking someone you really care about, you think.

It's no secret that you adore each other, but doesn't everyone feel so fondly about their best friends?

He's slow as he dabs the end of the wand against your cheek, following around the curve of your eye socket. Jeongguk always thinks you look so pretty when you highlight yourself with glitter there. It catches the light so easily that he always notices it. Might have even been the first glitter of yours that he notices in the dreary lights of Dionysus, the hedonistic haze of neon lights and dark shadows creating the disco ball effect he likes so much.

"There," he says quietly as he finishes evening it out. "Pretty little star."

"Careful," you say back just as quietly. "You'll give me an ego."

"Just returning the favour," he jokes, screwing the wand back into the tube, his hands working quickly. "The Daddy thing really did a number on my ego this morning."

Rolling your sparkly eyes, you gently push him away.

"Fuck off, Jeon," you playfully reprimand him for mentioning it again, getting to your feet. Smoothing out your clothes as you check yourself over in the mirror, you're pleased to see that Jeongguk has applied your glitter just the way you like it. Dabbing it out slightly, your heart swells a little with how attentive he is.

Still sitting exactly where he was, Jeongguk strokes up the inside of your leg. It's all very innocent. Just touching you 'cause he likes the comfort that comes with it. You're in sheer tights, there's a softness to them that Jeongguk likes. He tries to forget the garter belt you were holding earlier. Doesn't think you'd wear it out for dinner with his parents.

He's right.

No matter how hot it might be working him up in public, you're not about to go and do it in front of his parents . You have some morals at least, even if Jeongguk does make you momentarily forget about them from time to time.

Reaching down, you scratch his hair a little, just behind his ear. Eyes closed, he leans into your touch like a little puppy dog. So docile and devoted. Cute.

"C'mon," you encourage him, but remain fixed in position. Head versus heart. Wanna stay right where you are in the cocoon of Jeongguk's family home with him, but know you have places to be. "Shouldn't keep your mum waiting."

He nods, head resting against your leg. Sighs. "Yeah. You're right. Let's go."

You offer him a hand up, of which he gladly takes. Checks himself over in the mirror. Is still wearing the outfit he drove in. Considered changing, but he's aware of the way the girls at the service station were ogling him earlier. Knows the outfit probably has something to do with it.

He doesn't mention the change of your outfit; the fact that you're wearing a white shirt too, now. It's tucked into a little black skirt, he's certain you're probably gonna wear those slightly worn out Converse of yours - and he intends on doing the exact same.

"C'mon, kids!" Jeongguk's mum calls up the corridor, echoing your thoughts about needing to leave.

It's nice, you think, to be grouped with Jeongguk in such a way. Makes you feel like this is the way it's always been. Doesn't matter if you're in your twenties, and Jeongguk's mum met you an hour ago. There's an acceptance of you; of your place in her son's life.

He glances over at you, scrunching his nose a little. Is a little awkward. Likes the idea of you being part of his life since childhood. Is sad it'll never be the case.

"You heard her. Let's go."

Ushering you back down the hallway, a hand on top of your shoulder, thumb rubbing the nape of your neck, there's a casual intimacy to the way Jeongguk always finds an excuse to touch you.

It's not scary, nor daunting in the way that you always deem intimacy to be, but it is something . Gets you feeling a little flustered. Has you wriggling out of his grip with a laugh, as if he was tickling you.

"Stop annoying the poor girl," his mother scolds fondly as you come into her line of vision, which just simply earns another protest from Jeongguk.

"She's the annoying one."

You scoff. "That's rich coming from you."

It's all in good humour, and his mother appreciates this. Likes seeing Jeongguk goof around, especially knowing how stressed he's been lately. Has barely called. Missed his father's birthday to study.

All she wants is for her children to live happy, fulfilled lives, and if there's one thing to be noted about Jeongguk's current demeanour, it's that he's undoubtedly happy.

Whether or not that has anything to do with you, she doesn't know - but she wasn't born yesterday. His desire to visit home is understandable after the pressure of his studies. He needs rest - and somehow, he factors you into that rest.

Of her two children, Jeongguk's always been the more introverted one. He needs his time to recharge. Would be the life and soul of the party at school, then come home and remain silent until dinner time.

For a few years, it bothered her. Thought that maybe Jeongguk was unhappy at home - but it was quite the opposite. It's his safe space.

And now he's bringing you into it.

"Is the room okay?" she asks you, knowing that the sheer amount of baseball memorabilia in Jeongmin's room is... a lot to take in. "Interior decoration was always more of Jeongguk's speciality. Had Jimin to give him pointers. Jeongmin... Well, he had an acquired taste... As you've probably already gathered."

Laughing a little, you nod. "It's grand. Thank you for letting me stay. I really appreciate it - and I grew up with a Lions-loving Dad. I'm used to it."

"Ohh," his mother winces, then addresses Jeongguk. "Keep this one away from Jeongmin."

You also turn behind you now, raising a brow. He's just rolling his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

"Samsung Lions - and their fans - are the scum of the earth in Jeongmin's eyes," he explains, then looks over to his mum. "Is he coming to dinner? Do we need to sit them at opposite ends of the table?"

Shaking her head, she laughs. "No, he's got plans, apparently. I did tell him you were visiting, but you know what he's like."

Jeongguk just sort of accepts this answer. Nods. Shrugs his shoulders, as if it's to be expected. An air of disappointment clouds around Jeongguk, lips pursed, eyes stern.

He and his brother are cut from the same cloth, but have been sewn together with different stitches. For all their similarities, they have stark differences, too. This one has always been the most challenging for Jeongguk; how little his brother seems to care about maintaining a good relationship.

Jeongmin seems to think their status as brothers is enough to keep the bond strong. Doesn't seem to care about fostering an actual friendship with him.

It's part of the reason why Jeongguk is so reluctant to let go of friendships that no longer serve him. They're filling a void. He never wants to be the one who gives up. Doesn't wanna be the reason things fall apart.

"Alright," Jeongguk's mother smiles at you both. "Ready to go?"

It surprises you that she's the one driving to dinner instead of Jeongguk - but it makes sense, given the fact you and Jeongguk will stay in the area afterwards.

She insists that you sit up front, even if all forms of hierarchy would dictate that Jeongguk should be there instead. He doesn't complain. Sort of likes how you and his mum are ganging up on him like a little team.

When you arrive at the samgyeopsal place, his father is already waiting.

He's everything you expect him to be: funny, a little dramatic, and the spitting image of Jeongguk, just with a few more grey hairs and even deeper creases beneath his eyes. Introduces himself with as much gusto as a cartoon character; full of life and pleased to have another person to relay all of Minhyuk's misdemeanours to.

You learn more about the Busan Driving Range circuit than you ever could have predicted - specifically about Minhyuk, the legitimacy of his 'bargain' driver, and how Jeongguk's father is convinced he's been tampering with his balls.

Jeongguk chokes on his drink when his dad mentions that last point. Earns himself a talking to for thinking with such a dirty mind - but after a few drinks, his parents are giggling about it, too.

There's something incredibly easy about being around Jeongguk's parents. It's no wonder he's grown into the person he is.

You feel a little shy. Don't understand the in-jokes at first - but someone always explains them to you. Normally Jeongguk, but sometimes his mother. Never his father, 'cause he'll go on a twenty minute long tangent explaining the lore and the back story. They've learnt this the hard way.

Still, he's a dab hand when it comes to grilling the meat. Takes charge of it all. Plates his wife up first, always. You second, Jeongguk third, and then himself. Head of the house, he takes his place in the hierarchy seriously, but not at the expense of the ones he loves. Will make sure they're provided for first.

Jeongguk is much the same. In charge of refilling the soju and beer, he'll pour for his father first, then mother, then you. Puts the bottle down before he fills his own, which is when you step up and fill his glass. He'll nudge with you his knee beneath the table to make you wobble, but never enough to make you spill it.

Subscribing to drinking norms is something that you never really do with Jeongguk. He's a bartender, after all. Things are always a little unconventional. He's normally the one making you drinks and sorting himself out, too.

Something about this feels incredibly domesticated. Natural. Pleasant.

By the time dinner is done, Jeongguk's parents have to order a taxi. Had a little too much to drink- but you're bloody glad for it. Made it a lot easier for you.

"Your parents are fun," you beam, walking down the promenade of Gwangalli with Jeongguk. It's your favourite of all the busy beaches in the city, but you rarely ever get the chance to see it after dark. There'll be a drone show, soon. You've definitely never seen that. Can't wait for it.

"They sure are something," he laughs, a little embarrassed. They have big personalities, which he's glad of, but he knows they can be a bit much sometimes. "Dad drinks well, so we probably had a bit more than we should have done. Sorry."

Shaking your head, you don't mind in the slightest. Are at that giddy stage of drinking, where everything seems marvellous, and bad decisions cosplay as good choices.

"Are you forgetting how we met? I don't mind having one too many, Gguk."

"True," he agrees, checking the time on his phone. Still a good half an hour before the small show. It's just a free thing that the city council puts on every night, not a huge deal to him anymore, but he understands why people romanticise it. Knows that you have to see it.

Tugging on your hand, Jeongguk checks the road before he crosses, dragging you along with him.

"Hm?" You squeak, taken by surprise. A little tipsy, your reflexes aren't as fast as usual, just like tipsy Jeongguk isn't as good at voicing his thought processes as sober Jeongguk usually is.

"Photos," he simply states, leading you into a small retail unit that houses only photo booths.

It's the standard set-up: wall partitions between self-timer camera units, and curtains instead of doors to the small spaces. Each booth has a different colour background, adding to their own individual charms. The walls of the entryway are lined in discarded pictures; friendship groups, couples, first dates, anniversaries, birthdays. Life events, big and small. Moments of time captured to last forever.

Accessories and props are abundant in the entry area - hats, glasses, wigs, signs. Your favourites are always the headbands. Kitty ears, normally, though sometimes you branch out into bunny ears if you're feeling fancy.

There are five booths in total along the back wall, but one in particular grabs your attention: the one advertising Sanrio-themed frames instead of the standard solid colour outline.

"Oh my god," you gasp, and then it's Jeongguk's turn to squeak with confusion. You point to it. Specifically, to the My Melody and Kuromi figures by the bottom of the ad. "It's us."

He smiles. Doesn't really understand your hyper fixation. Agrees nonetheless. "It is us."

The pair of you goof around, picking props. Jeongguk learns that you find him in any sort of animal ears absolutely hilarious, but the second he puts on a yacht captain's hat?

"Take that off right this second," you tell him, voice stern, eyes wide.

He's bemused. Snorts a little. Teeth on show, he's dangerously pretty. So handsome and yet such a little shit. "Why? Like it?"

You turn your nose up. "Hate it."

"I know you're lying," he laughs. Tilts it down. "Is this getting you all hot, B?"

"I'm leaving," you say, because it's so much easier than saying yes.

Something about him in a white shirt, with that hat? White with a navy peak, gold embroidery on the sides? God, you see why the old money girlies like boatmen so much. Decide that you're never getting on a boat with Jeongguk if you want to retain your sanity.

He takes it off. You don't even realise it, but you pout.

"You're so confusing, Byeol," he says as he playfully puts it on your head - and then he's feeling all fucked up too.

Something about a captain's hat. Just really does the trick.

You've both had too much to drink. There's no reason for you both to be getting flustered because of a stupid hat and yet -

"I don't think we should ever touch hats again," Jeongguk says very quickly.

But then you put a pair of kitty ears on and he starts questioning whether or not furries are actually kinda onto something.

He furrows his brows. Picks up a pair of ears. Bunny ones. Black. They're satin and a little too sexy, he thinks, but he's gotta see himself in them.

And when he does?

He kinda gets why girls dress up like cute animals for fancy dress parties. Doesn't wanna blow his own trumpet - but shit. He does look cute.

"Oh my god, YES," you exclaim when you clock his new attire, and quite literally drag him to the booth. He gets no say in the matter, and honestly doesn't care. Is having too much fun with you to take any of this seriously.

You pick the Sanrio framed booth, because of course you do. Jeongguk pops his card in the slot, and lets you click through on the options that you want - 4cut, vertical frame. The classic style. Your favourite.

Turning to Jeongguk, you tweak his glasses a little. Can't decide if they look better hiked up, or further down his perfectly sloped nose.

