#I just wish her mystery got to linger a little longer

[seaweedraindraws]

I kind of wish they met in the first episode

[e-wills-afterhours]

Hotblooded

A/N: Pairing is Hiccstrid. They are 17 here, almost 18. In most of my work, I write from the film-canon, almost exclusively. That means I don't often reference the shows or the graphic novels in my fics. That's NOT me saying they're not canon, as they have since been confirmed to be. It simply means I do a lot of AU oneshots where Hiccup and Astrid got together following the events of the first film, because it makes far more sense that way, for me personally.

This prompt request was for dripping sexual tension mutual pining between two very horny Viking teenagers.

Rating: T+ ...for suggestive themes and raging adolescent hormones.

------

Hiccup had no preconceived notions about what a relationship with Astrid Hofferson would be like from the outset. He certainly never expected the public kiss that had sealed the deal; he had been grateful enough at the time that she no longer hated him. Building their friendship had been the first step: the solid launch point from which the tide of their affections carried them to something better. If asked, that would not have been his answer on how romance evolved, but it was inarguably the preferable way--for them. They had laid the groundwork of respect and camaraderie, honesty and laughter, from which all other feelings had grown.

Before he knew it, they were two years in, and everything came easier. Finding them together, with their dragons alongside, was more common than finding them apart. Even though Hiccup preferred his privacy to the hustle and bustle of Berk's markets and the mead hall, he considered Astrid's company respite enough to wholeheartedly welcome it. Long gone were the days of nervous adolescent infatuation. In their place were the peace and calm of sure, steady love.

Astrid's playful punches and elbowing were less frequent too, though not entirely absent. Instead, she put her hands on him with shameless affection. Sometimes, he wished she'd revert to playful roughhousing--because public embraces and lingering touches gave rise to all manner of rumors.

Hiccup had heard it all: a myriad of insinuations about what he and Astrid supposedly did in their more private moments together. Snotlout and the twins, especially, liked to share their theories loudly and often. Hiccup suspected it was a game of sorts, to see just how slow to anger he really was. They had yet to break him, since he would often flee with palpable annoyance at the first opportunity. Fishlegs was more subtle, asking indirect questions that were wide open invitations for the truth, if either Hiccup or Astrid ever felt so inclined to share. But they never did. Everyone else assumed they already knew, and they would have been quite surprised to learn they were wrong.

The truth of the matter was he and Astrid did little more alone than they did in full view of everyone else--and it was not for a lack of desire on Hiccup's part. Enough restless sleeps had ended in sweaty, lurid dreams, that it was pointless to deny what his heart yearned for. He so desperately wanted the rumors to be true, and there were times when they had come dangerously close, saved only by Astrid's better judgment. He was thankful and annoyed that one of them had restraint. She was the more sensible one, never letting things go further than was prudent. So, he never pushed his luck.

Dragons and work in the forge were suitable outlets for his frustrations. He was seventeen, and much aware of how the years had changed him physically; he was aware of the changes to Astrid's body even more so. Ever since about the age of ten, he had realized that girls were mysterious, interesting, and pleasing to look at. That appreciation grew and matured with him. He used to catch Gobber's hand for staring after girls instead of working. Astrid had always captured his attention above all others--no; rather, she had commanded it. So, it was not simply a matter of him noticing for the first time, seven years later, how beautiful she really was; that was a fact he knew well. What he noticed, with nagging persistence, was just how well their bodies complemented each other, almost to the point of absurdity.

Even in that moment, as they shared a simple hug, he could feel it: a gnawing hunger at the warmth of her in his arms.

"Thank you," she murmured; and her breath on his ear gave him goosebumps he hoped she didn't notice. "You're the best."

She pulled back and picked up her axe from the workbench beside them. He lived for the smile she wore then; it lit up his whole day. Her eyes were bright as she admired the handle that he lovingly re-wrapped during the evening before.

The weapon was an heirloom, given to Astrid by her mother. It was her most prized possession, and so Hiccup took it upon himself to keep it in peak condition--because it was important to her; so, it was important to him. He noticed with his more discerning blacksmith's eye that it was showing its age, leather grip well-worn in places. Indeed, the axe was older than either of them. Astrid was not bothered by such things, as long as it remained functional. She had been perplexed when he asked her if he could borrow it for some maintenance, yet she trusted him enough hand it over.

"You even oiled it, didn't you?" she asked, grinning down at the polished wood.

He shrugged and replied, "I might've done that, yeah."

She glanced up at him, eyes practically twinkling. "It almost looks brand new!"

"That was the idea. Just because it's an older axe doesn't mean it needs to look that way. I thought...it was the least I could do."

She considered him for a moment, her broad, smile softening into something fonder. His heart always beat a little faster when she looked at him like that: as if he held the world together, like she did for him. She had the rougher edges and hard demeanor most of Berk knew her for; but there was a side to her that was his, alone.

Well, his--and maybe Stormfly's too.

"Why?" she asked, setting the axe back down gently, eyes fixed on him.

"Why, what?" he responded as she closed the small space between them, reaching up to play with a braid in his hair.

The simple gesture sent a tingle throughout his body. He wondered if she ever felt such things when he touched her: little bursts of delight at his hand on the small of her back. Did she also awake in the middle of the night, blood rushing hot to the thought of him? He never asked. If her answer was no, he'd feel like a sad, desperate fool; and perhaps he was, but she didn't need to know that.

She shook her head. "Why are you so amazing?"

"I-I'm not, though. It really was no trouble to--"

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. He was momentarily taken aback.

"Could you maybe, just once, shut up and take the compliment?" she teased. "I know, it's unnatural for you."

He laughed and took her hand in his, prying it away from his mouth. The urge to kiss her fingertips was too strong, and he did not trust where it might lead. He then grasped her other hand as well, loosely holding on to them both in the narrow space between their bodies, because it was safe. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and pulled him impossibly closer.

"I'll work on that," he said, stroking her knuckles with his thumbs.

She smirked--and then her eyes did a quick but conspicuous glance over him, from head to toe and back again. He knew what that meant, but he hardly dared to believe that she would. The temperature inside the smithy was rising, and it had nothing to do with the forge.

------

Astrid found it baffling that Hiccup had no idea how attractive he really was. Perhaps years of being the village oddball had conditioned him against seeing himself in any other light; she supposed it might have that effect on anyone. But she had certainly noticed how two short years had changed him. One summer was all that he needed to surpass her in height. He was broader too, in the chest and shoulders. Dragon riding only helped, bestowing upon him some enticing definition, augmented by the new confidence with which his carried himself. She was surprised he never seemed to notice her staring. Then again, he could be oblivious to a lot of things when he was otherwise engaged in a personal hobby. That was when she enjoyed watching him the most.

His eyes were particularly beautiful, and it was fascinating how intense they became when he was focused on a smithy project or a challenging dragon. She imagined, on occasion, what it might be like for him to look at her in the same unwavering manner--and her mind always wandered to improper places. Then, if she added in thoughts about his talented hands, which could build brilliant, intricate things and tame wild dragons...Well, she just about lost her senses completely.

The truth of the matter was that she wanted him badly. She heard the rumors and assumptions Berk made about them, but such things simply had not transpired. Yet. She had enough recurring fantasies of skin on skin that it became harder to pull herself away from him if she indulged even a little bit. He always seemed confused and disappointed when she'd abruptly scale back her affections before they grew too hot; but to his credit, he did not complain. Maybe he knew better. She was not sure she could resist a genuine plea from him; seldom did he ask her for anything.

To make matters worse, he was so effortlessly generous with his time and his skills, making or fixing things for her of his own volition. That particular morning, he surprised her with the restoration of her axe to the point it could have been mistaken as new. She was glad she chose to trust him with it, though he had never given her reason not to. Then he had the audacity to make himself more desirable by acting as though the whole thing no big deal.

So, they stood there with their hands clasped between them, because it was innocent enough. Astrid knew he would never accept any monetary payment for such a loving favor. She glanced him over, wondering if that same selflessness would translate into other area of their relationship still to be explored--and that time, he noticed her gaze. Something changed in his eyes: a hunger she recognized, if for no other reason than she felt it too.

He reached up and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Anyone else would have found the gesture innocuous, but there was something quite intentional in the way he did it--soft, unhurried. He was so tender and caring. She bit her lip, feeling her pulse quicken. He then caressed her cheek. His touch was far warmer than it had any right to be, and she could imagine it elsewhere on her body. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into his hand with a quiet sigh.

"I really don't mind doing these things for you," he murmured, and she knew he meant restoring her axe, among countless other projects he had already done; but she wondered what else he might do for her if she only asked.

Curiosity toed the line of obsession. More of her waking hours were spent daydreaming about being with him in ways she ought not to be. Her reasons for holding off were never very strong, and they continued to dwindle.

With one hand, she continued to hold onto his. Her other hand came to his chest. The fabric of his tunic suddenly seemed far thicker than it was, keeping her from his bare skin. She grasped it in her fist, tugging slightly until he leaned down as she tilted her chin up. Their lips brushed, and her blood turned hot in an instant.

"Hiccup..." she whispered into their shared breath; she could almost taste him.

His hands came to her waist with a sense of urgency. She wrapped both of her arms around his neck. Her whole body thrummed with desire as they came together perfectly, her chest pressed against his; and she forgot why exercising restraint was such a good idea to begin with.

"I hope you know that I'd do anything for you," he said, "to show you what you mean to me."

Astrid did not think he was talking about favors in the smithy anymore. Common sense kept her from tearing at his clothes then; it was not the proper thing. The timing was not quite right to take the leap--but that did little to diminish her need to know just how good he felt. He had no idea how much he had chipped away her resolve just being wonderfully and unapologetically him. She wondered if his own self-control teetered on the same knife's edge. It was getting harder to breathe when the scent of him overwhelmed her every time she inhaled.

She threw better judgment to the wind and whispered, "What if I asked you for something I shouldn't?"

He leaned down, like he was making a second attempt to kiss her. He replied, in a distinctly huskier tone, "Then, I would have to--"

Loud, shrill banging shattered the moment. They yelped and pulled apart with their hands clapped over their ears, glancing around for the source of the earsplitting interruption.

Gobber was standing nearby, pounding against an empty anvil with his hammer attachment, looking positively surly. He glared beneath his bushy unibrow, metal tooth jutting out from his scowl.

When he was sure he caught their attention, he exclaimed, "There will be none of that in my shop! Take it someplace else!"

Hiccup frowned and replied, "Must you do that?" He gestured at the anvil, which Gobber then struck a couple more times for good measure.

"Must you do that?" the older man retorted, brandishing a thick finger at the two of them, still standing much too close for his liking.

Astrid's face burned with both embarrassment and indignation. She cleared her throat and made a spectacle of picking up her axe, checking to see if Gobber was watching--mostly, so he would shut up and back off. The man could be endearing; he could also be intrusive and incorrigible.

She said, in her mildest manner, "Thank you for the axe, Hiccup. It was very thoughtful."

Her boyfriend cast an irritable sidelong glance at his mentor and replied, "Yes. The axe. Of course." He added, smoothing out his tunic, "Anytime."

Satisfied, the blacksmith went back to work, grumbling all the while about teenaged indiscretion and something about "dragons in heat."

When he hobbled off, out of sight, Astrid said in a hushed voice, "We'll finish our conversation later."

She placed a quick peck on Hiccup's cheek before turning to leave.

"Wait. What do you mean by 'finish'?" he asked, standing straighter.

She spun around, walking backward out of the smithy with her axe in hand. "Soon."

He caught her meaning, anticipation and hope dawning on his face. "Soon? How soon?"

She shook her head, mainly because she did not have a real answer for him. "I'll see you later!"

"Wait, Astrid!" he called, almost following her out of the smithy. He lingered in the doorway. "How soon?"

She waved noncommittally and headed for home. With the thrill of her promise to him guiding her steps, she felt just a little lighter. Their conversation would find its conclusion, in one form or another. No, she did not expect they'd prove the rumors true that day, or even in the immediate few thereafter. But what she did know for certain was that she still owed him a kiss, which would lead to one thing, that would inevitably lead to others. She could see it on the horizon, and she could feel the desire inside them burning. While the number of days or weeks was yet unknown, the very nature of their relationship was turning with the seasons.

So, Astrid was willing to make a wager with herself: she and Hiccup would have carnal knowledge of each other by winter's end. What else were they to do? Young, in love, and incredibly hotblooded.

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter nine

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.0k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, making out, mentions of sex, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: buckle up kids, it’s going to be an angsty ride!! also this is basically just dialogue so it’s a little different from the other chapters so far 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝟑 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 – 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟕, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕

In many ways, it felt like your whole life changed since you stopped being friends with Tashi. Over the last three months, you realised a significant part of your identity was missing. You hadn’t noticed it before you stopped being friends with Tashi, but she made up so much of your everyday life that it was impossible not to feel her absence.

Every memory of her lingered in your mind like echoes in an empty room. Tashi existed in the past tense. She was no longer a part of your life. Letting go was hard, and nothing could fill the void left behind. It was a painful adjustment because your routines and comforts were embossed with her imprint – tennis, school, friendships, your entire life. Every new routine you established was an aching reminder of her desertion. 

No matter how much Art supported you, it felt like you had to learn to navigate the world alone. You knew he was doing his best and loved him so much for constantly putting up with you, but Art-shaped love couldn’t fill the Tashi-shaped hole in your heart. It was irreplaceable, and since nothing could fill the void, it remained empty.

Staying in Art’s childhood bedroom over winter break had been fun for about a day until the both of you realised his room was a shrine to his friendship with Patrick, just as yours was a testament to your friendship with Tashi. Trophies, medals, pictures, and mementoes of their life together littered every corner of his room. This worsened Art’s insecurity that Patrick’s presence shadowed his relationship with you.

One day, when you came upstairs from crocheting with Art’s mom, you were surprised by the sudden emptiness of his walls and shelves. Any evidence of Patrick was scrubbed from his room and his life. 

The sudden end to Art and Patrick’s friendship – which you secretly called Patrickgate but would never say aloud to your boyfriend – was a lingering mystery you had yet to figure out. You weren’t sure if the end of their friendship was just an extension of Tashi’s breakup with Patrick or if something else happened. His visit to Stanford had been so much fun up until the accident, and you knew Art had looked forward to it for weeks, so you had no idea what happened to them.

“I think my parents like you more than me,” Art declared one evening, falling onto the sofa beside you. You were crocheting a blanket out of granny squares with his mom and bonding with his dad about your shared music taste. Everyone agreed that Art had terrible taste in music, so he rolled his eyes and watched his favourite people fondly. 

“Sweetheart, don’t say that,” his mother said kindly, counting her stitches. “We definitely like her more than you.” You laughed when Art whined, leaning on your shoulder and complaining. 

Truthfully, he was happy that you and his parents got along so well. A warm, glowing sensation spread through Art’s chest anytime he saw you interact with them. He smiled as his dad laughed heartily at one of your jokes and noticed a rare sparkle in his mother’s eyes as you exchanged stories about your childhood with her.

Art felt the tight knot of anxiety that had grown over the last quarter slowly begin to unravel. 

As you lay on his bed reading a novel his mom recommended, Art couldn’t help but wish your relationship was always like this. Sunlight streamed through his window, cast a gentle glow over his bedroom, and made you appear almost angelic. Curled up on his bed with your legs tucked beneath you, the corners of your lips curved into a content smile as you turned a page, eyes scanning the words.

Art stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and watched you silently. Your relaxed posture contrasted with the tension that usually lined your frame. The strain of the last three months seemed to fade away, and the emotional turbulence you had both weathered was absent. 

Art let out a quiet sigh. This tranquillity, this slice of peace, reminded him why he was trying so hard to make your relationship work.

“I think I need to steal you away from my parents for a night,” he decided, making you look up from your book. 

“Really?”

Humming, Art pushed off the doorway and approached the bed, saying, “I want you all to myself. Competing with my parents for my girlfriend’s time isn’t exactly the low point of my life but it does defeat the purpose of staying together for winter break.”

Grinning, you dropped your book onto the bed and fell into his arms. “I’d love to do something tonight,” you promised. 

Sitting across from each other in the dimly lit restaurant, you and Art found yourselves surrounded by a heavy silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it no longer held the ease of your earlier days together. Last year, when your relationship was fresh, you could sit in companionable silence for hours, feeling entirely at ease. Art’s presence used to be comforting as he quietly observed you. Now, you stared down at your plate, your mind swirling with doubt and uncertainty.

Your relationship with Art wasn’t working out how you hoped, and you were sure he felt the same. But he never voiced his concerns, thoughts, or feelings. Talking to Art was like trying to scale an impenetrable fortress, every word bouncing back without revealing a hint of what lay inside.

When you returned to Art’s house, you showered and got ready to sleep, climbing into his bed and waiting for him.

Cross-legged on top of his blankets, you stared at the now empty walls of his childhood bedroom. A hollow ache sat deep within your chest. Every poster, every photo, and every memory of his friendship with Patrick had been stripped away, leaving nothing but bare, cold surfaces. The once vibrant room now mirrored the emptiness you had noticed in your boyfriend in recent months.

You knew how much his bond with Patrick had filled his life, just as your friendship with Tashi filled yours, and without them, everything seemed unbearably vacant and bleak. Both of you were so consumed by your broken friendship with Tashi that neither of you gave him the space to process his loss of Patrick.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Art entered his room, hair still wet from his shower. He paused when he saw the melancholic look on your face.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. You never hid parts of yourself from Art. The problem was that he never did the same with you. “Things haven’t been okay for a while now. With either of us.”

Despite the shock coursing through him at you pointing out your unspoken issues, Art tried to keep his expression neutral. His features betrayed only the slightest flicker of surprise. “School’s been busy and our schedules have been crazy, but we’re okay,” he tried to reassure you, closing his door behind him. His parents wouldn’t be coming home until later in the evening but Art wanted the assurance of privacy. “It’ll get better.”

Sitting beside you on the bed with his feet planted on the floor, Art met your eyes and smiled at you. In the past, all it took was the curve of his lips to give you butterflies. Just one glance would make your heart flutter uncontrollably. Now, you could see the sadness in his eyes, the weight of unspoken worries pulling him down. The butterflies weren’t gone, but their wings felt heavier now. You still loved him, but you didn’t want your relationship to become one of unfulfilled potential, lost to the demands of your separate lives and identical scars. 

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “The thing is, I don’t know how things can get better if we don’t talk about them,” you confessed, trying not to upset him. “You know I tell you everything, right?” 

Almost imperceptibly, Art’s eyes narrowed, already taking a defensive stance. “Of course I do,” he said.

“Do you feel like you can share things with me?” you wondered, trying to keep your voice light. You had observed Art putting your care and emotions above everything in his life, and you wanted him to know it was unnecessary. “Because I’m here for you. I feel like you hold everything in and I don’t want you to feel alone.” 

Art crossed his arms as he thought about it. He wore a contemplative look, lips pursed and gaze lingering thoughtfully on the wall behind you. “I don’t feel alone.” Pausing, you gave Art a chance to divulge more about his feelings, but he only looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

You tried not to let your disappointment or frustration show. After all, if Art felt that he needed to tread carefully around you, then you were partially at fault. He had been in charge of helping you hold it together emotionally for the last few months, and there was no space for him to get that same support from you. You both lost your best friends, but you were the only one who received help from your partner.

“Does that mean you don’t miss Patrick?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. “You haven’t talked about him in, like, nine months.”

Art’s brows furrowed deeply, casting a shadow over his increasingly narrowed eyes. “Why are you bringing up Patrick all of a sudden?” he queried, his voice taking on a defensive edge that you had anticipated. 

“Well–” you motioned around his room to indicate how empty it suddenly was– “You haven’t said a word about what happened and I can tell it’s affecting you. I’m worried. I don’t know why you stopped being friends because you never talk to me. He’s your best friend, and one day you just decided that you were done with him. I know how that feels, and I want to understand what happened.”

“Patrick and me not being friends is not the same as what Tashi did to you,” Art pointed out. His jaw clenched, signalling his rising frustration. “I never insulted him or his relationship, we just stopped being friends after the accident. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“If there was nothing to talk about, then you wouldn’t be so affected by me bringing it up,” you argued. “I’ve noticed how your face changes every time someone mentions him, and I think that talking about it might help.” Art said nothing. “Besides, he’s not at fault for what happened to Tashi. While I understand why she wants to draw a boundary between them after going through the most traumatic experience of her life, you’re supposed to be his best friend. He lost both his girlfriend and his best friend in one fell swoop for something he isn’t even responsible for.”

“It was just time, Y/n,” Art replied vaguely. His breathing became deliberate and even, each measured inhale and exhale designed to soothe his growing anger.

“Was it time, or was it convenient timing?” you challenged him.

The tension between you mounted as you grappled with Art’s emotional guardedness, yearning for him to break his silence. Even now, when confronted with your direct questions, he let nothing slip past his mask. You wondered if you had done this to him, if you had made him believe that any display of emotion would somehow set you off.

You questioned, “Was it really a natural ending to your friendship, or did you stop being friends because Tashi’s accident gave you an excuse to do so?”

Art sighed heavily, a telltale sign that he was nearing the point where he couldn’t hold it all in. “Why do you care?” he asked slowly and through gritted teeth. “You haven’t talked to him in months either.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” you retorted.

He froze in shock as your words sank in. Standing abruptly, Art took two steps from the bed and turned to face you. “You’ve been trying to talk to Patrick?” His voice wavered, rising a pitch higher than usual. A tremor of shock coloured his words, “Since when? How often?”

You uncrossed your legs and swung them over the side of the bed. “Twice a month since the accident,” you revealed. 

Clenching his fists at his sides, Art wondered, “Does he ever write back?” 

“Once. All he said was that he missed me and he wished us a happy anniversary.”

Art inhaled sharply, the sting of betrayal spreading through him. The realisation hit hard. He had assumed Patrick was out of his life and would no longer influence his relationship with you, and he was naive to have thought so.

“Fuck,” Art grumbled. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he’s my friend, and without you and Tashi I might be his only friend,” you reminded your boyfriend. “He has nobody on tour who he can rely on, he would never reach out to his parents, and he doesn’t deserve to be punished for Tashi’s accident.” You stood, searching Art’s standoffish blue eyes as you approached him, wondering when he would admit his real feelings. “Doesn’t that hurt you? Patrick has nobody.”

“How do you think Tashi feels about you talking to her ex after the accident?” Art questioned, throwing a hand out as if motioning to her. 

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the mention of your former best friend. “I don’t know, I haven’t exactly had the chance to ask her, Art,” you said sarcastically. “Why should I worry about what she would think? After everything she said to me, everything she said about our relationship and our inevitable fate?” Feeling cornered, you stepped to the window and looked at the empty street. “If you’re so curious about what Tashi thinks, you should just ask her. After all, the two of you are still friends, right?”

Art groaned, irritated that you brought up a past argument you had. “I already told you we aren’t friends! Sometimes we run into each other and we talk.”

Turning your head, you nodded. “Fine. But that doesn’t change the fact that you think talking to Tashi is okay, but me talking to Patrick is some sort of a crime.”

“Because Tashi isn’t in love with me, Y/N,” Art argued, raising his voice with flushed cheeks. “Don’t you see that Patrick’s just waiting around until we break up so he can swoop in and have you for himself?” 

“Where did you get that from?” The conversation you had started was escalating to a full-on fight. You felt a surge of heat spreading from your chest to your head, your racing heartbeat emphasising your growing anger and exasperation. “I know he flirts with me, I know he messes with you, but you like it! It makes you smile, and laugh, and you play into it because that’s just how Patrick is!”

“I know that!”

You began listing things off on your fingers, “He’s never told me he has feelings for me, he never tells me that we should break up, he doesn’t plant any ideas about you being a bad boyfriend in my head – or fears of infidelity, for that matter,” you added pointedly, reminding Art of the way he tried to make Patrick and Tashi insecure about their casual relationship. “He’s never done anything to indicate he’s trying to get together with me! He won’t even respond to my emails!”

“Good!” Art shouted, his face turning a deeper shade of red with anger as he approached you. “I don’t want you talking to him!”

“Why?!” You shouted back, losing your temper. Months of built-up frustration and disappointment were finally boiling over. “The second you stopped being friends he stopped answering my emails, does that sound like someone who’s trying to steal your girlfriend?” 

“You don’t know him like I do!” Art stared at you, arms falling limply at his sides. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhale like a gasp. Your shoulders rose and fell rapidly, and the adrenaline coursing through you made it hard to slow your racing heart. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You think you know Patrick because you exchanged emails? If you really think he didn’t do all of that because he’s in love with you then he’s totally played you. I know him. He’s relentless, and he’s never going to stop, Y/N. Haven’t you seen him play? He’s the master of the long game, the master of making a comeback, and the master of trick shots.”

You let out a deep, exasperated groan, your eyes rolling skyward in a dramatic display of frustration. “Why is it that we can’t have a single argument without it coming back to tennis? The person you are is not the same as the type of player you are on the court,” you pointed out. “You’re romantic and imaginative and nothing like the way you get when you play tennis. Why are all of Patrick’s qualities diminished to the way he plays a game?”

“Because everything’s a game to him,” Art insisted. “He goes through life like it’s a game and he wants to lose as little as possible.”

“But–”

“–And you,” Art interrupted. “You go through life like it’s a game too!”

“When have I ever treated any aspect of our lives like a game?” you exclaimed angrily.

“Weren’t you playing a game when you lied to Tashi about throwing every match you’ve played against each other for the last five years?” Art challenged you. 

The coldness in his eyes and how he spoke to you was so unlike him. The harshness of his voice sent a chill down your spine, making you feel like a stranger in your own relationship. It was as if the person standing before you was someone else entirely, leaving you reeling with confusion and hurt.

Head spinning, you stammered, “How do you even know about that?”

“Tashi told me. She was really upset about it, too. She was crying and I could barely hear a word she was saying because–”

“–You just said the two of you weren’t friends and that you didn’t speak to her? When did you have the time to have this heart-to-heart?”

Swallowing harshly, Art confessed, “The night of your fight.”

“Fucking hell, Art.” Incredulous, you burst into laughter, shaking your head in disbelief. “You went and talked to the woman who broke my heart the night it happened? What, you just went to her dorm to make sure I wasn’t lying to you about it?” you asked sarcastically, your eyes widening for comedic effect. “Since you seem to think I’m lying about everything, including the fact that I’ve been letting her win.”

Art scoffed. “Come on,” he replied in a harsh voice. “Do you really expect me to believe that you let her win every single game? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because she wanted it and I didn’t,” you emphasised each word, enunciating as you glared at your boyfriend with tears in your eyes. “From the moment I met her I knew she wanted to be the best. I considered ignoring that and simply winning against her – God knows it would have made my mother happier – but I chose not to.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks harshly. “I let my mother berate me and refuse to let me have dessert and affection and whatever else normal teenagers get from their moms because I wanted my best friend to win. I wanted her to achieve her dream. I didn’t do it to have you, the person who is supposed to trust and support me most in the world, tell me that I lied about it,” you concluded, feeling utterly defeated that Art didn’t think you could beat Tashi. “What about all those times I beat her in training when the scores didn’t matter? Or the fact that I was ranked higher than her last year, even before her injury?”

“You had a great year last year,” Art allowed, averting his eyes when he saw how devastated you were. “But Tashi’s always been tougher than you.”

“Is that what she told you when you went to visit her?” you wondered. Art remained silent, and you inhaled sharply, hurt that he would believe Tashi over you. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this… Objectively, I’ve always been the better player.” Art nodded slowly. It was true; in terms of skill and precision, nobody had you beat, not even Tashi. “So if I’m stronger, faster, and more precise than Tashi, then there is no reason that she should have been beating me all these years. Except for the truth: I was letting her win.”

Art shifted uneasily, his gaze fixed on the floor, hesitating to disclose an opinion he feared might hurt your feelings further. “Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game,” he began cautiously, his voice tinged with apprehension. “You have a lot of anxiety, and–”

You held up your hand, silencing him as you backed away from Art. “You know what, I’m done. I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that my own boyfriend doesn’t believe me, or the fact that you don’t believe in me.”

“Of course I believe in you,” Art disagreed.

“But not more than you believe in Tashi, right?” you retorted angrily. “Is that what this is really about? Do you want her? Were you disappointed Patrick won the match and got her number? Is that why you kept picking fights when they were together?”

Frowning, Art said, “Stop it.” 

“Is this your grand scheme? Date the best friend and then cosy up to the one you really want when the timing’s convenient for you?” 

“Well, it seems to be working for Patrick,” Art replied, just as venomous as you.

Sighing, you rubbed your forehead. “I don’t want to fight about Tashi and Patrick, I just want to understand what’s going on with you! You never tell me anything.”

“Because I feel like you’re on the verge of falling apart every time I see you!” Art exclaimed, voice edged with frustration. “The last thing I want to do is push you over the edge. We have so much going on and I feel like every time we do something together it ends with both of us being upset, and I hate it. Everything is about tennis, or Tashi, or school, or Patrick, and nothing is about us anymore!”

“I know nothing is about us anymore,” you agreed, your tone a mixture of sadness and defensiveness. “Why do you think I want you to open up? I know I haven’t been my usual sugar-coated self for the last few months, but you holding everything in doesn’t help us. I need more from you, I need you to not treat me like I’m made of glass.”

“Why am I not enough for you?” Art replied, stunning you.

Your chests heaved in unison, panting from the intensity of your argument. Your eyes locked in a charged silence. Art’s hands trembled slightly at his sides, adrenaline still coursing through him, making his heart pound against his ribcage as he met your gaze. You looked away, blinking back tears.

“You are enough for me,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how many more times I can tell you. I love you, of course, you’re enough.”

“Not like that,” he corrected you. Art sighed, his anger dissipating as he watched your growing sadness. “What did Tashi say about our relationship that’s so bad? She said we would get married and have kids and I would have a professional tennis career. You act like that’s the worst thing she could have said to you.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise as Art mentioned your argument with Tashi, your breath catching in your throat. Regardless of how impactful the end of your friendship with Tashi was, you didn’t like to speak about it. Even after all these months, Art only new bits and pieces of your argument. He knew Tashi said something about you having a family with him, and he knew it had upset you, but he didn’t understand the context. The sharp edge of your anger softened, replaced by a pang of guilt as you understood how deeply this detail had affected your boyfriend. 

Tentatively, you reached out and took one of Art’s hands. He let you, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. In a gentle voice, you told him, “I had no idea you thought that. What she said that day has nothing to do with you, trust me. She said it to hurt me because she knows that I’m terrified of turning out like my mother.”

When Art’s eyes opened, they reflected confusion. “She thinks marrying me will make you turn out like your mother?”

“Well, no, she thinks I’ll turn out like my mom if I don’t pursue a tennis career, regardless of who I marry,” you corrected him. “I wouldn’t have a life of my own. There would be no meaning, no dreams, no goals of my own, just me. And I would be vapid and destructive if I ever had kids, just like my mother was with me. It has nothing to do with you, she said those things to hurt me, to scare me.”

“A life with me scares you?”

“No, a life without purpose scares me. Now, more than ever, I feel like I have no purpose.” Your voice wavered when you spoke, barely above a whisper, as if afraid of being heard. “I thought Tashi was the person I was going to live life with, and now I have to rearrange my identity in a way that makes sense without her. She said those things because she knows my biggest fear is to hurt any potential partner or children the way my mom hurt me and my dad. I need more than that for myself.”

“You need more than me,” Art repeated, running his free hand through his hair and sighing. “That’s what I’m saying, I’m not enough for you. It can’t just be me. It has to be me and tennis, or me and law school. But not just me, or our relationship.”

“Is that wrong?” you wondered.

