#and wed hang out in the corners of hallways on breaks and curl up and lay on each other and play with each others hands and hair and doodle

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You finish your tea in tenuous silence. With an agreement between you, there isn't much left to say. You really don't know what to say or do. All the implications pile on you as your mind races.

A wife? A good wife. What does a good wife do?

Support her husband. Love him. Show him affection...

That last thought tingles in your cheeks. You peek over at Walter as you hug your empty mug in your hands. What does he expect of you? Not just in your marriage but tonight? You haven't wed just yet.

He meets your eyes, brushing his hand over his curls. He slides forward on the cushion as your shoulders slope down. He still looks angry.

"Done?" He asks, not waiting for your answer before he stands.

"Yeah, I... I am, thank you."

He approaches and takes the mug from you. He goes into the kitchen without another word. You peer over at the windows, rain still battering the panes. You sniff and stand with a shiver as you search around, your clothes still showing damp patches.

"The truck..." you mutter.

"What about he truck?" Walt frightens you and you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around yourself. He stops to shut off the space heater.

"It's down the road. I couldn't get it all the way here..."

"We'll worry about that tomorrow," he grits.

"Right... tomorrow?"

He blinks, "you can stay. It's safer."

He nears and offers his hand. You stare at it, it seems so big. You slowly unfold your arms and put your hand in his. He squeezes, firm but not unkind.

"Are you tired?" His tone softens.

"A little," you feel a yawn trying to break free and put your chin down.

He leads you around the couch and back into the entryway. He ushers you towards the stairs as the cold air creeps up your legs. You climb up beside him, crowded on the staircase.

"Well, we'll get you tucked in then and we'll figure everything else out tomorrow," he affirms.

"Yeah, sounds good," you wilt out.

We. Not I, not you. We. Together.

He hums and says nothing else. He takes you down the hallway to a room at the end. He flips the light switch. There's a four-post bed on a brown rug with a green quilt is draped atop the layers of bedding. A desk stands in the corner, cluttered and full. Several sweaters hang from the back of the chair, much like the soft wool he wears no.

He leads you to the bed and throws back the blankets. He tugs you towards the edge and lets you go. You climb up and wiggle your cold toes. Before you can reach for the covers, he tosses them over you.

Wordless, he backs away. He rolls his broad shoulders as he turns his back to you and nears the long dresser against the wall, a basket on top of it heaped with clothes. He pulls his sweater over his head, further mussing his curls. As he reveals his thickly muscled back, you look away.

You guess you never thought much about how he looked. You always just saw him as strong and big, but you never delved that deep. Your eyes trail over as he undoes his jeans and steps out of those. He dumps them into the basket of laundry and leans on the dresser as he peels off his socks.

He turns to you, in a pair of boxers, and you shyly flick your eyes to the ceiling and lay back against the pillows. The image of the hair across his burly chest has your insides brewing. He's older than you but can't be that old.

He goes to shut off the light and you sense his shadow in the darkness, lurking closer and closer. You nearly gasp as his weigh shifts the bed and cool air seeps under the covers as he slides beneath them. You're nearly shaking with uncertainty.

You're going to sleep in the same bed. That's not unusual... technically, you're engaged so it's expected. He lowers himself down beside you and you squeak as he grabs you. He pulls you towards him, guiding an arm beneath you as he angles you onto your side.

You let him. Maybe you want this or maybe you're terrified. Either way, you can't deny him. You have a deal.

He curls his other arm around your middle as you lay flush to him, your short figure nestled against his large one. His chest rises and falls calmly against your back as your own heart hammers frantically. You close your eyes, folding your arm around his as you rest your small hand on his thick fingers.

He's as hot as a furnace. His body heat quickly chases away the lingering cold in your flesh. It soothes you in a way you don't expect. You feel safe despite your vibrating nerves.

"Good night, lamb," he kisses the crown of your head.

His deep voice rolls through you, a new sort of chill flowing down your body.

"Night, Walt," you murmur.

He lets out a noise, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and you feel the tension slake away from his body. It might not be so bad. He can be nice so long as you go along.

[topguncortez]

11. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” If you could ❤️

In Sickness, In Health | Nick "Goose" Bradshaw x Female!Reader

warnings: exhaustion, dehydration, sickness, passing out, Goose being fucking adorable

Goose had been silently watching you all week. Going into February was always a busy time for you at the flower shop. One, you had started planting all your hanging baskets, succulents, and rose bushes. Next, Valentines Day was the second busiest time of year as couples came in looking for flowers for their significant other. And spring was usually when prom and wedding season would be in full blast.

You were spending your days down in the basement working under the heat lamp, watering and watching your plants grow. You spent hours working on specific arrangements and baskets that you knew would see good. You also spent hours on the phone, contacting different growers about getting seeds for certain strains of plants. The kitchen table had become covered with magazines, seed packages, and past receipts from the year prior.

"Baby," Goose said, walking into the kitchen. You were barely awake, your eyes straining as you read over a magazine on perfecting the planting of hydrangeas, "Why don't we call it a night on the flower stuff."

"Mm, I can't," You said, rubbing your eyes, "I gotta get these ordered by next week if I want to have them in bloom for May. The old ladies love their red hydrangeas. They say we always have the best ones."

"Well," Goose said, "Can't argue with that," You smiled and he placed a kiss on your cheek, "A couple more minutes, then I'm taking you to bed. I'm gonna go check on Bradley."

"Yes sir!" You said, giving him a mock salute. He shook his head with a laugh, heading upstairs to check on the sleeping three year old. You stretched as another yawn fought its way out of your mouth. You grabbed your coffee mug and frowned seeing that it was empty. You pushed yourself out of your chair and walked towards the coffee pot on the counter, but white spots filled your vision.

"Whoa," You blinked a couple times as you went to reach out for the counter, placing your mug down. You winced as you missed the spot, the mug crashing to the ground and splitting everywhere. You went to crouch down to pick up the glass, but felt your head start to swim, and before you knew it, you crashed to the floor.

--- --- ---

Goose whistled as he walked down the hallway to your son's room. He gently pushed the door open, and noticed that Bradley's reading lamp was still on, and the little boy was playing with his two model planes.

"You," Goose said, pointing at the little boy, "Are supposed to be in bed." Bradley giggled shyly as he set the two planes down next to him.

"I'm not tired, daddy," He smiled and shook his head.

"You and your mother both," Goose muttered and walked into the room, "How about another book?" Bradley nodded and Goose grabbed a book from the pile near Bradley's bed. He sat down next to the little boy and he cuddled into his dad. Goose could never get tired of the way Bradley liked to curl up on his lap or your lap when you would read to him.

Goose was half way through "Goodnight Moon" when he heard the sound of glass breaking. His head snapped towards the bedroom door. He waited a moment, expecting to hear your voice that you were alright, and then he heard another loud thud.

"Stay here," Goose said, gently moving his son off his lap. He pressed a quick kiss to Bradley's forehead before running down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Y/N?" Goose called out as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, and saw you trying to pull yourself into a sitting position, "Holy shit, baby!"

You held your hand up as you leaned against the kitchen cabinets, out of breath, "There's glass." Your voice was weak and Goose looked down at the glass on the floor, and then to your bleeding elbow.

"What happened?" Goose asked, kneeling down next to you and gently touching your face.

"I needed more coffee and I just. . . my vision went black," You said.

"When was the last time you ate?" Goose asked, "You skipped dinner with us," You just shrugged and shook your head, "Okay. . . when was the last time you drank anything beside coffee?" Again, you shook your head, "Baby, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

"No," You pouted, "It's late. I'm fine. Bradley is sleeping-"

"You need hydration," Goose said, "You are going to work yourself sick. If you won't let me take you to the hospital, at least take a couple days off. Let Margery or Jack do some stuff. Please, honey." Goose held your hands in his, almost near tears and you felt your heart break.

You didn't think that you were working yourself too hard, but with you being in your current position, you knew you were probably on the brink of a stress induced attack.

"Okay," You said and Goose kissed your forehead, "I need to clean up the-"

"Your time off starts now, lady," Goose scolded you, "I'm taking you to bed, and then I'll come clean up the glass."

You smiled at your husband, "I like when you get all demanding."

"Sex is part of the time off deal," Goose smirked and winked at you.

You groaned and Goose chuckled, his arms going around your body and easily picking you up from the floor. He took you to your shared bedroom and gently laid you down on the bed. He helped you change out of your work clothes, and slipped one of his old academy t-shirts over your head. He tucked you in and placed a kiss on your lips before he walked back down to pick up the mess in the kitchen.

When Goose returned back to the bedroom, after cleaning everything up, he was met with the sight of not only you, fast asleep, but Bradley curled up with you. He smiled to himself, taking in the moment before climbing in and laying next to his family.

[senditcolton]

All That You Ever Wanted...

summary: the abrupt changes Tyson experienced in the past year have taken their toll on him. it doesn’t help that everyone keeps bringing up what he wishes he could forget. that being said, the one bright light through all of this was Madeleine. 

songs: X X (bonus)  word count: ~1k warnings: none! pure softness once again!!