All Jeongguk can think about is your nose, and much he wants to nudge his up against yours.

And so he does just that.

Doesn't give a fuck.

The camera flashes.

You're caught, forevermore, in your state of Jeongguk-induced hypnosis. The pictures will survive beyond you. Will be stored in boxes to be looked at once, maybe twice by future generations.

One day, no one will know the name of you nor the boy you're with. They won't know how the scent of his aftershave lingers, nor the way your soft exhale of air sounds as you smile. Your present will be lost to history, this photograph? Your legacy.

Nothing will be known of you, and yet this picture alone will tell them everything they need to know.

"We're gonna waste shots," you whisper. The booth takes six photos, but you'll only be allowed to choose four for the printed picture at the end.

The more to choose from, the better.

"So?" Jeongguk smirks. Holds your neck just beneath your jaw. Strokes across your cheek with his thumb. Looks at you with sparkly eyes and a boyish smile that is just begging to be kissed. "Don't you wanna see what it looks like when we kiss?"

"It's intimate," you remind him.

"Maybe - but it's also fun," he reminds you.

The camera flashes again. That's two shots wasted, now.

If you let this carry on, it'll be three, and then one of them will have to be used in the final print.

And yet as Jeongguk nudges against your nose a little deeper, you let him.

When his lips ghost yours, you let him.

When his lips press down, you let him.

You'll let the third photo be taken, because you'll be too busy kissing him back to pay attention.

The fourth, too.

Lips on yours, Jeongguk kisses you in a way that he hasn't done before. It's delicate, and gentle, but his lips are strong. Intentional. There's no intrusion of tongue, no fervent need to get you moaning, even though it feels like you will regardless.

Your brain screams at you. Something about rules, and breaking them.

You ignore it.

'Cause all you can think about is the way this feels.

You don't think you've ever had a kiss like it.

And it's terrifying.

It's not until the fifth shot flashes that you both pull away; smiles smitten, eyes glossy. Both of you felt that. Ain't no way he couldn't have.

You think that maybe that's even more terrifying.

And so for the sixth shot?

Both of you pretend to throw up, disgust plaguing your giggly smiles and blushed cheeks.

There's distance between you, but as soon as the camera flashes, Jeongguk is pulling you back to his side again. It's just so that you're both ready to look through the pictures that are about to pop up on the little touchscreen. He's being helpful. Glances down at you, and has to stop himself from pressing a kiss into your hair.

Things are just so easy with you.

As soon as the pictures load, you're laughing. "We have to retake these."

"No, no, no," he swats your hand away, then taps on one of the photos, adding it to the preview frame. "My jaw looks really good in this one."

It's shot number four. Mid kiss. His hands on your cheeks, yours out of frame because they were on his waist. His jaw really does look fantastic - but it's sort of devastating when you realise just how happy he looks. He's smiling into the kiss. The most devastating thing of all?

So are you.

"How is that even us," you giggle. Seems so bizarre to see yourself like this.

"Gross isn't it," he smiles, adding more of the pictures to the frame, but you're the one correcting him now, tapping his hand to move him out of your way.

"We need them in order," you say. "A chain of events."

Eventually, the order is settled: the nudging of noses, the innocence of a kiss with the sin of Jeongguk's sharp jaw, the slightly startled look in both of your eyes as you'd pulled away, and then, of course, both of you pretending to vomit.

As they print, you pick out props for the next set of photos - Jeongguk in a pair of purple heart-shaped glasses and a Kuromi headband, you in that damn sailor's hat - and discuss which poses to actually do. This time round, it's all peace signs and finger hearts; goofy angles too close to the camera and a little laughter to set the tone.

"C'mon," Jeongguk says softly as you finish sliding the pictures into the thin plastic sleeves next to the booths. He normally doesn't bother with them. Likes that you seem to care about preserving the integrity of your memories. Hand outstretched, he encourages you to take it.

"Your bird," he says. "Said we'd do it in Busan."

The look you give him is coy, eyes a little sultry, lips a little pouty.

When you're silent, Jeongguk laughs. "Hold my hand, B."

"Getting a little date-like, don't you think?" You say of the night, but Jeongguk just shrugs.

"So? We'll just call it practise."

"Mhhm," he nods, shaking his hand a little because you still haven't held it. He's impatient. It's only as you take his hand that he begins talking again. "You don't wanna go back into the dating world unprepared. What if Mr Mechanical Engineer tries to hold your hand without you being ready for it?" He squeezes your hand, leading you out the door. "Let's get you used to it."

The mention of Seojoon makes you feel guilty. About him? About Jeongguk? You're not sure. It's something you need to figure out. Something you need to figure out fast .

And yet as Jeongguk holds both yours and his shoes in one hand, your hand firmly secured in the other, you choose not to think about it.

Just think of the sand, and how it will be a bitch to get out of your tights. It's sort of like your glitter, in a way.

But just like Jeongguk wouldn't trade your glitter for anything, you wouldn't trade this moment for anything either.

Neither of you say much. Just listen to the waves rolling in. Listen to other people's conversations. Listen to the whir of the drones as they start up and get into position. The show begins. Won't last longer than ten minutes. The silence is comfortable.

He holds your hand, and you move them to your lap in a bid to keep them warm.

Jeongguk isn't really feeling the cold. His heart is simply burning too brightly.

"I'm really glad you're here," he says as the show draws to a close.

"Me too," you whisper back fondly. "It must be nice to be home."

"Well, you know they say," he muses. "Home is where the heart is, and all that."

Been at home for months, B.

You breathe through your nose, exhaling a sincere smile. Could say a million things. Could say nothing at all. Could ask what he means, but you're taking it at face value. Genuinely think he's just happy to be home.

"We should visit more often," you suggest.

"I'd like that," he nods as he squeezes your hand. "You wanna go explore the night markets?"

Grinning, you get to your feet immediately. "Thought you'd never ask."

Jeongguk leads the way. Shows you his old haunts. Gets you hotteok from his favourite stand down by the promenade. Shows you the arcade machine he once spunked away 50,000 won on and didn't even win a prize. Shows you the initials he and Jimin caved into a pavement curb fourteen years ago. Took them hours. Both got blisters. Worth it though. They're embedded in the city, forevermore.

He takes you down memory lane, and you find it's your favourite street to visit with Jeongguk. You love his history; learning what shaped him. Who shaped him. Where.

Not once does Jeongguk let go of your hand.

Not down the markets, not along the beach, not in the taxi home, even when he doses off for a moment, head resting on your shoulder.

Not once. Not until you're both home, and he's saying goodnight outside of his brother's bedroom door. He's still toying with your fingers. Isn't even gonna suggest the idea of doing things you know you shouldn't.

Doesn't wanna taint the night.

In the morning, he'll blame all of his bad decisions on the alcohol. Will say he was tipsy, even though you stopped drinking hours ago.

He hugs you goodnight. Lingers a little too long. Too close. Nudges his nose against yours. Brushes his thumb against your cheek.

"This..." he whispers. "This is what it should be like."

His jaw tenses. He holds himself back from pressing his lips against yours like he so desperately wants to. Knows he's already said too much. Pulls himself away from you, to press a kiss against your forehead.

His lip ring is so hard, and his lips so soft, that it makes you feel all sorts of fucked up.

The most fucked up thing of all?

How badly you want his lips on yours.

But then he fucking walks away .

Closes his door. Shuts you out.

The evening had been so simple. So straightforward. Casual. Nothing confusing in the slightest. You were happy. So was he.

And yet as you lie in bed, all that rattles around in your head for hours on end is the question: what the fuck is happening to us?

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[ramayantika]

Bade farewell to the Hero

It’s the onset of dawn. The dark night sky transforms into a beautiful shade of cotton white, colored with various hues of purple, blue, and pink. The sun, as usual, is slowly rising on the banks of the dark Yamuna, but today, her ethereal black waters carry a silent grief of her own as well as of the town of Vrindavan.

As beautiful as the dark night sky, lotus eyes as deep as the Yamuna waters, there sleeps the young beloved lad of Vrindavan, Krishna on the lap of the moon-like beauty of the town of Vrinda, Shri Radha.

“Have you taken your flute, Kanha?” Her soft voice, no more than a whisper, causes the young boy’s eyes to open in sudden remembrance.

Radha sighs with a small smile on her lips. Her nimble fingers bring out the familiar bamboo flute decorated with a peacock feather and pearls from her waistband. Her fingers reverently touch the flute for one last time. Radha’s kohl-rimmed eyes flutter close, as her fingers close upon each of the seven holes of the flute. There is no music playing anywhere nearby, but only her heart hears the heart-wrenching tunes of separation.

Krishna’s fingers tremble while holding the flute as realization sets in. The moment the chariot wheels cross the boundaries of Vrindavan, his flute would eternally go to sleep. The city of Mathura has no loving gopikas, adorable cows, and young boys with him to play the flute all day.

“Being a simple cowherd is not your destiny, Krishna.” Radha tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As she looks at the tear-laden eyes of her beloved, she steels her breaking heart, her sorrowful eyes now staring at him like a powerful queen going on a battle.

“Your existence is meant for great things. You are to live your life like a king.” She points at the crowd assembled at Chief Nanda’s house, a grand cottage that looks tiny from the heart of the forest where they are in. “You have saved us and this town countless times. The world needs you. You are to be a savior for the whole world. For the whole Yuga.”

Krishna gulps his tears down his throat, which now burns like the fire of separation burning his heart. As a lone tear skids down his cheek, Radha’s voice grows bolder, and for a moment he wonders, how much strength does she silently possess in her being.

“Choose the path that leads you to your destiny, towards your dharma.”

Radha stands up. The golden rays of the morning sun fall on her gentle face coating her fair skin with a powerful glow. Krishna stands in awe of the splendor that adorns her face. Goddess. That’s what she is. That’s what she has been.

“You are the rising sun of Dwapar.” She holds Krishna’s hand and entwines her fingers with his. Walking towards the narrow forest path, Krishna observes Radha’s gait. She always walked with a swan-like grace combined with a little shyness on her face each time she entered the forest to meet him. Today, she walks with her chin raised, her eyes fixated on the path ahead that shall lead them both away from their love-filled carefree times forever.

Within moments, they reach Akrura’s chariot. Radha knows that Krishna hasn’t spoken a single word to her. She knows that he won't be able to do so, nor does she have the capacity to hear his enchanting voice when he is on the verge of departure.

The whole crowd looks at their hero. Krishna looks at the tear-stricken face of his parents. He hears the loud sobs of his lovely gopikas who pampered him with butter and milk sweets. His eyes gaze over the grim faces of his childhood friends. The cows of Vrindavan stare at him, sadness clouding their eyes, but those poor creatures can’t speak a word.

Gulping the last of his tears that clog his burning throat, he steps onto the carriage. Radha smiles. Krishna’s eyes meet her once again and she keeps on smiling.

It will get easier to leave, Kanhaiya. Baby steps.

Radha takes four steps towards the chariot. Handing over Krishna’s flute to him, she slowly moves back, her eyes fixed to the ground. The crowd goes silent. The sobbing gopikas cease crying and keep looking at the scene ahead.

Radha folds her hands and bows her head to Krishna. His heart cracks open at the gesture. He bows down to her all humbled.

“You may leave now. We wish you well on the journey ahead. Make us all proud!”

Radha then takes her position beside Yashoda who is on the verge of losing her consciousness. Nanda holds her shoulders, in case she falls to the ground in grief, but only Radha sees how his fingers shakily rest on his wife’s shoulders.

All this while, not a word had escaped Krishna’s lips. The hero must always promise a return to his loved ones.

“My beloved Vrindavan people, fret not. This separation is only momentary. I shall come back soon to tell you all about Mathura. There’s no escape from my pranks. Go, rest for a while before your loved prankster comes back.”

Radha’s vision goes blurry. Her dark beloved appears to go far from her.

“Such a mischievous liar you are O Shyam…”

The sun is soon to rise for Dwapar, but for Vrindavan, the sun has gone to sleep forever.

***

I am sorry :(

This was a dance idea but I decided to write a fic on this and then choreograph the abhinaya. I have cried while practicing this out too. Let's share tears??