“I just mean– I would drop tennis for you in a heartbeat, Y/N. I would follow you to law school and go anywhere you need me to go with you because I love you. You’re it for me, you’re all I need. But you don’t feel that way about me.”

As your fingers slipped from Art’s grasp, the cold, empty space between your hands mirrored the silent, inevitable end of your relationship.

“I would never ask you to do any of those things. I would never ask you to drop tennis or tell you to do anything you don’t want to do. You have to figure that out for yourself, just like I do.” You could feel yourself getting emotional and sensed the familiar sting of oncoming tears. “You already know what you want. You’re going to go pro, and I will be there to support you in whatever way you want me to–” Art grinned. “But you need to let me figure out what’s right for me, too.” Rather than slipping from his face, Art’s smile froze there, unmoving as his eyes grew colder. “I love you, Art, but I can’t just be your girlfriend. I need to be my own person. I haven’t been my own person since– well, I don’t think I’ve ever really been my own person. I was my mother’s puppet and, apparently, Tashi’s lackey, and now I don’t know who the fuck I am.”

“I know who you are,” Art interjected. His blue-eyed gaze pleaded with you to agree, imploring you to set aside your differences and make peace.

You shook your head. “No, you don’t.”

“I love you, how can I love you and not know who you are?”

“Because the version of me you fell in love with isn’t the same without her best friend,” you explained. Wrapping your arms around yourself as if they would hold you together, your lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “I know that sounds stupid, but I’m different now.”

“I’ll wait,” Art assured you. “You can be her again, I’ll wait.”

You turned to face him, eyes red and swollen from the tears you had been fighting back. “I can’t ask you to do that. You can’t keep feeling like you have to walk on eggshells around me. I don’t know what I want anymore; the major building blocks of our lives are gone, probably for good,” you added, referencing your former friendships with Tashi and Patrick. “And all we do is fight about them.”

“Then we’ll stop fighting.”

“It’s not that easy, Art. Be honest with yourself. Have you been happy?” you wondered. “Truly happy? Tiptoeing around in case you hurt my feelings or say something that will send me spiralling?” Art opened his mouth to respond but stopped, the words caught in his throat. He looked away, knowing the truth was written all over his face. Your eyes filled with tears, glistening as they clung to your lower lashes, your breaths becoming shallow and rapid. “I know you, and I know you haven’t been happy.”

Voice cracking with emotion, Art said, “I just don’t want you to be sad anymore.” He clenched his jaw tightly to suppress the tears welling in his eyes.

“I know. I love you so much for everything you’ve done, but every time you try to heal my wounds from losing Tashi, it hurts our relationship. It’s like we’re being torn open. So please, even though it’s hard and even though you don’t want to, please tell me how you feel.” 

Art swallowed hard. Barely above a whisper, he confessed, “No, I haven’t been happy. We’ve been growing apart since the quarter started, and our shifted priorities have been driving us apart for months.”

“I agree.” You nodded, your expression calm even as a few tears rolled down your face. Soft and controlled, you said, “It’s not working. Right?”

“Right,” Art echoed, his lower lip quivering from holding back sobs. “I feel the gap widening every day and I hate it. It shouldn’t matter that I’m getting ready to go pro, and it shouldn’t matter that you’re still trying to figure out what you want.”

“But it does.”

“But it does,” he parroted.

You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you closed your eyes briefly. “I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted,” you declared, feeling drained by the weight of your argument.

Chuckling in disbelief, Art agreed, “I’m so tired.” When he met your eyes again, the fight had visibly drained out of him. “But I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

With a wistful smile, you looked at him, your eyes revealing the quiet pain of loving someone you couldn’t fully have. “I love you too,” you replied gently, stepping closer to him. Tears escaped your eyes as you cupped Art’s face and carefully wiped his wet cheeks. “But if I’m not making you happy, then it’s not working.”

Art nodded. “And you need to figure out your own path and find what makes you happy, too,” he added.

You stood silently, the reality of your decision to break up sinking in. In the dimly lit room, you embraced for the last time, your bodies clinging as if reluctant to let go. Art’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close, while you buried her face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent you knew you would miss. Time seemed to slow as you stood intertwined, trying to convey how much love you still had for each other.

The moment you parted, your lips gravitated to his. You kissed him. Art nudged his nose against yours, lips, hips, and chest hard against yours. He gripped your waist, tugging you closer as your hands tangled into his hair. You could barely think about your breakup. Too busy kissing Art harder and deeper as you begged each other to say goodbye, to be together and love each other despite everything that happened. The passion and urgency of this moment filled your veins; every heartbeat was a drumbeat, echoing in your ears as you stole this moment with him.

Art Donaldson wasn’t your boyfriend anymore. The thought was almost unimaginable.

Nothing else mattered. Not the pain of mourning the loss of Art’s love or the hollow emptiness of losing another person who had once filled your days with laughter and happiness, the boy who had been the warmth in your coldest, loneliest moments. For now, the breakup wasn’t real yet. You existed outside of reality, broken up but not yet having separated your life together. You were still his, and he was still yours.

But that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

Art’s strong body pressed against you, firm hands trailing up your waist and raising the hem of your t-shirt as he went. “I still care about you, despite everything,” he declared, his voice filled with longing and desperation. “I’m sorry. I do believe you, and I believe in you.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

Pressing kisses to his neck, you paused to pull Art’s t-shirt over his head. He exhaled shakily, hooded gaze intoxicated as he drank in the sight of you running your hands down the planes of his chest and tracing the contours of the muscles in his abdomen. His eyes worshipped you like a sacred idol, filled with awe and adoration. Art reached for your face, a thick air of anticipation growing between you as his lips ghosted yours. His lips left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbones, almost mirroring the movement of your hands on his body. You shivered. Each feather-light touch of his mouth ignited a spark in you. 

When you reconnected your lips, Art’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You sighed happily against his mouth, and the sound seemed to make Art realise what was happening. As if an enchantment had lifted, he broke the kiss, staggering back and covering his mouth.

“Fuck,” Art swore. 

He placed both hands on his burning cheeks. Art’s chest was just as flushed as his face, and his damp hair was a mess of unruly curls. Catching your breath, you looked at him, waiting to see what he would do next. Your head spun from the kiss you shared, and you were sure your lips looked just as red and raw as Art’s. Whenever you kissed him – or even just sat beside him – Art needed to be touching as much of you as possible. Your shoulders, hands, arms, thighs, and waist were rarely free around him. His hands always roamed freely, wanting more, more, more.

Art’s distance and the absence of his touch were a stark reminder of your breakup. 

Taking a deep breath, Art met your eyes, and the intensity of his gaze made your knees weak. No matter how desperate he felt, he was being cautious with you. After all, you had just broken up, and he wasn’t sure if break-up sex was the best idea. 

“I can’t– I need to go,” Art blurted, lowering his hands. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape from you, the only person he couldn’t stay away from. “I have to go before I– Otherwise, I’m going to–”

“Stay,” you pleaded. Your pulse thrummed beneath your skin like a racing river, each look from Art igniting sparks of nervous excitement.

He exchanged a meaningful look with you. “Is that a good idea?”

“I want to say goodbye,” you confessed, your voice wavering. “I want to feel what it’s like to be loved by you one last time.”

Art’s lips immediately found yours, kissing you as if his life depended on it. “I do love you,” he promised. “You’re still mine for tonight.”

[lovincherries]

Night Out

A/N: i haven’t written anything in probably 3 years, am I coming back just because I watched the new Top Gun? Absolutely. This is so rusty, but I tried. I need a creative outlet 😂😂 also, this is not proof read at all so if it doesn’t make sense that’s why

Summary: you meet Rooster and there’s an immediate connection.

Warnings: smut, daddy kink, and somewhat of a breeding kink.

Your day at work was long, filled with unkind, impatient, and just terrible people. You would’ve cried and gone home if it weren’t for the fact it was a Friday night and you had already agreed to go out with your best friend. Something about putting on makeup and going to a bar after a bad day wasn’t necessarily a joyous process, but you were a people pleaser through and through.

“C’mon Y/N, you look hot. You already know the bar will be filled with all those hot, navy men after work. Time to get some military dick. There’s practically cobwebs in between your legs,” your best friend laughed. She knew you had a thing for a man in a uniform and it had been a long time since you had gotten any.

“I know, I know. I’m coming,” you groaned out. All you wanted to do was lay down in your bed and close your eyes, but that was not happening tonight.

Before you knew it, you were sitting alone at the bar while she was off with some man that she had just met. She had a way of doing that, just finding someone instantly without any trouble. You, on the other hand, sat at the bar, praying you looked mysterious and not like a total loser. You kept ordering drinks, hoping to distract yourself from the growing embarrassment in your stomach. One drink turned to two, two turned to three, and then four turned to six. Now you felt good, a little past tipsy, but not quite drunk. It was then that the alcohol hit your bladder.

It was on the way to the bathroom that you bumped into a very hot, very built man. His drink was thrown back onto his white tank top “I’m so sorry, these dang heels cause me to lose my balance. Or maybe that’s just me, I don’t know. I’m just so sorry, I’ve made you spill your drink. Now I’m rambling, i just need to shut up,” your words spilled out of your mouth before you could even stop them. You finally looked up at his face and it was a wonder your jaw didn’t hit the floor. He was smiling like it was no problem, while you were trying to clean his shirt with a nearby napkin.

“It’s okay darling, accidents happen,” he said with ease, his smirk obvious. He could see it in your eyes that you thought he was the hottest thing on Earth. “What’s your name? Are you here all by yourself?” He asked, praying that the answer would be yes and you didn’t have a boyfriend lingering around the corner.

“Y/N, my names Y/N. Yeah, well no and yes. My friend was here but now I can’t find her, so basically yes,” you rushed out, he was very attractive and you talked a lot when you got nervous. “What about you? What’s your name?” You answered. you wished that you could’ve said something more like ‘take me home and do whatever you want to me’ but you weren’t bold like that.

“My name’s Bradley, but all my friends call me Rooster,” he answered. You knew what that meant, he was a military man. You should’ve seen it coming, the muscles, the confidence, the mustache.

“Nice to meet you Rooster. sorry for spilling that on your shirt, but I’m about to pee myself,” you felt the liquor now, you giggled out your words and he moved over so he was no longer blocking the bathroom door. You relieved yourself and came back out where he was still waiting on you.

“What are you doing tonight Mrs. Y/N?” He asked while sipping the beer he had gotten while you were using the restroom.

“Hmmm, probably about to head home,” you answered, you needed to go home before you got too bad and you couldn’t walk, which you had to do since your friend abandoned you.

“Would you like me to give you a ride?” He asked. Your answer should be no, without a doubt. It was dangerous, he could be some like murderer who was going to chop you up in little pieces.

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked, with all seriousness. This man was too good to be true, of course his fatal flaw would be something like murder.

“No, no I’m not,” he laughed out, he knew if he didn’t get you home someone else would. Someone else who might want to hurt you.

So, with his answer, you stupidly accepted. Off into his car you went, you gave him your address and then you were on the way. You closed your eyes and before you knew it, you were home.

“Wake up Miss Y/N, we’re here” he lightly shook you awake. As much as he felt guilty about eyeing up a drunk woman, he couldn’t help but let his eyes drift to your chest that was practically popping out of your dress. You were too tired to notice.

“Thank you Mr. Rooster,” you yawned out, reaching for the door handle to get into your house.

“Before you go, put your number in my phone. I would like to see you sober next time, preferably,” he didn’t ask, he told you to put his number in your phone. And you did just that, you would love to see this man again.

Before you knew it, you were going out on a date with Rooster. Then, you were hanging out with each other for a month. You had gotten to know a lot about each other, but he had yet to make a move on you. He told you about his parents, and how much he had struggled as a child. You told him of your past and how you had ended up on the island.

You were beginning to grow worried that he didn’t find you attractive. It wasn’t until one night that you guys had gotten wine drunk after cooking at your apartment that you knew he did.

“You know, you’re very gorgeous Y/N,” Rooster slurred while resting his head on your shoulder. He picked up his head to look you in your eyes.

“You know, you’re very hot Rooster,” you dragged out your words back. His face slowly getting closer to yours, his gaze going back and forth between your lips and eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” he stated with finality.

“Then kiss me,” you retorted. And kiss you he did. His lips felt like a relief to you. They were soft, but his kiss was hard and intense. It was as if his lips were made for yours, like everything in your life hasn’t made sense till this very moment. The kiss became more intense as the seconds went on. One of his large and rough hands went to your face, while the other went to your waist. He seemed unsure of the boundaries, but you wanted him to touch you. You wanted to feel his hands all over you, you didnt want to know where he began and where you ended.

His lips left yours and he started kissing down you neck till he reached the neckline of your shirt, his eyes looked up to you as if he was asking for approval. You nodded your head, knowing what he wanted. What you wanted as well. He lifted your shirt over your head, revealing your chest. His eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas. You had been preparing for this moment, you purposefully put on a black bra just in case this would happen. He was admiring your chest and you just wanted him to touch you.

“Come here, please,” your voice came out as a breath, a needy whine. This set a fire in him now, he knew you wanted him. Truly, wanted him. He pulled you back on to the couch, so now he was laying on top of you. This kiss was even more intense, he was now biting your lips and not just holding, but squeezing your boobs. It was all too much, too good, too real. He took a breath and lent down into your ear, “let me see all of you, Y/N. I need to see all of you,” he groaned as his hips pushed into yours. His bulge hitting your sweet spot.

“M’kay,” that was all you had to say as you were taking your bra off. He didn’t even give you a seconds notice before he was taking a nipple into his mouth, playing with it with his tongue. “Ahh,” the sensation went straight in between your legs and he knew it. You could feel the smile on his face as he continued. He sucked on your nipple for about a minute as you were writhing under him, the wetness in your underwear increasing by the second. It was too much, he had to stop. 

“Stop,” you breathed out and he did. “Why? Is something wrong? If you don’t want do this anymore it’s okay,” he rushed out. That’s not what you wanted at all. You crashed your lips into his mid sentence, stopping him from rambling on as you once had. In the middle of the kiss you flipped him around so now you were straddling his lap.

Now, you had him right where you wanted him. Kissing down his neck, you slowly got off the couch and onto your knees. You pulled away, looking at him expectantly. He knew what was to come. He tore his shirt off faster than you had ever seen anyone do before. Your hands reached out for his belt, taking it off with nervous fingers. What if you weren’t good at this anymore? What if he didn’t like what you had to offer? That didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter. You were going to do this.

You slowly pulled his pants down, revealing just how large his bulge was in his underwear. All you could manage was “oh my god,” under your breath. This man was already cocky enough, but by god that just amplified it by ten.

“C’mon baby, i know you can take it. Such pretty lips, it would be a shame for them to go to waste,” he said with such arrogance. You were all too distracted to really process what he was saying, too distracted to even feel the floor killing your knees. You were too focused on what was to come. It wasn’t till his hand came to your neck, guiding you down that you realized how transfixed you had been.

“Be a good girl, take it,” he whispered. That right there went straight to the spot between your legs. It caused you to take action. Your hands pulled his boxers down, revealing him in all his glory. And by god was it glorious, no wonder they called him Rooster. He had the cock to match. You kissed the tip, licking on it, sucking it. Taking your time before working your way down, you wanted to watch him squirm, watch him anticipate it.

His hands guided your head down more, pushing his cock all the way to the base of your throat. It stung, but you didn’t mind. It was all for him. “Oh, such a good girl for daddy,” he moaned out. You had no choice, you needed to be his good girl. You started to work for him now, bringing your hands into it. Sucking, licking, jerking him off. You wanted to be the best he ever had.

“Ohhh, so good,” he groaned. His hands pushing your head down even farther on his dick, now you began to choke on it. This caused him to push your head down even farther. you quickened your pace, trying to get him off even faster.

“S-stop,” was all he managed to mutter out, but you couldn’t stop now. You liked seeing him like this, so helpless. This caused you to go even faster. “Stop!” He said with more of a firmness now, “if you want me to fuck you, stop.”

You listened then, retracting your mouth from his dick. You looked him in the eyes as you did so, watching them drift off in the back of his head.

“Did I do a good job daddy?” You asked, with a sweetness that you knew would just get to him.

“The best, but now it’s time for me to put in the work sweet girl,” he responded. This caused you to get even more excited now. He picked you up onto his lap, “but if that’s gonna happen, I think it’s time for your sexy little shorts to go.”

He pulled them off without hesitation, without even asking you. You loved that, you had never ever seen him so demanding before. He reached to feel you through your underwear, “already so soaked and I haven’t even done anything,” he said with a cocky tone.

“You don’t have to, I just want you to fuck me,” you whispered in his ear, “just fuck me lieutenant Bradshaw.” you played on his obsession with power, knowing that would drive him crazy. He picked you up know, walking to your bedroom, throwing you down on your bed. He watched you from the edge of the bed, standing there, staring at your body. He dick was so hard, it looked painful.

“Who knew you would be so naughty, Y/N?” He teased. His hand went to his cock, rubbing it, jerking himself as you laid there helpless.

“Please,” you begged.

“Please? Please what?” He teased once again, still playing with himself. You gave up on him, getting up from your bed and kissing him hard. You pulled him onto the bed too, so now he was laying on top of you.

“Fuck me,” you said sternly, “or I will find someone else who will.”

“No,” was all he said as he took your panties off. He guided the tip of his cock up and down your folds, “you really think I would let someone else fuck you? No, not now. You’re mine Y/N, completely mine.” His tip grazed your hole as he was guiding his cock.

“C-condom?” Was all you could manage.

“No,” he stated, “you’ll have my babies if I want you to. No one will ever fuck you again, you’re mine.” It was as he said this, he found your hole and pushed in. His tip was sucked in by your walls.

“O-oh, fuck. Rooster,” you moaned out. He pushed himself in more, “too much, can’t take it. It’s too big,” you whined out.

“You’ll take it if I want you to take it,” that was his answer and it was final. He lifted you up and his hands guided your face to make you watch him invading you, slowly but surely you did. Although he talked a big game, he was not going to move till you indicated he could. He was so big and it was such a stretch.

“You took me so well, Y/N. Look, it fits perfectly. Feels so good, mmm” he praised you. You slowly squeezed on him, almost to get him moving but he wouldn’t budge until you gave him the go ahead. You slowly started moving your hips, but you were doing all the work while he stayed still. His head in-between your head and shoulder. He was planting kisses.

“Fuck me like you said you would,” you demanded.

“Okay, you’ll get what you want,” he said cockily, “you’re gonna take daddy’s dick so well, huh?” He said while slamming into you. It hurt as much as it felt good, “ohh,” you moaned out. It felt too good, you slowly started to crawl away. Trying to get away from the pleasure and pain.

“No,” he said as he dragged you back, “you wanted it and now you’re gonna take it. Gonna take my cock and cum, gonna fill you up so good,” he said as he pounded into you, it was too much. You couldn’t breathe it felt so good. All you could let out was stuttered breaths as he was pounding into you.

“Brad-Bradley,” you squeaked out.

“Not my name,” was all he said as his hand went to your throat, pulling your face to make eye contact with him. “Say it right, or don’t say it at all.”

“Daddy,” you moaned out. His dick was hitting all the right spots and one hand was circling your clit. You were on the brink of ecstasy as he was pounding into you, you began squeezing the life out of him. “I want you to cum in me, fill me up. I want everyone to know who I belong to,” you whispered in his ear.

He flipped you over. now your face was pressed into the bed, ass in the air, and his dick was so, so deep. Before you didn’t think he could go any further in you, but now it felt as if he were in your stomach.

You were letting out endless moans as he pounded into you, smacking your ass as he did. You could feel the sweat dripping off his face and landing on your back.

“Love seeing you like this darling, so full of me. Never seen somebody move like this before, never seen anything like you.” He praised you, getting you off even more. “You really want this dick, huh? Ass in the air just ready for it.”

“Mhmmm, only ready for you,” you groaned out, not even entirely sure he heard you. His hands left behind prints on your ass, as his mouth left behind marks on your neck.

“I can’t take much more daddy, I’m gonna explode,” you couldn’t even find the right words to describe it. It was so painful, but so good at the same time.

“Will you fill me up? Huh? Make me yours?” You questioned, teased him trying to make him finish faster.

“Yes baby, all mine,” he grunted. He wasn’t listening to you anymore, his eyes were focused on the way your ass jiggled as he pounded into you. You couldn’t even keep yourself up anymore, his hands were holding your hips as your whole body went limp.

It was too good, everything was too good to be true. “I-I’m done, i can’t,” you shouted as you came. You saw stars as he continued to relentlessly thrust into you. something about it was so primal, so real.

As you recovered from your high, he was still going. It was silent, no words. All you could hear was his grunts and your moans, plus the sounds of your bodies colliding. Your body couldn’t take much more and you wanted him to get off before you tapped out. Your body couldn’t do it twice, you would pass out if it did.

“Make yourself a daddy,” was all you had to say before he came in you. And cum in you he did, he released what felt like gallons into you. As he came, he continued to thrust into you, making sure his cum reached the deepest part it could. Even after he finished he stayed inside of you, making sure nothing would go to waste. He flipped you over to where you were laying on his chest and he was below you, still seated inside of you.

His breaths coming out shallow and quick, you felt as though you couldn’t speak after that. After ten minutes of silence and him playing with your hair, all you said was “this is gonna hurt tomorrow.”

“Oh, we’re not done sweetheart. That was just the beginning,” he responded kissing your head. You felt some excitement, but also some fear for your poor vagina tomorrow.

To be tagged: click on this link and type in your @

[myherowritings]

PART 2. LOVE IS FAKE, MARRY A WEALTHY SUITOR

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.5k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. thank u guys for all the positive feedback on this series so far and i really hope u enjoy this chapter too ! ^-^ xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

It seemed your subtle pleas to the gods to see the mysterious businessman again had been answered, since only the day after Shouto gave you a $100 tip, you saw him at the cafe. 

You looked to the skies with a hint of suspicion. This seemed too easy— You were expecting at least a few weeks of your heart pining as you wondered where-oh-where your dreamy customer could have gone. But instead, after a mere 24 hours later, you saw him enter the store in a pair of pressed trousers and a light blue, button up shirt that was rolled just below his elbows. 

Blinking, you drew your attention away from his exposed forearms. You knew he was attractive from your first encounter, but was he always this hot? 

Sadly, you couldn’t focus too much on that since he had to get behind the line and obstruct himself from your view, and you had to take the order of the next customer. 

“Hi! I can take the next person in line.” You smiled. “Good morning! What can I get started for you today?”

After repeating that five or so more times and starting a few drinks on hot bar, you finally reached Shouto’s place and, thankfully, there didn’t seem to be too many patrons piling behind him. 

“Good morning, Shouto!” you greeted when he stepped forward to the counter. “How are you this morning?”

“Better now that I saw you.” 

Your smile faltered as your cheeks heated up, but you tried to brush it off with a laugh. While Shouto had the definite looks of a so-called businessman playboy, his words held none of the flirtatious intonation as one might expect. In fact, he sounded like he genuinely meant it— Like he was only stating a simple fact and had no reason to be shameful. 

It felt both like an attack on your heart and like a refreshing glass of water at the same time. 

“How about you?” he continued. 

“I could say the same thing,” you said with a chuckle, but you found yourself meaning everything you told him. Though you didn’t expect to see him again at the cafe so soon, you couldn’t deny the instant he walked through the doors, your morning felt just a little bit brighter. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, but this is a pleasant surprise.” 

Shouto had the decency to look a little bashful as he averted his gaze slightly. “Yeah. I…really liked the...cheese danishes.” 

Surprised, a small giggle left your lips. “Don’t tell me you finished all three dozen of them!”

“Well…” He looked even more sheepish. “I didn’t exactly… I guess you could say that.” 

“I’m glad you liked them so much you came back for more,” you teased, looking down at the pastries from the oven you just stocked. “Sadly, our fresh pastry today is a chocolate croissant. I can tell my manager to have cheese danishes made again soon though!”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll try the chocolate croissants today then. Maybe five dozen this time.” 

Five multiplied by twelve… A whole 60 chocolate croissants? Were they all for him? You shrugged, not one to judge. If someone wanted to eat 60 croissants, so be it. Though you did hope he wouldn’t eat it all in one sitting. That might give him a stomachache. 

“Alrighty, five dozen chocolate croissants,” you repeated as you typed it into the register. “And would you like any beverages with that? Another flat white maybe?” 

“Actually, I’ll have a large macchiato with two extra shots of espresso this time.” 

You nodded with a hum. “Long day ahead?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“I hope the coffee and croissants can carry you through, Shouto!” you said, wishing his day would go by smoothly. “Will that be all for you today?”

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope so too. And yes, that’s it.”

“Great. $73.24 is your total then! Will you be paying in card again?” 

He nodded. 

“Go ahead and scan and sign when you’re ready.”

You busied yourself by writing his name and order on a large cup and starting the espresso pulls. Your manager was helping get the pastries and other orders ready this morning, so it was nowhere near as hectic as yesterday. 

“Your order will be to your right. It was nice seeing you again, Shouto.” You smiled, giving him a small wave and already wishing you could hold the line up to talk to him longer. “See you tomorrow morning?” you asked almost hesitantly.

He returned your smile with upturned lips of his own. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” Before he left the counter, he pulled out another $100 bill—did he go to a dry cleaners to have his cash steamed and ironed? It was almost ridiculously crisp—and handed it to you. “A tip to show my appreciation for your service.”

“A-Again?” you stammered, eyes wide. That was $200 in two days from just his tip alone. That was more than you made in two weeks when you worked part-time! “Are you sure?”

Whether he had money to spare or not, this was incredibly generous of him and you would never have expected this amount from anyone. And it wasn’t like Shouto made it a scene for everyone in the shop to look at and gawk; he was subtle yet unashamed. Like he wanted to do it for no other reason than to do it. 

“Of course. You deserve it for your work, Y/N.”

The customer behind him made an impatient noise and you winced. You wanted to be able to thank him more, but all you had time for was a simple, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Shouto nodded in response before walking to the other side of the cafe to wait for his order while you managed the other customers in line, a fuzzy but warm feeling lingering in your stomach from your bizarre interaction. Money or not, you enjoyed seeing him in the mornings and were already looking forward to your brief conversations that would take place the next days to come.

He certainly gave you something to look forward to amidst the inconsiderate customers who barely saw you as human every morning. Sometimes, that was all you could ask for. 

When Shouto left the store and the line had died down towards the end of rush hour, your manager approached you with a curious look on her face. 

“That guy named Shouto…?” Miyazaki said. 

You nodded. 

“A friend of yours?”

“You could say that… We just met yesterday’s morning shift,” you said as you finished up the green tea latte for one of the remaining stragglers from the last hour’s boom. “But he’s really friendly I think.”

“You only recently became associated?” she asked, lifting a brow. “It seemed like you two were quite chummy today.” Then, nudged your side. “He was rather attractive don’t you think? And rich-looking.”

Fumbling with the lid on the beverage, you stifled a surprised cough. Sure, you got along with your boss and thought she was one of the more understanding and kind individuals you have worked under, but gossiping about the looks and potential income of a customer with your 56-year-old manager was not on your bingo sheet as a worker here.

“I…” You called out the order for the latte before turning back to your manager. “He is.”

“Ooh, he’s rich?”

“I meant he’s attractive!” you sputtered, feeling abashed at her blunt words. You thought of the tip he gave you in your pocket and his orders of dozens of pastries. “Rich…maybe so. Not that it matters!” 

Miyazaki tsked. “Of course it matters! Marry rich and your life will be easier. That’s what my mother told me and what her mother told her.” She shook her head. “Should’ve listened.” 

You laughed, feeling only a little awkward. It wasn’t the first time you heard that sentiment from someone older than you. It wasn’t uncommon for family members or even workers you were close to to share that same advice—if you could even call it that.

While you agreed money could make a lot of things easier, marrying someone for wealth didn’t appeal to you. But you recognized that even that may come from a place of privilege to be able to say. 

“He seems like a wealthy suitor for you, yes?”

“Suitor—?” you choked out. “No! I mean— We just met! We don’t know anything about each other really.”

She sighed, “Young people and their obsession with marrying someone they ‘know’ for true love. When do you really know someone anyway?” Waving a hand she changed the topic. “But enough of that. What I wanted to say was next time that man comes in here, we can offer him a complimentary box of a dozen pastries— Since he’s spent so much in so little it feels like the right thing to do.”

“Sure. A complimentary dozen.” Finally. Work. A topic you felt much more comfortable talking about. “That, I can do.” 

“And then maybe offer a hand in marriage while you’re at it.”

“Mrs. Miyazaki!” you gasped, feeling only mildly affronted. 

“I joke.” She ruffled her hair and smoothed down her apron. “I’m going to make more pastries now. Can you hold up the front?” 

“You can count on me.”

“I know I can. Thanks for your hard work!” 

And with that, she headed to the backroom where the kitchen was to leave you alone with your thoughts in a quiet cafe. Rush hour ended so there were only a few customers trickling in, most much kinder and more pleasant to talk to than the bustling businessmen of the earlier shift. 

Throughout your small conversations with the patrons, you found yourself thinking back to two things— One, how interesting traditional values and teachings in collectivist cultures were and questioning where you fell into place with them, and two…wondering about Shouto. 

Tomorrow, he had said before he left. You’d see him again tomorrow. 

Oddly enough, you were looking forward to it more than you’d like to admit. 

— ✩ —

It was the fifth day of the week, the fifth time he had seen you at the cafe, and he was already tempted to see you again. Would it be invasive to get another pastry after work? Would you even be there working at that hour?

Shouto saw you this morning (along with all the other mornings before that) and yet he couldn’t quell the pull he felt towards you with only the short interaction time you had together. But he would take what he could get without being weird. 

He had been told in the past he could be too forward and dysregulate his feelings and scare people off, and that wasn’t something he wanted to risk with you, though he was certainly much better at it now with learning and practice. If he was reading things correctly, you at least seemed to enjoy seeing him during your shift. 

“You got more pastries, sir?” an employee from the medical supplies sector asked him gleefully. “I swear they get better each time!”

Shouto nodded with a smile. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be sure to relay your compliment.”

With the dozens of pastries he’s been ordering from your cafe (each order seeming to grow every time he visited after realizing just how much his employees enjoyed it), he would place them around the breakrooms and staff kitchens in the establishment. Those areas were always fully stocked with drinks and sandwiches and chocolates in case anyone needed a little boost, but nothing seemed to bring as much comfort as freshly baked pastries did. And a different baked good almost everyday seemed to give people more to get excited about. 

He owed it all to your sales’ pitch and blinding smile that made him want to buy it. And your personality, of course.

His Personal Secretary had started to wonder why she no longer was tasked with his early morning coffee runs, and Shouto had to find a way to answer without saying it was because there was a barista he wanted to keep talking to. 

Not even he was that shameless. 

The first time, his PS had just called in sick and Shouto decided he might as well head to a cafe himself for the first time in a while. He worried he might have been rusty while ordering, but you did such a good job at being welcoming and guiding the transaction that he found himself actually enjoying it. (Enjoying you, maybe. But it was too soon to admit that.) 

And now, after that initial meeting, he decided it was worth half an hour of his day to give his PS some early morning break time and visit the cafe himself. 

It was worth it so much, in fact, that the next morning on a Saturday, despite most of his employees being given the weekend off, he still went to buy some coffee and pastries. 

“Good morning!” an older lady called as he entered the front doors. Shouto had seen her assisting in shifts and baking pastries when you were busy working the cash register. “What can I get started for you today?”

He looked around the store—relatively quiet compared to the rush hour during the weekdays—and to his disappointment, saw no sight of you. 

The current barista laughed, seeming to read his very thoughts. “Looking for someone? Y/N perhaps?”

