#Multichaptered

[forabeatofadrum]

Ever After (1/21)

Summary: Cooper is the saviour of the kingdom of Daltonia, and his younger brother Blaine is fine with that. Blaine's never had a grand adventure of his own, and he prefers it that way. But one day, a stranger who is lost and in pain is brought into Castle Town, and Cooper isn't around to help him. It's up to Blaine to help him to find his way home, but when it turns out that Kurt is from another world, things become more and more complicated.

Notes: Hello everyone! It is time for the annual @klaineadvent! I am so happy that this challenge is still around, even though it's been nine (nine!) years since Glee ended. I have been sitting on this story idea for a couple of months and I am happy to share it. The title is named after the song Ever After from Into the Woods.

I do want to quickly point out that the premise is based on The Accidental Turn series from J.M. Frey, and credit for this idea goes to her. That being said, apart from the initial idea, any other similarities are purely coincidental. Truly. I don't really remember what happened in those books, since it's been years since I read them.

Also, you may have noticed that my 2023 Challenge is still a WIP. It is what it is. I aimed to finish it before the 2024 Challenge, and that didn't work out. I do want to finish it, but writing should be fun, and pushing myself to just churn out words wasn't fun. And since writing should be fun, and I am happy to share this story, I'll be focusing on this one. But we'll see where this one will end up.

Alright. Word vomit is over. Enjoy!

AO3 | S&C

--

SCAN

“Once upon a time, in the gorgeous lands of Daltonia, the Royal family was leading the kingdom in a time of peace. But the king and queen were given a prophecy. Their firstborn would be the hero of legend, the Chosen One, the user of the All Power, the one to save us all from an unseen threat. As a result, when prince Cooper was born, the festivities were lavish, but there was also a feeling of apprehension. What threat would loom over Daltonia?

On Cooper’s tenth birthday, that became clear. The evil sorcerer known as the Pink Dagger, had been secretly planting seeds of disarray around the kingdom. Seeds that would manipulate time. The Pink Dagger tried to manipulate the past in order to alter the present and change a possible future. The young Cooper knew what he had to do, so when he was only ten years old, he and his friends from the Knight Academy set out on a quest to stop the Pink Dagger-”

“And meanwhile, the new queen gave birth to a second son!” Wes yells happily.

David groans as he looks up from his electronic parchment.

“Damnit, Wes, I was getting to that!” he says towards his friend.

“Well, hurry up then! We’re all waiting for Blaine to make an entrance.”

“Guys-” Blaine tries to cut in, but all his friends cheer in agreement with Wes.

“Hush,” David says, “I haven’t even gotten around to the death of the first queen and the king remarrying. I am nowhere near Blaine’s birth. That happens after Cooper’s quest! It would fit better in the intro of the second book.”

“Second book?” Trent bemoans.

“Cooper’s had eight big quests. I cannot put them all in one! That would be idiocy.”

“It’s idiocy to write down Cooper’s adventures in the first place,” Nick argues, “As in, who would read them? Everyone in the kingdom already knows of them.”

Nick is right, of course. Cooper is Daltonia’s biggest hero. His eight year long battle with the Pink Dagger has led to Cooper’s victory, and to the safety of Daltonia. Cooper’s spent most of his childhood honing the All Power. Every member of the Royal family has powers, including Blaine, but the prophecy was right: Cooper truly is the most powerful royal that Daltonia’s ever known.

And Cooper also makes sure that everyone knows it.

“Did Cooper ask you to write a book series about him?” Blaine asks. It’s something Cooper would do.

But David shakes his head.

“Oh David,” Jeff whines, “Why?”

“I am a historian!” David says passionately, “But I must also think of the future. Writing this all down in a simple languages is a way for children to learn about their past.”

“Yes. You’re a historian, definitely not a writer,” Wes jokes, which leads to a playful pat on the back from David.

Although Blaine thinks David has a point. Honestly, Cooper’s his brother, and even Blaine’s had to learn about his brother’s adventures through stories, since he was too young to comprehend them when they were happening. Blaine definitely remembers the darker times, when the Pink Dagger was growing stronger, but his mother has always tried to shield him from most of the destruction and the dangers Cooper and his friends were facing.

Besides, if David needs a story, then Cooper’s life is perfect. It’s not as if Blaine has anything interesting to share. He’s always been the younger brother, the second prince, and what not, and Blaine likes it that way. No one’s ever needed him for something big, and he’s glad. Cooper loves all the attention, and he can have it.

“Okay, quit interrupting me,” David says.

David keeps talking about his story, and Blaine’s friends keep adding comments. Blaine turns back to his potions. He scans his digital potion book and listens along with the others, and also occasionally chimes in.

But the sun goes down early in the colder months, and it’s time for Blaine’s friends to leave. They all put on their winter cloaks and say their goodbyes.

“I will send a bird with a draft!” David says as he closes the door behind him.

And just like that, Blaine’s alone, and he’s glad. He loves his friends, truly, but they can be a bit much. Not only that, but everyone’s turned twenty, which is the age that people in Daltonia start thinking about their Passion, and it’s all everyone talks about. The Passion decides what you do for the kingdom. Some have already found it, like David, but others, like Blaine, are lost.

Blaine stirs his big pot with potion. He’s been enjoying alchemy, so maybe that is his Passion? He can become the royal alchemist. It’s not as if he’s becoming the future king, since that’s Cooper’s calling.

Blaine is Royal, though. He has the magical powers, but he hasn’t figure out how to mix (ha!) those with his alchemy.

He keeps stirring in his pot, and he thinks the potion is done. Great. He wanted to finish this before dinner. He and his parents try to have dinner together every evening, and Blaine likes it. Cooper joins when he’s in Castle Town, but most of his time is spent elsewhere in the kingdom. He’s doing all sorts of heroic stuff.

Blaine pours the potion in a glass and smells it. It’s a calming potion. He’s eager to try it.

But then, a maid barges through the door, making Blaine drop his glass in shock.

“Where is your brother?” she yells.

“I don’t know,” Blaine answers, “He started another quest this morning. Something about a mystical cave up north?”

Blaine’s not entirely sure. He tries to keep track of his brother’s heroics, but there are just too many of them.

He crouches down to pick up the shards of glass that’s lying in the spilled potion.

“Then, we need you.”

Blaine drops the shard he had just picked up.

“Me?” Blaine asks. He’s the only one in this tower room, but he still asks to be sure. No one’s ever needed him for anything significant. What could possibly be happening?

“Someone’s been brought in. He’s hurt. You can heal, right?”

Blaine doesn’t have Cooper’s healing powers, but he is interested in alchemy. He’s made some healing potions with success. He can try.

“Okay,” Blaine says.

He takes some of his healing potions from the shelves and he follows the maid out of the door, leaving the shards behind.

[reddoll123]

The Eternal Flower (on AO3)

Genre: Skyrim!AU, Fantasy, Sci-fi, Medieval, Androids, Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Humor, Found Family, EXO OT11

Rated: PG-15

Length: Chaptered (Ongoing as it's being edited to replace Y!fan's name, it'll still be a 20 chapter fic like it originally was)

Pairings: Kaisoo, Xiuhan, Baekxing, Taohun (mentions of Suchen too)

Short Description: Deep within the lost city of El Dorado lies a flower that’s said to transcend space and time. No person’s ever gotten to it and made it back out alive, but, Luhan’s no ordinary person.

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

Love from the other side

by sidekick_hero

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Billy Hargrove Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Vampire Eddie Munson, Nurse Steve Harrington, Blood Drinking, Mild Gore, Vampire Jason Carver, Vampire Billy Hargrove, don't worry they both die, Minor Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler Words: 6 827 Chapters: 2/2

Summary

In his mind Steve goes over the things he knows. Eddie is a vampire. A vampire who killed another vampire to save Steve’s life. To save Chrissy’s life. Eddie is dying. He may already be dead, but it looks like vampires can die again. Permanently. Eddie wants his blood.

[venator-signum]

kamala khan would have the most horrendous ao3 author's notes known to man

"hey guys sorry the update is late i switched places with an avenger (ajdgrhsh literally crying) and a really cool space scientist lady and then got into a fight and some alien dudes wrecked my house and then I met Nick fury and I was literal space it was crazy and I had to help save the universe and saw said scientist lady give up her life to save all of us... anyways hope you like the new fic, branching out with an arranged marriage au for this one!!!"

[pinespinespinespinespines]

"They say he just appeared in the park tonight out of nowhere"

When Ford arrives in alternate Euclidea and sees alternate Bill for the first time 😳 part of my A Better Bill au (from this post)

silly billy under the cut

[lockandkeyblade]

First Rule of Ghost Fight Club

Hey look ma, there's a multichapter now!

Several months ago the GiW, flush off the success of having the Anti-Ecto Acts passed– even if they had to hide it beneath several hundred adjustments to agricultural and infrastructure legislation– made a mistake.

Their little campaign of hatred was going well, maybe too well– so why not make it public? Why not grasp for a little more power, incite some torch and pitchforks? There were a dozen roads the stupid bastards could've taken, but they wanted the shortcut. The highway.

They decided that their next campaign against the ghosts would be to release several videos highlighting the utter destruction left in the wake of their fights. Show America there was something worth fighting on their hometurf. Make them angry. Make them vicious.

Jason figures they’d expected some backlash for it. There would've been a PR guy, or ten, or twenty, paid the big bucks just to sit around and consider it all. He'd interrupted enough board room meetings in his youth past life that he's got a pretty damn good idea of what to visualize; a bunch of white guys, forty plus, sitting around and deciding how people they did not know, understand, or give two fucks about were likely to receive this kind of news.

Ghosts were real, and terrible. The slogans were equally as bad, of course. And that wasn't on the PR team- that was on whatever dead-eyed millennial got paid way too little to give a fuck. Grandma can't cook you pies like she used to- she's too busy eating your soul. Little Timmy who fell down the well has taken one too many pointers from Samara Morgan. That kinda shit.

Someone was still gonna care about 'em. Someone was gonna call this inhumane. Someone would look into that Act and realize ghosts; talking, once-living people (some of 'em), had less rights than the average lab rat. Someone would start a protest.

The GiW would've thought about that and prepared for it. They must've felt invincible enough to chance it anyway, because they started uploading their 'documentaries' on the barbarity of ghosts online. Probably stroking their cliché ass moustaches and puffing cheap cigars all the while.

The fuckers would've expected all that. What they didn't expect, when blasting the world with their little softcore snuff vids, was how into it the world became.

Ghost fights? Were fucking badass.

And now the whole world knows it.

Gotham, especially, knows it. Gotham loves it. This was the kind of thing that was made to take over the nightlife of an already unhinged city; sports bars replacing football with the newest renditions of that one robot dude smacking down a couple of buildings, taking bets on what was gonna get him first– Danger Twink, Little Red Flying Hood, Morally Ambiguous Scientists, or The Man.

Proper names for each entity- and every other painfully stereotypical character involved- were hard to come by, initially. Most of those founding videos had the sound swapped out for the screams of children, flat voiceovers of scientists reminding the people that ghosts don't feel, so don't feel for them.