“Thanks for giving us the time, Josty.”

“Perfect, thanks for having me boys.”

Tyson smiles into the camera before exiting the Zoom call, heaving a sigh before leaning back in the desk chair, hands rubbing over his face.

In the back of his mind, he knew people would be asking. That was a big talking point: how did the former player traded mid-season feel about watching his former team go on to win it all? It was going to be a question people would ask.

He just wishes that it wasn’t literally everyone. Podcasts, newspapers, the NHL media team, everyone.

Hearing that question was hard enough. Answering it was even harder.

How do you express that you wish you could’ve been there without making it sound like you hate the team you currently play for? How do you turn one of the hardest points in your career into a positive that people want to hear? How do you stop yourself from breaking down all over again?

And if that wasn’t enough, there was the immense, albeit silent, pressure on him to do great this season, to prove to people in Minnesota that he was the real deal, to prove to everyone else including his former Stanley Cup winning team that they were wrong.

Tyson huffs out another breath, removing his baseball cap to run a hand through his unruly curls in frustration. Part of him wishes that it could all stop.

He stretches his arms above him, getting out any tension in his muscles from sitting for an extended period of time. Unfortunately, that still doesn’t stop the grunt that falls from his lips when he gets up from the now uncomfortable seat, shutting the laptop and pushing the chair in before he opens the office door.

The smell is what first hits him; the scent of garlic and butter hitting his nostrils. He walks down the still new hallways of the apartment, stopping to smile at some of the photos that he and Maddie had hung on the wall: the polaroid from when she moved to Colorado, their engagement photo session in Garden of the Gods, and their favorite candid from their wedding.

Seeing the pictures makes Tysons resolve soften a little as he continues to move down the corridor, following the delectable scent of his favorite meal. He rounds the corner into the kitchen and the sight before him makes his frustrations disappear.

Madeleine is standing in front of the stove, her blonde hair piled up into a messy bun, one of Tyson’s Minnesota hoodies hanging on her frame, feet bare. She doesn’t notice him, concentrated on her work basting the steak in the cast iron pan in front of her. The only noise cutting through the sizzle of her cooking is her gently humming to whatever song she has playing in her earbuds.

Tyson stood there, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, content to watch his wife for a little longer. It was still odd to him that he got to call her that now. That she was officially Madeleine Jost instead of Madeleine Murphy. But if he got to have this sight waiting for him every time he came home, he knew he could die a happy man.

He finally removes himself from the wall, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, leaning down to place his chin on her shoulder. She easily leans her head slightly, welcoming him into her space as she finishes up the steak, removing it onto the cutting board to rest.

Maddie turns in his arms, placing her hands against his chest as she looks up at him. Tyson attempts to put on a brave face for her, smiling softly but he notices her blue eyes looking into his brown ones. She reads him like a book, something she was able to do since they were kids together, a sigh escaping from her as she sees his troubles reflecting in his irises. She knew; she was there for it all.

She offers him a sad smile before reaching up and removing his hat, placing it on the countertop before brushing through his curls. His arms tighten around her as her fingers fall from his hair to delicately trace his jawline, tickling the slight stubble there.

Wordlessly, she takes one of her earbuds from her ear and places it in his. The gentle guitar fills his senses and when Maddie starts to gently sway, he doesn’t stop his body from moving with her.

Her hands stay cupping his jaw as she gently pulls his head down until his forehead is resting on hers. Tyson closes his eyes and lets the feeling of being here, in this moment, drown out all the noise from the rest of the world.

People would never stop judging him, cursing him, imploring him to give more and more of himself until there was nothing left of him. And then start calling him weak for collapsing under their scrutiny. So, he put on the strong front, put on that tough yet still happy-go-lucky attitude that he was known for.

But with her, Tyson didn’t need to pretend. He knew he could fall apart and she would always be there to help him pull himself together again. She had his back, just like she had every day before this one and she would every day after.

Madeleine didn’t expect anything from him – she never had. Not money, or fame, or a championship. Although, he would have given it all to her just so he could have moments like this in his life. But that was the beauty of this love she showed him; it was unconditional.

And in this moment with her, he didn’t want the Stanley Cup.  A blasphemous thought, he knows. But this – her… nothing else mattered because she was his greatest accomplishment.

[winterscaptain]

mom.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: shoutout to aimz for affirming this version of this fic!! i had an image the other day and had to sit down and write it. thank you for your patience as i took a little break this week. 

words: 1.2k warnings: none!

summary: “mother is the heartbeat in the home; and without her, there seems to be no heartthrob.” — leroy brownlow

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

Before you leave the room, you hear Jack call out for you in a small voice. 

“Yeah, bug?” You turn, leaning on the door jamb.

“Can you come back here a minute?” 

You nod and cross the room, kneeling at his bedside. “What’s going on buddy?”

He looks nervous, but you wait him out. He spends a few moments shuffling in bed, wringing his hands, generally looking a lot like his father, but then asks, “Can I call you Mom?”

There’s nothing but static in your brain. 

Recovering quickly so he doesn’t feel rejected, you grab his hands and kiss them. “Can I talk to your dad about it? I want to make sure he’s okay with it.”

Jack nods, but to your relief, doesn’t look disappointed. “Yeah.” 

With a kiss to the top of his head, you tell him you love him. 

+++

As soon as Jack’s asleep, you try to settle into bed, but the photo of Haley on Aaron’s dresser just stares you down and eats you alive. You shake your head and strip, jumping into the shower before it's even warm. 

+++

When Aaron steps into the apartment, it’s quiet and dark, save for the sound of the shower and the sliver of light arcing into the living room from the master bedroom. 

He drops his briefcase at the door and loosens his tie on his way across the room and down the hall. 

Pausing when he gets to the door, he listens. 

Is that….are you?

Crying? 

He trots into the bathroom and finds you behind the glass shower door, curled into a ball under the water. He toes off his shoes and steps into the tub to crouch in front of you, still in his suit, unfazed by the water. “Sweetheart?”

“I can’t be her, Aaron. I’m not her. I’m not his mom I’m not -”

“Stop,” he says. “That’s enough.” He pauses, taking a breath. “Did Jack ask if he could call you mom tonight?” 

You nod and curl further into yourself. “I can’t be her.”

He gathers you into his arms, the shower still running, and says, “You don’t have to. He’s not asking you to be her. He’s asking you to be something you already are.”

You sniff and lean back, looking at him. “What?”

“Come on.” He stands and brings you with him, reaching past you to turn on the water. “Let’s dry you off and get into bed.”

+++

After hanging his suit to drip-dry, he finds you in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. He closes all the doors, turns the lights off, and sits beside you, pulling you up to rest against the headboard. 

You’re both still wet and without clothes, but that doesn’t matter. 

“I just...I froze, Aaron. I didn’t know what to say but I didn't want to scare him so I told him I had to talk to you about it first.” 

He traces your arm with his finger as he talks, grounding you. “That’s okay. I told him you’d probably say something like that.” 

“What?” You lean back and your brow furrows. “You what?”

A little smile crosses his face. “You think we haven’t talked about it? Honey, he’s been asking me about how to ask you for weeks now.” 

That basically takes all the wind out of your sails. “Oh.” 

If you’re honest, you feel a little stupid. Jack’s not the kind of kid to just do things out of nowhere. He obsesses and second-guesses and asks his dad about everything, so the very idea that he asked you out of the blue is as ridiculous as it is out of character. 

To your surprise, Aaron laughs a little. “Don’t feel stupid. I thought it would be a nice surprise for you, but now I’m realizing I probably should have warned you.”

“That might’ve been nice.” 

You can feel his smile when he kisses your temple. “I know, but I wanted him to feel...I dunno. Confident?” He pauses. “But, that’s not the point.” 

You look at him, a little confused. 

“How do you feel about it? I would understand if you’re not comfortable or -”

“No. I’m…” You trail off, feeling a little bad for interrupting him without really knowing what you’re going to say. “I’m comfortable. I just…”

Your eyes wander to the photo of you and Jack and Haley again. She still smiles at you out of the frame, just as she always has. You shift your attention to the one beside it - the one of Haley and Aaron on their wedding day, the one you insisted he keep up after he made an attempt to put it somewhere else after you moved in. 

He breaks your attention with a tap on the back of your hand. “Do you want to talk to her?” 

“What?” 

+++

With a certain degree of amusing theatrics, he threw on a pair of pajama pants, snuck into Jack’s room, and stole the little candle they use to “talk” to Haley. 

When he returns, he lights it, hands you the picture of her from 1997 at the Space Needle he keeps in his wallet, and walks out. 

“Hi Hales.”  

+++

You’re asleep when he returns, the photo loose between your fingers and the candle long out. He watches you sleep for a minute before gingerly tucking you in and slipping the photo back into his wallet. 

+++

The next morning, he hears you and Jack on the couch, talking quietly, but not so much so he can’t hear from the hallway. 

