#and I had to admit I lit a paper towel on fire

[rotisseries]

Ur so new to this its making me giggle. also you should share more I need to Know

gloomy I can't stress enough how bad I am at this. once we got past stats and I had to actually come up with real character things it was awful. dragged kicking and screaming through character creation. also I'm realizing as I type this how little I still have in mind for this character bc I never even decided what gender they are. we've been referring to them interchangeably as "my new cringfail losergirl oc" and "my new weird little guy"

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

~

It’s here!! Thank you all for the support of this universe, it truly means so very much to me. Every time I get a comment, or get to read the fan fiction you all write, see the art you create...it just fills me with so much joy. I’m so excited to share the Sweater Weather sequel with you, Vaincre! Go Lions!

cw: brief mention of past injury and past abuse

~

part i: July

I’ve been holding my breath

I’ve been counting to ten

~

The media wasn’t kind. There were network shows and blogs. Magazines and papers and podcasts. Not to mention Twitter.

Remus had heard his name on all of them, even if he wasn’t listening. It was part of Alice’s job to make sure he knew what was being said about him. It was his job to tune most of it out. Some outrage. Some elation. Some confusion.

This is my question, one podcast asked. I mean, I’m happy for Black. Lupin, too. I’m happy for the hockey world to have this happen, it’s about time, I mean, tune it, come on, and all that.

I’m confused about the, you know, ‘let’s put the PT on the roster.’ I’ve seen college clips, like, those have been released, we know that he got injured, we know all that. He’s fast, we know that, too. But a lot of guys are fast.

Just…what a move by Coach Weasley. A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus had always loved to run. It cleared his head. It had been one of the forms of exercise he had been able to do first once his shoulder had healed, before weights or any sort of strength training. His therapists had recommended it. Endorphins, they had said.

But Remus liked it because it was the closest he had been able to get to gliding on the ice, even when he still couldn’t stand to even look at a rink.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus was used to not knowing. He was beginning to think he thrived on it. Would he play hockey again? Would he ever find love? Would Sirius want him?

Was this really happening?

He didn’t think of dreams as coming so late, but, then again, why should dreams be put on any sort of time schedule?

Now, he banged out the screen door and onto the rickety, well-loved porch of the lake house that had been passed down through his family for years. His mother and her brothers split it up in the summer, overlapping for a week or so, and there were always little gifts left behind for each family at the trade-off. A bottle of the best maple syrup, or some of the local honey. They were small, but Remus smiled when he saw what his uncle and aunt and cousins had left for him and Sirius after his parents and Julian had given them the month of July with the house to themselves. A little flower arrangement with two hockey sticks, carved out of wood, sticking up in the middle.

Sirius had plucked one from the dirt, twirled it over in his fingers, and smiled.

“Your family will never stop surprising me.”

Green Lake was deep, prime for fishing, and gorgeous. The smell of the water, of the soil and sweet summer air was as good as home to Remus. He breathed it in now as he bent to lace up his sneakers. He could smell the fire pit that they had lit last night, one that he and Julian had roasted thousands of marshmallows over.

“I showed Jules how to roast the perfect marshmallow here,” Remus had said that first July night, leaning back against Sirius’ chest.

Sirius had blew out his burnt-black one. “Like this?”

Remus had scoffed. “No, you heathen.”

Sirius looked good here, surrounded by the woods and rusty cabin, wearing the old fleeces that never seemed to leave this place for when the sun had yet to warm the chilly mornings. Some mornings, they’d make their coffee, tangle their socked feet together on the small couch until the sun began to get high and they’d strip it all off in favor of swimsuits and sunscreen. Other mornings, Remus would rise, pressing a gentle kiss to Sirius’ sleeping face, and take to the dirt road that ran around the lake.

Sirius, just off of the hard won playoffs, needed to rest. Remus needed to train.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

They would leave in two days for Pascal’s Cup Day celebration, and then to meet Remus’ parents, his little brother Julian, and Regulus back in Gryffindor for Sirius’ Cup Day. And August training. Remus stretched his hands to his toes and closed his eyes. A strange type of adrenaline filled him whenever he thought about practicing with the team, about the fitness tests that would come first. He’d have to prove himself again and again. He wanted to. But part of him wondered what would happen if he couldn’t.

The screen door squeaked open and shut again, and Remus jumped, looking up to find Sirius, still sleep rumpled, standing there in running shorts.

Remus laughed, reaching up to trace a pillow crease in his cheek. “You’re supposed to be sleeping in while you can.”

Sirius let out a grumbly sort of yawn and gathered his hair, long from the summer and just brushing his chin now, back into a small half-up bun.

“I can’t believe you do this before coffee.”

“Too acidic. Gives you running stitches.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius sighed, and threw his arm around Remus’ shoulders as they walked up the steep driveway to the road.

Remus kissed his wrist. “I’ll miss being here with you.”

Sirius smiled. He was tan from the summer, hair dark as ever and his skin sun-kissed.

Remus leaned into his shoulder. “I mean look at you. I like seeing you this relaxed.”

Sirius bit his lip as the rounded a bend, waving at Mrs. Barrow, who was tending to her garden.

“I don’t think I knew I could be this relaxed,” Sirius admitted. “It was always train, train, train, you didn’t get a Cup, try harder.”

Remus was familiar with the notes that appeared in Sirius’ voice now from years of Sirius’ small slips in conversation, even when, to Remus, Sirius had only been they youngest captain in the league, cold and reserved from even more years of his father’s abusive, relentless attitude towards hockey and Sirius’ skills. Even when Remus had only been the team’s physical therapist, closeted, crushing on Sirius, and surprised by the cracks Sirius showed when he had gotten his ankle smashed by Severus Snape, Captain of the Slytherin Snakes—the Gryffindor Lions greatest rivalry. Pain, it had seemed, and fear of never stepping on the ice again, had given Remus his first glimpses into a different Sirius beneath it all, a boy who was filled with much more than just a need to win, but for whom the want of winning only made him love his sport, and his team, more.

“And now that you have a Cup?” Remus asked. “How’re you feeling?”

They came to the road and Sirius balanced on one foot, stretching his thigh. “Now that I have you,” he said. “I’m feeling just fine.”

Remus snorted. “Yeah, the Stanley Cup Champion part has nothing to do with it.”

Sirius laughed, but took Remus’ face between his palms. “If I didn’t have you, and I had only a Cup, all I would be doing right now is thinking about another Cup.”

Remus put a hand on his chest, fingers finding the number twelve pendant that rested there.

“Now, there’s more,” Sirius said simply, and leaned down for a tender kiss. “Like your mother’s peach pie.”

Remus punched him in the arm as Sirius laughed loudly.

“You’ll have to beat me if you want a slice of that!” Remus called as he took off.

Sirius made a wounded noise, but sprinted after him until they were side by side again.

~

“I don’t think I can leave this beach,” Leo mumbled into the lounging cabana they were spread out beneath, and Logan looked down at him from where he was reading—trying to read—one of the books Finn had given him. He didn’t know how many books Finn had tried to get him to read over the years, but he knew he never made it through more than a few pages without looking up, getting distracted, or having to go back.

“Non?” Logan asked.

Leo shook his head. “The sun. The sea. I’m in heaven.”

“What about hockey?”

“Brr.”

Logan laughed and settled back into the pillows, setting the book aside and rolling towards Leo to feel his sun-warmed back and leaned down to kiss his temple. A private beach definitely had its perks—and so did three hockey salaries.

“We’ll just stay here, then.”

They’d had a good summer. Leo’s Cup Day, Finn’s, his own, all in their hometowns and accompanied by large parades and fanfare. Logan had finally gotten to take Leo home to his sisters and parents for the first time. It had been nice to see Finn around his family again, too, after what felt like eons of avoiding him in that small gap between being at Harvard and then them both making it to the NHL, and to the Lions.

Leo’s sleepy smile up at him melted Logan like ice in the sun.

“Okay, good,” Leo said, then his eyes went behind Logan. “There’s the ghost-on-toast with our drinks.”

Logan snorted and looked up to see Finn—and Finn’s tiny blue swim shorts that he insisted weren’t see-through—walking towards them through the sand from the resort bar with a tray of drinks in his hands.

“Hey, lover-nuts,” Finn said as he set the tray down in the shade. “Got us some snacks, too. That bar tender loves me.”

“You are so pale,” Leo laughed. “I love you, though, please put more sunscreen on.”

“Keep your sandy feet off my towel,” Logan nudged Finn’s foot with his own as he reached for his drink. Finn just smiled and nodded at the book.

“How is it?” Finn asked.

Logan just looked at him.

He laughed and ran a hand through Logan’s salty, damp hair. “I know. I’ll read it to you later. I just thought you might want something for the beach!”

Logan held up his cocktail. “I have something for the beach.”

They settled back under their cabana, the thin, white linen curtains fluttering around them in the three o’clock breeze. Maybe Logan, as he closed his eyes between Leo and Finn, Leo’s hand still on his thigh, Finn’s arm pillowing the back of his neck, never wanted to leave this beach, either.

“Back to Gryffindor tomorrow,” Logan said.

“Group chat says most guys’ll be back this week,” Finn said, squinting at his phone over his sunglasses. “We gotta be back for Dumo’s, and then Cap’s Cup Day. That’ll be nice, man.”

“I like that they’re bringing it to Gryffindor Pride,” Leo said, rolling onto his back. “Should have thought of that. Or, I guess…” Leo trailed off and Logan frowned. They couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least. Leo caught Logan’s expression and rested a reassuring hand on his thigh. “I’m glad we get to go, even if its for them on the surface. That’s real thoughtful of them, you know?”

Logan nodded. It was thoughtful. When Remus and Sirius had brought it up to them, he’d found himself getting a little choked up.

“We want you guys to be able to experience that, too,” Remus had said. “If you want. No matter what you decide to do public-wise in the future.”

Finn clicked his phone off and chucked it to the side. “Hey, don’t take me off island time yet. We’ll order to the room, eat on the deck, hike up and stargaze…”

Finn rattled off the perfect list, tilting towards Logan until their lips met.

“And then we’ll go win another Cup.”

Leo and Logan punched him at the same time.

~

Thomas sat in the shade with Kasey as they watched Alex try to take on Natalie and Noelle at pool basketball.

“I really think they’re going to accidentally drown him,” Thomas said thoughtfully.

“He probably thinks that, too, and is just too competitive to stop,” Kasey replied.

Thomas laughed, and held out his beer to cheers.

“This is a nice house the O’Haras have, man,” he looked at the sparkling ocean beyond the steps and fence, and at the pool with the grill and lounge chairs. They’d only come up for the weekend, between training and visiting their own families, and before returning to Gryffindor for the season.

“Tell me about it.”

“Cheating!” Alex spluttered from the pool as Natalie put all of her weight on him to dunk him under the water. Alex pointed very seriously to the foot marker on the side tile. “We agreed from that to Thomas’ chair, I was too far away!”

“Too bad!” Noelle shouted as she made another basket.

Thomas didn’t think it was the alcohol that made him feel a little fuzzy at the edges as he looked over her in her swimsuit. She was all curves of tanned muscle, softened the summer around her stomach and arms. Thomas was a goner. But she seemed pretty gone, too, so he guessed it was all right.

“This moment’s always rough,” Kasey said softly from beside him, and when Thomas looked at him questioningly, he gestured vaguely with his beer. “The end of July. One more month, but not really. Alex’ll go back for training, you know? It’s like a trick. I always think, I get three months with these two. But it’s more like two and the first week of August.”

Thomas nodded. “I know. Noelle, too. Her training camp starts on the eight. I’m just…”

Kasey sighed in sympathy.

“At least you have Nat, you know?” Thomas said. “Not that I’m saying you have it easier, I just…”

Kasey shook his head. “I know. Believe me, I’m thankful for that every day. But…when you miss someone, you miss someone.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.”

Last season hadn’t been too bad. His relationship with Noelle had been new. They only really knew FaceTime dates, and squeezed in weekend flights that sometimes left them more exhausted than sated. They had been taking it slow. Thomas had been kissed by Noelle—a lot. Enough to make him dizzy with it. Only, then she’d met him at the airport in Quebec, they’d spent a month with her family in France…

And Thomas wasn’t sure he knew how to do just FaceTime anymore. There was a new yearning, knotted just below his heart. He knew what her skin felt like under his hands now, knew what she looked like right when she waked up, even her skincare routine before bed. It would feel like being away from the ice for too long, the knot pulling tight. He thought this year was going to be harder. Maybe he knew it, but if he did, he was pretending it might be easy still.

“T,” Noelle called, floating on her back, dark hair fanned out in the water. “C’mere!”

Thomas smiled, setting his drink down. He would come, whenever she called. Wherever.

~

Cole Reyes didn’t know if Adele Dumais staring at him the way she was was a good thing, or a bad thing. He was nervous enough without the seemingly disapproval of Pascal Dumais'—the Pascal Dumais of the Gryffindor Lions, oldest player in the league—teenage daughter.

“Don’t you talk?” Marc, one of his sons, asked.

Cole blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah.”

Adele waved her brother off. “They’re always super nervous at first. Remember Sirius?”

Marc scoffed. “I was a baby.”

Cole let out a breath. Now they were casually talking about Sirius Black, who had lived in the very room Cole had been sleeping in for a week now when he was a rookie, too. It was the same with Logan Tremblay. He felt like he needed to keep the room pristine, like he was living in some Hockey Hall of Fame museum that he had not earned the right to be in yet.

“You’re still a baby,” Adele shot back.

“Kids,” came Celeste, Pascal’s wife’s voice from where she was setting the table. “Come on now.”

“Sorry, maman,” Marc said softly.

“Sorry,” Adele sighed more reluctantly.

“Go help your father with the grill, you two,” she said. “Everyone will be arriving soon.”

Katie, Celeste and Pascal’s youngest daughter, perked up from where she was sitting beside Cole, drawing. Not Pascal, Dumo—Cole kept having to remind himself that he could call Pascal by his nickname now, that it was all official, that he was a Gryffindor Lion, too. Katie hadn’t left his side since he arrived a week ago to billet with the Dumais, and he still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Even the Cup?” she asked.

Celeste laughed. “Oui, ma cherie. Cole? Would you mind going to get the flowers for the table? They’re on the kitchen counter, just inside.”

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Dumais,” Cole nodded, glad for something to do. The thought of the Cup arriving gave him the chills. He’d have to be careful not to touch it. He was scared to even look at it, to be honest. His mom would be laughing at him right about now. He wanted to call her afterwards, tell her everything.

“Call me Celeste, I told you, please,” Celeste smiled. She was lovely, with her dark hair twisted and clipped up and a summer dress as green as her eyes, silky against her olive skin.

Cole flushed, but smiled. “Celeste.”

Cole made his way through the sliding door from the back yard and through the dining room. The kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the house—and it was a big house. Beautiful copper pans hung shining above the island, along with some herbs that Celeste grew and dried herself. It looked like something out of a magazine to Cole, and it was nice, but it wouldn’t beat his mom’s kitchen in the small apartment they shared in Boston. The small space would fill up to the brim with the smell of spices, or cobbler. The thought sent a pang right to his heart. He missed home, that was for sure. After being away for so long, for so many hockey camps, he’d hoped he would be more used to it by now.

The flowers were right where Celeste had said they would be, and he was reaching for one when the back door that led to the garage dinged open. Cole froze, sure that he was about to run into captain Sirius Black completely unprepared, when a girl stepped through instead. She was dressed in denim shorts and a white tank top, had dark brown skin, and a Gryffindor College hat over her hair, which was plaited back into many small braids.

She smiled when she saw him. No sign of surprised, or of the nervousness Cole felt when he met basically anyone.

“You must be Cole,” she said.

Cole nodded. The girl was gorgeous. Cole was a mess of nerves already. He didn’t need the stare of the teenage daughter of one of his idols, but he especially could not handle a beautiful girl right now.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “No, yeah, um. Yes.”

The girl strode forward, setting her bag down on the counter, along with a water bottle decorated in stickers. He caught a few Lions ones. She offered her hand, which was slender and had two golden rings on it. “I’m Layla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Cole took it, trying to place her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I babysit for the Dumais family,” she said in explanation, then waved her hand. “Well, this year, at least. I’m actually—we’re going to be working together.”

Cole blinked. “You mean the Lions?”

She nodded. “I’m in the middle of my undergrad for physical therapy. Dumo’s amazing and he got me an internship under the new PT. You know. I’ll probably get you stick tape or something,” she laughed. “Congrats, by the way.”

Cole tilted his head and she raised an eyebrow.

“On making it to the NHL?”

“Oh,” Cole laughed. “Oh, I, yeah, thanks. You, too—or…yeah.”

Cole was going to stay in his room in the basement and never come out.

“I gotta—Mrs. Du—Celeste wants these flowers outside,” he said, picking the vases up.

“Sure thing,” Layla smiled.

“Layla,” came a shriek, and a moment later Katie Dumais came sprinting into the kitchen and wrapped herself around Layla’s legs and smiled at Cole. “This is my new hockey player.”

Cole couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but Katie sure was cute.

“Yours?” Layla gasped as she smiled at Cole. “He’s all yours, is he?”

Katie nodded. “Like Tremzy and Sirius. His name is Cole, like when Santa Clause doesn’t like you.”

Again, with the casual mentions of Logan Tremblay and Sirius Black.

“Oh, of course,” Layla laughed. “Well, I’m sure Santa Clause has never not liked you, babes. Let’s go let your mom know I’m here, okay? Your new hockey player can come with us, too.”

“He’s yours, too!” Katie insisted. “You’re here all the time, so he’s yours, too, don’t worry.”

“Oh, good,” Layla said. “I was worried.”

When Katie looked at Cole expectedly, Cole managed, “I guess everyone does need a hockey player?”

“Exactly!” Katie squealed, and Cole could only follow them outside, heart pounding.

~

It was good to be back in Gryffindor. Remus and Sirius had dropped their bags in Sirius’ entryway, said hello to Regulus, showered, and then hopped right back in the car to get to Pascal’s house.

“You two look disgustingly happy,” Regulus said, leaning forward from the back seat.

“We are,” Sirius grinned at him in the review mirror. “I am also happy,” he stroked the leather steering wheel of his Range Rover. “To be back with this baby.”

While Sirius’ hair had grown longer, Regulus had shaved his short. The curls were barely curls at all anymore, but Remus was happy to see that his seemingly ever-present dark circles had receded some.

“Why, thank you, Regulus, you look happy, too,” Remus snorted. “When do you leave for NYU’s orientation?”

“August 23rd,” he said. “Been texting with my housemates, too. They seem cool.”

“Maybe one of you will pull a Finn and fall in love with each other,” Sirius said.

“Twice,” Remus laughed, and Regulus did, too.

“I think I’ve had enough romance drama to last me a life time, thanks,” Regulus smiled. “But, yeah. I’m just…I’m focused on friends right now, I think. Normal, non-hockey creatures like you two. But that’s not to say if something came up…or I guess someone. Who knows.”

Sirius’ smile was softer this time. “Focus on whatever you want, Reg. You deserve it.”

Regulus just grumbled something about hockey gods, and then they were pulling up to the Dumais’. There were silver and white balloons lining the driveway and the fence to the backyard where, as Remus slammed his door, he could already hear laughter. A zing of excitement shot through him.

“I missed this team,” he sighed as Sirius took his hand.

Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple. “Your team.”

“Our team.”

“Jesus Christ,” Regulus said, and gave them a shove forward.

Thomas gave a loud woop when he spotted them coming out to the backyard. Regulus immediately made a B-line towards Leo and the Cubs.

“Yes! The Captain!” Thomas said and pulled Sirius into a hug. “Missed you, man.”

“You, too, T,” Sirius said. “Ready to tear it up?”

“You know it.”

Remus smiled as Thomas hugged him next. “I forgot you two train together before pre-season.”

“You two?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, the small gold hoops in his ears glinting in the sun. Remus noticed he’d shaved three stripes into one side of his head. They were a little wobbly. Maybe Noelle had done it. “You’re not coming with us?”

“You know how this one is about his routines,” Remus said, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist. “Wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”

“Please,” Sirius said. “I want you there more than I want a second—”

Remus and Thomas punched him at the same time.

“I know you weren’t just about to say that,” said an accented voice from behind Remus, and they turned to see Pascal standing there. He looked as he always did, smile lines around his eyes, gray streaks at his temples. He wore a white t-shirt and had Katie on his hip. She was definitely getting too big to be carried around like that, but Remus couldn’t see a time when Pascal would ever refuse her. He’d probably carry Adele around like that, too, if she’d let him.

“Dumo,” Sirius smiled, and took the two beers he was holding out, handing one to Remus. He kissed Katie’s forehead. “Good summer?”

“The best,” Pascal laughed, and nodded towards the edge of the yard. “Especially with the promise of seeing that thing again.”

Remus followed his gaze, and his breath caught, just as he knew it would. The Cup stood there, its guards near by with drinks and plates of food in their hands. It sat proudly on a table, surrounded by white tulips—no doubt Celeste’s doing.

“I’m excited to see you two bring it to the parade,” Pascal said. “That will be a wonderful day for everyone.”

Remus glanced at where Logan, Leo, and Finn were standing with Kasey Winter, Gryffindor’s goalie, and his partners Natalie, with her long blonde hair, and Finn’s brother Alex, who played for Tampa Bay.

Sirius’ smile lit up his face. “It will be.”

Remus peered around him. “Is that our rookie?”

Sirius scoffed. “A rookie can’t call a fellow rookie rookie, rookie.”

Remus blinked. “What did you just say?”

“That’s Cole!” Katie said. “I love him.” Then she turned and shouted his name again. He looked up from where he was standing quietly beside Jackson Nadeau, another player, and Remus suppressed a smile at the way his eyes widened when he saw Sirius.

“Oh, here we go,” Sirius mumbled.

“Oh, hush,” Remus said, and sounded far too much like his mother to himself. “You’re going to be throwing hands for him the second someone gets close, and you know it.”

“I don’t know how to tell rookies I’m just a person!” Sirius whispered as Cole began to make his way over. “They act all…”

“Star struck?” Thomas offered.

Sirius just glowered at him.

Cole Reyes did not look as young as he was. Even at 19, he was jacked, and tall, with light brown skin, green eyes, and a stripe shaved into one of his eyebrows. His hair was shaved at the sides, but longer on the top and in tight curls.

Remus glanced somewhat self-consciously down at himself. He could only put on more muscle healthily so fast. He thought he’d been doing well, but looking at Cole…

“Hello,” Cole said hesitantly and Pascal set Katie down and clapped Cole on the shoulder.

“Reyes, meet Sirius. Sirius, meet the boy who is a much better billet than you ever were.”

Sirius snorted, and Cole laughed—nervously.

“Hi, Cole,” Sirius said, and held out his hand. “I know we spoke briefly over the summer, but it’s nice to officially meet you.”

“You, too,” Cole said, smile slight. “Thanks for the call. My mom freaked out. I mean—well, me too, but my mom…” Cole stuttered out, wincing.

“Loves me?” Sirius laughed. “I get that a lot.”

“He’s so humble,” Remus shook his head jokingly. “Hi Cole, I’m Remus. Welcome to the team.”

“You too…?” Cole said hesitantly. “Well, the roster, I guess.”

“Cole,” Katie said, taking his large hand in her small one. “Come meet Tremzy. He’s my best friend.”

Sirius feigned a pout. “What about me?”

Katie smiled sheepishly, throwing herself at Sirius’ legs, “You, too!”

“Always one-uped by Tremblay,” Thomas laughed, shaking his head. “How’s it feel, Cap?”

“Wonderful,” Sirius said dryly and then looked down at Katie, petting her head. “Go on, go show Cole your best friend.”

They watched her lead Cole through the crowd for a moment before Sirius huffed.

“See?” Sirius whispered to Remus. “It’s like he’s scared of me.”