The bars played 'em on mute and blasted their own tunes over the top. Others had their own live MCs to commentate on the action. Robot dude got the name Gadget Goatee, the sweetass punk rock girl was On Fleek. The ghost seemingly addicted to boxes was Box Ghost. Names like that. When camera crews of reputable (and not so reputable) sports channels started sneaking into Amity Park, some names got adjusted. Some didn't.

The day pre-fight interviews began to happen was the day Jason seriously started considering why the Justice League hadn't gotten involved yet, enough to ease that question into conversation with Dickiebird. To sate his curiosity, no other reason. Turns out, Danger Twink had asked them not to. And the Justice League, full of some of the most anal and controlling people Jason has ever had the misfortune to meet, had listened to him. The petition signed by almost the entirety of Amity Park's population had probably helped.

Apparently, the city didn't want or need help. On the fighting front, at least. Nightwing is as in the dark for what, precisely, had been shared about why that was, but it was enough for Batman to raise the requirements for permission to be obtained by any hero wanting to go into Amity Park’s space– and for the rest of the founding members to approve them. 

JL's continued efforts to flatten the GiW and their miserable Anti-Ecto Acts had been cheerfully encouraged. Everything else, though? That was Danger Twink's problem. Or Phantom's joy, if you asked Jason's opinion on the matter. Not that anyone did.

The reality these days was that the government agency, high off their own fumes- as they often were- managed to fuck themselves right out of existence. And the ghosts? The ghost fights?

They were there to stay. Impressively contained within Amity Park with a startling level of confidence and control, all thanks to one girl on a hoverboard and a dead guy.

Place was even considered a chill place to visit, contrary to the continually televised property damage. The fights continued to maintain a level of popularity that was almost feverish, stealing their way into primetime television, spawning a couple dozen streaming services that would inevitably cannibalise themselves.

Oh, Jason could see the appeal of those fights. Hell, if he thought he could get away with it, he’d join ‘em. Sure, most of Gotham was into it for the more obvious reasons. Vicious mauling and extensive infrastructure repair that wasn't their problem, for once. Something new to bet on, some cool people (dead, alive, or never alive in the first place) to throw merchandise around for. The phenomenal amount of simping, the utterly batshit rule 34 that could be found online. A few ghost themed cocktails. All that good shit.

Jason just liked the sound.

He hadn't gotten into the videos until he could hear 'em, the ghosts themselves. It was something he kept to himself, seeing as- hey, no one else was mentioning it. His family was likely to think him insane again, so that was another deterrent. Nah, let folks think Red Hood enjoyed having that shit on in the background for...inspiration. Of the this might happen to the next person who crosses me variety.

But nah. He just, liked the sound.

It was like a secret concert, just for him. Some of those fights might as well be fucking operas. Full on musicals with a bit more green blood to 'em. Every ghost sang in a way Jason couldn't describe. There was a vibrato to it all, otherworldly and entrancing. A resonance that seemed to sink past his skin, right down to his soul.

They sing about obsession. They talk about what matters most to them, the parts of their unlife that are their beating hearts, their drive, their love. Every fight is an illicit fantasy, an almost embarrassing revelation of the people beneath the caricatures– Gotham sees neat fights, and Jason hears souls. 

It was simultaneously off-putting and addictive.

And fuck him sideways, but sometimes? The songs were kind of cute.

Especially the ones for Danger Twink. Most of the songs were for Danger Twink. Phantom, as he kept trying to tell the media, over and over again. The kid barely looked legal, though it was hard to tell when he was, y'know, six feet under. Brat could be 

Bruce's great grandpa several times over, for all he knew.

But he wasn't, if the songs were anything to go by. As far as the ghosts were concerned, this implied to be twenty year-old was, in ghost terms, baby. He was baby.

All the other ghosts knew it. All the other ghosts adored it. A solid fifty percent of the songs Jason could hear, day in, day out, were basically gooshy renditions of look at our small king. Our light. He has grown so much.

That Phantom’s response is usually the equivalent of mom please, you’re embarrassing me, as he makes a crater out of the earth with his opponent? Classic.

In a way, this whole shebang the world was addicted to was just a community trying to rear their child. Their potentially important child, or just important to them. Jason really didn’t know which way it was leaning, and it’s not like he could ask.

Really, he was just content to witness, maybe fantasize, a little, about what kind of songs they’d sing under his fists. What kind of song Phantom might sing, if Jason pinned him into the dirt.

One video changes that.

It’s a new one. Gotham is terribly excited by it; wherever Jason goes, he sees advertisements and hears people talking because– new ghost. New ghost. A new challenger approaches. The bars and the television companies keep any hints of who or what this late entry to the game might be, and it’s smart. Everybody’s talking about it. Fuck, even Tim is talking about it, and that little idiot hates the whole thing. Thinks it’s sickening that any being’s pain could be turned into sport.

Not that he’s wrong, just, y’know. No one’s really being hurt. 

Jason thinks he might also be… a little anticipatory. He’s gotten awfully familiar with the usual roster, their songs something that rattles off in his head throughout the day. He knows– heh. He knows what Phantom sings back to them. Intimately. Has that part memorized, and he’s not ashamed to admit it.

He wants to hear Phantom sing about something new. That’s what’s exciting.

It’s exciting right up until he’s slouched down at a bar, eyes fixed to the screen and the cheers of the crowd around him drowned out by a tune that turns his blood to ice, stirs up something that’s been quiet in him for years, until his eyes flash green.

Because the new ghost doesn’t want to play with Phantom. He wants to own him. Like a dog. With discordant notes that sound like laughter, high pitched and crazed, like a metal pipe slamming into his face, over and over again–

And Phantom is defiant, glorious, powerful.

Afraid.

Jason doesn’t remember getting onto his bike, but as he heads east, he knows exactly where he’s going. Fuck permission, fuck the Justice League, and fuck Phantom for trying to handle that sort of shit on his own.

He doesn’t know how he’s gonna do it, but this Plasmius guy? Is about to learn what it’s like to die. For the second time.

[driftingdreams]

New life series fanfic idea where lifer winners remember the games but because Joel is Joel he doesn't care, so everyone is surprised when he continues to act the same, if not a little more egotistical about winning. Potential for some angst but it's all a comedy now. He's built another car on Hermitcraft.

[bobbinfire]

When you meet that mini version of you don't you want to use them as a blunt force object to mow down your enemies? Yeah...TFOne Megatron too...

The Deceiver chapter 9-

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60638107/chapters/170827963

<Previous chapter art

[whoopsyeahokay]

Wreck It Like A Rumor

summary: prompt fill. Wally saves you from a joke gone terribly wrong the night of the Homecoming dance. what unfolds after is a friendship you desperately cling to as you try to survive the rest of term... what you don't know is that Wally Clark is deader than a doornail until you learn it the hard way. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. AU - canon divergence. CWC (canon what canon). single mention of a mental health slur. attempted assault. protective behavior. angsty themes. hurt/comfort. bullying. HEA.

note: author hasn't watched S2. all knowledge of new content comes exclusively from GIFs on this platform. (i got tired of filtering Wally content. he's my babe. i am weak.)

bon reading, frens

___________________________🐦‍🔥

Wreck It Like A Rumor

They disguised themselves as friends.

You should've known when the one person out of the group you considered a sister—the girl you'd glommed onto in elementary, who'd been by your side through every shitty thing that'd unraveled your life at the time. You know, your real friend—started acting shifty.

Eyes down, nervous laugh, not giving you a straight answer when you asked her if she was okay.

"Help! Anyone, please! Let me out of here!"

You pound your fist against the door, tears streaming down your face. Mascara smudged, nail polish chipped, kicking and banging and screaming until your skin is red and blotchy.

It's Homecoming. You never went to the dances, tend to avoid a lot of high school social events like the plague since everyone in your grade (and others) treats you as if you're contagious.

But it's junior year, and your best friend begged you to join her as her ride or die since she wasn't super comfortable with her new group of friends yet.

You threw caution to the wind and said yes.

For Oli. Olivia Hazelwood. The awkward daughter of Split River's old-money elite couple, Henry and Marion Hazelwood. You and Oli were awkward together. Outsiders who found a home in each other. You shared everything with her and thought she did the same, but now you question how true that was.

Because, along with her new friends—who she insisted were your new friends, too—she'd locked you in the secret fallout shelter in the school basement.

Cruelty packaged as a practical joke.

You heard Travis cackle to the others before calling through the door, "Get comfortable, it'll be a while 'til the janitor comes to get you!"

It's fucking Friday. You don't know Mr. South's schedule—hell, you don't know if he even knows about the fallout shelter—but you assume he won't be back until Monday like the rest of the staff.

Someone will do a walk-through, you tell yourself, gasping for air as you pace around the space. It's dark, the only light coming from the weird dashboard on the clunky equipment lining one wall.

How Travis and the others found out about the fallout shelter isn't a mystery. You told them, stupidly, when you were trying to bond with Elitzia and Marybelle. Split River trivia you'd collected through hyperfixation research. Hours spent diving down rabbit holes after binging Fallout with Oli over a weekend.

Nuclear winter. Chernobyl. Bunkers. The Cold War.

God, why'd you say anything? Should've kept your mouth shut. Should've known that Travis and his friends weren't actually trying to buddy up, because you're still the school pariah.

After all, you gave Jake Tremblay crabs after you rejected him in 9th. You were a homewrecker and forced yourself on Matt Wilson when his girlfriend caught him shoving his unwanted hand up your skirt. You told Claire Zomer last year that you liked to wear diapers and be bottle-fed like a baby as a result of neglectful parents after you refused to do her English homework.

The mill churned out rumor after rumor, and though you tried to fight it at first, it became too much. Like squashing an ant hill. You stopped, people lost interest when you didn't react, but those rumors still circulate.

Sometimes, new ones join the rotation depending on who you piss off just trying to make it to the last bell.

Oli was the only person who stood by you until Elitzia extended her friendship.

Now you're alone. Stuck in the creepy fallout shelter in the dark. Suffocating on shadows as you double back to the door and start banging your palms against it again. Oli knows you're claustrophobic. She was there when you trusted Sarah Thompson in 5th Grade and climbed into her toy chest.

What is so other about you that makes people hate you so much?

You gulp in harsh breaths, sobbing out exhales, losing energy quickly as you smack and bang the door. You can't hear the music, but you know it's still loud, the dance in full swing two floors above.

"Please," You cough, shaking, "Please, let me out..."

‗•‗

Wally sighs. Tonight's been one giant letdown. He doesn't know why he got his hopes up, especially since it's been obvious from the get-go that Maddie isn't ready for the things Wally wants to try with her. Romance. Dates. Hand-holding and affection and inside jokes.

He understands. Of course he does. Maddie's new-dead. She was murdered. She and her best (and very alive) friend are trying to solve the case, to help her remember so she can find closure or whatever.

Why would she want to take a break from that and hang out at a dumb dance with Wally? Who's been trapped in limbo for the last forty years; same four walls, same seven faces to interact with. Same. Same. Same. Same. Fuck.

It's fine. It's totally fine.