Oh, yes I do love showing Krishna in mortal shades with grief, confusion and dilemma clouding him sometimes too. :)

Tagging: @kaaga-re @ma-douce-souffrance (I AM SORRY SAANJH) @swayamev @krishna-priyatama @krishna-sangini @krishnaaradhika @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @arachneofthoughts @eugenephosgene @jessbeinme15 @stardustkrishnaverse @krsnaradhika @vijayasena @alhad-si-simran @pulihora @nyxie23 @houseofbreadpakoda @yourfavanxioussunshine @aesthetic-aryavartik @starlitskies0 @navaratna @flowerheadkiller @celestesinsight @kaal-naagin

Oh, and I have written for krishna after a loooong time

[nebulablakemurphy]

Total Eclipse Of The Heart (Part 13)

Summary: Jacob Black, alpha of his pack, would never fall in love with a bloodsucker, much less imprint on one. The problem is that Y/N Swan was human…until she wasn’t anymore.

Series Masterlist

Jacob is out the door of Billy’s without a word. Preparing to run, as fast and far as his legs will carry him.

“Jacob,” Y/N trails after him.

“Go back inside, honey.”

“Please,” Y/N tries again, “don’t go.”

Jacob sighs, his feet firmly planted by the imprint and her hold on him.

Y/N closes the distance between them. Content in the safety of his arms, his warmth. “I’m sorry. I need you.”

He rests his heated cheek atop her head. “I’m here.” The wolf inside of him begs to be released. It feels wrong to stand on two legs when he wants to run.

“I can talk to Carlisle, see what he can do if you don’t want to…” Y/N forces the words past her lips, “do this right now.”

Jacob shutters, fighting the intense urge to phase. “No.”

“Then what do you want?”

“We are going to talk to Carlisle and figure out how to make this safe for you and our baby.” Jacob murmurs, “we’re gonna read baby books and choose a name. Set up a nursery and hang your dreamcatcher over the crib. This is ours, Y/N. Our kid, our family. The rest of it doesn’t matter.”

Y/N nods against his shoulder.

Jacob slips a hand between them, resting on her lower belly, feeling the slight warmth of the life growing within.

“I like Jacob.”

“I would hope so, it’s a little late to change your mind.”

“I mean as a name.” Y/N smiles, “I like Jacob.”

He doesn’t feel like the type of person they should name their kid after. “I like Y/N.”

She huffs a laugh. “We should keep looking for baby names.”

“Whatever you want.” Jacob presses his lips to her hair.

————————————————————————-

Y/N and Jacob arrive at the Cullen’s door, to find them standing watch with worried faces. It’s late, Renesmee must be asleep, Edward and Bella must be in their cottage.

Jasper is there, he can feel the worry and despair and betrayal.

No one’s seen them in weeks, only catching up via call and text. It reminds Jacob of the night Y/N was bitten.

The door swings open and Carlisle doesn’t need to read minds to know what’s happening. Jacob is wearing the same expression as Edward returning from his honeymoon.

Esme makes her way to the entrance beside her husband, “what’s happened?”

“You said we were a family.” Y/N murmurs, unable to meet her eyes.

“We are.” Carlisle offers a gentle smile.

“We need our family.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Esme is beside Y/N in an instant, wrapping her up in a hug. “Come in.”

Y/N holds her, tightly. It feels good to hug someone besides Jacob, without the fear of hurting them.

Jasper inches closer as Y/N’s shoulders begin to shake, she doesn’t need tears to convey her devastation, it is palpable. He tries to soothe her, but there is so much pain. Centuries worth she couldn’t have acquired in only eighteen years.

She cries for Renee and the relationship they might have had. She cries for Jacob’s mother who lost her life too soon. She cries for Charlie and all the ways she has betrayed his trust. She cries for Billy and Sam and the pack. All the lives she’s lived and forgotten. It cuts deep like a knife and doesn’t stop twisting.

Emmett stands guard over her, watching as Alice and even Rosalie begin trying to comfort her.

“It’s going to be alright now, you have us.”

Carlisle stays back with Jacob, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Come on, son. She is well tended; we have much to discuss.”

Jacob scratches the back of his neck, “yeah, I guess we do.”

Carlisle closes the door of his office behind Jacob. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Jacob sits in the pristine white chair.

“The ability to create life with the one you love is not something all vampires or even humans possess.”

“Yeah I’m…we didn’t know if it would be possible.”

“I assume you want children.”

Jacob shifts uncomfortably, “we do.”

“Yet you both seem upset by the prospect.” Carlisle wants to understand.

“It was a wolf thing,” Jacob clears his throat. “We weren’t planning to start a family just yet, but it happened and we’re grateful. My only concern is making sure Y/N and our baby are safe until delivery.”

“You must realize this is unprecedented, even in our family. We have no way of knowing how the child will grow or for how long. Y/N will not be able to labor, that’s not the way our bodies work.” Carlisle explains. “We can design a birth plan, but as you saw with Bella, it is subject to change.”

“So how do you think…the baby will be able to-” get out.

“I say we try a vaginal delivery, puncturing through the cervix to the uterus.”

That sounds terrible. “Is that our only option?”

“It will cause the least amount of damage to Y/N’s body. Going through the abdomen is several additional layers-”

“We can fix it, right?” Like when Victoria tore off her arm.

“Of course.” Carlisle assures him. “Then, unless you plan on blessing us with a gaggle of grandchildren, I would advise you to start implementing safe sex practices.”

Jacob blanches. He didn’t say grand puppies or a litter. Carlisle Cullen referred to their child and any future children as his grandchildren. “I mean, I’d like a gaggle but it depends on Y/N. I want her to be happy and safe more than I want kids.”

Carlisle’s expression softens, “you’re a good man, Jacob. Your love for her is unconditional and we are proud to have the both of you in our lives. Truly.”

“Thank you,” Jacob mutters. “Never thought I’d be here of my own free will, but for a bunch of blood suckers, you’re not all that bad. Although Blondie did feed me a hot dog out of a dog bowl last week.”

“Progress.” Carlisle pats the younger man’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go join the others. It seems we have a guest.”

The guest in question is Paul Lahote. Standing a little too close to Y/N for Jacob’s liking.

“What are you doing here, Paul?” Jacob asks.

“I’m here to see my friend.”

“Here I am.” Jacob stocks up to him.

“Not you,” Paul scoffs, “Y/N.”

“Everything is fine, Paul.” Y/N tells him, crossing both arms over her chest.

“Now you’ve seen her,” Jacob steps in front of Y/N. He hates when he gets like this, lost in rage and possessive. He wants to rip Paul to shreds for even looking at Y/N. He hates it. He exhales harshly through his nose. Staving off the urge.

“Sam said you were upset,” Paul realizes that’s an understatement. “I wanted to check on you. You’re not alone in this. You have us.”

They have the Cullens and the pack…

————————————————————————-

Surprisingly enough, Charlie is overjoyed at the news. “Well, we have to leave Bella’s old room for Renesmee. I’ll clear out the office. I’m sure we can fit a crib in there.”

Y/N smiles. “I’m sure we can.”

“Do we know uh- boy or girl?” Charlie asks.

“It’s a surprise.” Jacob tells him.

“I’m thinking yellow for the walls then.”

“Sure,” Y/N agrees. Their child will have four rooms. One here, one at Billy’s, the Cullen’s and the Denali house that Carlisle has given them full rights to.

“You’re not gonna be picky about this, are ya?” Charlie narrows his eyes at Y/N.

She shakes her head. “I’m really glad you’re so into this.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.”

The nursery at Charlie’s place becomes their new project, a way to spend time together like they used to.

“Alright,” Charlie says, pulling out his camera. He never questions why the months have passed and Y/N’s belly hasn’t grown. He learned to stop asking with Renesmee, there are some things he doesn’t need to know. “Let’s take a picture of mom and dad.”

Mom and Dad.

Jacob wipes his paint stained hands down the front of his shorts, wrapping his arms around Y/N, with her hair tossed up on a messy bun. Streaks of yellow paint smeared across her skin.

The picture makes it into the baby book Jacob is hand crafting for their bundle of joy. Along with the monthly snapshots of Y/N’s pregnancy where no progress can be seen. “We can add their foot prints too.”

Y/N runs her finger along the edges, resting a hand on her unchanged belly. Feeling the child stir. “I found a name I like…”

Jacob grins, resting his hand over hers. “Tell me.”

“Rowan.” Y/N searches his eyes.

“I like Rowan.” Jake nods, “there’s a name I like too, but it’s…different.”

“I wanna hear it,” Y/N insists.

“The pack’s been giving me a hard time about it.” Jacob sinks his teeth into his bottom lip.

“Can’t be that bad.”

“It’s Indigo.”

“Indigo.” Y/N tries it on for size. “They’re not big fans? I think it’s cool, we could call her Indy.”

“They think the name is fine.” Jacob lifts a shoulder, “it’s the why they’re making fun of me for.”

“Why?”

“Your eyes,” Jacob admits, he’s down bad.

“You know,” Y/N leans forward, “sometimes I feel ridiculous for being so obsessed with you. Then you say stuff like that.”

Jacob huffs a laugh.

“And I feel alot less stupid about it.”

Chapter 14

Series Taglist: @vxidnik @remembered-license @itscheybaby @cole22ann @the-tryhard-twihard @zheezs14 @adaydreamaway08 @xcastawayherosx @moneteguiza @stinkii-boii @theatrechic26 @sylum @irrelevant-86

[starry-storms]

Bruce Wayne gets One Wish (tw Canon violence)

And he wishes that he made it in time.

He carries Jason away from an exploding building. He takes him home and nurses his wounds. The boy cries from the pain, from the fear, and the betrayal. Bruce holds him until he cries himself to sleep, then when Jason wakes up he holds him again.

Dick comes by to see if Jason is alright.

"I'm sorry," Bruce blurts out, determined to make it right this time, "I'm sorry that I took Robin from you. I shouldn't have."

Nightwing stares at him like he's grown a second head. "You've never apologized to me before."

"I hurt you," Bruce says, "And I'm sorry."

Dick doesn't forgive him immediately, but suddenly, Nightwing finds more excuses to be in Gotham.

Any free moment Bruce has he spends with Jason, doing everything with him he should have done before. He holds him and tells him how brave he is every day. Jason eventually decides on another superhero identity. When Batman returns to the field, it is with a little boy called Falcon.

Bruce knows about the Drakes. A few phone calls and a few greased palms and they're arrested for what they've done to Tim.

Now Tim is back in his home. He's younger than when Bruce originally met him, and he shows little interest in taking on Jason's position. Bruce makes sure to keep that curious mind of his entertained. He's happy to see that this version of Jason doesn't mind having a little brother in the house.

It isn't hard to track down Cluemaster'a daughter. It's even easier to adopt her. Stephanie is a lively child, and now his first daughter. She likes to play with Barbara often. Bruce keeps his secret identity from her until she is older.

Getting Damian from Talia is difficult, but he manages. Soon, he's putting his son in his crib. Damian is a bit of a fussy baby, which leads to some sleepless nights, but Bruce can't say he minds, especially when Damian holds onto his fingers. Dick has started visiting often. He hasn't taken back the mantle of Robin, but Bruce assures him it is his to pass down when he's ready. He assumes that the mantle will go to Damian when it's time, but that's for Dick to decide.

He regrets how long it takes him to find Cassandra again. When he does, her parents have already done some damage. She's not as quiet or reserved. Sometimes she even breaks things with Jason, Tim, and Stephanie by accident. He smiles every time they do. He still enrolls her in ballet.

He fails to save Duke's parents in spite of his best efforts. At least when Duke comes to the manor, it is to a house full of children who are all ready and willing to bring him into the family. Bruce is more than willing to lend an ear to him.

Sometimes, Jason still has nightmares. He comes to Bruce on these nights. Bruce promises to be there for him, no matter how old he gets. Tim eventually becomes a hero too, and Bruce introduces him to Bart and Kon. It takes some effort, but they become friends again. Stephanie trains, but takes less of an interest in heroics. She'll still come when needed, but she has a life to live. Cassandra laughs more often, and she gets a leading role in Swan Lake. She even joins some clubs at school. She decides to become a hero in her own time. Duke becomes the Signal just the same, but Bruce encourages him to lead his own path, whatever that may be. Duke goes to college, studying psychology. He still patrols and comes home on the weekends. Damian is now using water colors as he tells Bruce and Dick what he's learning in school.

Bruce Wayne gets one wish, and he decides to make it right.