“I’ve never heard you use the phrase spoke briefly in my life. Who are you, Alice?”

“I was trying to be professional!”

Remus laughed. “Why?”

Sirius just rolled his eyes and dragged him over to stack their plates with food.

The party went well into the evening, the sky pink and blue in the setting sun. There were lanterns floating in the pool where Evgeni and Jackson were playing chicken with a delighted Marc and Louis, or sometimes one of Coach Arthur Weasley’s boys, on their shoulders. Logan was sitting with Cole and Finn, cradling a sleepy Katie against his chest, Leo and Regulus laughing with Kasey and Alex.

Remus found Sirius again standing alone in front of the Cup. His hair was falling into his face, the curls gentled by the evening breeze and the Cup’s silver surface reflecting the silver of Sirius’ eyes. Remus went to stand beside him, and neither of them spoke for a moment.

“I’m nervous,” Remus broke the silence.

Sirius nodded. “I know, mon loup.”

Remus sighed, resting his head against Sirius’ arm. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Sirius switched his drink to his other hand so he could run his fingers through Remus’ hair. “This is…big.”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Remus whispered. It felt dangerous, to say the words aloud. “It’s everything that I lost. Last time.”

Remus could still feel Fenrir Greyback rip at his shoulder, even if it was years ago now, while they were still at college. Being in the NHL meant that Remus would have to play against him again whenever they met Vegas.

Sirius turned towards him, hand on his cheek.

“You will have this,” he said earnestly, and then smile, reaching into his shirt for his necklace, the one Remus had gifted him last Christmas. He brought it to his lips. “Loops.”

Remus smiled at the now familiar sight, touching the pendant when Sirius’ let it drop.

“You know,” Remus said. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted, too.”

Sirius’ smile was one of Remus’ favorites, and he tucked him against his side. Remus followed his gaze to find him looking at Cole again.

“I’m not happy with the way it happened,” Sirius said softly, and Remus knew he was thinking of the pictures that someone had leaked of them kissing. The pictures that had upturned their entire lives. “But I’m glad I get to hold you like this in front of new faces. I wasn’t thinking about trades—I try not to—but getting Reyes, if things had been different, would have meant we were back to square one at parties like these.”

Remus nodded, taking a drink. “And he seemed okay with it. With us.”

“I was thinking we should invite him to train with us. With me, you, and T. Maybe Dumo would join, too. I know he usually goes with Sergei, but Sergei might be with Kuns and Nado, even though they usually like it just them. The Cubs—”

“Okay, Captain, okay,” Remus laughed.

Sirius pressed a hand over his eyes, laughing. “I just don’t like it when they’re nervous around me. Like Leo was. It’s so much better now that we’re friends.”

“You’ll get there with him,” Remus said. “Yeah, invite him to train with us. The more the merrier.”

Secretly, Remus wanted to see how Cole trained. He couldn’t shake the analytical side of him, the physical therapist side. Cole was built for such a young age.

“If I didn’t know better,” Sirius said softly, mouth close to Remus’ ear. “I’d say you were checking him out.”

Remus spluttered. “I’m not! I want to know his routine!”

Sirius cracked up. “This is your superstition, isn’t it? Cracking other player’s codes.”

Remus just shrugged, smiling into his cup.

“Have you cracked my code?” Sirius asked in the low voice he used that made Remus not want to be surrounded by people.

Remus looked up at him. “Maybe. It certainly has nothing to do with a piece of toast at five o’clock.”

“My pre-game toast is very important to me.”

Remus leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “No, you just like honey and cinnamon.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to talk to Reyes now.”

“Catch him if he passes out.”

Sirius just glowered over his shoulder as he stalked across the grass. Remus looked around at the back yard, at the team, together again. His team.

[amazingmsme]

Hot Boy Summer

AN: Here’s my fic for the @ticklesofcolor fic exchange! I wrote for @calmturquoise & I had a blast writing this fic for you! So sorry for the delay, I just finished up with my associates & I had to write 2 final papers. I hope you’re okay that I was liberal with your prompt, since I went with Zuko & Sokka it would kind of be hard for him to use his bending to tickle someone, but I still tried to incorporate it! I also completely threw in the towel with this title. I hope you enjoy it! Sokka & Zuko just play off of each other so well.

Zuko was hot. Like strictly temperature wise Sokka told himself. But firebending proved to be quite useful to him. When they were camping, he was the warmest to sit next to. Not to mention, he made great fires for roasting weenies and marshmallows. But Sokka's favorite thing about it was that it meant he was pretty easy to tick off, which made for good fun.

He would never actually get too angry, so he assumed he didn't actually mind it all that much. And the truth was, he didn't. Zuko never really had friends of his own, and the playful teasing, if annoying, was actually fun. The others picked up on the habits too. It ended up with Toph claiming Zuko as her body pillow to hug against while she slept.

"Hey, can you hold this?" Without waiting for an answer, Sokka shoved a wet clay bowl in Zuko's warm hands.

"Wha- uh- sure," he said, perplexed but not setting it down. Sokka's cheeks were puffed out like a frog from trying to contain his laughter. Zuko realized what he was trying to do and huffed to keep himself from chuckling along. "Hell no, go find a kiln," he said, shoving it back in Sokka's hands.

As annoying as it was, it made Zuko feel... accepted. Like he was actually a part of the group instead of the outcast he was so used to being. He thought that they would all hate him: fearing his flame and mistrusting of everything he did. But that wasn't the case. And it felt good. He felt like, maybe, he could return the playful teasing. Toph was surprisingly easy to embarrass when he mentioned how "hot" she must thing he is from cuddling him all the time. Coincidentally, an embarrassed Toph and an angry Toph we're pretty much one in the same, and a sharp rock had launched him several feet in the air.

Katara could see right through his attempts at teasing, at being friendly, but she was still not amused by him. Aang was too happy all the time to get a rise out of him, though it was still fun to mess with the young avatar. Sokka was the most fun however. He had a sense of humor, and even though Zuko's wasn't what you'd consider "good" the other boy could still recognize what was meant to be a joke or a tease and deliver one right back. He was dramatic, and therefore, very easy to evoke a reaction.

He couldn't help but notice how the rest of them were very physical. Like, they'd constantly be touching each other. At first he found it a little unsettling, but they had done a pretty good job of making him get used to it. And eventually, he began reaching out to them.

So when Sokka grabbed his wrist and squeezed a pressure point to make a flame shoot out to toast a mallow. He snatched his hand back and shakes a finger in his face to scold him. "Alright I've had just about enough of you using me as your personal lighter!" he admonished, the smirk on his face revealing his amusement. Sokka's smirk was even wider. More smug and full of pride.

"Why? It's not like you'll do anything," he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Zuko glared at him. He was right, he'd probably just let it slide. Except he'd watched how they all play with each other and wanted them to know he could be fun like that too. He always hesitated to reach out, but he wanted to change. So they were both a little shocked when he shoved Sokka to the ground and sat on his legs, just above the knee. He blinked a few times then chuckled. "Nice try flambo, but it'll take more than just sitting on me to teach me a lesson," he sassed.

"I know," he said, looking down at him. He'd seen the others tickle Sokka to tears when he won't knock it off with the lame jokes, so he knew this method would be affective. Except, he didn't really know where to start. He'd never been in many tickle fights with his sister, and when he did he usually didn't win. But it had been years since he'd engaged with someone like this. But he'd watched enough, he was sure he could figure it out!

He gave a tentative poke to his belly, eliciting a quick squeak. Sokka's eyes widen and a nervous grin breaks out as he shook his head. Zuko placed a few more pokes to his stomach and sides before wiggling his fingers over the skin. Sokka was squirming and giggling lightly which... wasn't right. He'd seen the others get him, he should be howling with laughter. So why wasn't he?

"W-wohow you're really bahad at this," Sokka spoke fairly easily. Zuko huffed and shoved him against the ground and clambered away to stand. Sokka sighed and reached up, snatching his wrist. "Hey don't go, I was just teasing."

Zuko glared at the ground, lower lip jutting out slightly in a mix between a scowl and a pout. "Why not? It's true." When he didn't move to sit back down, Sokka yanked him to the ground, none too gently he might add.

"Ow! You didn't have to do that you know!" he complained, leaning to the side so he could rub his sore butt. Thankfully the grass cushioned his fall, but unexpectedly crashing down on your tailbone was never fun.

He shrugged. "I know, but it was the easiest way to make sure you wouldn't leave." He offered a softer, more genuine smile. "Besides, it's not your fault you don't know how. I doubt you had much time for goofing off like that," he said, his voice sympathetic. Zuko nodded shyly.

"Yeah, once mom was gone, things really picked up. And they were never easy before, but everything just got a lot more intense after that," he admitted. After keeping things bottled up all his life, it felt good to get it off his chest. Not all at once, but slowly; small things, like now.

Sokka seemed to mull something over in his head before deciding, "I can teach you if you want." Zuko blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I mean, I can't leave you all defenseless like that," he teased with a poke to his side. His lip twitched in a smile and he jerked away.

"Hey I can defend myself just fine! But um, who's our first target?" he asked slightly confused, staring out at the others spread around their small camp. "'Cause I think Aang'll be our best bet-" he rambled on, unaware of how Sokka was creeping up from behind.

"You are!" Zuko barely had time to process what he said before a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against Sokka's chest. He gasped as realization dawned on him and he tried to pry himself free.

"What? Why me? I-I can't learn like this!" he yelped. His friend only laughed.

"You will. You gotta know what different techniques feel like so you can get the best reactions. You gotta try different things 'cause certain things work better on some people," he explained. The way he was so casual about it just embarrassed Zuko even more.

"I appreciate the sentiment but I'm really more of a hands on kind of learner," he said as he squirmed. Sokka practically lit up.

"Then this is perfect! See? Hands-" he held them up for him to see before immediately diving for his stomach. "On!" Zuko practically screamed.

"Nohoho! Thihihis ihisn't fair!" he squealed through his laughter.

"What do you mean, of course it is! I'm giving you a lesson in tickling 101!" he chirped happily, kneading at his sides. Zuko cackled and doubled over, hands weakly prying at his wrists.

"Nohohot ohon mehehe!" he protested.

"Like I said, in order to tickle someone, you gotta know what different techniques feel like. There's light skittering," he said, demonstrating by spidering his fingers over his ribs. His laughter turned breathy and giggly, the squirming dying down as it became slightly more bearable. "Also quick squeezes," he said as he rapidly squeezed down his sides, making him squeal and twist back and forth. "Oh, and poking! But you seem to have that one down," he said, delivering quick pokes all over his torso.

"Ohohokahay I gehehet ihit! Stohop!" he cried out. Sokka shook his head.

"Not yet, the lesson's not over!" Suddenly, his hands shot down to squeeze his thighs. Zuko shrieked and kicked out, feet scrambling in the grass. "There's squeezing, oh! And kneading!" he said, switching tactics and demonstrating the new technique on his stomach. His laughter deepened as he desperately tried to squirm away, sucking in his belly and leaning away from the touch. This only succeeded in him pressing against Sokka even more, trapping him further in his hold.

"I can't believe I almost forgot one of the most important steps," Sokka said, managing to bring one arm up to smack himself on the forehead for being such an idiot.

Zuko didn't want to know what he meant by that, but then again, he kind of did. Curiosity killed the cat. "W-whahahat's thahat?" he asked. Now that the other boy had brought it up, he simply had to know.

"Teasing of course!" he exclaimed. Oh no, he really shouldn't have asked. "Sokka nohoho dohon't!"

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head. "Are you too ticklish to handle it?" he asked, raising the pitch of his voice in a mocking tone. For some reason, that made the sensations even stronger and all the more maddening.

"Shuhuhut up mahahan!" he squealed, doubling over and pushing at his tickling hands. "You're really not in a position to be making demands," he said smugly. Zuko managed to growl through his laughter. Sokka chuckled at the noise.

"I can't believe it: even when you're giggling up a storm you still try to appear all broody and grouchy!" he taunted. His cheeks turned pink upon hearing this and he tried to hide his face in his hands.

"Sohohokka ohohokay! I gehet it nohohow!" he pleaded.

"Alright, last lesson. You know what raspberries are, right?" he asked. Zuko could remember how his mother would play with him when he was younger, sometimes blowing raspberries on his pudgy tummy or neck. His eyes widen and he shook his head.

"Don't you dahahare!" he tried to scold.

"Oh, I dare," Sokka said with a sly smirk, placing his lips on the nape of his neck and blew hard. A loud, wet fart noise filled the air along with Zuko's wild cackles. He arched his back as much as he could, squirming and thrashing in his hold. He managed to twist away and shoved Sokka's face back with a little more force than necessary.

Sokka's shit eating grin remained plastered on his face. "You're the worst," he spat out between panting breaths. He closed his eyes and shrugged, clearly pleased with himself.

"You're welcome." Zuko's blush burned brighter and he playfully punched his shoulder. "I didn't say thank you!"

"Yeah but you were thinking it," he teased further. "If you still suck at tickling then there's just no hope for you," he said, patting his back consolingly. A rare glint of mischief shined in Zuko's eyes.

"I think it's coming back to me... Only one way to find out." Before Sokka could react, he slammed into him with his shoulder, knocking him on his back. He wasted no time pinning him.

Sokka stated up at him in shock, already giggling with nerves. "C-can't we talk about this?"

Zuko smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Nope."

[hes-writer]

Patreon Masterlist

These are exclusive fics that you can read on my Patreon!

* = complete, ^ = in-progress, + = will be posted on tumblr, (s) = smut (implied or mentioned) writing count: 78 pieces

**billing cycle currently paused** | new patrons will still be charged

This is a reupload of my masterlist with sneak peeks of each piece so you know what's up :D

Multi-Part Series | One Shots | Drabbles | Extras

* Unwavering (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) - 6.5k, the one where harry cheats (again)

"Right. Maybe we can go out tonight to grab some dinner," She suggested, a hopeful glint in her eyes and he almost felt guilty for putting her on the back burner of his mind. "I really have to go, baby," Peeking his head around her frame, he spotted the untouched toast and apple juice resting on where he should be. "I'm sorry."

^ + Roommate Series (3) (4) (5) (6) - 9.8k, the one where harry and y/n are roommates

He sighed, “I finished my coffee ages ago. I was just waiting for you to finish studying so we could leave together and go home,” Y/N dropped her fingers from his wrist, slouching the slightest bit as butterflies attacked her stomach. “Don’t look at me like that. I just wanted you to get home safe,” He nudged her forehead with the ball of his palm, his face contorting to annoyance.

^ + Notes on Camp (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) - 16.5k, the one where harry and y/n are camp counsellors

Y/N looked around to be met with puckered lips and clenched hands as the campers practically requested for her to kiss their favourite counsellor. Wide, hopeful stares were willing her to commit.

“Alright, alright,” She bent her upper body to reach his cheek, licking over her lips once before pressing it on his skin. It was only a quick peck and then she pulled back. He stayed unmoving.

Jacky and Emy poked their finger at him on opposite sides. His cheek dimpling with their small indents. “Maybe you should do it again?”

* Friends Don't (1) (2) (3)- 3k, the one where lines are crossed

“It’s Harry Styles fanfiction on Tumblr,” She suggested a conversation, shyly smiling in embarrassment. “I can see that,” He murmured, using his thumb to scroll through the rest of the story, “It’s . . . interesting. People write these about me?” His retort made the situation seem like an utter surprise.

* Digress, Progress, Regress Series - 5k, the one where harry falls out of love

Y/N wondered if there was a chance to fixing what has been lost--what has disappeared as the canvas soaked through in a permeated osmosis. Coating the brush of blue with white paint took several layers to completely cover the mistakes. There had to be an effort in wanting to make the faults and errors completely opaque from the eye; the bleary, watery irises soaked with tears, dampening her lashes in a thick haze as she cried.

Tickle Fights (1)  - 1.2k, the one where bff!y/n teases harry about his boner

“What’s going on here, Harry?” The light tone of her voice indicated that she was teasing him, paired with the subtle movements of her lower half. Harry whined in response, feeling the blood rush downwards to make him even stiffer. “Does this feel good? Got hard over me straddling you, huh?” It was almost degrading, the way Y/N formed her question yet Harry couldn’t help a whimper from lingering in the air. He nodded, hands sliding down to grip at her moving hips.

Real Mature (1)  (2)  - part two is patron exclusive! - 603 words, the one where bff!harry and y/!n fight

“You shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for being bitter about you and Ruby,” She rested her forearms on his shoulders in a slant when he stood to his full height. “I know you’re happy with her,” Harry gave her a shy smile that confirmed his words. Ruby is someone special to Harry now and Y/N had to learn how to share his time, attention, and affection. “I reckon I’m just missing you a lot more now,” Y/N’s tone was sad and despondent, trailing her gaze to the floor where she almost chuckled at Harry’s fuzzy bunny slippers which she had gotten him.

^ Fine Line Series: Adore You - 1.1k the one where harry and y/n are friends with benefits

Still, with her back against the wall and Harry’s fingers still gripping her hips—she waited for his response. I told you I loved you. Say it back, Y/N thought. “I love her, Y/N,” He mumbled against her neck in a drunken stupor. So close.

Kinkmas Blurbs (1 - 7) - 4.6k, the one where it’s all smutty

Maybe it was the way that his jaw ticked harshly every time he threw his head back at a particularly good stroke. You wondered what he was imagining that had him bucking his hips to his fist before realizing that the movements would probably cause you to wake up. Still, his hooded lids didn’t peel open—not until a core shaking fondle of his heavy balls forced a choked whine out of his throat.

Harry’s neck snapped to your figure, catching the way you looked at him as if you were in distress that he wasn’t cumming anytime soon—not when you were there, willing and able to help.

“Fuck, love. ‘M sorry,” He mumbled, not stopping the flicks of his wrist. In fact, you swore that you could hear the squelching of his clear pre-cum squishing between his fingers.

The Secretary (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) 11k, the one where harry is the CEO and y/n is the assistant (cheating fic)

Two months ago, Y/N unburied a not-so-hidden secret that Harry tried to bury. Two months ago, Y/N walked in on her boyfriend and his secretary fucking on his office table. Two months ago, Y/N experienced everything from pain and discomfort, to disappointment and being scornful. She threaded the line of confronting him or waiting for the day he came forward and admitted it himself. There was a desire for Y/N to see Harry sweat beneath her beady eyes, watching him scratch the back of his pants in a nervous manner. She wanted to hear him stutter as he spat an excuse, she yearned to see him pleading with his gorgeous green eyes for her to stay.  Y/N craved for his throat to close up, whimpers choked from his trachea because he was losing his stability as she walked away from him.

(s) Tension (1) (2) - 5.3k, the one where harry and y/n hate each other

“S’that why you hate me so much?”

His fingertips tapped his thigh methodically, crumpling a faint thud against his jeans. With how close they were sitting, Y/N’s bare knee brushed against his clothing. A burn of desire and anticipation lit inside of her like a dose of gasoline another in a flaming hot fire.

Harry shook his head, “Don’t hate you."

Champagne Problems- 4.4k, the one where marriage is a sensitive topic, the 1 - coming soon!

The freshly popped bottle of champagne poured into the flute on the table beside her bubbled and simmered, the sizzling reaction of the golden liquid ignited a moment of realization within her. The reason why her body felt more weighted, why tears filled her glazed eyes, pricking her corneas and threatening to spill down her face. Y/N’s heart had cracked–she was certain that everybody around her could hear it.

One Shot

(s) Achy Back - 813 words, the one where harry draws y/n a bath

A pout sat on her face as Harry stopped himself from ducking his head and catching her plush lips with his, craving the sweet taste of her and her strawberry lip balm. Her arms wrapped around his snatched waist, halting his breath at the tightness of her embrace and settling for a kiss on her forehead, the scent of her shampoo wafting in his nostrils, knowing that she had taken shower hours prior.

A Letter to the Man I’ve Loved - 1.5k, the one where harry receives a letter from his ex

Is it really worth it to look back in retrospect about ‘what had been’ when she can think about ‘what could have been’ if both of them realized their faults? Granted, he was more resilient in that sense than her, but he was no better at the time. She made mistakes and it had haunted her to this day, practically killing her with each moment she spent without him by her side.

Renegade - 981 words, the one where harry and y/n do a tiktok dance

“What are y’doing?” Harry asked, his eyes wide as his large palms ruffled the fluffy towel on his damp curls. The steam from the bathroom escaped to your bedroom where you were panting with effort, your chest heaving so hard that the peaks of your breasts rose with each breath.

“Uh, what are you doing?” You retorted slowly, hiding your hands behind your back were your fingers gripped your phone. Your thumb dug hard on the volume bottom, frantically trying to decrease the music from the phone speaker.

(s) Drop the Towel - 644 words, the one where harry does the ‘drop the towel’ challenge

You gasped at the sight, the knife clanging on the marble counter, “Ooh, hi there,”

He smirked cockily, watching your eyes observe his body, tongue subconsciously peeking out between your lips until you snapped your head to the window, “Oh my god! There are people out there, Harry!” You wailed in alarm, bending over to hand him his towel.

All I Ask - 2.2k, the one where feelings aren’t mutual

“I don’t want to be scared of what will happen tomorrow or if all we have is right now because we’ll have nothing left but I am,” A sob ripped through his throat, emotions were heightened tenfold because she was so close yet so far and they were still Harry and Y/N but at the same time they weren’t. They’ve changed over the span of one night. “All we have is tonight,”

Little Prince - 583 words, the one where 7-year-old harry takes care of his best friend

“Y/N? Y/N! Are you okay? I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I swear I wasn’t mad at you, I was just jok- Why are you smiling?” Harry yelped, panic evident in his shrill voice. His hands wandered towards her face, tilting it left to right, up and down, searching for any visible and invisible injuries besides the bump on her forehead.

Stressed Out - 1.8k, the one where y/n has a huge term paper due

“What d’ya mean I don’t get it?” He closed the paperback, making sure to clip in his bookmark to save his spot.

A pregnant pause slithered the room. Her fingers typing against the keys of her laptop ceased as she shot him a glare, “You’re not studying, are you? All you do is write songs, fiddle with a few instruments and sing it in front of people who adore you,”

Valentine’s Day - 1.5k, the one where harry runs into trouble and y/n is there to save him

“Shit! Are you crazy?” Y/N gasped in surprise when the passengers seat was occupied, the door opening and slamming shut all while the car moved at a speed of 15 km/h —cursing her forgetfulness for not clicking the locks shut.

“Keep driving!” The passenger shouted, looking back through the windshield.

Dream With Me - 1.3k, the one where y/n has trouble sleeping

Harry’s admiration gets interrupted when a sudden jolt took over Y/N’s body. He dropped his mouth open a little in shock, rubbing her back soothingly when she whimpered quietly, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe with me,” She must have had experienced one of those moments when she was falling until her vision drooped to a shaded black.

Pet Name - 1.2k, the one where bff!harry just wants y/n to call him by his pet name again

His voice emulated a soft, syrupy tone that lingered in the air whenever he spoke. He was the colour honey itself–golden and yellow like the colour of the sun. Harry was bright in its sense of intelligence and the way he illuminated the whichever room he entered. His kindness catered to everyone’s needs and left pieces of his heart wherever he went.

Harry was honey.

Shave - 768 words, the one where harry helps y/n shave her coochie

She sniffles some more, “I’m trying to shave, H. It’s so itchy but I-I can’t reach down there,”

Y/N began to sob. The rattle of the razor clanking on the bathtub floor where she sat her bum on the edge. Her baby bump was causing her to teeter over the porcelain which urged Harry to swiftly plant his hands on her to keep her steady.

“I’m so huge! I’m the size of a house,” Y/N palmed the crest of her bump, rubbing it loosely as she admired the stretched skin yet slightly wishing that it would disappear and she was holding their baby in her arms instead.