As he lies on the grass, staring up at the stars, the quiet outside giving him space to sulk, he hears it. Bang. Help! Bang bang bang. Please!

It's faint, no louder than a breeze, but consistent. Wally gets to his feet and tries to follow the sound. Back into the school, down the steps, along the first-floor hallway to the basement door. It muffles for a moment when he goes the wrong way, toward the janitor's office, so he backtracks and hurries deeper into the bowels of the school.

Despite having the run of the place, no holds barred, he hasn't been this way before. Never saw a reason to go to the boiler room, not even after Maddie took a seat at the Afterlife Support Group.

The sound loudens, banging and muted pleading, someone clearly in distress. Wally slows his steps as he nears a door he's never seen before. It's old, white paint peeling, made of metal. It shakes when whoever's behind it starts slamming their fists again. Renewed vigor, higher-pitched agony, "Please!! Anyone!!?"

Wally scans the outside of the door for a latch or handle and notices the deadbolts attached to the top and bottom of the doorframe. Quickly, he undoes them and yanks the door open, stumbling back when a figure slumps out.

Small. Trembling. A girl whose makeup is stained with tearstreaks and whose eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale from fright. She's breathing heavy, sniffling, rubbing the back of her wrist under her nose as she gradually calms.

"Uh..."

And that's as much as Wally gets out before she's on her feet, arms around her middle, shoulders up. She takes one look at Wally, mumbles a wet thanks, and then charges through the boiler room, down the corridor, and out of the basement.

Wally's stunned. Because he knows for a fact that that girl is alive.

Not only did she look right at Wally, she spoke to him. Like, to his face. Eyeballs met eyeballs. For the first time in a long time, Wally was part of the living world again.

"No freaken way..."

‗•‗

You keep your head down as you walk toward your locker. Headphones on, blaring angry music to quell the crash and surge of emotion inside you. You're embarrassed, humiliated, hateful. Rightfully so, you think, because the last person in the world you trusted betrayed you in the worst way you can imagine.

Oli tried to apologize over the weekend. A novel of a text that repeated several times how sorry she is about what happened. How she didn't know that was the plan. I swear, I thought they were just going to close the door for a minute.

So why didn't you come back?

She never answered. Either ashamed of her non-actions or annoyed that you won't forgive her as easily as you used to, you don't care.

The guy who saved you—tall, handsome, dressed like a silverscreen leading man—looked just like someone that group kept in the middle of their circle-jerk. Which was why you didn't stick around to thank him properly. He was probably just a little less bad; has what amounts to a conscience for those assholes, and decided to cut the joke short out of guilt.

Definitely a senior, you figured, since you didn't recognize him from your class.

Makes things easier. You intend to steer clear of him just like you will the others. You've got enough on your plate, the newest rumor sticky-tacked to your locker when you finally arrive.

Crybaby got herself locked in a room and couldn't get out! Accentuated with photoshopped baby bottles and crying emojis.

It's stupid. Juvenile. But it burns. You tear the paper off your locker, crumple it up, and march to the trash to shove it through the lid. Even through your music, you can hear the chorus of laughter. Some of it nervous, as if going along with it to avoid the same attention Travis and his cronies give you. Some of it hearty and genuine.

You swallow your discomfort and go back to your locker, wrench the lock open, and almost violently swing the door right into someone's face. Thankfully, that someone catches it before it does any damage.

"Whoa there, Helen Sharp, I'm not here to steal your man." The guy chuckles, giving you what you assume is his most charming smile.

It rubs you the wrong way. You glare back, ignoring the comment as you begin to rifle through your things, exchanging last night's homework for the textbook and notes you need for first period. He clears his throat, keeps standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and watching you.

"So, you can't hear me," He mutters, and, weirdly, it doesn't sound like a snide question. Rather, his voice is heavily laced with disappointment.

You stop and straighten, staring right at him when you cock your head and say, "I can hear you just fine." Then, "You come to make me thank you again?" Just like Mike Bower earlier this semester, who pinned you to the vending machine after the cafeteria emptied, demanding you show him your gratitude for lending you a pencil during the History test.

The guy swallows and shakes his head, eyes wide and mouth agape. As if you speaking to him is the most astonishing thing that's ever happened to him.

Your glare intensifies.

‗•‗

Wally can't believe it. You can see him. You're talking to him.

Kind of.

You're mostly scowling at him, but that doesn't matter. He'll take what he can get. He knows you're likely still upset about Friday, how you got locked in the fallout shelter somehow. Which, the fallout shelter was a whole discovery on its own that helped unlock some of Maddie's memories over the weekend, so if anyone should be grateful, really, it's Wally.

"N-no," He stutters.

His shock swiftly melts into excitement, big grin sweeping his face, and he giddily follows you toward your first class after you slam your locker closed and start walking.

"So...are you okay? You didn't look so good, last time I saw you."

You heave a sigh, "I'm fine." And it sounds an awful lot like something you've been repeating to yourself until you believe it. Clearly, it isn't working.

"Right. Yeah. Of course you are." Wally nods sagely. "...What's your name?"

You come to an abrupt halt in the hallway and turn to face him, brows furrowed, giving him a slow once-over that makes his heart skip a beat. Now that he can see your face better, he swallows thickly. Jesus, you're beautiful. Even scowly and off-put. Pretty as a peace lily.

"Why?" You ask, and, wow, okay, has no one ever asked you for your name before?

Wally hesitates, not quite understanding why you're being so hostile until he hears it. A couple of students behind him, snickering to each other, commenting on how, the fucking weirdo's lost her mind. She's so fucked up.

Spinning on his heel, Wally faces the students, ready to put them in their place before he remembers that they can't see him...can they? No. They can't. They look right through him at you, snorting and shaking their heads in pity like you're some kind of headcase.

When he turns around again, you're gone.

‗•‗

It takes Wally a few days before he finds you again. Outside, sitting in a patch of sun, eating your bagged lunch alone as you lean against the side of the school. Without preamble, he plops down beside you.

He spent his time doing a little research. Between helping Maddie and Simon investigate, obviously, he's a good person who has his priorities straight. Still, you were always on his mind. The gorgeous living girl who can see him.

You ignore him, bite into your PB&J, and stare into the middle distance as if Wally doesn't exist. That's fine. He understands now. And, holy shit, the things he'd do if he had a body to do them in. He'd fuck every last one of your tormentors up. Break egos before breaking bones. Guy, girl, he doesn't discriminate; he hates what he's heard.

Can't be sure none of it is real, but from the way you shrink when he keeps his attention on you, he doesn't think any of it is.

"You okay?" He ventures again, voice low and kind.

You shrug. No snarky comment, no anger. Just...resignation.

"I, uh, heard what they say about you..."

You snort, "Great. You come to give me words of wisdom, oh wise one? It's just high school, it won't matter when you get out of here," You mock, clearly some bullshit you've been spoon fed before.

Wally shakes his head, "Nah. Nothing like that." He gives you a smile. Cheeky, "High school's all there is. It really does shape your whole life."

You choke on your next bite and then give him a look of horror. When you catch his impish smirk, your eyes narrow.

"You're an asshole."

"You're kind of a grump." Wally shoots back good-naturedly.

"I think I've earned it."

Wally's smile falters slightly, but he makes an effort to remain upbeat. Softly, sincerely, he says, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that."

"It is what it is." You respond, equally as soft, gaze on the ground.

You and Wally sit in silence for a moment. It doesn't feel awkward or tense the way Wally expected it to. Instead, it's peaceful. A welcome change from the mounting drama he's experiencing on Split River High's metaphysical side.

Eventually, you seem to relax. You and he exchange names. He doesn't give you his last name, not quite ready for that conversation, though he's sure you'll figure it out sooner rather than later. His letterman is a dead give away (no pun intended).

"Do you...have any friends?" He asks bluntly after talking around the point for a few minutes.

Tensing, you stop chewing the last bite of your sandwich, gaze distant as your face slackens in what Wally can only describe as hurt.

"I did. But then she helped her new friends lock me in a fallout shelter even though she knows I'm claustrophobic."

"Fuck..." Wally exhales sharply, "I'm sorry."

"You say that a lot," You accuse, slanting him another suspicious look. "Why are you sorry? Did you know that was the plan? Are you friends with Travis and Marybell and Elitzia?"

Wally tries to keep up with your questions. You must've been thinking those things based on how rapidly you asked them, and it takes Wally aback.

"No," He replies, "I don't know any of those people."

You relax again once you've stared into Wally's fucking skull to see if he's lying. Apparently, you can do that since you give a small nod and settle back against the wall.

"Thank you," You say after another minute of silence. "Really. For...getting me out of there."

"Yeah, of course," Wally says. "I might look like an asshole, but I'm not actually one."

You peek at him, a tiny smile forming on your lips that makes Wally's heart soar, "I'm starting to get that."

‗•‗

Your unconventional friendship with Wally grows from there.

When Wally isn't busy saving the day with Maddie and Charley and Rhonda, he spends his time haunting you. His own little joke, because it appears you haven't figured out how dead he is, and as more days pass, he's more reluctant to reveal that spooky truth.

In the span of weeks, you blossom like a flower for him. He learns how giggly you are when you aren't shielding yourself from the disgusting things your classmates sling at you. It's not often, but it's often enough that Wally never sees you as anything but reserved and quiet when you're between classes.

At this point, he's heard the slew of rumors about you. Gross and inflated, a game of broken telephone that chips away at you a little more every day.

Except when you're with Wally. It's as if his presence is helping you heal, and he can't keep the warm, fuzzy feelings from growing in his chest. Bigger and bigger with every encounter.

You've taken to studying in the library until the very last second you're allowed to stay. Tucked in the back, muffling laughter when Wally tells you about things that happened to him when he was alive. He omits details that might give away the era, but shares everything he can.

God, he loves the sound of your laughter. How your eyes sparkle when you're happy. How your cheeks flush when he sneaks in something flirtatious. How you bite your lip after you say something suggestive in return.

You're not exactly tactile, probably scarred from things that've happened in your past, things that've been said to you, or things that've been done to you. (Wally wants to punch everyone, teachers included.) It makes it easier to hide his deadness. However, it's getting to a point where Wally has a hard time remembering not to reach out and fail at tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear when you stare up at him with those sweet, joyful eyes.

There's always, at the very least, an inch of space between you and Wally. An inch he so desperately wishes he could eradicate. Either way, he can't break that barrier, the energy emitted from a living body preventing him from touching you, even if you did finally welcome it.

You bring him homemade cookies the day you reveal that your parents are rarely around. Break his heart, then heal it with chocolate chip, his favorite. He has to wait for you to turn away before he picks one up, so you don't see how the cookie never actually leaves the container.

When he bites into it, he moans, filthy, sexual, not even exaggerated because, "God damn girl, these are delicious."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Wally takes another bite, moans again, eyes closed as he savors the taste, "Best I've ever had."

You blush, duck your head shyly, "Thanks, Wally." And, fuck, he wants to kiss you. All over your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead. Lips. Deep and slow as he cups your jaw, angles your head just right, pulls you into his lap and—

"Earth to Wally," Your voice breaks through the mist, "You still in there?" Then, to yourself, "What the hell did I put in these?"