His gaze shot up, feeling like a kid getting caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to by his guardian. Cautiously, he gave a small nod. 

“‘Fraid they have the weekends off, actually,” the lady—her name tag read Miyazaki—said. “But don’t look so down, they’ll be back on Monday morning to greet you with a smile.”

He nodded again, feeling his face heat up. Was he that transparent or did Miyazaki just know too much? “Thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckled, waving him over. “No need to be so formal. Now, is there anything I can get for you? Or were you just visiting in hopes of asking our dear Y/N out?”

“No— I…” Shouto felt himself averting his gaze. “I’ll order something.”

At his apparent discomfort, her mischievous gaze softened. “Of course, hon. Sorry for teasing too much. I was just excited seeing how adorable you and Y/N were.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, that’s not my business. Anyway. What can I get started for you?”

He asked for a macchiato and a couple dozen of today’s pastries, paid, and tipped. (Though, it was initially met with a blatant rejection. He didn’t take it too hard; he knew some older members of society thought of tips as insulting and he’d never force anyone to take a tip if it made them feel bad. But after offering again, she thankfully accepted it.)

When he left the cafe, although the exchange was pleasant enough, Shouto still found himself disappointed he wasn’t able to see you. 

At least he had something to look forward to next Monday morning, though part of him wished the day would somehow come sooner. 

a/n: hope u enjoyed miyazaki’s words of wisdom u.u FHKDF i’m totally kidding, but if ur asian like me then u kNOW what convos like that are like omg ,, just had my mom and two grandmas tell me that recently :’/ kskskfd but anyway i hope u enjoyed this chapter and liked seeing a glimpse of shouto’s thoughts ;3 tysm for reading!

what to expect in the next part:

more shouto and y/n :>

maybe some ~flirting~ pfft idk idk u.u

some minor...misunderstandings 

“hello, zuko here” vibes

[nellie-elizabeth]

Roswell, New Mexico: Down in a Hole (4x10)

Okay, I will say that this episode was quite the mixed bag for me, and while I still came out of it curious and excited for what comes next, I'm also feeling a lot of kind of bad energy about the fact that there are only three episodes left, and all the things they've set up that I can't imagine being satisfactorily paid off. Let's talk about it.

Cons:

There were many scenes/moments/ideas in this episode where I found myself thinking: if there was going to be a season five, or if this was happening in the first third of the season, I would like it just fine. But that ticking clock made it really hard for me to ignore the overall pacing issues of this season. For example, we get time to linger on Bonnie's emotional journey, to work with Tezca on coming to terms with her brainwashed villainy. We have time spent with Shivani and her grief for her daughter, the ways in which she and Liz are diverging on their goals. None of this stuff is bad, and if there were going to be a fifth and final season of this show, I don't think I'd mind as much. But none of this is why I'm here, and it does feel like we're wasting quite a bit of time that could have been spent with our core characters and their relationships.

I think the big one for me in this regard has got to be all the stuff happening with Evil!Liz. Now, as I'll talk about below, I kind of love the idea of Liz going full ruthless, dedicating herself to the science and shutting off her compassion. But there are three episodes of this show left, and Max and Liz are... broken up? Liz and Max have continually made these big unilateral decisions that cause serious problems for their relationship, and again and again it appears that they haven't learned their lesson. Hard to root for a happily ever after for them in just a few short episodes, when I'm sitting here thinking maybe it's for the best that they be apart...

Also, this is more of a "what I wish we could have seen" thing, but I thought Liz being the "bad" version of herself was going to be a lot more subtle and complex. The idea that this version of Liz isn't irredeemably bad, but merely that there's a ruthlessness there, borne out of fear and curiosity, that is no longer being tempered by some of her better instincts. Because of how extreme her choices are, it felt a little stupid to me that Max wouldn't immediately pick up on how awful she was being. The fact that Rosa had to point it out to him, and use the addict analogy to get him to see what was going on, just made it seem like Max doesn't know Liz very well at all.

I know I've mentioned this in like every review of this season, but one sort of overarching problem I have with Alex's absence is that the sense of urgency will ebb and flow in strange ways, as a function of the show's timeline not being clearly delineated. From what I can gather, the events of this episode are happening one day after Michael first found out Alex was missing. That's fine, that all makes sense to me... but it strikes me as odd and kind of stupid that Maria was getting messages from Alex, then they find the sinkhole and those messages abruptly... stop? Maria used her new powers in this episode to figure out about the portal and the alternate dimension, but did Alex just stop trying to reach out to her the second they knew he was in trouble and about the sinkhole? If so, why? And did Michael or Maria or whoever else not ask Alex to  reach out to give them further guidance? It's little things like that, where the sense of urgency and the timing feel unclear and off to me, that stops this from being a really good episode in my view.

Also... this is just one last thing on my wish list... I really liked seeing Michael and Kyle team up, and Maria and Rosa's scene was nice, but I really wish the four of them could have teamed up and done more together. That would have been really fun to see. As it was, the scenes actually focused on solving the mystery of Alex, Bonnie, and Dallas's whereabouts felt a little disjointed, and kept getting interrupted by things I didn't care about nearly as much.

Including... Isobel and Tezca. I feel like Isobel has gotten a raw deal this season. I really didn't like the plot line with Anatsa, I've thought the Kybel stuff has been pretty hit or miss, and this whole new revelation about Tezca being her mentor, while potentially interesting, keeps her siphoned off into this little plot cul de sac and gives us less time between her and the other characters that I want to see her interact with. It's distracting the hell out of me that nobody has asked Tezca any questions about Alex... like, they seem to know Clyde was the one who sent Bonnie and Dallas through, and I guess they assume the same is true for Alex? But why not ask Tezca, a person literally in on the plan, if she has any information? Tezca is the one who sent Alex through that sinkhole to begin with. Would be great if they'd address that.

Pros:

Okay. Sorry. I feel like that was a lot of complaining. This episode really was okay, and I like to keep a positive attitude. Overall, I still do enjoy tuning into this show, even though if I'm being brutally honest, this last season's main story beats have been pretty incoherent and poorly paced and just not that fun. I like the characters, though, and for that reason I still eagerly await how it's all going to wrap up for them.

To start, even though I did feel a little antsy when we were spending time with Bonnie and Dallas, I do honestly like these characters and thought they had a good energy together as they tried to figure out where they were, and talked about Bonnie's purpose on Oasis, and her love for Earth. Bonnie works as a good counterpoint to Michael, in that she grew up on Oasis but feels like she's found her home elsewhere on Earth. It's all about feeling empowered to make that choice. And I like that in the end, Bonnie decided to stay in the alternate universe to "help [her] friend find the man he loves." You go, Bonnie! Michael hugging Bonnie and Dallas when he passed through the portal was also really cute.

Okay, and in terms of Liz and Max: like I said above, I think I'd feel really different about this if there was a whole other season left for them to sort out their shit. Like, if this season ended with them broken up and separated and Liz fully down the rabbit hole, I'd have a great time with that. I was legitimately pretty excited when Liz coldly refused to tell Rosa what she needed her blood for, put her down for being an addict, then went and dumped Max as a boyfriend, and Shivani as a science partner, all in one fell swoop. Damn, girl. You're really going through it, aren't you? All of this is so fun, I like that Liz has always had these ruthless tendencies and now she's just fully leaning into them. I think my favorite moment was with Max, when he talked about her experiments on the dead frog being unethical and she shoots back with "so it's only okay when you do it?" That was pretty intense. Liz and Max really do have some good chemistry and the way they both played that high stakes conversation really worked for me. Max saying he always just wanted to be the guy standing behind Liz Ortecho was also really sweet. He admires her and her intellect and innovation so much, even though he knows at this point that she's gone too far.

I've mentioned that the Kybel stuff this season has been a really mixed bag, but broadly speaking I loved them here... the awkward, intense hug full of so much regret and longing, and then Max picking up on the ~vibes~ when Kyle watches Isobel walk away... also, Michael giving sage but vague advice while also giving off the energy of "I don't care about your love life problems when my soulmate is missing." All very fun. I suspect Kybel might not get the time it deserves to flourish in these last few episodes, but I hope we can at least end on hope for them in the future.

And then there's the subplot that I of course I care about the most, the continuing quest to find Alex and Dallas and Bonnie. Rosa and Maria have a great scene together, where Maria takes Rosa's advice in order to channel her new abilities into further answers. I really love where we've come out on Rosa's character, that she has gained some equilibrium and can offer advice to Maria on her journey with her powers. Given that Rosa wasn't in a ton of this season, this is exactly where I'd expect and want to see her, with her life mostly figured out, able to in some ways reassert some of the "older sister/older friend" energy that would have been her role.

Kyle is the MVP of this entire show, to be perfectly honest. What a good dude. I would watch hours of him and Michael working together. I like how Kyle is just being a nice guy, and then Guerin can't help but be impatient/dismissive of him, up to and including him saying how much he hates it when Kyle is right. And Kyle really brings the comedy ("oh my god. Is this some space curse?"), along with the heartfelt, in his speech about Alex reaching back for Michael, how he wants to be with Michael just as badly as Michael wants to be with him. That concept, of Kyle being willing to hold the faith and keep believing even when Michael falters, that's honestly one of the most moving and important things you can do for the people in your life who you love. Sometimes it's hard to stay positive, but if you can take that on for someone else for a while, giving them an opportunity to rest, that's a real gift!

Obviously I love seeing Michael all worried and mopey about Alex... the moment where he's fiddling with his necklace and looking off wistfully into space is particularly touching. His decision at the episode is, to be honest, the Height of Romance! He goes through that portal even though he knows he will be trapped there. He goes through because his priority is getting to Alex. It doesn't even seem to register with him that the mystery of his console has been solved, that if they get more fuel, it could be a way for him to go home to Oasis. The second that Michael knew Alex was in trouble, that became his one priority. I'm honestly looking forward to next week, wondering how Max and Isobel are going to react to Michael's choice... I hope we get to see them process that a bit, and obviously my fingers are crossed that we'll actually see Alex at last!

So that's where I'll stop. I know this review has a lot of complaining in it... honestly, staying positive in this fandom can be kind of hard sometimes because a lot of people seem to approach the episodes just waiting to be pissed off and disappointed, and there's a bit of a feedback loop with that stuff, where my own opinion gets tangled up in the negativity I see elsewhere. This isn't the final season of the show I would have chosen, I can definitely admit that. But I'm still excited and hopeful that our final three episodes will leave me mostly satisfied!

7/10

[needcake]

i'll always take an EngPort recommendation 👀 and if you have any.. a trio that also features our dearest Portugal? (not sure how easy those are to find mind you but i am in need of food so i'm not fussy :'))

ahhh thank you!!

1) Engport

Of Pointed Teeth and Tongue, by @rainbowfruitpastilles

'Arthur is all too aware that the years have rose-tinted his recollection of that night, of that man, but he can’t help it. It is what it is now, when he thinks of it: perfect in every way and impossible to disprove with a second encounter to dull the shine. The experience haunts him, lingering with him and following Arthur into every new relationship, whispering in his ear on every first date.

This is not as good it says, this person doesn’t make you feel the same way. You don’t want them like you wanted him.

What’s terrible is that it’s true.'

Arthur Kirkland, against his best wishes and reason, is in love with the memory of someone he met on a beach many years ago.

I have to rec this divine fic by Rainbow, she is such an amazing writer and she has blessed us with this perfect human AU where Arthur meets a handsome stranger in Ibiza and that meeting stays with him for years to come. It's so perfectly paced, such rich descriptions, and I absolutely love how she wrote Gabriel through Arthur's eyes, and especially his memory of their meeting. 10/10

--

2) A trio:

【英荷葡】心胸狭隘的革命家, by SergeantRegen

This one was a little harder because I don't remember reading any ot3s with Port? But I do have this little gem that is Nedport/Nedeng/Engport, so maybe that counts?

You will need to put it through google translate, but I promise it's worth it. It's a human AU set in the 1600s in Indonesia during the Dutch colonization and Ned is the owner of a plot of land with a mysterious past and Eng is a merchant based in India who is trying to make a name for himself. The two start up as friends but Eng starts digging too much into his past and ends up in prison where he meets a strange man (Port).

This is one of those fics that stay with you after you read it, I got to it a while ago and I still remember how it made me feel from time to time. The ending is like a punch, it's so good!

The author mentioned they might make an official translation to English one day, but you never know. Until then we have to make do :')

On that same vibe (of not being exaaactly an ot3 fic) there is also:

All We Know of Heaven, by @rein-ette

After the death of their friend, two men try to pick up the pieces together.

This one is an Engport/Fruk/Fraport and it's exactly what it says in the tin, there's a character death and the other two find comfort in each other. It made me cry a lot and it's so beautifully written, Rein can really describe powerful emotions and it's such a good story. You'll start it crying and end it with a smile :')

--

EDIT:

sorrysorrysorry!! I just remembered the one!!

Reunion, by @froggi-mushroom

Years have passed, and Louise is moving to London in pursuit of a new job. She contacts her old school friends, who graciously offered to house her. Louise is nervous, but determined to rekindled her friendship with the two

In the end, she finds more than friendship

I want to beat myself over the head for forgetting this one! But this is just the first chapter of a hopefully longer fic? I can only hope ;A; Froggi has a beautiful descriptive style and such a rich historical knowledge you just feel totally immersed in her stories! This one is an all girls engportfra ot3 and it’s so so sweet, from this one chapter alone you can have a sense of their dynamic and how it might play in the future, absolutely brilliant 10/10

There’s also this other fic by her:

The Great Frost Fair of 1683, by @froggi-mushroom

In 1683, Katherine invites her longtime lover Joana and sometimes-enemy-sometimes-lover Louise to London to attend the Frost Fair, a fair held on the River Thames whenever it is frozen over

This one is a bit more leaning into the engport, but Louise is there for the ride so let’s chalk it up to engportfra.

Again, Froggi’s style is so deliciously rich, and the girls’ interactions are on point, their personalities are very present and I particularly love her Joana <3 <3

[bqstqnbruin]

Aerosmith

Alright, y'all: here's that fic that I'm low key scared no one is going to read that has taken me a few months to write, a Trent x single mom!reader fic

It's a long one, with the Bruin's feral little fighty boy from St. Louis, around 13.3k words. The songs listed as the headers of each section are all by Aerosmith, each part partially inspired by the song (hence the name of the fic)

Shoutout to @toplinetommy for helping me with this the entire time and being my beta AND to @chara-hugs for letting me bounce ideas off of you and talking through what I was thinking of. Love you lots 💛

I hope people like this

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Just Push Play

Considering how much was happening around you at the bar your friends had dragged you to, the only thing that could keep your attention was your phone. It was the only thing, at this point, that you would allow to keep your attention. You had no desire to be there. Part of you wanted your phone to start buzzing, anything that would give you an excuse for you to leave, but the other part of you knew that something bad had to happen in order for you to leave. Every second that you stayed was costing you more money and less time being where you wanted to be.

“Hey, Y/N, put the phone away. This is your first night out in, like, years,” Molly tells you.

“Four years. Maybe five?” you guess.

“Six years, exactly,” she wrongly says, earning a disappointed head shake from you, a small ‘no’ escaping your lips that goes ignored as she takes your hand that’s holding the phone. “Can we please just enjoy tonight and have some fun? He’s going to be fine.”

You take in a deep breath, almost sure she was right about that. You hadn’t had a night to yourself in years, and Molly was also almost right that this was your first one in over four years. Actually, given the timeline, it was probably more like five. “But what if something happens?” you ask, the natural worry and constant fear you felt taking over your ability to just enjoy the night.

“If something, anything happens, you’ll be able to feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, and I will go home with you to take care of it,” she reassures you, playing around with the settings on your phone. She hands it back to you, pulling you up from the table you had yet to move from in the first place. “He’s fine. He always is. Why don’t you request a song?”

“Because you keep telling me you hate my music.”

“Well, that’s because you have the same music taste as your sixty-something-year-old father when you’re a twenty-something-year-old woman.”

“You don’t even know how old I am? We’re the same age.” Molly rolls her eyes at you, dragging you up to the line of people to request songs, a book sitting there with the songs you could request. “They’re not going to have anything I like,” you tell her as the line behind you gets longer.

“Don’t you listen to that one guy?” she starts.

“That could mean anything. Have I told you lately that you are the most unhelpful person I know?” you snap at her, trying to find anything in your Spotify that you could request as the line got shorter and shorter in front of you. “What about this song?” you ask, your finger hovering over someone from one of your Daily Mixes. Molly looks over your shoulder at your phone, shaking her head at your song choice, and every song choice that you suggested. “I’m just going back to the table, you’re being impossible.”

Before she can protest, you turn around and head back to your table, sitting off to the side away from the rest of your friends, your eyes glued to your phone. At this point, you were praying that you would get a message from Rachel asking you to come home, telling you that something was wrong. Even something as simple as she had to leave unexpectedly so you could, too. Anything so that you could leave sooner rather than later.

“Sorry, but you really couldn’t find a song in that book?” you hear a guy's voice, tearing you away from the screen. He sits down next to you, not too close that it was uncomfortable but just close enough that you could smell his cologne, covering the smell of beer that had been lingering in the air around you. “There was some Aerosmith in there, I have a feeling that’s the closest to something you’d enjoy,” he says, smiling at you.

He must have been in the group that was in line behind you, hearing your conversation with Molly. Regardless, you smile back at him, something about his own being so infectious that you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Well, you’re right, but it depends on what Aerosmith song,” you respond, a hint of flirting in your voice.

“Is there a bad one?”

“No, but there are some superior ones,” you tell him, his eyebrow cocked as a sign to get you to explain. “Sweet Emotion is great but not as good as their cover of Come Together. Dream On and I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing are easily, in my opinion, their best songs.”

“Is that up for debate?”

“Oh, you think their most popular songs aren’t their best?”

“I think the one that’s about to play is one of their best,” the guy says, both of you pausing as there’s a lull in the music, the chatter and screaming of the bar’s drunk patrons overtaking everything.

“Just Push Play?” you ask, a smile on your face. It wasn’t one of their most well-known songs, but you still had to admit it was an underrated one.

The boy shrugs, a smirk on his face. “I might have requested it so you’ll have a reason to dance with me,” he flirts, getting up and extending his hand for you to join him.

You hesitate, unsure if you should get up with this mystery man standing in front of you. There was something about him that you couldn’t figure out. He looked young, probably younger than you but looks can be deceiving, nevertheless telling you that there was some sort of innocence or naivety to him, but the obviously fit physique under his clothing telling you that he could and would break your heart in a moment if he had to, the time leading up to that would be like nothing you had experienced before. You didn’t have time or the energy to spend on something you knew would lead to heartbreak, but you felt like you wanted to, like you had to. “I’m not sure I can dance with someone whose name I don’t even know.”

“I’m Trent,” he says, taking your hand and guiding you away from the table. You introduce yourself as his hands snake their way around your waist, holding you close enough that you could feel his heart starting to race against your own chest as your hands met the skin at the back of his neck, your fingers grazing along the collar of the back of his shirt, the two of you not moving at all in sync with the faster beat of the song. Not that you cared. There was something about this boy you were talking to talk to over the music that made you completely disregard the movement around you, forgetting about your phone and what was waiting for you at home for the first time in nearly five years.

You danced for what felt like forever, for what you wanted to last forever, every song passing you by as he listed out song after song that he recognized, most of them country as he claimed he had a country playlist that went on for seven hours, all of them involving him trying to sing bits and pieces of the lyrics off-key, every time pulling a laugh from you.

“I don’t know what I like more,” he starts, resting his forehead against yours as the space between the two of you disappeared, “the music they’re playing or your laugh.”

You roll your eyes, a smile on your face as the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Those lines usually don’t work on me.”

“But?” he asks, his lips ghosting yours.

“But from you, they do,” you tell him, planting your lips on his before he has the chance to say anything else. You didn’t know what it was about Trent; you were never the one to make the first move, you barely interacted with guys at this point since your life was permanently hectic. But Trent was something else. You don’t know what Trent was, you just knew he was different.

His hands were on your back, finding their way to your waist, his grip tightening when you feel someone tap your shoulder. You pull away, a pout on Trent’s face as you turn around to see Molly, waving your phone in your face. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh, shoot!” you squeal, taking your phone. “I’m sorry, I have to get home.”

A confused look covers Trent’s face. “Is your Uber going to turn into a pumpkin if you aren’t home, Cinderella?”

You laugh at his joke, going back to your table to grab your stuff. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, “But I really have to get home.”

“Let me walk you.”

You stop in your tracks as you were rushing out the door. You never brought a guy anywhere near your apartment, knowing that most of them would want to go in, most of them would want to sleep with you if you invited them, most of them would be gone by morning when they found out why you didn’t want them there in the first place. You don’t know why you knew Trent would be different. “No, you don’t have to,” you tell him, instead, even though you wish you could bring him home with you.

Before he can answer, someone calls out his name, pulling the two of you away from each other’s attention. “Trent, we’re leaving.”

Trent looks between you and his friend, the group of guys aggregating around him as they wait for his answer.

“You don’t have to,” you repeat, trying to get out the door because you had to.

“Jack, give me a minute,” Trent calls to his friends, “I want to,” he tells you, taking your arm, turning you towards him. The look in his eyes was sincere, begging you to let him walk you home. “Please?”

You let out a sigh, caving in even though you knew you shouldn’t. “Fine, yeah. Let’s go,” you tell him, taking his hand and leading him out of the bar, his friends left without an answer as they watched the two of you walk away.

Come Together

“I’ve had a really great night. Sorry about my friends, though” Trent apologizes to you again. He explained that he had gone out with them after their game that night, supposed to be spending their off-day tomorrow together, but Trent leaving with you had seemingly changed those plans. As the two of you walked and talked on the way back, his hand never left yours, from the time you left the bar to now standing outside your door. He pulls you in for another kiss, the worries of what was on the other side of the door melting away. You wanted to invite him in, but you weren’t sure if he would even want to once he found out.

Your door opens, Rachel stepping out. “Sorry, it’s almost curfew.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” you tell her, Trent confused by the girl sneaking out of your apartment. “That was Rachel. She’s my babysitter.”

“Babysitter?”

You could feel your face twisting involuntarily at his question. You knew you should have told him before you got home, it would have been easier leaving him at the bar than watching him walk away from you outside your door. Why did you even let him walk you home in the first place? Because he’s hot and you’re dumb, that’s why. “I have a four-year-old son. If you wanted to leave, I would understand. Most guys do when I tell them about Ben,” you spit out, not making eye contact with him. You weren’t ashamed of your son, you just knew people your age got weirded out and panicked at the thought of the responsibility that came with having a child.

He tilts your head up, his eyes flicking between your own and your lips, a lazy smile on his face. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“If you’ll have me,” he says, kissing you yet again. You bring him inside, showing him Ben’s room first. The two of you stand in the doorway, his arms wrapped around your waist as you lean against the door frame. You feel him kiss the back of your head as you watch Ben wriggle in his sheets before settling down, you taking Trent’s hand and leading him down to your room. You tell him that you don’t want to do anything because of Ben being so close, Trent giving you a sweet smile, kissing you before settling next to you in bed. You had no idea why, but it all felt so domestic, so right that he was there with you in that moment.

“Can I ask you something?” his voice pierces the silence that had fallen between you.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you mention Ben before?”

You swallow hard. You weren’t ashamed of having Ben, something you found yourself repeating in your mind every time you told a guy about your son. He was the best part of your life. Everything you did was for him. “We’re young. Being a single mom at our age has such a stigma around it. When guys find out, they normally bolt. I didn’t want you to until the last possible second.” You turn to him, still able to make out his features in the dark, the pout that was forming on his face visible without anything lighting him up.

“You could have told me before we got here,” he says, pain in his voice as he reaches for your face, the pad of his thumb gently grazing over your cheek. “I don’t care if you have a kid. I mean, I do, Ben is part of who you are. But, I would have understood. I understand. You shouldn’t be afraid of telling someone about that part of you. What I know about you so far is pretty amazing, I can only imagine what Ben brings to the table.”

“That seems weirdly out of character for what I know about you,” you tease him, pulling a smile from him.

“Well, maybe, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day, right?”

You kiss him, a feeling of relief washing over you at his words. The two of you spend the rest of the night telling each other about yourselves, keeping quiet for Ben, despite the amount of laughter you let you. You couldn’t remember the last time a guy made you feel so happy, falling asleep with a smile on your face, his arms wrapped around your waist as if that’s where they belonged.

You wake up the next morning, the sun shining into your room, but no Trent. You get out of bed, probably figuring that he had left in the middle of the night, trying to spare your feelings about you having a son. You understood. What guy really wants to get into a relationship with a single mom at this age?

You go to check on Ben, opening the door to his bedroom to find that he wasn’t in his room. You started to panic at the sight of his empty bed, unmade with his blankets in disarray. If Trent was gone, and Ben was gone, where could they be? He wouldn’t kidnap your son, would he? He was a professional athlete, that’s not something he would do, right? Your panic starts to recede when you hear laughter coming from the kitchen.

Trent is standing at the stove, spatula in hand with eggs cooking on the stove, a piece of bread held up to his face with holes bitten out of it where his eyes are, making Ben shriek with laughter. “Sorry. I heard him get up and I didn’t want to wake you, so I started making breakfast. Is that ok?”

You can’t help but smile, going over to Ben. “How’s he doing so far?”

“Mommy, look! French toast!” Ben says, pointing excitedly to the cut-up pieces of bread on his plate.

“French toast?” you repeat, your eyes wide to play along with his excitement. “Give me a bite,” you tell him, opening your mouth as he picks up a piece with his fingers, nearly missing your mouth. You hear Trent laugh, you not containing your own.

You go over to Trent, leaning into him as the two of you watch Ben eat the food Trent made. You feel him kiss the top of your head, his fingers dancing up and down along your arm. You look at his hand, a bandaid on the back of his hand. “What happened to you here?”

“Oh, oops,” he says, looking at his hand. “Got a little cut, but don’t worry, it’s not bad. Dr. Ben here fixed me right up,” he tells you, going over to Ben and ruffling his hair.

Trent hands you a plate of french toast and eggs, pouring you a cup of coffee, kissing you in front of Ben, who either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. No guy had ever stayed the night, let alone stayed and made breakfast for the two of you the next morning.

“So, what were you two talking about before I joined?” you ask, taking another bite of the French Toast. You already knew it was good from what Ben gave you, but you were still devouring it.

“Bears, boots, and battles of galaxias,” Ben lets out, his full mouth spraying crumbs everywhere.

“I’ve been trying to make sense of that all morning. I have no idea what he means. Why does that sound familiar?” Trent asks, sitting down next to you, his hand on your thigh under the table, sending a chill through your entire body as his fingers lazily traced an unknown pattern on your skin.

You take a sip of the coffee he had handed you, setting down your cup and putting your hand on top of his under the table. “He saw that one part of the Office, the identity theft cold opening, where Jim says, ‘Bears, beets, Battlestar Galactica?’ That’s how he remembered it,” you explain, Trent looking over to your son who was fixated on the food in front of him.

“Benny,” Trent calls him, your entire body going numb hearing him call him the same nickname you used for your son, “do you like bears?”

“Bears are the coolest!” he squeals. Everything he saw with a bear on it, he would start begging you to buy him, your heart breaking from the look on his face when you had to tell him no, we don’t need the kitchen towel just because it has a bear on it.

“Can you do your best bear impression for Mom and I?” You felt your heart skip at the sound of Trent calling referring to you as just ‘Mom’ instead of ‘your mom,’ like he was already part of the family. You didn’t even hear Ben growling, his best attempt at being the ‘scary’ Baby Bear that he was just laughing along with Trent.

“Hey, buddy, what if I called you Benny Bear from now on? Do you like that?” Trent asks, Ben nodding excitedly at his nickname.

“You’re nice,” Ben says to Trent while he clears his plate, Ben running off to go play.

You look at Trent, not able to help how you were beaming at him getting along so well with your son. It was like he belonged there with you, and with Ben, making his presence that much better. “That means he likes you.”

“Not trying to pry,” Trent starts, standing beside you at the sink while you wash the dishes, “But how often does he like the guys you bring home?”

You bite your bottom lip, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “I almost never bring guys home. And when I do, he generally doesn’t talk to them.”

“So he likes me,” he starts, getting closer to you as you nod your head. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you away from the sink. “How about you?”

“That depends,” you flirt, stretching to turn the sink off before draping your arm on his shoulders, twirling his hair through your fingers at the nape of his neck, “do you like me?”

He lets out a small laugh, pulling you in for a kiss. “I do.”

“I like you, too. Help me finish cleaning up and then we’ll go watch Ben, ok?”

The two of you wash dishes in silence, weirdly domestic and comfortable considering you knew this boy all of twelve hours. “Can I ask you something?” Trent breaks the silence, just as he did the night before.

“Sure.”

“Where’s Ben’s dad?” You take in a deep breath, knowing that this would have come up eventually. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he continues, a wash of panic over his face at the thought of asking something too personal too soon.

You shake your head, smiling at him to try to calm him down. “No, no, that’s fine. Um, we were together when we were in college, but we broke up. I started feeling like shit so I went to the doctor and she told me, ‘Congrats! You’re two months pregnant!’”

“Does he know about Ben?” Trent asks quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, he does. I told him when I found out because I knew Ben was his. I told him that I was going to keep the baby and since we weren’t together anymore, he had the choice of either being present and helping out or if he didn’t want the responsibility, then that was fine, too.”

He didn’t know what about the way you were talking was making him feel this way. A lump in his throat was forming looking at your eyes start to shine with the threat of tears while you refused to make eye contact with him. You rarely talked about Ben’s father, making the decision a long time ago that he wasn’t worth your time thinking about since he didn’t want much to do with his own son. “And he didn’t?”

“He sends a present to Ben on his birthdays and Christmas, but other than that nothing really. I’m not even sure if Ben’s made the connection between the presents and his father yet. Like I said, though, I gave him the choice.”

“Do you regret anything?”

“I could never regret Ben or anything with him. I almost regret giving his father the choice, though. Being a parent isn’t easy, even if you have someone to take up half the work, but it’s even harder when it’s just you by yourself, you know? And I’ve gotten help, but it would be different if Ben had his dad as a constant in his life. Ben’s only seen him a few times, anyway. He calls him Andy instead of dad, and it’s just,” you stop, trying to find the word, “heartbreaking seems too severe, seeing him not acknowledge his dad as his dad, but what can you do?”

Trent didn’t know what to say. He was practically still a child himself when you really look at him. He couldn’t imagine having his own at this point in his life, let alone raising one on his own. “I’m sorry,” is all he can get out, trying not to cry even though he could hear Ben’s laughter ringing from the other room, sending a weird sense of joy through him at the same time.

“No, it’s fine. I would rather do this alone than do this with someone who didn’t want Ben to begin with. You can’t be a parent if you aren’t all in.”

He had no idea why, but he already felt so connected to Ben. There was no reason why, but he did. “I’m in.”

You turn back to him, shocked, confused, not even sure if you heard what he said properly. “What?”

“I’m in with you. With Ben. If you’ll let me. I want to see you again, keep seeing you. And that includes Ben. He already likes me, after all.” Trent was used to making snap decisions, on the ice, off the ice, wherever. He knew this was one, but this one felt like his best one.

“You don’t have to, you have your own life with hockey and everything,” you try to insist, cut off by Trent’s lips connecting with yours.

“I want to. Let’s go play with Ben.”

Angel

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask him for what was probably the millionth time, getting out of his car in front of the rink.

He runs around to get Ben out of his car seat, you grabbing the stuff he had stashed in the trunk. “Yes, I promise it is. The guys bring their kids all the time and they’re way younger than Ben.” He had invited you and Ben to the family skate the team was having, you reluctant to go since Ben had never been skating before. Naturally, you were worried he would get hurt, either by falling down or being curious about the skate and somehow cutting himself, something you were sure he would do if given the chance.