(s) Don’t Worry, Darling - 1.5k, the one where y/n rides harry

He slipped down the headboard, resting his back flat on the mattress with Y/N sliding with him. She positioned her feet to rest near his knees, wrapping their limbs together so she could have some sort of sanity whilst Harry incepted on his shattering thrusts. Feet were planted on the mattress to give his lower half elevation to propel his hips against Y/N’s core. Harry’s fingers left white marks on her skin, gripping the plush flesh and essentially spreading Y/N open as he rapidly shoved his dick over and over inside of her with no signs of slowing down. He staggered for a few moments when her pulsing core emitted dazing throbs over his leaking cock but Y/N was quick to duplicate and resume the pace he had set with the movement of her hips.

To Be Loved - 2.3k, the one where y/n’s feelings are more than friendly

“I love you. Don’t you love me back?”

Harry’s eyes visibly widened, clearly taken aback by the question spewing from Y/N’s mouth. Her heat cheeks and a shy stance; knees knocking against his knobby ones while her dainty hands interlaced her fingers.

Revelation - 2.1k, the one where famous!y/n and harry are spotted together (pre-relationship)

Before there were Harry and Y/N--the power couple--there was Harry and Y/N.

Y/N, who was one of the most sought after female artists in the industry because of her angelic voice. The woman who had managed to catch the lingering stares of every household and the ears of many listeners with her truthful songs; narrative from the experiences she had gone through and shared through the art of songwriting.

Harry, who was quite the artist for the night. Harry’s limbs were being pulled metaphorically every which to ensure that the cameras captured him clapping respectfully in the audience. Others were asking him to stay for a bit more time backstage for content for an upcoming video. Right now, he was sat in his uncomfortable chair beside a handful of producers and well-known singers. A brief hug and whisper with Ariana Grande were enough for their fans to implode about a possible collaboration, granted that Harry had written a song for her album before. But Harry was certain that that feature wasn’t coming for a long while.

Apple Cheeks - 1.1k, the one where harry says something and y/n isn’t listening

Clearing his throat, he began, “I love you, Y/N. And I know that it might be too soon considering how short our relationship has been so far but I-I really do have strong feelings for you,”

Harry dropped his gaze as soon as he managed to peel off the first three words from his hoarse throat. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted to let you know that I really care for you and me. I definitely something for us in the future and I hope you feel the same,”

Dreadful seconds shivered up Harry’s spine. His stare was still fixed on her shuffling feet and the floor. It was painful to hear nothing but silence so Harry decided to courageously lift his head up.

Affliction - 1.5k, the one where Harry breaks down (TW: depressive thoughts)

It wasn’t even that Harry did not know how to say ‘no’ because he truly did. However, anyone would be worn-out by the amount of exhaustion carried on his back. That cold shudder of loneliness--even when he wasn’t alone-- because nobody shared the experience of defeat with him. The twitch of his ears straining to listen when nobody would do the same for him. A subtle jerk of the corners of his lips because he could not keep the smile plastered on his face like paint chipping off the drywalls. The flutter of tired lids waiting to be shut tightly as tears were wrung from his green eyes, lashes tickling his skin underneath the violent colour of his eye bags.

From the Dining Table - 748 words, the one where y/n’s new boyfriend looks a lot like harry

Y/N wondered if her former lover shared the same thoughts as she did. The girl that he woke next to—was she still there? Did they share the bed together—not just in the morning—but the nights as well? If so, did Harry love her like he did with Y/N? Or was he just pretending to be okay like she was?

Blanket for Two - 990 words, the one where y/n kicks harry out of bed

And now, Harry was in bed with the woman he loves. Her light snores echoing in the dim room and he was staring up at the ceiling, shivering in his bones. If she were awake, Y/N probably would have made a snide, joking comment about how he shouldn’t sleep naked, especially in the winter.  Not like she didn’t do that either--she was practically naked with the thin camisole over her body.  The difference was that Y/N had an extra layer of blanket keeping her warm, shielding her skin from the night air and Harry only had the friction of his palms rubbing against his arms.  He was sure that he was a hint away from his teeth chattering. Harry had half the mind to dip his freezing feet beneath the blanket and jolt her awake with the change in temperature.

That’ll show her, he thought.

Around 1:32 - 3.2k, the one where y/n has a wet dream

“What?” Harry spat, tugging his shirt over his head, waiting for you to form a coherent excuse. “‘Think that jus’ because you woke up horny from a dream that y’can touch yourself? What a slut.  Are you that desperate?”

Your cheeks flamed at his words of degradation, doubling your arousal and one that had you smushing your thighs together to relieve the ache. You rolled your eyes as he continued his rant instead of using the time to keep you satisfied.  That was his job, wasn’t it? To make you cum and make you feel nothing but pleasure, yet here he was shaming you for touching yourself. Granted, you did it without his permission and done so while he was asleep beside you, but still.

“Wouldn’t have touched myself if you treated me well.”

+ Stories in My Eyes - 1.2k, the one where dad!Harry gets woken up in the middle of the night

And while he liked to think that he had gotten the hang of—quite literally— his kid dangling on his leg like some sort of koala, pulling on his hair every time he gave Beau a piggy back ride, and the random visits late at night where the small child would stand at the doorway with his teddy bear so quietly only to say, “Can I sleep with you and mumma?” He was not at all prepared for tonight’s’ events.

+ Feather Boa - 1.5k, the one where harry comes home after the Grammys

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Oh, stop that!”

“Stop what?” Harry nudged the strap of his custom tote bag higher on his shoulder.

“You just won a Grammy, you goose!”

Harry’s gaze softened, endeared at how happy Y/N was for him. She was jumping on the tips of her toes, hands clasped in front of her as she stared at him with admiration and awe.

(s) Roughed Up - 2.8k, the one where harry’s domestic and y/n’s mind wanders

You whimper in return, almost collapsing straight on his body when Harry uses your body to move you up and down his cock. His curls flop on the soft pillow beneath his head, sweat matting the tiny hairs to his face. The way he looks at you with such intensity and a certain kind of awe as if he couldn’t believe that this was really happening is rewarding. Hooded eyes observing how your body twitches in his grip, gasping at how strong he felt underneath you like you were merely a ragdoll to be played wit

Pudding Cups - 1k, the one after harry steals food from the kitchen (Notes on Camp Extras)

“So is it common practice for counsellors to steal food from the kitchen?”

Harry lifts his head up at inquiry, shifting his attention from gently taking out the contents of the reusable bag towards Y/N.  She was laying on his mattress, flat on her back as she stared at the wooden ceiling.  If she looked closely, Y/N was sure that his light bulb was flickering the tiniest bit and usually, she would’ve been freaking out over the fact that she was in the middle of the woods, hovering over a potential power cut.  But the fear subsided once she reminded herself that Harry was around.

“Hopefully not,” He muses with a suggestive eyebrow.

Drabbles:

(s) Drabble #1: Fratboy!Harry - 469 words, the one where y/n meets fratboy!harry at a party

Y/N snapped her head towards the member. When she applied for the rush, she didn’t expect that she would have to sleep with someone in order to officially join the sorority.  “What? Why him?

Sadie chuckled, sensing the panic in her voice. “Don’t worry, Harry’s nice. Besides, everybody does it,” She swirled her drink around, mixing the liquids together. Her lashes draped over her cheeks, almost touching the apples. “Are you in?”

Drabble #2: Asshole!Harry - 848 words, the one where harry cheats

You were calm, silent, and patient to see where he would take the conversation. Guilt was not present when you stood face to face in a battle of tranquility that pierced through your heart. His eyes gleamed in concealed smugness while his tongue curled in endless apologies. You knew him too well that he didn’t even stand a chance to hide his true intentions. But to Harry, you were a naive little girl that failed to acknowledge the difference between his acting and the truth.

(s) Drabble #3: Tease - 1.4k, the one where harry teases y/n

Harry plunged two fingers in her hole carefully, biting his lip to suppress the sound he was bound to release from the feeling of her wet walls suffocating his digits. He delivered punctual thrust, making sure to graze her sensitive spot to heighten her arousal. “Harry,”

He stepped back abruptly, pulling his fingers out and creating distance between them. “We have dinner to get to,”

(s) Drabble #4: Dessert - 1.7k, the one where y/n makes dinner but harry wants dessert

His thoughts were always about her no matter how hard he tried not to. And the fact that she took the time out of her day to prepare him something that he will enjoy; well, Harry’s heart just about swelled up to three times the size in his thumping chest.

She pulled away, shaking her head adamantly, “No way! I spent all day cooking and you’re not gonna skip it just to eat my pussy,”

He the corners of his eyes squinted in offence at her description, “Your pussy’s top tier, baby.” Harry ‘tsked’ his tongue, “If yeh didn’t know that already, then I’m doing a horrid job,”

(s) Drabble #5: Mine - 579 words, the one where harry is obsessed with y/ns tits

But he couldn’t exactly do that when all Harry wanted to do was do her. The smooth skin was supported by a navy blue push-up bra; he could tell by the lace mesh that he could see peeking out. It gave Y/N every favour because Harry was trying so hard not to let saliva pool in his mouth and drip out in a line of drool, his eyes widening with each movement she made with her arms, jostling her boobs a little bit here and there.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Y/N waved her arms to catch his attention. A frown creased her brows as he blinked sluggishly before finding enough coherence to recognize that she was trying to talk to him.

(s) Drabble #6: Early Mornings - 1k, the one where harry thinks y/n is prettiest in the morning

“Get to see ya’ when you’re most beautiful,” Harry tickled his nose on hers, smiling at the way the feature scrunched up as she giggled. He groaned at the contractions her walls gave while her tummy flipped in gentle laughter. “Oi! What’s so funny?” He smushed her face with kisses, pausing his thrust halfway through which had her whining.

Drabble #7: Getaway - 952 words, the one where harry is always cold in the mornings

"Y/N, have you taken my purple bathrobe?"

“No,” Y/N tugged the lavender coloured fabric by the sleeves first. Then, by the lapels draping over her chest, drawing them tighter to block the gust of wind currently caressing Harry’s floppy curls.

Twisting his body, a knowing look overtook Harry’s face as Y/N exited the cabin door. The sheepish smile on his lover’s face granting all the information he needed for this morning’s chilly inception.

There she was, clad in the said purple bathrobe.

Drabble #8: A Little Chilly - 451 words, the one where harry sleeps on the couch

“‘S my bed. Dunno why Lydia can’t jus’ stay on the couch,”

“It’s Y/N!” She wailed, walking closer to the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Dear, we didn’t know that you were coming home,” Anne tried reasoning with him, not seeing the gravity of the situation as Harry was making it out to be.

Text Messages:

Text Messages #1 - ‘would you love me if I was snail?’

Text Messages #2 - ‘did you know we had a quiz today?’

Text messages #3 - ‘did you steal my hoodie?’

Notes/Behind the Scenes

Notes: Tarnish

Notes: Stressed Out

[inkslingersworld]

Crowbar (Alternate First Meeting)

Hi guys! This here short story is my first participation in Adrigami Week! I was planning on posting it yesterday, seeing as it’s following the “Alternate First Meeting” prompt, but the time got away from me. Idk if it’s still eligible for the official reblog or not, but I still had a blast writing it all the same. Enjoy! (Contains very mild profanity)

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Her lip was bleeding. For whatever reason, Kagami chose to focus on this minute aspect out of all the other injuries she’d sustained. She dabbed it with a paper towel.

Kagami couldn’t recall how she’d gotten like this. There was so much she couldn’t recall, and the staggering immensity of all her forgotten experiences had weighed down on her for so long that when she found herself in a bathroom without a clue as to how she’d gotten there, she was able to handle the newfound situation better than someone who hadn’t been through what she had.

The only thing that confused Kagami was that her clothes were in perfect condition, despite her face being bloody and streaked with dirt. In fact, they looked as though they’d just been sewn by a master tailor. 

She brushed the puzzlement aside - she couldn’t linger here in this mysterious bathroom. Lingering got you killed.

The door opened easily at her touch, and Kagami examined the bedroom that it led into. The walls were painted in an eye-catching shade of purple, but the bed itself was small and plain. Kagami also noticed that there was no furniture other than a small nightstand and that the window was broken. It framed the outside world in jagged glass.

This aforementioned outside world was cloudy and bleak. Based on how damp the street appeared, Kagami concluded it must’ve rained recently. The buildings matched the clouds in their shade of gray, with windows just as broken as the one Kagami was using as an observation point. No street signs were visible. No vehicles, no animals, no people. Not even wind.

Kagami couldn’t care less about the lack of other individuals; her attention was pinpointed on the crowbar leaning casually against the building opposite. Without a second’s hesitation, she kicked away the rest of the glass and crawled expertly out of the window.

She didn’t know how she knew there’d be a fire escape, but resolved not to ponder on it, because every second she didn’t have the crowbar was a second where it could fall into the possession of someone else. Crowbars were tools; tools were extremely helpful.

By the time Kagami had raced down the stairs leading to the ground, she could notice how old and rusty the crowbar was. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t be much use against some of the more contemporary weapons others owned, but in times like these, Kagami would take anything she could get.

In no time, she had dashed across the street and grasped the crowbar in her right hand. Flakes of deceased metal fell to the ground like rotten snow as she twirled it experimentally. Even if it fell apart in combat, it was nevertheless pretty maneuverable. 

“Drop it.”

Kagami turned around instead, searching for the voice’s master. She found the man in question stepping out the adjacent alleyway. His face was hidden under an old halloween mask, but Kagami could see he was wearing a green rain jacket and pointing a pistol in her direction.

Was it a pistol? Further examination led Kagami to realize it was no such thing; it was a water gun, and she almost pitied the hopeless idiot who brandished it at her.

“I said drop it!” the man shouted, though not very loudly.

“You know that’s not a real gun, right?” Kagami asked nonchalantly, deciding to break the truth to him.

The man lowered the toy firearm and hung his head. “Damn it.”

“Wait, you already knew?” said Kagami in disbelief. “Why on Earth would you use a water gun instead of, I don’t know, an actual one?”

“I’m a pacifist,” admitted the man, sounding guilty. “I’m a believer of nonviolence.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but nonviolence fell out of fashion a while back,” said Kagami, not knowing where she’d heard it from.

“Well, I always favored the old styles over the new,” the man said. “You hungry? I’ve got some food.”

Kagami’s mouth fell open in spite of herself. Who did this airhead think he was? You didn’t just go around offering people food. But before she’d even responded, he started walking over to her, removing his mask in the process.

Based off his recent actions, Kagami was expecting him to look innocent and tame, and she was not disappointed. However, she hadn’t foreseen blond hair and green eyes. She hadn’t expected him to look this... well, attractive.

“I’m Adrien, by the way,” he said, plopping his butt on the pavement and taking off his previously concealed backpack. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not about to tell you my name!” Kagami cried exasperatedly. “I know nothing about you!”

Adrien, who’d previously been busy unpacking, looked up at Kagami closely for the first time. His eyes widened after locking with hers and he dropped the box of Ritz crackers he’d been taking out.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Kagami demanded, “What?”

Adrien flinched violently and faced the ground, blushing. “Nothing.”

“Why were you staring at me for so long?” persisted Kagami.

“N-No reason!” Adrien stammered embarrassedly. 

“Then why were you doing it?”

“I don’t know!”

Kagami decided not to push the topic and begrudgingly sat down; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.

“So...” began Adrien slowly, seeming to regain some of his previous placidity. “I never did learn your name.”

“We’re not there yet,” Kagami grumbled, snatching a plastic-wrapped sandwich out of his hands.

“Well, what are you doing ‘round these parts?” Adrien asked curiously, putting his chin in his hands.

“None of your business,” snapped Kagami, losing some of her intimidation skills to a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“How’s the food?”

“Awful,” Kagami replied, even though it was delicious.

Adrien laughed hard. “You’re funny!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are!” 

“What’s your problem?” asked Kagami sternly. “You know nothing about me, I could’ve killed you without hesitation as soon as you came over here!”

“And yet you didn’t!” Adrien pointed out cheerfully.

Kagami took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. “Adrien, wasn’t it?”

Adrien nodded and smiled, seeming delighted that she’d remembered his name.

“Adrien, I don’t know what miracle allowed you to survive for this long, but in our society’s current state, you might not be around much longer. I suggest you drop this puppy dog attitude and learn to fend for yourself.”

“Why learn to fend for myself when we can fend for each other?” asked Adrien earnestly.

The sincereness of this question, contrasting with the playfulness Adrien had exhibited, caught Kagami off guard for a moment, though she soon regained her bearings.

“Adrien, no offense, but you’d be dead weight,” she stated. “Even if I wanted to stick around with you, my memory kinda wipes itself clean every six hours or so, only holding on to the most treasured information - my name, my personality, how to speak, how to read and write, knowing what stuff is, and the like.”

“No way!” exclaimed Adrien, before Kagami could continue. “I have the same thing! That’s why I started a diary!”

He zipped open his backpack again and retrieved a worn leather-bound book. Adrien opened it and showed Kagami its messily written contents.

“I originally didn’t remember how to write,” he explained, flipping through some pages to get to the beginning, “but I was able to relearn! It took like a year, though.”

Kagami peered at the even messier scrawl of a younger Adrien. She was shocked to see his name spelled incorrectly with crayon.

“How long’ve you been on your own?” she asked uncertainly.

“About twenty years, I think,” Adrien answered dismissively. “I can’t know for certain, I didn’t relearn how to understand a calendar until someone took me in when I was... fourteen, maybe?”

“Someone took you in?” inquired Kagami.

Suddenly, Adrien’s face began filled with sorrow and loneliness. “Yeah... yeah, I don’t like thinking about that.”

Noticing how sympathetically Kagami was gazing at him, Adrien quickly plastered his old smile back on. “That doesn’t really matter. Now I’ve got you!”

Kagami hesitated. One of the instincts her memory’d held onto was avoiding people, but Adrien seemed different. He in the same situation she was in, and he’d shown her kindness. Besides, it’d be nice to have a companion, and Adrien’s diary probably contained scores of valuable information to help the duo survive. 

Even if not for all those reasons, there was something else, though Kagami wasn’t sure what it was yet. For whatever reason, Adrien made her feel relaxed, happy even. She didn’t know why, but he did.

“Okay, Adrien,” she said resignedly. “You can stick with me.”

Adrien’s face lit up with gratitude, and before she knew it, Kagami found herself buried in a hug. It was warm and comforting.

“Thank you so much!” Adrien said happily. 

“No problem, Adrien,” sighed Kagami, already having her doubts.

Adrien released her and scooped up his backpack. They both stood up.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“West,” responded Kagami mechanically. “It won’t make too much of a difference, but we need all the sunlight we can get.”

The two started to walk. After trekking for about a minute, Adrien spoke again.

“You never did tell me what your name is.”

Kagami smiled softly and rolled her eyes. “It’s Kagami.”

“Kagami,” repeated Adrien thoughtfully. “I like that name.”

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@adrigamiweek

[jen-o-jam]

[10:27 pm]

Summary: you get put in detention with 4 very different guy. Breakfast Club Au!

Warning: suggestive tone, mentions of drugs

Recommend song: Dancing in the dark - Bruce Springsteen

“Do I really have to go? It won’t happen again. I wasn’t really involved, please, daddy” you whined, begging your dad to not actually drop you off for detention. Your heart sinking as he stayed silent, contemplating what you were saying, but it was no use.

“It’s only a few hours.” Is all he said as you grabbed your bag. Letting the heavy metal door of your dad’s Nissan 200x swing open. The wind rushing in to fill the now open gap. The air causing you to pull the white cotton knit closer to your body, shutting the door behind you. Jogging across the sidewalk to the entrance of the school. The familiar feeling of the cool metal only added to your disdain for the whole situation. It was as if it was begging you to turn around

"Just open it", a sleepy voice mumbled from behind you. in return you swung the door open, holding it for the rather tall but sweet looking male. You had only seen him around school, never actually talked to him. He was from a whole "different" world.

"I'm Renjun", he spoke again, waiting for you as you caught up to him. A sleepy smile rested on his face, sticking his hand out to shake yours.

"I'm Y/N, it is nice to meet you", you spoke back, almost faking a smile at the poor boy.

The two of you finding your way to the library where detention was held. 3 more faces meeting your own. promptly finding your seat next to Jeno who you knew the best out of the others. The vice principal following suit. Walking out of his fluorescent lit office into the open space.

“Mr. Haung- I don’t even know what to say..” he said with a sigh. The boy flenching at the words as the vice principal continued.

“Jaemin. Next time you drink make it less obvious.” He continued to ramble but it all sounded like background noise. His voice blending in with the buzzing of the florencent lights.

“Jaemin. Next time you drink make it less obvious.” He continued to ramble but it all sounded like background noise. His voice blending in with the buzzing of the florencent lights.

“Do you understand me?! No talking. No moving. No sleeping. Write me who you truly think you are. No less than a thousand words. I won’t tell you again” he continued once more, kicking Hyuck’s chair to make sure he was paying attention. Watching to see everyone nod before he left the library. Sitting in his office right outside.

“Come on, puff, puff, pass, daddy’s girl”

“Don’t call me that”, you bite back. Shooting a slight glare as you take a puff off the blunt. Hyuck only smirking as he watched.

“Fine, what would you prefer instead, babe. I can’t read your pretty little mind..”, his words hitting you just as hard as the slight burning feeling that came with the inhale. Embarrassingly choking on the smoke, quickly taking another puff before passing it off.

“Do- don’t call me that e-either! Y/n or nothing”, you said crossing your legs. Your eyes following the blunt for a moment before you felt him move closer.

“I think you just like hearing me say your name”, he whispered, his eyes trailing over your closed off frame.

“Lighten up, your stoned, not a murder. Don’t be so paranoid”, he chuckled, watching you jump at the slight sqeak of an office chair. Your eyes darting to the library door. Yet the principal never came in.

“See, that old bastard will never know. We won’t ruine you “perfect” reputation..”, he said teasingly, nudging your shoulder as you relaxed again. Only to tense up, nearly jumping into him as music cut on. The boys busting out into laughter as it was just Jeno messing around with the stereo in the “media center”. The static fading into a rather catchy guitar solo. Jeno immediately lighting up as he caught on to what song it was.

“I get up in the evening and I got nothing to say! I come home in the morning and go to bed feeling the same way!” He sang, starting to mock how Bruce Springsteen was dancing in the video. The boys joining in as the song started to pick up.

Laughing hysterically as Jeno made his way over to you, dragging you off the couch.

“Oh hey, baby, I could use a little help~ you can’t start a fire- you can’t start a fire without a spark. As guns were higher~” he sang, swinging your arms, pretending your right hand was a microphone. Surprised when you joined in his singing.

“Even if we’re just dancing in the dark!”

“There she goes! Y/n, wooo!!!” Jaemin playfully cheered and you nudged his shoulder, joining in on the very stiff dancing Bruce did. Hitting ever beat as you twirled around. Finding yourself using Hyuck as a microphone like Jeno had done to you. The boy laughing as you brushed over his knuckles.

The five of you scrambling to turn the music off and basically jump back into your seats as the vice principal tugged on the door. His eyebrows furrowing as he pulled a bit tighter.

“What on gods greens earth?! Someone better confess right now. Who thought it would be a good idea to take the screw out of the door!?” The vice principal rambled, holding the black metal up.

“Was it you? Get up! Right now, Mr. Lee”, his face going red as he motioned for Donghyuck to own up to it.

“Sir, wait. It wasn’t him”, you interjected. His eyes rolling slightly.

“It fell out while you were asleep, sir. You wouldn’t want us to tell everyone you were sleeping on the job now would you?”, Jeno added. A sly smirk forming on his lips as the vice principal rushed to try and find an answer.

“Forget it! Forget it! I don’t want to hear another peep out of any of you!” He said, giving up on ranting. There was no use, no one was paying him attention.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

“You hate me? Is that right? You hate me...”, his fists clenched, relaxing for a split second as he grabbed your jaw, making you look at him.