Wally blinks himself back to the present, "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I asked you if you wanted to try the oatmeal-peanut butter ones."

Very seriously, "Yes. And everything else you've made ever, if you don't mind."

He wants to offer to make you banana pancakes or a burrito or anything to show off his skills in the kitchen, but he isn't sure how the food he makes would translate in the living world. His stomach clenches, eyes sad, as he begins to think about all the things he can't do with you. All the things you don't know he can't do with you because he doesn't want to lose you when you learn the truth.

Maddie didn't lose Simon, a part of him thinks, but while that's true, Maddie and Simon are best friends. Have been best friends since fuck knows when. Simon was willing to throw himself behind Maddie being a ghost because of how close they are.

Wally isn't certain you'd react the same way.

‗•‗

Things between you and Wally are...amazing? No, that's too simple a word to describe how his friendship has basically turned your whole high school experience on its head.

He's quickly become the best part of your day. He makes you laugh, helps you with homework when he isn't distracting you from it. He's sweet and compassionate and thoughtful. He remembers everything you tell him, even the mundane, silly shit.

You've never experienced that before. Not even with Oli, who had a knack of steering every conversation back to herself. It wasn't in a rude or self-righteous way, honestly, it stemmed more from insecurity and external processing.

But, yeah, it got old sometimes, especially when you just needed someone to hear you. See you. Know you.

Things with Wally are so incredible that you're even able to ignore the newest rumor about you making the rounds. How you're crazy, talking to yourself like schizo, you need meds, why do they let her near us? Dude, she could be dangerous.

None of it matters anymore. Oli's been fully indoctrinated by her new friends, ignores or avoids you, unable to look you in the eye anymore since dying her hair to look like Chloe's and dressing herself like Kirsten.

Wally has your back. Comforts you with humor or listens when you need to vent. Mostly, it's just bliss. And it's alarming because you've never felt so close to someone like this. You've exposed yourself to him in ways you never let yourself before. Not with Oli, not with your parents, not with anyone.

But he draws it out of you, bit by bit, your personality slowly reestablishing itself after years of being smothered behind the walls you had to build to protect yourself.

He's safe.

And he's hot like burning. Like putting your hand over a lit element.

Another new feeling unlocked; you want to feel his hands on you, even for a moment. Want to feel his lips on yours. Want all of him so wholly and greedily it makes your head spin.

Yes. Everything with Wally is perfect.

Until, one day, he simply...disappears.

‗•‗

It's not Wally's fault. He doesn't mean to do it. He wouldn't have, he promises. Especially not to you. But, Wally has his turn getting stuck in the fallout shelter; Mr. Martin unmasks himself as a bad guy; and Maddie's body is alive out there being used by Janet.

Things go from moderately unhinged to fucking hectic overnight.

He stays away only to help Maddie. Finds out, shit, Yuri Vyarheychyk isn't actually a looper. Discovers a lot of things he never wanted to discover. Wally's lost and despondent, and can't seem to get his head above water long enough to seek you out and apologize for abandoning you for two weeks.

He's relieved when he finally catches sight of you again, a smile on his face as he watches you help put the gym together for his high school reunion.

Just as he's about to approach, he notices you go eerily still, staring at something he can't see from this angle. He steps a little closer, cautious, heart in his throat when he finally gets a glimpse.

"Oh, no."

‗•‗

You were roped into helping set up the space for the class of '84 reunion. You'd reacted vehemently when Travis made a joke at your expense during Math and Mr. Davis immediately issued you detention.

This is how you earn back his respect. Carrying stacks of chairs and fussing over an easel that's to support a picture of that guy the stadium is named after. You're feeling bitter, neglected, alone all over again since Wally hasn't surfaced, and the rumors are starting to pick at vulnerable flesh.

Then, Ms. Monroe clucks at you, hands you the blown-up photo to fit onto the easel. You don't notice at first, and then the shock swoops in and leaves you breathless. Gaping wide-eyed at the face staring back at you.

Wally's smile is exactly how it looks when you say something he calls 'cute'. Charming. Cheerful.

The world fades away, time stands still, and you almost buckle under the realization that you made up a whole person to keep you company. You really are fucking crazy, just like everyone said.

"Hey..." You hear Wally's voice, but it can't be real, pulled from some broken part of your brain that shattered after the fallout shelter.

Slowly, you pan to your right, Wally towering over you, as solid as he was the last time you saw him. You glance back at the photo, then to Wally, rinse, repeat until you have whiplash. A tiny, wrecked sound escapes you and your body shivers, the weight of what this means bubbling inside you like acid.

"Hey, no, it's okay," The figment of Wally Clark, class of '84, dead dead dead, tries to reassure you. "You're not crazy, babe, I'm right here. You can see me."

His words do nothing to calm you down. You need help. Professional help, hard meds, a straitjacket, and a padded room.

Another trembling whimper and you wheeze, "They were right... I'm... I'm insane."

"No!" Wally insists, stumbling after you as you force your feet to move and head for the door.

Ms. Monroe calls out, but you ignore her, not bothering to think up an excuse as you leave.

"Leave me alone," You beg the figment of Wally, covering your ears with your hands to block out his voice as he urges you to believe him, that he's real, he's a ghost, he's been here for forty years, babe, please, stop!

You don't stop. You start running. Out the door, into the parking lot, off school grounds. You run until you get home, where you lock yourself in—parents still in Dubai for one of your dad's conferences, the house empty and cold.

Sliding to the ground, back against the door, you tuck your knees to your chest and cry.

Alone. Again. Always.

‗•‗

Wally's heartbroken after you leave. Never had he ever thought you'd become that important to him until you made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. Because you think he's a figment of your imagination. Some trauma response.

He tries twice to convince you he's real, but it doesn't work. You shrink further into yourself, pale and placid, not even challenging the remarks made behind your back like you'd started doing again.

Unfortunately, shit hits the fan and Wally can't make time, plowing through scars, saving Maddie from herself, encouraging her to run back into her body.

All throughout, he longs for you. Wishes he'd been upfront from the beginning. He'd just wanted to be selfish for a while. To keep you. His own little secret, beautiful and bold, his to indulge in and cherish and...love.

Fuck.

Now, he stands in front of a door, a thick, bright light burning on the other side of it as he holds his key. He stares at the door, feels the warmth beckoning him. There's nothing left for him here. He's done his time, languished within the school for too many years.

Wally takes a step forward.

‗•‗

Without Wally's presence to ground you, you start to unravel. Piece by piece, whittled away to nothing but anger and fear. Right now it's predominantly fear, in large extent due to the empty halls and lack of teachers. There's a commotion outside that drew everyone with any authority out there.

It's well past the last bell, and Travis was leaving the locker rooms when you were headed to the theater to grab a notebook you forgot on one of the seats during Drama. Apparently, despite being fucked in the head, you've been a lot more appealing lately.

"You got a great smile when you aren't being a bitch," Travis leers, crowding you against a wall.

He's big. Huge. Built like a brick shithouse even at seventeen. He's got more muscle on him than you could ever hope for, and the strength of the linebacker he is behind him.

"Get away from me," You demand through clenched teeth, hands shoving uselessly at his chest. He doesn't budge an inch.

"Nah, don't think so, freak." He smirks, massive hand around your throat. Not too tight, just enough to hold you there with the promise of pain if you try to struggle.

That's when you start screaming.

‗•‗

Wally's head shoots up, and he drops the football, takes several long strides toward the exit door. The sound gets louder, clearer, as he nears. It's coming from behind the door. And it's familiar. He knows that scream, heard it weeks ago. The night he rescued you from the fallout shelter.

Without a second thought, Wally kicks the exit door open and barrels through, tripping when gravity hits him for the first time in decades. He gulps in a gasp of air, the taste sharp and bleachy, filling his lungs. Chest expanding, bones and blood and flesh heavy in a way he doesn't remember his living body being.

"Help!" You scream again, the tail-end of the word muffled by the hand of who Wally recognizes as one of your antagonizers.

Travis has you on the floor, his knees on either side of your waist as he grapples to control your arms. Wally fights against gravity, skids forward and then, Stop! Stop it! he charges. Tackles Travis' weight off of you and to the ground.

His knuckles burn as he punches Travis' face in, his lungs burn as he sucks in more air than is probably necessary, his body no longer familiar with the function but quickly getting with the program.

Wally falls back when he's sure Travis isn't getting up. Alive. The guy's alive. Just wrecked and bloodied, groaning as he rolls onto his side and clutches his jaw.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Wally pants, wiping the sweat from his upper lip.

"W-Wally?"

Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it gets Wally's attention immediately. He's with you in a flash, hands on your face, holy fuck, he can touch you, and you're so warm, so solid, skin so soft, he doesn't know what sensation to focus on first.

"Y-you're real." You murmur, as shocked as Wally is. "You're..." You lift your hand and place it over his, the touch smarting the cuts he opened on Travis' nose.

"I was always real, baby." He says, chest still rising and falling rapidly, God, he can't take his hands off you.

It happens in the blink of an eye. He can't tell who moves first, who initiates, only that it's pure fucking bliss when he feels your lips against his for the first time. Soft and pillowy and yielding. You taste like Sprite and those chewy watermelons you like to snack on during study sessions.

Wally moans into the kiss, can't help himself, pulls you into him as much as he can just to revel in the feeling of your body against his. Your real, living body against his.

A groan behind you and him reminds Wally that Travis is still there, will likely be found soon, and whoever does the finding will have questions Wally can't answer right now. Possibly not ever.

"Come on, baby, we've gotta go," He says, intending to hide you somewhere else in the school so you and he can talk.

You apparently have other ideas, because you drag him behind you all the way to the bus stop. He tries to tell you, tries to get you to stop before—

"I can't leave school property!" He shouts.

You slow, letting go of his hand to walk a few steps backwards, eyebrow lifting as you stare at his feet.

"But...you are off school property."

When Wally looks down, his jaw drops. He scrambles in a half-circle to measure the distance between himself and the curb. Thoughts flood his brain: He has to tell Rhonda, to tell Charley and Yuri and Quinn. He has to find his friends and tell them about his...what? His aliveness? Is he alive?

"Come on," You urge, grabbing him by the hand again and hauling him away from the school. "We can't be here right now."

You're right, he knows that, but, holy shit! He's off school property. He's breathing oxygen. His heart is pumping, his muscles ache from the exertion of beating Travis to a pulp, his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and his eyes sting from lack of blinking.

Whatever Wally is, he's not a ghost anymore.

‗•‗

You take him back to your place. You don't exactly know where else to stash a forty-year-old ghost, which Wally insists he is and is basically proof of that himself. You looked him up after the reunion. When you weren't so overwhelmed, that is.

Number 57, Walter Clark, beloved son and friend. If he is a fake, the likeness is uncanny.

As soon as you and he are through the door, he surges, lifts you into his arms, laughing, unable to believe the changes he's already taken stock of. He twirls you around, holds you like something precious, and gazes at you with sweet, soulful eyes.