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Don't Let Anything Happen To Her" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic (Part 2/2)

Here's part two like I promised. Same trigger warnings as the first part. There's no actual violence in here, just mentions and threats, but there is still the blood and serious injury warning. I apologize for the angst and thank you humbly for suffering through this with me

Link to part one and yes I know it's long but I don't know how to fix it:

https://www.tumblr.com/flowersandskeletons526/769796493559398400/dont-let-anything-happen-to-her-warriors?source=share

----------

Cleon, Ajax, and Swan burst through the front door within a second. There were no words. Cleon took Rembrandt from Mercy and ran up the stairs to the apartment, the other Warriors hot on her heels. Mercy got through the door last, looking on in horror as Cleon laid Rembrandt on the couch and rubbed her knuckles on her sternum in a desperate bid to wake her up.

Mercy didn’t even register that she had been tackled until Swan was pulling Ajax off of her. “What did you do?!” the enforcer bellowed. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“Ajax!” Rembrandt’s voice was weak and choked, but it carried. Ajax forgot about trying to kill Mercy and went to her side next to Cleon, taking her hand and holding tight as Swan helped Mercy to her feet.

“I’m here, baby,” she said, “I’m right here.”

“Mercy saved me. Don’t be mad at her. Please.”

Cleon was on her feet in full leader mode. “Mercy, go get the hand towels from the bathroom. Swan, get Cochise on the phone. Tell her Rembrandt’s hurt and I want her here right now!”

They jumped into action. Mercy grabbed the towels and knelt beside Ajax and Cleon. Cleon folded up one to press over the cut on Rembrandt’s head and handed the other to Ajax, pointing to the slash in Rembrandt’s side. “Hold it here,” she said, “and apply pressure. Rembrandt, honey, I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

Rembrandt screamed as Ajax pressed the towel over the wound. Ajax held her down gently, whispering reassurances to her until she stopped struggling. The momentary flight of pain and panic seemed to drain what little strength she had, and all she could do was stare at them blearily as they tried to keep her awake and talking. She kept looking back to Mercy.

“Cochise and Cowgirl are on their way,” Swan said behind them. 

“Great. Come here, hold this on her head to stop the bleeding.” Cleon stood and pulled Mercy away, forcing her to turn her back on the scene. Her voice came low and harsh. “What. Happened.”

Mercy couldn’t answer. She looked down at herself. She was covered in Rembrandt’s blood.

“Mercy!” Cleon snapped. “What the fuck happened!”

Mercy choked out, “They threw her off a fire escape.”

“What?!”

“We got jumped. There were so many of them-”

“Why didn’t you run!”

“We did! We tried! They had cars, they cut us off, I made Rembrandt go up the fire escape so I could get her out of the middle but one of them was already up there and he grabbed her and, and-” Her throat closed up as tears filled her eyes. “I tried to stop him, Cleon, but one of them grabbed my legs and I couldn’t get free until after he pushed her off so I-I-I… I stabbed him.”

“You had a knife?”

“I didn’t kill him. I wish I fucking did but I didn’t. I threw him down the stairs and threatened to cut his throat and that’s when they took off.”

Cleon took a deep breath and held it. She kept a stoic expression, but Mercy could see the terror and soul-crushing panic in her eyes as they flitted about, looking everywhere but at Mercy’s face. “Okay. Okay. Fuck!”

“Cleon, come here!” Ajax snapped. 

Cleon gave Mercy’s arm a quick squeeze before going to replace Swan next to Ajax. Swan stood at Mercy’s side, watching Cleon wipe away tears from Rembrandt’s blank face while Ajax rubbed her arm in an effort to keep her conscious. Mercy had never seen either of them so scared. She turned to Swan.

“Is she going to be okay?” she whispered. 

Swan wouldn’t answer.

The door slammed open. Cochise and Cowgirl ran into the apartment, nearly tripping over each other. Cochise had a heavy backpack with the first aid symbol on it slung over her shoulder. Her little first aid kit had turned into a full on first responder’s trauma bag in recent months after neosporin and gauze bandages could no longer keep up with everything the Warriors put themselves through. She and Cowgirl went pale when they laid eyes on Rembrandt.

“Oh my god!” Cowgirl exclaimed.

“What happened?” Cochise switched places with Cleon. Her eyes were hard and focused, mouth set in a grim line, and Mercy was violently reminded that she had indeed been a soldier in a past life. 

“Rembrandt got thrown off a fucking fire escape,” said Cleon.

“What floor?” Cochise asked. Cleon looked at Mercy. Cochise followed her eyes. “Mercy, what floor?”

“Second,” said Mercy.

“She hit concrete?”

“No, she landed on some trash bags.”

“Definitely had something sharp in them. Rembrandt, hey, look at me. Open your eyes. Ajax, can you get her shoes off, please? Rembrandt, squeeze my hand as hard as you can, okay? Good, that’s good. Wiggle your toes for me. Great.” Cochise held her hand out without looking, and Cowgirl passed her a wooden tongue depressor. She pressed it up the length of Rembrandt’s legs. “Can you feel all this? Rembrandt, open your eyes. Talk to me.”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Rembrandt croaked. 

Mercy caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were hazy and unfocused, pupils blown wide, and she looked through everyone instead of at them. 

“Cleon, lift her head up a bit so I can feel her neck. Carefully.” Cleon did, much to Rembrandt’s distress, and Cochise pressed along her spine from the base of her skull to her shoulders. “I don't feel anything out of place. Does your neck hurt? I know your head hurts, but does your neck hurt?” Rembrandt mumbled a no. “Alright. Doesn’t seem like there’s any spinal injury but we need to keep an eye out. Mercy, was she able to walk after she fell?”

“She could before she passed out.”

“Blood loss. She doesn’t have the blood pressure to stay conscious if she’s upright. Fuck, that shoulder is definitely out of place. You’re not gonna be happy with me when I put that back, Rem.”

Rembrandt inhaled sharply. “Am I gonna die?”

There was silence. Ajax reached over to cup her cheek, forcing a trembling, uncertain smile in a failed attempt to ease her mind. “No, baby, you’re going to be okay,” she promised. “You’ll be perfectly fine. You’re just a little banged up right now, that’s all.”

Rembrandt closed her eyes, face twisting. “You’re lying.”

Mercy watched Ajax’s heart shatter into a million pieces.

“Cleon, is there still a bed in the spare room?” Cochise asked. Cleon nodded. “Okay. Ajax, bring her in there. I can’t give her stitches on the couch.”

“No!” Rembrandt tried to push her away, but she hardly had the strength to keep her eyes open, let alone move anyone. “Ajax, I wanna go home.”

“Watch her arm,” said Cochise.

“We will, baby,” Ajax said, lifting Rembrandt in her arms. Rembrandt let her head loll against Ajax’s chest. “We just need to get you patched up first.”

She carried her into the spare bedroom, Cochise and Cowgirl following behind. Cleon made Swan go with them. Swan looked back at Mercy, hesitating, but Cleon insisted, saying Cochise was going to need two extra sets of hands and Ajax would be preoccupied with keeping Rembrandt calm. So she went, leaving Mercy alone with Cleon in the living room. Mercy couldn’t stop staring at the couch, now dyed with a red so dark it was almost black.

There was so much blood.

Cleon held Mercy by the elbow and gently guided her to have a seat at the kitchen table. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened,” she said. “From the start. Do not leave anything out.”

Mercy took a deep breath. “Rembrandt finished tagging. We were walking home when we heard these dudes behind us and they were saying shit and I told them to back off. I only did it once, I didn’t taunt them or anything, and then we ran. We were almost back when they cut us off in a car. Two cars. There were so many of them, Cleon. They had us cornered and I saw the fire escape and I made Rembrandt run up ahead of me but there was a guy already up there that I didn’t see. He grabbed her and said something about killing a few Warriors and then he threw her over the railing. Ajax gave me a knife for if there was trouble and I stabbed him in the back, pushed him down the stairs, and threatened to kill him if the rest of them didn’t leave. They all ran off, and that’s when I grabbed Rembrandt and got us home.”

Cleon nodded slowly. “I’ll start with saying I’m not mad at either of you. I’m glad you didn’t try to go up against all of them. Proud of you for that.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“What exactly did the guy say?”

“He said it was so easy to get through Brooklyn and it was going to be easy to kill off a few Warriors and take Coney Island from us.”

“This was a gang? Did they say their name?”

“No. Rembrandt said they were from Staten Island.”

“What were their colors?”

“Purple jackets with, like, a crown on them, I think.”

Cleon’s face darkened. “The fucking Princes,” she snarled. “Did you hear them say any names?”

“No. None of them. They were a little too preoccupied with trying to kill us to introduce themselves.”

“Stay here. I need to make a call.”

Mercy sat at the table, staring at the scratched wood. She couldn’t bear to see her hands, covered in dried flaking blood, so she kept them folded in her lap and tried not to cry. The adrenaline had mostly left her system and left her a shivering mess. She couldn’t break down, not right now, not if they might still need her to help. So far they didn’t, and she was left alone to her thoughts at the kitchen table.

Why hadn’t she seen him on the fire escape? Why hadn’t she been strong enough to fight him off? If she had been stronger, if she could run faster, if she was more observant, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. She should have run from the get and not even bothered telling them off and maybe they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to get ahead of her and Rembrandt. If she’d just been a little faster, she could’ve gotten him before Rembrandt fell. Yeah, she stabbed him, she made them leave, but it was too little too late and now Rembrandt might die because Mercy wasn’t fucking strong enough.

As she drowned in the what ifs, Cleon screamed at someone over the phone in the other room. The person on the other end of the line hollered back so loud that Mercy could hear him over the receiver.

“Your guys threw my tagger off a fire escape! They told my girls they were going to kill them to take over Coney Island!”

“Cleon, I didn’t know they were there!” the man on the line shouted. “They were supposed to be patrolling!”

“Didn’t know? Didn’t know?! You didn’t know your idiots were completely out of your borough?”

“Cleon, believe me-”

“I don’t gotta believe shit, Tommy! One of my girls might die because you didn’t have a handle on your bitches. If that motherfucker isn’t left to die in a ditch, I swear I will swim across the fucking Narrows to put your ass six feet under with him!” There was a long pause. “Expect a call from Masai.”

“You don’t need to get the Riffs involved,” said the other gang leader.

“Oh, you’re gonna want him there to mediate because if I show up alone, there’s no one to stop me from putting you in a body bag and keelhauling you under that fucking boat!”

Cleon slammed the receiver down and immediately picked it back up to call Masai. In the brief silence, coming from the spare bedroom, Mercy heard a muffled, “One, two, three!”

There was a sickening pop. Rembrandt let out the most agonized, bloodcurdling scream Mercy had ever heard.

When Cleon finally got off the phone, she came to stand beside Mercy. Facing away from her, she gripped her shoulder hard enough to hurt. Mercy noticed her shoulders shaking as she tried not to cry.

Cochise, Cowgirl, and Swan came into the living room. Cleon and Mercy got up to meet them.

“Is she-”

“She’s alive,” said Cochise quietly. Her voice was detached and clinical. “She lost a lot of blood. I don’t know what she landed on but I’m guessing broken glass because she’s cut up pretty bad. Her vest saved her from the worst of it. The shoulder was dislocated. I put it back and tied it up as best I could with what I have right now. I’ll go out tomorrow to get a real sling. She won’t need surgery on it, at least. No spinal injury but definitely concussed and I’m sure she cracked a couple ribs just from how it looks like she landed. Possibly a sprained knee. Real bad bruising. She won’t be tagging for a long time.”

“But she’ll be okay, right?” Cleon pressed.

“She’ll live. She’s sleeping now. I would've liked to keep her awake a little longer to get a better feel on how out of it she is, but…” Cochise shrugged helplessly, eyes downcast. “I already put her through enough tonight. I gave her some painkillers and hopefully those help but it’s… it’s bad. Honestly, I don’t know how she came out of it walking. Cleon, if she starts to have real trouble breathing or her cognitive shit goes downhill, we’ll need to take her to a real hospital.”

As Cleon and Cochise talked, Ajax came out of the bedroom. Mercy was the only one to notice her, shoulders set, face blank as she made a beeline for Swan.

It was a cheap shot. 