“Say it a little louder, Princess. Tell everyone how much you hate me...” he growled, his minty breath gracing your lips as he watched your eyes soften. Renjun, Jaemin, and Jeno looking over with almost an unbelievable amount of shock.

“That’s what I thought.” He mumbled as he let go of your jaw.

“Hyuck, what the hell. Don’t touch her”, Jeno said getting off the floor, going over to the pair of you. You were all sat in a circle. Telling stories and going back and forth with truth or dare. Which you had embarrassingly admitted your crush on Steve Perry who was the Lead Singer of Journey and shown off how you can do most of your makeup without your hands.

“What are you gonna do about it? she’s fine. I didn’t hurt her” Hyuck said with a roll of his eyes, glancing over to see you hold where he had previously been.

“Jeno, I’m ok..” you said, shooting a smile at him. The tension in the room putting you rather off. Your face a slight red out of embarrassment. Quickly getting up to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

“Did I hurt you?” A deeper voice echoed and bounced around on the tile, scaring you a little bit.

“Oh, Uh- no. I was just caught off guard”, you said turning around with a wet paper towel pressed to your cheeks. His eyes running over you again, finding his way in front of you. His breath gracing your lips as he leaned in, examining your features. Slowly removing the wet cloth.

“You know you’re a horrible liar..” he mumbled back, pressing against you slightly. His thigh making you move back to rest on the sink more.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I- you- I’m sorry” he admitted, running his hand over your cheek. Letting his thumb graze your bottom lip.

“Don’t apologize, I’m ok..” you said, slowly slipping your hand under the zipper of his jacket, slowly but surly pushing it off.

“Not so fast”, he chuckled, stepping away from you. Grabbing your blouse that was hidden under the pull over. Tossing his flannel at you.

“You can’t walk out halfway undressed either, lover boy” you teased, chucking his bigger jacket at him as you adjusted his pants.

[softkuna]

Yuuji Itadori || Training

Content   ║ Yuuji Itadori x Reader. You and Yuuji train quite often and like to make a competition out of it. However, his quick learning and your insecurities get the best of you.

Count      ║ 1,514 words.

Consider ║ Fluff. Fighting. Probably grammatical errors. 

Creator    ║ Aight! First little drabble up. Hope you guys like it! It’s not nsfw but I was feeling fluffy and Yuuji is a literal sunshine child. Also, whenever I write for the students, I automatically have it be that Jujutsu Tech is a college rather than a high school and everyone is over the age of 18. 

“Sir, we’re surrounded!”

  “That just means we can attack in all directions!”

  A smug smirk tugged the corners of your lips, “I mean… you’re not wrong, Yuu.” The boy gave an overly enthusiastic thumbs up, pearly white on full display. Training with him was always a delight.

  You were back to back, crouched in a way that your back right foot was slipped between his wide stance. You made a few enemies from ink, letting them drench the field’s grass in black gel. Five human-sized creatures were your limit after training for what seemed like years. No one needed to know they were the shapes that haunted you at night, paralyzed with fear as they came from all corners of you bedroom. That fear is what strengthened them. You channeled it into them, strengthening the cursed energy behind the specialized ink.

  Right now, they were just npcs in a videogame to the two of you, “These ones are 3 points, right?” Yuuji looked over his shoulder at you and you nodded. Training with him was always a game. Human-sized blobs were three points. Child-sized ones were two. Rabbit-sized ones were one. Anything larger went up by every two feet of height. So far, he somehow managed to kick your ass every time. Today would be the day you showed him up. Maki had shown you a few decent moves and like hell you’d let him trample over your personal best with this up your sleeve!

  With a springboard hop forward, he drew back a fist, “I’m gonna kick you’re ass!”

  “Oh like hell-“ You bent back at the knees, left hand keeping your back from fully colliding into the ground. An ink blob came right for your neck, swiping dangerously had you not ducked, “OI, play fair!” Both palms planted into the blades of grass, balancing you as your legs vaulted upwards. The tip of your tattered sneaker connected crisply with its lower ‘jaw’. The shoe had swept through the inken mandible, triggering the creation to melt to the earth. As the handspring flowed through, you recollected yourself on both feet only to propel forward at the next targets.

  Alas, there were only two by the time you had gotten through your first. Yuuji was always fast. Faster than a goddamn car, too. Exceptional physical prowess was presented with each corded muscle before he had even eaten the first few fingers. Rumors from his high school years didn’t fail him once, not even here amongst elite Shamans. It was something you always admired and envied about him. Your own form had been delicate, feminine, and rather weak. Some rumored it to be a heavenly restriction in exchange for your expert control over your Ink Children. You refused to believe that, however. Like hell you’d allow yourself to be restricted like that.

  A pout found its way onto your lips as you ducked another straight punch from the last standing enemy. As you swung your punch, a fist made its way to you first, kissing the space between it and your nose. With barely enough time to dodge, you managed to slip to the side, arm hooking into the one that had aimed for your face. Ink exploded onto your clothes and face. Some splattered into your open mouth, triggering a coughing fit. Your shoulder ripped backward as you were practically hauled into a spin with the aggressor’s arm still linked with yours at the elbows. One of you lost stable footing. Your heart squeezed at the impact of dense earth hitting spine, followed by Yuuji landing directly onto your chest with a resounding, “WOAH!” He popped up, forearms caging you in at either side of your head, mouth sputtering apologies, “Didn’t even see you behind that thing! Are you okay?”

  Your eyes blazed against his with explosive fury. Words ripped from your throat before thought could come before it, “Yuuji, what the fuck was that?!”

  “I wanted to get the last point!” The goof-ball grin sloppily made its way to his cheeks. The world still spun around him as it always did with you. It wasn’t until you spoke again that the grin slipped down, dragging away any semblance of pride with it.

“You were already nine points ahead!” A pout made accompanied averting eyes. Chin nudged to the side to emphasize the massacre of ink littering against the ground, “You couldn’t have saved me the last one?! C’mon man.” You knew it was irrational to cut into him for something so silly. It was just training. He knew how much this meant to you, though,  how hard you had to work to even take the impact just now.

 Yuuji’s mouth opened the slightest, guilt trickling into his chest like a steady faucet. Whoops. You had always been competitive. Much more competitive than Nobara, even, and temper to match it, too. A large hand came to rustle the back of his hair, moving to scratched his temple, “Sorry. I got caught up in it. And…” Rose crept up subtly to his cheeks and ears to match his rose colored locks, “I wanted to impress you.”

 Your head snapped back into place, locking hues with his honey-browns, “Wha-“

  “You always make such strong opponents to fight against! I wasn’t even able to hit one last week!” His brows lowered slightly, lips jutting in their own embarrassed pucker, “Just wanna show you I’m strong too. How else am I supposed to protect you?” The sentence trailed out in a grumble, gaze meandering to the space next to your cheek rather than maintaining the kerosene-lit gaze of yours.

  A warmth crept up your own cheeks, lips slightly parted in surprise. Really, you shouldn’t be shocked by this. He was always considerate of your safety. The sheer concept that it displayed during something as inconsequential as training was the bolded punctuation mark to his statement. You hated to admit it but, it made your heart flutter in its boned cage.

  He wasn’t your stereotypical muscle head (despite that being your first impression of him.) He didn’t look down on you like the men in your family did for being physically weak. In fact, Yuuji looked up to you. He acknowledged your strengths and hard work. For the hours of grueling training to even be able to move the way you did, the boy made it a point to come out and watch you. Yuuji saw how you overcame challenge after challenge. It dowsed gasoline on the fire lit under his ass. Even when it seemed like he was selfishly destroying your own target, he simply was trying to meet your bar of approval. He admired your strength, your graceful movement, your technique, and most importantly he admired you.

  “Yuuji,” You began, voice softening from its resin casing, “You don’t need to protect me. I just…” Your hands moved from their crossed position to your cheeks. Eyes fluttered shut briefly before opening again, “I just want to be stronger physically is all. I don’t want to feel like you have to protect me every time we go on a mission because of these noodle arms,” To drive the point home, you wiggled your arms beside his head before lazily resting them at his shoulders, “How the hell’s that fair, huh? Can’t a girl protect herself, Mr. Knight-in-Hooded-Armor?” You playfully stretched his cheeks, tugging the goober’s mouth this way and that, “’sides, you beat my ink kids way too quickly this time! I gotta step up my game.”

  A sunshine laugh beamed from the boy above you. His hand swatted yours away, “Alright, alright! It’s almost like I like you or somethin’!” He dipped down, nuzzling your noses together. The way his lashes dipped as his lips connected with yours was transfixing. Why did boys always have the prettiest eyelashes? Why did they have the softest lips? You leaned into him, hands clasping behind his neck and locking him in place. A content hum harmonized between the two.

  It was a moment you wished to last forever. The warmth of his sprite-flavored Chapstick slid against your teeth-bitten lips. One calloused hand cradled the side of your neck, thumb stroking the pink lingering on your cheekbone. He was so delicate and careful with you, yet somehow so sure in each touch and movement that it left you breathless every time. No matter how strong you were, he had an ability to make you weak for him every. Single. Time.

Bonus:

  The thonk of a used paper towel roll whacking a cardboard box broke the sweet moment apart. Yuuji shoved his face into your neck with a puppy-like yelp before ripping up like an angered Pomeranian, “WHAT WAS THAT FOR, NOBARA?!”

  “Maybe if you weren’t sucking face on the training field-!” The two growled at one another. The only thing tearing away their standoff was your shrill cackle. In comedic synchronicity, the two shouted, “What?!”

  “D-did you hear the sound h-h-,” Words barely escaped your lips, chest heaving with each labored cry-laugh, “His head made! Yuuji! Oh my god you’re a basketball!”

[mascwhump]

Chapter 7 - Classified

TW: blood, mild manhandling

Tag list: @whatwasmyprevioususername @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @whatwhumpcomments @mnmlover2002 @ashintheairlikesnow

-

There was a heavy silence in the room while Mallory scanned the pages of Crow's journal. Crow was understandably agitated. He was pulling against the chains with a scowl on his face.

"'March 22nd,'" Mallory began reading, "'The new kid comes today. Don't know much about him, only that he's a great shot. He'll be the only yank on the team. Expecting a lot of fun to come from that. Adrian already has a few ideas for how we can fuck with him.'"

Charlie cracked a small smile. They did indeed give him a lot of shit for being American. Adrian had enough pranks to last him months. Mallory flipped the page and continued reading.

"'March 23rd. Kid seems nice. He's pretty quiet. I wonder how long that'll last. He did the dishes without being asked last night. If he keeps that up, I might have to work harder to keep his arse around.’"

"It didn't last long," Adrian said, laughing.

Crow shot him a look that made him silent. Charlie had to admit, it was sort of nice to know what Crow was thinking for once. He had a feeling Adrian and Ethan felt the same way, but the clear invasion of privacy made it bittersweet. Mallory flipped to the next page but didn't read anything from it, instead he went back to skimming. He flipped about 15 pages before reading again.

"’April 9th. At the range. I'm sitting here wondering where the kid learned to shoot like that. He handles that sniper like Van Gogh handled a paintbrush. It's an art.’ Sounds like you’ve got an admirer, Charlie.”

Crow looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact. He had a blank expression now, but he was chewing on his lip. Charlie felt guilty. The room was quiet for a little while as Mallory skimmed through more pages.

“You’re a pretty good artist, I’ll give you that,” Mallory said, turning the journal toward the group. It was a drawing of some mountains from a previous mission. The team had remained in that spot for almost twelve hours, waiting for nightfall. It was incredibly detailed and took up both pages of the book. Mallory went back to flipping pages, and finally stopped on one.

“Oh, this. This is what I was looking for,” he said, a smirk growing on his lips.

Crow’s head shot toward him, the color draining from his face. He must’ve known what page he found. He opened his mouth to protest, but Mallory started to read.

“‘August 22nd. Got a few days off. Celebrated by drinking. I’m drunk. Too many drinks. Charlie fell in the fire pit. Will now be known as Flame. I’m too drunk. Had to hide in my room. Too afraid of saying something I shouldn’t. Charlie came to the door and asked me to come back. Told him I would. I’m afraid. Can’t fuck this up.’”

“Stop,” Crow muttered.

Charlie’s heart was in his throat. He was nervous; he couldn’t imagine what Crow was feeling. Adrian was looking over at him, and Ethan was acting like he wasn’t paying attention. Mallory continued to the next page.

“‘I read that writing down what you’re feeling and then burning the paper is a good way to solve bad feelings. It’s not a bad feeling but maybe it’ll make me stop thinking about it. I’m going to try. I knew on the first day that he would be special. Just didn’t realize how much so. Didn’t know someone could make me feel this way. I hate it. Hate that I’ll never be able to say it out loud. Sometimes I watch him, and I just want to tell him everything. I hope he knows that he’s perfect.’”

Crow pulled his knees up and hid his face in them. Mallory snapped the journal closed. He didn’t say anything, but looked around the room with a delighted look. Charlie’s heart was racing. Between what he just heard and his low blood sugar, he thought he would pass out.

“I’ll let you all sit with that for awhile. Charlie, you still need to get cleaned up,” Mallory said

He handed the journal to one of the soldiers and told them to wipe Ethan’s face with a rag.

“If you fight me again, Charlie, I won’t just stab you, but I’ll stab everyone else in this room,” Mallory threatened.

Charlie nodded. The handcuffs came off and were put back on after he stood. He took a glance at his team before leaving the room. Mallory lead him down the hall, one hand on his arm and the other on his shoulder.

“So, tell me. How do you feel about that?” He asked.

“About what?” Charlie asked.

“About what your Captain wrote about you, idiot.”

“Don’t know yet,” Charlie mumbled.

He was too focused on the intense nausea to think about it.

“Well, I think it’s kind of sweet, you know? Although, it’s a little problematic. Superior-subordinate relationships tend to be frowned upon. Not to mention the fact that you’re both men. The military really doesn’t like that, from what I hear.”

Charlie stopped walking.

“I don’t need your input,” he spat, “This doesn’t involve you whatsoever.”

“Oh, but it does. After all, if it wasn’t for me, you most likely would never have even found out,” Mallory replied, nudging Charlie to keep moving.

Charlie grit his teeth and kept walking. He didn’t have the energy to fight it. They continued until they reached a door near the end of the hall. It was the room Charlie had been kept in the last few weeks. He swallowed, eyeing his blanket in the corner of the room. Mallory pushed him toward the bathroom and had him stand in the corner while he ran the bath. Once it was filled, he removed the handcuffs from Charlie’s wrists.

“I’ll be outside,” Mallory said.

He stepped out and shut the curtain. Charlie undressed and slipped in the bath. He grabbed a washcloth from the side and scrubbed the dried blood from his abdomen and face.

“I bet you’re hungry,” Mallory said from outside.

Charlie didn’t reply. He scrubbed his skin until it was red, then rinsed off before stepping out of the bath.

“Uh, there’s no towel,” he said.

“That’s unfortunate. I’m not leaving you to go get one,” Mallory said.

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Just put on your clothes.”

Charlie sighed and slipped on his underwear and sweatpants over his wet skin.

“Are you dressed?”

“Yup.”

Mallory slid open the curtain.

“Ha, your hair is kind of cute when it’s wet,” he said.

“Don’t fucking call me cute,” Charlie hissed.

They left the bathroom. Mallory walked over to the wall where the chains were and motioned for Charlie to come to him.

“You’re leaving me in here?”

“For now.”

Charlie didn’t protest. He wanted to go back to his team, but he knew that he wouldn’t win this battle. He reluctantly let Mallory attach the chains that kept him to the wall.

“Remember, you still owe me a favor,” Mallory said as he left the room.

Charlie sat on the floor next to his mat. He didn’t want to get it or his blanket wet. He closed his eyes. All he could think about now was food. His hands were cold and shaking as he fought the nausea. Luckily, it wasn’t long before the door opened again. This time, a solider entered with a plate of food. His eyes lit up. She placed it on the floor in front of him and stood against the back wall while he ate.

It was a boring meal of cooked carrots, a bread roll, and a tiny slice of ham. He didn’t care. He ate fast, almost too fast. The food was gone in a minute and the solider took the plate before leaving. Slowly feeling his energy and strength returning, he let out a content sigh. His mind was clearing up.

He wasn’t sure if that was blessing or a curse, because now, all he could think about was Crow.

He knew he wasn’t bothered. He was just confused. It was a surprise to him; he never would have guessed in a million years that Crow felt that way about him. Then again, Crow was a master at hiding emotion. He could be having the best day of his life and still keep a straight face. He was the definition of running away from your problems.

Charlie was worried about what was going to change. He knew it would be awkward. Not just between them, but the entire team. It had to be discussed. There couldn’t be an elephant in the room. But that would have to wait - this wasn’t the time or place to do it.

He started to get a headache. He crawled under his blanket on his mat and closed his eyes.

-

When Charlie woke up, his mouth was dry and his headache hadn’t gotten any better. He groaned as he sat up, vision blurry. He froze when he noticed Mallory sitting in the corner of the room. He was scrolling on his phone, and glanced up at Charlie before going back to what he was doing.

“What are you doing?” Charlie questioned as he began rubbing his temples.

Mallory ignored him. He stood up, but stayed in the opposite side of the room. Charlie watched him, confused, as he started typing. Finally, after a few minutes, he walked over to Charlie.

“I have a question for you. You have one chance to tell me the truth,” Mallory said.

He turned his phone to face Charlie. On the screen was a video of Deke on CCTV. He was in a stolen uniform of one of the soldiers. He entered a room, then left with a file in hand.

“Who is this?”

[happylifefanfic]

Safe Place Chapter 6

“Christopher, Jake, Claire!  The movie is starting in 5 minutes,” Emma yelled from the kitchen.  After dinner, the three children had gone to get their pajamas on while Emma cleaned up.  She had promised them earlier in the day that they could watch the newest release on the Disney+ app before going to bed.  

Just as she turned on the dishwasher, her phone rang.  A smile graced her face when she recognized Eddie’s ringtone.

“Hey, love.  How’s your shift going?” she said when she answered the call.

“It’s been okay.  We’ve had some crazy calls so far,” Eddie said with a sigh.  “How’s everything going there?”

“Good!  The kids are getting their pajamas on and then we’re going to watch that new movie they saw a preview for at Disneyland yesterday,” Emma replied as she moved to the room she shared with Eddie to change into her own pajamas.  They had decided to go ahead and move in together after he asked her to marry him.  Their wedding was set for the next month at Athena and Bobby’s house.

“I wish I was there with you guys,” Eddie groaned.  

“I wish you were here too,” Emma sighed.  “At least we’re both off tomorrow before I have to go back to work.”

“Thank God,” Eddie said.  “What time is your brother coming to pick up Jake and Claire?”

“He should be here around 9:00 in the morning, and Carla is coming to pick up Christopher at 9:30,” Emma said as she pulled her pajama top over her head.  The sound of giggles in the living room let her know that the kids were ready to begin the movie.  

“I forgot he wanted to spend the day with her tomorrow,” Eddie said quietly.

“Is that still okay?” Emma asked.  “I can call Carla if you’d rather him stay home.”

“He’d be so mad if we did that,” Eddie laughed.  “Plus, it will be nice to have some time alone.  We haven’t had the house to ourselves in weeks.”

“That will be nice,” Emma said dreamily.  “We have some more wedding planning to do too.”

“Let’s knock as much of it out tomorrow as we can,” Eddie said.  “Are you sure you don’t want to just go to the courthouse?”

“And have your mother and mine kill us both?  No, thank you,” Emma said as she walked down the hall to the living room.  

“I don’t blame you on that one,” Eddie said with a laugh.  Emma laughed along with him as she pulled up the Disney+ app on the television.  She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a loud roaring noise and then the unmistakable sound of an explosion that rattled the house.

“Emma!  What was that?” Eddie yelled through the phone, but got no response. 

Emma had fallen to her knees at the force of the blast and dropped the phone in the process.  Once the house stopped shaking, she grabbed the three children and ushered them quickly into the bathtub in the bathroom closest to them.  All three of them were terrified, and Emma paused a moment to calm them down.  

“You are safe,” she said.  “Stay here while I go check out what happened outside.  Do not leave this room!”

“No!  You can’t go by yourself!” Christopher yelled at her.  

“Christopher, I will be fine,” Emma said soothingly.  “I promise.”

Emma closed the bathroom door behind her and went to grab her gun, badge, and keys.  She grabbed her phone from the floor as she ran towards the front door.  

“Eddie?” she said into the phone.

“Oh thank god!” Eddie exclaimed.  “What on earth happened?”

“I don’t know yet,” Emma said as she jogged outside.  When she turned around to face her old house, a fireball lit up the sky the size of a mountain.

“Eddie, we’re going to need you guys here ASAP,” Emma said as she moved closer to the fireball.  Less than half a mile from their house, she found a scene straight out of a movie.  Remnants of an airplane were strewn all over a section of a neighborhood where houses once stood.  The whole area was engulfed in flames.

“What happened?” Eddie asked.  Emma could hear the sirens from the firetruck in the background.

“A plane crashed,” Emma said.  “The fire is out of control!”

“You need to get away from there,” Eddie yelled at her.

“I know,” she replied as she turned to head back to the house.  “I’m going to get the kids and take them to Athena and Bobby’s.  This fire is huge and it’s going to get bigger with the amount of jet fuel leaking from this plane.”

“Be careful,” Eddie warned.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.  You need to be careful too.  Come home to me safe and sound,” she said before she hung up.  As she got closer to the house, she saw neighbors coming out to investigate.

“You all need to go somewhere safe until the fire department has this area secured,” Emma said as she jogged past them.  When she returned to the house, she ushered the kids out of the house and into her car just as Engine 118 went roaring past.  

“That’s dad!” Christopher yelled. 

“It sure is,” Emma said calmly.  “We’re going to go to Athena and Bobby’s house and wait until it’s safe to come back.”

“Is Eddie going to be okay?” Claire asked with concern from the backseat as Emma maneuvered the car out of the driveway.

“Yeah, baby.  He’s going to be fine.  He does this kind of thing all the time,” Emma said as she smiled at her niece in the rearview mirror.  

On the inside, Emma’s heart was beating faster than normal.  She knew this was not your typical fire and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.  A wave of nausea passed over her as she pulled to a stop in front of Athena and Bobby’s house.  She and the kids went to the door and were greeted by Athena and Maddie.  

“Hey kids!” Athena greeted them.  “Harry is outside on the patio getting games ready for you guys.”

The kids followed Christopher outside as Maddie engulfed Emma in a friendly hug.

“I’m so glad you guys are okay,” she said as she released Emma.  “Buck called when Eddie couldn’t get you on the phone.  I came over to Athena’s to see what we could do to help.”  

“Bobby said the fire was awfully close to you guys,” Athena said to her partner.  “I’m happy to see you were able to get the kids out of there before it got really bad.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Emma said.  “It was like watching a horror movie unfold before my eyes.”

“Bobby said the FFA is reporting that it was a commercial flight out of Houston that crashed,” Athena said solemnly.  Maddie shuddered while Emma quietly hung her head.

“Let’s just focus on keeping things light and positive for the kids,” Maddie said.  

“Great idea,” Athena said.  “I can make us some popcorn.”

“That would be great,” Emma said with a weak smile.  “I’m going to go to the bathroom for a minute.”

“Sure, take your time,” Athena replied.  “We’ll keep an eye on the kids.”

Emma quickly made her way to the bathroom and barely managed to make it to the toilet before she became sick.  Several moments later, she emerged from the bathroom to see Maddie waiting outside the door.  

“How far along are you?” Maddie asked as she handed Emma a wet paper towel.  Emma took it, and gulped loudly.

“Six weeks,” she whispered as she moved the wet paper towel across her face.  

“Does Eddie know?” Maddie asked quietly.