"I can touch you," He murmurs, as if that's the most important development. "I can actually feel you. God, baby, I can't stop smiling. And it hurts!" The last part makes you giggle because he says it with so much joy, it tickles the giddiness right out of you.

You sober, soften like butter in his arms as he holds you. "You can...touch me some more, if you want..."

There it is, the bravest thing you've ever done. Hanging in the air between you and Wally as he viscerally registers your offer.

When he finally gets it, his smile turns into a smirk. A cocky thing that makes your belly warm.

"Yeah?" He glances around, sees the couch, then looks back at you.

Wally carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing, easy, muscles bunching and releasing as he sits down and settles you in his lap. His hands roam under your shirt, his hot touch like a brand wherever he holds you, and, slowly, giving you time to reconsider, he leans in and captures your lips in a gentle, sweet kiss.

‗•‗

Wally doesn't have the capacity to process anything outside of this moment, outside of you, right now. He should probably take a minute to figure out what happened to him when he fell through the exit door, should strategize a game plan for his friends to follow, should do a lot of things, but he can't find it in him to stop.

Your weight in his lap is so much more intense now that he can feel it in a real, human body. Your little whimpers and soft mewls as his hands wander under your shirt—fuck, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers, it's like a dream he never thought would come true.

He undresses you slowly, worshipping every piece of skin revealed with his mouth and hands. Little nips and flicks of tongue, tasting your skin, hearing your sounds, absorbing your warmth as you squirm against him.

"You like how I touch you, baby?" He asks, gazing up at you through his lashes as he gently, so gently, trails his fingertips down your side and to your ass where he grabs. "I wanna make you feel good." He grinds his hips up, cock harder than he's ever felt it, groaning when the friction sends shockwaves of pleasure through him. "You feel that, baby? You feel what you do to me?"

"Wally," You gasp, your head tipping back and eyes closing, savoring the sensation.

You help him out of his jacket, his shirt; grip his chain to draw him into another hot, hungry kiss that leaves him reeling and desperate for more. His fingers dig into your flesh as he bucks against you, can feel the heat of your pussy through his sweatpants and shorts.

Gone in seconds because he can't wait anymore. Has waited enough time to feel anything again, but this, with you, no. God help him, he doesn't have that kind of patience or resolve. He's not strong enough. Not with how you tremble in his arms when he smears two fingers through your folds, dips them in to tease you as he watches the expression of euphoria that twists your features into the most beautiful image he's ever seen.

"You're so wet for me, baby," He purrs, nipping that sensitive spot right below your ear. Fuck, you start to ride his fingers, greedy little thing, the slick squelch of your pussy fucking his index and middle finger echoing in his ears and fogging his brain.

"Wally, please," You beg so pretty, and that's it. Control gone.

He lines himself up and guides you down, Jesus, you take him so perfectly. Stuffed full, tight as a vise, gripping him inside you as he leads you up and down, up and down, getting him as deep as he can be inside you.

"That's it, baby, just like that. So good for me," He pants, feet planted, hips meeting yours, his hands tight on your ass as you move on him. A fucking goddess crafted by heaven just for him. "Fuck," He chokes, "Fuck, yeah," and bites your lower lip, soothes the sting with his tongue before delving it into your mouth.

It feels too quick, but he can't avoid it. It's been so long since anything felt like this. You're not any better, quivering under his hands, thighs spasming when he starts to fuck into you faster, harder, making you bounce on his cock to take what you need.

When you come, he cries out, eyes clenched shut, mouth open, stars exploding. His climax ripped from deep within his core. His cock pulses as he spills inside you, arms fastened around your body to pin you to his chest, kissing you with everything he has.

"God, baby, I love you," Maybe it's too soon to say it (definitely), but who the fuck cares? Give a no-longer-dead-guy a break. He doesn't know how long his earthliness will last. He can't afford to take chances.

And he hiccups an awed breath when you say, "I love you, too, Wally Clark."

You gaze at him in the afterglow, so soft and pliant and perfect he could burst. You and he stay on the couch for a while, basking in each other's presence, in the realness of it. Eventually, taking his hand, you lead him to your room, where he writes poems with his tongue in your pussy, where you spread yourself open and invite him in again and again and again until sunrise.

You give him the weekend.

He knows he has a responsibility to visit Maddie in the hospital and make sure she's where she should be. Must inform Rhonda and Charley and Yuri and Quinn and Janet (can he still see them?!) that he's somehow regained a pulse.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

It's Sunday night, and Wally has every intention of proving to you that you're not alone anymore. That you have him as long as you want to keep him. And that he'll stay, even if you don't.

"Not gonna happen, Wally, you're stuck with me," You tell him in no uncertain terms, snuggled into his chest.

Wally smiles so wide, his cheeks ache for days after.

🐦‍🔥___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Best Friends Club.

smut. you've been Wally's best friend since elementary school. and he's had a thing for you the entire time. it would've stayed a secret if, after a shitty date with someone who wasn't him, things changed.

[forabeatofadrum]

Ever After (22/22) - COMPLETE

Notes: I did it! I finished it before the 25th! 🥳

Thank you @klaineadvent for hosting, as usual! Till the next advent.

AO3 | S&C

–

EPILOGUE

One year later

--

Tickets to New York Comic Con are way too expensive.

Blaine would know, since the credits that his parents gave him a year ago are, to no one’s surprise, utterly useless. He and Kurt had to pay in dollars!

But it’s a special occasion. It’s a reunion of the cast of The Cooper Chronicles movies, including the actor who played Blaine. But they’re not here for him. They’re here because B.D. Dalton is making an appearance, which is basically unheard of.

B.D. loves her privacy and has barely made any public appearance since the final movie came out. But she’s made an exception for the anniversary.

“I am going to see my creator,” Blaine mutters and he and Kurt take a seat in the convention hall.

“Yup.”

“So weird.”

“She won’t know, though.”

Of course she won’t. Apart from Kurt, no one knows the truth. Kurt and Blaine have created a story for Blaine. He’s Blaine Anderson, originally from a town in the middle of nowhere in America, and he’s lost his parents in an accident, so he moved to the big city to start anew. He and Kurt met in New York, but lost contact. Blaine then found Kurt again, and no one can disprove it. It helps that Santana believed herself to be high when Blaine arrived. She totally hallucinated this fire portal! What a trip!

It also helps that no time had passed on Earth when Kurt was in Daltonia. That was a huge relief for Kurt. No worried friends and family! No awkward explanation of where he’d been for days! When Blaine heard, he was happy for Kurt, although he did wonder if that means that time in Daltonia is now stopped.

But Kurt didn’t think so.

“I never belonged in Daltonia, so the world I am from was halted to a stop while I was there. You, on the other hand, do belong on Earth now,” Kurt had explained, and he had a reason for thinking that Blaine was at home on Earth. It’s thanks to his mother.

It’s been a year since Blaine moved to this world, and he’s getting used to it. He doesn’t regret his choice, especially since he now lives with Kurt, Rachel and Santana in the loft. Waking up next to Kurt is a dream come true, and it makes it all okay. He’s still as directionless as before, and even more so, since he has to adjust to a new world, but he’s also more optimistic than ever.

The panel starts and Kurt and Blaine applaud loudly, together with the many other fans.

It starts off rather boringly. Everyone talks about their experiences filming the movies and what not. Blaine hasn’t seen the movies. He still hasn’t even read the books. Maybe he never will. It is still too strange for him.

But when it’s time for the audience to ask questions, he sits up.

Kurt’s hand flies up.

“Yes, you,” the moderator points towards him.

Kurt stands up. He talks about how much he loves the book series and the movies, and how happy he is to see B.D. in the flesh.

“My question is for B.D.,” he continues, “If any of your characters would come to life, what would you say to them?”

“Any?” B.D. asks.

Kurt nods.

“Well, that is easy. I would tell them I love them,” she says with a warm smile, and Blaine instantly believes her.

The audience also coos and awwwws.

Blaine also raises his hand.

“Yes, with the bowtie?” the moderator says.

Kurt sits down and Blaine gets up instead.

“Uh, hi B.D.”

“Hello,” she says back.

“If, uh- Imagine your world were real. Daltonia were real. And it would exist alongside this one, do you think it’d be possible for people between them to be connected?”

B.D. blinks a couple of times. She did not expect that question, which is fair, because it sounds ridiculous. Only Kurt and Blaine know the truth.

“I don’t think so, because Daltonia is a world of fiction,” she answers, obviously. She frowns. “May I ask… Connected how?”

“Well, I found out that the character of queen Pamela was originally planned for another book. You repurposed her for this series.”

“True.”

“And, uh, what if- I mean… What if because of that, queen Pamela would always be a bit, uh, off within the world of Daltonia?”

That is Kurt and Blaine’s theory. When Kurt found out about queen Pamela’s character, he immediately started theorising. What if queen Pamela also didn’t fully belong in Daltonia, even though she never knew? And if so, then her child may be the same. Maybe that is why Kurt, who definitely didn’t belong in Daltonia, reacted towards Blaine’s potions and why Blaine was able to read the books, even though they came from a different world.

It’s a theory, though, and they may never get an answer. Definitely not now. B.D. Dalton seems absolutely confused by Blaine’s question, and of course she is.

“Never- Never mind,” Blaine says. It was a bit unfair to expect an answer from B.D.

“No, it is an interesting thought!” B.D. reassures him, “Pamela did come from a story that took place on Earth, even though it was still a work of fiction. And I hope I didn’t write her as an outsider, but it’s true she’s the one character who wasn’t originally created for Daltonia. So who knows?”

It’s an open question to a weird question, but Blaine takes it.

“Yeah. Who knows? Thank you.”

Blaine sits down again. Kurt puts his hand on Blaine’s leg and they continue listening to the panel. At one point, another fan asks if B.D. has ever thought about continuing the series in any way, be it through a sequel, a prequel, or something set in Daltonia.

“No, Daltonia is over for me,” B.D. says, “I have said it before, and I’ll say it again: I have no interests in revisiting it. I think the books ended where I wanted it to end, and I don’t want to risk besmirching that.”

“But you’ve really never thought about what the characters would be up to now?” the fan presses on.

“Never,” B.D. says with a smile, “I have no control over the Chronicles Club anymore. I’d like to think stories live on, even without the author’s interference. And you are free to use your own imaginations, but for me, I have let them go on.”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s leg and their eyes meet. They share a look. They know that B.D. is right, and it’s their inside joke in a way.

The panel ends. The moderator thanks everyone for coming and the cast and B.D. leave the stage with a huge applause. Then, the convention room slowly empties.

Blaine follows Kurt out, but it’s so crowded, and he loses Kurt in the crowd. That’s fine. Blaine’s adapted to this nifty device called a cell phone. He can call Kurt. He first follows the stream of people, just to be sure, but it’s no use.

Blaine has to make the phone call. He can do it.

He sneaks off to another room, opening a door without reading the sign. He needs a quiet spot.

“Oh.”

Blaine looks up.

B.D. Dalton and two other people are standing in this small room. Blaine must’ve accidentally gone backstage, or what they call it.