You two had been together for about a month, Ben falling head over heels for Trent, jumping up and down whenever he saw him on TV. Much to your dismay, Ben loved it when Trent was fighting, begging you to let him play hockey so he could fight just like Trent. You loved taking videos of his excitement despite that fear of him skating and fighting like Trent, sending them to him to see during the game, Trent always making sure to FaceTime you the next afternoon when you got home from work if you two couldn’t meet up so that he could talk to Ben. He was acting like the dad Ben never had.

And that was terrifying to you. The thought of you and Trent breaking up and him suddenly leaving Ben’s life was the reason why you never got close with a guy before. You didn’t want Ben to go through that. You didn’t want to go through that.

But there you were, sitting rinkside at the Garden as you tried to tie up the skates that Trent got for Ben, his feet swinging back and forth in excitement no matter how much you tried to get him to stop for a moment.

“Are you excited, Benny Bear?” Trent asks, picking him up and walking out to the ice.

“Yeah!” he says, squirming around and clearly ready to go.

You weren’t sure if you were more nervous about Ben being on the ice for the first time, Trent already showing him how to skate, or you formally meeting all his teammates for the first time, that night at the bar not really counting. The three of you step onto the ice, Ben in between you two, practically swinging in the air as you both held his hands while you skate.

“You’re nervous?” Trent asks, reading the expression on your face.

“They look like they didn’t know about Ben.” You saw the looks you were getting from the guys' families as you and Trent were skating around with Ben between you. You knew they were looks of confusion, but you couldn't help but think that they were the same looks when you went out with Ben in general, the societal disapproval of being a young mother, no ring on that finger to show that this was planned with another parent on the other side. People were judgemental; it was in their nature, but you were hoping Trent’s teammates were accepting like Trent had been.

“Um, I guess I didn’t tell them? I didn’t think I needed to,” he says, looking down at your son. Ben was beaming, not paying attention to what you two were talking about, not that he would probably understand it if he was. Trent didn’t think it would be a big deal to have your son around. The guys knew he was seeing you, but was it really that big a deal that you have Ben? He looks over at you, the scared look that was on your face worrying him. “We can just tell him he’s your nephew or your little brother?” he whispers so Ben doesn’t hear.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You don’t seem to want them to know he’s your son?”

You stop skating, pulling Trent over to the side while holding onto Ben’s hand as he begs to pull away and take a lap on his own, something you weren’t going to let him do. “I told you I’m not ashamed of Ben,” you hiss at him.

“I’m not saying that you are. I’m just saying if you’re scared of what people would think we could just tell them something else.”

You look at him for a moment, trying to properly process his words. “Am I scared of what people think, or are you?”

He steps back, careful not to fall on whoever's kid was zooming past him at that moment, Ben begging to go skate with him. “Hey, Zach,” he calls Patrice’s son over. “If he takes Ben is that ok?”

You knew you shouldn’t say yes, but you didn’t need Ben hearing this conversation, no matter how oblivious he might have been to begin with. “If you trust him, fine.”

“Zach,” Trent starts, crouching down to their level, his hands on Ben’s shoulders so he can’t skate away before he’s done, “Can you take care of my guy Ben here? Make sure he doesn’t fall? Go skate to your dad.” Zach and Ben practically rush off with each other to Zach’s dad, eager to skate around and surprisingly good for their age. “What do you mean I’m scared?”

“Who’s the one suggesting that we don’t tell your teammates that Ben is my son? We’ve been out together when people ask if he’s my brother, my nephew, if I’m his nanny, and every single time you’ve seen me correct them. I told you I’m not ashamed of Ben. And to come here and have everyone giving us looks because they’re trying to figure out who he is to you makes it seem like you are. You couldn’t even tell the guys you claim are like your family about Ben. He’s not old enough for that hurt, but I am.”

He looks down at the ice, shuffling back and forth on his skates. “I’m sorry.”

You move closer to him, tempted to reach out and hold him. He looked just as hurt as you felt, part of you glad that he was actually showing he was sympathetic instead of just saying it. “Are you ashamed of Ben?”

His head snaps to you, a look of disbelief on his face. He starts shaking his head, the curls on his head that were loose enough going wild with his movement. “I’m crazy about that kid. I know why you aren’t ashamed of him because I don’t think I could ever be.” Trent turns around to find Ben on the ice, skating around with the other kids, some of the guys playing a small game with them, Ben with his own little stick. He watches Ben score on whoever was playing goalie, Ben shrieking with joy. Trent couldn’t help but smile, turning to you. “He means more to me than I thought someone else's child could.”

“Then why didn’t you tell them about Ben?” you ask him.

He shrugs, sticking out his bottom lip. “Because I’m dumb.”

You can’t help but laugh, hooking your fingers in his belt loops to pull him close to you. “Well, I do call you a stupid muppet,” you joke, earning a groan from him, “Hey, I say it with affection and you did say I could call you that.”

He cups your face and kisses you, momentarily forgetting his teammates and their families around you. “We could go tell them now?” he suggests, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Do you want to?”

Trent starts skating over to the rest of the guys, Ben giggling and playing with the rest of the kids. The two of you start talking to his teammates, introducing yourself to Jack and Jeremy, keeping your eye on Ben while he plays as you wait for Trent to finally say something about him.

“Trent! Trent!” Ben’s voice tears you two away from the conversation. “I’m you!” he yells, using the stick to try to shoot the puck, instead missing the puck and falling down on the ice. He was trying to process what just happened, hopefully not meaning to do what he did.

You look at Trent’s face, his teammates laughing while his face turned red. Ben shoots back up and starts skating again, Trent beaming at him. “That was cold,” he says to you, a smile on his face anyway.

“You know he didn’t mean it,” you tell him, squeezing his bicep before skating over to your son. You lift him up off the ice, thankful that he was still small enough to do that as you kiss his cheek and skate around with just him for a bit.

Trent couldn’t take his eyes off you, his teammates doing everything they could to try to peel his attention away from you. He watched you interact with Ben, the same light in your eyes when he looked at your son.

“Dude?” Jack finally succeeds in bringing Trent back down to Earth, “is that her brother?”

Trent shakes his head, turning back to you. “Nope, that’s her son.”

“Son? What are you thinking?” Jack asked. He knew what he meant. Trent was young. You were young. Having a kid was something real adults did, not whatever definition of adult he fell under.

Trent shrugs, watching you and Ben laugh and smile as you skated around, talking with some of the guys' girlfriends as they coo over Ben. “I’ve been better since I started seeing her.”

“You were fine before you started seeing her,” one of them mumbles.

He rolls his eyes, turning back to them. “Come on. I was fine but I wasn’t great. All I did was punch a few guys and get a couple of secondary assists. Even Butch said something about my play last game. Everything in my life is better with Y/N in it. And Ben.”

He didn’t hear what the guys were saying, and honestly, he didn’t care either. He loved your son, probably not as much as you did, but he felt like he was getting there. He wanted to get there.

Because he loved you.

Dream On

“Where are you?” Molly's voice comes through your phone, panicked and irritated. “I thought you were coming in today?”

“What are you talking about? Today’s my day off.” You were at home, sitting on the couch with the tv playing in the background while Ben played with his toys in front of you. It was one of the rare days that you could spend from the time you woke up until you went to sleep with your son, and you had no real intention of changing those plans, which is what it sounded like Molly was going to ask you to do.

“Well, you know that funding we secured for that new project?”

“Yeah?” you say, Ben coming up to you, trying to show you something. “Hold on, Benny. What’s going on, Mol?”

“They’re getting cold feet.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, we need you here. You and DeAndre were the ones who got them in the first place, and he’s already here. Please?”

You take in a deep breath, trying to figure out if anyone is free to watch Ben. You couldn’t bring him in and have him running around the office while you were trying to convince a major investor to give you the money promised. “I have to find a babysitter but I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you sigh, wracking your brain as to who would be free. Rachel couldn’t typically do weekends, but maybe she could if you promised to pay her extra? But then there was the issue of: did you have the money to pay her extra?

You start scrolling through your contacts, trying to figure out if anyone in there would be able to watch your son, running into your room to get changed to look at least a little presentable.

Trent’s name pops up, calling you with what you hoped would be somewhat perfect timing. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” you answer, your phone on your bed as you try to find something to wear.

“What am I looking at?”

“I’m changing for work and my phone is on my bed, so the ceiling.”

“I thought it was your day off?” he asks as you throw what seemed to be the only clean work shirt that you could find. You knew you were forgetting to do something today, now you realized it was laundry.

“Molly called saying that I need to go in and now I have to find someone to watch Ben or else I’m going to have to bring him in with me, which doesn’t seem like a good idea. And most of my friends are from work or have their own lives and can’t watch him, Rachel can’t do weekends, but I guess I could ask her if she has any friends who could watch him last minute.”

“Y/N.”

“But then I have to pay them and since it’s so last minute I would need to give them more money, right?”

“Y/N.”

“I guess I could, but I think I would also have to pay for meals, and then I have no idea what time I’m going to get home, and whenever that is I’m going to have to do laundry, and-”

“Hey. Earth to Y/N. I can watch him,” Trent finally cuts you off long enough to get a word in.

You were hesitant; Trent had never been left alone with Ben, and probably never left alone with a four-year-old ever by your assumptions. “No, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” you tell him, picking up your phone to see him.

“I’m serious! You just said you need a babysitter, I was going to ask if I could come over and see you before the road trip, anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, biting your lip. Did you trust Trent enough to let him watch and take care of Ben? If you could trust Rachel, a girl who still had a curfew and couldn’t even drive her friends in the same car as her, why couldn’t you trust your boyfriend?

“Of course!” he says, clearly getting up and walking around what you think was his apartment. “I’m leaving right now, I’ll be there in ten.”

He hangs up and leaves you to finish getting ready, hurrying through trying to make yourself look presentable and finding the stuff that you needed. You couldn’t find your work bag, or your computer, mentally cursing yourself for the one time you didn’t leave it in your closet like you normally did.

“Hey, Benny? Have you seen Mommy’s computer and bag?” you go into your living room to where you left Ben. He shakes his head, his overall attention not leaving whichever toy he was fixated on. “Great,” you mutter under your breath, trying to find it. “Ben, how about you and I play a game?” you ask him, getting down in front of him. “If you can help me find my blue bag and my computer, someone really special will come over tonight!”

Ben gets up and starts looking for you, hoping that you can find it before Trent actually gets to your place. “Mommy! I found it!” Ben comes running to you, your bag nearly as big as him as he struggles to carry it to you.

You take it from him, kissing his head as he goes running off, a knock at your door just in time. Opening it, you see Trent on the other side, a bag in his hand. Kissing him hello, you tell him, “I owe you big time.”

“We can discuss payment when you get home. And I have some ideas as to how you could pay me,” he says, bringing you in for a kiss.

“Trent!” Ben runs over, interrupting.

Trent practically launches himself off you, picking up Ben and hugging him while your son’s laughter and happiness fill your home. “Benny Bear!” He gives Ben the bag, telling him to open it.

“A bear!” Ben jumps up and down with the small stuffed animal that Trent had gotten him.

“What does a bear say?” Trent asks, both of them going, “grrrrr,” with their hands curled like claws, their faces scrunched. You felt yourself melting at the sight of Trent getting along so well with Ben, your son running around in circles with his new toy that he would probably say is his favorite since it came from Trent.

“Did you buy him a Benny Bear?” you gush, bringing him in for a hug.

“I saw it when I was on the road and had to get it for the little guy.”

“You love him,” you tell him, not needing to ask since you already knew what his answer would be if you did.

“Of course. But you have to get to work,” he tells you, pushing you off him.

“I’ll pay you for whatever you get for dinner, order what you want, within reason for him.”

“You don’t have to pay me back, and I’ll make sure to get him lots of candy,” he jokes, earning a look from you. “I’m joking,” he says, throwing his hands up in defense. “Go, go to work. I’ve got this.”

“If you need anything call me, or even one of the guys who have kids. If you trust them, I’ll trust them.” You kiss him again, yell goodbye to your son and remind him to behave for Trent. You were nervous about leaving Ben alone with him, but if you wanted to be serious about this guy, you had to do it at some point, right?

You close the door, leaving Ben and Trent alone on the other side as you try to think about how you and DeAndre can now keep your investors from pulling money, practically running down the hall so that you can get to your car.

Trent turns around, Ben already sitting back down on the floor and playing away with his toys. He had no idea how to watch a four-year-old. He takes in a deep breath, sitting on the ground with Ben, his back leaning up against your couch. “Alright, Benny, what do you want to do?”

Ben hands Trent a toy, starting to ramble on about whatever magical world he’s conjured up that Trent was no part of. He had no idea what he was doing, trying to follow along with your son’s imagination as best as he could.

Trent didn’t know how you did it. Ben was a ball of energy all the time, and at home seemed to be no exception. Trent was chasing him around as they played ‘Bear catcher,’ which Trent wasn’t really sure the rules of in the first place, just following around your four-year-old through your apartment while he sprinted, jumped, hid, crawled, and did every other action that Trent felt too old for.

Ben finally sits down and focuses on the tv when he hears some song coming from it, the first moments that Trent can sit down as well, hoisting himself onto the cushions. His phone starts buzzing, a call from Jack coming in. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What are you doing right now?” Jack’s voice comes through the phone as Ben gets up again, starting to run around with the bear Trent bought him.

“I’m watching Ben.”

“Since when are you a babysitter?” Jack asks, judgment dripping in his voice.

“Since Y/N needed a babysitter and I was free.” Ben climbs up on the couch and starts jumping, Trent suddenly feeling a wash of panic over him at the thought of Ben falling and getting hurt. Jack starts saying something that Trent knew he didn’t want to hear anyway, giving him the perfect excuse to cut him off. “Hey, Ben, you’ve gotta be careful. Sorry, dude, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

He hangs up before Jack can get another word in. “Hey, Benny. Mom said we could order dinner,” he says, pulling Ben into his lap in hopes that he would calm down long enough so he could talk to him. Ben squirms as his energy never seems to stop, Trent doing everything he can to try to figure this out. “What sounds good to you?”

“Ice cream!”

Trent lets out a small laugh, Ben’s face glowing at the thought of ice cream for dinner. “No, bud, you can’t have ice cream for dinner.”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” Ben wriggles free of Trent’s grasp, repeating the phrase over and over again as he sets off running around again.

Trent was way in over his head. He didn’t think that Ben would have this much energy for this long. Whenever he was with you, it was either during the day and Ben stayed relatively calm, or when you were playing, he had you to help counteract and keep Ben from being the seemingly crazy child that he was right now. He could call you and ask what to do, but from how you sounded on the phone and when he came over, you were way too stressed out to also have to worry about Ben at that moment. He could call one of his teammates who actually knew what they were doing when it came to child care, but Jack’s words from the family skate practically haunted him. He wasn’t in too over his head when he was with you, or when he was with you and Ben. But just Ben? Not going too well.

“Benny Bear, come here,” Trent says, reaching out to catch Ben as he runs by the couch. “How about, we get something else to eat, and if you eat all of it, I’ll get you ice cream?” he asks, making a mental note to at least text you to ask if it was ok that he have it. Ben nods his head since Trent technically said he could have ice cream. “What do you want?”

“Mac and cheese!”

“What about,” he starts, pulling out his phone. “Some chicken fingers?” Something told him cheese and ice cream wasn’t going to end well for Ben’s stomach that night, and by default, it wasn’t going to end well for Trent, either.

Ben nods, going back off and running around the room. He had to tire out at some point, right?

“Hello?” you answer your phone, Trent calling you to make sure his dinner plans were ok.

“Hey, Ben said he wanted ice cream, but I told him only if he eats his dinner, and I had to make sure it was alright with you, first.”

“What did you settle on?”

“Chicken fingers?”

He hears someone calling your name in the background, you yelling something back to them in panic. “Yeah, there might be some in the freezer? If not, just tell him that the ice cream fairy is coming later and he can have it tomorrow, or something. There are also some carrots in the fridge, too. Tell him he has to eat some of those if he wants ice cream, even if I don’t have any. Have some with him, pretend they’re spaceships, and play with them before you eat them, that normally distracts him long enough.”

“That works?”

“Trent, he’s four. Most things like that do.” He hears more yelling from your end, Ben coming zooming by him yet again, nearly tripping over Trent’s feet. “I’ve gotta run. Love you, bye.”

You hang up before Trent can react. You hadn’t told each other that you loved the other yet. He knew he loved you, but he didn’t know if you loved him back. But you just said it, and he didn’t even know if you meant it since you said it in such a hurried context. He hoped you meant it. He can’t even focus while he’s ordering dinner, not really sure what he was having other than the carrots you mentioned were in the fridge.

Trent just sits there while he waits for the food to arrive, getting the carrots out and trying to see if there was anything close to ice cream, or even yogurt that he could throw in the freezer for Ben while he continues to zoom around your apartment. “Hey, Benny, look!” he says, holding up the carrots. “Spaceships!”

This felt like he was talking to a dog, which seemed weird, but at this rate, Ben was tiring him out so fast he didn’t know what to do. He and Ben start playing with the carrots, watching your son eat what was in front of him when the doorbell rang for food.

Ben keeps playing with food, something Trent thought you probably wouldn’t like too much, but at this point, he didn’t know if he should care. He had no idea how you did this. There was no way Ben had this much energy every night, right? He had never seen you exhausted, so Ben couldn’t be a ball of energy all the time. At least, that’s what he convinced himself as he sat there eating his food.

Eventually, Ben goes to sleep, Trent helping get him ready for bed and tucking him in. You had texted that you weren’t sure when you were going to be home, but Trent was free to stay the night instead of driving back home regardless of what time you would be back, something he gladly took you up on.

Trent finally settles down after finding a pair of sweats he left at your place a while ago, collapsing onto the couch in complete exhaustion from Ben’s running.

“Trent?” he hears Ben’s small voice coming from down the hall, pulling Trent away from the trance he fell in trying to stay awake until you got home. “Trent!”

He runs down the hall at the sound of the increased panic in your son’s voice, not sure what he was supposed to expect when he practically burst through his bedroom door. “Buddy, what’s wrong?”

Ben was breathing heavily when Trent got close to his bed, clutching his sheets to his chest, “I had a bad dream.”

Trent sits down on Ben’s bed, a sad smile on his face. “Ah, Benny, it’s all over now. You’re safe.” Ben nods his head, a terrified look still on his face. He pulls Ben in for a hug, kissing the top of his head, Ben’s small arms wrapping around Trent’s own. “How about I read you a story to help you fall asleep?”

Ben nods, jumping out of bed and getting a book for Trent. “Goodnight Lab?” Trent reads, a confused look on his face.

“Mommy likes science,” Ben offers as his explanation.

“Of course she does,” he says, opening the book, putting his arm around your son as Ben cuddles up against Trent’s chest. “In the great green lab, there was a laser, and a lab notebook, and a picture of Einstein with a stern look,” he starts, already seeing Ben’s eyes getting heavy.

You finally get back home, seeing the light on, no one in the living room. Wandering through your apartment, you hear Trent’s voice coming from Ben’s room, finding him there with your son, him asleep against Trent’s chest as he whispers the end of the book to him, “Goodnight liquid nitrogen, goodnight compressed air, goodnight scientists everywhere.”

You stand in the doorway, Trent not noticing you as he slips himself from Ben, your son curling up with his blankets. Trent bends down to kiss him on the head, tiptoeing out of the room.

“Hi,” you whisper, closing Ben’s door behind you, giving Trent a kiss hello. “What was that?”

“He had a nightmare, so I read him a story to calm him down and get him back to sleep,” he explains.

“That’s so sweet of you,” you tell him, leading him down the hall to your room.

He shrugs, closing the door behind you. “My mom used to do it for me and my siblings. I always told myself that I would do it for my son or daughter.” You don’t know what to say, just pulling him in for a kiss, down on your bed. He pulls away, a smile on his face, “Oh, and I love you too,” he tells you, hoping that Ben didn’t wake up and hear what you two were about to do next.

Sweet Emotion

“Happy birthday, Benny!” Trent says, taking a video of your son as he blew out the candle on the small cupcake in front of him. Your son’s fifth birthday was spent out with Trent, starting with him making breakfast again, taking the two of you to the park and Boston Commons as he played with Ben the entire time, out to dinner where you were now, treating you the entire way. Ben didn't even care about the gift that you had gotten from Andy, something he had previously looked forward to every year. Ben was starting to see Trent as a father figure, something that was both terrifying and exciting to you.

If Trent, for whatever reason, stopped wanting to be part of your life, that would mean he would also probably leave Ben’s, a boy who already didn’t know his father and didn’t seem to want to know him. But he wanted to know Trent, he loved Trent, and you knew Trent loved him, too. You were just afraid he would fall out of love.

Ben was giggling as Trent smashed part of the cupcake against his nose, the bright red frosting making him look like Rudolph as he tried, and failed, to lick it off himself.

“Did you get that part, too?” you ask Trent, leaning over to see his screen.

“Yeah, I’ll send it to you. Do you mind if I post it to my private story? Some of the guys and their wives would go crazy for this.”

“Only the private one,” you tell him, laughing as you turn to Ben to see his face more of a mess than before, the red frosting now spread to his cheeks, “Benny, what happened?”

“I’m painting,” he says, using his finger to smear the frosting on his face.

Trent can’t help but laugh, you pulling Ben in for a hug. Trent snaps a picture of you kissing the frosting off his face. “Wait a sec,” he says, calling over a waiter to take a picture of the three of you, both of you kissing Ben’s cheek as he beams at the camera.

You see him set his phone down, notifications lighting the screen up as you guys get ready to leave, the picture of the three of you his new phone background.

The next morning, Trent had morning skate before needing to get ready for their game that night. The last game before the All-Star Weekend marking the halfway point of the season was always both nerve-wracking and exciting, the hypothetical of ‘if the season ended today, would you be in or out of the playoffs?’ always on everyone’s mind even though it meant virtually nothing, but still wanting to stay at one of the top spots in the league regardless.

“Hey, what was with that story yesterday?” Jack asks him after practice.

“It was Ben’s birthday,” he shrugs.

“Isn’t it weird?” Zach asks. “She has a kid. She’s a mom. You aren’t a dad.”

“I never said I was his dad,” he defends himself, starting to take on a hostile tone.

“Well, you’re acting like his dad, aren’t you?”

Trent rolls his eyes as his only response. What was he supposed to do? Ignore that you have a child? Trent gets up to leave, Jack now standing in front of him to stop him.

“You’re with them all the time. You watch him when Y/N is busy. You brought them to family skate. You know his favorite toys, his favorite tv shows, you facetime them every night before the game because he’s going to be asleep by the time the game is over. You’re not his dad,” Jack lists to Trent, Trent getting more angry with every word that comes from his friend.

“What am I supposed to do? Pretend that Ben isn’t part of her life? Pretend that she has no kid? I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that.”

“It’s messing with you, Trent!” Jack yells, the rest of the remaining guys getting quiet. “You don’t do this. You don’t date a girl who has a child and play ‘house’ with her. You’re the guy who just fucks around and has fun. Where did he go?”

“I can’t change? I can’t settle down because I wasn’t settled before?” Trent responds, knowing that his face was bright red, “I love Y/N, and I love Ben. I don’t care if you think it’s ‘not normal.’ It’s what I want and you don’t really get a say in that.” Jack stands there, stunned by his friends' words, still struggling to find them as Trent grabs his bag and walks out of the room to go home before the game.

He wanted to call you and talk about it with you, but what was he going to say? ‘The guys think my dating you is weird since you have a son?’ The flash of your expression appeared in his mind when you realized the guys didn’t know about Ben at family skate, the pain he knew you felt when you thought he was ashamed of Ben. He wasn’t then and he isn’t now.

But what was he doing? Jack was right: he wasn’t Ben’s dad. He could never really be Ben’s dad. Why did your son mean so much to him if he had no relation to the child in the first place?

Why did he have to say he was all in? He was supposed to be focusing on himself and his hockey, not a girl he met at a bar and pouring all his excess energy into you and your son. What was he supposed to do? Pull back? Pull you away from your son? There was no way that was going to be an option, and there was no way that was an option he wanted to follow.

He was supposed to be following his normal pre-game traditions and routines, not having his mind run rampant over the thought of you and Ben and what his teammates think.

He pulls out his phone, a notification from Instagram telling him that you had responded to his story a few hours ago while he was at practice. Trent opens it, seeing the picture of Ben, looking so happy with the cupcake that was all his, the red frosting seconds from being smeared all over his face. Trent didn’t think about being a dad anytime soon. He really never had any intention of settling down, at least not yet, not seriously, yet there he was, thinking of Ben like his own son, head over heels for you and your son.

It was too much, wasn’t it?

His phone started buzzing with texts from the guys to make sure that he was ok after they watched his and Jack’s blow up in the locker room. Trent didn’t even care about them at this point, knowing that he should at least answer them even just to tell them to leave him alone for the time being.

But what if they were right? Jack’s words kept ringing through his head, that he was just a guy who had fun because that’s what he wanted, not a guy who settled down with a girlfriend, and especially not a guy who settled down with a girl who had a toddler.

He spent the entire time he was supposed to be taking a nap going back and forth between whether or not he was in too deep or if he was fine because he was in love. The night he met you, he had never intended to get this far in with you. He had just wanted to hook up, the reason he went home with you in the first place. But as soon as you told him about Ben, seeing the crushed look on your face at the prospect of him leaving because of your son, he knew that he couldn’t just be one and done. There was something about you and Ben that he had to be part of it once he was introduced, that part of his life that he never knew was missing until he realized he couldn’t picture his life without you.

And it was just too much.

Attitude Adjustment

Trent finally gets to the Garden, not even remembering who they were playing that night. He couldn’t think about anyone else, almost tempted to tell Bruce that he was sick so he could be a late scratch instead of letting this mess with him. Because no matter what he did, he couldn’t get out of his head and focus. The music that he normally played before a game wasn’t working, even so much as trying to close his eyes and picture being on the ice while he was in the locker room before the game.

No one approached him while he was in his stall, probably out of fear of another outburst from him. He wasn’t even paying attention when Bergeron gave his traditional pre-game motivational speech before they all went out to the ice, Trent skating around by himself in hopes of being able to focus before they played the Flames that night.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he hears someone say, not even noticing who came up to him in the first place.

He looks at Brad, suddenly thankful that there was someone on the team who knew what he was going through. “Katrina already had Sloane when you two met, right?”

“Y/N and Ben on your mind?”

“You were in the locker room after practice.”

The two of them skate around their half of the ice, the time before the game ticking down. “When you date a woman, when any two people date, there’s always going to be something that can get in the way and potentially break you up. That includes their family, their kids if they have them. You need to decide if you want to let Ben break you and Y/N up or if you’re going to take him in and not let him do that.”

The guys were migrating back to the bench, Brad still on the ice for the starting lineup. “It worked for you, though,” Trent says, hanging back as long as he could, his eyes darting back and forth between the clock and his teammate.

Brad shrugs, looking out to the blue line where Bergeron and Pastrnak were already waiting. “I don’t see Sloane as any less of my son than I see Sawyer as my daughter. It worked for me. If you want it to work for you, then you have to make it work.”

The buzzer sounds, Bruce yelling for Trent to get off the ice and onto the bench. Did he want this to work with you and Ben? What the three of you had was already great, but Trent had barely spent any time with you, a time when you and he could just be a couple without worry of anyone else.

Trent’s line goes out on the ice, his mind still occupied as he skates. The puck touches his stick, him making a mad dash towards the Flames net, only to get tangled up with Tkachuk, sending Trent to the ice. He doesn’t get up for a minute, trying to process what happened, an easy shot and probably goal just messed up, leading to a breakaway to the other end to put the Flames up 1-0 against the Bruins.

By the time he can finally get himself up, Bruce is yelling at him that if he messes up like that again then he’s benched the rest of the game, definitely not a good look going into the All-Star break. He gets back out on the ice, the same thing happening with him tripping on a breakaway, this time over himself instead of a Flame, again leading to them scoring and putting them up 2-0. He couldn’t get out of his head. Trent sat there the entire time, not even focusing on the game, not focusing on the comeback his own team had to win the game 4-3.

He didn’t talk to anyone in the locker room, rushing out as soon as he could to go home, hearing Brad’s voice carry through the hallway to the elevators as he explained what he knew about the situation, no doubt that Jack offered his own remarks that Trent was sure would have lead to them fighting right there.

He had never wanted to fight one of his teammates over shit they said before, let alone one of his best friends. Other guys on other teams? Sure. But Jack?

Trent gets into his car, his phone already blowing up, asking him if he had still wanted to come on the trip to Puerto Rico he and the guys had planned with their girlfriends a while back. He had completely forgotten about the trip, no one even mentioning it for the longest time, not even sure that it was actually booked by anyone.

What surprised him most was Jack asking in the group if you were going to come with them, followed by a separate text saying that he meant it, that he wanted you to come.

Maybe this is what you and Trent needed; a trip with the guys, the two of you able to spend some time alone and just be with each other without the constant worry of someone or something else. He texted back that he would be there, not sure about you yet.

“Hello?” you answer your phone, Ben’s coming through the background. Hearing him made Trent hesitate, swallowing hard.”Trent?”

“Yeah, uh,” he swallows again, “Sorry, um, mind if I stop by for a few minutes?”

You sit up from the couch, looking at the mess you didn’t even realize Ben had created during the game. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you soon?” you say, hearing him start up his car.

“Yeah, awesome,” he says, hanging up before either of you could say anything else, practically speeding out of the Garden as fast as he could to get to you. The more he thought about it, the more excited he was about spending a week with you.

“Hey, Benny, guess who’s coming over soon?” you put on a cheery voice, crouching down to the floor where Ben was playing with his toys.

Your toddler started bouncing up and down, his arms waving around in excitement. “Trent?” he squeals.

“He should be here any minute, help me pick up some of your toys, ok?”

You and Ben start to scramble to pick everything up. You knew Trent wouldn’t normally care if there were toys on the ground, but there was something about the tone of his voice when he called to tell you that he was stopping by that worried you.

You had watched the game, you weren’t stupid that he had had an awful game, thankful that it was an earlier evening game that Ben could watch with you. Even he was upset when Trent fell, both times, getting benched and hearing Jack and Brick speculate what was up with one of their favorite players.

Ben continued to buzz around as you waited, thankful that he couldn’t sense the anxiety that was building up while waiting for Trent. You hear him knocking on the door, getting up while Ben seems to be oblivious to the sound. You smile when you see him, mirroring his own expression, the complete opposite of what you expected given the conversation you had minutes ago.

“I have something to ask you,” he starts, his hands on your waist as he starts walking you backward down the hall, seemingly toward your bedroom.

“Trent! Trent!” Ben comes up to the two of you, bouncing up and down, Trent's hands releasing their grip on you. “Are you coming on Friday?” Ben asks him, referencing his concert at school that Trent had promised to come to.

You saw the smile on Trent’s face fade at Ben’s words, a nervous look taking over as he knelt down to look Ben in the eye. “I really want to see your concert, buddy, but I’m not sure if I can make it. I’m gonna try, though, ok?” he tries to save face when he sees the crushed look on your son’s face.

Ben nods, not understanding what Trent was really saying to him. In his world, Trent saying he wasn’t sure meant he didn’t want to see him sing with his other classmates. “Um, Ben, why don’t you go play in your room for a little bit, ok?” you ask him, guiding him to his room, watching him run down the hall. You turn to your boyfriend, clearly confused by what he just told Ben. “It’s the All-Star break, what came up?”