“No,” Emma sobbed.  “I was going to tell him tomorrow after the kids left.  I just found out the day before we went to Disneyland.”

“Oh, honey,” Maddie said as she wrapped Emma in a hug.  “Eddie is going to be thrilled about the baby.”

Emma nodded her head unable to speak at the moment.  

“It’s never bothered me before that he puts his life on the line every time he goes out to a fire,” Emma said.  “I get it because I have a dangerous job as well, but for some reason today, it scares me to death to think of him out there in danger.”

“That’s completely understandable.  You love him, and you just found out that you’re carrying his child,” Maddie said as she rubbed Emma’s back soothingly.  

“You’re right,” Emma said quietly.  “I wish I would have told him about the baby yesterday.”

“You’ll be able to tell him when he gets home,” Maddie said.  “I smell popcorn.  You want some?”

“That actually sounds good right now,” Emma laughed as they headed out to the patio to be with Athena and the kids.  Even as Emma smiled and tried to act like nothing was wrong in front of the kids, her stomach rolled and she fought off the feeling that something awful was going to happen.a

[forasecondtherewedwon]

With Zero Power

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 3382

For @spiderman-homecomeme, with the following prompts:

winter power outage

holiday smut

“I can think of one way to warm you up.”

Summary: Peter and MJ return from skating to find their apartment not quite how they left it. Between the warm fuzzies of the evening they've spent together and the holidays right around the corner, it isn't hard to find a little romance in the situation.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t beautiful,” MJ insists, “but think how much lighting a tree that size costs. With the number of homeless slowly starving in this city? With the number of children below the poverty line who are going to school in this weather—” The arm she waves is instantly layered in thick, wet snowflakes that glisten as they pass beneath a streetlight. “—without winter coats and boots?”

“With the number of college students trying to make rent with only their girlfriend to live with because their three previous roommates staged a mutiny and forced the couple out because the volume of their nighttime activities was, quote, ‘obnoxiously loud and unprecedentedly lengthy’?”

She sighs in exasperation.

“I’m making a point.”

“I agree with your point,” Peter says. “Completely. I already told May I’m volunteering with her all next weekend, and I’ll call Pepper tomorrow to see where she’s committed Stark Industries’ holiday donations.”

“And ask her to triple the amount.”

“I can suggest it,” he laughs, “but I’m not her financial advisor.”

“Mmm you should be though,” MJ says, shifting from holding his gloved hand to pulling his arm around her. “You’re so sexy when you’re redistributing the amassed wealth of a late billionaire.”

There are icy crystals glimmering in her eyelashes. She’s beautiful. He could walk the borough with her all night, live in a loop where they’ve always just disembarked from a late bus, disoriented to step from its stark light into the soft glow of the snow on sidewalks that aren’t cleared with the same diligence as they are in Manhattan, around Rockefeller Center, where they’ve spent the evening skating. That would be a nice life—tonight, with her, forever.

Peter halts them for a moment and wraps his other arm around her too, pulling his girlfriend in to kiss her. He sways them as he does it, smiling against her mouth, her cold nose pressed into his cheek.

“Did you have a good time though?” he asks. MJ nods and her face rubs against his.

“My rental skates were a little tight, but I did wear two pairs of socks, so it’s kinda my fault.”

He has a new pair of skates for her, exactly the right size, but they’re wrapped in red paper featuring dogs with candy cane antlers, waiting to be snuck beneath her tiny artificial tree on Christmas morning. A totally outrageous gift—figure skates in immaculate white leather, like she wears in the pictures he’s seen of her at childhood skating lessons—but he hates it when all his money goes to rent. This might finally be the gift to make her cry. He’s cracked the bottle that stores his girlfriend’s tenderest feelings before, making her eyes shine the winter he knit her a terrible, uneven scarf (she’s wearing it now), and he’s certain the skates will be the thing she really loves. She’ll cry with joy, she’ll say they’re too much, he’ll carry her from the little tree to bed and keep her there until she’s begging for more instead of less. The thought makes Peter grin now.

“Take a bath when we get home. Your feet will feel better.”

“They’d feel better if you carried me,” MJ suggests slyly.

But she screeches when he jerks her against him and, in the relative darkness of their street, looses a web, swinging them both into the air. They pretend it’s still a secret how much she’s grown to love the sensation of sailing through the night with him. What Peter is far from secretive about is how much he loves the way she clings to him, trying not to feel too guilty when he remembers he should attribute some portion of her grip to the time he dropped her. Ah well, it’s in the past. His girlfriend’s laughing shakily as he lands them on the roof of their building and crawls deftly down the wall to the fire escape.

“Cute,” she says, shivering with the aftereffects of cold winter air whipping around her face. The tone is both complimentary and accusatory. “But we have to climb down now, unless…”

MJ’s eyes narrow.

“I… might’ve left the window unlocked?” he asks, because asking implies someone else has the answer, that there is a buck to be passed, as much as he would simultaneously like to hang on to any spare bucks during this expensive season.

“Peter, you can’t do that. You know break-ins are more frequent during the holidays.”

“Yeah,” he allows, edging the window open, “but who’s gonna climb up to the twenty-second floor to try to get through our window?”

He dives inside, then helps her through. The proof that she had a good time tonight is that she lets the window thing drop. Peter shuts and locks the window as loudly as possible behind them.

“Didn’t we leave a light on?” she asks.

“I’m not—”

“When I say that,” MJ cuts him off, dropping her voice to a hiss, “I mean I know I left a light on.”

Instantly, he’s stepping around her, keeping his arm out to hold her behind him. She has a bad habit of going rogue in dangerous situations. More likely than not, she’d grab a kitchen knife and end up stabbing him by accident as they checked every room for intruders. Safer for him to lead.

But it’s not a break-in.

“It’s cold in here,” he realizes.

As they moved through the small number of rooms that make up their hideously overpriced apartment, they left the lights off. Now, MJ smacks at the closest wall switch. Nothing happens.

“Aw, come on,” Peter begs the overhead light. He tries a lamp. Click-click, click-click. Nothin’. “Man!”

“Fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree,” his girlfriend accuses, though it’s not possible that even an energy-suck of that size could drain their building, way out in Queens. “I’m not having a bath now. I’ll be freezing when I get out.”

“Ok. Let’s get some candles first.” Peter starts to walk away from her, down the hall. “MJ, where are the candles?”

With his enhanced vision, he can see her well enough to catch the eyeroll. Fair.

By the time they have a dozen candles lit, it smells like every holiday scent at once. Vanilla smudges cloyingly across the sharper sweetness of candied orange peel, the heaviness of pine battles the richness of milk chocolate, and the cinnamon that seems to have been included in every candle is giving Peter a headache until they agree to space their light sources out. The room is darker with the candles far apart, but the smell is bearable. He also doesn’t mind how the flames catch in MJ’s eyes when she blinks, how a streak of gold will dart across her throat when she turns her head to watch him watching her.

Peter’s mouth is dry when he stammers out, “Y-you look incredible,” like they’re sixteen again and he’s got his gaze fixed on her legs because it’s 90° and she very reasonably wore shorts to school.

“How I feel is cold,” she admits with a small smile. She stirs under the blanket that’s draped across both of them. He strokes her shoulder over her wool cardigan. “I really was looking forward to that bath.”

And because the way she says it sounds nothing like how a person might casually look forward to anything, Peter swells a little in his jeans and shifts his legs closer to hers.

“Were you?” he asks.

MJ’s gaze goes from his mouth to his eyes as she smirks subtly. She knows she’s got him. When does she not have him? The complaints of their former roommates were undeniably valid. It’s a miracle he and MJ accomplished enough in undergrad to even get accepted into grad school. If she hadn’t been the responsible one, he would’ve been pretty damn content to spend those four years in bed with her.

Innocently, she rests her head on his shoulder. He swallows thickly.

“Mhmm. I was looking forward to getting out of my cold clothes. I was looking forward to grabbing a big, thick—” She grips his thigh suddenly. “—towel from the closet to wrap myself in when I was done. I was looking forward to using my cranberry bodywash in the tub. That one smells really good, right?”

Peter nods because forming a sentence in this moment is beyond him.

“And it foams up really well,” MJ continues, tilting her face, passing her lips lightly across his earlobe. He’s hard. He’s so fucking hard so quickly. “So, I was looking forward to popping those bubbles when I ran my hands all over my body to work it in.”

“Fuck,” Peter groans. He digs his fingers into her waist, through the sweater, blood pulsing in his groin.

She shrugs, abruptly nonchalant.

“Mostly, I was just looking forward to being warm.”

“I can think of one way to warm you up,” he pledges.

Trust me, he mentally urges. Right now. Trust me like you trusted me to keep you on your feet on the rink when your legs wouldn’t remember how to skate right away.

“Good, because I need you.”

“Say it again?” Peter requests, hand on the back of her head as she raises it from his shoulder.

“I need you, Peter.”

MJ’s hand jumps from his thigh straight into his lap and squeezes him through his jeans. He crushes their mouths together, the two of them breathing in hot pants like they can warm each other that way. Making to move over her, he’s pushed back instead, winded from more than the shove as his girlfriend straddles him with the practiced efficiency of a quickie before Spidey patrol or as an incentive between study breaks. When she rolls her hips against his… shit, she might observe Christmas on the 25th, but the friction of her grinding on his dick is the only Christmas he’ll ever need to celebrate. He plunges both hands deep into her hair to seal their mouths together and slumps into the couch, offering maximum opportunity for her to rock that beloved place between her legs along his erection. He’s already feeling warmer.

“No,” she yelps when he tries to push her sweater off. She snatches it back on and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Ok. Let’s work on that.”

Peter tilts his chin up in invitation and repositions his hands on MJ’s ass. When she kisses him in a slow brush, he begins forcing her back and forth over his lap. He groans into her mouth to feel her angle her hips just right and shiver. Not letting her back down, he grips her and drags her across his erection repeatedly, until she can’t kiss him anymore, until her forehead’s pressed hard to his and she’s hissing his name. The oscillation of her hips in his hands is hypnotic, even with his eyes closed. He’s groaning and trying to hold back, having a hard time concentrating on an idea of what to do next to get his girlfriend off before he reaches that point himself. He wants her warm skin against his when he sinks inside her, not a sudden gush in his jeans.

Still grinding, MJ sits up straighter. She doesn’t take her sweater off, but she pulls down the front of the camisole she wears under it and tucks the material below her bared breasts. Peter’s happy to enjoy the visual while he rubs her over his dick, but she grips the back of his neck and compels his head forward.

“What do you want exactly?” he teases. “I’m a little confused.”

Eye narrowed down at him as she pants, MJ plucks one of his hands from her ass and guides it up to her face. It fucks him up pretty good when she folds down all but two of his fingers, sliding those into her mouth; she sucks with that almost-angry gaze locked on him before bringing his wet fingers down to circle her nipple.

“Ok, ok,” Peter says desperately.

“Just helping.”

A laugh pops out of his mouth, but then he touches his lips to her breast, kissing lightly as she sways. Her hand twitches on the back of his neck. Ok, he thinks again, pulling her nipple between his teeth. MJ moans blissfully and heat floods both Peter’s face and his groin. He jerks roughly against her and clutches her body close when she comes, cradling his face to her chest. There’s still something of the briskness of their walk home to her smell as he inhales against her skin, but also wool and the smoke that’s clung to her after lighting the candles. Her scent is rich. He feels rich, with his arms wrapped around her.

She shimmies her shoulders and the blanket drops. When she slips out of her sweater, Peter rushes to tear his hoodie (and the t-shirt caught up with it) off. MJ halts him in the act of flinging them away; right, candles. Gotta aim for a spot where he won’t start a fire. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans as quickly as he can, gasping in relief at the sudden extra room for the erection bulging beneath his boxers. His plan, as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband, is to yank his clothes down only as far as necessary, then guide MJ back on top of him as soon as she’s out of her sweatpants and pick up where they left off with her first orgasm. But, bottomless, his girlfriend settles on his lap before he’s ready. She shuffles forward, rubbing herself against him, making his boxers damp. Peter closes his eyes as they roll back. His hands skim blindly up her arms to fiddle with the slipping straps of the camisole she still wears—if the way it’s clinging to her from only below her breasts to her navel can be called ‘wearing’.

She kisses his cheek.

“Peter.”

He opens his eyes and watches her tilt her head to speak quietly near his ear. Candlelight seeps over and through her hair. He kisses where it pools on her naked shoulder and her soft breaths form words.

“I want you to bend me over.”

Peter turns his head and groans into MJ’s neck.

Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Is that a yes?”

“’Chelle, you say, ‘jump,’ I ask, ‘how high?’” he promises.

He whips a condom out of his pocket. She draws back and smirks at him, eyebrows raised.

“And how did that get in there?”

“I might’ve grabbed it while I was looking for the matches.” When his girlfriend continues to stare at him, he adds, “It’s dark! You were lighting candles! I dunno, MJ, it seemed kinda romantic. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re cute when you babble.”

“Stop talking,” Peter interprets with a sheepish smile. “Got it.”

She climbs off of him and stuffs the blanket into the corner of the couch while he stands and whisks his jeans and boxers down his legs. He almost trips peeling his socks off because MJ waggles her bare ass at him very unfairly.

“Come on, I’m getting cold.”

“I’m—” he starts, struggling with the condom. “I am… I’m going as fast as… there!”

Peter bounds onto the couch and catches MJ’s face in his hand, kissing her lovingly. Then desperately. Then sloppily pulling away to sneak a hand under the back of her top and press her down until her elbows rest on the arm of the couch. Taking a deep breath, he strokes his other hand from the back of her neck all the way to her ass. This is kinda hot with her shirt still on. He’s glad that, for as much as they discuss and debate things like the misuse of municipal funds on holiday decorations, they’re still in their hasty days. Still young, still eager. He grips himself and flexes his fingers as he traces the head of his dick through MJ’s arousal.

“Getting cold,” she repeats.

“Spider-Man is here to help, ma’am,” he jokes, pushing inside her.

Fuck. Peter works his hips gently forward and back, building up to plunging deeper the same way he tiptoes out into the water when they visit the beach too early in the year. But this isn’t like the chilly springtime ocean because she’s warm as she takes him—so, so warm.

“Uh, MJ? Baby? Sweetheart? I thought you said you were cold,” he grits out.

She presses back against him as he finally thrusts all the way in.

“I always keep the home fires burning for you.”

“Well, that was raunchy. You’ve been living with me too long.”

“How could I ever move out with perks like a December power outage?”

Grinning, Peter begins a loose swing of his hips, gazing down MJ’s back at the shadows and light sliding over the rounded edges of her neck, her shoulder blade, her ear as she tips her head to let her hair hang to the side. When her low moans start, he repositions his knees on the couch cushions and digs in with his toes. The wet smack of driving into her is loud in their little sanctuary. He takes her by the hips as she bows her head to her crossed forearms, moving faster, gliding in and out with more grace than he has when navigating an ice rink with skate blades on his feet. MJ spreads her legs wider and drops her head even lower. She is graceful, with the steep slope of her back that Peter can’t resist pressing a hand to. At his touch, she bends even further and he chokes on an already raspy inhalation.

“Faster, Peter,” she requests.

Not loud, not demanding. She knows he can hear her because he’s always listening for her voice. It coaxes him onward from beneath the urgent slap of his thrusts.

He hunches over her, wrapping one arm around her waist as they buck together, his other hand diving between her legs. She’s soaked and her hips are jumping in time with his, so it’s hard to keep his fingers on her swollen clit. Suddenly, MJ has her hand over his, directing his fingers. Reality grows hazy as pleasure creeps into his thighs and trickles invisibly down his stomach, like the phantom touch of his girlfriend beneath him. Peter squints against the light of their candles and so much feeling, flicking his fingers over the sensitive nub that has MJ’s legs quivering. He kisses her spine and scrapes the edge of her camisole with his teeth. She’s shaking too hard to thrust back. Groaning, Peter bucks in a quick burst, holding her body up as she threatens to slump flat.

“You warm yet?” he huffs. “Show me you’re warm.”

“Peter… almost.”

Abruptly, he sits back on his heels, hauling MJ with him. Sweating now, Peter bounces her on his lap. His hands squeeze the smooth skin of her hips. She gasps before moaning deeply and reaching up to wrap an arm behind his neck, arching against him.

“God,” he mutters, looking down over her shoulder to watch the jiggle of her breasts and the tension of her stomach, “I already want you again.”

Because of his words, or his hands, or his cock slamming up into her, she climaxes, clenching around him and stuttering over his name. Peter buries his nose in her hair to avoid the overpowering scent of the candles as his senses sharpen to the finest point; he’s learned this only happens when he’s lost in either the pain of a grave injury or the satisfaction of releasing into MJ. He pulses, hips snapping, hugging her against his chest, flushed with warmth from the top of his ears to where his toes grip the couch.

“Bath?” Peter pants in her ear, dick still twitching inside her. “I swear I won’t let you get cold.”

Just like that, the overhead light and the lamp on the end table blink on. Huh. Power’s back.

“Or maybe you don’t need me to,” he says.

MJ turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll grab the candles. You hit the lights.”

[unholyhelbig]

Bechloe Apocalypse AU? I know it's been done before, but damn, do I love a good trope.

[A/N: This prompt has been in my inbox for a long time and I’m just now getting to it. But the main idea is from @auideas] 

Read on AO3 | Request Prompts here 

Beca was always the first to stir in the morning. It wasn’t by the light that streamed through the blinds, but her own biological clock that did it. A seven am on the dot, she would wake and stretch and feel her fingers met with the cold of the house. The blinds were drawn and a little slit of yellow, or sometimes gray depending on the weather, mapped itself on the wooden floor.

They hadn’t done much to the old Victorian manor at the edge of town. It came furnished and the only thing they bothered changing was the sheets on the four-post bed and the towels in the closet. They smelled so thickly of must that Beca made the begrudging trip into town for supplies.

Beca would pad down to the kitchen on the creaky wooden stairs and flicked on the coffee maker. She reveled in the darkness, in the cool relief from the South Carolina air. They kept the central unit on high and thick curtains over nearly every pane of glass in the house.

Chloe would stir an hour after her wife.

Maybe it was the absence of heat or her own lungs filling with dark roast. She followed the scent and grasped at the paper set on the kitchen table. She would skip to the sports section first but would always return to the front page for whatever story they deemed import enough.

“Ah, a firefighter with a cat.” She creased the paper “Charming and quaint.”

Beca grunted as she stood on her toes to grasp two mugs. They also came with the house, covered in dust until she scrubbed them. A cartoonish illustration of teddy bears dawned the front and she couldn’t bring herself to read the cheesy sayings past their first week in the Victorian.

She didn’t’ want to get to know the people in town. It was small enough that she got questioning stares from the gas station clerk whenever they ran out of allergy medication or on the rare occasion, milk. He bit his tongue but studied her face. Doveport South Carolina. Not even on the map.

Chloe figured that this is where people went to disappear. Not when they had fresh blood on their palms and dirt under their nails, but when the dust had settled, and they needed a place to ride out the storm. People lived on boats and deep in the swampy woods. They bought foreclosed homes with cash. They barely went outside, and hell- the air was too stiff.

“Did he pull it from a tree?” Beca asked.

“A storm drain, actually,” Chloe said.

The shorter of the two set down a steaming cup in front of her wife. It was loaded with French vanilla creamer and too much sugar for Beca to stomach. She swallowed two gulps of black coffee and cupped her hands around it to keep in the warmth. The house had to be cold. Though, her nose suffered the most from the stark temperature.

Chloe hummed into the steam rising from her drink “Coleman is supposed to drop of the sample today.”

“Coleman is s douche.”

“A douche with a sample. And besides, he won’t even come into the house. The light is too much for anyone to handle, much less the test slides. He’ll drop it by the greenhouse and be on his way.”

“I don’t even want him in my vicinity, Chlo. His male testosterone permeates the air.”

Chloe didn’t’ dignify Beca’s dramatics with a response. It reminded her of the days when she would run around on playgrounds, crunching over mulch and trying to get away from the boys with cooties. But then she had become a biochemist and even well before that, knew that that’s not how things spread.

Not cooties anyway. Maybe the flu or a common cold, but the only thing men were good for in this century was transporting what they needed. People in Doveport never gave a man a second look. Not when they dawned a hat and had grease on their hands. They wouldn’t question his duffel bag or the scent of gunpowder.

Beca went to take another sip of her coffee but stopped mid gulp when the familiar hum of the central cooling system sputtered to a stop. They had grown so used to the noise and the icy atmosphere. She exchanged a worried look with her wife and lowered the cup. “Well shit.”

“Was it supposed to storm today?”

“No. I checked.” Beca tapped the paper absently before pulling herself from the kitchen table. They didn’t’ have much time before their backup generators would kick on. But those hadn’t either. Not yet. Why hadn’t they? Fuck.

Chloe must have had the same thought. Worry crossed her features before she padded across the kitchen and pulled the door to the basement open. She creaked down the steps and was instantly overwhelmed by the heat that had already begun to fill the sod-coated room.

There weren’t basements in the south. Not usually but they had chosen the old Victorian because it had one in the first place. She walked towards the line of tables that were usually lit by a bluish-purple light. Those had gone off too.

In the stumbling darkness she grasped the samples carefully and placed them in the large freezer under the stairs. The ice that incrusted it wouldn’t’ last long but hopefully this power outage wouldn’t either.  She sealed it. She prayed about it too but wouldn’t’ let Beca know about that.

Science was magic and magic was science and religion fell somewhere in between but it eased her mind to speak to a higher power regardless.

“Chlo! I think you should see this!”

She didn’t waste any time sprinting up the slotted stairs and leaving the musty basement behind. Sweat had formed against her cheeks and made her skin tight when it hit whatever cold air was left in the nearly empty living room. Beca had peeled the blackout curtain back and the light stung her eyes.

“You opened the window?” Chloe asked.

“I was curious.” Beca Said.

Chloe sighed and squeezed close to her partner before she herself pulled back the dark cloth just an inch. Her heart rushes faster and there was a heat leaking through the windows. She hated the south and the lack of silence that it held onto.

It was the same street that she saw once or twice a month when she ventured from the house. There was another house across the way that had been empty since they arrived. There was a cop that lived next door and a nice family adjacent to them. But right now- there was blood.

The patrol car that usually sat in the driveway was turned on its side and a mass of guts and blood and teeth stirred in the front driveway. She saw fingers flick and smelled fire, or gas, or a mix of both. It made her throat burn.

A stranger, a man in fishing waders had half of his face missing and a dead look behind his yellowed eyes. He limped and groaned tepidly, continuing like he was going on a stroll. His jaw swung back and forth as a clock and Chloe grimaced.

“Well damn.” She let the curtain fall, “This is bullshit we were so close.”

“I know, but someone else was closer.”

Beca walked back towards the kitchen and grasped her now chilled cup of coffee. She finished it off and grabbed the newspaper, looking at the smiling face of the firefighter with a burnt-looking cat in his arms. It was filthy and its fur was matted. She frowned and placed it back on the table.

“Damn government funding. If I could have just gotten my hands on the Amscope.” She grimaced “we’re going to buy you a whole house but you can use a magnifying glass to create a zombie virus.”

“The institution is counting on you, Miss Mitchell.” Chloe mocked.

“Doctor Mitchell, I swear, they always forget that part. You know what we can’t forget? The nine years of our life that we spent getting degrees in science and then another three years held up in this place creating a bioweapon that we didn’t even get to release.”

Chloe lifted her eyebrows and leaned against the adjacent kitchen wall. She had to admit, it was a little disappointing. A letdown after all of this time. But she felt a bit of relief well up inside of her. They would send an extraction team for them at some point and then maybe they would be directed to create a cure. Maybe.

“I think we should get a cat,” Chloe said, picking up the paper and wiggling it towards her wife. “Look at his cute little face.”

“Mm, before or after the apocalypse?” Beca asked.