“...I’d love nothing more, my love.” 

“Did you talk to Dad about it?” 

Aaron hears you hum and kiss what he thinks is the top of Jack’s head. “Yeah. I talked to your momma, too.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. You know how much she loves you, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

There’s never enough time for Aaron to really consider how lucky he is. He doesn’t just have a partner who loves his son. He has a partner who loves the mother of his son. 

A partner who understands the weight of “Mom” in the Hotchner house. 

He finally rounds the corner to find the pair of you curled together around a plate of fruit, watching cartoons one low volume. 

“Hi, Dad!” Jack says, grinning up at Aaron. “Mom and I are starting an old show called Tom and Jerry. Wanna watch?”

You suppress a smile as Aaron scoffs, “Old,” and sits beside you, tucking the both of you under his arm. 

You turn to press a kiss to the side of his chest. “I love you.” 

“I love you too...” He kisses the top of your head and says, just for your ears, “...best mom ever.” 

+++

tagging: @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @jeor @roses-and-grasses @word-scribbless @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @joanofarkansass @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos

[andawaywego]

If you’re still taking prompts, can I make a suggestion? Could you maybe write one about Jamie being busy starting up the leafling (or something) and Dani feels a little neglected so she buys something sexy to get Jamie’s attention.

so i actually had a few prompts for Dani buying lingerie. i guess we were all thinking it, huh? this kinda got away from me, but i hope you like it! smutty smut ahoy.

..

Valentine’s Day, Jamie is learning, is one of the most brutal holidays there is; at least, it is when you own a flower shop. Two years in and it’s a hard lesson. Tiring, even. Exhausting. The orders start pouring in starting about a week out and then it’s practically nonstop until the whole thing is over.

Last year, it felt like they got through it by the skin of their teeth. By the end of it, she and Dani had gotten so good at communicating a lot of information quickly—order sizes, specifics, pickup times—that they’ve almost become mind readers. At least when it comes to each other.

This became especially useful once they hit wedding season that same year and Jamie only realizes how much she’s come to rely on this anomaly once she’s without it.

On Valentine’s Day this year, Dani is sick and at their apartment resting and Jamie is forced to finish everything up on her own. It could be worse, she thinks, because the timing is at least a little less suffocating than it may have been if she’d had to send Dani home early the day before. The only business she’s really had all day were customers coming by to pick up their orders or last-minute love day stragglers coming in to buy whatever she had left.

It could be worse. Really it could.

By the time she closes things up, the whole shop sort of looks like someone took a large vacuum to it, sucking up just about all the plant life from the displays and walls. It looks sort of like a ghost town. Jamie briefly imagines a tumbleweed rolling by. Locks the door behind herself. Turns her feet towards home.

She worries as she walks, the complex where they live only a few blocks from the shop itself. Wonders if maybe she should stop somewhere and get some soup for Dani or something, and then remembers that it’s Valentine’s Day and decides to avoid going to a restaurant.

She can always come back out and brave the headache later. Right now, she’s mostly focused on getting home to check on her girlfriend.

The apartment is quiet when she steps inside. It isn’t as if she was expecting any different, but it still catches her off guard. Only the lamp by the sofa is clicked on, meaning that the rest of the space is shadowed in darkness. The radiators by the window hum and it’s a little too hot—buildings like this, she’s learned, don’t know the meaning of “happy medium.” They spend the summers fanning themselves like southern church ladies and the winter much the same. Fall is reserved for wearing too many layers as they wait for the building manager to decide to turn on the radiators.

She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. Keeps her boots on for now even though Dani hates that in case she ends up having to go back out. Heads toward the hallway, toward the bedroom, where she assumes Dani must be resting. Walks slowly to keep the floorboard-squeaking to a minimum.

It isn’t until she passes by the bathroom that she hears it: the music drifting gently from the bedroom. A soft drum beat and a voice singing. She doesn’t immediately recognize the song, too busy wondering why Dani is listening to music while she rests. Gives up on tip-toeing and just hurries the rest of the way.

And then, well—

Hot and stuffy in the apartment from the radiators, sweating a bit in her shirt right at the small of her back, and a shiver still trembles through Jamie’s body when she steps into the bedroom, when she sees what’s waiting for her.

“Hey,” says Dani, perched at the bottom of the bed and smiling in that way Jamie knows she only does when she is very, very nervous.

“I thought you were sick,” says Jamie.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted some time to set all of this up.”

All of this being the record she’s got playing from the stereo in the corner of the room, the candles she has lit on top of the television and on the table next to her side of the bed, and, most importantly, what she’s wearing.

Her makeup, her hair, decked out like every single fantasy Jamie’s ever had and never before let herself consider. Worst of all: she’s wearing lingerie. Purple lingerie. Purple lingerie that hardly leaves anything to the imagination. Jamie swallows so hard it hurts a little.

And she’s seen Dani naked before. Of course, she has. Plenty of times. She’s seen her in nice underwear that matched the bra she had on a handful of times, too. But this is different. Lovely on her or not, those things were still functional as undergarments. And this? This isn’t.

This is see-through lace and long, smooth legs. It’s ruffles and a short-sleeved silk robe that’s hanging off her shoulders just enough to make Jamie’s mouth water.

This isn’t functional. This was designed to cause the exact reaction that it has; this was designed to be taken off.

Dani rolls her shoulders back and flutters her eyelashes in a way that should be silly, but only succeeds in making Jamie’s blood race more thoroughly through her veins. “You’re staring,” she says, playing innocence so well that Jamie almost feels guilty about her inability to tear her eyes away.

Except Dani bought this at some point just for the sole purpose of sitting on their bed looking like that. She did that knowing full well that Jamie wouldn’t be able to keep from eyeing the curves and sways of her, the pale skin and soft lines of her jaw and neck. Wouldn’t be able to want anything more than to press Dani back into their mattress and cover every inch of her, lace and all, with her mouth, her tongue, her hands, and—

“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

“Something the matter?” asks Dani, so utterly dedicated to this flirtatious act of naivete.

“No, I’m good. Perfect.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yep.” Jamie turns to glance at the record player as “All Out of Love” comes on. “Cheery song.”

Dani’s act falters. She blushes. “I didn’t know this was on here. It’s...new.”

Jamie frowns and walks over to the record player, reaching for the unfamiliar album sleeve. “Oh? What is it?”

She feels almost guilty for knocking Dani off her game, but she’s so desperately starved for context, for anything concrete to grasp onto so that she doesn’t just pounce, that she just waits for an answer. As it turns out, she doesn’t need one; the cover speaks for itself.

“Wait,” she says, looking it over. “Is this…?”

“You’re not allowed to laugh,” says Dani, pointing at her sternly.

Jamie smiles. “Not laughing. I just can’t believe you actually bought this.”

“The commercials were very convincing!”

“Did you actually call the place?” is her next question because she can’t imagine her girlfriend calling some commercial-boasted number to buy a four-record album named Secret Love just for this occasion. Jamie usually has to call and make her doctor’s appointments for her.

Dani blinks. “No,” she says. “I sent them a check.”

Jamie grins. Can’t help it. Loves Dani so very much at this moment. “Just one payment of $19.95?” she teases and it works: Dani smiles, too, looking less nervous by the second.

“It’s a good deal, you know,” she says.

“I never said it wasn’t.”

“You had a tone.”

“I did not have a tone.”

“Sure you did.”

Jamie isn’t actually sure how she’s managing to control herself anymore. That silk robe slipping off Dani’s shoulder looks so enticing; she wants to press her mouth to the skin it’s left uncovered. Wants other things, too—so many she can hardly decide where to start.

She sets the album back down and takes a few, slow steps towards her girlfriend. Still too far, but closer. “You went to all this trouble,” she says, “for me?”

Dani’s expression softens and she gets to her feet, moving closer. “Yeah, Jay. I did. We’ve just been...so busy lately, which is great! Don’t get me wrong! But...you’ve had so much on your plate and it’s stressful and I didn’t want us to...not get a Valentine’s Day. You know?”

Jamie isn’t sure what there is to say to that except for: “I love you.”

Another step forward and then Dani is grabbing her hands. “I love you, too,” she says, hypnotizing in this outfit, in this lighting, all the time. Her gaze sticks to the pale skin visible through the lace at Dani’s waist, so distracted that she hardly notices when she’s being turned around and pushed back toward the bed, gently guided by Dani’s hands on her shoulders to sit down on the mattress.

The mattress isn’t very tall, which means that, when Dani sinks to her knees, she’s only really a head shorter than Jamie. Her palms run up Jamie’s trouser-covered thighs, fingers curling around them a bit to guide them open a bit so that she can slide her body between them, get closer. Her body is fever-hot and Jamie has the sudden thought that she may not make it out of this surprise alive.

Dani has a knack for making her feel like she’s two seconds from a heart attack every time they’re intimate already. Now she’s wearing lingerie and looking at Jamie like that and Jamie doesn’t know where to put her hands, or where to settle her eyes.