“Sorry, sorry, I wanted to make a phone call!” Blaine sounds apologetic, “I will… leave.”

“Wait a minute,” B.D. says. Blaine stops in his tracks. “You asked the question about queen Pamela.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“… What was your name?” B.D. asks and she looks at him, really looks at him.

“Blaine. Blaine of- Anderson.”

“Blaine,” B.D. says with a hushed voice. Her eyes are basically staring into his soul. Does she recognise him for who he really is?

That is silly.

“Like the prince,” she says, sounding awed and confused, as if she’s glad to see him but can’t understand why.

“Like the prince,” Blaine confirms with a smile. If only she knew.

She keeps looking at Blaine for a while. The other people in the room are confused. But then she quickly shakes her head and laughs quietly, as if she’s realising something funny. The moment has passed.

“Nice to meet you, Blaine,” she says, voice normal and professional, “Now go before security thinks you’re a stalker.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Blaine leaves the room with his heart beating in his chest. For a moment, B.D. recognised him. She might believe it was silly of her, but she did. Blaine doesn’t know what that means, but it makes him feel happy and warm.

“Oh, there you are!”

Kurt walks towards Blaine.

“Sweetheart, I lost you in the crowd.”

“I’m here!” Blaine says. His face is glowing. He is so happy. Kurt notices.

“Anything interesting going on?”

“I will tell you later,” he says, “At home.”

He first needs to sit with it for a while. He’ll probably never speak B.D. Dalton again, but it’s fine. He has this moment.

“Ready?” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand. They’re going to a merch hall. It’s going to be weird to see different interpretations of Cooper in fanart.

Blaine gives Kurt a quick kiss.

“Yes. Lead the way.”

--

End notes: And that's a wrap for this year. Thank you all for reading and coming along on this ride. I had a lot of fun writing it, and it reminded me how much I love writing Klaine. We all love Klaine! That's why we're here, eh?

I also had a lot of fun creating Daltonia. Maybe I'll make a post with my inspirations for this fic, but that will have to wait. Now, I am going to celebrate the holidays with family. Goodnight, and till next year (which is in a few days)!

[reddoll123]

Hello Stranger Ch 2 (On AO3)

Second chapter of my latest Kaisoo fic, Hello Stranger~!

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | { ɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, for future chapters: social media au, eventual smut

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

A career in sports photography was never something your parents wanted for you- they had decided your career path since the moment you were born. A surgeon. Bound to make them plenty of money, to make them proud. They wanted it more than anything else, and…

You decided that wasn’t your problem. 

You researched the job, the career path, and began building a portfolio. Taking pictures of athletes at games, major ones and others such as college games. Mostly baseball. In fact, it was almost all baseball.  

Oh. College games. Baseball.

You’d attended college in the States, attending the baseball games and snapping pictures. And, for some reason, you seemed to gravitate towards one specific player. 

You had no idea what his name was.

You didn’t share any classes. You saw him around campus occasionally, but you weren’t one for parties so you had no chance of running into him at one of those. Your circles barely even touched. You didn’t know each other at all. 

Correction: he didn’t know you at all, and you only knew him as the hot athlete guy you took pictures of. 

-

“Another one?” Your friend, Taika grumbled, another one of your posts coming up on her feed. “[name], this is the fifteenth time you’ve posted this guy.”

You rolled your eyes, laptop balanced on your thigh as you edited a picture. “I’m just building my portfolio.”

“No one’s gonna hire you if your portfolio is just a million pictures of the same guy.”

“It’s not, there’s other pictures too.”

“Yeah, like, two.”

“Hyperbole much?”

Taika sighed aggressively, setting her phone-face down next to her as she leaned forward, face turning serious. “[name], is this some weird fetish? Kink?”

“What?” You almost threw your laptop at her. “You’re so dramatic. Obviously it’s not. What kind of kink would that even be?”

“Just admit you think he’s hot.”

You pressed your lips together, slamming your laptop shut. “Okay, get out.”

“But-!”

“Out!”

-

And that was that. You kept taking pictures of Mysterious Hot Athlete Guy,, eventually veering away from him in the end to expand your name. Your portfolio grew, you gained jobs, and your parents got increasingly frustrated until the point where they threatened to cut contact with you. 

You didn’t care. This was your passion. You’d much rather be on a pitch, capturing the essence of exhausted yet still exhilarated camaraderie than in a sterile surgeon’s scrub, brandishing a scalpel, cutting into flesh to expose your patients innards. 

Unfortunately they went through with the threat. Oh well. 

With the little savings you had, the weight of college debt for a degree you’d never use on your shoulders and your rather expensive camera equipment for which you’d somehow managed to scrape together the money for, you decided to follow Taika back to Japan.

“There’s plenty of opportunities for you there,” she told you.

Taika, being a trust fund baby, had more than enough of her parents' money to support herself, and you in Japan. You slowly grew your career and by a couple of months, you could afford to move into your own apartment. 

And now you were a- somewhat-well known sports photographer in the industry, despite never actually having a stable job, and… that was that. 

That was your story. 

But not the end of it.

Because after a good few months deep into your path of sports photography, a baseball player rose to stardom. 

Kenji Sato.

-

“Oh my god!” Taika grabbed onto your arm, nails digging into your skin and making you yelp as she thrust the phone in your face. “Dude! That’s the guy you had a crush on in college!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, and your voice was grating. “I didn’t have a crush on him.”

He just had a nice… bone structure.

Maybe I should have taken pictures of models for magazines or something. 

You looked at the article. Newest player on the field sparks talk of the rise of a new baseball legend. 

Oh damn. Maybe he should have been a model. 

“Kenji Sato,” Taika read out the name. “Dude, I swear this is the guy.” Pulling up your instagram account, she scrolled all the way to the bottom, at your earlier days of shooting. “Dude. That’s him.”

“It’s him,” you said weakly. She grinned at you, a knowing smirk that made you want to tear her hair out. 

-

Another stretch of time passed, until the days where your life was immediately thrust into a direction it did not give consent into going. 

Firstly, Ken Sato made headlines by coming back to Japan. Secondly, you’d landed a job at a baseball game in the Tokyo Dome. Thirdly, it was the game which the Yomiuri Giants were playing. 

You were now on the corner of the pitch, equipment set up, game in full play. The heat of the crowd pressed down on you as you angled your camera at a figure all too familiar. 

Fucking focus, [name].

The ball whizzed through the air. He hit it, arm and bat lashing out, and-

“Fuck!”

You cursed, jerking away from the camera set up and throwing your hands over your head. It fell to the ground, shattered, and the ball rolled across the ground, hitting your knee. 

You looked up. The crowd was roaring. Your head was ringing, feeling faint as you stared at the broken camera lying on the ground. Oh jeez, you were going to faint. Fuck, those players hit the ball hard.

You looked up and saw Ken Sato hurrying towards you. 

And that was when you fainted. 

-

Kenji Sato was going to fucking jump off of a bridge.

Pacing his living room, he dragged his hands through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Mina, I’m so screwed.” He paused, looking at her hopefully. “Am I? Screwed, I mean.”

“That would be an interesting topic of debate, Ken.”

“Give me a proper answer, dammit!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about the girl?” He stopped suddenly, freezing in place. “I feel awful, you know.” Mina stared at him. “Yes, I can feel regret. Shocker.” He ran his hand through his hair, again. “I already replaced her broken stuff, right?” He looked sick. “Should I apologize? In person? Over text?”

“You could apologize over text,” Mina said.

Kenji immediately fell into the couch, pulling out his phone. “What’s her instagram account name?” Pulling it up, he scrolled through the photos. “[name] [surname], sports photographer,” he read aloud, eyes flicking down to the pictures. 

“She has taken photos for teams, articles, and even major sports magazines.” Mina flew down, hovering near his head as he scrolled curiously. 

“How many photos do you bet she’s got of me?”

“Would you like me to run a search?”

Ken looked up, surprised. “I was just kidding.” He dug his nail beneath his other nail, considering the offer, but Mina was already doing it. 

“Approximately ninety-seven out of two-hundred and twenty-nine images posted on her professional account include your face,” Mina concluded. Ken stared at her blankly. She remained silent for a few more seconds, letting it sink in, then spoke again. “I suggest scrolling to the very bottom of her account, her earliest days of photography, Ken.”

“Ninety-seven?” He asked incredulously, and Mina simply repeated her previous statement. Scroll down.

He did. It took him a while, but he finally managed to hit it, and-

“I’m in college in these.”

His eyes scanned the pictures on the screen- most of which were of him. College games, every one of them. He’d never noticed her in the crowd. Had he?

And there were so, so many.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck. He didn’t find it creepy, or stalkerish- not at all, but instead dared to feel a tiny bit flattered. 

Oh, she was obsessed with me. That’s kind of cute. 

He wondered if she still was. 

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie, @lovingyeet, @aise-30, @scarasw1f3, @v1ennie im only doing taglist this once but I’d prefer it if people just followed me instead because they’re such a hassle

[princyvish]

ant holding bindle image

[totallynotashieldagent]

the one where bruce wayne manipulates you into being his domme

everyone has kinks, thats not the problem - the issue is that a man like bruce wayne, a hero like the batman, that comes with its expectations- with stereotypes

everyone believes that a man who so anally wants everything under control, a man who has backups for backups would be hard, dominating in control everywhere in his life

except... that's just not the case

he wants he needs to lose control, let go, desperately wants someone to tell him what to do, how to be, give him praise for everything he does

but no one ever thinks he is that man- so he does what he'd never admit to. would probably take it to his grave. he manipulates you, trains you on a subconscious level to become his domme.

it starts small enough. he purposefully doesn't rest, runs himself ragged until you ask him to rest. he disagrees but as a teammate, you insist, so he sighs and nods, resting for just a bit

it spurs you on, that he listened! how wonderful!

these small things keep going, "when did you last eat" followed by "nnhhh not hungry" which leads to "please eat something, B." and he sighs, his lips pressed into a thin line but he does it. he goes and he eats something and you smile brightly.

it continues to "did you go to the medbay" after the missions which he says to "don't need to" but you tug at his wrist and look up at him with big eyes.

he feels himself shattering every time but he has to stay strong- you're not there yet- you're not controlling him enough yet. your concern and kindness is still full of boundaries and not forceful enough for him.

he wants you to break him. tell him what he's supposed to do, when he's supposed to eat and sleep, and hopefully, when he's supposed to cum.

the days turn into months and he knows he knows he knows he's supposed to be patient and careful. he can't rush this. he has to play it carefully. pull you into the role naturally. make you feel like you were made for this. for him.

however, all that goes to hell when he gets hurt on a mission. and now, he's laying in the medbay with the medical droids holding him down. everyone nudges you to the medbay, citing that "he only listens to you-"

so you go- you go and sit next to him until he gets better and much to your surprise, he does listen and he grunts and groans and sighs but he listens. and it makes something... tighten inside you.

the realization of how he only listens to you. he does what you say, he agrees regardless of how much he groans and sighs but he listens and it makes you wonder.

makes you wonder how far you could push it.

honestly, it was just a curiosity thing. nothing else at all. completely unaware of bruce's plans.

so you do. you push. you ask him small favours and you smile when he does them. you push and you ask him for things that you can do yourself and he does them.

these things pile up and you dont even realize how much you enjoy it. asking him softly, in the hush of JL meetings, during missions, on the way back- you just ask and he does it

then he starts to act out again, he knows he needs to push you more. he starts to give you a look when you ask him something, almost bordering on a make me challenge. so you start to ask him with "wont you be good for me, please?"

and that's when he knows he's got you- you're ripe for the taking. just a little more and he could finally be putty in your hands, under you, over you, anyway you want him to be

so he slowly starts to add a "yes ma'am" with his usual smirk every time he said it

finally- finally, everything came to fruition during an event

where he wasn't batman, he was brucie wayne and he was surrounded by models and socialites. he'd invited you just to watch him- see if you got jealous and god, he knew you were so jealous

so after it, the mask slipping. no longer brucie either. just him. just bruce. he comes to you-

"you seem upset." is met with, "no why would i be?" and he knows he's got you.

he talks softly, his voice low, guiding you to a secluded corner, invading your personal space. "please tell me what i did."

he watches the way you swallow dry. the soft plea is clearly everything to you. you look at him and it's just barely noticeable but he is who he is and notices it. the way your pupils dilate.