“During, probably,” Chloe said. “I’d consider a dog.”  

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 31: A Call for Aid

This one is a little bit different - but I really hope you all enjoy it! (I certainly did!) 

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Gavriel’s sword hand shot out, the sleek metal shrieking through the air as he sliced and chopped, his feet carefully marking their set pattern over the packed earth. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of other soldiers practicing; grunts and shouts and sharp clangs echoing over the practice fields as they went through their daily routines. The faint morning sun lit the mists all around them, a golden haze.

Gavriel wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel, the familiar ache just beginning to start in his muscles. He sighed, then made to leave the practice fields, finished for the day.

He’d been coming here more often lately, and was staying for longer and longer stretches of time. Following his return from the post in the northern mountains, Gavriel had been different, slightly off. He knew that his queen and his fellow warriors were attributing that difference to grief, to the guilt at the loss of his men. To the three new markings that just barely peeked out the side of his leather jerkin when he raised his arms over his head. But that wasn’t the reason for the change.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, that face wouldn’t go away. The girl with the face of the woman. His lost love. Tamalina, the second princess of Wendlyn.

Gavriel’s feet pounded into the earth as he walked, dirt and rock scattering in his wake.

He turned the memory over and over in his mind – the image of the princess, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Rowan’s snarl of rage as she edged into the room, the shock and hurt that filled her scent. The overwhelming blankness behind her eyes. The golden head of hair that so matched his own.

The possibility grated on him, itching and scratching. A splinter in the back of his mind, that refused to be removed. His daughter.

The girl might be his daughter.

He’d spent the last weeks wrestling with this fact, trying to eliminate it, or at least subdue it. Trying to forget. But his efforts were in vain.

So instead he stormed through the castle, surly and distant. He knew he was beginning to irritate Fenrys, but he didn’t care. The young male could get in line.

Gavriel didn’t want to admit it to himself, but really he was just waiting. Waiting for Rowan to appear, the girl in tow. Waiting to see if his suspicions were correct. To see if it were possible that time had stretched and morphed his memory of the girl until she fit the picture of his love. To see if there was a chance he was wrong.

Even if, deep down, he was sure that he wasn’t.

But it felt shameful to just wait – to not act. Even if there wasn’t anything he could do. He wasn’t even sure that the girl was his responsibility. But still, this waiting…it was going to drive him completely mad.

Gavriel reached his rooms, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud and striding over to sit at the desk that straddled the far wall. A window was set into the stone above it, providing a small view of the city. A gray frame surrounding its expanse of blue rooftops and white cobblestones. The great river flowed idly by, casting up great lots of mist that drifted over the many alleys, buildings and plazas. It was picturesque. Gavriel didn’t see any of it.

He didn’t mind his fate, not all that much. The rewards of his life still outweighed the trials. Nor did he hate Maeve, for all she put them through. She was his Queen, and she would always be. So despite everything, he was glad of his position – both for the responsibility and honor it provided, and for the purpose.

Gavriel was the linchpin, a connector between warriors who otherwise might have ripped each other to pieces. He kept the peace between them, and made sure that they didn’t fall apart. Lorcan was their leader, with Rowan as his second, and Gavriel stood mostly in the background, hidden in the shadows. But he knew he was essential.

But for the girl...he wouldn’t wish this life on her. He wouldn’t wish his life on anyone. And yet she was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Gavriel hoped that the princess would just fulfill her bargain and go – that she would be allowed to leave, unscathed and unburdened. But still, he worried. The power he had felt in her...it was greater than any he’d ever felt before. Only Queen Maeve could match it.

He couldn't imagine his queen just letting the girl go, not when she could be such a useful tool. Not when the princess might be powerful enough to beat her.

Maeve must have a plan, must have some leverage on the child. But for the life of him, Gavriel couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing that seemed remotely possible was…Rowan.

Their Queen had chosen him for this task, chosen him specifically. And the feelings Gavriel had sensed in the male, the changes…they hinted at something more. An attachment of some kind. He couldn’t speculate about the princess, but still – something had shifted in the Prince while in Mistward. And Gavriel was sure that it marked change.

Perhaps the girl would join them, and perhaps she would instead be sent out to retake her throne. Maybe they would even help her. Maeve had long coveted the western continent, perhaps she now thought to conquer.

All their spies indicated that war was coming. Adarlan was poised to attack Wendlyn, seeking to stretch their empire eastwards. So no matter what, soon Maeve would send them into battle. The question was – which side would they be fighting for this time?

All Gavriel knew was that he would do all he could to keep that child safe. Whether she was his or not, he owed as much to her mother. To Tamalina.

But he had no idea what he could possibly do to help the princess. He was forced to obey his Queen, to bend to her every wish. All he could do for her was keep her secrets, and his silence. For as long as he could manage it.

Gavriel sighed, and turned to the papers on his desk. He knew there was a report from Vaughn that needed looking at, as well as a dispatch from the eastern border and one from the admiral commanding the fleet currently guarding their western flank.

While Lorcan was still traveling up from the south, and Rowan was stationed in Mistward, Gavriel was the highest ranked member of the blood-sworn in the capital. As a result, he had to deal with much of their mail. He had just begun to sift through the papers when an unmarked letter fell through the pile.

It was light, and hastily closed, the wax seal clumsy and misshapen. But still – Gavriel could just recognize the symbol embossed in the wax. It was a bird, its wings extended in flight, its beak curved and sharp. A hawk.

A frown twisted Gavriel’s face as he used a letter opener to slice open Rowan’s message, and unfolded the paper within.

Gavriel –

I can only hope that this will reach you in time.

Adarlan has sent a company of two hundred soldiers and three demons to attack Mistward, and capture or kill the demi-Fae housed here. There are barely thirty demi-Fae soldiers who have seen battle, and as you know, the fortress is not properly outfitted for war. We have called for assistance from Wendlyn, but I have no hope of victory.

Come to our aid.

I know that I have no right to ask this of you, that I have no right to expect this of you. But I have no choice. I must.

I beg you, please come to our aid.

I will fight and die alongside these men. If you choose not to come, remember me well. If you choose not to come, I will understand.

But if you choose not to come, you doom these men to death.

I beg you, come to my aid.

With you at my side, we have a chance at survival. With you at my side, perhaps these people can live. Have a future.

Please, come to my aid.

Our lives are in your hands.

– Rowan

The paper crumpled between Gavriel’s fingers. That face was still fixed in his vision, only now the eyes were empty, her face white as death. Aelin, dead or dying. Her fires waning.

Gavriel’s chest was a hollow space, empty and still. Thoughtlessly, he stood and walked from the room, his blood spiked with shock. Within seconds, he reached a courtyard and transformed. His lion’s paws thundered on the stone as he raced down the castle hallways and out into the city beyond.

He ran, without needing a moment to reconsider. Without a moment of doubt. Ran for

···

Fenrys was dreaming. He knew it, and yet he still longed for it to be real. Still longed for his dreams to leap from the ether of his mind and out into the world.

In the dream, he was running. His paws digging into the earthy loam, bits of grass catching in his claws, wiping them clean of the blood of the deer he’d just eaten for lunch. Its sweet meat lined his stomach and weighed him down in that comfortable, satisfying way that only a good meal could.

In the dream, the wind whipped through his fur, its fingers flowing over his coat and making it ripple like water. In the dream, the sun warmed his limbs and flashed in his eyes, a bright discomfort. In the dream, there was no catch over his heart, no chains or locks or ropes tying him to a dark queen. He was free.

But he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Now, he was lying on Maeve’s bed. Hating himself. And everyone else under the sun. Drunk, but not sufficiently so. A glass of red wine rested in one of his hands.

Maeve had left a while ago now, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It didn’t really matter.

Fenrys didn’t know whether to be glad of the moment’s peace, or to hate it. It was so much easier to just hate everything. To hate this prison, and to hate the moments of freedom he was given. To hate his pitiful, despicable life, with every single ripped-up piece of him still left.

Maeve didn’t call him every night. In fact, she rarely called him more than once or twice a week. But it was enough. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore – it didn’t feel like it belonged to him. Probably because it didn’t. It belonged to her, just like everything else.

Fenrys shoved those useless thoughts down deep. He knew damn well what a waste of time it was to dwell.

Instead he took another swig of wine. Perhaps if he drank enough of it, he might just forget. Not only everything he’d been forced to do last night, but also the dream that he’d woken up to.

For it was the dream that was the real torture. Without thought of freedom, captivity would not be so great a burden to bear. So Maeve made sure that freedom was always nearby, just close enough to taste.

Like with that trip to Varese, where he had to watch as Rowan took for granted every single thing he held dear. His ability, his autonomy. His independence. And then Fenrys had to watch Rowan leave, with the knowledge that he would never be able to follow.

It was the freedom that tore at him, not the imprisonment. Cages were rather boring, after all. Even ones made of words and blood and darkness.

Even so, Fenrys didn’t think he regretted taking the blood-oath. He fought it with every breath in his body, and would do anything to be free of it – suffer any torture, break any bond. But were he given the option to go back and change his mind, he didn’t think that he would.

Fenrys had taken it to protect his little brother, and nothing more.

Well, maybe a little bit more.

All Fae males were drawn to power, and Maeve was the most powerful Fae living. They were all drawn to her, no matter her darkness. They had all wanted to serve her.

And maybe just a tiny, minuscule little piece of him had been jealous of his brother. Didn’t like being surpassed and overshadowed by him. It was a piece that Fenrys didn’t particularly like looking at, but he saw it nonetheless.

He thought Connall might see it too. They didn’t speak of it.

Fenrys didn’t even know if Connall was grateful for what he had done. For what he protected him from, night after night after night. Didn’t know if his brother even cared. They didn’t speak of that either.

They were still close though. As close as they had been growing up, running through the alleys and markets of Doranelle, play-fighting on the practice fields. They shared the same power, the ability to slip between the folds of the world. And they had learned it together, had figured out each of its valleys and ripples and tears by each other’s sides.

Each time they jumped, slipping through an invisible crack in the universe, they could feel the other pressing in on them, the whole of the world becoming the warmth of their embrace. And then they would fall out into reality – the open air feeling as empty and lonely as the space between stars.

It didn’t matter how far apart they were, didn’t matter where they were coming from or where they were going, that pressure was there. And it was a comfort, especially when they’d been young, and the power felt far more like a burden then a gift.

Once, when they’d been only eight or nine, Connall had forgotten how to get back. For hours, he’d been lost in the space between spaces, trapped by that crushing pressure. But eventually, Fenrys had managed to coax him back out again – by singing him one of the songs their mother sang while hanging the washing.

Oh the blue skies above, they mark the cloth stark white

Back and forth, back and forth

The moon pulls the sea, the green from the earth

As day folds into night, and the children run free

Back and forth, back and forth

Connall had returned, and their mother had scolded him for being so reckless. But it had just made them realize that no one else would ever understand. Realize that their powers were a part of one another, just as they were a part of one another. Inseparable.

And nothing, not even Maeve, could change that. Fenrys wouldn’t let her.

Right now, his brother was probably up in his rooms, reading. That shy bastard almost always had a book in his hands. When they were boys, it had been like pulling teeth to get him to go outside to train.

And he was such a goddamn know-it-all. It was infuriating. Mostly because Fenrys rarely knew what the fuck he was talking about. I mean, he loved the little guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the fellowship circles and fertility cycles of freshwater selkies day in and day out, for weeks on end. Or at least until the idiot moved on, pursuing some other esoteric piece of knowledge.

Fenrys had actually been quite surprised that when Rowan wrote, asking for information about his weird little demon problem in Wendlyn, Connall hadn’t known anything about it. Fenrys was sure that the ignorance frustrated him. His brother had spent a whole week in the library after they received Rowan’s letter, searching for anything that could possibly solve the mystery. And he found absolutely nothing.

Fenrys had found it a bit difficult not to gloat as he watched his brother stalk about the castle, a scowl fixed to his brow. It was nice to see him stumped over something, for once.

Fenrys couldn’t help but wonder how Rowan was doing at Mistward, wonder what the princess of fire was like. He’d only seen her briefly, a quick look between the walls of an alleyway in Varese as Rowan led her through the city to collect the horses Fenrys had left for them.

It hadn’t been a good look. She’d been well hidden underneath a dark cloak, though Fenrys still caught the edges of dozens of blades beneath her heavy clothes. Her face had been obscured with dirt and grime and sweat, her hair matted together. And the smell, ungh. Overall, not the most remarkable showing.

What had really impressed itself on him had been the sheer weight of her power. A writhing mass of flames, all bunched up and twisted in on themselves, forced within her small frame. Her power was so massive that even untrained, it had actually overwhelmed the icy wind of the Fae male leading her. Rowan’s power was great, but next to hers…the maelstrom of power felt more like a light rain. A drizzle, if you would.

And Fenrys hadn’t been able to get the feeling out of his head. The touch of the princess’ flames. It burned through him, making him wonder just how wild she would be.  But it wasn’t like Maeve would ever let him near the girl.

Fenrys sighed and turned over on the bed. No matter how much he might want to, getting drunk before nine in the morning probably wasn’t one of his best ideas. He should get up and face the day.

He groaned.

But still, he got to his feet and made his way out of Maeve’s private quarters, bare feet padding on the cold stone. His muscles were stiff, and not in a good way - he was looking forward to his morning training session. But first he had to return to his rooms to grab his gear and wash his face.

Fenrys didn’t pass anyone in the halls, for which he was grateful. Everyone in the castle knew of course, but still. Having to start his day with some page boy averting his eyes as he walked past, usually barefoot and in various states of dress, was far from great.

Fenrys pushed open the door to his rooms, and was already shrugging off yesterday’s clothes and reaching for clean ones when he noticed an unmarked letter resting on his worktable. The couriers usually went through the palace rooms each morning, dropping off the day’s mail, but it wasn’t often that Fenrys received anything. Particularly when a higher ranked member of Maeve’s blood-sworn was present.

He walked over to the desk and ripped open the envelope, absentmindedly pulling out the letter and beginning to read.

His eyes skittered over the black ink, and as he read, his fingers tightened their grip on the thin paper, his knuckles whitening. The bottom fell out of his stomach.

Mistward was under attack. Rowan was under attack.

He was calling for aid.

Fenrys felt strangely panicked. Not once, in all the years he had known him, had Rowan ever come close to writing something like this letter. The male was near-invincible – it had never even entered Fenrys’ head to be concerned about him.

But here he was, needing Fenrys’ help.

Would he answer?

Fenrys wanted to be the type of male who ran into danger, heedless of the consequences. Who came when he was called. Who always helped when asked.

But then a deeper, more personal fear joined the panic choking his throat. Maeve.

If he left without permission and without warning, she would not take it lightly. Unimaginable horrors would be waiting for him when he returned. Except, Fenrys could  actually imagine them - they had been inflicted on him already, time and time again.

The question was – did he care? What more could she do to him that she had not done already, twice over?

The freedom teased at him, tantalizing, just out of his reach. Only this time it was fear that was holding him back. His own fear. And all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to be fearless. To be free.

And the princess...she was at Mistward. She was in as much danger as Rowan. Perhaps if he went, he could see her again. Could save her.

Fenrys wanted to do something good, for once. To do one good thing.

With an invisible twist, Fenrys slipped out of time and space and reappeared in his brother’s rooms.

But they were empty – Connall wasn’t there.

Fenrys made to leave, to check the library, or perhaps the training fields, when something caught his eye. A familiar-looking envelope lay open on the desk, the letter inside nowhere to be seen.

A wry grin curved Fenrys’ lips as he vanished once more.

···

There was a small clearing, hidden behind a spur of rock just outside the palace grounds. It was unremarkable in every way, other than the fact that it happened to lie right at the limit of the distance the twins could jump - and was invisible to the palace sentries.

In short, it was a perfect rendezvous point.

Fenrys appeared out of nowhere, a slip of gold against the sun-warmed rock. By contrast, his brother was a shadow lounging just out of sight, easy to miss in the dappled forest.

Connall’s voice was droll. “I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show.”

Fenrys let out a snort. “Touché. I half-expected you wouldn’t be here.”

He frowned. “Me too.”

Fenrys’ own brow furrowed, the question slipping out. “Why did you decide to come?”

Connall shuffled his feet, his face dark. “It felt like…a betrayal to stay. I owe him too much to abandon him like that.”

Fenrys nodded. Connall was quiet, but he was fiercely loyal to those that were close to him. And he had always looked up to the powerful male, ever since they were in training. He wasn’t about to just stand by while his mentor was fighting for his life.

Fenrys opened his mouth to say something when the sound of an approach rippled through the nearby trees. Fenrys immediately drew his weapons, fear icing over his muscles. If Maeve had already discovered them…if Connall had lied and this was a trap…

But the crunch of leaves and brush of undergrowth spoke of something different, not a person, something else. Something familiar…

Fenrys relaxed his stance as Gavriel shouldered his way past the pine boughs and into the clearing, his lion’s coat bright in the warm sunlight. The male’s eyes were focused and intense, his warm scent filled with a wrinkled tension and fierce determination.

Without a word, Fenrys transformed into his wolf, his muscles stretching and filling with anticipation. He felt that strange ripple behind him that indicated Connall had shifted as well.

Gavriel turned and began to run, his claws ripping into the dirt, his heavy bulk pounding the earth. Fenrys shot after him, flowing into the male’s right flank even as Connall moved to his left. Together, the three of them pierced through the undergrowth, the sun warming their backs as they shot into the west.

The breath in their lungs came sharp and cold, their stomachs empty of everything but the desperate, pleading hope that they would make it in time. That they wouldn’t be too late.

···

Lorcan lifted the tankard to his lips, wincing slightly as the sour beer coated his tongue. The tavern was busier than he would’ve liked – filled to the brim with laughing, hungry people out for an evening of drink and merriment.

He’d spent the whole day running, his first after leaving the rest of his crew with the fleet on the southwestern coastline. He should be back in Doranelle within the next few days, and he was looking forwards to his return. He didn't love being away from the capital for so long. Being away from his Queen.

Usually, Lorcan would’ve kept running through the night, only stopping to catch a few hours’ sleep in some hollow or cave. But after only a few hours of travel, he’d passed a familiar scent. A trail leading north.

Vaughn was also traveling back to Doranelle, and Lorcan had caught up with him by midafternoon. The male was in desperate need of a bed, a hot meal and a drink, so Lorcan had (somewhat unwillingly) capitulated to his plan to stay at an inn for the night.

Now Vaughn was over at the bar, chatting to some human female. She’d begun their conversation with clipped answers and dour looks, but now Vaughn had her giggling away, her cheeks touched with happy red dimples.

Lorcan frowned into his drink.

For a moment, he’d considered joining him over there, to see if he could also find someone who might warm his bed tonight. But in the end, he’d decided against it. Far too tired. And too lazy.

Just then, a maid wandered over to his booth, her arms sagging under the weight of a heavily burdened tray of drinks and food. But she carried them easily, her footsteps light and nimble through the lively crowd. Obviously familiar with this type of work. Lorcan was just beginning to reconsider his earlier assertion, to see if this lithe, muscled female might be amenable to him, when the woman pulled a crumpled letter from her apron and dropped it on the table in front of him, with the words, “This just came for ya, from the evening post up from the coast. Seems like its been a long way,  searchin’ for you.” Then she turned, moving to carry her tray back to the kitchen.

Lorcan’s eyes followed her for a moment, then turned back to examine the letter. It was unmarked, which was strange. And the very fact that someone was going to such lengths to contact him, instead of waiting until he returned to Doranelle, was also strange.

Lorcan tentatively ripped open the envelope and pulled out the paper within. What he read there was astounding.

The words took a while to sink in, but when they did, Lorcan found that he was absolutely furious. That he was murderously enraged.

How dare he?

How dare Rowan ask this of him, ask this of all of them? How dare he presume to be above the word of their queen? Presume that Lorcan would betray her for him?

Mistward was under attack, and the lives of the demi-Fae there were in danger, but why in the gods' names did Rowan care? Why wasn’t he leaving them to their fate, and bringing the princess back to Doranelle?

That’s what Lorcan would’ve done. And that certainly was what their Queen would expect. What she would require.

So why, by Hellas’ scythe, was he staying? Why was he protecting them?

Lorcan couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. Rowan was staying. And he would give his life to protect those people. The demi-Fae. His people, Lorcan supposed. Even if he had spent the past four hundred years distancing himself from them.

Lorcan’s teeth clacked together, his jaw tightening. Rowan was staying, and he was asking Lorcan, and presumably the rest of the blood-sworn, to join him. Rowan knew the consequences for deserting, knew what they all would be facing for disobeying Maeve’s orders and coming to his aid. Rowan knew, and he was asking anyways.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like the Rowan he knew, like the Rowan he had fought and trained and worked beside these past two centuries.

That Rowan leapt at death with an indifference even Lorcan did not possess. That Rowan would’ve always made the hard choice, regardless of the consequences. This didn’t feel like that Rowan at all.

But still - this was Rowan he was talking about. The male he had relied upon for hundreds of years. The male who was probably - though Lorcan was loathe to admit it - the Fae he was closest to in all the world. Even closer to than Maeve.

And he'd laid out the facts, bare and unguarded. Mistward was weak and defenseless. They were facing a lethal army, and a battle that they would not win. All of those demi-Fae were going to die, Rowan alongside them.

Rowan was going to die. And Lorcan was fucking furious about it.

He slammed his fists into the table, pushing it out of his way, the beer spilling over onto the floor. Then Lorcan tore up the letter, got to his feet, and moved towards the bar to collect Vaughn.

···

They ran through the night, and the following day. Ran through bracken and field and marsh. And finally, through mist.

They ran until they met up with Gavriel, Connall, and Fenrys, and then they ran some more. There was no time for words, no reason for them. They had all come, and the dice would fall where they would. They would face the punishment they justly deserved without complaint.

They ran until they fell into darkness, until the forest around them went quiet. Ran until they reached the crest of a hill, and the fortress appeared below them, wrapped in darkness and chaos and power. Until they saw a lone female standing before the ward stones, the only thing keeping the castle from being overcome.

...

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

...

Im so sorry for that cliffhanger! (but also not sorry at all lmao) Please let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist!

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @booknerdproblems @queen-of-glass @westofmoon @morganofthewildfire

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 13

For years, her house has been empty, a void for just her and Jack. Harry had done as she asked, and disappeared. Gemma went off to school, and then work, only showing up every few days to make sure Anne was still alive. It wasn't the same, nothing was the same without Harry there. He held them together. And now he's gone, living God knows where with God knows who, hurting people for a living. If boxing is what he's still doing.

The faucet is running, steam rising up from the sink and towards the water stained ceiling. It's been leaking for some time, but Anne's done nothing to stop the water. It the house collapses, maybe she'll be lucky enough for it to happen while Jack's home.

She can hear him chuckling along to the tv in the living room, and her bum throbs remembering the way he'd smacked it when she stepped in front of the TV earlier to collect his dinner plate. She starts to scrub at the dirty dishes, not minding the way the water burns her skin. Behind her, the skillet boils with water to get rid of the buildup of grease in it, and the sound of it pulls her into a sort of daydream. She can't help but think of Harry, her baby boy. She wonders if he's okay, if he's made something of himself. She'd like to think he has, but she just doesn't see how boxing could've gotten him anything. He's probably on the streets or living out of friends home, scraping by. He's probably lonely and afraid. Her eyes sting with tears and she doesn't realize she's dropped a wine glass until it's shattering by her feet.

She gasps, jumping back and wincing when a sharp sting cuts through the heel of her foot. She's stepped on a piece of the glass. Her foot is not her main concern though, because she can hear the recliner spring into place and Jack's heavy steps.

"For fucks sake!" Jack bellows, and he's grabbing Anne's shoulder and shoving get back. She feels paralyzed as the base of her spine rattles against the countertop, and her elbow bumps over the cookbooks and cutting board and paper towel rack on the counter. They clatter loudly, and Jack swears again as he focuses on Anne's trembling figure.