The swell of Dani’s breasts is enticing, so she looks it over for a bit, and then there’s her freckled collarbones, the sleek and taut muscles of her neck. Her pink lips. Jamie feels hot, sweating in her clothes from the heat of the radiators.

Dani looks up at her, blue and brown eyes bright and eager beneath the flutter of her eyelashes. Normally, Jamie would be filling the air with mindless, nervous chatter, trying to calm herself down before the main event, but it feels different this time. The silence, save for the gentle croon of another sappy love song coming from the record player, seems sacred. She doesn’t want to break it for anything.

She curls her fingers in the ends of Dani’s hair, brushing it behind her shoulders, and then Dani is leaning up and she’s leaning down and they’re kissing. Dani’s hands fist the fabric of Jamie’s shirt right at her hips and Jamie cups her face and cranes her neck, and it’s too fucking hot. They should open a window. But Dani’s kisses are hungry and eager and there’s this knot of pain in Jamie’s chest because of it, so she doesn’t dare break away.

Instead, she lifts one of her hands and curves her fingers around Dani’s breast, pushing her palm against it to make the rough lace fabric brush against her nipple. Feels it poke up against her skin a bit and Dani’s answering moan vibrates her lips, flicking her tongue out to tickle the roof of Jamie’s mouth. Jamie scoots forward on the bed to be closer and lifts her other hand to do the same with Dani’s neglected breast.

“Jamie,” Dani pants as she rips her mouth away, eyes clenched shut, “this is supposed to be about you.”

Jamie smiles. “Trust me,” she says,“it is.”

Dani’s eyes open. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

A long look of consideration. Jamie momentarily stops her movements at Dani’s chest. And then Dani unbuttons her trousers and starts tugging at them, saying, “Get these off. That’s what I mean.”

Jamie takes them off. Her shirt, too. Drops each of them to the floor carelessly, too eager for the next part to worry about where they land. In all the rush, Dani begins to slip the silk robe from her shoulders, but Jamie stops her with a shake of her head.

Says, “Leave it on,” with the sort of breathlessness that makes Dani smile.

She leaves it on.

Jamie brushes her thumb against Dani’s nipple and then trails her fingers up the bony press of her sternum. Cups her jaw and cranes her neck down to kiss her, hot press of lips together and Dani gasping into her mouth.

Wanting to be closer in a way this particular position won’t allow, she breaks away from the kiss and guides Dani up by the shoulders until she is sliding her knees onto the mattress on either side of Jamie’s thighs, straddling her. She rolls her hips down and now Jamie can feel the fabric covering Dani’s body against her own skin. Fears she’ll go mad from desire before she can do anything about it.

It’s cooler in just her underwear, certainly, but that doesn’t mean the friction of their bodies together isn’t creating a fine layer of sweat between them. Their legs slide together and Jamie is so wet, so ready, that it’s beginning to hurt a little.

She kisses Dani’s neck and slides her lips up to the corner of her jaw, to her earlobe. She nibbles a little, then scrapes her teeth down to her neck again. Nips at her pulse point then smoothes it over with her tongue. Dani curses against her hair, breath a hot spread across Jamie’s scalp as she rolls her hips down.

A moment later, her hand is working its way inside Jamie’s panties, fingertips brushing against her clit very lightly and it’s Jamie’s turn to curse.

“Fuck.”

Dani smiles, kisses her forehead. “Doing okay?” she asks, that impersonation of complete chastity back in her voice, in her lips, the way her head tilts flirtatiously as Jamie meets her eyes.

“Doing great,” Jamie manages through gritted teeth. She is fighting back the urge to simply reach between them and push Dani’s hand against her harder. She drops her head and presses her lips against one of Dani’s nipples through the lace, mouthing at it hotly and making Dani sag against her, a little boneless, with a moan.

Payback, she thinks, is definitely a bitch.

She can be one, too.

She grips Dani’s hips in that tight, fierce way that Dani likes—thinks it must be at least a little painful, but maybe that’s why Dani likes it—and rolls up into her hand in a way that pushes the back of it between Dani’s own legs.

“Jay,” breathes Dani, and her expression is purposefully seductive, playful even as she is genuinely reacting to Jamie’s movements. She flutters her eyelashes with the best of them and she is the only woman Jamie’s ever been with that can make her go mad just by smiling at her. “Lie back.”

Jamie doesn’t understand the order at first, can’t wrap her head around it because Dani’s fingers are circling her clit now. It isn’t until that hand pulls away and Dani gets back, slowly, to her feet to give her room that she gets it. It feels like every part of her is positively vibrating as she uses her hands to slide back and back. Lowers herself to the mattress all the way and tilts her chin down so she can watch her girlfriend climb up her body in this ridiculously erotic and mind-numbing way.

“God, how are you not naked yet?” she asks, pressing her lips to Jamie’s breastbone, dipping down to tongue at the edge of her bra.

“How are you not fucking me yet?” Jamie returns, just to see Dani’s reaction—the way her cheeks go even pinker, the way she blinks in surprise at her sudden vulgarity.

She swallows thickly. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Not when you look like that it’s not.”

Dani tugs the left cup of Jamie’s bra down and ducks her head to hide the way her expression changes, lips curling around Jamie’s nipple. Jamie can feel her smiling. “Like what?”

“You’re a tease, you know that? You’re such a bloody tease.”

Her mouth moves down to Jamie’s ribcage. “Would you like to lodge a formal complaint?” she asks.

Jamie curls her fingers into her girlfriend’s hair and cranes her neck to get a better look at her in that damned lingerie. “If you don’t touch me soon then yeah, I would.”

She feels the blunt edge of Dani’s teeth below her belly button, scraping down to the waistband of her panties. “Your request has been noted,” says Dani, her voice even and sort of mockingly robotic. “Please allow three to four business for—”

Jamie’s laugh cuts her off, fingers combing through her hair until Dani finally lifts her eyes to look at her again. “Dani, I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too.”

“But you have to do something, or I’m going to—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dani catches the edge of Jamie’s panties between her teeth and begins to pull them down like that, laughing around the material as Jamie wiggles and shifts her hips, giggling like a maniac, to try and help. Eventually, hands are required to finish the job. Jamie isn’t actually sure what Dani was thinking.

Goofy, ridiculous Dani. She’s the only woman Jamie’s ever loved, the only woman she’s been able to laugh in bed with, and she went out and bought sexy lingerie, called a number from a commercial to get the proper mood music, sat here on their bed on Valentine’s Day to surprise her.

Jamie doesn’t understand her life, doesn’t understand how she could possibly ever deserve this.

Once her panties are all the way gone and Jamie is naked, save for her bra, Dani’s eyes linger between her legs, a loose smile fixed on those pretty lips. “There you are,” she says.

“There I am,” Jamie exhales, shakily. “Now—”

She should be expecting it, but she isn’t, and so Jamie makes the most embarrassing sound ever when Dani’s tongue first makes contact. An electric shock between her legs, a match being struck, and she arches a little too much off the bed, one of her arms going back so she can comb her fingers through her own hair. Slams her eyes shut to keep from coming almost immediately—this won’t be her only chance, she’s sure of it, but she wants this first one to last—and then has to look, so she opens them back up.

And Dani is always a sight between her legs like this, but she’s on her knees and bent down in a way that makes her breasts hang deliciously, bumping a bit as she licks and curls her lips around Jamie’s clit. Jamie brings her other hand down and brushes her hair out of the way, over her shoulder, so she can see her mouth work.

“Fucking fuck, Dani,” she says, so eloquent with a beautiful woman bobbing between her legs.

Dani hums in response and Jamie can’t help it, groans a little too loudly. That fucking silk robe and the contrast of purple lace to pale skin, blonde hair fisted in her hand, and then Dani brings one of her hands up and slips a finger inside and Jamie feels, very suddenly, like she is splitting apart at every seam that’s ever kept her together.

The sound of Dani fucking her like this is almost obscene. It’s slick and loud, the suction of her mouth audible as she alternates movements against Jamie’s clit. She’s smiling despite how busy her mouth is and then she slips a second finger in, then a third.

It’s so hot, sweat pearling on her chest and forehead. Her hair feels damp at the base of her skull, she feels sort of like she has a fever but everywhere, and fuck—

She nearly bites through her bottom lip as she comes, trying to keep quiet. Her pulse drums like waves on the shore as it whitewashes through her ears, her veins.

Dani pulls back, licking her lips clean sloppily and her eyes are so dark that Jamie feels like she's burning again in moments.

“Come here,” she croaks, propping herself up on her elbows. Hopes that Dani knows what she means.

She must, though, because she doesn’t come up on the side of the bed. Instead, she just straddles Jamie’s waist, giving Jamie a full and uninterrupted view of what she’s wearing again.

“God,” is the next thing she says. Then, “You know how to pick ’em, huh?” as she tugs a bit on the end of the robe.

Dani smiles, somehow shy despite everything else. “You like it then?” she asks, like she has no idea, like she didn’t just fuck Jamie stupid while wearing the sexiest thing to ever exist. “Successful Valentine’s Day?”