“The guys and I are going away for the break, and I want you to come with me.”

“What are you talking about? You said you were staying here?” you ask him, praying that Ben doesn’t come out of his room and couldn’t hear any of this.

“I know, I know, but, come on, things change,” he says, taking your hand and trying to lead back down your hallway.

“Wait, Trent, come on,” you stop him, turning him around to face you. “You want Ben and I to come with you on a trip with the guys? What guys, where are you going?”

His expression drops again, “I was kinda hoping it would just be me and you.”

“And where would Ben be? I can’t just leave him alone. I can’t go away with you.”

“But, Y/N, come on,” he whines. “This could be so good for us. A few days, just you and me, no distractions, nothing stopping us from just being together, like a real couple.”

“Distractions? A real couple? Trent, what the,” you stop, realizing you were standing right outside of Ben’s door. You look between Trent and the door, Trent’s pleading expression as you take him down the hall, practically slamming the door to your own bedroom. “What the fuck are you talking about?” you hiss.

He sits on your bed, you still standing, towering over him. He puts his hands in his face, letting out a deep breath. “I’m,” he starts, “I just want time where it’s you and me. Other than that night at the bar, we almost never have had more than a few hours when you and I are alone. I need to get out of Boston for a bit, and I don’t want anyone with me beside you.”

“Trent, I can’t,” you protest, sitting down next to him.

“Yes, please, just say, yes.”

“No, Trent. You aren’t hearing what I’m saying.”

“I am, I just-”

“Ok, then you aren’t listening! I can’t just drop everything on a moment’s notice and go off with you on a vacation. I have a kid, and if you haven’t noticed, I can’t exactly afford a babysitter for more than two nights in a row, let alone watching him all day every day for an entire week.”

“Don’t worry, I can pay for one, I just need to get out of here, and I need you with me.”

“Trent, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Ben can stay with a sitter.”

“Don’t you get it? Ben comes first. Ben has to come first. When it comes to a decision between you and Ben, or anyone and Ben, my choice is always Ben. There is never a case when I’ll pick something or someone over him, especially not going on some trip with you and your frat boy-like teammates because you’re upset you had one bad game. I choose him every single time. Especially over you, Trent.”

“What about Ben’s father? Can’t he stay with Andy?”

You can’t help but gasp, hurt by what you thought Trent meant. “You mean the father that didn’t want him? I. Told you. This,” you say, standing up again, “Andy wants nothing to do with Ben. And right now it seems like neither do you.” You could feel the tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, turning around and heading out of your room. You couldn’t look at him. You had no idea where you were going to go, given that you had Ben in his room and couldn’t leave him.

“Y/N, please, I’m sorry,” he runs after you, stopping you before you reached the door. “I just want a few days, where it’s you and me. Where everything is easy for us. Where there’s nothing, no one, besides you and me.”

“This isn’t supposed to be easy. You knew it wasn’t going to be so why are you so shocked that this is how it is?” you tell him, the tears finally falling.

The two of you stand there for a minute, Trent starting to reach for you a few times before running his hands through his hair. “It’s me and Ben, or neither of us,” you give him an ultimatum. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, wishing he can find the words. “Fine. If you can’t make the decision, I will. Get out.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“No. If you have to think about it, then you aren’t ‘all in,’” you call back to the morning after you two met. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t have to think about it.”

Trent doesn’t say another word, pushing past you and leaving you there.

You press your back against the door, letting out a silent sob so that Ben can’t hear you. This was exactly what you were afraid of, wiping the tears from your face and peeling yourself off the door. You walk down the hall, hoping that Ben wouldn’t notice the redness that was probably in your eyes from crying, opening his door.

“Where’s Trent?” Ben asked, handing you a toy of his when you sit down on his floor with him.

You swallow hard, not sure what to really tell him. “He had to go, Benny,” you say, running your hand on his hair, pulling him close to kiss the top of his head.

“When’s he coming back, Mommy?”

You put on a fake smile for him, not wanting to let him know when you really thought Trent would be back. “I don’t know, sweetie. Not this week.”

I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing

You hadn’t checked anyone’s story on Instagram since last night, sitting on the metal chairs in the middle of the day, surrounded by parents much older than you, figuring now was probably the only time you hate the chance.

You tap through them, some stories from friends from college, random celebrities that you followed. You finally get to Jack’s story from last night. They were in Puerto Rico, in some dark restaurant. Zach and Jeremy were dancing, Jack behind the camera. In the corner, you could see Trent sitting at a table, looking miserable. He sees Jack with his camera, shakes his head and storms off. You replay the story, Jack’s shaking making you think that he was saying something and turning the sound on low, holding the phone to your ear. You could hear the music more than anything else, sounds of Zach, Jeremy, and Jack’s laughter breaking through after one of them said something inaudible. Trent must have gotten up at that point, because you hear Jack yell, “Oh, Trent! Come on, man! Have some fun!”

You go to Trent’s profile, hoping that he had posted anything. The last photo he has posted was of the two of you, him strategically cropping out Ben because you had asked him to. It was from Ben’s birthday, outside the restaurant. He had captioned it, ‘Spent the day with my two favorite people, Bear not shown.’

Ben’s preschool teacher gets up on the stage, the high-pitched whispers of the four- and five-year-olds starting by the back door as Ms. Barry introduces the class, all of them walking up in a line to the stage. They start waving to their parents, Ben waving to you as everyone, including you, has their phone out waving back and recording the moment. The children start singing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,’ their pixie-like voices filling the auditorium, all slightly out of key and slightly out of sync with each other. Towards the end of the song, you notice Ben starting to jump up and down, anxious over something he saw towards the back of the auditorium, as did some of the other children. You figured it was nothing, none of the other parents turning around to look at what it was either.

They go onto their next song, one you weren’t paying attention to, nor did you recognize it. Ben was no less antsy than he was before, waving again with the biggest smile on his face. It had to be someone.

You turn around, Trent leaning against the back wall, one hand in his pocket while the other was waving to Ben. All of his attention was on Ben. You turn back in your seat, shocked that he was there. He was supposed to be in Puerto Rico.

You put your bag on the seat, the mom next to you promising to watch it. You sneak back to Trent, not sure what to say to him. You turn to Ben, giving him the thumbs up and a single finger to tell him that you were going to be back in a second, feeling bad that you were leaving your so. Ben jumps up and down, nodding and continuing to sing.

You grab Trent, pulling him out of the room and into the small hallway. “What are you doing here? You were in Puerto Rico last night; I saw you on Jack’s story.”

He looks down at his feet, biting his bottom lip. “I couldn’t be there knowing you and Ben were here.”

“That’s not what you said when you wanted to go.”

He nods, looking up at you for a second before his eyes flick back down to his feet. “I told you I was dumb.”

“So why are you here then?”

“I told you when we first met that I was all in. I can’t be all in if I’m not here.”

“So?”

He takes a step closer to you, hesitating for a moment. “So. I don’t want to miss anything with you, or with Ben.” You don’t know what came over you, kissing him outside your son’s concert the way you did. You can hear the parents start to cheer, signaling that the concert was finished. Trent pulls away, your foreheads pressed against each other. He smiles before stealing a kiss again, pulling you back inside.

Ben comes running up to you, giggling with his arms open. “Trent!”

“Benny Bear!” he responds, crouching down with his arms open, hugging Ben when he came in contact. He picks him up, kissing him on the cheek, your hand on Trent’s back.

“You came! You’re back!” Ben squeals, burying his face in Trent’s shoulder.

“Back and here to stay,” he says to you, giving you a quick kiss before putting Ben down, getting your bag, and going home.

[sassyhobbits]

Yes, another part please!😊

Would That I, part 2

ok, so i have given this HOF AU a title and have a vague idea of where its going. anyway, enjoy this part! its a bit longer than the first one!!