"I-it was an accident-"

"You were thinking of that stupid boy again!" Jack accuses, and he's not wrong, but Anne doesn't admit it. Because Harry's not stupid, not like she once thought he was.

"N-No! I'm just tired!" He grabs her elbow again, throwing her into the wall by the entrance way. Her side smacks into the wall, bones rattling painfully and she sobs.

"Stop lying to me!" Jack screams, face turning purple under his grey beard. He kicks the glass on the floor, the fragile material crunching under his boot. It slides against the floor unit it's about to hit her feet, and she screeches. Jack is glaring at her like she's the actual devil, and she knows it's only a matter of seconds before he storms at her. Without thinking she takes off out of the kitchen and down the hall, running into the bathroom and locking the door.

"ANNE!" Jack roars, boots beating against the creaky floor. He pounds his fist into the door, the plane of wood trembling under his anger. Anne does the same, stumbling backwards and falling into the tub. The curtain comes down with her weight, falling underneath her as she sobs and shakes. She wishes she had her phone, wishes Jack hadn't taken it and stomped on it with his heel for texting Gemma about Harry.

Her vision blurs around her, blocking out everything but the quaking door, and Anne can't help but think of Harry. It's been so many years, so many long years, but she knows if he were here he'd be standing in front of that door to protect her.

"Harry, Harry, Harry..." She mutters like a prayer, squeezing her eyes shut as the smoke alarm starts to blare throughout the house. Anne flinches, whimpering and holding her hands over her ears. This isn't real, this is Jack. He set them off to try and get her to come out. She squeezes her eyes shut, mumbling her son's name until she feels like she's in a dream. Eventually the smell of smoke fills the bathroom, burning her lungs, but she's too stuck in her brain too move. She doesn't know how long she's sat there, coughing and choking out his name as she realizes she's going to die. She's going to die and it's all because she let Jack tear her family apart, hurt her babies. She's a terrible mother, she deserves to die.

Anne's head pounds, and bile rises in her throat. The banging on the door gets stronger, and Anne screams when it busts open. Someone speaks over the alarm and what sounds like sirens, but she can't hear them. Arms wrap around her, and she trembles and scratches, desperate to be let free, to be released.

Eventually she's drug out of the house, realizing that the house is in fact burning in orange flames. Firefighters are working to put it out, and she finally sees that one of them is who's holding her. "Ma'am, I need you to take a deep breath, you're okay!" The firefighter shouts in her ear, setting her on some vehicle and lifting an oxygen mask over her face.

"Who's Harry? Is he inside?" The man asks, and Anne realizes she's still crying for her son.

"My son, he's gone, I made him leave!" She cries, "I need my son, my baby-my son-"

Arms wrap around her again, and she sobs in the strangers hold. She doesn't know where Jack is, but she doesn't care. She needs to find Harry.

She thinks she hears Jack in the background, but again she doesn't know. And she doesn't know that after tonight, Jack will be arrested for domestic violence, a restraining order placed against him, Gemma will move Anne into her home, and together, they'll find Harry.

~

His stomach bubbles and twists, churning as Anne falls silent. The only sound in the room are soft snores coming out of Arlo's sleeping figure. Y/n is rubbing a smoothing circle into his shoulder blade with the hand that's not holding their son against her chest, and while it does help, it doesn't help enough. Because he's still mad. He's really fucking mad and he's not entirely sure why. He doesn't really have any reason to be other than the fact that Anne and Gemma never told him anything. They had so many chances to say something to him, literally anything along the lines of "our childhood home was lit on fire" would've worked. But they never did. Even when they knew he was coming back here, they expected him to just not find out? To not want to go back there?

Harry nibbles on the rough patch of skin on his thumb, nostrils flaring as he tries to calm his thundering veins. He doesn't want to yell at them or fight. He's tired of fighting. He wants everything to be okay now, wants to have a normal family now.

Like the beam of a lighthouse through fog, y/n and Arlo flood through his mind. Her hand feels heavier on his back, seeping into the tense muscles with warmth, and Arlo's snores vibrate in his chest and head. Finally, he removes his thumb from his mouth, running his hand through his hair.

"M'going to bed," he mumbles, purposely not looking at Anne or Gemma as he climbs up from the kitchen floor. Careful not to step on the leftover pizza box that liters the floor, he reaches down to help y/n up, pushing her hair out of Arlo's face so he continues to sleep peacefully.

"Harry-"

"G'night." He interrupts Gemma, stepping away from them and into the living room that now only contains their air mattress and bags. He hears y/n bidding good nights and sharing hushed words with them as he roughly tugs off his shoes and jeans, throwing them in the direction of his bag. Y/n walks in, Arlo still resting limply against her, and carefully lays him in the middle of the bed.

Harry slides onto the bed, turning his back to the kitchen where Anne and Gemma are quietly cleaning up the pizza they'd brought for dinner and then heading to their rooms. He lays his palm over Arlo's tummy, eyes lazily falling over his baby as his little lips part with heavy breathes and how his eyelashes touch his cheeks. Y/n disappears into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in her pajamas. She's quiet as she climbs into the bed, turning on her side to face Harry.

"Don't be too mad at them bubba," she says quietly, reaching over to rub her fingers up and down his arm. He meets her eyes, heat pooling in his chest at her heavy eyelids and frowning lips. And while she'll always be an angelic sight, especially when she's falling asleep next to him, he can't help but be annoyed with her words. She's knows him better than anyone, but she doesn't know how this feels, doesn't know what it's like to not be a part of a family, because she's always had a perfect one.

He just huffs, nuzzling his head further into his pillow and letting his eyes fall shut. He doesn't want to pick a fight with her, and he knows if he responds honestly at all they'll end up somewhere he doesn't want to be now. Y/n doesn't respond, but he hears her sigh and then leave over to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Her hand continues to stroke his arm, soothing him into the same snores coming from Arlo.

~

He doesn't button the top three buttons of his shirt, not wanting to feel suffocated more than he already is. Arlo, who's sat in the bathroom sink with Bunny, coos at Harry, little hand reaching out to touch his silk shirt. He's always loved to touch Harry's silk clothes.

"We look nice, huh?" Harry mururms, looking down at Arlo's big eyes. He's in a plain white shirt that buttons between his legs with dark brown pants over his legs and little white vans that are so small they don't even tie. Arlo smiles, a gummy little grin that sinks dimples into his face, and smacks his hand against Harry's tummy.

"Not very talkative tonight bug," Harry says, running his hand through his hair before lifting Arlo out of the sink. Arlo lays his head on his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric. "ya babbled and babbled yesterday."

Arlo just sighs as Harry exits the bathroom, and he thinks that's an accurate response to the mess that was yesterday. First Zayn, and then the house, and then Anne and Gemma and even y/n treating Harry like he had no reason to be upset. Yesterday was a bad day, Harry thinks dejectedly.

Y/n is setting folded clothes into her bag, straightening out the summer dress she's changed into. It's billowy and white, just boarding on see through, and Harry's heart pounds in his ears. She looks angelic.

"You ready to go?" Y/n asks, having turned to face them. She's got a sad little smile on her lips, obviously upset that Harry's been short with her all day. Harry nods, grabbing his keys off the empty fireplace mantle. He doesn't know where Gemma and Anne are but he doesn't care. They know that the dinner reservations are at 7 and they'll either be there or they won't.

Y/n exits the house, swinging the door back even though she knows Harry's coming out behind her, and he catches it last minute, the wood smacking against his palm so loudly Arlo jumps. Harry huffs, nose flaring but he shushes Arlo into snuggling back up against his shoulder.

Anne and Gemma, who were sitting on the porch steps, follow y/n to the car, an uncomfortable bubble of silence surrounding them as y/n closes her door and the other two women climb in. Harry grunts, frustrated because he really doesn't want to fight with y/n, she knows he hates fighting with her, and yet she's still pushing his buttons.

"Buying dinner for three intolerable women," Harry mutters to Arlo, who bumps his little nose into Harry's chin as he moves to look at him. "and one honey bug." He quickly adds, pleased to have his boy with him. He pulls open the door, ignoring Anne and Gemma's gaze as he buckles Arlo into his carseat. He whines when he's out of touching range of Harry, cheeks going red and tears welling in his eyes.

"Don't give me any back talk mister," Harry mutters, tightening his shoulder straps. "s'only a ten minute drive."

Arlo continues to cry, the sound being heard outside the vehicle Harry quickly gets in, buckling his seatbelt and starting the car. Harry backs out of the driveway, waiting for them to get on the main road before reaching over the center console for y/n's hand. He hers her sigh, but she doesn't hesitate to lace her fingers through his.

~

The words of his textbook stare back at him, going on and on about anti-federalists but Harry can't really get any of it to stick in his brain. He's reread this chapter twice tonight and it still hasn't registered in his brain how exactly the federalists and anti-federalists compromised because Jack's slurring loudly from the kitchen.

Harry sighs, tossing his book onto his mattress and climbing up. He pulls open the door open his bedroom, leaning against the frame when he finds his mom mopping in the hallway.

"Mum," he murmurs quietly, catching her attention. She looks up at him, haltering her movements. "I can't study with him bloody screaming."

Anne blinks at him, tired face falling and she nods. Harry gives her a sympathetic smile, and Anne calls out over her shoulder, "Jack, could you lower it a bit? Harry's got a test to study for!"

The shouting stops, and both Harry and Anne smile in relief. He's about to turn back into his room when Jack enters the hallway.

"What did you say?" Jack asks, and Harry knows by the way he's looking at Anne that he'd threatening her to repeat herself.

"I'm trying to study and you're being too loud." Harry says bitterly, glaring at the man down the hall. Jack's eyes flash up to Harry, head cocking.

"Life's unfair kid, get used to it."

"Jack-"

"Shut up Anne!"

Harry's pushing himself off the doorway before he can properly think, pushing Anne to stand him behind him. "Don't talk to her like that." Harry warns, teeth clenching.

"Don't tell me how to talk to my wife-"

"Don't talk to my mother that way!"

Anne grabs Harry's shoulder, trying to pull him back before the rising tension gets too high. Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

"Tell your mother to stop being a bitch-"

Jack's sentence is cut off by the loud crunch of Harry's fist colliding with his nose. The man stumbles back, shocked, but Harry doesn't give him a chance to recoup before he's swinging again. Anne let's a shrill scream of Harry's name, but it falls on deaf ears as he clambers on top of the crumpled man. Harry's stuck in a haze of pent up anger and hurt and hatred, and he's taking it all out on Jack.

Harry can't feel his hands as they continuously fall down onto Jack's face, his brain going through the simple boxing technique he's been perfecting for weeks. Right, left, right, right, left...

Jack's hands press at Harry's torso and claw at his forearms, but he's gone weak. Too much blood is staining his shirt and smearing against his face. Too much blood is splattering off of Harry's bare knuckles. He's not sure how long he continues to rain hell on Jack until two hands are ripping him off by the waist, and the shouts of Anne and Gemma are filling his head.

Gemma throws him back with a strength he didn't know she had, cursing under her breath as she rushes forward to kneel by Jack. Harry's chest heaves, and his knuckles throb painfully but he feels good. He feels really fucking good. A smirk is tugging up the corner of his lips as he turns to his mother.

"Mum-"

"No Harry!" She spits, eyes blazing with rage. The pride, the accomplished feeling that was puffing in his chest fades, and he deflates.

"Wha'?" He mumbles, feeling dizzy as Anne grips his bicep harshly and shoves him in the direction of his room.

"Look at what you've done!" She screams, throwing her arms out wildly. Behind her, Gemma's carrying a groaning and almost unconscious Jack towards the bathroom. "Look at what you've done to my family!"

Harry's head swirls, stumbling into the doorway. His hands pound and ache, so bad he thinks cutting them off wouldn't hurt as much. "F-family?" Harry stutters, confused as to how she can call this a family. He's not even sure why she's mad. What did he do wrong? He stood up for her? He's getting rid of the man that's tormented them for so long.

"Mum, what-"

"Stop Harry! You're not-you're not my Harry!" Anne snarls, looking Harry up and down as if he were loam. "My Harry would never do that! He doesn't even know how to fight like that!"

Harry's heart pounds, pressing into his ribs so hard it hurts. "I-I am your Harry, I just-I just can protect us now. I box mum, I got strong for us." He desperately explains, tears building in his eyes at the way Anne continues to glare at him.

"You box?" She gasps, shaking her head in disgust. "No! No child of mine would be like you!"

"Mum, why-"

"Stop calling me that!" Anne shouts, so loud the floor seems to shake under Harry's feet. The tears spill over, tumbling down his cheeks and he goes to wipe them until he sees the excessive amount of blood on his hands.

"Please-"

"You need to leave!" Anne tells him cruelly, shoving him into his room. Sobbing and weak he stumbles to the floor, looking up at Anne in fear.

"What? Where?"

"I don't care. Anywhere but here!" She slams his door shut, ignoring the way he wails and furiously rips off his blood stained shirt to try and clean his hands. He rubs his knuckles furiously, tearing at the already cut skin until it's his own blood that's covering them, but he doesn't care because it still doesn't hurt the way his heart does.

~

Dishes clatter as the waitress stacks their plates up. Arlo squirms in Harry's hold as he wipes his face with a napkin, only for Arlo to blop a spit bubble out onto his chin. Harry huffs, sliding his plate towards the waitress and his chest sinks when he sees the pile of green beans on it. Usually y/n takes them, but tonight she'd just left them on his plate, not that he can blame her. One) they're disgusting, and two) there's still an uncomfortable tension between them. One that's been present all night, limiting conversation to just y/n, Anne, and Gemma, or Harry, Arlo, and y/n. And even y/n was quiet when talking to him.

Harry starts to settle Arlo into his carseat, pausing when the waitress comes back to give the check. Harry doesn't hesitate to send her with his card, grumbling an "mhm" when Anne and Gemma quietly thank him. He buckles Arlo in, tucking his blanket around him because it's cold out, and then grabbing the diaper bag from under the table.

"I've got it love." Y/n murmurs, taking the bag from him and pulling it over her shoulder. He thanks her, lifting Arlo's carseat in his hand and leading the girls out of the restaurant. He holds the door for them, looking down at Arlo so he doesn't have to look at them. The door has barely shut when he hears a startled gasp, his head snapping up to look over the line of girls. He immediately hands the carseat to who's closest, Gemma being the one to grab Arlo and Harry pushes to stand in front of his family. His fingers clench into fists, shoulders tensing up as he glares at the man in front of him.

"You're still around then?" Jack chuckles, looking Harry up and down with a smirk.

"Yeah. M'glad can't I say the same about you." Harry easily replies. He doesn't know how Jack's here, after what happened he should be in jail still. "Suppose it's hard to stay around with a restraining order against ya."

Jack clicks his tongue, jaw clenching. "Suppose you won't be around for long considering that temper of yours. How long before you hurt another family member, huh? Maybe that baby of yours?"

He takes a step forward, fury flooding through him and he feels proud when Jack takes a step back. "Don't fucking talk about my family. You were never family, you were a drunk prick that used and hurt my family!"

Jack scoffs, eyes blazing in the same way that haunted his dreams for so long. "I fixed your family after that father of yours left a fucking mess behind! Imagine the life you'd have if you hadn't almost killed me!"

"I wish I had fucking killed you!" Harry spits, "You abused her for years, you sent Gemma away after you fucking lied to her, you stole the fucking money from me, you kept them from my wedding and from my child! You deserve to die!"

Jack stalks forward, standing so close to Harry there's toes touch, and he glares into Harry's eyes. Harry's so mad he thinks he could beat him to a pulp again, until he's gasping for breath and begging Harry to stop.

"Then do it Styles." Jack spits, and Harry knows what he's doing. He's trying to break him. Either Harry beats him like he wants to, and he more than likely ends up in prison, or he loses his family. The last time he hit him he lost everything.

Jack shoves him back, spurring him on and Harry hates that he's got no choice here. Before anyone can move a muscle or Harry can even think of what to say someone is pulling him back, and stepping in front of him.

"Don't fucking touch my husband!" Y/n snarls, so menacing that even Harry falters. And that little falter is enough time for her to cock her fist back and throw it into Jack's jaw. Harry's eyes widen, and Gemma and Anne gasp as Jack's head snaps to the right. Y/n immediately curses, bringing her hand to her chest and wiggling in that way she does when she's hurt.

"Fuck," Harry mutters, grabbing her by the waist and tugging her back. Jack gathers his bearings, glaring at y/n with a busted lip and storming towards her.

"You little bit-" he's cut off by Harry's fist, this time the hit so hard he crumples to the sidewalk with a thud.

"Oh my God," y/n mumbles, and Harry knows Jack's out cold so he turns to y/n. She's silently crying and looking down at her left hand in shock. Harry reaches for it, apologizing when she winces. Her knuckle is cut, and her hands already swelling.

"Gotta take this off baby." Harry says, carefully prying her wedding ring off. He carefully drops it into his pocket, bringing her hand up to press a kiss to it. Gemma is on the phone behind him, obviously calling the police but he keeps his attention on his wife. She sniffles, looking up at him through her wet eyelashes and her bottom lip trembles.

"I can't believe you did that." Harry whispers, reaching up to wipe her cold tears. Y/n falls into his chest, and Harry wraps an arm around her, cupping the back of her head.

"Couldn't let you risk losing them again." She mumbles into his clothes, sniffling again. His heart jumps, and he chuckles in disbelief. She's always been good at understanding him, at navigating his silence. She knew he wouldn't be the first to hit Jack because of what happened last time.

"S'a good thing I taught ya to hit then." He laughs. "and it was a bloody good hit baby." She pulls back from him, mascara smeared under her eyes and trying to flex her fingers.

"It fucking hurts," she says bitterly, "I can't believe you do this all the time."

"Usually got gloves on." Harry snickers, rubbing his thumb over the uninjured part of her hand. "I'll put some ice on it for ya, fix you right up baby."

She smiles, grateful and sniffles again. "What happened to darling?"

"You're my baby tonight, baby." He kisses the top of her head, bringing her back to his chest for a moment. "Let's get you and Arlo in the car, s'too cold out here."

She obeys, and Harry leaves Gemma and Anne with Jack, who's been detained by restaurant security. Harry loads Arlo into the car, helping y/n into the front seat. He even squishes in the seat with her, closing the door and squeezing her close to him. They stay cuddled together, neither of them speaking as Arlo starts to snore from the backseat. Harry doesn't move until the police arrive, pressing a kiss to her head. Before he leaves to go speak with the officers, he leaves her the car keys and of course, mumbles an "I love you baby."

~

His laptop sits at the edge of the bed, Lady and the Tramp playing from Disney+ as Harry ices y/n's hand. Arlo is still snoring behind them, and y/n is getting droopy on his shoulder, his own eyes feeling heavy.

"Thank you for tonight y/n." Harry mumbles, kissing the top of her head. She doesn't move, but he can feel her smile.

"Of course," she whispers, "I'd do anything for you Harry."

Her fingers gently pat his thigh, the ice rattling from the movement and Harry shushes her before she can irritate her hand more. "M'so fucking glad I never have to come back to this town again."

"Never?"

"Never," Harry confirms, "because everything I need is in our city, in our home, and in our family."

"What about your dad?"

"I think he'd be happy knowing we've all left this behind us. I've said my goodbye."

She finally lifts her head, blinking sluggishly as she kisses his cheek. "M'ready for us to go home."

"Me too baby." Harry mumbles, knowing he's already got his home with him when Arlo snorts quite loudly and y/n giggles.

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Mr & Mrs. Donowitz (DonnyxFem!Reader)

Requested by @tremendousjudgesuitcasestudent

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182

Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

____________

**1946**

Donny had never read a book in his life, but there he was, sitting on a recliner, holding one. A parenting book, no less, surrounded by stacks of pages filled with baby names, and warnings, diagrams and possible allergies.

He had always been the guy that never had to try real hard to be good at something...but he wanted to be the best at this.

He knew he could nail the whole 'game of catch' thing...but he wanted to be so much more than that. 

He wanted to be that dad.

So he got his hands on every thing he could, went with you to every single doctor's appointment.

Still, he'd never admit he was nervous.

"Come on, me? Psh..." He'd chuckle as he'd quickly rifle through the pages, quizzing himself. As the months went by, he got a bit too paranoid. "Come on doll, I'll do the dishes, don't-"

You laughed, "Donny, I'm a nurse, I know what I'm doin' love."

He'd sigh, and wonder why you were always so stubborn.

He was sitting on the couch, and you were stretched out over his lap. Both of you were just about ready for bed, when you felt a little kick.

You chuckled sleepily, "Guess who's up."

Donny laughed, "Oh we got a little rebel, huh?" You took Donny's hand, and put it over your stomach, just in time to feel another little kick.

Part of Donny's hand was scarred from the fire in the theater. He was proud of what he'd done, but he wondered if his skin was too rough to hold his baby... And sometimes, he didn't know his own strength, what if he-

"Hey..." You knew that look, "You're gonna be a great dad."

"What if...what if I'm not ready...."

You glanced at the mile high stack of baby books in the corner, and chuckled, "Don't sell yourself short, love."

He smirked, "Me? Never. Ain't that right, kid?"

He felt another kick, and laughed, "Well, Y/n, you thought I was bad, now I got a teammate."

You muttered, "Don't even start with that, you basterd." and Donny smirked, "Don’t curse in front of the baby!"

You sighed, and leaned back agaisnt his lap. Something told you that kid was going to take after Donny. The  baby was already restless enough.

You were just beginning to fall asleep, when you felt something else...

Not quite a kick, or turn...nothing like you'd felt before.

You shifted a little, and thought maybe it was nothing.

But you couldn't be wronger...

You felt it again, minutes later.

Your eyes shot open, "Oh..."

Donny mumbled, half asleep, "Yeah doll?"

"Oh no..." You sat up, and Donny shot to his feet. "What do ya mean 'oh no?' Are you alright?! What's ha-"

You suddenly groaned in pain and doubled over, as you managed to mumble through clenched teeth, "It's time..."

"It's ti..IT'S TIME. OK. oK?! I'LL DRIVE YOU TO....NO! AMBULANCE. THAT'S"

"Donny."

"WhAT?!"

"Stay calm."

"I aAM calm."

You rolled your eyes,  and chuckled, "Stay calm. Breathe."

"I'm FUCKING CALM Y/N, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. OK. WE CAN DO THIS..."

"Fucking....ok.... Donny, there's no time. Listen...this baby is-" You groaned again, and he reached for your hand.

You nearly broke his in your iron grip.

He didn’t really mind. "Doll?"

"Call the midwife. This kid is coming right now."

"Right now-right now? Or right-now in a few hours?"

"RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW, DONNY. GO."

He couldn't help but smile, "OK, I GOT IT."

"WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?"

"WHY ARE YOU SCRE....Oh right.... Ok, I'll be back, just...here," He helped you back down, and then rushed down the hall. It hurt his knee to run, a remnant from the night the war ended, but he knew you hurt so much more, so he ran. He ran for you.

He passed a room painted in pastel and bright colors, and he slowed down a little, his hand brushing against the doorway as he rushed to the phone, a little smile beginning to play on his lips, for a brief moment. 

You started controlling your breathing, looking down, you sighed, with a laugh "Just as impatient as your father." You could hear Donny, all the way on the other side of the house as he called the midwife.

Every other word that came out of his mouth was a four-letter-word.

The widwives understood, but, it was a bit embarassing for you.

It was then that you heard him say "I AM FUCKING CALM," just before hanging up.

He was in fact, not fucking calm.

It wasn't long before the midwife showed up.

"Mr. Donowitz, please."

He stopped in his tracks. He still wasn't used to being called that.

He still worked in his father's barber shop, and there, everyone still called him Donny.

Good old Donny. He hadn't changed a bit...everyone said so.