Jamie rolls her eyes affectionately. “And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to—”

Dani pushes at her shoulder, giggling. “Hey,” she says. “Give me a break. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the shop I got this from.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really! Like, three shop girls came over to help me because I was so lost.” She looks so sincerely flustered by this that Jamie can’t help but be endeared by it. “They kept asking me what my ‘boyfriend’—” and she uses air quotes there, “—likes to see me in. What his favorite color is.”

Jamie laughs. “What did you say?”

“I told them I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did they say to that?”

“They asked me what my husband likes then.”

Jamie nearly chokes on her tongue from laughing so hard. Almost knocks Dani to the floor, too.

And, yeah, it’s a pretty successful Valentine’s Day.

[pagingevilspawn]

how's your heart after breaking mine?

ts x jolex week 21

day one: fearless - mr. perfectly fine (taylor's verion) (from the vault)

wc: 2.5k

pairing: Jo Wilson/Alex Karev. Alex Karev/Izzie Steven (mentioned)

summary: years after they last saw each other, jo and alex reunite at a conference, and while she is still struggling from her heartache, he seems to be mr. perfectly fine.

rating: general audiences

category: angst.

warnings: angst, no happy ending, alcohol consumption.

A/N: guess who finished this just now? me. that's who. I was actually working on this one long before the announcement for this event came out, but it gave me the motivation to continue this! Alex is unintentionally an ass in this and for that, i’m sorry. Anyways… hope you enjoy! (first part's pretty crappy, but after that it gets better.)

(this was also proofread, like...once, so of there are a plethora of errors i apologize)

____

The absolute last thing Jo wanted right now was to attend a medical conference in Salt Lake City, Utah. There were multiple reasons why she should’ve said no. One; she had just started her second year of her OB GYN residency a few weeks prior, and there were a very limited number of lectures on her new line of study where she was headed. Two; she now held an absolute hatred for the Seattle Tacoma International Airport, since it was the place where her ex-husband stood before her, placed a soft kiss on her lips and promised to see her in a couple of weeks, lying to her face about seeing his mother in Iowa, when in reality he was going to see his ex-wife and kids, never really planning on returning home.

It was ironic really; how not even two years ago, she was standing in front of gate 48, saying goodbye to him, and now she stood in the same spot, in front of the exact same gate, with him nowhere near her side as she glared up at the same exact entrance she last saw him at.

(She also now hated the number forty-eight)

But, since Meredith had been hounding her non-stop about attending this event, she gave in. Because how was she supposed to say no to the woman who had barely survived the pandemic? Along with a plethora of other things she was too lazy to memorize. (The answer was that she couldn’t. She felt guilty for leaving Meredith behind for OB, so she now did whatever her former mentor wanted, even if more than two years had passed) If Meredith Grey asked for something, Meredith Grey got it. She was turning back into the intern who cried fake tears and would do anything to earn her approval, and Jo was not a fan.

“It’ll be good for you Wilson. You need to leave that loft of your’s and go somewhere Wilson, blah blah blah,” she mutters to herself as she shows the attendant her ticket, not even bothering to return the smile, settling on brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear instead. The messy bun on the top of her head bounced in place, and she felt like a college student after a night of studying, but rather than books tucked under her arm it was a neck pillow and a carry-on.

She shuffles into her seat, thankful that it was an aisle one before letting her eyes shut, trying to catch a wink of sleep in an attempt to make up for the less than few hours she had gotten the night before. It proves to be unsuccessful, because the businessman sitting next to her ate his chips so loud she had to restrain herself from coiling into herself every time a chip crunched beneath his teeth, and the toddler behind her continuously managed to kick her seat, no matter how many times his mother told him to stop.

After three hours of loud chewing, seat kicking, and crying babies, she lands in Salt Lake, taking in a deep breath when she finally escapes the crowded airport and is met with humid air. She picks up her rental car, and arrives at her hotel not long after, immediately tossing her bags into the corner and sprawling onto the bed. Eventually, she moves to unpack her clothes and other necessities, casting a glance at the clock which read 10:37.

Taking a look around the room, she decided that nothing more needs to be done; all of her makeup is laid out for the morning, and what she chose to wear is already hanging up in the closet, freshly ironed and wrinkle-free. She yawns, crawling under the covers and flicking off the light, sleep coming easily.

When she wakes up the next morning to her alarm clock going off, she’s freshly rested and in a better mood than she normally was when she had to wake up before nine. The early morning sun beats down onto her face, and she knows that if she wanted to get to the first lecture on time, she needed to start getting ready sooner rather than later.

With a sigh, she begrudgingly gets out of bed, hopping in a quick shower and changing into her clothes. She adds some soft waves to her hair, in the hopes that it made her look more put together than she felt. It didn’t seem that just because she got hours of sleep made up for the fact that she would rather be curled up in the soft sheets of her bed at home than the stiff ones the hotel provided.

It doesn’t take long until she’s arrived in the lobby, where doctors all around her were dressed in firmly pressed suits and skirts. Tables advertising different events throughout the day were lined up and down the hallways, fellow surgeons and mentees passing out little pamphlets with information about their courses littering the pages.

Jo passes by a few stands displaying lectures on the OBGYN field, mentally making a list of the ones she would like to attend.

A quick glance to her watch tells her that the first item on her list was starting soon, and with that she dumps the now-empty coffee cup she had ordered a few minutes prior as a pick-me-up, and shuffles into the seat of the auditorium, the chairs around her filling up quicker than she expects.

It’s only a few minutes later Dr. Maria Cavanaugh steps out onto the stage, silencing the crowd after a round of applause. Jo leans back into her seat, feeling grateful that Meredith had pushed her to go to this conference.

If her whole weekend is spent listening to experts talk and teach about her new specialty, she thinks she’s going to enjoy it.

____

It’s hours and a multitude of lectures later when she exits another grand room, fellow surgeons beside her chatting about the new information they’d acquired. She feels a small smile grace her lips as she realizes that the excited squeals could only come from the med school students that had been invited from the nearby college.

She pulls out her phone, seeing a text from Link and Meredith, both along the lines of that they hoped she arrived safely and that she enjoyed her time away from home. She responds, pocketing her phone and making her way to the hotel bar, settling into one of the few empty seats and ordering a whiskey sour, thanking the bartender when it's placed in front of her not even a minute later.

She sips the drink slowly, feeling some leftover tenseness from sitting all day leave her body as the alcohol starts to flow through her veins. She was far from drunk, but even saying tipsy felt like too much of a stretch.

Pleasantly buzzed, she decides on, taking another sip of her drink, making a brief second of eye contact with a man on the other end of the bar. He raises her glass with a slight nod of his head, and she does the same. She’s tempted to continue; take use of the way the man’s making subtle glances to the seat next to him when her ears pick up another conversion from a few feet away, freezing her in place, glass nearly dropping to the floor.

“Do you want anything?”

“Just a water’s fine. I’m gonna go talk to Dr. Conwell about some of the research her and her team were talking about.”

She turns in her seat, against her better judgment. She watches as he kisses her cheek before leaning against the bar’s counter a few feet away.

She feels as if ice had just been dropped down her back —frozen in place, unable to move as she watches Alex drum his fingers on the dark wood, head nodding along to the soft tune playing through the speakers. He grabs his drinks from the bartender; two waters, one with ice and one without, about to walk towards the woman he was with earlier when he spots her.

“Jo?” he questions, blinking multiple times as if to see if it was really her, and not a trick of the light.

She wants to run when he makes his way over to her. She wants to run, and scream, and throw her drink in his face. But instead, she places a tight, thin smile on her lips and acts as if nothing was wrong.

“Alex, hi!” She turns to face him, her voice too high for her enthusiasm to be true, but if he knows it he doesn’t make any move to show it.

He runs a hand through his hair —it's longer than the last time she saw it, a bit of grey speckled in so lightly that it wouldn’t be noticeable to someone who wasn’t looking.”I uh, I didn't know you’d be here.”

She wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “Well,” she spins her drink with the straw, watching as the ice cubes clink against the glass “The feeling’s mutual.”

“How are you?” He asks after a few beats of silence, and she wants nothing more than to yell at him that he couldn’t talk to her like this —like they were old friends who had lost contact after a while, and were due for a catch up. Because they weren’t old friends. They were so far from friends that someone could build a bridge with the amount of space they had between them.

“Fine,” she lies through her teeth, her heart nearly beating out of her chest in nervousness. She was worried that she was going to break down at any second, spew the words that she had said to Carly in anger at him if he looked at her any longer as if things were okay between them.

“You?” she questions, not interested in the answer, sipping her drink similarly to how she had the night of Bailey’s wedding, the unwelcome memory of the start of their relationship blossoming to the front of her mind.

He sips his water, “Good. I’ve been good.”

With his hand clasped around the glass she catches sight of the pristine, shiny gold ring that sits on his fourth finger, and she has to fight back the growing lump in her throat that threatens to escape.