pt 1

~~~

Celaena wasn't sure how long she sat there, curled in a ball against the wall, clutching her chest, and trying to ground herself in a world that had suddenly been swept out from under her feet.

Mate.

It was all that was swirling around in her head. Just that. Celaena Sardothien, half-breed, had found her mate even though she wanted nothing to do with the sort. She had banished all parts of her Fae heritage after the king of Adarlan had butchered them across the continent. It had been so easy to forget that part of herself as she grew but now…

How could it be him? Her mate hadn’t been Sam or Dorian or Chaol but Rowan rutting Whitethorn. Celaena knew enough about the Fae to recognize a mating bond didn’t mean love but… this level of hate? It had to be a mistake.

Mate. He was her mate. Mate, mate, matematemate-

“Are you alright?”

Celaena’s wide eyes slowly lifted from the floor towards the figure standing before her, finding a tall woman hovering with a concerned look on her face. Female, Celaena had to remind herself upon seeing those delicately pointed ears. Not a woman.

When she didn’t respond, the female took a step closer, the torch light spilling onto her face and allowing Celaena a better look at her. Dark, angular eyes and silky black hair left tumbling down her back. She wore the same drab, functional clothes as the rest of the residents of Mistward. Her full lips pressed together tightly as she studied Celaena.

“Are you hurt?” the female asked, crouching down so that she was at the assassin’s eyelevel.

Celaena couldn’t will any words to her lips, not even something mean to score her some privacy. She didn’t deserve this female’s kindness, the concern in her kind eyes.

The stranger swallowed hard, seeming to understand that Celaena was in no position to be answering questions. She placed a hand over her chest before saying softly, “My name is Arya. I’ll take you somewhere you can rest.” Her lips tightened again, giving Celaena a once-over. “It looks like you could use something to eat too.”

Celaena didn’t have the fire within her to argue as Arya began to help her up from the stone ground, wrapping a surprisingly strong arm around her shoulders and guiding her slowly through the halls. She should have been more worried about where this stranger was taking her, but Celaena couldn’t find it within herself to really care.

She was vaguely aware of a few twists and turns down the halls, of curious eyes following her. Celaena got the impression that Mistward didn’t often see new faces.

Arya eventually opened a door and herded Celaena into a small, cozy room. There were a few other females scattered around, lounging on worn couches or sitting in little chairs by the fire. All of them looked towards her as Arya shut the door.

The demi-Fae female didn’t pay the others any mind, leading Celaena to a small seat and urging her to sit. “Leila, could you run down to the kitchens and ask Emrys for some tea?”

Celaena heard soft footfalls and the door opening and closing again, meaning whoever Leila was had followed Arya’s request.

Celaena glanced around the room, observing the other females in there with her. There were two others, both looking towards her with curiosity.

A towering female with dark brown skin took a step closer, nostrils flaring as she scented the air. Her eyes narrowed. “This is the one that just arrived with General Whitethorn.”

Celaena’s heart twisted in her chest at that damned name.

Arya blinked at the new information, about as much surprise as she would show. “What’s your name, girl?”

Celaena hesitated a moment before rasping, “Elentiya.” These strangers didn’t need to know who she was, Celaena or Aelin. It wasn’t any of their business.

Another female with pale skin and a mass of curly red hair came forward, green eyes running over her from head to toe before lingering on her face. “You’re hurt.”

Celaena reached up, running the tips of her fingers over her swollen bottom lip, feeling dried blood flake away. Right. She had forgotten about that. “It’s nothing.”

“Did Whitethorn do that?”

Celaena tensed, fingers curling into fists and looking down. “It doesn’t matter. I deserved it.”

There was pity on Arya’s face. A few weeks ago, Celaena likely would have clawed it out. But now…

The door swung open, a muscular female striding back in with a mug of steaming tea which she unceremoniously shoved into Celaena’s hands.

She held the mug tightly, glancing around at the four females surrounding her, waiting for one of them to say something.

Arya went first. “Well, Elentiya,” she said softly. “These are some of the female barracks. I’m Arya, this is Leila.” She inclined her head towards the female who had brought her tea who was stronger than many males Celaena had ever seen. Her dark hair shifted as she nodded her greeting. Then, Arya motioned towards the tall, dark-skinned female. “This is Sahala, and this-” a nod towards the red-head. “Is Eryn.”

Celaena said nothing, only wishing they would all stop looking at her. She took a sip of her tea to avoid the awkwardness.

“Do you know where you’re staying, Elentiya?” Eryn asked, those bright blue eyes wide and glimmering in the firelight.

Celaena blinked. No, Rowan hadn’t had the opportunity to show her where she would be staying before…

No, she didn’t want to think about that now.

Her silence said enough. Arya nodded slowly. “Well, we have an extra cot in here for you to rest your head for the night. Do you have a change of clothes?”

A shake of the head.

“I have some that should fit you,” Eryn offered. She raised a brow. “I’ll take you to the baths too.”

Celaena didn’t remember the rest of the night, drawing deep within herself. She barely remembered eating, taking a long soak, and changing. The females who offered her a place to stay seemed to understand that she wasn’t in the mood to speak, so they gave her some space.

Celaena was just thankful she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the thin pillow.

It meant she didn’t have to think about Rowan Whitethorn for a moment longer.

…

It wasn’t right.

None of this was right.

Rowan was furious. Beyond furious. That whiny brat, the would-be queen, couldn’t be who he thought she was. That feeling in his chest had to be a trick, a ruse of some sort.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t.

Aelin Galathynius, the princess-turned-assassin, was his mate.

It shouldn’t be possible, not after he had loved and lost Lyria. He had never heard of someone having two mates in a lifetime but… he knew someone who might know more than him.

People practically jumped out of his way as Rowan stalked through the halls. He couldn’t imagine he looked particularly pleasant at the moment, and he already had a shitty reputation here. He figured no one wished to be within a hundred feet of him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan knew he had left Aelin alone in a place she had never been, but he had other things to worry about first. Besides, he didn’t want anything to do with her at this moment.

Rowan’s feet led him down towards the kitchen. It seemed of freshly baking bread, and he could hear Emrys singing softly. He entered the warm kitchen, eyes immediately locking on the older male.

“You! Story-keeper!”

Emrys jumped, clearly not hearing Rowan’s approach. He placed down his knife and turned, wiping his hands on his dirty apron.

“What can I help you with, Prince?” Emrys asked, voice soft.

“Have you heard tales of someone finding more than one mate in a lifetime?”

Emrys blinked, surprised by the question. He placed his speckled hands flat on the old table before him, a furrow between his bushy brows. Rowan knew the question would raise suspicion, but Emrys knew better than to go blabbing about the compound.

“I have yet to hear stories of that sort,” the old male said before pausing. “Though I haven’t heard any stories negating the possibility either.”

“So you believe it is possible?”

Emrys shrugged. “Who am I to say, prince? I have found my mate, and I cannot imagine another person out there who I could love more but… the gods work in mysterious ways. Who’s to say that there isn’t more than one person out there in the world someone could be matched with?”

Rowan ground his jaw, frustrated that he wasn’t able to get more of a solid answer. Finding a mate at all was rare… finding two shouldn’t be possible.

And yet, here he was.

Gods, had it felt this intense when he had recognized Lyria as his mate? The feeling in his chest was near-overwhelming, but perhaps time and sorrow had muddied his memories of the female he had lost.

The compound felt much too small. He knew that Aelin was somewhere within these halls, somewhere far too close. He couldn't stay here any longer.

Without another word to the cook, Rowan strode from the kitchen out the back door. The moment he was in open air, he shifted and tore into the sky. He had a destination in mind, and place that would hopefully give him the time and space he needed to sort through the anger and confliction swirling inside of him.

He would worry about Aelin Galathynius later.

…

The next day, Celaena slept.

Rowan didn’t come to retrieve her, hadn’t said what would be expected of her during her stay at Mistward. She was in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar people.

Deeply and terribly alone.

The females who let Celaena stay with them kept out of her way. Eryn had brought a plate of food to her which Celaena didn’t have to stomach to even look at. She was too busy trying to learn how to breathe, to think, to be, with that strange bond strangling her heart.

Sleeping was the easiest way to avoid it.

She heard the females whispering to one another, saying that Rowan Whitethorn had left the compound in a hurry yesterday without news of where he was heading. Celaena didn’t care. He had probably already given up on her. She would take a few days to rest before she left. She would find the information she needed some other way.

She was vaguely aware of the day turning to night, the females she was staying with all retiring to bed. They all said goodnight to one another. They didn’t say a thing to Celaena.

Her sleep was deep and dreamless. She had been fully intending to sleep the day away once more, but it seemed someone else had other plans.

The sensation of someone watching her awoke Celaena early that next morning. Her eyes slowly cracked open, vision beginning to clear only to find a male kneeled down beside her, far too close for comfort.

Celaena gasped, sitting up straight and scrambling rather ungracefully to the edge of her tiny cot. The male released a bark of laughter at her reaction.

“Come, now. Surely I’m not that hideous am I?” he chuckled. “In fact, I know I’m not.”

He was right, Celaena supposed. The male before her was unfairly beautiful with luminous, dark brown skin, tight, golden curls pulled back messily, and eyes that held laughter in him. His pointed ears and sharp canines showed his Fae heritage clearly, as did the insufferable swagger that seemed to ooze out of his pores.

“What the hell were you doing?!” Celaena snapped, wishing she had a weapon or something. But Rowan had taken those.

“I was studying you. I thought you’d be more frightening.”

“What?”

The male shrugged. “Well, I figured if you were able to scare off Whitethorn so easily you would have fangs or horns or scales or something. But no. You’re just about as pretty as I am.”

Celaena dug the heels of her palms into her eye, banishing the lingering fatigued. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Fenrys,” the male said, standing to his full height. “I’m one of Maeve’s bloodsworn. Like Rowan.”

“And what the rutting hell are you doing here?”

“Since Whitethorn had some sort of important, secret business to attend to, he asked me to come here for the time being.” Fenrys smiled widely. “I’m here to train you.”

[writing-in-april]

Dr Jekyll or Mr. Hyde (3/?)

Part three: the gift

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The next meeting rolls around and Reader tries to get Spencer to open up in baby steps. Turns out he was more willing to let her in than she first expected.

Part One, Part Two

Series Masterlist

A/N: Heyyy this is my third part for Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde!!! It’s also the fifteenth installment of my 30 fics in 30 days for April event! The plot is finally about to pick up y’all!!!! I’ve got so many plans where this series is headed (though I don’t know necessarily where it’s going to end) and I’m really excited!!! This chapter brings in other references from non gothic literature as well which was fun to do- these references and metaphors are really fun to craft. I’m curious to see y’all’s reaction to this part- leave me an ask if you want here (I promise I won’t bite 🧛🏻‍♀️) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Soft dom Spencer that turns back into slightly mean dom Spencer, Public sex, Masturbation (F), Oral sex (M receiving), Face fucking, Reader has a nickname- I think that’s it let me know if there needs to be anything else

Main Masterlist Word Count: 4.1k 😱

A meeting of the classics was once again scrawled on the whiteboard when you entered the library. It had the usual time 7pm to 11:30pm written right underneath. Instantly you fell down the rabbit hole and into another world, reality was turned on its head whenever you opened those wooden doors. Every encounter you had in the shelves, in the reading rooms, and even at the information desk seemed like you were walking into a world crafted by a surrealist. Everything was just slightly twisted and turned to feel slightly off from the reality outside those doors. It oddly made you feel more at home than your own apartment.

Each time a meeting rolled around you’d get an email notification a few weeks prior, informing you as to what the theme would be. The book club was already more extravagant than any other you had ever heard before, adding to the surrealist nature of where you were located. Last time was a somewhat lavish affair, this time it was coated in fleeting luxury.

Sure, the 1920s theme with the undeniable tinge of influence from The Great Gatsby would always lend itself to luxury, even with cheap decorations. But, the way the decor around you almost felt real told you exactly what your monthly entrance fee was going towards. You could complain about the steep price of admission, it could burn a hole into your wallet if you weren’t so careful. At any rate it did not matter, you were sure they wouldn’t care if you complained, and besides this was the only thing you really every splurged on. Plus there was the added aspect of the person you would no longer be able to indulge in if you let your membership lapse.

It was nice to treat yourself, get a taste of what it would be like to live basking in luxury 24/7. Flutes of champagne were passed around like hot cakes, admittedly they were non alcoholic after an incident a few months prior before you joined with some whiskey. It could have been a rumor fed to you by some of the vapid attendees to stir the pot so the library may cave to make their guests happy. You were going to keep your mouth shut because truth be told you didn’t mind that they were non alcoholic. You wanted to be sober for this. You wanted to be sober for Spencer.

Normally whenever a meeting rolled around you’d gladly be mingling with everyone around you. Even if personally you viewed some of their insights on whatever book they wished to discuss as shallow, seeing another’s perspective was always intriguing.

Something, namely someone, lurking in the shadows had your attention instead. It felt strikingly similar to the night of your first encounter, his eyes piercing into you, undressing you with them. The only thing that had changed is that you knew his name with some small added details. You didn't even know what type of Doctor he was, let alone what kind of man he was. But, you hoped tonight might change your prospects.

You had gotten a peek underneath the mask each time, just enough to pull you in closer. Whatever might lurk beneath, which still may be dangerous, for right now made you thrum with excitement. Spencer was just as surreal to you as the rest of the library, though he was definitely more shadowy than the others. It wouldn’t surprise you if he wasn’t real outside of here.

He could possibly just be a ghost trapped to roam the halls that instead of wanting to scare you, pleasured you. It was a silly thought for sure, but until he divulged more you struggled to convince yourself that he was real, even though his touch certainly did. The world was very different outside the library’s doors and you’d be content to be locked inside of it, that is if Spencer opened his own doors.

You circled each other for a while, neither of you talking to anyone, just staring with lust in your eyes. Tired of this cat and mouse game that you were unwilling to break out of stubbornness, he set down an empty ‘champagne’ flute to weave through the crowd to meet you.

No small talk or pleasantries came out of his mouth when he started your first conversation of the night, “At least you fit the theme this time.”

He had gestured to the dress you had chosen, a simple fringed red dress that very obviously was inspired by the era. It definitely gave you a sense of allure that leaned dark along with your dark lipstick, giving you your own cloak of mystery to match Spencer’s. At least there was a cloak for everyone else; Spencer could read you like an open book even with all your secrets. Spencer just had the ability to speed read them faster than any other human.

There was still depth to you, seemingly boundless, and certainly much more than the staple embodiment of a 1920s woman at a party being eyed at by man. You were no Daisy Buchanan that’s for sure, and Spencer was no Gatsby from what you have seen.

“As I told you last time I did fit the theme, Spencer.” You kept your lips shut tight about the fact that you had partially chosen this dress for him, picking a much more historically accurate style within your budget. Skating around the topic with ease you then teased, “Was that your way of complimenting my dress?”

“No…” That definitely meant yes, just by going off of the way he eyed your curves.

“At least you have it easy, you only have to throw on a suit, which is boring.” He snorted at that and didn’t disagree with your stinging jab at men’s fashion.

“That’s true, I don’t think I would want to see you in a boring suit, Shelley.” Inching closer to you so he possessively put a hand on your waist. He was close enough now that you could feel his breath on the exposed skin on your neck, a shiver trickling down your spine at that. His next words had a different reaction from you, your panties getting damp immediately after, “A dress has easier- access.”

The conversation turned from your typical banter into innuendos covered in mystery just like you both, with Spencer’s not being an act like you were trying to put on. You could let him do whatever he wanted to you again, which you thoroughly enjoyed, but there was a lingering fantasy you hadn’t voiced that had been in your head since he pinned you against the shelves.

“You didn’t let me reciprocate last time.” You whispered into his ear, your dirty intentions hidden by innocent words. The people around you had no idea what was going on, still milling about while you leaned in closer, only a few people looking over at you both curiously before moving on. Your next move was bold, wrapping your hand around his tie to pull him in closer, so you could keep your request a secret for his ears alone, “Will you allow me to return the favor?”

By the way his face twisted up at your words you knew you were testing a limit. All of your encounters thus far had been him touching you, not you touching him.

“Thought you would have forgotten about that by now.” This was his attempt to change the subject, to move on and expect that you’ll drop it just like him.

Everyone you knew called you stubborn for a reason, gripping his tie even harder you then doubled down, “Will you let me?”

It was highly unlikely that you were going to get a verbal response to your request, most likely you were about to get rejected, hard. You had tested your limits throughout your small time together. This however was entirely different and potentially over the line as to what Spencer would willingly allow.

Instead of shutting you out and shutting down he surprised you by opening his mouth to form the word, “Yes.”

With that you started to tug him out of the room, discreetly of course to not attract any unwanted attention and you didn’t pull him by his tie. Your fingers were wrapped around his wrist delicately, his first taste of you touching him while you guided him to a spot for your clandestine affair.

Your eagerness made you too impatient to wait and find a better secluded spot away from the crowd. The corner you chose was beyond risky to say the least, only a wall separating the both of you and the club guests. If you were lucky and went quickly you’d avoid being caught.

You wondered how long it had been since someone had offered to do this for him, instead of him probably forcing them to their knees while he continued to control the encounter with their consent. His steadfast control over each time he touched you had never wavered up until this point.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.”

He gulped hard, giving you a look like he was considering stopping you. Ultimately he kept his mouth shut, letting you drop to your knees and begin to unbutton his slacks. You worked quickly, unsure how much time you had without being caught in this little corner barely off to the side you chose or how long Spencer would let you touch him with impunity.

You hadn’t been able to really get a good look at his cock, either you had been facing away from it or it was trapped in the confines of the slacks he always wore. When you freed him from his boxers you could not help but admire it, even if only for a second.

Beautiful was an odd way to describe a cock, but there was no other word you could really find in the moment while you were on your knees. He was already hard, even leaking at the tip, and all from a few teasing words from your mouth. You’d have to test your affect on him more in the future, it obviously excited him.

When you held it in your hands and licked him from his base to tip, he had to bite on his fist at the suddenness of your touch. You pumped him a few times languidly before bringing the head to your lips and letting it slip into your mouth. He was allowing you to explore without fear of any repercussions. His hand that now rested at the back of your head being the only signal that he could take back the control anytime he wanted.

When you began to bob your head a wave of new precum hit your tongue. The taste of Spencer on your tongue was to put it lightly, intoxicating, you’d be content to taste him everyday if he let you.

Hoping too much would be your downfall if you let it, you pushed it out of your mind so you could be content with the baby steps forward you were taking. This right here, was him being vulnerable, even with you on his knees. You’d have to tread carefully if you wanted another crack in his mask to see even his darkest features, not a chink in his armor that would have him running away injured.

You weren’t sure what made the energy shift in the corner you were on your knees in, you suspected it was the soft caress of your hand along his thigh. He clammed up, suddenly wanting to take back control of the situation, no longer content with being vulnerable. It was quite clear to you that he saw giving up his control as a moment of weakness, just by going off of the once content look on his face that had twisted and seized up in frustration. Whatever he would let you do to him or whatever he wanted to do to you would always leave you wet with desire. It would however, be a lie to say that you didn’t want to see him back in a similar position one day. Getting him to be vulnerable for any extended period of time, even if it was while you were on his knees for him in a typical position for submission, was a form of progress. A little bit twisted, yes, but it still was progress.

Control fell back easily into his hands, now wasn’t the time to fight him on it; you’d be a good girl for now. The hand that had been resting gently on the back of your head tightened its grip to start controlling the pace.

You let your hand let go of his cock, resting them both on his thighs now instead. Your eyes were glassy as you tried to meet his sable irises while he began to thrust into your mouth. All you could really see was his Adam’s apple bobbing, curls falling as his head tipped back with his jaw slack. At first his thrusts had tested the waters, to see how much you could take. They then became more forceful when you gripped his thighs through his slacks and tried to pull him close.

The corner you had pulled him into was more exposed than any previous dalliance. Last time, even though it was out in the open, the stacks of shelves piled high with books shielded you along with his body pinned on top of yours. In comparison, this time you could hear the people laughing and mingling about in the next room over.

That only made you keen, moaning around him softly when you heard someone start a conversation close to the shared wall. Spencer, ever astute to your actions, picked up on what had you moaning around him. He forced your head down as far as you could go, your nose almost nuzzling the hairs at his base. He held you there harshly for a moment while he spoke, “You like it when we’re close to getting caught don’t you? That’s why you chose this spot isn’t it? You aren’t just satisfied with sneaking around, you want to get caught doing it.”

Before you could confirm or deny his questions you had to pull off of him so you could catch your breath. A string of spit connected from your mouth to the top of his cock remained unbroken until he brought his thumb to your mouth so you could continue to suck on something. He bent down to look at you, inspecting your makeup melted by tears and your spit covered lips. When he then moved his thumb from out of your mouth to grip your cheeks hard you whimpered, wondering what you did wrong, “Answer my questions.”

You scrambled to answer to avoid any type of punishment. You couldn’t make him feel good the way you wanted to if he was angry at you. Trying to muster up some conviction failed as your answer still came out shaky, “Y-yes! I-I liikeee it, Doctor!”

Satisfied with your answer and the amount of time your break had been he let go of the grip on your cheeks to resume. He slipped back inside your mouth swiftly, seeing no need to start out slow again. This time when you looked up, you found him meeting your irises with his own making you squirm underneath his piercing gaze.

“Touch yourself, we don’t have time for both of us.” With any other man you would have been irritated because mostly likely they were unwilling to finish a girl off. Spencer however, had proven he was consistently capable of that from you two previous interactions. He was also right, the place you had chosen was going to be flooded with people soon as they left the party. It was around this time that a group of people got bored and left which you didn’t understand. Why would they pay the money if they were just going to leave early?

You maneuvered your hands underneath the fringed edge of your dress, then bypassing your panties by pushing them to the side. There was no need to tease yourself, sucking off Spencer had you soaking through your flimsy lace panties. You pushed two of your fingers inside your entrance, curling them to deliciously hit at that sweet spot inside you. Even though you were enjoying the way he fucked your face in combination with you touching yourself, your fingers didn’t feel as euphoric as Spencer’s long fingers that could pull an orgasm out of you in seconds.

Spencer was nearing his release, his hips stuttering as it came closer. More tears prickled at the corner of your eyes out of frustration that you were having trouble reaching the edge with your own fingers. Spencer of course saw your frustration and began to coax you to the edge,

“Come on Shelley I know you can do it, I know you can make yourself cum for me.” Spencer’s words weren’t nearly as good as your fingers, but it did help that final push towards the edge. Falling over the edge together was a heady feeling, pleasure sparking through your veins while Spencer filled your mouth. You focused on swallowing it all down as best as you could, only a bit escaping the sides of your mouth.

When it was all said and done Spencer tucked himself back into his boxers, then rebuckling the belt holding his slacks up. He then outstretched a hand towards you, who was crumpled on the floor looking absolutely ruined. It was a simple gesture, taking his hand so you didn’t wobble on your heels as much. To you however it seemed like a weighted moment, subtly showing that you were willing to take whatever he may give to you.

He then suddenly pushed a book in your hands, which came seemingly out of thin air, only soon after you had cleaned up the corners of your mouth by licking your lips. You had been just about to clean the remnants of your makeup that was streaming down your cheeks with a makeup wipe that had been in your purse. He had other plans, putting the book in your hands and grabbed the wipe from you. He began to use the wipe to clean you off, caressing your cheeks softly this time. His movements were gentle as the cleanser in the cloth, every gentle touch that came directly after the hard made you want to fall into the dark abyss with him. You had almost moved forward to kiss him until he unintentionally stopped you by starting to wipe your smeared lipstick off. Once he was done with that you then looked down at the book he had forced you to take.

“What is this?” Your brows furrowed in question at the unexpected gift. Your relationship had a loose definition, really none at all, to get a gift felt like it was supposed to mean something. He had gifted you something in the past, the nickname you now couldn’t seem to shake, and you supposed the multiple orgasms could be classified as gifts to some.

This felt bigger than that, at least to you. But, how were you supposed to know what his train of thought was when you didn’t know anything about him. Most of what you did know contradicted each other anyway. There was no way to predict a man who had two distinct sides of him, neither of which he’d divulge more than surface level information about.

“I thought it was quite obvious, it’s a book.” His nonchalant response through you for a loop, causing you to stammer a bit. However, he did not let you form a complete thought, steamrolling you with sudden excitement, “An old copy of Frankenstein to be exact, Shelley.”

Looking down you traced your fingers over the spine on the vintage book. You weren’t sure how old the book was, you’d have to check that later. It wasn’t that you didn’t see the potential value in owning an old edition of a book, but the gesture still confused you. Instead of dwelling on a question that you weren’t going to get a straight answer for if you asked, you tried to tease him, “But I have already read it, you know that.”

He took your jab at his listening skills in stride and again was cagey as always with his response, “I do know that, that isn’t why I bought it for you.”

“Why?”

“That is for me to know, and for you to potentially figure out.” He was now moving to leave the corner, about to leave you hanging in the wind scrambling to figure out whatever he was talking about. You scrambled to follow, which caused you to almost crash into him when he abruptly stopped. “I’ll give you a hint, flip to page 56.”

Flipping it open to the page you noticed that it wasn’t a page of any significance, no famous quotes were highlighted or major climactic scenes happening.

“There isn’t anything in here.” Exasperation was evident in your voice, he was too hard to read, certainly not as hard as the book in front of you. His intentions were the hardest to figure out, he could be stringing you along in his web, bringing you closer until he devoured you like a spider with a fly.

The air itself was filled with monsters, more like potential monsters lurking waiting to reveal their intentions. The dark was often desirable, but it would be naive of you to trust it without question. There was still something about Spencer that made you want to blindly trust without question that his monsters had beauty in them. You couldn’t deny that being devoured by him sounded enticing.

“Look again.” And with a fleeting kiss on your lips that he was gone, slipping back into the party like nothing had happened. It left you to wait until he graced you with his presence next with no way to contact him. At least that’s what you thought until you followed his suggestion and looked again.

There, nestled in between two pages of the book rested a strip of paper. The handwriting on it was messy, slanted heavily in one direction and partially smudged as if written rapidly. You could still make out the ten digits written in navy blue ink, your breath caught up in your throat at that.

At the bottom there was a simple dash then right next to it read his name, Spencer. With no titles or anything else written.

The simplicity of his name written sloppy in pen ink made you want to clutch it to your heart in disbelief. The book already was too much, to big a gesture for what was supposed to just be fucking in the library while saying clever things. You wondered if he had thought this through, thinking that by the state of how it was written it was done impulsively without thought. Though you hoped that was just how he always wrote, it would be another small slice of information of who he truly was.

In reality who knows what he was thinking, a mask was still firmly over his face in front of you. It may have had cracks that gave you glimpses at the man underneath, but it would be a lie to say you even knew the slightest bit about him beyond his name. There were some dots you could connect that may lead to somewhere or nowhere. You didn’t even know what his job was, so you weren’t going to pretend that you could properly analyze his handwriting. He could even be lying about every piece of information given thus far, only using it to pull you in quicker by the spider’s silk he was potentially spinning.

All that was still locked up there in his mind, not unlike when Jekyll locked himself up in his laboratory. You only hoped this phone number signaled that he may be willing to open up his mind to you, even with the serum that could turn him into something dark. He could shut you out, insisting that what he had done was a mistake, then sealing the cracks in his mask closed. But, you were too curious for your own good, you wanted to shatter the mask, to pull away the shroud of mystery, to tell you about the monsters lurking. All you had to do was call him, and maybe he’d let the monsters free.

Part One, Part Two

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (fill this out to join): Strike through means tumblr won’t let me tag you

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @boxofsparklingmuses @takeyourleap-of-faith All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat @anaagraceeberr @ashcakes1918 @reid-me-a-story Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat Dom!Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb @jakobsdump @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde: @rainsong01 @dreatine @secretpickleprofessordean @evlfknb

[malfoymanortings]

to be so lonely

REQUEST FROM @gxvrielle : George Weasley x Reader. I wanted the reader to be a muggle who is best friends with Hermione and attends her Wedding with Ron. She meets the Weasley Family and can't help but grow interested in George.

this one definitely got away from me. i had to cut it a bit short at the end, but if there’s interest for part two, i got yall!

hope this is what you wanted! or, at least suffices.

“Millie, you absolutely cannot tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

The summer heat was beating down on the two young girls. One had a wild, unruly bush of brown hair. The other, the smaller of the two, had her long brown hair pulled back in two neat ditch braids. They sat side by side on swings, their feet dragging them to a stop. Hermione Granger and Millie Wilkins had been friends since they were in diapers, and had no plans of changing that.

Millie nodded, her big green eyes staring doefully at Hermione. The tone of her friend's voice was different than usual, and it seemed to set off an alarm in the back of her head. She couldn’t help but feel that something was changing, shifting.

“Y’know how I can.. Do things that you can’t?” Hermione began, waiting until Millie nodded before continuing. “I’m a witch, Millie.”

It seemed as though Hermione was waiting for Millie to yell, maybe cower in fear, or even run away from her. The caution that was written all over the bright young girl's face almost made Millie laugh, were it not for her astonishment at the revelation Hermione laid down in front of her.

“A witch?” Millie repeated in hushed tones. “Like… like Cinderella’s godmother?”

Hermione nodded vigorously, her curls flopping about wildly. “Yes, exactly! Well, probably not exactly, but.. Close enough.”

Millie nodded, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “How d’you know?”

Hermione’s brown eyes glittered wildly, and she launched into an animated recount of a woman named Professor McGonagall, who had come to her home and explained that she was a witch. Hermione would be attending Hogwarts in the coming school year, a special school for witches and wizards. She would need to get special supplies, like a cauldron and even a wand, in a place called Diagon Alley, which was only available for magical folks to enter.

A hard lump seemed to have settled in Millie’s throat, as she realized that her only friend, her very best friend, nearly her sister, would no longer be with her in their next school year. It appeared that the only time she would get to see Hermione would be during the summer.

It appeared that her world had shifted around on its axis. It was a lonely feeling, even with Hermione right beside her.

Ever the intuitive child, Hermione seemed to catch onto what Millie was feeling.

“Oh, Millie, I asked if you could come with,” Hermione’s nose scrunched, and her mouth twisted down. “But she said you’re a muggle. Muggles can't come to Hogwarts.”

Millie’s heart twisted painfully, but she mustered a smile for her best friend. “Well, that just means you’re going to have to tell me all about it next summer. Oh! Maybe you could write me while you’re away!”

Hermione’s eyes glittered with excitement, and she launched into a detailed account of Owl Post, which is what magical folk used to send mail. Millie was almost able to forget that things were changing, as she felt herself get swept away in the excitement of the wizarding world that she herself would never be part of.

Hermione’s departure soon after was full of tears and many sleepless nights for Millie. She felt out of place without her best friend, and found it difficult to find her place in her new school. Hermione was supposed to be here, and it was hard for Millie to adjust without her. She constantly found herself daydreaming about the mysterious Hogwarts, and wished more than anything she was with Hermione.

Millie found herself drawn to the world of crystals and tarot cards around her fourteenth birthday, much to the amusement of Hermione. Millie soon became almost an expert on the subjects, and she felt more at ease having found her own kind of “magic”.

Summer rolled around once more, and Hermione had many stories to tell Millie of her new friends Ron and Harry. It appeared that Hermione had found her place at her new school, and Millie was happy for her, as long as she ignored the twinge she felt at her best friend's adventures. There was also an awful little cockroach, Draco Malfoy, who was utterly disgusting to Hermione. Millie vowed if she ever ran into Malfoy, she would punch him dead in his face.

Time seemed to move fast, after that summer. Millie found a place in her school, and made a few friends, although none of them were like Hermione. She still waited anxiously for summer to come, so she could drink in all the magic of Hermione’s new world.

Of course, good things don’t last forever. Their summers began to be cut short, as Hermione was whisked away to her new friends, and Millie still knew Hermione well enough to know that the witch was hiding things from her.

Summers passed, school years came, and soon, Millie found herself ready to move onto university. She hoped she would see Hermione, one last time, before she left, but she didn’t hold much hope. Hermione had shared very little of her new life, but what she did share wasn’t positive. There was a wizarding war going on, and her best friend was in the thick of it.

It was a sweltering hot day, and Millie found herself lounging on her front porch, swinging back and forth on the swing as she re-read Pride and Prejudice. She loved romance novels, although she herself hadn't experienced anything of the sort. Of course, Millie had plenty of suitors, but none of them were right for her. She always had a reason, and excuse, but truthfully, she didn’t want something mundane. She was still captivated by the world of magic, and no “muggle” had yet measured up to what she wanted.

She had grown alright with the idea that she would forever be alone.

“Hello, Millie.”

The porch swing had stopped moving as another person sat next to her. Millie would know that voice anywhere. She placed her bookmark in the book, and set it down next to her. Turning her head, she saw Hermione Granger giving her a wistful smile.

She wore a pink jumper, and worn jeans. Her hair was as wild as ever, pulled back in a low pony. A stark contrast from Millie, who had jean shorts and a tank top on, her hair neatly pulled into a braid.

“Hermione,” Millie smiled, taking her friend in a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I’ve missed you too.”

Their hug lingered for a few seconds longer than usual. Millie had a sense of foreboding grasp her, and she looked at Hermione sharply.

“I get the feeling that this isn’t a usual, ‘home for the summer’, homecoming, hm?” Millie raised her eyebrows, chewing her lip out of habit.

Hermione laughed humorlessly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s not, no.”

Millie nodded, and the two girls sat in silence for a moment, swinging back and forth on Millie’s porch swing.

“I’m going to University soon,” Millie said in the silence, running her fingers along the rough worn wood of the swing. “It's a few hours away from here. My parents aren’t too thrilled about me moving so far away, but it’s what I wanted. I got Valedictorian, as well, although I’m sure it would have gone to you if you would have been here.”

Hermione smiled wistfully, taking Millie’s hand in hers. “I don’t know, I think my competition would have beaten me.”

Millie shrugged, enjoying the feeling of Hermione’s hand in hers. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Remember how I told you about the war?” Hermione blurted abruptly, barely waiting for Millie’s nod. “It’s gotten a lot worse. Harry, Ron, and I have to go into hiding. I don’t know.. I don’t know if I’ll get to see you again, so I wanted to come say goodbye. I can’t stay long.”

Millie closed her eyes, feeling her heart thud in her chest. This was what she had been afraid of. Leave it to Hermione to make friends with the face of the Wizarding War.

“Be safe, Hermione,” the words came out funny, her throat was closing. “If you can, when it’s safe… find me. Goodbye, Hermione Jean.”

Hermione smiled sadly, and pulled her in for one more hug. “Goodbye, Millie Rose.”

Millie took one last look at Hermione, and when she blinked, she was gone. In her place, was a photograph the two had taken last summer. Hermione and Millie had each other's arms thrown over their shoulders, smiling and laughing. To her shock, they actually moved.

She gingerly took the photograph, holding it tightly to her chest. This was the last memory she may have of her best friend, and it was magic.

A few years passed, and Millie had graduated from University. Although she hadn't heard from Hermione, she had never stopped thinking of her friend. The magical photograph of the two of them stayed on her dresser as always, and she grieved the loss of her best friend as though she had lost a sister. It certainly felt as though she had.

Millie was able to get a job in her chosen field, primary education, and she was due to start next week. She had her own flat in London, decorated to her liking with hints of magic and literature hidden throughout it. Throughout her home, there were crystals of all different kinds and shapes. They were comforting to her, even if they weren’t wizard magic.

Although she had many good things in her life, she still felt as though she was incomplete.

It was the middle of the night when she woke up to the sound of something crashing in her living room. Her heart thudded, and her blood ran cold. She slowly got out of bed, pulling on her robe. She cursed herself for not having any sort of weapon, and settled for a rather heavy candle she had been gifted for receiving her new job.

“Honestly, Ronald, this isn’t how I would have liked to enter her flat, breaking her plant all over the floor-”

“Oh really ‘Mione, because breaking into her flat at two in the morning is such a good idea itself-”

Millie stopped in her tracks. She would know that voice anywhere.

Rushing into her living room, she flipped on the lights. Hermione Granger stood in her living room, arguing with a tall ginger man.

“Hermione-” Millie sputtered, unable to find words.

“Millie,” Hermione rushed forward, smiling widely as she gathered her into a hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Millie held onto her tightly, relishing in the smell of vanilla and gardenias that the young witch always smelled of. Hermione pulled away, a warm smile still on her face. Millie took note of the changes the young witch had. There was a thin white line on her throat, similar to the ones Millie had on her thighs. There were a few more worry lines on Hermione’s face, and although she looked tired, she also looked.. Free.

“Alright, Hermione,” Millie gestured towards her couch and began making her way to the kitchen. “You and your friend make yourselves comfortable, I’ll put on the tea.”

When Millie re-entered the living room with her tea tray, Hermione and the ginger were both sitting on the couch. The ginger had Hermione’s hand in his, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over her skin. Millie’s eyes widened in understanding, as she realized this must be Ron Weasley, the ginger Hermione always pined over.

“Well, Ron, it appears you finally got your head on straight,” Millie sniffed, sitting down in an armchair. “Poor Hermione didn’t think you’d ever find your sense and make it official.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open in shock, and Hermione laughed rather loudly, covering her smile with her hands. Millie smirked, taking her cup of tea and dropping three sugars inside.

“Oh, Millie,” Hermione shook her head, fixing her own tea. “I’ve missed you.”

They stayed up well into early morning, as Hermione finally told her all of the details she had withheld over the years. Everything with Voldemort, Harry, the war. Millie learned so many things that she felt she had no more room for new knowledge. By the time Hermione was done relaying everything, Millie’s eyes were heavy and she couldn’t stifle her yawns any longer.

“Oh dear, I’ve been keeping you awake,” Hermione shook her head, standing up. She flicked her wrist, and their tea dishes were cleared away. “Before we go, there’s one more thing I’ve got to ask of you.”

Millie nodded, in astonishment of the overt display of magic Hermione had given her. She had never seen her do anything like that.

Hermione glanced over at Ron, who had been admiring her the entire time. A blush coated her pale face, and she shook her head slightly as she looked back at Millie.

“I’m getting married, Millie, and I would love for you to be there as one of my bridesmaids.”

Millie hadn’t been expecting that, although she should have. It made sense, the way she and Ron interacted. “Of course, Hermione. I would love to.”

Hermione smiled brightly, and handed her a card with details on it. “I’ll have one of Ron’s brothers come for you, when it's time.”

Millie narrowed her eyes, looking down at the card. “Hermione, this says your wedding is in two days.”

Hermione nodded, looking bashful. “Yes, it took me longer than I would have liked for me to find you. Your parents didn’t live in our old neighborhood anymore.”

“Yes, I convinced them to move,” Millie said softly. “I wasn’t sure if they would be safe with.. Everything.”

Hermione nodded knowingly, a sad smile on her face. “I understand if you can’t make it.”

Millie shook her head. “No, I’ll be there. Just… not much time to look for a dress..”

Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, Millie, please. I have one for you.” with a flick of her wrist, Hermione produced a shimmering pale pink gown.

Millie’s eyes widened in shock again at the magic, and she gingerly took the garment from Hermione. It felt soft, silky, and she instantly fell in love with it. “Thank you, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled, and gave Millie one last hug. “One of Ron’s brothers will be here to bring you on Saturday.”

Millie felt that Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. She would finally get to see Hermione’s wizarding life.

Saturday arrived both quickly and slowly at the same time.

Millie wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hair, so she settled on leaving it down in soft curls. She knew Hermione, so she didn’t bother doing much more than natural makeup. The pale pink dress clung to her curves in a shimmery, silky fashion, the top cut in a v shape that exposed her ample chest. She absently wondered if perhaps Hermione had enlisted someone else to pick out the dresses, as the color and fabric was the only thing that shouted Hermione.

Then again, it wouldn’t be far fetched to assume the girl -woman- had changed during the years apart.

At a quarter to noon, Millie sat perched on the edge of her couch. All Hermione had said was that one of Ronald’s brothers would be arriving to get her, and that seemed to be all the explanation she was going to be given.

A sudden shuffling from her fireplace alerted her to someone’s presence, and her heart leapt to her throat as, with a crash of dust and a flash of green, someone stumbled out from the hearth.

Millie gasped loudly, quickly picking up the first thing she could find- an Obsidian crystal tower with a rather sharp point. She brandished it towards the man that had arrived from her fireplace, but slowly lowered it as the red hair registered him to be Ron’s brother.

“Millie, correct?”

Millie nodded, lowering her Obsidian tower back to where it had been. The man was shorter than Ron, and burly, with a few tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his black shirt. “Charlie Weasley, here to escort you to the wedding of the century.”

“Erm, alright,” Millie took a moment to center herself, nervously grabbing at the Amethyst crystal that was ever present around her neck. “How will we be..”

She trailed off, and Charlie gave her a warm smile. He reminded her of a giant teddy bear, and she felt her reservations slide away. “We’ll apparate.”

The word and definition came out from the recesses of her mind, a long ago conversation a much more naive Hermione and Millie had shared together while the latter had been drinking in any mention of the Wizarding world she could get.

Millie nodded, and rather awkwardly took Charlie’s arm that he extended towards her. “Hold your breath.”

An uncomfortable pulling began at her navel, and it seemed as though the world began to whip past them in a nearly unbearable speed. She could feel herself get nauseous, and as she felt her stomach twist, it all stopped. She would have fallen to the ground, had it not been for Charlie’s arm around her shoulders.

“Millie!”

Said girl swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of nausea. Hermione was rushing towards her, her wild hair tamed and pinned up in an intricate updo, light makeup on her face, completely out of place with the worn flannel button up and jeans she wore. An utterly Hermione combination, Millie thought with a smile.

“Gotta say, ‘Mione, love the outfit,” Millie teased, swallowing away the last bit of nausea she felt. “You’re missing something blue, and something new, however.”

Hermione tsked good naturedly and drew Millie in for a hug, pulling way to examine her childhood friend with an awestruck look. “Millie, you look so… Beautiful.”

“Oh please,” Millie waved away the compliment, blushing. “It’s just makeup. You, on the other hand… Stunning.”

Hermione beamed brightly, a new glow seeming to emanate from her face. A giggle escaped her lips, and Millie couldn’t help but notice the brunette seemed.. Different. Although, she couldn’t put a finger on it.

“I’m going to go find Luminita,” Charlie told Hermione, his face softening at the mention of whoever that was. He turned to Millie and gave her a hug, much to her surprise. “Nice meeting you, Millie.”

The two girls watched the redhead go off, and Millie turned to Hermione.

“Luminita is Charlie’s wife,” Hermione replied, smiling. “They met while he was training Dragons.”

“Dragons?” Millie questioned, but before Hermione could answer, she was interrupted.

“‘Mione, where’d you go?”

The two brunettes turned to see an utterly gorgeous redhead walk out from the oddly shaped house behind them.

“That’s Ginny, Ron’s sister, and my best friend,” Hermione explained quickly, smiling at Millie, noticing the flinch the other girl had at Hermione’s description of the beautiful girl. “At least, my Hogwarts best friend.”

Millie nodded, shoving her feelings of inadequacies away for a different time, and instead exchanged greetings with the exuberant redhead with a dry sense of humor. As she walked back into the house with the pair, she found it was easy to be in company with Ginny. She didn’t make her feel any less than the two of them, even though Millie knew she would probably be the only muggle there.

The house was suddenly thrown into a flurry of activity, and Millie found herself meeting many of the people she had heard stories of nearly her entire childhood. Arthur and Molly, Harry, Neville, Luna, Bill, and countless others that she hadn't heard of. It appeared that Hermione had delegated Harry to the task of leading her about and introducing her, as Hermione had her wedding to prepare for.

“So, this is the Burrow,” Harry explained a bit lamely, his eyes trailing back on Ginny, who disappeared into another room, presumably to follow Hermione. “We’ve spent a lot of our time here.”

“Yes, Hermione told me about that,” Millie smiled fondly, brushing one of her curls behind her ear. “The Golden Trio. I was always so jealous.”

Harry gave her a soft smile. “I think we may have been a bit jealous of you. Ron especially. You got to know Hermione first, before she became the brightest witch of our age.”

“Well, it’s interesting to know this,” she gestured around wordlessly. “Hermione Jean as well. Overwhelming, of course, but I always was fascinated by magic.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a voice she hadn't heard yet.

“Oi, Harry, Ron’s going barmy, can you come speak some sense to him?”

Harry looked at her regretfully, turning to the voice. “Course, George. Can you keep Millie company?”

“Ah, ‘Miones friend?” The tall ginger man walked towards them, his eyebrows quivering in interest. “Sure, mate. Just make sure my brother doesn’t bugger off.”

Harry clapped the man on the back, said goodbye to Millie, and hurried off to wherever Ron was.

Millie took that moment to look at the man before her, her eyes widening at how attractive he was. It was rare that a man caught her interest in such an intense way, but George was… different. She felt drawn to him, although she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Millie, right?” George questioned, his warm brown eyes staring at her green ones. His lips turned up in a smile. “I’m George. Ron’s older brother.”

“George…” Millie trailed off, the name pinging her memory. “Fred and George?”

The reaction that name gave George was instantaneous. His smile crumbled, replaced with a firm line. His fists clenched, and a muscle in his forehead twitched. It almost looked like he was going to be sick, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I-I’m sorry,” Millie rushed out, wanting to place a hand on his shoulder but unsure if that would be the right response. “Erm, so, you’re Ron’s older brother, yeah? You guys sure seem to have an awful lot of siblings.”

He still had his eyes shut, and showed no sign of relaxing. She tried again, and began rambling in a way that should have embarrassed her, in a way that she only did with Hermione.

“I always wanted siblings growing up,” she watched his face carefully, waiting for him to show some sign of relaxing. “I had Hermione, and she basically was my sister. We basically floated between each other's houses, y’know? But I still had wanted my own sibling, my blood sibling. My mum tried, miscarried a few times. I didn’t mind much, because I had Hermione. But then she left.”

George seemed to be relaxing, and had opened his eyes. They were haunted. He nodded, in a way to urge her to continue.

“She left for Hogwarts, but we still had summers together.” Millie swallowed hard. “Then things got more complicated because of the war stuff you guys had going on. I was always so jealous of her, the magical world she got to be part of… But honestly, with everything she went through, I feel like I may have been lucky, to have been spared all of that hardship. Did you know muggles have their own version of witches and magic?”

The question seemed to have caught George off guard, and he clenched his fists and relaxed slightly, save for a furrow in his brow. “Yeah, card tricks.”

Millie laughed, an edge of relief mixing in. “No, more than that. Some muggles think that with intent and manifestation, certain things can be achieved. There are special stones as well, called crystals, that can help with that. There's different herbs too, which reminds me of Herbology that Hermione told me about. Even Tarot cards, which is like a form of Divination.”

George seemed almost taken aback by the onslaught of info she threw at him, and he blinked slowly. “Am I to assume that you participate in.. that?”

He didn’t say it in a degrading way, but she still felt a bit defensive and cursed herself as she blushed. “I… I do, yes. I’m wearing a crystal right now, it’s a rose quartz.” She pointed out her necklace, holding it out.

George reached out and took the small stone in his large hands, scrutinizing it. “It doesn’t feel much different from any old rock. It’s pretty, I suppose. What is it supposed to do?”

A blush coated Millie’s cheeks once more. “Erm, well. It’s a love stone. It, um. Opens the heart and increases self acceptance, it brings peace.. Helps with transitions, too… It basically helps in all facets of love, intimate or friendship.”

George blinked again, a small smile gracing his lips. “Are you finding it hard to find love, Millie?”

This time it was her turn to be caught off guard, and she took a moment to answer. George let the necklace drop back to her chest, and she didn’t miss the way that his eyes lingered on her chest. A thrill ran down her spine.

“Most people bore me.” She decided it was the easiest explanation, looking up to meet his gaze.

“I’m far from boring.” The words left his lips quickly, his brown eyes not wavering from hers.

She felt it again, that shock of electricity that seemed to emanate from George Weasley. She examined his face, a strong jawline and nose, with wide lips. A smattering of freckles across his face seemed to sharpen his features, disappearing underneath the smartly fitted suit he wore. His shoulders were wide, strong, and he was at least a head and a half taller than her. Even through the suit, she could tell he was muscular. And his hands… They were large and had almost a musical feel to them. She wondered, for a moment, if he played any instruments, muggle or magical.