It was that, or a journalist or two popping by for an interview, and calling him sergeant out of respect.

But ‘mister’?

He still wasn't used to that...

But he was used to following orders, and in a way, it calmed him down. . "Hot water and clean towels. Go."

Donny brought everything in, and found that you were no longer in the living room.

"Y/n?!"

He heard a pained and rather annoyed "WHAT?!"

He couldn't help but smile a little as he rushed to the bedroom, and set everything down.

And stood there.

The midwife shook her head, and tutted "Out out out out!"

Donny was a little taken back, "Out?"

"Nervous husbands always bungle something up!"

"I'm not nervous!" Donny got a bit defensive, and pouted a bit.

Any other moment you would’ve found that absolutely adorable...but not now.

The midwife rolled her eyes, "No. You're damn near shitting yourself."

In the blink of an eye, he found himself outside. That lady had quite some experience with doting husbands. And now, she had quite some experience with veterans, who all swore they weren’t nervous (and then ended up getting concussions or stitches from passing out).

"But-"

The door slammed in his face, and he sighed.

He figured he'd get some air...he'd never admit it, but the midwife was right.

He made his way to the front yard and started pacing around.

He could hear the screams and somehow, his heart was racing faster than it ever did in the war.

Then he heard something he hadn't heard you say in years...and somehow this time it sounded like you meant it, "I'M GONNA KILL YOU. I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU WHEN THIS IS OVER! FUCK!"

Donny couldn't help but grin a little. He made his way to the window, and peeked in, "Yeah? That's what you said in Lyo-"

The midwife grumbled something Donny only ever heard basterds and sailors say, as she grabbed the curtains and shut them.

Donny sighed, leaned against the wall, and lit a cigarette to calm his nerves.

He put the lighter back in his pocket, and felt a piece of paper.

He pulled it out, and smiled.

It was a letter from Aldo. It was addressed to both of you. A congratulations, and a few name suggestions (Aldo was a good name for a boy, ya know). And a promise to come visit the "lil 'un" soon.

Donny sighed and put the letter back in his pocket. He'd gotten a letter like that from each of the basterds. Each one giving some advice or name.

Each one being a bit of a cheeky basterd.

Donny smiled, he missed them, the way they all sat around together. All the things they lived through together... There were things he wished he could forget, but, he did miss those boys. Still, he wouldn't give up the life he had now for anything in the world.

Suddenly, the memories flew away and his feet were back on the ground.

He was back.

And he could hear the screaming intensify.

It was unsettling...

He furrowed his brow, and tried to get it together for your sake.

"Y/n?!"

You'd gone through a whole war together. War came with bullets. It came with pain. It came with bombers and fear and grenades.

He'd never heard you like that before, and it terrified him.

He panicked.

He didn't give a fuck what the midwife said. He didn't care what anyone said.

Most fathers stood around with cigars in a waiting room.

But Donny had been with you, and you were with him, during the worst moments of the war. He was dead set on being with you in the scariest/best day of your lives.

He set out his cigarette, and matched back in, slamming the door open, as the midwife sputtered incredulously, "MR. DONOWITZ-"

"Look nurse," he rolled up his sleeves, "Me and Y/N been through a lot together. We went to war together, we came back together. Let me be here for this. Just tell me what to do."

"Alright! alright!" She turned to you and chuckled, "You're right, he is a stubborn one."

You managed to smile a little.

He did everyrhing he was told to do, but it didn't make it any less scary.

You looked like you were in so much pain, it killed Donny to not be able to do anything about it.

"IS SHE ALRIGHT?!"

His heart tied a knot in his throat as he was thrown back to what was one of the darkest moments in the war. A grenade had been thrown, Utivich was holding you, you were covered in your own blood, and Donny was wide-eyed, demanding to know "IS SHE ALRIGHT?!"

Suddenly he heard an answer, back in the present.

Along with a chuckle.

"She's alright, Mr. Donowitz, just perfectly fine."

He smiled down ar you "Hear that, doll? You're doin great, just breathe..." He moved some hair away from your face as he held your hand and looked back at the midwife. "And the kid? How's my kid?"

You narrowed your eyes, "Your kid? Your fucking kid Donny are you fucking kidding me?!"

He laughed and kissed you on the forehead, "Sorry, sorry, our kid."

"I swear if you even THINK OF HAVING ANOTHER ONE..."

Donny smiled, "I know, doll, I know."

The midwife chuckled as she looked up, "One more push now, Mrs."

Donny smiled and looked down at you. For a moment, everything stood still...

Mrs. The word rang in his ear and he couldn't help but think of the first time he saw you, lined up with all the other basterds. His heart had skipped a beat and he grimaced as he tried to keep you out, thinking "Come on, now...that aint ever gonna happen..."

And here you were.

Mrs.

He smiled and snapped back, just in time to see a soft green towel being wrapped around a tiny little thing.

In that moment, there was music again in Donny’s world, no longer drowned out by engines, boots, and guns.

The first note was a loud, defenceless cry, and it broke his heart.

The moment he laid eyes on the baby, he knew that kid would break his heart every time he heard that little cry.

A part of him couldn't believe it, as the midwife held up the baby, he managed to blurt out, "B....baby..."

You laughed as a wave of relief and love like you'd never known before, as the midwife walked over with the baby. "Yeah, Don...a baby."

The midwife smiled, "Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Donowitz, it's a beautiful baby girl!" Mr. Donowitz...not a sergeant anymore... Mrs. Donowitz...not corporal L/N anymore.

She set the baby down in your arms and you couldn't bear to take your eyes off her, that tiny little thing. Your heart was heavy in that moment, knowing that baby would get hurt as she grew up. She'd scrape her knee, she'd lose a teddy bear, she'd fall off a bike, she'd fall in love, then fall out and back again.

You looked at Donny smiling, knowing you'd both be there for her along the way.

The moment the baby looked at Donny, she stopped crying.

You smiled and said, "You know you'll have to help eventually."

Donny chuckled as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead and said, "I know doll."

He hesitated a little.

She looked so small compared to his hand as he reached out. And.... He was known for his brute strength. A million questions and worries filled his head.

Then the midwife nudged him with a chuckle, "Go on then, dad."

Dad...

He was barely getting used to being called Mr. Donowitz...

But his heart melted when he looked at the baby and he thought '...I'm a dad...'

You nodded at him and smiled, "it's ok, Don."

He then took his baby girl in his arms and his whole world lit up.

He sat on the bed by you, only then realizing his knees felt like jelly from all the emotion.

"So, what are we gonna name her?"

Donny smirked, "Ya know...Aldo suggested Aldora. Said it's 'respectable as all hell.'"

You laughed a little, "Maybe....not..."

Donny chuckled as he looked down at the baby, and softly rubbed the back of his finger on her cheek. She babbled and nestled into his arms.

"Maybe Leah?"

You smiled and nodded "Leah..."

Donny smiled softly, thinking of all the things he wanted to teach her.

As soon as she could walk he was planning on teaching her how to bat.

But...he sighed softly seeing just how tiny the baby was, and thought there would be enough time for that later.

"Hi Leah," he chuckled as he rocked her a little.

She wrapped her hand around his finger and his heart practically burst, but all he could say was a loving little "Lee..."

He wrapped an arm around you as you both looked at your baby, "Aldo’s gonna be real disappointed, huh?"

Donny chuckled as he watched Lee fall asleep, "Gee, that's too bad, huh doll..."

In that moment, his life was full. His knee didn't hurt. He didn't worry about hurting his baby. He realized he was just being paranoid all along.

In other words...he was just being a dad.

But... If anyone else ever hurt his baby, well then...he had a bat he could dust off.

But that's besides the point.

You were together now, back in Boston.

It was clear now that the war was over this time.

He looked around and saw what he was fighting for.

He didn't care what Aldo thought. Save that earful for the reunions.

He cared about you and Leah.

When he was with his family, nothing else seemed to matter.

Not Kino, not the war, nothing else.

Just you, and Leah... And he was sure he could convince you to have another one...maybe two...

Either way, this was enough.

The medals and the newspapers and history books would speak for themselves.

But for Donny, maybe the civilian life was something he could get used to again.

Just Mr. And Mrs. Donowitz, from now on, with a little one... or two...

To Donny, that was more than enough.

[argent-vulpine]

The Queen’s Scheme(r)s

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Yuri/F!Byleth/Claude, feat. Seteth

Chapter Three: Rest & Relaxation

Read it on AO3

Seteth, ever the caring (doting) hard worker (over-worker, frankly) had very decidedly forced Byleth to take a day off. No paperwork. No church business. No cardinals’ meetings or construction planning or anything that resembled more than relaxing. He had very firmly told her that the bags under her eyes were unbecoming the Archbishop and that she should get some rest.

He was also a massive hypocrite, but she knew it was pointless to argue. They’d become good friends, despite such a rough start to their acquaintanceship, and she really did trust his judgment, especially in matters regarding the church. Deep down, she thought he would have made a much better Archbishop, but now certainly wasn’t the time to try and shift that authority around.

She’d give it a few years. Maybe.

In the meantime, she would do exactly as he suggested and take a break. If she were being honest with herself, it was much needed and she knew it. The strain of running an entire country – kingdom? – alongside the Church of Seiros was a lot.

There was a pang in her chest, the desire to see and talk to her father stronger than ever. What would he do, in her position? Not that he’d have allowed it. Jeralt the Blade Breaker as crown? She could imagine the look of disgust on his face.

“There’s that smile I love so much,” said a voice at her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts. Claude grinned and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “We heard Seteth forced you to take a day off,” he continued, pretending oblivion to the look now gracing her face, “So we decided to help out. Yuri’s already drawn a bath.”

He took her hand in his, giving her a gentle tug. Byleth gave a longsuffering sigh but followed behind him anyway, barely managing to hide her smile.

Claude knew, anyway. He could tell from the way her eyes lit up, the very faint crinkling at the corners. Byleth might never emote as openly as others, but all the little things were there to be read by anyone who cared enough. And he – and Yuri – definitely cared enough. They’d seen the tension building in her shoulders, the way her neck was stiffening, the muscles around her eyes tight with stress.

He wasn’t sure if the spymaster had also spoken to Seteth, but Claude most definitely had.

Thankfully, the advisor had agreed that Byleth needed a break. She didn’t have to know that the concern had come from anyone else. She didn’t like to worry them, after all.

Their trip up to their suite was blessedly short; no one stopped them to talk to Byleth – Seteth’s doing, perhaps? – and so they were able to progress unimpeded.

True to Claude’s word, Yuri was waiting in the bath itself, the water already drawn, heated to exactly how Byleth liked it. Lavender petals had been added to the water, the scent permeating the room.

“You two are too good for me,” she murmured, giving Claude a brief kiss before moving to do the same to Yuri. “Even if you aretroublemakers.”

“Ah, but we’re your troublemakers,” replied Claude with a cheeky grin and an even cheekier wink.

Yuri shot him a look that bordered on annoyed contempt. They all knew it was an act. “Speak for yourself, Khalid. I don’t make the trouble; I deal with it.”

Byleth snorted at that, allowing them both to help her remove the many layers she wore for her duties as Archbishop. “Is that so? What about just last week when I found that trap on the passage leading to Abyss?”

“Well, you can’t be too careful. That door is too close to our quarters and there’s no telling who might find it,” he retorted primly, carefully hanging her robe.

“The trap wards on the terrace?” chimed in Claude, earning a slight frown from Byleth.

“Wyverns and pegasi don’t only belong to the church corps. The wards are to deter unwanted guests from landing.”

“And do those wards know how to tell friend from foe?” Byleth asked, knowing that they didn’t. Or that Yuri hadn’t bothered to have Claude recognized. “You can’t set fire to Khalid and his wyvern just because he poisoned your tea. Although,” she rounded on the man in question with a glare, “You shouldn’t be poisoning his tea to begin with.”

That set off a chain of bickering between the two of them, during which Byleth finished disrobing herself and slipped into the water, sighing happily as the warmth surrounded her, penetrating down to her bones. She tuned them out, used to their antics by now even if the rest of the monastery wasn’t, nor was likely to ever be.

She knew the real people behind the schemes and the pranks – and the vague (or not-so-vague) threats of murder.

Byleth was dimly aware when the bickering stopped; more aware when two bodies entered the very large bath with her, their presence a comfort at her sides. Her eyes were closed, relaxing and resting as she’d been told to do, when one of them – Yuri, she thought – began to carefully wet her hair, using a small cup to pour the water on the green locks.

Claude had one of her hands in his and was gently massaging. Byleth hadn’t even been aware her hands had been that tight, but it certainly explained the increase in cramps of late. Who knew signing papers was more strenuous than wielding a sword?

With Yuri gently washing her hair and Claude massaging her hands and arms, it was no wonder that Byleth drifted off into a light doze. Their careful, loving ministrations reminded her why she loved them in the first place, despite their antics… though she had to admit that their antics had also had something to do with it.

She was only vaguely aware when they helped her out of the bath, drying her off with soft towels. Claude, noting how she was only barely awake, had scooped her up into his arms and carried her to their bed, depositing her gently in the middle while Yuri fussed with the covers, tucking her in.

They left her to sleep and to take care of their own business. Just because Byleth was being made to take a day off didn’t mean they could do the same.

The sun hadn’t traveled that far by the time Byleth awoke, stretching languidly in the bed. It had been perhaps a little more than an hour, but she felt much better than when she’d first woken for the day. Her husbands were nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t surprising. She had missed their comforting presence in the bed, but duties called, she was sure.

One of them had laid out fresh clothes for her, she noted, spotting the pile on the vanity chair.

Might as well get dressed and head out. It wouldn’t do for her to be abed all day. She needed to at least be seen, even if she wasn’t working.

She almost laughed when she saw what clothes had been chosen for her. An outfit resembling her old mercenary garb was laid out – a clear sign that she was neither the Archbishop nor the Queen for today.

Once dressed and with freshly brushed hair, Byleth ventured out of their rooms, giving a smile to her personal guard – the former gatekeeper – who grinned and saluted with a jaunty “Nothing to report!” as she passed.

Byleth took her time heading down the stairs, enjoying a leisurely pace that she maintained even when she took to the halls, nodding her greetings at those she passed. It was almost amusing, really; gone were the days of her zipping through the halls, startling people and causing no small amount of consternation with many of the inhabitants.

It was perhaps unsurprising that she ended up at the little dock on the pond, casting a line out over the water as she settled down, the tips of her boots barely skimming the surface.

She was alone for some time, her basket steadily filling with fish that she would take up to the dining hall when she was done, before she felt the shadow of a visitor fall over her. “Are you finally taking a break of your own?” she asked the shadow, smiling when Seteth huffed out a sigh and joined her at the end of the pier.

He did sit, though he didn’t put his legs over the end as she had. “I was checking in on you… but I suppose it can’t hurt if I take a little break.”

She gave him a slight smile, gesturing with her chin toward some spare rods. He took and baited one from her supply of bait, casting out his own line. “I see Leonie taught you well,” she noted. “You didn’t struggle even a little that time.”

Seteth gave her a look that she knew to be his feigned disapproval. It only made her smile broaden. “Yes, well, she was an invaluable resource.”

“Oh, an invaluable resource, you say? I’ll be sure to let her know you said that when I next have tea with her. She’s due back from the field in the next week or so.”

With Byleth unable to take over her father’s mercenary band, Leonie had decided to give it a shot herself. She’d been earning quite the name for herself. Jeralt would have been proud, she was certain, even if he hadn’t quite understood the woman’s attachment to him. And the group had taken to her easily, to the point she was unquestionably their leader.

They still called themselves Jeralt’s group, though. After all, his name had clout even if the man himself had long passed.

Beside her, her advisor made a strangled sound in his throat, perhaps mild panic. “Please do not tell her I said such,” he finally ground out.

“Mm. Perhaps I won’t.” They fished in silence for several long minutes before Byleth spoke again. “I’m glad that you have made true friends, Seteth. It’s not good to live such a lonely life.”

“I am glad, too. And for you, as well. I wonder… I wonder if Sothis suspected what would happen when you came here.”

“Hmm. Intuitively, perhaps. But she never did say anything.” A pause. “Anything that wasn’t heckling me, at least. Or making comments about others.”

He looked startled at that; Byleth had never before offered up what kind of things had been going on in her head, her secret conversations with the goddess. But the shock wore off and he laughed, a rich sound she didn’t get to hear often. Byleth grinned, pleased with herself as she saw some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “I’d ask what she said about me when first we met, but I’m certain I don’t want to know.”

Byleth hummed in agreement, turning her attention back to the pond. “I miss her voice still, sometimes. But… all the friends I’ve made, they help. I think she would be proud of where we are now.”

“That… that is nice to hear. Thank you, Byleth.”

The conversation drifted away after that, leaving the two in companionable silence until Seteth excused himself to return to work, taking the baskets of fish with him.

Byleth stayed a while longer, not fishing but simply enjoying the way the light played on the water’s surface, before she too rose and left, casting one last glance at the pond.

A fish – the one known as the Goddess Messenger – leapt out of the water, executing a perfect arch, before splashing back down. She smiled and turned, leaving the fish to its fun.

[pumpkinmaster999]

Heroes Walk in Dirt

By Jess Awh

At last call at the bar I am eight shots in, swing dancing with a broom while Sasha wipes the wood down. His face says he’s wondering how a mess like me can be trusted to clean shit up.

I tell him when I’m home I like to vacuum drunk. Drunk vacuuming is kinda like being on a swing: you blithely toss your body around the room in a tango with the vacuum, singing to yourself, forgetting certain corners. I sing the live recorded version of a John Prine song, “That’s the Way that the World Goes Round.” Sasha asks why live. The song’s got this line: “it’s a half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown,” I say, but on the live tape John Prine tells the crowd how a woman came up to him in San Fransisco once and asked him to play his song about the happy enchilada. She thought it went, “it’s a happy enchilada and you think you’re gonna drown.”

In my bedroom I take eight shots of Jim Beam and grab the expensive vacuum I bought at Costco with the different detachable heads which I call “my vacuum ingredients,” and I swing and sing to myself about the happy enchilada.

Sasha shrugs and scrubs the gun line. He says that that John Prine song has a verse where John Prine pretty much says it’s ok to beat your wife. It isn’t okay to beat your wife, I don’t sing that verse. I know it isn’t okay to beat your wife. My wood floors shine. I hate when dirt from the floor sticks to my feet as though it were all the world’s injustice.

I smoke in the tub and I swim in the Hudson, so in a way no bath I take is ever clean as a true baptism. I dislike the laundromat, so I wash clothes at home and hang them on the fire escape. In a nutshell, all I can do is try, I say, in a nutshell. Trying is what we do when succeeding eludes our sight. Sasha once came over after work and laid on my bed eating pistachios, setting the empty shells down on his chest. He’s been upset because his ex is about to marry a man she loves less just to get him a green card and have some kids. I’d never ask anyone or anything to change. I would’ve vacuumed his shirt, though.

I walk to the train to work like always and Lee is waiting outside the liquor store. For whatever reason, the liquor store people hired him seemingly just to stand outside and ask people how they’re doing as they go by. He’s hardly ever inside, and when he is he doesn’t seem to be doing anything. He doesn’t have any flyers to hand out. “What’s new, Lee?” “Oh, you know, new gangsters, new crackheads.” “Oh yeah? You look spiffy. I like the blazer.” “Ah, thanks, it’s gettin’ cold.” “Yep, yep.” “My birthday’s coming up.” I like that one because he always tells me what’s new with the block when I’m really asking what’s new with him. “Shit, when is it?” “The 26th.” “No way, I’m having a party that night. I’ll bring you a piece of cake or something.” We laugh. Lee is always in a clean black button down and black pants that are never wrinkly. He’s like a blackboard that got wiped down with a wet towel. I’m gonna bring him cake because he doesn’t expect me to. We live in this charmed narrative where we move one plant into the sun, or put a sardine out for one stray cat, or organize one shelf, and then the sky opens up so sunbeams land on our shoulders like we somehow answered a prayer God didn’t even say out loud. I read this story in American Girl Magazine when I was nine where they’re walking on the beach and they find hundreds of washed up starfish dying in the sun. The one girl says “we can’t save them all, it’s pointless” and the other starts throwing them in the water one by one. She goes “but we can at least save a few, and that still matters.”

I get to the bar and this guy I know is there drinking, Grant Barber. I tell Sasha I’m going to go hide in the basement and he knows what I mean. A couple summers ago when I was bartending in Chinatown I became friends with Grant Barber because he was living in the radio station. He’d listen to my show on the mail room speakers on Sundays and say things like “I’m glad you played Patsy Cline” or “I can tell you like the music, that’s why you’re such a good host.” Grant Barber has blue eyes like Santa’s eyes, and that’s why I started buying him lunch and letting him shower at my apartment. I’m a good person but I get starfished sometimes. So I served court papers to the squatter who’d forced him out of his place in BedStuy, I went with him to the notary and everything, but when the legal shit started to drag along and he was sending me messages like “I’m gonna kill myself today” and “why won’t you answer me, I’m going to die” I stopped replying. I couldn’t fix it any more for him, and what was I gonna do, sit there listening to a dude I barely knew threaten suicide because I ignored his Facebook DMs? He said he never asked me to “fix it,” just to be there, and then he said he was in love with me. I said this is too many starfish. Actually, I said nothing.

Grant Barber talked to Blaze Foley in Austin back in 1985. I believe that story because he never lied to me about anything else besides the killing himself. “Fuck, I love Blaze Foley, seriously?” Yeah, at this concert at The Outhouse where he was double billed with Townes Van Zandt. Townes played for an hour straight, and I was there with my girlfriend, they were waiting for Blaze to come onstage but no one could find him I guess. He came on and played one song, then left again. That night is the only time I talked to him ever even though I saw him twice or three times. I’ll never forget what he said…I went to the men’s room and he was there barreling through a fifth of whiskey…slouched over a urinal. It was just us two and for some reason I started rambling about how much I looked up to him, how his music moved me, and then he stared at me and said one sentence. He said, and he was slurring—it took him a whole long minute to say this—he said “my problem is that I can’t stop being funny.”

I was funny once, at a nude figure drawing session held by a local art club. They had offered me thirty bucks to play the guitar and sing my songs while the models posed and the artists sketched them. The room echoed like the inside of a drum and the floors were shiny. I sang things I had written and they mingled with the dust lit up by the window and hovering in the air. Afterwards a girl came up to me and said “I loved your lyrics, they were so funny!” And maybe they were funny, but I recoiled because I felt stung, because I had been admitting that I was weak, which is braver than most things I do. Blaze Foley got shot in the chest by his friend Concho January’s son. That’s how he died. He confronted Carey, the son, about stealing Concho January’s veteran pension and welfare checks, and a few days later Carey shot him. Blaze’s friends covered his coffin in duct tape because he never got starfished, he knew his strength even though he looked to be made of flesh. Sasha was uninvited to his ex’s wedding because Gavin (the new fiancé) hates him, and when he found out he said fine, I’m happy for you guys, then cried on my shoulder in the bar basement later.

I love Blaze Foley but I doubt I would’ve ever dated him because I bet his hair was dirty all the time. He has this song called “Sittin’ by the Side of the Road” that’s about being homeless and being fine with it, because what do you even need besides a guitar and a meal to eat? I need a sanctuary that I can control and retreat to. The best gift I’ve ever given a friend is an invitation to stay with me, to hide in my house with the vacuumed floors, out of New York, and feel clean. This is why I wouldn’t date Sasha: his apartment is an unheeded hodgepodge of once-important or still-important things not set in order, not categorized, not scrubbed with Clorox wipes. I wonder what service he’s out there doing that makes him forget about cleaning. He texts me that Grant Barber left the bar and I come upstairs, eyeing the balled-up napkins and brown leaves sprinkled on the ground as I walk to the front door. I will clean this up before anyone else has a chance to disregard it.