“Congrats,” she says instead, eyebrows pinched together as she nods towards the ring, a tell that always told whether or not her words rang true.

He seems to have forgotten that, and takes her words as a compliment. He gives her a small smile, “Thanks.”

Jo wants to laugh, because this was so far from the Alex Karev she had known, the man in front of her unfamiliar and so, so different from the one she married years ago. The Alex she knew would’ve never ordered a water instead of a beer, or act as if everything was okay between them when it was so far from it.

He’d changed, and she couldn’t say that she liked it.

“How are the kids?” she asks, and she can tell that she’s surprised him. He looks taken aback for a moment, before smiling gently and reaching into his pocket for his phone. “They’re great,” he says, pulling up a photo of them, the twins smiling brightly into the camera.

“That was at their birthday party last week,” he explains, and she notices the large 7 balloons that are floating in the background.

“He looks like you,” she comments about the boy. He grins, and she wants nothing more than to slap him for not being able to see that she’s so obviously hurting, that her heart is breaking inside of her chest. That she selfishly wants him to say that he made a mistake, that he was in love with her, not Izzie. But her life wasn’t a trashy romance novel, and even if it was, Alex was never one to admit to his faults, his pride and ego too large to have it bruised in such a way.

She had always wondered what he had been up to after he had left. If he was okay. She’d imagined different futures for him, some including Izzie and the kids, some of them not. She’s even naively envisioned ones with her and the children they had always talked about having one day.

Somedays, when she was feeling worse for wear, she had wished that he was miserable —that he and Izzie weren’t together and as far as they went communication-wise was a phone call to see who had the kids that week; that he was as alone and bitter as she was.

But instead, here he was, Mr. Perfectly Fine. The man who had looked her in the eyes and told her he would never go away.

Here he was, Mr. Perfectly Fine. Married to the woman he had left her for, a shiny gold ring on his finger instead of neat, polished wood.

For the past two years she’d been picking up the pieces of herself that he had shattered and left behind, only just starting to put herself back together, and here he was, Mr. Perfectly Fine. While she was piecing together her shattered heart, he was picking up her, the woman he had left her for.

She had thought that he was different from the rest; different from everyone who had ever left her. But he wasn’t —the man she had thought was so different was so exactly the same as everyone else.

“I’m sorry, Jo.” he says, and she has the urge to laugh —laugh because he wasn’t sorry, she could tell. He was sorry that he left her and caused her pain, sure. But he wasn’t sorry that he had done it, that he had married Izzie again and lived with her and his kids on a farm in the middle of Kansas. He wasn’t sorry about that at all.

Mr. Insincere Apology so he didn’t look like the bad guy.

She acts as if she believes him, giving him another tight smile, and lies through her teeth once more. “It’s fine Alex. It’s in the past.”

Jo checks phone, making a face when she ‘realizes’ the time, eager to get out of there as soon as she could. “I need to go, early morning,” she fibs, and she internally rolls her eyes at how he believes her. While he seemed to have forgotten everything about her, she still remembers every detail about him.

“It was nice seeing you again Jo,” he’s playing with the sleeves of his jacket and his eyes meet hers, and for less than a second it’s almost enough to break her resolve.

Another tight smile graces her lips, and she begins to walk away when her body fights her mind and she finds herself leaning down, her lips against his ear.

“I’m glad it was worth it, Alex.”

Her voice is harsh and bitter, yet broken, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know that his face has fallen, and he’s realized that everything she’d told him that night was a lie. She turns and lets the tears fall silently, making her way back up to her room with a head full of thoughts about her ex-husband, about Alex Karev.

About Mr. Perfectly Fine.

____

@thejolexgroupchat #tsjolexweek21

[bisexualdaemon]

mad woman: iii (nessian)

a/n: *taps mic* does this thing still work? OH hey! hello! yes, this fic is properly old now and probably everyone thought I abandoned it but joke is on everyone including myself lmao...turns out I love these two..and after acosf well I would 10/10 die for them. so here we go! a ride to be sure! people do be getting naked!

warnings: 4.8k of smut (like woah). language. guilt. 

Nesta wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing.

It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone in certain social circles knew the truth about Hewn City. Knew the dance club for the front it was for the shadowy bowels beneath. Here, she had thought yesterday morning, here she could be on even ground with him.

Him.

Cassian's hand was still in hers as she led them both down the long hallway toward room 3B. His words before hadn’t completely hidden his reactions to her clothes, her face, her body. She smiled to herself remembering the slight widening of his eyes. He probably thought he hadn’t reacted, but she knew. All men are weak. Just put on a dress and show some thigh and she knew she’d get his attention. Even if it was probably all for show. Cassian was a fine actor.

She thought back to four days ago. Or was it five, she thought. They had started to bleed together after the bender she’d gone on after wishing Cassian death on the phone with Amren.

Feyre was in her apartment for the second time in a week. An unprecedented occurrence. If the judgment in her eyes was any indication, she had come to check on things. Baby sister coming to her rescue. How rich. She stood on the carpet again, with her perfect heeled sandals and her tidy camel trench coat. Thankfully, she’d left the hat at home this time. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest as she surveyed the room.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home again,” she observed, picking up a half-empty bottle of gin, “I’ll send Alis this afternoon.”

“I don’t want anyone else in my fucking apartment, Feyre,” Nesta cringed at the lingering slur in her voice.

“So you can drown yourself in this shit alone?” She held up an empty bottle of vodka in her other hand. “Nesta, it’s only been a few days since I was here the last time. Can you even stand right now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nesta sneered, settling back into the couch cushions. She couldn’t, but Feyre was a bitch for even asking, so she spat back, “At least I cope with my problems legally, High Lady.” In a fantasy world, smoke would have curled from her lips when she exhaled those last words.

Feyre stilled, breathing evenly. Nesta wasn’t sure if she was containing her rage or accepting the shame she had to be feeling.

“I see you gave Amren a call.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Nesta was surprised. Amren had seemed like one of Feyre’s inner circle, no matter how much money the High Lord and Lady may have given her.

“No, I told Amren that what you did with her number was your business,” she wrung her hands. She was….nervous. How odd. Feyre Archeron was a lot of things, but nervous was rarely one of them.

“Well,” Nesta exhaled, the anger fleeting like wind taken out of her sails, “yes, I called. Everything was very cryptic until someone showed up here who was not a therapist and started taking his clothes off. Honestly, what were you thinking, Feyre?!”

“I…” she hesitated, sinking down on the other end of the couch with Nesta, bracing her elbows on her knees, “I don’t know. I was desperate. I just want you to feel something again, Nes.” She hadn’t called her that since they were children. Nesta felt a little pang in her chest. I need another drink. “I know it’s...unconventional, but it really does help. Rhys and I...well, you know there’s a lot of stress involved in our lives.”

“So you fuck it out with strangers that you pay to keep silent??” Nesta asked incredulously.

“When you put it like that it sounds a lot seedier than it actually is, but,” she huffed, swallowing back some kind of emotion, “yes. There’s a lot of….relief, if you just give into it. Amren knows what she’s doing.”

“Are you and Rhys having problems?” It was the only explanation Nesta could understand for this. I mean it was one thing to hire a hooker if you weren’t getting any, but from the forced lunches and “sister dates” that Elain made the three of them go on, Feyre had always seemed to have a very active sex life.

“Oh, God, no,” Feyre visibly relaxed, caught off guard by even the implication. That made Nesta’s stomach relax. She hadn’t even realized she cared. “Rhys and I are fine, stronger even. There is power in giving up power, especially when you grapple with it on a daily basis. But this isn’t about me or Rhys.” Feyre leaned over and reached out to take Nesta’s hands, but stopped when Nesta visibly tensed at the mere idea of contact. “I’m really not lying when I say I think a little relief would help you.”

“Why do you insist I need help?” Nesta ground out through her teeth.

Feyre sighed and stood. There was something settling over her face, deep in her eyes. Sadness. “Suit yourself, sister.” She stood and, to Nesta’s surprise, took a swig from the half-empty gin bottle she’d pushed in Nesta’s face earlier. Her face screwed up in a grimace, “Jesus, how do you drink that shit?”

“I don’t even taste it anymore.” Nesta looked off, toward the window. Toward the empty corner where the wedding dress had hung for months. She’d taken it down that night after he had left.

That bone-deep sadness returned to Feyre’s eyes, “Alis will be here this afternoon.”

She left without another word.

Nesta sighed, catching Cassian’s attention, but she said nothing. She kept a steady flow of booze in her veins after Feyre left for three more days, sometimes just laying in bed for hours while the world spun. She saw Tomas, saw Elain, but most often she saw hazel eyes and bold, dark lines inked across a broad, tanned chest. Those were the torturous hours, when the desire would rise in her, when she would feel something just like Feyre said. Even if it made her soul burn. He was haunting her. He’d left her alone, angry and wet, for what? Because she refused to accept his “help”? Wasn’t this all just fucking anyway? What difference did it make how she responded?