Ajax absolutely rocked her shit with a brutal hook to the jaw. Swan hit the floor like a bag of bricks, lying dazed on her back. Next thing Mercy knew, Ajax was on top of her with her hands around her throat, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her vision began to tunnel before the others were able to rip Ajax off of her. She rolled onto her side, coughing and holding her throat as they wrestled Ajax to the floor.

“I’ll kill you!” she roared. “I will fucking kill you! You’re a dead woman!”

Cleon pressed all her weight on Ajax’s shoulders to pin her down. Cowgirl tried to hold her legs so she would stop kicking at them. Cochise had her in an arm bar, wrenching it behind her back so far Mercy thought she was going to break it. They still struggled to hold her.

“She was supposed to be safe with you! You were supposed to protect her and you let her get thrown off a fucking building! She almost died because you needed to learn a couple blocks!”

“Ajax, stay down!”

Swan was on her feet and helping Mercy up, bleeding from her mouth. Mercy watched Ajax’s rage morph and dissolve as she broke down crying hysterically. Cleon grabbed her by the neck to get her to stop banging her head off the floor. She just kept wailing, “I should’ve gone with her! I should’ve gone with her! I should’ve gone with her!”

When it looked like she wouldn’t try to get up again, Cleon said, “Mercy, Swan, get out of here.”

Which was a mistake. Hearing their names reignited Ajax’s fury, and she started thrashing and spewing death threats again. Swan dragged Mercy to their bedroom and locked the door behind them.

Mercy sank to her knees as her resolve finally collapsed. She dropped her head into her bloodstained hands and sobbed like she never had before in her life. Swan didn’t speak, only sighed as she gathered Mercy in her arms, gently rocking her back and forth. She held her tight, cradling her head against her chest. Mercy clung to her like a child waking from a nightmare, which was what this whole awful night had become. One big horrible bloody mess.

When Mercy stopped crying after a short eternity, Swan pulled back and cupped her face in her hands. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Mercy sniffled. “That’s the fucked up thing. I’m fine but Rembrandt, Rem, she-” The words stuck in her throat like needles. “I thought we would be okay. I thought I could keep her safe but I failed her.”

“You didn’t fail her. You got her out alive,” Swan reassured. Mercy found it impossible to look her in the eye. “Who did this?”

“Cleon said it was the Princes or something after I told her their colors.”

“Mm.” Swan sat back on her heels. “They’re getting bolder.”

“Who are they?”

“The laughing stocks of Staten. Bet they thought they could score points if they annexed part of Brooklyn.”

“I heard Cleon talking to their leader. He said he didn’t know anything about it.”

“I believe that. That’s one of their issues, Tommy doesn’t have a hold on any of them. Probably will now, though, after this. With a transgression like that, I wouldn’t be surprised if they threw the guy off the back of the ferry.”

Mercy shuddered. “Are you okay? Ajax hit you hard.”

“I’m fine. Just cut the inside of my cheek.” Swan helped Mercy stand, looking her up and down. She opened the door a crack and peeked down the hall. “They’re not out there anymore. You should go shower. Change clothes.”

Mercy nodded. She needed to get the blood off her.

Swan sat in the bathroom with her while she showered, bringing her a towel and a change of clothes and offering to brush her hair for her. When she asked what Mercy wanted to do with her dirty clothes, Mercy told her to throw them out. She let Swan lead her to bed. Swan cradled her in her arms and held her tight until she cried herself to sleep. 

The next several days passed in a blur. Mercy didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. She ended up on the fire escape in the middle of the night more than once, leaning on the railing, staring over the edge, the vision of Rembrandt lying broken there searing itself into her mind. Only Swan could convince her to come back inside. Cochise and Cowgirl came over every day to check on Rembrandt. Cochise said she was healing relatively fast, all things considered, and most of her stitches could come out within the week. Rembrandt was only conscious when Cochise had to look her over, and even then she apparently struggled to stay lucid. 

Ajax rarely left her side, and only for a few minutes when it was necessary. The other Warriors made it a point to keep her far away from Swan and Mercy.

When Mercy passed the room, she sometimes heard Ajax mumbling indistinctly through the door, but she never heard Rembrandt. 

Cleon asked Masai to come down to Coney one day. Mercy was forced to recount every little detail about that night, down to the color of the man’s eyes and the sound he made when she buried the knife in his back. As she got around to that part, Ajax came into the living room. She stared at Mercy sitting at the kitchen table with Cleon and Masai, expressionless, her eyes hollow and cold. Mercy’s voice faltered. The two gang leaders looked behind them, and Cleon was quick to rest a hand on Ajax’s back and guide her back to the spare bedroom.

Mercy heard her whisper, “You don’t need to hear this.”

Masai wanted to talk to Rembrandt about what happened but Ajax shut that down immediately. Not that Rembrandt was aware enough to answer questions, anyway. Cleon respected Ajax’s refusal. What she didn’t respect was the litany of violent threats towards Masai that Ajax added on; a sanctionable offense on any normal day. Masai assured Cleon that it was alright and he didn’t take it personally. 

“If the roles were reversed,” he said in that low, gruff voice, “I would’ve threatened to beat my ass, too.”

Five days passed with no real improvement in Rembrandt’s condition. Mercy sat at the kitchen table with Cochise and Cowgirl. Swan and Cleon talked out of earshot near the door.

“Do you think Ajax will ever stop trying to kill me?” Mercy asked quietly.

“If she wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” said Cowgirl.

“Girl!” Cochise exclaimed.

“What! I’m right! Look, Mercy, Ajax doesn’t actually want to kill you, not outside the moment of, y’know, choking you out like she did, but honestly? She’s probably going to hate you for a long time. And I don’t know if she’s ever gonna trust you again. Definitely not around Rembrandt.”

“Okay, that’s a mean way of phrasing it-”

“But I’m right.”

Mercy dropped her head onto the table with a loud thunk and covered it with her arms. 

Ajax’s voice pierced the air. “She’s awake.”

Everyone leapt to attention. Ajax stood by the window, her arms hanging at her sides, hands relaxed. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Mercy doubted she’d slept at all since that horrible night. 

“How is she?” Cleon asked.

“Still really out of it but she’s talking again.” Ajax turned her head and faced Mercy. “She wants you.”

Mercy swallowed hard. She headed towards the spare bedroom. Ajax grabbed her. She froze. The others were already moving to separate them, but Ajax didn’t hit her or try to strangle her again. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Mercy and pulled her into a bone crushing hug, burying her face against Mercy’s shoulder as tremors wracked her body. She took three deep, measured breaths, and then pushed Mercy back to hold her at arm’s length. Her brow furrowed and there were tears in her eyes and she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something but nothing came out. She merely swept past Mercy and went to sit beside Cochise at the table. 

Mercy’s heart ached as she left Ajax behind and went to see Rembrandt.

She found the tagger sitting upright in bed, propped up on pillows, staring idly out the window at the sunset. Her arm hung in a sling with an icepack on her injured shoulder. There was a big bandage on her head where she’d been cut, the edges of a bruise peeking out around it. She wore one of Ajax’s shirts, and where it rode up around her midsection, Mercy could see that her entire torso was wrapped in bandages. Her eyes were sunken and she was still pale and there was a little hitch in her breath like breathing hurt but she was awake. She was alive.

Rembrandt turned to look at Mercy, still weak. She flashed a tiny smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Mercy perched on the edge of the bed next to her. “How are you?”

“Still in a lot of pain, but I’m okay,” Rembrandt said. “I’m sorry Ajax went after you.”

“How-” 

“Cochise told me when Ajax stepped out for a second. Warning for when I woke up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… it’s okay. She apologized.”

Rembrandt frowned. “She what?”

“Or, I think she did. She hugged me just now.”

“Huh. You’re right, that is how she apologizes. You’re okay, right? You weren’t hurt?”

“No, I-I’m fine. I got out alright.”

The tagger nodded, smiling as her eyes flitted back to the window. “That’s good.”

Mercy couldn’t stop the words that blurted out of her mouth: “How the fuck do you seem happy right now?”

Rembrandt’s brow furrowed. Her smile wavered but never fully left as she took a deep breath. Mercy caught the wince when she did it. “I’m still alive,” she whispered. “When I went over the edge, I felt like I was falling forever. I thought about how I would never get to paint again. I’d never get to go out with Cochise and Cowgirl. There would be no more movie nights with Cleon and Swan at their place. I wouldn’t know if you were safe. I wouldn’t get to tell Ajax-” Her voice broke. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I thought I’d never get another chance to tell Ajax how much I love her.”

“Rembrandt-”

“But then I hit and… I wasn’t dead. I saw the sky and I heard your voice and I wasn’t dead! I definitely feel like I got thrown off a fire escape, believe me, but…” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m happy.”

Mercy held Rembrandt’s hand and brushed away the tears on her face. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so, so sorry, Rembrandt. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“Mercy, I don’t blame you. I got hurt. It happens. This time was just… bad.” Rembrandt squeezed Mercy’s hand. “You got us out of there. That’s what matters. And I know Swan has told you the same fuckin’ thing so if you’re not gonna listen to me, at least listen to your girlfriend, man, damn!” It got Mercy laughing despite the tears welling in her eyes. “Will you promise me something?”

“Yeah, of course, anything.” 

Rembrandt’s smile disappeared. “Please, don’t hate Ajax.”

“I don’t hate Ajax,” Mercy said immediately. “If Swan was where you are right now and I had to go out there and look Ajax in the face, I’d try to strangle her, too. We’re even.”

Rembrandt laughed, which turned into a wince and a muffled groan as her chest spasmed. Mercy laid a hand on her uninjured shoulder and waited for her to get her breathing back under control. She let her head loll to the side. “She’s never gonna let me out of her sight again, is she?” she asked.

“Probably not. I hate to break it to you,” Mercy joked, “but you did actually get tossed off a fire escape.”

“Wow, really? Hadn’t noticed,” Rembrandt said sarcastically, and that got both of them laughing again. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

“Hey, by the way, where did you get a knife?”

“…Ajax.”

“Oh, mother-!”

[dontyouworrydaddy]

sharing my heart

Simon Riley x fem! Reader

summary: The mission went south and now you’re injured…

warning: death, blood, injuries, vomit

I literally wrote his half asleep. So don’t mind the mistakes please :(

➽───────────────❥

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This mission was supposed to be very easy and smooth.

But here you are.

Laying on a ground in the middle of nowhere. Covered in blood. And you have no idea where the rest of your team is. No idea where Simon is.

"Swan! Answer me!" you hear a yell through your radio which pulls you back to reality. The heavy manchester accent… it only belongs to one special someone… It belongs to you Simon.

"I‘m hit" you manage to say while you keep putting pressure on your side, where blood is gushing out like a waterfall. No matter how much pressure you put, it somehow finds it‘s way out of you body as if it’s desperate to leave you. You groan in pain as you try to move. It feels like someone is stabbing you uncontrollably.

"I don’t wanna die" you mumble which causes Simon‘s heart to drop into his pants. He demands you for your exact location and you tell him. There is no was in hell Simon will let you walk out of his life like nothing was going on between the two of you. Like you weren’t supposed to get married after this mission. He has everything planned and the ring is bought. Fuck, he even imagines how cute you‘d look carrying his children. So don’t you dare leave him now. Especially after everyone in his life left him all alone.

Simon never felt more scared. The way he is running towards you in a strange speed. The way the memories of the two of you keeps going through his mind. The way his reaction time got faster.. He is desperate. In the meantime he already contacted Price and the medics to make their way to you.

How is he supposed to life without you? Is it even possible? He doesn’t want to go back to the old Simon. The Simon that would drown himself in alcohol and cigarettes.. The cold simon. He doesn’t want the old Simon back. He despises him. And you know this all too well. You know his life will make him crash against a tree if you leave. You know he won’t be able to handle your death and find a way to blame himself. So you try your best to stay awake, just for him.

But the pain only worsens as the adrenaline wears off. Your hand gets limp and each breath you take it feels like 10 people stabbing you chest like they are hungry for your soul. You can’t help but let a few tears fall down your face as you look at the beautiful sky.

You wonder if it would be possible to be one of the stars. Would you be able to be the brightest star and keep protecting Simon?