Unbeknownst to Millie, George was drinking her in the same way she had done to him. It had been a long time since anyone, much less a girl, had peaked his interest. It had been exactly two years, three months, and seventeen days, to be exact.

Millie was short, something that had always been attractive to him. She was deliciously curvy, with wide hips and an ample chest. He had always liked bigger girls, and Millie was… exactly his type. She had long honey hair that brushed past the middle of her back, that fell in wonderfully soft curls he had to resist reaching out to grasp.

Her dark green eyes were framed by long lashes that seemed to sweep her cheeks when she ducked her head in a blush. Her hands were small, and he wanted nothing more than to hold his up against hers to revel in the size difference. Her lips were plump and paired perfectly with her ski slope nose, and carved cheekbones. He wondered what it would feel like to have her neck between his hands… and he had to stop his train of thought there.

“Georgie, good, you’ve met Millie,” Ginny appeared out of nowhere, startling the two out of whatever trance they had been in. “You two are walking together. It’s time to start, let's get going.”

The two looked away from each other suddenly, following the whirlwind that was Ginny Weasley. Each time their hands brushed, it felt electric, and Millie had never, ever, felt this way with anyone before.

They joined the rest of the bridal party, and Millie squinted as she tried to recall everyone that was there. The sun warmed their skin nicely, and they all arranged themselves in line and began their procession into the aisle, where they would eagerly await the appearance of the bride and groom. George held his elbow out for Millie, and she nearly jumped at the feeling she got when her arm as their arms interlinked. From the way George seemed to flinch, she wondered if he had felt it too.

Ginny and Harry led the way, with George and Millie following. Next came Neville and Luna, then Bill and Fleur, Percy and Angelina being the final ones to walk the aisle. Charlie was officiating the wedding.

As the music started up, and Ron was led down the aisle by his father, Millie couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, would give Hermione away. Her parents were in Australia, forever addled by the memory charm the young witch had been forced to throw upon them. She couldn’t imagine who Hermione picked to replace them.

Hermione wore a beautiful white gown that bore a striking resemblance to the one Millie recalled seeing Cinderella wear. It was a story she and Hermione had been captivated with growing up, and when Hermione and Millie caught eyes, Hermione gave her a wink, and Millie nearly laughed. Of course, Hermione would have gotten Cinderella’s gown for her wedding.

Millie didn’t recognize the person leading Hermione down the aisle, but she was a tall, slender, formidable old woman, who had an undeniable air of authority around her. She had a soft look on her face as she walked Hermione towards Ron, and Millie could have sworn there was a tear in the corner of her eye.

“Thank you, Minerva.” Milie just barely heard the words leave Hermione’s lips.

The woman, Minerva, gave Hermione a swift hug before returning to her seat. The ceremony began, and Millie found herself staring at the people around her. Everyone here… they were Hermione’s chosen family. It nearly took her breath away to finally see them for herself.

Her eyes kept wandering to George, and each time she looked at him, he was already looking at her.

The ceremony ended rather spectacularly, with cheers of joy and hollers breaking out around them. Ron wrapped Hermione up in his arms, kissing her like she was the last woman on Earth. Millie’s heart swelled for her best friend. She had finally gotten her happy ending. Hermione deserved it more than anyone Millie knew.

Magical folk definitely knew how to throw a party. The backyard of the Weasley’s burrow transformed into a reception area complete with a dance floor, music, fireworks, and plenty of drinks and food that Millie hadn’t heard of before. She mingled with the people she had met prior to the ceremony, aside from George. She wasn’t sure where he had gone. It seemed as though after the vows were said and done, he disappeared into the crowd.

After an hour or so, Millie found herself slightly overwhelmed and needed a break. She grabbed a bottle of Butterbeer, that of which Hermione assured her actually contained no alcohol, and she wandered off to the edge of the property. Away from the crowd of people, she leaned against a tree, taking a deep drink from the Butterbeer. It was surprisingly good, and she laughed as she almost felt irritated that Hermione had never shared this with her.

“What do you find so funny?”

Millie nearly jumped, looking up to see George in the tree above her. “Oh my goodness, I had no idea you were there!”

George jumped down, landing rather gracefully for someone of his height. “Seriously, what did you find so funny?”

Millie gestured to her drink. “Just thinking that this is pretty good, and how I’m almost irritated that Hermione never brought this home for me to try. With everything I had to miss out on, it feels like this could have been one thing I got to share with her.”

George laughed, although it appeared to be humorless. “There’s a lot of things I wish I could share with someone who is no longer here.”

Millie cocked her head at George, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t seem as though he was going to, until suddenly, he ran a hand down his face and pulled a wand out from his pocket. Flicking his wrist, he conjured up a swing that hung from the tree, reminiscent of the one she had at home. He sat down, and motioned for her to sit with him.

“Just let me get out what I have to get out, and then comment, alright?” George asked, waiting for Millie to nod. She did, and he continued.

“Fred was my twin brother. We did everything together, always have. Towards the return of Voldemort, we opened up our jokeshop. It was super successful, just as we thought. We fought against Voldemort with our family, we fought during the final war, and Freddie… Freddie didn’t make it. It's been two years, three months, and seventeen days without him, but sometimes I wake up and I feel like he’s still there with me, and I’ll rush to go tell him something, but then… he’s not there. And I remember it all over again. When things like this, a wedding, happens, it’s harder. Because Freddie should be here, giving a speech about how we tried to make Ron’s name a taboo, or how we gave him a fear of spiders by turning his teddy bear into one, or how we burned a hole in his tongue with an acid pop, or just… anything embarrassing, because that was our job. And now, without Freddie, it’s pointless. Everything feels pointless.”

Millie waited for George to continue, but it seemed he was done for now. She felt her heart twist for the redhead beside her, and she placed her hand over his.

“I’m so sorry, George,” she said sincerely, watching as George swallowed hard. “I can’t imagine how that feels. I wish that I had the right thing to say, but there really isn’t one. I could go on about how it wasn’t fair and it was senseless, but you already know that. I think all I can say is that you are incredibly strong and although I didn’t know Fred, I’m sure he’s proud of you for making it without him. He’ll be waiting for you, when it’s your time. And then you can tell him about all the havoc you caused without him.”

Again, George swallowed hard, and he turned to Millie with a sudden urgency on his face. He gently placed a hand on her cheek, brushing a curl out of her face. His gentle brush felt like fire on her skin. His eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes, almost like a question.

Millie leaned forward, shutting her eyes, feeling his lips connect with her own. It was like fire, she was almost surprised that there wasn’t a flurry of electricity around the two of them. She hadn’t felt anything like this before in her life, and she reached a hand up to tangle her hands in his wild red hair.

His own large hands roamed around her neck, and down to her sides, his thumb brushing against the side of her breast. She moaned softly in his mouth, surprising even herself. He trailed his hand down further, stopping to rest on her thigh, his fingers gently massaging her skin through her dress.

Their lips parted, and George rested his forehead against hers. Millie felt her head swimming, and took a steadying breath, breathing in the scent of cinnamon that seemed to come from George.

“I think,” George murmured softly, clearing his throat. He pulled away slightly, reaching one hand up to cup her cheek, the other still on her thigh. “I think I may have underestimated you, in a way.”

“How so?” Millie asked, her heart thudding in her throat. What could he mean by that?

“You’re going to be far more important to me than anyone has ever been.”

Before she could respond, George stood, and held a hand out to her. She took it, a bit unsure, and he pulled her up from the swing, keeping her hand in his.

“Care for a dance, beautiful?” He asked, a crooked grin on his face, and Millie broke into a smile as she nodded.

His hand felt so wonderful wrapped around hers.

The two re-entered the party, which had only slightly begun to die down. George and Millie found a place for the two to dance with, and continued conversation.

“So, that thing around your neck is a crystal?” George asked, twirling Millie around in a circle to the fast paced song Millie didn’t recognize.

Millie nodded. “There’s other ones, of course.”

“Like what?” George asked, a smile on his face. “Tell me your favorite.”

“If I had to choose one, it would be Amethyst,” Millie replied thoughtfully, blushing as George rested a hand on her hip. “Although, Smokey Quartz is a close second.”

“What do they do?”

“Well, Amethyst is a calming stone, and it just balances everything out. I usually wear it everyday, unless I feel compelled to wear a different one, which is rare,” Millie supplied. “Smokey Quartz helps get rid of negative energies, and helps with organization. I’m always so disorganized.”

“It’s a good thing I’m a fairly organized person,” George winked at her. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Nothing beyond going home,” Millie replied sadly, reality seeping into the rather magical night she had had. “I start a new job on Monday.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I just got my teaching credentials, so I’ll be teaching primary come the school year,” Millie smiled, her face softening. “For the summer, I’ll be teaching early childhood.”

“Little kids?” George questioned, smiling when she nodded. “Well, perhaps sometime soon you could come by my jokeshop. In Diagon Alley.”

Millie nearly shouted with excitement. “I could go to Diagon Alley?”

George grinned, nodding. “I think I could arrange that.”

Millie hugged him tightly, not even thinking twice. George didn’t hesitate, he wrapped the shorter girl in his arms, vowing to himself that she would experience magic for the rest of his life.

[frozenartscapes]

AU idea where after Edelgard dies in one of the non-CF routes, she comes back as a ghost. (There could be many reasons for why but I personally like the idea of her goals largely remaining unfinished - and unfinished by her specifically - that she's kind of doomed to never truly rest until those goals come to fruition.)

She ends up realizing after several decades that she's never going to be able to cross over despite trying to come to peace with things on her own. Especially after Byleth and the others manage to finish what she started. But she never got the chance to take her own revenge for her family. Things didn't quite change the way she had been hoping. And whatever spirit mumbo-jumbo was in charge of this stuff deemed that Not Good Enough.

And so she ends up just kind of wandering the Imperial Palace since that's where she died. She discovered that she can walk the grounds but she can't actually leave beyond the gate. Anytime she does, she ends up teleported right back into the throne room.

For a while the palace is looted and then abandoned. Eventually it was renovated by the State and turned into an attraction for people to visit. Artifacts were returned, paintings commissioned. The gardens were once again maintained and everything was kept clean and polished. Countless people would come and see what was once privy to only the highest class of nobles.

Edelgard largely kept to herself. She could be seen by people if she wanted them to see her, but she often didn't want that. Though if she was bored she might mess with the odd person. She did that often enough to create a little myth about herself: The Red Lady of Enbarr. It was an amusing title, she had to admit.

But an eternity just roaming the same halls over and over again gets dull. And she discovers one day that she's not the only one bored out of their minds.

There was this girl. Just a kid, maybe ten or eleven. And she had clearly been dragged there on a trip with her parents. She was a younger sibling, probably forced to go because it was her older sibling's turn to pick a thing to do. This girl was flopped down on a rectangular seat in the portrait gallery, arms splayed out as she stared up at the ceiling. She let out a long-suffering sigh as the rest of her family ignored her.

Edelgard watched as the girl realized no one was paying attention to her, slowly push herself up, and then sneak out of the room. She decided to follow, largely because the halls in this section of the palace can get confusing. The girl wandered around a little bit, trying to look for something more interesting to see. Eventually, however, the time came for the girl to return to her family. But she had effectively gotten herself lost. Upon realizing this, the girl stopped and slid down a wall, curling in on herself and letting out a worried sob.

That's when Edelgard decided to do something. She had been working on her illusions - a ghost trait she had had a couple centuries by now to discover and hone. Taking on the appearance of one of the museum staff, she approached the girl.

The girl was wary at first. ("Mom told me not to talk to strangers.")

But Edelgard promised she was a stranger who could be trusted. She offered a hand out to the girl and a kind smile. She laughed softly when the girl commented on how cold her hands were. ("I'm afraid it's a long-lasting condition of mine.")

The girl - Penny, she reveals - then explains why she ventured away from her family in the first place. About how they never do anything she wants and how being the youngest sucks and sometimes she wishes she could be an only sibling.

And Edelgard pauses, lowers down to one knee, and looks Penny in the eye. "Cherish your family, Penny," she says softly, "They might frustrate you and get on your nerves. But they love you, and I know you do, too. Nothing can ever replace that love."

Penny ponders that for a moment, then nods. Edelgard then rewards her by taking her to an exhibit she thinks Penny might enjoy. And Penny does. Her eyes light up like stars as she gazes around the room full of weapons. Ancient bows, swords, and axes line the walls. There's a whole display case filled with daggers. There's even a flail and mace. But the coolest thing, by far, was Aymr. Penny had only heard about the legendary Hero's Relics in stories, and in the brief, glossing history lessons taught in school. And Aymr wasn't even a true Hero's Relic, so she had heard even less about it. Just looking at the brutish weapon causes a fire to form in her heart.

Her family finds her staring up at the display case housing the axe the Last Emperor wielded. Her parents scoop her up in frantic hugs while her siblings complain about her wandering off. Penny tries to tell them she's fine, she had a friend with her. But when she went to point at Edelgard, the museum guide had mysteriously vanished. Her siblings scoff about imaginary friends, and Penny tries to insist that this was real. One of them makes an offhand comment about how her friend was as real as the Red Lady.

Penny crosses her arms to sulk, but notices her friend in a secluded spot down the hall. Edelgard winks at her, then drops the illusion to reveal her old battle gown and horned crown. She puts her finger to her lips, and Penny solemnly nods.

On the way out Penny asks if they can come back to the palace next summer.

Edelgard starts to do this for more kids. At first it was for the ones who were as bored as she was, but quickly she started to do it for others, too. The ones who were fascinated by history but were considered weird or strange as a result. The ones who went misunderstood by their parents and teachers. And of course, the ones who wandered off.

Penny would return as frequently as she could, and Edelgard got to watch her grow. Eventually, Penny moved to Enbarr and got a job at the museum, and she became the guide who brought new life into the Red Lady myth. And Edelgard was more than happy to make special appearances for the tour groups full of excited children.

Eventually, a gateway opens up in the throne room one day. No one else can see it other than Edelgard, and she realizes it must be to the other side. The reason for why now after several hundred years doesn't seem obvious at first, until she realizes that any lingering bitterness in her heart is gone. Avenging her family isn't important to her anymore. Having seen how society has grown and changed, she realizes that the world doesn't need her plans anymore. All of the promises she once made no longer matter. And now she has that option to finally move on.

But she decides to stay. Just a little longer, anyway. She wouldn't want to disappoint the children if the Red Lady suddenly stopped appearing.

[solarwonux]

Beautiful Stranger || Minghao

artist!minghao x f!reader

w.c: 4.5k

warnings: angst, fluff, its a little suggestive, self doubts

notes: In celebration of my baby’s birthday I did a thing and I’m not sorry. Happy Birthday Hao!!!

Enjoy and let me know your thoughts.xx

masterlist

Xu Minghao is a beautiful mystery that was often left unsolved.

He prefers it this way.

Minghao realizes this after his first heartbreak. Then again after his second heartbreak. After his third, he decides to give up. If love wasn’t in the cards for him then why should he bend over backwards to reach it?

When he reached his twenties and everything spiraled out of control way too fast for his liking. He painted like his life depended on it because realistically in his universe it did. He got around using people for his pleasure and then left them out in the cold just like it had been done to him. Minghao didn’t have time for love, nor did he want it. He reserved his love for his canvases, paintbrushes, and different colors of monochromatic paints.

Then he met you.

His monochromatic colors were replaced by the sweet strawberry pink of your lipstick. His paint brushes swirled around his canvases to the melody of your laughter. Before he knew it a piece of you had infiltrated all of his paintings. Whether it was the exact shade of blue from the shirt you wore that day or the sparkling gaze behind your eyes that resembled his night sky.

He had fallen for you, for the girl that visited the university gallery every Wednesday morning to sit in front of his atrocious paintings that were unfortunately displayed as part of his final project before graduation.

At first, he never said anything, just watched you from afar wondering what thoughts were running through your head as you admired. Did you think his paint stroke pattern was lacking? Did you think he should’ve chosen other colors? Did you think his choice in reds was too dramatic?

Whatever you were thinking, it drove him insane not knowing.

He would pace for minutes before entering the gallery every Wednesday morning. Sometimes he hoped you wouldn’t be there so he could judge his own paintings in silence. His wishes never came true, as none of them ever did but it didn’t hurt to try.

“Are you stalking me?” You asked one Monday morning. After your fourth visit, you had noticed him silently walking around the gallery, sneaking glances at you from the peripherals of your eyes. At first you had assumed he was an art enthusiast like you, and admired the artwork that was displayed. Then you caught him waiting for you outside of the gallery one morning, only entering a few minutes after you had. It could’ve been just a coincidence that morning, but when it started happening more often it scared you.

So you changed your visiting dates. Opting for every Monday instead of Wednesday an hour later than your usual time. It had gone smoothly for a week until he caught on and that’s where you were now.

“Hello,” You waved your hand in front of his face, his features paralyzed in shock only until he caught sight of your hand. “Are you stalking me?

Minghao shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets, “N-No, I-I um...these are my paintings.” He shrugs and signals with his head around the four paintings that haunted him day and night.

“So, you’re telling me you’re the The8?” You ask in disbelief as Minghao cringes. There were days when he regrets choosing that as his pseudonym. After all, he was eight when he created it after coming home from his first art lesson. But letting go of it  would be letting go of that little boy whose dreams were bigger than his body and he couldn’t disappoint him especially not now.

“Just Minghao is fine.” He nods and takes his hands out of his pockets before drying them against his jeans. “Do you actually like my paintings?”

You scoff before rolling your eyes, “No I just like sitting here.” Minghao’s face falls causing you to let out a shy laugh before shoving his shoulder away playfully, “I’m playing with you I love them actually.”

“Why?”

“That’s a stupid question the The8.” Minghao rolls his eyes before breaking out into a smile as he waits for you to continue. “They’re not peaceful, in fact, I sometimes find them overwhelming to look at but they bring me peace.” Minghao’s cheeks have never felt hotter than before, his heart is palpitating at an uneven time. No one has ever described his painting the way you have and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

“That’s a stupid reason.”

Minghao is now painting nonstop

“When are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?” You ask, chin on his naked chest as you draw patterns against the ridges of his stomach. You have no artistic talent but you love creating invisible masterpieces against his skin. He’s the only one that can see them and he loves it.

“I don’t have any French girls.” He rolls his eyes before sitting up against your headboard and grabbing his discarded boxers and putting them on. “And that’s not the quote.”

“Alright Titanic enthusiast, let me live out my fantasy.” You joke and Minghao laughs as he lays back down bringing you along with him. You pout, “When are you going to paint me?”

“Who says I haven’t already?” He smirks down at you and captures your lips with his in a slow sensual kiss. You sigh against his lips and pull him close, “I think you’re lying.”

“Impossible lying is a sin and I am a child of God.”

“And here you are consummating outside of marriage, God is disappointed in you Hao.” You peck his lips one last time before sitting up. You stand up taking your sheets along with you. Minghao stays laying down on your bed like it was his very own. He watches you closely, taking in the way your skin glows against the light of the rising sun. The way your hips dip when they meet your thighs and he can’t wait to go home again to his canvas, monochromatic paints, and paintbrushes.

If he knew that meeting you would cure his unfortunate art disease he would’ve tried a little harder to find you.

Six months ago his mornings consisted of him rushing out of bed, getting dressed as fast as possible so he makes it to the university art gallery before you. Now his mornings consist of him rushing out of bed, getting dressed as fast as possible to bring you breakfast before you leave for your morning class.

Most days though, you end up pinning him against your front door before he could mutter a ‘good morning’ to you. He doesn’t complain though, he loves the way your body melts against his. Like you were made for him, and fuck he loves it so much he wants to die.

If he were to believe in soulmates he would think you were his.

Minghao’s parents find out.

When he went away for university Minghao lied and told his parents he was studying business communications. He wasn’t sure if they had believed him or if he didn’t care but he had spent four years studying art without their knowledge. He was living in a peaceful fantasy not sure when he’d have to wake up and tell his parents the truth. That their trust fund had gone to a degree where nothing was guaranteed.

He guesses that time is now.

Minghao and you have officially been dating for two months. And he decides to take you home for Christmas.

At first you had declined, told him that he should spend Christmas with his parents and that you were fine staying on campus alone until New Years. Your parents had gone on a couples retreat. It was needed they weren’t doing so hot for years now so you didn’t mind. Minghao on the other hand wouldn’t take no for an answer and that’s how you ended up with him hand in hand on the front door step of his childhood home.

“I should’ve stayed Hao, what if they don’t like me?” You practically yell at a low volume. Minghao rolls his eyes and brings your palm up to his lips. He leaves behind a reassuring kiss before ringing the doorbell again.

“It’s impossible to dislike you. By the end of the night they’ll probably like you a lot more than me.” He reassures bumping his shoulder against yours lightly. You stumble a little and Minghao pulls your hand to keep you from falling. His arm comes to your waist and he’s about to kiss you when the front door falls open. The two of you caught, the guilt rushing towards your faces as his parents stare back at the two of you with wide smiles.

“Don’t stand out there for too long, you'll catch a cold.” His mother's soft voice sounds and wraps around the warm porch light. They open the door further, Minghao’s grip on your hand gets tighter as he pulls you into his home. The warmth wraps around you like a protective blanket and you find yourself never wanting to leave.

For the remainder of the night until dinner Minghao doesn’t leave your side. His hand is on you at all times whether it’s on your arm, or appropriately placed against your back. His mother shows you around the small but big enough for their tiny family house, while his father finishes dinner in the kitchen. When the three of you reach Minghao’s childhood room you feel the tears brimming in your eyes.

His walls were covered with paintings he had made while growing up and seeing them displayed makes you feel proud. You see the improvement and growth in every single one as they’re sequenced by years. Your favorite one is the one he painted when he was thirteen. He notices you lingering on that one for longer than usual as his mother’s voice echoes off his navy blue walls. He never understood what it was about his art that made you forget the world around you, and you never once could explain why to him without changing the subject right away. He just hopes that one day he can get it out of you to understand your admiration.

“You like it?” Minghao whispers in your ear and it makes you jump. He chuckles as his arms find their way around your waist, the panic rushes through you at the speed of light.

“Minghao your mo-“

“Dad called her down to help, it’s just us right now.” He kisses your cheek and stays there before  trailing soft kisses down your neck. He kisses it lightly, the goosebumps appearing against your arms. “This was a mistake I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

You go frigid against his chest, as he continues to kiss down your neck until it reaches your sweet spot. “W-Why?” You move your head to the side, giving him more room. He smirks, sucking the spot he’s memorized like it were his color theory notes.

“I’m immorally thinking of every single way I can have you falling apart while my parents are downstairs.”

“Dinner is ready!”

You should’ve kept your mouth shut, that was a problem you always had and it never resulted in anything good.

Somewhere in the midst of dinner you had briefly mentioned your love for Minghao’s artwork and how proud you were that his paintings were being displayed at the University gallery. But you hadn’t known that Minghao had lied and never told his parents what exactly he was studying.

“We’ve been paying for a useless degree?” His father forcefully drops the fork against his plate, a loud clang sounds through the small dining room.

“It’s not useless, it's what I love.” Minghao fights back and stands up, “This is why I didn’t tell you, I knew you wouldn’t approve.” He pushes in his chair, hitting the table making you and his mother jump.

“Of course we wouldn’t, you’re never going to get anywhere in life with an art degree. I didn’t raise you to be a lowlife artist.”

“You barely raised me at all.” Minghao tugs at his roots, he sends you a glare and leaves the room. The tension evident in the room and you don’t know if you should stay seated or follow him. When you hear the front door shut and you go with the latter.

“I-I’m sorry, dinner was amazing.” You stood up and pushed your chair in carefully. You knew you should’ve stayed home, but that was before when you feared his parents weren’t going to like you. Now you should’ve stayed home because your big mouth was always causing trouble.

You made your way around Minghao’s house as fast as you could and walked out forgetting about your coat and purse.

The bone chilling cold gives you whiplash as soon as you walk out. Your eyes land on Minghao, his foot tapping impatiently against the snow covered ground. He’s looking at head into the dead of the night while a cigarette burns in between his fingers. You knew he smoked but he had reassured you it wasn’t a problem and he only did it to relieve himself of all the unnecessary stress. He had stopped though, when you had become his stress reliever instead, but now you were the cause of his stress.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t know.” You hugged yourself in a poor attempt to keep yourself warm. Minghao scoffed and brought the white stick up to his lips. His eyes closing in pleasure as he takes a long drag. “If I had known I wouldn’t have sai-“

“Sometimes I wish you would just stay out of my business.” He huffed. He flicks his finished cigratte onto the ground and crushes it beneath his boot. “You had no business in telling them.” He sends you a glare and shakes his head in disappointment. You feel the tears start to well in the corner of your eyes and you dig your nails into your arms to keep yourself from letting them go.

“I didn’t know. What was I supposed to do?” You throw your hands up in the air. You were frustrated with the situation and upset with yourself. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go, but you always managed to ruin every good thing that came into your life. And this was no different.

“I don’t know, not say anything.”

“I just wanted to show them that I don’t care what you do because I’ll support you no matter what.” You sigh, a shiver goes through your spine as he stands up. You take a step back, the look in his eyes giving the bitter winter cold a run for its money.

“I don’t want it.”

Minghao misses you.

Since Christmas he hasn’t been able to paint anything. His mind keeps going back to the look of hurt on your face as soon as the words left his mouth. The tears that fell when you walked down the steps of his porch, shivering, out into the freezing cold. He didn’t run after you because he was afraid you finally saw him for who he was. Someone that was undeserving of your heart of gold. But he stayed and smoked two more cigarettes before walking into his childhood home.

Minghao hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks and tries to fill the void with his cigarettes, to let the poison smoke consume his entire body. Every time he finishes a pack in one sitting he feels even more disgust towards himself.

He wonders if he should call you and apologize for that night. His mind constantly tells him no while his heart continues to yearn for you. He misses your delicate touch burning his skin, he misses getting lost in your soft eyes. He misses your voice and how it sounds like a warm melody even when you’re upset. He misses you like crazy that he feels like he’s losing his life.

The blank canvas before him laughs at him, his constant frustration with himself grows as the night envelops his makeshift studio in his tiny apartment. He needs to paint. He needs one more painting before graduation, one more and he'll be out of the educational art cuffs. One more and he’ll be free to do whatever he wants. But  he just can’t because all he sees is you, your hurt, the greyscale of his cigarette smoke and the bright light of his phone as his thumb hoovers over your contact name.

He almost lets himself cave in too. If it wasn’t for the soft knocks on his front door he would’ve finally called. He feels the blood go up to his ears as he realizes the time. No one in their right mind would show up at his front door at two in the morning. Unless it was you.

He lets his feet carry him towards his door. Minghao knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up but had always been a hopeful kid no matter how many times his hope had been knocked down. He takes a deep breath, his long fingers wrapping around the door handle and he rips it open like a two day old band aid. Your tired eyes meet his miserable ones for the first time in three weeks and he feels like he can breathe again.

“I-I...um...come in.” He steps aside scratching the back of his neck. His hair was getting long again. He usually would’ve cut it by now, but you had once told him you loved how boyish it made him look. So he keeps it.

“I’m here to pick up my stuff.” You walk past him. Your oversized hoodie swallows you whole and he can’t help but want to feel your warmth against him. He stays put in his side of the room taking in your appearance, your hair was a different color, a lighter shade than the one he had last seen you in. He loves it. “Minghao my stuff please, I’m tired and want to go home.”

Minghao panics and he closes the space between the two of you, his arms find their way around you and pulls you close. “Don’t leave please, I’m a coward who’s scared and I lo-I-I’m just sorry for everything I know you deserve better than someone who’s never going to amount to anything but please for tonight don’t leave me alone. You can forget about me in the morning if you want, just not tonight please.” He begs into your neck.

Minghao has never once cried for another person,  not during his first three heartbreaks, not when his dog died. But the thought of losing you forever shatters him and he finally allows himself to weep.

After the initial shock of having him close to you again after missing him for what seemed like years. You hug him back. His sobs take over the dead silence of the night as you hold him, smoothing out the wrinkles of his paint stained t-shirt. You missed him more than air and although you were still upset with him. The two of you still had many things to talk about, all you wanted to do was hold him the same way he’s held you during moments of pure vulnerability.

“I’ll stay.”

Minghao is in love and he doesn’t know how to tell you.

His paintings don’t hang in the university art gallery anymore. They’re locked away in the storage closet in his apartment. All of them collecting dust, except for two.

When the two of you graduated. The art gallery took down his paintings to display the incoming freshman’s artwork. You had gone with him for  moral support as the two of you watched his most hated--your favorite paintings come down. It was a bittersweet moment for the two of you but you could tell it had affected him more than he led on.

“When I get my first paycheck I’ll buy one off you.” You whispered to him as he walked you back to your dorm room. Minghao stops dead in his tracks, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he grips his two largest canvases in his hands.

“Why would you do that?” He shakes his head before closing the distance between the two of you.

“Because I love your paintings idiot.” You roll your eyes and hold the small canvases you were holding against your chest. “And I love you.”

Minghao’s world stops. It freezes and goes blank. He swallows slowly to make sure he’s heard you right, and when he notices your shaking hands gripping his precious canvases he’s positive he has.

“No you don’t.” He blurts out before he can think and he sees the hurt flash across your perfect features signaling that he has fucked up. He doesn’t know how to handle your confession. Everyone he has ever loved laughs in his face and tells him he was an idiot for thinking they would ever feel anything for him. He almost waits for you to retreat your statement but when you don’t he feels his heart against his throat.

“Fuck, fine sorry I said anything.” You scoff and turn around, walking as fast as you could to create all the distance between the two of you. You knew you should’ve never confessed, you knew he would never feel the same way as you did. You were chaos, too much to handle, at times to clingy and not even that good of a fuck to keep a man. But there had been a little pocket of hope in you reserved for Minghao and sometimes he stared at you for longer than a person should stare at another. So you took your shot. Knowing you could have possibly read all the lingering touches and stares and blatantly obvious signs wrong. That you would end up in another heartbreak but you had really thought your subconscious had been wrong.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, girl.

Wait, wait, stop walking.” Minghao yells looking around frantically and setting his paintings against an isolated light post. He uses all the energy he has left in him and runs after you. His shoes forcefully stomping against the cracked pavement. Minghao’s mind is running at miles an hour and the only thing he can do is laugh because of how badly he wants to kiss you. Tell you you’ve been the sole owner of his heart ever since the first time he spotted you silently admiring his terrible paintings all those months ago and paint.  

Is this really the life of an artist?

He’s an idiot, the biggest one on this planet but for the first time in his life, he’s determined to not let the best thing that has ever happened to him slip away.

You have no choice but to stop at the streetlight and Minghao catches up. His breathing is ragged, his fake glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, and his hands are shaking from the adrenaline surging through his veins.

He places his hands against your shoulders making you jump, “Minghao forget I said anything it was a mis--.” His mouth is on yours before you could finish your sentence. His hands travel down your back and he pulls you closer, crushing his paintings in between your bodies.

“I love you too,”

Minghao is nervous.

The day he’s been looking forward to and dreading for the past three years has finally arrived. His nerves course through his body like shocks of electricity and he feels like throwing up. When he met you all those years ago, the only person who encouraged his unachieveable dream, in the stupid university gallery, he never once thought he would end up here.

“Baby, are you ready?” You peak your head into the green room, the dark shade of red adjourning your lips catches him off guard. His hands itching to grab the sketchbook and pack of pastels he kept in his bag for moments of random inspiration. He refrains when he remembers he has people waiting for him. People who have gone out of their way to come to see him, his paintings and the opening of his highly anticipated art gallery.

You walk in and close the door behind you. You stand in Minghao’s path and he stops pacing.“I can tell Jun to stall for a few more minutes. He has the crowd wrapped around his finger with his terrible jokes, I mean some of them aren’t that bad but still they aren’t good.”  You put your hand against his cheek, your thumb soothing away the worry lines around his perfect mouth.

“How many people are out there?” He whispers and puts his forehead against yours. He thought his nerves were bad on his wedding day, but he’s sure this takes the cherry. He won’t tell you, even though he has a hunch that you already know.

“Last time Mingyu and your father updated me we had reached a few hundred.”

“A few hundred.” Minghao’s eyes grow wider than the moon, his nerves get worse. “I can’t go out there. What if they don’t like me?”

“Look at me Hao.” You place two fingers underneath his chin and raise it. His pupils are wide with uncertainty and you do everything in your power to keep yourself from laughing. Nothing was cuter than Minghao when he was nervous. “You always sell yourself short, these people fell in love with your paintings and I have no doubt in my mind that they’ll love you. I mean honey look at where we ended up.” You offer him a smile before leaning in to place a soft kiss against his plump lips.

“Yeah but that’s different. I was a nobody back then, no one had a preconceived notion of me then. I’m afraid these people might expect a broken artist with a smoking habit and that’s not me. At least not anymore.”

“Who cares what they might think of you, this isn’t about them. This is about you and your dream, don’t let the opinions of strangers ruin this for you.” You nod your head rubbing your thumb over his lips to get rid of the residue left behind by your liptstick. “If it makes you feel better I’m here and so are your parents and your friends. We’ll always support you baby.”

Minghao takes a deep breath and nods shyly. “Can you just hold me for a while. I want to be yours only for these last few minutes of freedom.”

“Minghao you’re making it sound like you’re selling your soul.” You giggle and fix the loose strands of hair that had fallen against his forehead.

“I’ll stay.”

Xu Minghao is a beautiful mystery that was often left unsolved.

Until you walked into his life and took your time to solve it.

[janetbrown711]

“I can’t do this on my own.” Yakko

The royal family had been on the edge of their seats in anxiety ever since the day Angelina I locked Wakko up in the tower. 

Well- that wasn’t entirely correct. Dot seemed blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding her, and Wakko was trying his best to just enjoy the fact he didn’t have to stay in that tower any longer than he already had anymore. His and Dot’s spirits were admirable, but the rest of the family simply couldn’t share the same feelings. 

Lena had been practically pacing 24/7 ever since her conversation with her mother, of which she refused to give the kids details about, but from how easily her worry spread to their father, and the massive bruise on her face she tried so very very hard to cover with makeup, it was safe to say it went very poorly. She was constantly checking up them, making sure to keep a special eye out for Wakko, of whom Yakko was pretty sure she never let out of her sight anymore. 

William had been nervous too. He was off at the training stations at night far more often than he used to, practicing his sword fighting. This effort failed him, however, when he sprained his arm from overworking it. Without his main source of stress relief, it became very clear something was eating him alive, and Yakko wished his parents trusted him enough to tell so he could help. He was the eldest brother, after all, he was supposed to help watch over his sibs too. 

 Yakko was anxious because of his parent’s anxieties, the fact they wouldn’t tell him what was going on, and a mysterious letter he had caught a glimpse of at his last lesson. 

He had arrived early to his grandmother’s study, and she must’ve been writing to someone right before he came because she left a letter to dry there. Yakko only caught a glimpse, but he recalled it saying:

“...they are the priority. However, if the younger were to be lost in the chaos, I wouldn’t mind in the slightest-” and his grandmother snatched it from his hands before he could read further. 

Yakko wished he hadn’t started reading it from the middle, because he simply couldn’t make sense of it. It sounded ominous, but not wanting to stress out his parents any more than they clearly were, he kept it to himself, figuring he was smart enough that he’d decode it eventually. 

He was pretty sure his parents could tell how tense he was, because they kept patting and rubbing his back and assuring him things would be fine, but the bruise on his mother’s face refused to let him believe that. 

“Alright you two, it’s well past bedtime now, clean up the toys,” Lena chuckled softly as Dot and Wakko pouted in the playroom. 

“C’mon, you heard her you two,” Yakko rolled his eyes and assisted his younger siblings in cleaning up. Slowly but surely the warner siblings successfully cleaned up and put everything back in it’s place, before tiredly dragging themselves to their bedroom. 

Wakko went straight to his and Yakko’s room, and Yakko was pretty sure he was out cold once he hit his bed. 

Yakko however, lingered by Dot’s bedroom, cracking open the door just a little so he could listen in on the conversation the two were having. 

“Mommy, are you okay?” Dot asked. 

“Of course, dear, whatever would make you think that,” his mother said as she tucked in his little sister. Dot reached up, and her hand hovered over her bruise. 

“I’m fine, Dottie, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry about me, you need to get to bed,” Lena booped her nose. 

“I want a lullaby,” Dot said, sitting upright in the bed. 

“Ah ah, what do we say?” Lena scolded lightly. 

“May I have a lullaby... please?” Dot said. Lena nodded. 

“Let’s see now...” His mother thought to herself, tapping a finger on her chin.

“When I look into your eyes,” She began, slowly tucking Dot back in again. “It’s like watching the night sky.”

“Or a beautiful sunrise. There’s so much they hold,” She sang softly, and for a moment, Yakko thought she saw him, but she didn’t stop singing. 

“And just like the old stars,” she continued. “I see that you’ve come far, to be where you are. 

“How old is your soul?” she sang that line softer, and Yakko felt a chill go down his spine. 

“Well, I won’t give up, on us. Even if the skies get rough. I’m giving you all my love. I’m still looking up,” Lena put a soft hand on Dot’s cheek, and she smiled.

“And even you’re needing your space, to do some navigating, I’ll be here patiently waiting, to see what you’ll find,” Dot was practically asleep at that point, but neither Yakko nor his mother moved from where they were. 

“Cause even the star, they burn. Some even fall to the earth. You’ve got a lot to learn. God knows you’re worth it.” She then kissed Dot on the forehead, slowly standing up.  

“No, I won’t give up,” Lena said, more than sang. She paused a moment. 

“Goodnight, Dot. I love you very much,” She said, pausing for a response, but Dot was fast asleep, as was the plan. Lena smiled softly before taking her candle and heading toward the door. Yakko panicked and started to run back to his room. 

“Yakko, I know you were listening,” Lena said as she closed the door to Dot’s room. 

“Sorry- I’ll go to bed now,” He apologized and continued on his way. 

“Stop right there mister,” Lena ordered, and Yakko stopped dead in his tracks. his mother approached him slowly. 

“You’ve been so anxious as of late, Yakko. I’m worried about you,” she put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Well- so have you,” Yakko shrugged. 

“Yakko, you’re so much younger than you realize... you’re twelve, for crying out loud. Our burdens should not be your burdens as well,” she stroked his cheek. 

“But I wanna help,” he frowned. 

“You help out in many meaningful ways, Yakko, but worrying yourself to death isn’t going to do any of us any good,” Lena said. “We need you to take care of yourself, alright?” 

Yakko thought long and hard about that. 

“But I want to help,” he said. Lena sighed softly. 

“I know honey... but for now, the best way to help is to take care of yourself. Try to get some sleep, alright?” She gave him a weak smile. Yakko bit his lip. 

“I can try,” was all he promised, which was good enough for the tired princess. Lena gave Yakko a soft kiss on the head. 

“Goodnight honey,” She said. 

“Goodnight, mom,” He replied, and before he knew it, she was gone. 

Yakko frowned at his bedroom door. He knew for a fact he was likely to be unable to sleep, so instead, he headed to the family study, which was quite a bit away from him and his sibs room, or any of the bedrooms really, but he didn’t mind the walk. Once there, he pulled out one of his favorite books, lit a few of the candles, and got to reading. 

However, as his eyes scanned the pages, the words from the letter rang in his mind over and over again. 

The younger of who? A priority of what? Why wouldn’t she mind? What ‘chaos’? There were simply too many questions in his head. 

Perhaps he should have shared them with his mom... that might’ve helped. 

Then again, it could also just make her more nervous, which was the last thing he wanted. 

He made the right decision, of that he was sure. 

Yakko wasn’t sure how long he was reading or attempting to do so, but somehow he had managed to fall asleep against the table. However, a loud crash, sent him straight up, as his mind scrambled to wake up with his body. 

What was that? Where did it come from? 

Another crashing noise. 

It came from the opposite direction of him and his sibs rooms, which meant-

His parent’s room. 

Yakko heard shouting, swearing, and fighting of all sorts. He ran to the door to open it, but realized that might not be the best of ideas. To both his panic and relief, the voices seemed to continue going away from his and his sibs rooms, but that meant they were going for his parents. 

Once the voices got far enough away, Yakko didn’t hesitate to swing the door open and run. He had to find his mom and dad- he had to make sure they were okay. 

It wasn’t hard to follow the mob, as they left a path of destruction behind. Shattered glass, torn down curtains, mud, and other filth on the carpets. Yakko tried not to dwell, as he instead took a short cut to his parent’s room. 

Yakko dashed around corners, around furniture, and under a few tables when he thought he might be caught. 

However, he was moving so fast, he could hardly stop himself when he dashed around a corner and one of the men saw him, and grabbed him before Yakko could even think to turn around. 

“You the little princey we’re lookin’ for?” He laughed, spitting in his face. 

“Let me go!” Yakko demanded, but the man didn’t. Instead, he kicked him down, and dragged him down to the end of the hall where he saw-

“Mom!” Yakko gasped. 

He honestly hadn’t thought much time had passed, but his mother looked like 50 brutal years had passed on her. Her hair and fur were disheveled, her nightgown was torn. She had more bruises on her face and a gash in her shoulder that was bleeding. Her wrists were tied in rope. . Her face grew mortified when she saw him. 

“Let him go! It’s me you want, not him,” Lena pleaded, not looking at Yakko.

“H-huh?” Yakko sniffled. 

“Not so fast, your highness,” one said in a mocking tone. “We were told one of ‘em could be collected as a bonus.” 

“Please. I’ll do anything- just let him go,” she pleaded. 

“No, mom! I wanna stay with you!” Yakko began to cry. 

“No Yakko, your siblings need you,” Lena looked at him. 

“I need you,” Yakko pleaded.

“Yakko? Aren’t we supposed to be lookin’ for a Wakko?” One man said. Yakko’s eyes widened. 

The younger. Priority. Chaos. 

They were going to come for Wakko. 

“We were told to leave the crown prince alone, and get the middle one,” The tallest one smacked the one holding Yakko over the head. The man holding Yakko let him go, and he ran to his mother. 

“Other way, stupid,” One of the men snarled at him. 

“Mom, I-i’m not leaving you,” Yakko said. 

“You have to. You have to protect Wakko,” Lena put her forehead against his and whispered. 

“I-i can’t...” He cried. 

“Scram or we’ll make you regret it!” The tallest shouted at him. Yakko gave his mother one last look, before running back with all his might, before he felt something hit him against the back of his head, hard and everything went black. 

.o0o.

When Yakko finally opened his eyes again, it was morning. He was surrounded by shattered glass, mud, the smell of torches and firewood, and a throbbing headache in the back of his head. 

His parents. 

Where were they???

Yakko shot up, ignoring the increase in the throb, and immediately began his search, checking every room he went by.

No, not their bedroom... not the bathroom... not the parlor... not the painting room, not the dining hall, not the kitchen, not the lounge room, not the playroom, not the nursery, not the family study, not this bedroom, not the next, not the next, not the-

“Yakko?” Wakko groggily rubbed his eyes. 

“Wakko, you’re okay,” Yakko sighed a breath of relief to find out his brother was still in his bed. 

“What’s matter?” he asked, sitting up. 

Yakko didn’t have it in him to tell him, so he just turned and left. 

“Hey-! Wait! I wanna help!” Wakko protested his leave, and followed him. Yakko still didn’t say anything, checking Dot’s room quietly. 

She was still there too. 

“What’s the matter Yakko? I wanna help,” Wakko said just a tad too loudly, and Dot was awoken. 

“Yakko?” She asked, rubbing her eyes too. Yakko still couldn’t get himself to speak, so he continued his search. Wakko shrugged at his little sister, and Dot decided to join her brother in following Yakko. 

Yakko didn’t care that they were following, or that they were confused or worried by his silence. He didn’t care they were asking question after question about the state of the castle, and why so many things were destroyed. He needed to find them. His parents had to be okay. They had to be. 

Not in his room, not in Dot’s room, not in the laundry room, not in the tailoring room, not in the dressmaker room, not in the storage room, not in the supply room, not in this bedroom, not-

Angelina I’s private study. 

Maybe she’d have some answers. 

Yakko didn’t even knock before bursting in. 

The queen was already wearing all black, her face covered by a thick veil, though it hardly mattered because she wasn’t facing them anyway, staring out into the window instead. 

“Where are they?!” Yakko demanded. 

“They’re long gone, Yakko,” she didn’t even turn to look at him. 

“Y-y... you’re lying!” He couldn’t accept that. Not now. 

“Believe what you will, but you won’t find them here,” She said coldly, clutching her handkerchief tightly. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Yakko commanded his younger siblings as he went out of the room. 

“Yakko, who are you talking about? Who are we looking for?” Wakko wasn’t understanding the situation. 

Yakko still couldn’t answer. 

not in the meeting room, not in the food storage, not in the tower, not in the ballroom, not in the dance lesson room, not in the theater room, not in the foyer-

Wait. 

Yakko saw something shining on the floor. Quickly he bolted down the stairs as fast as he could before he realized-

It was his mother’s crown. It would never just be lying on the ground like this. They had to be close. Yakko looked around desperately. 

They had to be here. 

“Mommy’s crown...” Dot frowned and went to it, but Yakko held his arm out, not daring to disturb it. 

“Yakko, why is mum’s crown here? Where is she?” Wakko asked him. 

“Yeah, where’s mommy and daddy? I’m scared...” Dot looked up at him.

“they have to be here,” Yakko whispered to himself. 

“I can’t do this alone.”

He looked around the room, but his eyes were becoming clouded by tears rapidly filling his eyes. He called out for his parents again, but only a painful echo replied. A sharp wave of pain and numbness washed over him. 

Yakko collapsed onto his knees and sobbed. 

His parents were gone. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[skylarmoon71]

Leo x Reader - Oneshot (TMNT 2014/2016)

"Don't forget to close your window (Y/N). One of these days you're gonna catch a serious cold." Your sister made a habit of scolding you about minor things like that. Since it was just the two of you, it made sense that she was a little over protective. So as she got ready to head to her graveyard shift, you just nod.

It's not that you intentionally forgot to close the windows, you just got so lost in the lights that glimmered at night. Sometimes you'd just sit at your desk and stare out at the night sky. It was soothing, and beautiful.

Such a magnificent city, so under appreciated and tarnished by the crime all around it. It was sad for you, reading the headlines. What did bring you comfort was the so-called vigilantes. No one knew who they were, or where they came from. But slowly, they were taking the city back. One thug at a time.

"So cool." Being a teenager didn't allow for much excitement. At least not in your life. The biggest issue in your life right now was probably getting through your finals. But you wondered what it would be like being out there, saving the world. Doing something worthwhile, something that mattered.

"I wish I was that amazing." You head rest on the windowsill, just gazing at the stars.

"I'm sure you're an amazing person." The voice made you shoot up. And from your position on the window, you could only make out a shadow above your head.

"I'm sorry, that was a bit creepy. I don't mean to intrude. You seemed a bit down. " You blinked at the male voice.

"O-Oh! I'm sorry. I really didn't think anyone would be out here so late."

There was an apartment above you, so maybe he was doing the same thing you were. "I should apologize. I'll just leave you to your thoughts."

"W-Wait!" It was a little weird, but you didn't mind. He didn't sound like a bad guy, and he did compliment you. "Y-You don't have to go. I was just rambling to myself. I usually just come out here to think. It's a bit therapeutic. "

"I guess...I do the same thing. It helps, doesn't it? Makes you forget just how much is going on." You smile. He sounded sort of mature.

"Yeah, it does. It's a bit cheesy but I love the stars. They are what I look forward to honestly. I feel like we take it for granted. Everyday we wake up and just expect the sun to be there because that's how it's always been. We rush through the day and when night comes, we repeat the cycle. So much beauty and we can't even work up a simple thanks. " When you'd finish your little rant you flushed. "Oh gosh I'm rambling again you probably don't even want to hear all this." You were probably boring this stranger.

"No it's alright. I agree with you. So many things aren't promised, we need to appreciate that. Just recently an incident opened my eyes to just how fleeting life is. I almost lost my family...my brothers. "

You shot up at that."A-Are they okay! W-What happened!" he just let out a small chuckle at your concern.

"They're fine. We survived because well we had each other. That's what life is really about. Family, and of course pizza." you laugh at his joke, resting your head back on your arm. "Well I'm glad it all worked out for you. I can't imagine what I would do if something happened to my sister. "

"She's lucky to have such a wonderful sibling." you blush.

T-Thank you."

"Well, I don't want to keep you awake any longer, and I myself need to get to bed."

"Oh yeah of course. It was nice meeting you uh...umm?"

"Leonardo. But everyone calls me Leo."

"Leonardo, woah."

"I'm (Y/N), It's really nice meeting you Leo."

"Likewise (Y/N)." even the way he said your name made you blush. "I guess we'll talk again?" you said hopefully.

"You can count on it."