"i seem to have upset you. i didn't mean to. if there is anything ... would you tell me?"

the air feels charged suddenly. there's something twisting in your gut to say something but you still hold back so he pushes on.

"if i've made you upset... won't you want to... put me in my place?" he whispers, his hands press against the wall, caging you in.

you always knew he was tall but at the moment, he looks even taller. you look up at him and his eyes shine in a way that's so new. so unseen. you swallow again, whispering his name but before you can say more, he's on his knees, his hands at your hips.

"bruce... this is-"

"tell me to stop-" he looks up at you, his eyes so damn blue, it stutters your breath. "tell me anything and you know i will do it." he knows you won't tell him to stop, his chin leans closer, resting on your thigh. "I'll always do anything you ask-" he whispers, his mouth pressing kissing over your clothes, his eyes never leaving yours

this is it. he thinks. you're right at the edge-

"be good for me." you whisper, your fingers running through his hair.

the words are the fire he's been trying to burn for ages now. and finally, it's paying off.

"always- god- always, always, alwa-"

finally, he feels like he's home.

.

.

.

Drabble Masterlist

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 25

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

You didn’t sleep on the plane. How could you? You kept replaying the night before over and over in your head. It was definitely not the night you were expecting, and it made it that much harder for you to say goodbye. Tom actually had feelings for you this whole time, and he’d never slept with anyone else. It was like some sick cosmic joke. Actually, no. You couldn’t blame the universe for this. The two of you had been complete idiots, and in your attempts to avoid ruining what you had, you completely ruined what you had. Though the irony initially made you laugh, now it was like a dagger in your side. You wondered if it would have been better if you hadn’t told each other. It certainly would have made leaving a little easier. That being said, knowing what you know now made your bad memories hurt a lot less, and your happy memories that much sweeter. Unfortunately, that only made you miss him more. Your heart was breaking all over again.

…

Somehow the night of the premiere was simultaneously one of the best and worst nights that Tom had ever experienced. It had finally started to feel the way it used to when the two of you were together, but when he dropped you off at your house, the realisation that you were actually moving halfway across the world finally sunk in. 

He shouldn’t have asked you if you would still be moving to LA had he told you how he felt in Hawaii. What he didn’t realise in that moment was that your answer wouldn’t have made him feel better, no matter what it was. If you’d said no, he’d be filled with regret. If you’d said yes, it would have meant that losing you was inevitable. But you had said you didn’t know, and those words echoed in his head. They haunted him. Did you mean that you didn’t know if he would have been enough to keep you in London, or did you mean that you didn’t know if a relationship between the two of you would have even worked in the first place. Were you questioning how much he meant to you, or how much you meant to him? He was tormented by this question for days before he couldn’t take it anymore. One way or another, he needed to find out.

…

Your first few days in LA were less than ideal, to say the least. Not only were you dealing with your excruciating heartache, but you were having a hard time adjusting to life in Los Angeles. It was beautiful and exciting, but the traffic was horrific, and it was hot and dry, and because of this, every single beach was constantly crowded with people, making it difficult for you to really enjoy it. Most of all though, it was incredibly lonely. You knew you’d probably make friends eventually, you just had to suck it up for now. Luckily work kept you plenty busy. Especially since whenever you had any free time, you were obsessively checking your phone. Tom had every right not to text or call, and, admittedly, it was probably best that he didn’t, but you had hoped that at least your friendship had been repaired and it would continue even when you lived five thousand miles away from each other. Every day that passed without hearing from him, however, diminished that hope more and more.

…

On your way home from work one day, you were relieved to see that it started raining. Not only was it needed, but it reminded you of England. When you pulled up to your small bungalow apartment, you thought maybe you were seeing things, because it looked like Tom was walking down your front steps and down the pavement in the pouring rain. 

“Tom?” you called after him as you got out of your car.

He spun around and when he saw you, he walked toward you. He was drenched, raindrops falling down his face. “What did you mean by ‘I don’t know’?” he shouted over the sound of the downpour. 

“What?” you asked, completely caught off guard.

“When I asked you if you would still be moving to LA if I’d told you how I felt in Hawaii. What did you mean when you said ‘I don’t know’?”

You looked at him confused. “What do you mean, what did I mean? I meant I don’t know! Why does it matter?”

“Because I need to know if I can fix this!” he told you desperately.

“I don’t think you can!” You sounded just as desperate.

He groaned in frustration. “You drive me absolutely insane, you know that? You’re stubborn, you’re a workaholic, you can’t take a compliment to save your life…"

“Right. I’m so glad you came all the way here just to tell me this.” you said sarcastically as you turned around to go back to your flat, but he continued.

“...You’re kind, you’re passionate, you’re beautiful, and you make me laugh more than anyone I know…”

You stopped dead in your tracks and turned back around. 

“...I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel as safe, and comfortable, and happy as you do. Not a single day goes by without you taking over my brain. It’s so fucking distracting and I have no idea how to make it stop, but I don’t think I want it to…”

Your eyes began to flood with tears. “Tom–” 

“...But what drives me mad more than anything else is that I’m so in love with you that it actually physically hurts, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake it.”

Your eyes went wide. “You’re– you’re in love with me?” you asked in disbelief.

“Of course I am! I think I have been for a long time now,” he added, looking at the ground.

Without another thought, you ran toward him and he looked up just in time to catch you as you jumped into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as you crashed your lips into his. It was a kiss unlike any you’d shared before. It was overwhelmingly emotional and you could practically feel every ounce of love he had for you, and you hoped he could feel yours too. You didn’t care that it was pouring and you were drenched from the rain. All that mattered was each other. 

When you came up for air, your nose lightly grazed against his as you both beamed at each other. “I love you too,” you told him softly. 

“Really?” His eyes searched yours for any sign that you might not mean it. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No, you silly sod!” You giggled as you leaned in for another kiss. 

When your lips parted, Tom briefly squinted up at the sky and then back to you. “While the rain is very romantic, darling, is there any chance we could go inside?”

“Oh! Yes! Sorry!” Tom set you back down and you hurried to your flat while he quickly grabbed his bag from his rental car and followed suit.

“Holy shit,” you said as you came in from the rain, only just realizing how soaked you were. You attempted to turn on the light, but it didn’t work. “Fuck.” You went to your kitchen and opened your refrigerator. Sure enough, that light was out too.

Tom walked in to find you sighing in frustration as you walked back into the dark living room. “What’s wrong?”

“Power is out, of course,” you told him. “I’m going to find some candles, if you want to change out of your wet clothes. The bedroom and bathroom are just through there. Just be careful not to trip on any boxes, they’re kind of everywhere, sorry.”

“Darling, relax,” he said, stepping toward you and putting his hands on your upper arms and rubbing them gently. Clearly he could tell you were suddenly a bit frazzled. “All I want to do is be with you. I don’t care about anything else right now, okay?” You nodded and he kissed you on the forehead. “Now, the candles can wait. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes first.”

“You’re just trying to get me naked,” you teased him.

He chuckled, but there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. “Actually, I’m trying to get you to stop shivering, but getting you naked is a nice bonus.” 

You hadn’t even realized you were shivering until he told you. “Sure you are, stud.” You winked at him and led him through your bedroom to your ensuite, using your phone’s flashlight to see. 

“Where are your candles and lighter?” he asked after you handed him a towel. 

“Don’t worry about it, Tommy, I’ll do it as soon as I’m dry.”

“Sweetheart, take a hot shower, relax, dry off, and let me take care of it.”

“You don’t want to join me in the shower?” 

“Believe me, I do,” he said, putting his hand on your waist. “But the hot water only lasts so long, and I’d like to take my time with you tonight, if that’s alright.” 

You weren’t sure which part of you throbbed more in that moment, your heart or your cunt. You bit your lip and nodded. 

“Good girl,” he praised you with a warm smile. After you told him where the candles and lighter were, he kissed you briefly and then left, shutting the door behind him.

…

Ultimately, you were thankful for the opportunity to shower alone so you could freshen up after a long day at work. That being said, despite Tom’s request to relax, you showered as fast as you could, not wanting to waste any time. After you dried yourself off, you put on your black satin dressing gown, the sleeves coming down to your elbow and the hem reaching halfway down your thighs.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, you were surprised to find it still dark and empty. Wondering if Tom was having trouble finding the candles, you went to the living room, only to be greeted by the sight of several candles flickering throughout the room. Tom was lighting the last of them, wearing only his green plaid pyjama bottoms, when he looked up at you, his face immediately lit up. “Hey, how was your shower?”

“Refreshing,” you replied as you walked toward him and draped your arms around his neck. “Thank you for lighting all of the candles. I’m surprised you set them up out here and not the bedroom.”

“The night is young, darling,” he purred, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you softly. After a moment, he slowly sat down on the sofa, never parting his lips from yours, and guiding you to straddle his lap. As you continued to kiss him, you felt him gently pull the tie of your dressing gown loose.

“May I?” he asked, breaking the kiss. 

You smiled and nodded, finding it incredibly sweet and sexy that he was asking permission to undress you, as if he’d never seen you naked before. Gently, he parted the satin garment and brushed it off of your shoulders. You slipped your arms out of the sleeves and let it fall to the floor behind you. The way he looked at your bare form gave you goosebumps.

“Are you warm enough, sweetheart?” he asked, suddenly concerned. 

“Plenty,” you said, cradling his face and kissing him deeply. You let one of your hands slowly trail down his muscular torso and under the waistband of his trousers, humming with delight when you felt his large erection, hard and ready for you. You pulled it out and began grinding your clit against his shaft, the two of you sighing and whimpering into each other’s mouths. 

Eventually you couldn’t hold off any longer. You needed him to be inside you. Raising yourself up on your knees, you lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. 

“Do you have a condom close by?” Tom asked, interrupting your kiss. 