"Baby" You hear the british voice speak up next you. Something about his accent just makes you feel like you can let go. Because you know you won’t die alone. "No no no. Don’t you fucking dare close your eyes." he orders you. His hands firmly pressed on your side and he doesn’t dare to take out that huge piece of glass in your side. "I‘m tired Ghost" you mumble as it gets harder for you to keep your eyes open"

"Just hang on a little longer my love. Help is on their way. Focus on me" he says with a comforting tone.

You feel vomit building up in your throat and you can’t help but let it out. But it wasn’t vomit. It was your blood. And as soon as you saw blood gushing out of your mouth and covering your body and Simon‘s Hand with it, you start crying. Everything is too much for you right now and the only thing you want to do is sleep. You want to sleep the stress away and actually get rid of the anxiety.

"I‘m sorry Ghost, I didn’t mean to" you cry uncontrollably as more blood is coming out from the side of your mouth. But instead of him being disgusted or upset, he takes you in his arms and comforts you. "Shhh. It’s okay baby. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine" he replies and manipulates you both into thinking of the best right now. Because that’s what he wants. You to survive.

Fuck he would even switch places if it would be possible. He wouldn’t hesitate for a second.

"Ghost-" He cuts you off by correcting you "Simon. It’s Simon"

"I love you Simon. I love you." you start your sentence as you notice that you won’t have much more time left. Everything around you slowly disappears and the only thing you can focus on is Simon‘s heartbeat going crazy and his voice only. You realize that breathing gets more difficult with each time passing. So you might as well as just use your last breaths on your future Husband.

"I love you. I‘m sorry for what you have to got through after this. But I‘ll be here" you point at his chest, directly on his heart. He actually felt his heat stop beating and his stomach dropped.

"No. nonono. You’re not leaving me" Simon still tries to convince you and himself but you made peace with death a long time ago. A part of you still wants to stay but you both know that there is no way of saving you. Especially after you’re in the grave with one leg. "I love you. It’s not your fault" you said as you took your last breath.

And at that moment, he actually felt your heart stop beating. He actually felt the will to live slip away from him. Is he that hard to love? Why does life keep pushing him like this?

He feels how he’s breaking down and not even Ghost is able to hold Simon back. He doesn’t care about where he is right now. He just hold you close to his body and cries like he never did before. He just witnessed the love of his life die in his arms. He feels a ring in his left ear and wonders if this is the sound of breaking down?

The way you told him you love him tears him apart. The voice of yours is causing him to absolutely let go of everything he is holding back.

He doesn’t acknowledge the presence of his team and the medics trying to pull him away from you but none of them are successful. He will hold on to you as long as he can because when he lets go.. he will never be able to hold you ever again.

He blames himself for your death. Even through there was nothing he could have done to protect you.

He feels paralyzed.. He can’t move as soon as he got ripped apart from you.

He doesn’t want to this to be reality… but no matter how often he blinks, he still sees a white sheet covering your whole body.

[crazylittlejester]

Swan Wars is making me think about how fiercely protective of their cygnets swans are, and that made me think of the “Wars takes care of sleepy and uncharacteristically sweet Mask after the FD mask wore him out” prompt I sent you (please don’t feel rushed on that one, I know how writing urges are fickle!), and how Wars would carry Mask back to the tent staunchly refusing to let anyone else touch him, he’s FINE healers go away! He just needs something to drink and a cuddle and to go nap nap! Plus he’d freak out if anyone besides Wars (or maybe Tune) touched him right now because he’s vulnerable. Mama Swan Wars knows how to take care of him and won’t let anyone else near.

I HAVE A HALF WRITTEN WIP FOR THIS DW DW I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN! I AM STILL WORKIN ON IT! :)

MAMA SWAN WARS. Yeah Mask is his kid, his little brother, he knows how to take care of him and by god is he protective of him, and Mask may hate being treated like a child but he really appreciates feeling cared for

Any guy can be baby girl but it takes a man to be a single mother /ref

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"that's christmas to me" cygnet scholar fanfic for @all-fandoms-christmas-festival

summary: when gideon tells hope he got her a very special christmas present this year, she obsesses over what it might be a/n: for those wondering, this fic is standalone from my other cygnet scholar fics, but it does contain references to some of them! also, since you already have to rejigger the timeline just to make cygnet scholar work, i figured i may as well canonize my other favorite rarepair too. i don't go into much detail about it in the fic, but this is set in an au where rumple dies so that gideon can come back as a baby at the end of season 6, and sometime several years later belle remarries and august becomes gideon's stepdad. taglist: @accidental-spice @kanerallels @ouatnextgen @booksteaandtoomuchtv [let me know if you'd like to be added to or removed from the cygnet scholar taglist!] also on ao3!

That's Christmas To Me

 "So, what do you think your parents got you this year?"

 Gideon looked up from his textbook and raised an eyebrow at the girl across the living room floor.

 "Is this a genuine question, or just an attempt to distract yourself from the algebra homework?"

 "Can't it be both?" Hope asked.

 Gideon rolled his eyes. "You know my parents."

 "So I'm guessing more books than you can carry," Hope said, "and another hand-carved ornament for the tree?"

 "Bingo," Gideon nodded, "and it's only fair, since mom's getting a book from me, and my stepdad's getting a new roll of typewriter ink."

 "That sounds horribly practical," Hope laughed.

 "Oh yeah?" Gideon asked, "what did you get your parents?"

 "Come on, Gid," Hope said, "it's a week before Christmas. Do you really think I already did my Christmas shopping?"

 "It's four days until Christmas," Gideon said, "and unless you plan on shopping on Christmas Eve, that's only three shopping days, counting today."

 "I'll think of something," Hope shrugged.

 Gideon shook his head and rolled his eyes, then fixed them steadily on her for half a second, watching the glow of the fireplace illuminate her carefree smile. What would've sent him into a tizzy of a panic attack rolled off her shoulders like it was nothing.

 "How's studying going?"

 Gideon turned to see Hope's mom behind him with a tray in her hands.

 "It'd be better if someone didn't keep getting distracted," Gideon said.

 "Yeah, Gid, what's wrong with you;" Hope mockingly deflected, "we gotta focus!"

 "Oh, sorry, my bad," Gideon joked in return.

 "Maybe some cookies and cocoa will help," her mom said. She set down a tray of sugar cookies and two festive mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

 "Thanks, Mrs. Swan," Gideon said.

 "You're welcome, kid," Emma said, then looked to her daughter, "and, Hope? Stop distracting the poor boy and let him study, okay?"

 "Yes ma'am," Hope sighed and mockingly saluted.

 As her mom left, Gideon picked up one of the mugs set before them, one with a somewhat ridiculous-looking festive moose on it, which he'd mentioned once or twice was his favorite of her family's odd assortment of Christmas mugs. He took a sip and sighed with contentment.

 "What's your mom's secret to such perfect hot chocolate, anyways?"

 "Cinnamon," Hope smiled, as she reached for a present-shaped cookie, overflowing with frosting and decked out in red and green sprinkles.

 "Fabulous," Gideon said.

 They both returned to their work, but only for a few minutes, before Gideon spoke up again. 

"Have you even started Christmas shopping yet?"

 "Now who's distracting who?" Hope asked. "But, of course not. Why, have you finished already?"

 "Yup," he smiled, and after a pause he added, "I even got a special gift for a certain friend of mine this year." He then took another sip of cocoa in hopes that his expression wouldn't give away his surprise.

 "Which friend?" Hope asked.

 "A certain girl in my algebra class," he smiled behind his cocoa mug.

 "Which girl?" Hope's eyes narrowed. 

 "A longtime friend," he said, "a girl who owns an armload of friendship bracelets, and whose mom makes hot chocolate with cinnamon in it, and who I'll be seeing at dinner on Christmas Eve." He took another sip of cocoa, but he didn't get much chance to enjoy it.

 "Charlotte?" Hope asked, her tone a not-so delicate balance of confused and offended, "you got a 'special Christmas gift' for my best friend Charlotte? My aunt Charlotte?"

 In an involuntary response to her startling misunderstanding of his hints, he quickly spewed his sip of cocoa out of his mouth, hoping most of it ended up in the mug, and later hoping her dad wouldn't ask where these brown stains on the living room rug came from.

 "What, no!" Gideon said, stumbling to regain himself, "Hope, I got a special Christmas gift for you."

 "You did?" Hope asked, her mood instantly changed, the usual sparkle returning to her crystal blue eyes, "what did you get me?"

 "Now," Gideon said, "would it really be much of a special gift if it wasn't a surprise?"

 "I can still act surprised," she said, with a hint of a frown and large, blinking eyes which he almost gave into.

 "Sorry," he said, quickly looking back down at his algebra textbook, "you'll have to wait until Christmas Eve."

 "This is cruel and unusual punishment," Hope grumbled.

 "Yup," Gideon smiled.

 "You do know this is gonna make it even harder for me to study now," Hope said.

 "Yup."

 "And I'll never get this homework done if I'm distracted."

 "Yup."

 "And then I'm gonna fail algebra."

 "Yup."

 "And then I'm gonna get held back a year."

 "Yup."

 "And then we won't be in the same class anymore." 

 "Yup."

 "And then you're gonna have to find a new special girl in next year's algebra class to give a special Christmas gift to."

 "Yup."

 "Gideon!"

 He knew he'd carried that bit a bit too far when Hope called him "Gideon" instead of "Gid."

 "Would you like some help with your homework, Hope?"

 "I'd like to know what a certain special boy got me for Christmas."

 "Can't help with that," Gideon said, hoping she couldn't tell his face was red as a Christmas bow at how she'd just called him "special" without meaning it as an insult.

 "Why'd you even go and tell me if it's supposed to be a surprise anyway?" Hope said. "Taking a new form of torture for a test drive?"

 "I have my reasons," he said.

 The reasons, of course, were that he'd never given her a gift before, and if she didn't know he was giving her a gift, she'd have no time to pick out a gift for him. He didn't necessarily need a gift from her, or expect one, but it occurred to him that she might feel bad if he gave her a gift and she came empty-handed, so it was only fair to give her warning.

 And also, a part of him enjoyed watching her obsess over it. It wasn't that he wanted to torment her or stress her out for once in her life, of course, but her attempts to goad the answer out of him were, as predicted, delightful and charming.

 "Now," he continued, "would you like some help with the homework?"

 "Only if you tell me what you got me."

 "Fine," Gideon said, "looks like you'll fail this class and I'll have to give a special gift to some other girl from my math class next year."

 "Alright," Hope said, with an exaggerated eye roll, "I guess if it's the only way."

 They both slid a little closer to each other so he could see her textbook, and then Hope slid closer still.

 As she started explaining how the answer she got was twenty-seven point five percent while the correct answer was two, Gideon glanced behind her at the mountain of gifts under her family's tree. Given that she hadn't begun to shop for her parents, and her brother was still off writing his own adventures, he had a hunch that most of those presents were for her. With all those gifts awaiting her, he suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if his gift didn't live up to her hype? What if it got metaphorically lost in the sea of brightly colored packages that awaited her the morning after? What could one gift, no matter how "special," really mean in comparison to all that?

 He shifted his attention away from the assortment of red and green parcels across the room and the little parcel under his own tree back home, putting them all out of his mind so he could instead focus on how to explain to Hope that in no world could x equal four-hundred and ninety if x minus fifteen equaled twenty-five.

🤍💙🤎🩵🖤

 "It's horrible, Charlotte," Hope complained as she waited in the lunch line.

 "What, that algebra pop quiz?" Charlotte asked, "or Merry Mystery Meat Friday?"

 "Neither," Hope said, "Gideon. He's been absolutely tormenting me."

 "Oh, right," Charlotte said, as the lunch lady poured some gloop on her plate, "it's absolute torture that you're getting an extra Christmas present this year."

 "You don't understand," Hope said, wincing at the smell of the food on her tray, "at first, I kept asking what it was to be dramatic."

 "And you're not being dramatic now?"

 "No, no, I still am," Hope said, "but now I'm being dramatic with purpose. I can't just let him give me a special gift without giving him anything in return."

 "So buy him something?" Charlotte suggested. "You haven't started your Christmas shopping yet anyways."

 "Yes, but what do I get him, Char?" Hope asked as they made their way to their usual table. "What if I show up with a gently used toaster and find out he got me a gently used convertible? Or I get him a PS5 and he got me a pencil sharpener?"

 "Those are vastly overexaggerated scenarios," Charlotte said, then sighed, "but I get the sentiment. Did you tell him that's why you want to know?"