The frustration had overwhelmed her until she finally realized that it didn’t matter how much she drank, he wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t chase him into a whiskey-soaked oblivion like she could the memories of her fiancé and her sister. He was real. He was still breathing. He was making her life a living hell.

He was going to pay for it.

So, she’d called Amren back. Had made him meet her here of all places. Had put on a dress and a pair of heels and more makeup than she’d been planning to wear at her own wedding. A costume. A mask. If he was going to “help” her, at least it wouldn’t seem like her that he was helping. She’d fuck him out of her life on her terms. Just once wouldn’t damn her to hell, right?

Nesta had never been to Hewn City before. Clubbing had never been her style. She was more of a library, bookworm kind of girl. But now that she was here, she kind of liked the secrecy of it all, the discretion everyone had whispered about. It made her feel like a character in one of her books, a different kind of escape than booze offered, with the rouge-tinted lights and shadowy, padded hallways. She could be anyone here. She would be anyone here. Anyone but herself.

“I think this is it,” Cassian’s deep rumble sounded behind her. They stopped in front of a painted black door, the marker flickering “3B” in the light of the candle sconce behind them. Nesta fit the key into the lock and turned it.

The room was cooler than the hall, but she wasn’t sure the temperature was what made her break out in gooseflesh. There was a massive four-poster bed in the center of the room covered in black satin sheets drawn back against a deep crimson comforter. Only a handful of hanging exposed bulbs lit the space, giving the boudoir decoration some industrial finishes. It was like a scene out of some vampire film noir. The light reflecting off heavy restraint cuffs at each corner of the bed only heightened the effect. A dark armoire loomed in the corner. Nesta was sure that if she opened it, she would find any number of instruments with which to tease and taunt Cassian with. This place was a sex dungeon and she had paid to be a mistress tonight.

Cassian’s mistress.

Nesta took a deep breath and settled into this new character, some confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted and knew exactly how to take it from a willing participant. She sauntered over to the foot of the bed and leaned back against it to look at him. He was so quiet tonight, looking around the room like she had, taking it all in.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nesta proded.

“No,” he hesitated, stuffing his hands into his front pockets like an embarrassed school boy rocking forward on his toes. It only lasted for a second before he hid it behind a smirk, “no, just a little….confused?”

“About what?” She crossed her feet at the ankle and let the deep slit on her dress fall open, revealing almost every inch of her long legs. His eyes widened momentarily before he cleared his throat. Was he….nervous?

“Well, uhh,” he was stammering now, the false bravado unable to keep up with the situation unfolding in front of him, “if I’m being honest, I’m not sure what to do.”

“You mean, Cassian, self-proclaimed sex therapist, doesn’t know what to do?” The teasing in her voice blushed his cheeks pink, “well, color me surprised. I thought it would have been clear by now.”

“It’s not that it’s...you’re…” he cocked his head, “different.” His eyes followed every inch of bare skin from her painted toe to the top of the slit an inch below her hip. “Something changed.”

Why does he make this so damn difficult?

“Yes, well,” she replied, biting her bottom lip for effect, “I decided that I want you to help me.” His head straightened.

“Do you?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps. His nervous energy cooled in seconds, giving way to something else, something that had been simmering beneath the ice.

“I do,” she slipped back a little farther onto her palms, tilting her head back. She was a predator, setting a pretty, needy trap for him. If he got off on a savior complex, she’d play the part until she got what she wanted. “I just want to feel normal again.” She smiled internally as she watched her words wash over him. Watched him take a few deep breaths, watched him move for the first time since they walked in the room.

He kept his body closed, his arms a barrier between the two of them, as he stalked forward. Nesta stopped breathing, feeling his gaze shift from confusion and questions to calculated assessment. He paused in front of her and bent down, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of her slim waist. The space between them was thinner than the air atop the mountains in Illyria.

“I think…” he looked her in the eye, no blinking, no touching, just a wisp of mint from his mouth, “that’s a load of bullshit.”

A rush of fury, so white hot it blinded her, licked down her arm. She raised her open hand and ripped it through the air.

Only to be caught in an iron grip.

“Ah, ah, dear Nesta,” his lips curled up on one side, “I like a little pain with my pleasure, but not without my consent.”

All she could do was stare him down as she huffed, imagining the breath leaving her nostrils in puffs of hot smoke. A caged dragon in pretty clothes begging to get out. But hell would freeze over before she moved first. She could feel the tension between them, feel the electricity pulsing through him where his fist gripped her wrist. Maybe it was her pheromone-laced delusion but she thought he might want this as much as she did. He wanted her challenge, her adamant wall. He wanted to break her, remake her. Little did he know that you can’t break what’s already broken.

Just a character, just a role to play...

“Oh, come on, Cassian,” she tried to free her hand but he remained hard as stone around her wrist. He hadn’t pinned her legs though. She slid one bare leg up the inside seam of his jeans. The muscles flexed and contracted underneath the well-fit fabric, higher and higher, until she reached the apex. He hissed. A feline smile spread across her face when she felt it, felt him, hard and begging for her. “I think you want this a little more than you’re willing to admit, more than you’re allowed to admit.”

His nostrils flared, barely imperceptible, but even the smallest changes in him drew her notice. Why? It was a question she didn’t want to even ask herself, but it kept coming, night and day. Why did this night feel like the edge of a dangerous cliff? Why did his agreement to come tonight feel like more than just a business arrangement? Why did the tension between them feel like her only anchor to this life? She pressed harder into him, needing to move, to get this over with, to fuck him right out of her head.

“Nesta.” His voice brought her back from those questions that haunted her like the inked lines hidden underneath his t-shirt. So close now, so close to her fingers, her mouth. She looked up at him, aware of her knee still cradled between his legs.

“Cassian.” Her voice practically sang. The song of his own personal siren.  

He was so still. If he hadn’t said her name she wouldn’t have been sure he was even breathing. He placed his hand between his groin and her knee and stepped backward. His pupils were wide, endless pools, black as tar and eating at the hazel surrounding them. He was drunk on the lust, drowning in it just like she was.

“Take off that dress before I rip it off.”

A bone-deep shiver ran from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes at the command, reaching back up to settle between her thighs. She flushed from the heat of his gaze on her skin as she stood, reaching behind her neck to loose the three pearl buttons between her pride and her desire. Fuck it. The dress pooled at her feet.

The corner of her lip tugged upward when she heard his breath catch. She wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. Lingerie had felt like too much and her regular cotton cheekies would have been too conspicuous beneath her close-fitting dress, so nothing had been the only choice. The right choice if Cassian’s jeans had anything to say about it, clearly growing tighter by the second.

Nesta backed herself onto the bed again, digging in with her heels to push herself toward the headboard as gracefully as she could while burning alive. And she was burning under his gaze. Every flick of his dilated pupils, from her bare legs, to her full breasts, to her smooth stomach, to her glistening cunt, she burned. When her head thudded against the carved cherry wood headboard, his eyes finally met hers. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat.

“See something you want, Cassian?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone innocent, indifferent.

“Depends, Nes.” She ignored the heat that pooled at the nickname, especially when he said, “what are you offering?”

She bit her lip at his words. And spread her knees open for him. Now, come and take it.

He went wholly still as pink creeped into his tan cheeks. He was fucking blushing at her cunt on display for him. A filthy thought entered her head and before she could shut it down, she reached between her legs and traced a finger over her slit. The low lights flickered in the reflection off the wetness laced there before her finger disappeared….

Right between Nesta’s wine-colored lips.

His eyes tracked that finger in and out of her mouth as she sucked and swirled her tongue around it, moaning at the taste of her arousal, the eroticism of the gesture. She released her finger with a pop and smiled wickedly at him.

“Want to taste?”

Cassian moved swift as a thunderclap, as if her words were paddles jumpstarting his heart into quick, heavy beats. He pulled off his shirt. Those thick, black lines of ink that haunted her dreams were on full display, curling around his biceps and across his broad shoulders. She wanted to trace them with her tongue, taste the salt on his skin. He didn’t bother with some cliché striptease. His fingers fumbled with his belt, fumbled with the top button and zipper of those tight jeans. He tripped out of them, splaying his hands across the rumpled comforter as he kicked his pants somewhere across the room, losing his shoes and socks at some point between.

She would have smirked at the clumsiness, questioned his self-proclaimed prowess as a sex therapist, if her throat hadn’t gone completely dry at the size of him. Even through his underwear there was no mistaking it—massive, just like every inch of the rest of his body. Of course, he had a cock to match.

He grinned, following her eyes, guessing her train of thought. The bed dipped as he crawled toward her, full prince of cats on display again. A man who knew what people saw when they looked at him and enjoyed that power, that raw sexual energy dripping from his every pore. With that glint in his eye, she was happy to play along—for now.

Every thread in the expensive duvet cover beneath her set a thousand sparks rocketing across her skin. His movements were measured, purposefully kept from touching her skin. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him with every inch forward, every inch toward where she wanted him. All of him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Nesta started to fidget with anticipation, ready for him to spread her open and take, take, take, but she wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t reach or claw or whimper, no matter how much she wanted to.