~~~~~~

Nights like that continued, you'd be just sitting, enjoying the cool air, and Leo would just appear, striking up a conversation. As the days passed he told you more about himself, and his brothers. Just from the way he spoke it wasn't hard to tell that he loved them. It was clear as day. What you didn't understand is why you never saw him.

You were positive he lived in the apartments above, but no one ever introduced themselves to you. And it felt weird just going up and knocking on random doors to find your mystery man. Maybe he was just shy.

You could understand that. Somehow you felt like no matter what you'd still like him, even if he wasn't the most gorgeous guy in the world. Just from the way he spoke, it pulled you in. He sounded caring, and strong. Passionate too. He never really told you about where he went to school, or if he even did. You really wanted to ask more personal questions, but you didn't want to seem nosy and chase him away with your eagerness.

You'd only been talking for a month now. It's not like you were dating, so he wasn't obligated to tell you anything. You kind of hoped he'd do that on his own.

So you were once again at your ledge. "Leo?"

"Right here. You know I finally saw that movie you were talking about. The croods. Even my brothers were skeptical but it was hilarious. We couldn't stop laughing."

"I know it's a masterpiece I swear." you started giggling, and Leo laughed.

"Really (Y/N), Thank you for recommending it. Raph and I..lately we've been having a hard time. That movie I guess it showed us what it means to have a family. We won't always see things from the same point of view, but at the end of the day, he has my back, and I have his. That's what matters. "

"Well I'm glad I could help. " You sat there for a while in silence, just enjoying the view, and the company of each other.

"Hey (Y/N), can I ask you something?"

"Of course! Ask away."

"If I were...different, what would you think?"

Different?

"Well I guess that depends on your definition of different Leo. Honestly I'd like to think I'm not so shallow to care about something as superficial as looks. " You knew why he was asking. He was probably afraid you would judge him based on how he looked.

"It's not as simple as that." you brows knitted. "Come on, if you're scared don't be. I think as long as you aren't some alien being from another planet we'll be fine. " you laugh in hopes that he'd feel a bit more comforted, but you got nothing but silence in return.

"Leo?" You shifted in your seat, and you're tempted to peek your head over a little so you can catch just a glimpse of him. You don't have to. There's a loud thud, and standing above you on the fire escape is a sight that leaves you breathless. Your eyes are wide, and you can't do much but gape at the six foot green hulk of a man standing in front of you.

"He...has a shell.." So maybe not a man.

"Do you still think that?" That voice, there's no mistaking it, this is definitely Leo. In the flesh, or scales you suppose. His eyes, they're the bluest you've ever seen, and he's wearing a bandana that just makes it more striking. The look he sends you is one that illuminates indifference, A shield. He's probably experienced this reaction often. It's hard not to react this way. What you're seeing right now, it shouldn't be possible. After a long pause of nothing but your staggered breathing, his head lowers.

"I guess you aren't as open minded as you thought." His words are said with so much pain, and you can't even work out a proper word before he's flipping up and away. You just sit there, stiff. You felt frozen in that moment. What lingers is that look in his eyes. He seemed heart broken, and you want to slap yourself for not even calling out to him and apologizing.

"Leo..."

This is probably the last time you'll ever see him.

~~~

"Quit moping around it's annoying. " Leo opens his eyes in response to Raph's statement.

"I'm not moping." He was meditating. It usually helped when he needed to clear his head.

"Ya been acting weird since last night. Did that chick finally see ya or something." His hands tightened in his lap, and Raph doesn't miss the action. "Just...leave me alone Raph." Leo sounded defeated, something Raph thought he'd never see. "There's no shame in admitting ya hurt. You're the leader, not a bulletproof vest." Raph takes a seat next to him, biting down on the toothpick. "Ya know, last time you gave me that crappy speech about true acceptance coming from within. Where did that muck go?" Raph sends him a cocky smile, and Leo can't help but return a small smile. "I guess I'm no good at taking my own advice."

"Not one bit." Leo just sighs, unfolding his legs. It's useless to try and meditate. He can't concentrate when your encounter is running through his head. "If she's half as great as you make her seem, she won't give a crap if you're a mutant or not. Shit like that, it shouldn't matter. If she can't see that then you're just wasting your time. I'm sure there's a whole lot of other girls into your hold uptight know it all attitude."

"You suck at giving compliments Raph."

"Thanks." Both brothers smile, and Raph gives Leo a heavy pat on the shoulder. "Save ya tears for when I kick your ass in training." Raph stands, and Leo shoots after, drawing his swords.

"In your dreams. "

~~~

For the next couple days, you'd wait by your window. It was so weird coming here and not hearing from him. You got so used to the conversation, the company. You wanted to cry, because no matter how many times you called to him, he never answered, all because of you. No wonder he was so scared to show himself. He probably got judged by so many people. How were you better? Even after saying you didn't care. You felt like a hypocrite.

"Leo..I'm sorry." He probably wasn't even there, but you didn't care, you just want to see him again. "I guess I'm no better than some of the kids at my school. They're so focused on what's acceptable that they miss greatness. The way I talk to you is so different. I feel like you get me and you aren't even human, yet the way you think is far more human than the scumbags in this world. You're so considerate and humble and I just want you to know that I'm really sorry. I-I don't care what you are, I just want to talk to you again." you sobbed, hoping that he'd at least come back at some point to see that you were looking for him. With the way you acted, it didn't seem like a possibility.

"Do you mean that, you really don't care.." your eyes lit up. You could hear him climbing down the wall, and when his feet landed on the fire escape this time, you didn't freeze.

"Leo..." He looked down at you a bit guilty when he saw your tears.

"(Y/N).." you could tell he was about to apologize, but you quickly wiped your eyes with the back of your sleeves, smiling up at him as you pushed up the window higher. You took a step back, and Leo got the message. He hesitated for a second, unsure if he should really step in. He didn't want you to faint like April did the first time she saw him. Yet, this was your second meeting, and you looked more curious than afraid this time. So he ducked his head, cautiously inching through the window. When he finally raised his body, you were still watching him.

Now that you had a better look you could make out how muscular he was. He also had two swords strapped to his back. He caught where your eyes drifted and lifted his hand immediately.

"D-Don't worry I only use these against criminals."

"Criminals?"

Wait he couldn't be..could he?

"Are you..the vigilante?" he scratched his head. By the way he was looking around you could tell he hadn't meant to disclose that information. "I'm one of them." So this whole time, no wonder he was always at the top of your apartment. The buildings were a perfect way to get around, especially at night.

"That night when I heard you talking I just..I don't know why but you sounded so defeated. I thought a few words would help lighten your night. After that talk we had though, I couldn't stop thinking about you so I kept coming back." you heart skipped. So it was the same for him. 

"I knew it was only a matter of time before you would ask to meet and I was terrified (Y/N). I didn't want our talks to end, but I felt like I was betraying your trust by not telling you the truth about me. I'm sorry that I made you cry, I never wanted to hurt you."

He had nothing to apologize for, you were the one that stared like he was some freak.

"You don't have to apologize. I'm the one in the wrong. I was just so shocked. I thought aliens were a myth. " He smiled at you.

"I'm not an alien." you stammered.

"O-Oh! S-sorrry I guess I just assumed and I-"

"It's okay. If I were in your shoes I'd think the same. Aliens are real though. "

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Woah." you took a step back, dropping on your bed with a wistful look. Guess there was more out there than you initially thought. Leo stepped a bit closer, you could tell he wanted to sit next to you, but he seemed to be debating with himself if it was the right move. You patted the space next to you with the widest smile. He just let out a soft laugh, sitting at the edge of the bed with you. It dipped a little at his added weight, and it made you slide down into his arm. You caught yourself, looking up to tell him sorry.

His hand was right where you'd grip to steady yourself, and your gazes locked. Up close, his eyes were bluer than before. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on you. Your heart was hammering now, and you were absolutely horrified that he could hear it. You didn't want to move, or look away. Leo appeared to be caught in a similar trance.

"Would you mind if I..kissed you Leo.." He blinked in surprise. Surely this was a dream. It had to be. Or some sick joke. That's what he thought. But when he saw the little light shining behind your orbs, he couldn't seem to convince himself it wasn't real. You were so much closer than before, and you were still holding unto his arm. He could feel the heat from your palm. Was that your pulse racing, or his. He couldn't differentiate. He realized then that he hadn't answered your question. You were just watching him expectantly. "I...I..what.." now he forgot how to form proper words.

You leaned in closer, and he gulped. "I want to kiss you...so bad.." you breathed. You were getting closer, and he couldn't trust himself to speak again, so he just moved with you, closing the distance. When your lips touched you were stunned at how soft his were. You inhaled, leaning into his body as you kept a hold on his arm.

Leo was completely lost and taken by the sensation. It was no secret that he'd never kissed before. His palm moved to your cheek, and he responded, pulling you closer. He hoped, wished that this very moment would never end. He craved the sensations that rushed over his body as you parted to get a breath, only to dive back in for another taste. It was mind blowing. When he felt your tongue prodding his lips slightly, he opened them slightly, and your wet appendage dove in. the minute your tongues touched he pulled back. His eyes were wide and you retracted with red cheeks.

"S-Sorry! I-I don't know where that came from I just I-I.."

"I-It's fine. I'm..I've never kissed like that it just surprised me a little." you placed both of your hands in your lap, flustered. That was the first time you'd ever try to french a guy. Turtle. Leo was watching the way you fidgeted. He didn't intend for you to feel bad. It actually felt really good. So good he didn't know what to do so he panicked.

"Can we try again?" He whispered. Your eyes lifted, and you nodded a bit shyly.

This time Leo was the one who initiated the kiss. He liked the way it felt so he didn't waste time with chaste pecks. He opened his mouth and you moaned when his tongue invaded your mouth. This time you positioned yourself closer, and Leo reached down, lifting your hips and placing you right into his lap. Your hands came up, going around his neck as you continued to exchange wet desperate kisses. You supposed another thing you were wrong about was your self control. You used to look at the kids in your class and contemplate how shamelessly hormonal they were. Kissing at the lockers, making out under the bleachers. Now, you sort of understood. Leo was the exception. He was indeed different, but that's what made him great.

[walviemort]

Fairy Godfather, part 3

Summary: The fairies have asked a monumental favor of Killian: be the surrogate for their babies—all nine of them. He’s been pregnant before, but this? This is a whole other level. What has he gotten himself into? And just how big will he get?

A/N: Another update! Thank you to @sancocnutclub​ for her continued encouragement...which will be very apparent in part 4 ;)

rated T / 2.4k words / part 1 / part 2 / AO3

Though he had just passed the first trimester mark in this oversized pregnancy, Killian was pleased to find he was not lacking in the energy department. Granted, his first pregnancy had been similar—he’d had the most energy during the second trimester, despite the increasing size of his belly.

But his belly was a fraction of the size back then. Now, at 13 weeks, it was much closer to the size he’d been at 35 weeks with Hope. But he had yet to slow down—as evidenced by his and Emma’s morning activities; he was even on top.

There was no denying his present form was bulky, but he’d been too fatigued at this size with Hope to do much but sleep and eat. That was not a problem now, and both he and Emma were reaping the benefits. Reaching orgasm while she was caressing his bump? It was impossible to describe how amazing that felt.

However, he’d hardly finished when Hope began to cry out from her nursery. As much as he was still feeling good, moving did take a bit more effort than it had. This bump also weighed as much as his last one, and was only going to get heavier; at least it hadn’t dropped yet. But it meant that Emma was still quicker to her feet than he was, and sprang up to retrieve their 13 month old before she tried to climb out of her crib on her own.

Hope finally figured out walking a month or so ago—just in time for her first birthday—and he was well aware of the comical sight he’d made at her party, chasing after her with his protruding stomach. But at least he still could, even if he got winded more quickly than he’d like. 

Tink had been snickering at him during one such moment. “Hey,” he chastised and patted the bump. “Your kid is in here, so I’d watch the mocking when it comes to running after mine.”

“That’s fair,” she’d conceded. “Just let me know when you need help, though—I’ll gladly go after the little hellion.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

They hadn’t needed her help yet, but it was only a matter of time—especially by the sound of tiny but insistent footsteps that were getting faster every day as they ran down the hallway. 

“Dada!” her little voice called out as she charged into the room and threw herself against his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“How’s my little cygnet today?” he enthusiastically replied as he bent down to pick her up. He had to open his legs to make room for the bump, but it was still an achievable feat, and Hope giggled as she flew into the air and the curled in as he carefully tucked her into his side. 

After a brief cuddle, she squirmed for him to set her down on the mattress, and gave his bump a gentle pat. “Hi babies,” she said (or tried to; some of those sounds were still being worked on). She’d noticed the bump a few weeks ago, once it had really started popping out. They couldn’t tell if she actually understood what was going on—and were glad she was young enough to not have to explain it—but she was at least careful and affectionate. 

He just hoped that continued as she grew steadier on her feet—and he grew larger and less so. 

Hope tucked herself back into Killian’s side and Emma sat down on the other. “This is a pretty perfect morning,” she sighed as she laid her head in his bare shoulder. “Do I really have to go into work?”

“I’m of the same opinion—but wasn’t Tiger Lily coming for training today?” She was the fairy who’d offered to take over his deputy duties once he no longer could—and he had a hunch she'd be an acceptable long-term hire. 

“Yeah,” she complained. “Just wish it could wait another day.”

“Or,” he suggested, “we get through today and then we can spend tomorrow in a similar manner.”

“I like the way you think,” she replied, then pulled him in for a kiss. 

He set Hope down on the bed, where she proceeded to tackle the pillows, and went about the process of getting dressed. His sleep pants still fit, although they were reaching the point where they were almost too snug on his hips, which had definitely widened more than last time. 

Thankfully, his maternity jeans were as stretchy as ever, and he hadn’t yet exceeded their capacity; the elastic panel hugged his belly comfortably as he slipped them on. 

Emma had bought him a collection of soft, short-sleeved t-shirts a size larger than he typically wore, and one of those slipped on easily, but the bump still stood prominently under navy cotton. Hopefully, they made these in several larger sizes. 

They stopped at Granny’s before heading to their respective workplaces for the day, and Killian consumed a larger stack of pancakes than he’d like to admit; good thing Belle took his measurements yesterday. At least there was also a generous side of fresh fruit. 

When he and Hope arrived at the library, he was only semi-surprised to see Blue there; she seemed to be showing up once a month or so to check in, but today had another goal. 

“Would you be okay with getting an ultrasound?” she asked. 

That was shocking. “Sure,” he said, “but will it be okay for them?” he countered, rubbing his belly. Inside, they seemed to be fluttering nervously. 

“If it’s fine for a human baby, it should be for them. It’s just—I see all these thorough notes and comparisons, and I’m curious what that would reveal.”

“Whale says he has an opening,” Belle added, phone in hand. “Shall we?”

They did, and headed out en masse to make the short walk to the hospital. At least, it should have been short, but Hope insisted on walking on her own and Killian’s pace wasn’t as fast as it normally was. 

Whale met them in the waiting room when they arrived, though, an eager look on his face. “Wondered if I'd see you this time around,” he greeted. “I’ve gotta say—I’m pretty curious about this.”

“Aren’t we all,” Killian answered dryly, bracing his hook against his lower back. 

“Come on; let’s take a peek in there,” Whale beckoned, and led them to an exam room. 

Killian passed Hope off to Blue and began the process of climbing up on the exam table; again—he was doing fine on the energy front, but a large bump was a large bump, and it not only was an obstacle to his mobility, but he was carrying around some weight he hadn’t been 13 weeks ago (and in more places than just the bump).

But he managed to get up there and lifted up his shirt without prompting; he knew the drill. During his seemingly arduous climb, Whale had been looking over Belle’s notes from both pregnancies. “Damn,” he commented. “I think your notes are more detailed than my charts.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Killian called out; Whale just chuckled and moved to ready the ultrasound machine while Belle rolled her eyes and readied her pen. 

Killian had forgotten how cold the gel was, but he got over it quickly as Whale began to move the probe over his (thankfully stretch mark-free) stomach. 

“Well I’ve never seen that before,” Whale said after a bit, and everyone focused on the screen. 

“I thought those were only in black and white?” Belle asked. 

“They are,” Whale confirmed. 

And yet, as the tiny images of multiple babies appeared on the screen, each one was showing up in a different color—the color of the orbs they started as. Tink’s green stood out front and center, but as Whale moved the probe over the dome that was Killian’s abdomen, all the other colors showed up, except—

“Where’s mine?” Blue asked, understandably worried. 

“Hmm,” Whale hummed, investigating. “One, two,” he started counting, finding 8 that were easily visible. “But it looks like…” He pressed harder on Killian’s belly, to the point of discomfort, but he didn’t complain—not when Blue looked so worried. 

“Yeah, there’s definitely one hiding in there,” Whale said. “I just can’t zero in. There’s some color bleeding through, though…”

And in between a pink-hued and navy-hued fetus, a bit of bright blue was visible. Blue sighed in relief. “Yeah, she’s just being stubborn,” Whale assured her. “You can probably blame it on Hook.”

“Hey!” he protested, but Belle’s snicker suggested she agreed.

“Anyways—from a development standpoint, yeah, I’d put you right at 13 weeks, although probably half the size. Were it a normal pregnancy, I’d guess you’d only go to 30 weeks or so, for safety—but I’m guessing that won’t be the case here?”

“No,” Blue said. “He’ll go all the way to full term.”

Whale whistled. “Thank goodness they’re small then.”

Several copies of the sonogram were printed off—as mysteriously colorful as they were on screen—with Killian taking one, another going in Belle’s notebook, and the rest going with Blue. There was some discussion of doing another ultrasound at the second trimester, but it was ultimately deemed unnecessary.

Whale bid them adieu but they lingered in the room, if only because it took Killian a bit to clean off the gel (he hated the way it got caught in the bit of hair on his stomach). Belle was wrangling the kids, but Blue was staring at the pictures, almost in awe. 

“You were worried, weren’t you?” Killian asked softly. “That she wasn’t there.”

“Yes,” Blue admitted. “It’s rare, but sometimes, they don’t all take. And I’ve just—I’ve waited so long for this.”

“I understand.” It had taken him and Emma quite some time to conceive Hope, and obviously they required assistance. 

“I guess I’ll just have to be patient,” she sighed. 

“Aye,” he agreed. “But—” He placed his hand on the top of his bump and furrowed his brow in concentration. “I’m almost positive she’s kicking my bladder at the moment.”

It drew the polite chuckle he was going for, but also meant he needed to excuse himself. Blue also took that moment to take her leave, but not without an emphatic thank-you.

He had to admit, as he shuffled off to the bathroom—he’d definitely been resentful of this arrangement to an extent. But seeing Blue’s genuine emotions there at the prospect of parenthood made that feeling dissipate. 

He was sure he’d have a mountain of complaints by the end of this, but being able to grant so many others the joys he’d found as a parent—that would be worth it. 

------------------------------------------------------

At 16 weeks, he hit the same measurements he had when he was at full term with Hope (literally those of the day before he’d gone into labor). But the bump still sat high on his frame. “I wonder if whatever magic is preventing stretch marks is also holding it aloft,” he quipped as he traced the curve of his belly. 

“It’s entirely possible,” Belle concurred. “Look at the difference.” In addition to measured data, she also had photographic documentation of his various milestones in both pregnancies; comparing the picture she’d just taken on her phone to the one from right before Hope entered the world, it was plain to see the similarities in how much they extended in front of him, but the difference in where it sat on his body. 

“We’ll see how long it lasts, though.”

In answer to his theory, he got another few weeks before things began to sit lower, though his stomach continued it’s outward expansion—a couple centimeters every week. But by his 17th week, he finally started feeling the pull of gravity and had to dig out the belly band he’d relied on the last month or so with Hope. 

But he soon noticed another issue. While he remembered what it was like to not be able to see his feet, and had gotten used to the obstacle about his midsection, he wasn’t prepared for it to stick out even more. 

Case in point: one morning during his 18th week, when he was attempting to surprise Emma with breakfast (usually she rose first, but a flurry of activity in his belly had woken him early). However, he was a bit farther from the stove than he was used to, as well as the cabinets, and he kept knocking into the chairs around the table; Hope was watching him from her own high chair in amusement, far more interested in his slapstick endeavor than her cereal. 

“What’s going on?” Emma’s sleepy voice asked after he cursed at nearly burning his belly on the oven. 

“Nothing,” he huffed, rubbing the spot on his bump that was just a bit too warm. “Just a failed attempt at treating my amazing wife.”

She glanced around, then smiled. “You were trying to make me breakfast but then your belly got in the way?”

“Aye,” he sighed. 

She walked over to him and pulled him into a hug—from the side, since she already couldn’t get close enough from the front—and turned his face towards her to kiss him. “You’re too sweet,” she said, tucking herself into his side. “And you treated me plenty last night,” she added in a low voice; he swallowed at the memory of their shared moment—probably one of the last times he’d be able to make love on top for a while, unless they got creative with the logistics, but dammit, he did it, and it was amazing. 

“I can finish this up; take a seat, okay?”

“I should be able to do this, though,” he complained. 

“And you will—in 5 months or so. But I told you I’d support you with this, so let me.”

He sighed again, but complied, and ignored the creak of his chair as he sat down (angled away from the table—he was also up a size in shirts, but his jeans were holding on…for now). “How did the gods see fit to bless this poor bastard with such an amazing woman?” he asked, watching the blush rise on her cheeks. 

“The same way they did for this lost girl,” she countered, then put a (heaping) plate in front of him. 

“I love you so much, Swan—thank you.”

She placed another kiss on his lips. “I love you too—always.”

Even if this wasn’t an ideal situation, he knew that he was blessed to have Emma at his side; he wouldn’t be able to get through this without her. 

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