 "That would ruin the surprise."

 "Well, have you tried asking around?" "Syd doesn't even know this one," Hope said, "and if she hasn't heard about it, no one has."

 Before they could continue the conversation, Gideon took a seat next to Hope.

 "So glad to see you're both present, right now," he said, "it sure is special to share such a moment with you guys."

 Hope tried to ignore him in an attempt to hide her frustration.

 Gideon looked at the girls' lunch trays and smiled.

 "What's that?" Gideon asked, "hamburger surprise? Mystery meat?" He pulled a paper bag out of his backpack and continued, "it sure is a gift to have a mom who packs you your own special lunch every day. It's almost like a Christmas present you don't have to wait for."

 "You're a real jerk sometimes," Hope said, "you know that, right?"

 "It's an inherited trait, I'm told." Gideon said, pulling a sandwich out of his bag. 'Some might call it a gift."

 "And if you don't stop it soon," Hope said, "there'll be a special surprise in it for you," and she scooped up a big spoonful of the gloop in front of her and brought it closer to Gideon, "mystery meat on rye, perhaps?"

 "While putting the school's excuse for 'food' on my sandwich is a truly terrifying threat," Gideon said, holding his sandwich away at arms' length until Hope put down her spoon, "that's not much of a special surprise if you tell me about it first."

 "Speaking of 'not much of a special surprise because you tell me about it first,'" Hope changed tactics, leaning toward him with a doe-eyed expression she'd kept on reserve for just such an occasion, "it sure would be nice if a certain boy told me what he got a certain girl for Christmas."

 "I already told you," Gideon said, "I got my mom a book."

 Her doe eyes were wasted on Gideon, who smugly took a bite of his sandwich.

 "I give up," Hope said.

 "Good," Gideon said, "because I'm not telling."

 "Fine," Hope said, then mumbled under her breath, "hope you like your toaster."

 "What?"

 "Nothing."

 "Anyways," Gideon said, "did you guys want to meet up to work on homework later?"

 "I'm busy," Charlotte said, which didn't come as a surprise. She'd been too busy to do homework with them a lot recently.

 "I've got Christmas shopping to do this afternoon," Hope said.

 "Oh, starting early, are we?" Gideon asked.

 "I'll have to start early if I've got an extra gift to get this year," Hope said.

 "An extra gift for whom?"

 "No one special," she quickly recovered.

 "Well," he said, "maybe we could do homework afterwards?"

 "Sure, but not at my house." Hope said. "Mom and dad are working, so I can't have friends over."

 This was true, but it was also an excuse. If they studied at his house, she might have the chance to do a little snooping and figure out what this mystery gift was.

 "I told my mom I'd help her at the library this afternoon," Gideon said, "maybe we could study there?"

 Dang it.

 "Sounds great," Hope lied.

🤍💙🤎🩵🖤

 "You know the real reason we met at the library?" Gideon asked as they sat down in a side room of the library. 

 "Because you know if we're at your house I'll try to sneak a peek at my Christmas present?"

 "You know, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind," Gideon smiled, "but I also thought the library would help minimize distractions."

 "Oh, sure," Hope said.

 His plan was secretly foiled, though, by Hope's own mind. She brought plenty of distractions with her. Not only did she have the usual to distract herself with, she had plenty of other things to think about, like "what could he have gotten me?" and "I hope what I got him is good enough," and eventually, "why did he even get me a special gift this year anyways?" and on occasion before she could stop herself, "Gideon looks especially nice today." 

 Sure, he didn't look much different than normal. He wore his trademark style of a flannel over a t-shirt with a corny slogan (though in place of a science pun, today's read "MERRY CHRISTMOOSE" over an image of the stupidest moose Hope had ever seen.) Gideon's deep golden hair was parted the same way it always was. His smile was the same and his laugh was the same and his eyes bore the same combination of intelligence and innocence that always made Hope catch her breath when they fixed themselves too hard on her. But today, she noticed it all at once, and it only added to her usual level of distraction.

 They'd hardly been working for half an hour when another distraction came along, this time in the form of Gideon's mother.

 "How's it going in here?" Belle asked, looking over her son's shoulder at the senseless arrangement of letters and numbers and symbols.

 "About as good as always," Hope said.

 "Almost, anyways," Gideon said.

 "Almost?" Belle asked. "Any particular reason why that is?"

 "You know," Gideon said, "now that you mention it, when we study at Hope's house, her mom always has cookies for us."

 "Does she now?"

 "Yes ma'am," Hope said, catching Gideon's drift and quick to help him out, "she says cookies are a sort of brain food. If they weren't, dad wouldn't let us keep them around the house."

 "I see," Belle said, "well, I'm not about to spoil your supper, but how about I bring you guys some hot cocoa instead?"

 "Close enough," Gideon shrugged.

 "I'll be right back," his mom ruffled his hair.

 As a dangerous Christmas miracle, Hope got an idea.

 "Can I help you, Mrs. Booth?" Hope asked.

 "I'd like that very much," Belle said.

 "I can help too," Gideon said, starting to get up himself.

 "We got it, don't worry," Hope quickly got up. She placed a hand on his arm and said, "we'll be right back."

 "Okay," Gideon said, with that calculating look on his face he often got when he was trying to get to the bottom of one of Hope's brilliant ideas.

 But as it stood, he hadn't caught onto this one, because he made no attempt to thwart her time with his mom.

 "I'm glad to see you two getting along so well," Belle said, as she and Hope found themselves waiting for the library's Keurig to heat up. 

 "Yeah?" Hope said, already pleased at how quickly she could shift this conversation to suit her needs. "Does he talk about me much?"

 "A bit," Belle smiled.

 "What kind of stuff does he say?"

 "Well," Belle said, "just a few things here and there. A few things I can't say."

 "Does one of them have to do with a special surprise Christmas present?"

 "Maybe," Belle said, with a wink and a lower tone of secrecy as she loaded a hot chocolate K-cup into the coffee machine.

 "What is it?" Hope whispered.

 "I can't say," Belle responded.

 "Well, you're no help." Hope grumbled.

 "Is there," Belle paused, "a special reason you can't just wait until Sunday night to find out?"

 Hope nodded.

 "Well, what is it?" Belle asked, as she changed out the used hot chocolate pod for a new one.

 "Can you keep a secret?"

 Belle turned away from exchanging the styrofoam cups in her hands to give her a knowing glance, one she'd clearly been the one to pass down to her son.

 "I got him a Christmas present too," Hope whispered, "and I wanna make sure it's not a toaster or a playstation."

 "A toaster?"

 "It's a metaphor." She said. "Long story. I just don't want to give him something too big, or too small, or too stupid."

 "I see," Belle nodded, "Well, I'm not about to breach my son's privacy, but I won't breach yours either. If you tell me what you got him, I'll tell you if yours is too much or too little."

 "You'd really do that for me?" Hope asked.

 "Of course." Belle said, taking both cups of cocoa in her hands.

 Hope motioned for Belle to come closer, then whispered in her ear.

 Belle smiled.

 "Hope," Belle said, "I don't think that gift will be too big or too small at all. It sounds perfect."

 "Really?" Hope asked, feeling a massive weight of anxiety float away in a mere moment.

 "Yup. Now, you take these," she handed Hope both cups, "and, wait just a second."

 Belle took a bottle of syrup from the counter, clearly meant for the coffee, but apparently multi-purpose.

 "French vanilla?" Hope asked.

 "Your mother has her way of dressing up hot cocoa," Belle said, pouring a squirt of syrup into each cup, "and I have mine."

 "I'll have to remember that," Hope nodded, "And, thanks. Thanks for, well, everything."

 "Better get back to your studies," Belle winked.

 Hope took a sip of her cup of cocoa on the way back to their table. It was perfect.

🤍💙🤎🩵🖤

 "So, Gideon," Hope said, as they sat down together for their Christmas Eve dinner, "are you gonna tell me what you got me for Christmas yet?"

 "You'll find out soon enough," he smiled, "and, uh, did you end up getting that 'extra gift for no one special' yet?"

 "Maybe," Hope winked.

 "Oh, how adorable," Charlotte said, taking a seat in between Hope and CJ.

 Gideon's mom soon filled the seat next to him, followed by his stepdad, then Hope's parents, then Charlotte and CJ's, and finally the Mayor and her sister, with her daughter, Robin, next to CJ.

 Gideon tried his best to enjoy the ham and scalloped potatoes set before him, though his mind was on what would happen afterwards, the real meat and potatoes of the evening for him: when those gathered would start exchanging gifts, followed by singing carols, and the space in between those traditions when he'd find an excuse pull Hope aside and give her her gift. Sure, he could just give it to her now, or when everyone else gave gifts, but this one was different, special. It was a gift from him to her, simple as that, and it didn't need anyone else's attention.

 After the meal, as the family gathered around the tree to open presents, Gideon pantomimed joy as he thanked Mrs. Nolan for the book she gave him that he already had two copies of, and he was polite and respectful and didn't lie too much as he told the Mills sisters how much he liked the sweatervest they'd given him.

 Of course, there were genuine joys too, as there often are at Christmas. The younger generation oohed and awed as they each unwrapped a set of dice sent from Hope's brother in the Enchanted Forest. The house filled with laughter as the mayor gave Hope's grandma the annual gag gift of a perfect red apple. There was a type of mischievous joy passed between both parties as Hope unwrapped a present and stuck the bow that it'd been adorned with squarely on Gideon's forehead.

 And still, Gideon's focus was on the one gift that still had yet to be given. After all the packages beneath the tree had been unwrapped, Gideon excused himself, and quietly made his way to the front room of the house, where his jacket hung on a hook by the door.

 "Trying to make an escape before you can give me the elusive special Christmas present?"

 He turned and saw Hope standing in the doorway behind him, the lights of the merry festivities behind them reflecting off the sparkles on her red velvet dress.

 "Not at all," he said, as he slipped his jacket on and put his hands into the perfectly oversized pockets. "I just had to come grab a special gift for a special friend of mine."

 "Oh?" Hope asked, "she must be something pretty special if you had to leave all that excitement just to give her a gift."

 "Excitement?" Gideon asked. "Well then, I guess I better head back in now then. I'd hate to miss whatever festivities are happening without us."

 Hope took a step in front of him, blocking his path. "We can watch my dad and grandpa sing a rousing duet of All I Want For Christmas is You anytime." 

 "Can we really, though?" Gideon asked, sidestepping past her. She mirrored his step.

 "Charlotte's recording it," Hope said, "now, what'd you get me?"

 He sighed. As much as he loved the look on her face as she awaited his gift, he couldn't keep this up for too much longer, not without giving such a small gift too much hype and a huge letdown.

 "Fine," he said, pulling a wrapped square box, slightly larger than the palm of his hand, out of his pocket.

 "Oooh!" Hope said. She reached for it, but he held it up in the air above their heads.

 "What's the magic word?" He asked.

 "Um," Hope said, jumping up to try and reach it, "if you don't give it to me now I'll kick you?"

 Her idle threats didn't scare him anymore.

 "How about please?"

 Hope rolled her eyes, but they stopped halfway, the spark in her eyes frozen as they refracted onto his.

 "Please?" she asked, softly, and she almost seemed genuine rather than annoyed. He nodded and handed the gift to her without a word or a breath left in his mouth, acted upon by something almost beside himself, outside of himself, larger than himself.

 She tore the paper off the package with a careful excitement, and opened the box inside.

 "A charm bracelet," she whispered.

 "I hope you like it." He said, pointing to each charm on the bracelet in the box. "I picked out the charms myself. There's an angel for the snow angels we used to make in the backyard, and a music note for the caroling karaoke every year."

 "Especially the time we turned Silent Night into, well, the opposite of that," Hope added.

 "Exactly." Gideon smiled, "and the reindeer's for that time we tried to wait up to catch Santa Claus."

 "Hey, that snare trap worked perfectly!" Hope defended.

 "A little too perfectly."

 "Yeah," Hope laughed, "he was so mad at us."

 "And then we got coal in our stockings for the next three years," Gideon said, with a chuckle.

 Hope looked back down at the bracelet in her hand.

 "Is the candle for the time you burned the gingerbread cookies?" Hope asked.

 "Actually, the fireplace is," Gideon said, "The candle's for the time you set your hair on fire."