“Well,” you began a bit hesitantly. “You haven’t slept with anyone else, right?”

“No, I told you that.”

“And I haven’t slept with anyone else….”

“Apart from Trevor that one time,” he joked.

You were unamused “Are you trying to ruin the moment?”

“No! Please continue,”

“I haven’t slept with anyone else in a very long time,” you irritatedly corrected yourself. “And I’m on birth control, so…” you trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure, darling?”

“Are you joking? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve fantasized about having your cum inside of me?”

He stared at you in awe. “Fuck, that is one of the hottest things I think you’ve ever said to me.”

You sunk down on his bare cock, looking into his eyes and biting your lip as you did so.

Tom’s jaw dropped and jutted out just a bit as he let out a shuddering sigh. You tilted your head down to begin kissing his neck. He had three distinct freckles on the right side, just below the angular corner of his jaw. They were in the shape of a triangle, as if they were pointing to his weak spot. You’d always loved those freckles. You lightly kissed each one before latching your lips to the spot above them. You sucked hard, eliciting a soft groan in your ear as you felt his cock twitch inside you.

As you continued to kiss and suck on Tom’s neck, you began slowly riding him, sliding up and down his shaft. One of his hands was toying with your nipple, while the other one was on your hip, guiding your movements. Soon you felt yourself losing control. You threw your head back and started riding him faster, but he grabbed your hips to stop you. Then he brought one hand up to cradle the back of your neck and pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Slow down, baby,” he said softly, looking into your eyes. “We’ve got all night.”

You began to slowly roll your hips in circles, soft moans escaping your lips as you returned his intense gaze. As it turned out, you didn’t necessarily need fast and hard to get you to your peak, because soon you were gripping his shoulders tight, your whole body shaking as you came hard on his cock. He moaned along with you, undoubtedly loving the feeling of your walls squeezing and fluttering around him without any sort of barrier, but he didn’t cum. Not yet. 

When your orgasm subsided, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing hard. He stroked your hair and your back while you recovered. Then he carefully repositioned the two of you so that you were on your back and began kissing your neck.

“Are you ready for more, my love,” he whispered in your ear between kisses. 

A whimpered “please,” and a weak nod was all you were able to muster in a love-drunk, post-orgasmic haze. He took your hands and interlaced his fingers with yours before he began tenderly pumping in and out of you, as if you were so delicate you could break at any moment, until gradually he built up speed. Your collective moans and groans filled the room, and soon you felt another climax fast approaching. 

“Fuck, Tommy, I’m gonna cum again,” you sighed. “Fill me up, baby, please!”

You were tipped over the edge as Tom thrusted faster and harder, grunting against your neck until, with a muffled groan of your name, he came inside you. 

The two of you were still for a moment, no sounds but your panting breaths and the occasional feather-light kiss he placed on your neck and shoulder.

“I love you, Tommy,” you said softly.

He lifted his head and smiled down at you. “I love you too, Sweets.” He kissed you tenderly, and then moved to lay next to you. As he did so, you couldn’t help the small whine that escaped your lips at the loss of closeness when he pulled out. He chuckled affectionately. “I’m right here, sweet girl,” he said softly, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at you. With the very tip of his finger, he lightly traced patterns across your chest and stomach, but when his gaze shifted from your face to follow his finger, you noticed his face fall slightly. “How long is this project you're working on?”

“I have about seven weeks left, unfortunately.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m thinking I might move back to London,” you told him, a small smile playing on your lips.

His eyes shot back to you. “Don’t get my hopes up unless you’re sure, Sweets.”

“I know I said moving out here would mean better career opportunities, but to be honest, I thought this was the only way I could get over you.”

“Did you mean it when you said we’re not good for each other?”

You felt a pang in your chest. You’d forgotten you’d even said that. “I think I said it for my own benefit more than anything else. If I convinced myself we’d never work then it would be easier for me to let go. I’m so sorry if it hurt you. That wasn’t my intention at all.”

“I know. I just hate that I made you feel like you had to get over me in the first place. I should have told you how I felt a long time ago.”

“I’m just as much to blame as you are. Even when you told me the night before I came out here, I was convinced that your feelings for me weren’t real; that you just wanted what you couldn’t have and you’d get bored as soon as you got it.” 

To your surprise, Tom pressed his lips together in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but he was unsuccessful.

“What?” you asked, thoroughly confused.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck as he continued laughing.

“Tom Hiddleston! It’s not funny!” you scolded him.

He lifted his head again, trying to compose himself. “I’m sorry, darling, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that you could not have been further from the truth.”

“How is that exactly?”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but now that I have what I want, I don’t intend on ever letting it go.” 

You felt your heart swell with happiness, but you were still hesitant. “How do you know you won’t change your mind?”

He cupped your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across your cheek. “Because I’ve gotten a glimpse of what my life would be like without you and I never want to go through that again.”

“I don’t either,” you said, your eyes welling up with tears. 

“I promise I won’t let that happen,” he assured you as he leaned down and kissed you deeply. “Now, what would you say to Chinese food and a film?”

You grinned up at him. “I’d say you’re a man after my own heart.”

“Precisely, my darling,” he replied with a wink. And with that, the two of you settled in for a long night of making up for lost time.

Taglist: @chronicallybubbly , @the-princess-of-loki , @princess-ofthe-pages , @darcylikesloki , @kikster606 , @foxherder , @simone818283 , @newtomofgods , @christinebloodwrittings , @tom-hlover , @lulubelle814 , @kingliam2019 , @leniram1890, @jennyggggrrr , @libby-bibby , @queenofstarsign85

[forabeatofadrum]

Ever After (6/21)

Notes: I slightly altered the summary of the fic. I wrote the summary before I wrote most that I have now, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

AO3 | S&C

--

SNUGGLE

Blaine’s not in the habit of smuggling people out, so he doesn’t. Instead, he asks for Kurt to be released so that they can make a case in front of Blaine’s parents.

Kurt and Blaine are standing before them in the throne room.

“So you believe to be from another world and my son wants to help you find a way home?” the king asks.

“Yes, sire,” Kurt says with three quick bows. He’s very familiar with Daltonian customs, since he’s ‘read all about it in The Cooper Chronicles’.

“Blaine,” the queen starts, “Do you believe Kurt?”

Does he? It’s hard to say. He can believe that Kurt is from a different world. It sounds absolutely ridiculous, but from all the things that Kurt’s said, it is the most sensible conclusion. But Blaine also cannot wrap his head around the idea that Daltonia is a work of fiction. Blaine’s real. Everything around him is definitely real.

He and Kurt did decide to keep that part secret from the king and queen. If Kurt were to tell them about The Cooper Chronicles, they might lock him up immediately without further assessment.

“I believe that Kurt wants to go home to his, uh, kingdom, and I want to help him find a way,” Blaine answers, “And if that is another world, then… Well… Who knows?”

“If I may, your highness. The Pink Dagger has already shown that time is flexible and bendable. I think the existence of another worlds fits right next to that,” Kurt adds.

“You speak of another world, completely separate from Daltonia, and yet you know Daltonia’s history,” the king states, “How so?”

“The people in my world are aware of yours. We just didn’t know it was possible to travel here,” Kurt says smoothly.

“If so, then tell me, Kurt of…”

“New York,” Kurt supplies.

“Kurt of the New York kingdom. If there is another world where people have an abundance of knowledge about Daltonia, then you must know the true name of the Pink Dagger.”

It falls silent.

No one apart from the Royal family and the court knows that name, since they kept it secret out of respect to the Pink Dagger’s family. The Pink Dagger may have gone off the rails, and that was already painful enough for his family, so the Royal family didn’t want to add salt to the wound by publicly unveiling his identity.

“Sandrius Ryerson the Fifth,” Kurt answers without any hesitation.

The silence stretches out, but now it’s a stunned silence. Kurt is right.

“Very well,” the queen is the first to speak, “I do not know if this necessarily proves the existence of another world, but it does make me believe that Kurt knows enough about Daltonia to traverse it.”

The king agrees.

“Yes. There is something peculiar going on,” he says.

Blaine lets out a relieved sigh. Great. Now Kurt can find a way home. If Cooper and Arasha are still around, then Cooper can do his Chosen One spiel and help Kurt.

But then the king says that Cooper and Arasha have already left to follow-up on their quest about the cave up north.

And then the queen drops another bombshell.

“Blaine, would you like to accompany Kurt?” the queen asks him.

Everyone’s eyes land on Blaine.

“Me?” Blaine asks.

“Yes, you.”

“But… why?” Blaine asks.

Blaine isn’t some hero. He likes his castle and his tower and his potions. He’s still working on finding his Passion. He doesn’t have to leave now, does he?

“Your potions have healed Kurt in an extraordinary way,” his mother explains.

“But Cooper has healing powers,” Blaine says back.

“Yes, but Cooper is only one man. He shouldn’t have to carry the burdens of our world on his own. Arasha, Javier and Mel help as much as they can, but they don’t have Cooper’s powers. They’re not Royal.”

Is this because his mother feels better if someone else with magic is around? Blaine knows that as the second queen, she doesn’t have the powers. Neither did the first queen, Cooper’s mother. The Royal bloodline comes from king Devon, who got it from his mother. And now he’s passed it on to Cooper and Blaine, making Blaine’s mother the only non-magical Royal. She knows what it is like to be around magic without being able to use it, and she’s grown reliant on her family’s magic.

Or is Blaine all wrong and is there another reason?

“And Cooper and his friends aren’t here. They might be gone for a long while, and I think Kurt really wants to go home. You are here, Blaine.”

“Blaine should be finding his Passion, dearest,” the king says.

“He can while he’s out in the world, practising alchemy in the field instead of in his tower. And maybe he finds his Passion elsewhere!”

“I… uh…”

“Blaine,” Kurt says, pulling him out of his thoughts, “I would feel safer if you were to join me. You know the most about the situation.”

Blaine knows about The Cooper Chronicles.

And not only that, but Kurt looks desperate. He wants Blaine to come along.

So even though it is an idiotic move, Blaine agrees.

--

Blaine is in his tower with his mother. They’re packing for Blaine’s big adventure. There’s plenty of clothes and food. Blaine also uses his magic to shrink his potion brewing set, so that he can travel with it.

He looks around his tower. What else does he need? Does he need to bring some stories to read while on the road? What does Cooper do when he’s busy being the Chosen One?

Blaine’s nervous and his mother notices.

“Come here, dear,” she opens her arms and Blaine allows the hug. He loves his mother’s hugs and snuggles against her.

“Mother, am I cut out for this?” he asks her.

“You must give yourself more credit, Blaine.”

“But I have never done something like this before. Cooper has the All Power, not me.”

“You don’t need the All Power to be great, my son.”

Blaine knows that. Cooper’s the only one with the All Power, and he certainly isn’t the only great person in the world.

“And I think it is time for you to go out and see the world. You’re always in this tower. Even your friends visit you instead of the other way around. And I think that is the thing preventing you from finding your Passion.”

The door opens and the king is there.

“Everyone’s ready. Good luck, my boy,” he says.

It’s time for Blaine to go.