 "I'd almost forgotten that one," Hope said. "And what's the present for?"

 "For this," Gideon said, taking the box from her hand, "the first present I ever gave you that I bought instead of my parents."

 "I love it" Hope shook her head with an amazed disbelief. "Can you help me put it on?"

 "Sure," he said. He took the bracelet out of the box, and handed the box back to her. He then clasped the bracelet around her wrist.

 "How did you even come up with all these?" Hope asked.

 "Those are all my favorite Christmas memories, Hope. When I think of a Merry Christmas," and his hand slid from her wrist to her hand, and his tone lowered, and he continued, "I think of you."

 He watched her expression closely for any sign of discomfort, but instead saw a smile, and the red of her cheeks brought out by the red of her dress.

 "I have something for you too," Hope said, letting go of his hand so she could dig through her purse.

 "For me?" Gideon asked.

 "Of course," Hope said, "you didn't think I'd show up empty handed, did you?"

 "The thought had crossed my mind," he said.

 "Well, it was a silly thought," Hope said. "Here."

 She pulled a wrapped gift out of her bag that was only a little bigger than the box he'd given her. He opened it to reveal a small leather journal.

 "It's very nice," he said, unsure if his gift seemed too much in comparison.

 "Open it up, stupid," she said with a smile.

 He opened the notebook to the first page, which had a handwritten note.

 "Hey, Gid!

 I didn't know what to get you for Christmas, but I saw this notebook and thought it was missing something. Don't worry, I fixed it for ya.

 -HSJ"

 "What does that mean?" he asked.

 "Turn the page," she said.

 He turned the page to see a picture of them at Christmas when they were kids, pouring frosting that was meant for a gingerbread house directly into their mouths. Next to it was the recipe for gingerbread, with the temperature to set the oven to circled with red glitter ink multiple times.

 He turned to the next page: a drawing of a massive snow fort with four tiny stick figures on top. "EXPECTATION:" some writing above it said, and the facing page said "REALITY:" and featured a photo of them as kids, cramming next to Charlotte and CJ inside a circular wall of snow not even six inches tall.

 A few pages further, he found a drawing of his favorite mug with the moose on it, and two recipes for hot chocolate: Mrs. Swan style and Mrs. Booth style.

 "What's all this about anyways?" Gideon asked.

 "You're always filling your brain with all that useless school junk," Hope said, "algebra, Shakespeare, Washington, it's exhausting. I don't wanna see that pretty little head of yours get so full of numbers and names and dates that you forget what really matters."

 "Like what?" Gideon asked, with a smile.

 "Stupid intangibles like family and friendship and love and all that crap," Hope said, "I know, it's no charm bracelet, but…."

 "It's perfect," Gideon said.

 "Really?" Hope asked.

 "Really." Gideon said. "Of all the things I want to remember, you're the most important one."

 "Thanks," Hope said, that red flush creeping again along her cheek, "now, we'd better get back to the rest of the party before our dads start wondering what's taking us so long."

 "Yeah," Gideon said.

 But, apparently, they were too late.

 "Well, well," Gideon and Hope both froze as they heard his stepdad's voice across the room.

 He turned to see August smiling and calling to the other guests.

 "Belle, Killian, Emma," August called, "it looks like someone's under the mistletoe."

 "Huh, wonder who that could be," Gideon thought, before he noticed the guilty look on Hope's face. She looked up at the ceiling, and his eyes followed her gaze.

 Hanging above them like Damacles' sword was a festive assemblage of green leaves and holly berries, tied together with a bow, a scarlet letter that spelled trouble.

 "I'm sorry," Gideon said, "honest, I didn't realize it was there."

 "I know you didn't," Hope said, with an eye roll.

 Despite how fast his heart was suddenly beating, time seemed to hold still. He noticed several things very clearly— the looks on the faces of the parents gathered around them, ranging from the smile of his mom to the deathly glare of her dad. He noticed the way her eyes reflected the fairy lights that surrounded them, and the hint of a smile under her reddening cheeks. He noticed how sweaty his palms suddenly were, and he regretted wearing such a warm sweater, and his jacket as well now, and it dawned on him all at once that he'd never kissed a girl before, and that the number of people watching them had gone from zero to one to four to eleven in seconds, and that most of them probably expected him to kiss her, and that at least one of them would probably be very upset at him if he did.

 He also knew that, as far as he knew, Hope had probably never kissed anyone, either, and that if she wanted him to be her first kiss, that was great— but on her own terms. And if she didn't, well, she couldn't get mad at him for this.

 He bent down ever so slightly, leaned closer to her, then turned his head and planted his lips on her cheek, the cheek that wasn't as visible to their uninvited audience, but that, although his eyes were closed, he could tell had reddened by how it warmed at the touch of his kiss.

 He then pulled away from her, and they stood apart, merely looking at each other with a smile, and a nod to indicate there was no more left that needed to be done. This was met with the rest of the gathering shuffling back to their places, a few with a sigh, though Captain Jones with a smile that made Gideon fear much less for his life.

 "Hey, Gid," Hope said, as they walked back to the party, trailing along behind the rest of the group.

 "Yeah?"

 She slid her hand into his, and he looked down at her.

 "Think you can get me a mistletoe charm for the bracelet?"

 "I think so," Gideon said.

 "Thanks," Hope smiled, and stepped up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, this one spurred on not by mistletoe or tradition or expectation of others, but simply by merit of the spirit of Christmas that hung in the air, and of the love carried between two friends who were well on their way to becoming so much more.

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 12b

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

The swans return as they're making camp. (Everyone is much less startled this time.) Alphlîn reports they have indeed located a very very large rock. Elrohir tries to get a more precise description of where said rock is while Elladan searches with the Anor-stone, so they can figure out if it would be too out of their way.

Celeborn hovers until Legolas demands that he come help with the oxen.

You commandeer your baby cousin's alcohol stash one time and they lose all respect for you.

After Elladan and Elrohir are satisfied that they have a good idea of the position of the Large Explodable Rock — adjusting their path to go by it shouldn't add more than a few days, worth it for the practice — Alphsîr and Alphlîn go to Glorfindel for more fighting lessons.

He demonstrates gathering power again, then has them try.

It takes a while to get it down. Alphsîr's power just tends to slip away out of his grasp; Alphlîn keeps unintentionally changing shape whenever he gathers his strength, from peredhel to swan or vice versa.

(No one makes any verbal comment, but based on the way Alphlîn stops mid-try to empty a waterskin over his brother's head, there may have been some discussion by private ósanwë.)

It's almost full dark by the time they have it down, and Glorfindel decides trying to use their power for something besides transforming will have to wait for next time.

The practice has evidently been tiring enough that Alphsîr and Alphlîn concede that they are hungry and will eat some lembas.

*****

In the morning, Alphsîr and Alphlîn announce they want to travel with the group today, on the ground.

Celeborn is cautiously pleased.

Celegorm wonders if he can get good enough directions to run ahead and find the explodable rock and avoid all this.

Mostly everyone is just cautious.

If Eluréd and Elurín learned how to ride, Alphsîr and Alphlîn have forgotten. The horses could easily carry them double behind any of the elven riders, but they're a little skittish for that. They say they'll just walk. Gimli's walking and his legs are shorter, it will be fine.

It should not be surprising to anyone, but is somehow surprising to everyone, that Alphsîr and Alphlîn have very little endurance when it comes to walking.

They're not weary or out of breath!

But their feet hurt. Alphsîr's shins are starting to hurt! Alphlîn has stepped on something thorny.

Well, fine; the wagons aren't anyone's idea of a comfortable ride, but they do get the weight off your feet. Would they like to pick a wagon? Yes, they'll try that.

After some prolonged eye contact — presumably private ósanwë — Alphsîr and Alphlîn turn and go straight back to the wagon Whiterot is driving, and climb in.

"We want to know what became of our mother."

She's been identified as being from Doriath; it's not an illogical conclusion that she'd keep track of Nimloth.

Unfortunately Whiterot religiously avoided anyone she thought had a reasonable chance of figuring out in any detail who she used to be, which as it happens included Nimloth.

(…Maybe not so unfortunately, since it's not like she wants to explain anything to them.)

Whiterot makes a face. "I'm not sure you actually want that, but if so, you're better off asking Turgon. They had some things in common."

Alphsîr and Alphlîn promptly climb out of her wagon and start for Turgon's. After about ten feet, Alphlîn turns around and comes back long enough to deliver a stiff "Thank you".

Turgon overheard that well enough, but he still waits for Alphsîr and Alphlîn to repeat their request before saying, "I can tell you more about your mother, but there would be no— I do not think there would be any comfort in it."

He immediately regrets changing his phrasing, but he can't say that for sure, and Idril always seemed to be able to tell when he was overstating things and did not appreciate it.

"We still want to know," Alphsîr says stubbornly.

Turgon still doesn't want to tell them. But he imagines what it would have felt like for the Eagles to deliver his father's broken body and refuse to explain what happened — how it did feel when he thought of all he didn't know of Finrod in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, of Aredhel in Nan Elmoth, even knowing it might be worse than he could imagine—

(He still occasionally wonders about Nan Elmoth. Not so much Tol-in-Gaurhoth. He thinks he can probably guess about that, these days.)

He looks at Celeborn, who has been trailing after Alphsîr and Alphlîn up and down the caravan. "You don't need to be here for this."

(Because it hurts, to hear something terrible happened to your parent or your sibling or cousin — but Nimloth is Celeborn's niece. He knew her as a child.)

"I think I do," Celeborn says.

"Are you sure?"

Celeborn nods.

Well, Turgon warned him. He turns back to Alphsîr and Alphlîn. "What is it that you want to know?"

They look at each other for a moment, then he asks, "Why did she say you have things in common?"

This part is easy, at least. Easy-ish. "Most importantly, Elwing married my grandson Eärendil, so their son Elrond was a grandchild to both me and your mother, and we both wanted to know what we could about his life and his family, and hoped they were well. And Celeborn here is Nimloth's uncle and married to my cousin Galadriel. If either of us came into information about any of them and could share it discreetly with the other, we did so."

(That was their agreement, at least. They'd seldom had a chance to in practice; any information they got was usually generally available to orcs, and since they didn't seek each other's company particularly they usually both knew it when their paths crossed again.)

"And… Caraxitári said you were enslaved the same way our mother is," Alphsîr says.

Alphlîn adds, "Not you specifically. She said there were those enslaved the same way our mother is here, and that's you and Whiterot and the Fëanorion and… the other one."

"What does that mean?" Alphsîr picks up again. "That you are enslaved the same way?"

"We were… both captured as spirits and made orcs?" Turgon says.

"But what does that mean?"

Celeborn clears his throat (to Turgon's intense relief). "Alphsîr, Alphlîn… are you familiar with what orcs are?"

"They're orcs," Alphsîr replies, indicating Turgon.

"Yes, but… more generally, do you not—"

Celeborn stops himself before asking if they were taught of orcs back in Menegroth, or Ossiriand. If they were they will have forgotten. He just assumed that they would still know what orcs are. Because everyone knows what orcs are.

"To be completely clear," he says carefully. "You do not know any of the history of orcs and their involvement in the wars of Morgoth and then Sauron?"

"…No," Alphsîr says.

"Our mother bid us not go near the Shadow," Alphlîn says.

Celeborn closes his eyes briefly. "Then I think, before you speak to Turgon, I need to speak of that."

So that's what he does, all the rest of the day.

(Maglor thinks going into that conversation without flinching is one of the braver things Celeborn has done, but figures he probably won't want to hear that.)

(Khitwê, Risyind, Elladan, Elrohir, Zuste, and Zena have a long discussion — made longer by wagon-driving requirements — on whether or not the majority of the Pelnûru should be considered to know what orcs are, considering that they will give an accurate description of 'horrible ones' which are clearly orcs and then not acknowledge the Dark Lord connection. Sharlinnu has no opinion; in her day they were already spitefully downplaying the Shadow's significance, but not to the point of brushing over the connection between the Dark Hunter at Kuynennu and his creatures. Probably that changed after so many people died in the Involution.)

(Legolas tells Gimli he thinks he's going to have to give Celeborn all the rest of his Mirkwood moonshine. Gimli agrees.)

(Turgon could do without this conversation happening in his wagon, but since he's not being asked to participate in the conversation he's not going to complain.)