Feyre might be paying, but she would own him before the end. Even if she had to sacrifice her soul to do it.

When his mouth finally made contact with her skin, a whisper of a kiss along the inside of her thigh, it was a struggle not to moan. Loud. She was strung tighter than a bowstring and he knew. Her traitor body was going to beg for him with or without words, so she opened her mouth instead.

“Gonna fuck me senseless, Cassian?”

His head jerked up from between her thighs, that feline smile turning her molten. “You know, Nesta. I think I’ll shut you up instead.”

Someone as big as he was shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. Shouldn’t have been able to cover her entire body with his and claim her mouth between one second and the next. His hands curled behind her neck to pull her firmly to him and devoured her. Their tongues clashed, dancing together, as she moaned into his mouth. Whether it was surprise or pleasure or both that pulled it from her, she wasn’t sure. The mint and adrenaline still laced his tongue, this time with a natural smokiness that she hadn’t noticed before. He licked at her, sucked at her lower lip. She nipped at him, teeth as much a weapon as her words, her hands. She dragged her nails down his naked back and drew a hiss from him, maybe some blood too if the tang of iron was any indication.

It only spurred him.

“You know these lips taste better when they’re not liquor-stained,” he panted. He studied her face, she knew it must be flushed from his kiss, and slowly ground his hips into hers, with the same bruising intensity he claimed her mouth, drenching himself in her through the thin fabric of his underwear. Those really need to disappear. Her fingers continued their violent path down his back to the waistband of his boxer briefs, the only barrier left between everything she wanted. Wanted, never needed. They danced around to the front of him and sought purchase.

Another moan, loud and throaty filled the space between them.

My God.

“Off, off, off, off,” she was chanting when he finally released her mouth to move down to her neck, surely to mark her like she’d marked his back. It was going to be tit for tat with him. “OFF,” she clawed at his hips. He raised up and smirked at her.

“You just have to ask, Nes.” His lips curled to the side, “maybe say please.”

She held his gaze. Please. It was a chant in her head but she couldn’t say it. He saw it there, the challenge, the struggle, but this was a battle of wills. And Cassian was a seasoned general.

He ducked his head and nosed at her jaw, along her throat, peppering her skin with close-mouthed kisses. “Just say the word,” he ground into her again, not nearly the friction she wanted. His hands found her peaked breasts and traced her nipples, slow circles at first, then quick pinches accented by his teeth at her throat. There was no pattern, no guessing, no preparation. Every nerve ending was a live wire, screaming for his touch.

Nesta Archeron was going to die here. The flames in her belly were going to consume her and she was going to die at a high-priced sex club. And maybe she should. It might be worth it. Rhysand would never live it down. She wouldn’t sacrifice her pride for an orgasm. But, as his hips did another slow roll against hers and he scraped at her neck with his teeth, her resolve imploded.

“Please,” she croaked. She felt his smile against her skin.

“What was that?”

“Please,” she said a little louder, still barely a whisper.

“That’s awfully quiet, Nesta,” he licked at her collarbone and made her eyes roll back into her head. “Makes me think you don’t really want it.”

“Please,” she repeated, her head thrashing, “please, PLEASE.”

“Okay, okay,” he pushed up to lean back on his heels above her. “No need to shout.” The tease in his voice forced an impatient growl from her. He cocked an eyebrow as he toyed with the elastic waistband on his underwear, slowly pulling it down below the defined V set low on his abdomen, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin, until finally they were gone and there was nothing left between them but sexual tension and a promise of release.

Her eyes raked down his muscled body, unable to keep her hand from reaching to touch the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, reaching lower. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, uh, princess,” her cheeks flamed as he lifted her hand to his lips and left a tender kiss on her palm, “it’s my turn.”

She blinked and his mouth was on her. His hair, tufted at the back of his head, bobbed between her legs as he lapped up the wetness that had been pooling since they started their games tonight. Since he first leaned against her door frame, if she was being honest with herself. His lips wrapped around her clit and when he moaned around her, she saw stars. Her toes curled. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Her knees bent to capture his head forever between her thighs but he caught them before she could crush him with the force of her pleasure.

It might have been hours, days. He held her spread open and licked and suckled and fucked her entrance with his tongue. Careful, slow strokes to stoke the fire ripping through her veins but not enough to send her to her peak. Her thighs began shaking; her fingers knotted into his hair and held his mouth against her. His name was a holy chant in this unholy place.

“Cassian,” she sobbed as a tear rolled down her temple and into her sweat-soaked hair.

He groaned and release ripped through her. Waves of pleasure locked her body in a silent scream, her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. He kept stroking her through it, his tongue undulating against her clit over and over as her body jerked involuntarily once, twice before relaxing completely, melting into a warm, soft puddle of flesh.

There were no words. No thoughts. Nothing inside her head except for the truth of it. No one has ever made her feel like that, forced that kind of pleasure from her. Her harsh breaths were the only sound in the room as Cassian traced patterns on her inner thigh. She blinked furiously, clearing her eyes of any emotions that might betray her. Looking down, she caught his eye and his answering smile made her forget her own name.

He was looking up at her, his cheeks pink from the heat and pressure between her thighs. His hair was a fucked out mess. He looked...content. As if her orgasm was all he wanted, like he could do it again and again and not care if she ever touched his cock even though she’d never wanted anything more in her life.

But...what if he doesn't want that?

She tensed suddenly. He was an escort after all. This wasn’t his choice. What if all of this is just an act? She knew she shouldn’t care. She was a paying customer and shouldn’t care what he wanted. What his desires were. She should just take her pleasure, satiate her own desire, and leave. That had been the plan when she came here. Hell, she had just been acting when this all started.

Until he gave her the best orgasm of her entire fucking life. Until he called her on her bullshit, got naked, and got on his knees for her. Until he made her gasp his name and fucking cry for the privilege.

This was wrong. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—

I don’t deserve this.

Her breath caught in her throat. I need to get out of here.

She sat up so quickly her head spun. Her fingers caught on the restraints attached to the headboard and she recoiled. What am I doing? Why did I think this was a good idea? Cassian jerked up from between her legs at the motion, the perfect window for her to rip her legs from his vicinity and swing them to the floor.

“Nesta, what’s wrong?”

She heard him, confused, still panting, but she couldn’t find the words to answer him. The panic was bitter, the taste in stark relief to Cassian’s tongue. Stop! Where is my fucking dress? Her head swiveled frantically. A slip of navy stuck out from under the armoire in the corner. She lurched forward, grabbing and pulling on the dress that barely covered her ass, left nothing to the imagination. What have I done?

“Nesta, what is happening?” Cassian was louder this time. Loud enough to draw her eyes. He was leaning on one elbow, wide-eyed and still painfully hard. At this angle, she could see the angry red marks across his shoulder, darkening with dried blood in some places. A damning souvenir for what she had done. A claiming.

She couldn’t ignore the voice in her head. A betrayal.

“Was—” he sat up and leaned on his knees, “was it not good?” Some unfamiliar emotion danced across his eyes as he waited. She stared and stared and stared. “Did I—“ he kept hesitating, “did I not make you feel good?”

It was the doubt, thick and traitorous, in his voice that made her silently turn around and walk out the door.

------ *runs away*

tags: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron @awesomelena555 @mysticalunicole​ @lordof-bloodshed​ @courtofjurdan​

[txemrn]

What About Us?

I am participating in this week's @wackydrabbles prompt number 99: "How about once more--for good luck!" (Prompt will be in bold)

Warning: fairly fluffy with a smidge of angst

Word count: 1575 (+/-)

Song Inspiration: "What About Us?" by P!nk

A/N: It's another Royal Roulette! What is RR? It's simple! Set your music to mix, and be inspired by the first song that pops up! I'm super excited about this one because it worked out perfectly with my desire to write something in honor of 🏳‍🌈PRIDE🏳‍🌈 month! I hope y'all enjoy! Big ol' hugs and special thanks to @burnsoslow and @chemist-ana for pre-reading this! The characters, some of the plot and dialogue belong to our friends at Pixelberry

🌈

A pair of deep ocean eyes anxiously shift around the New York hotel suite. He chews mindlessly on his pink, raw cuticles while his crossed-legs bounce with nervous fury. His other hand casually back-combs his playfully-styled locks, raking them upward into melted spikes. But, luckily for Maxwell, his close friends are preoccupied with excitement; they don’t notice that he is adrift with his raging, thunderous thoughts. Although their pressing questions have been answered, Maxwell wanders aimlessly with a broken heart.

Thanks to their clever sleuth work and strong desire for justice, Tariq was found; and better than anticipated, after careful discussion, he was willing to come forward about the false accusations of his relations with Lady Riley. But, time was of the essence if they were going to stop the Cordonian royal wedding. Riley along with her press secretary Justin, Drake, Hana, the Beaumont brothers work quickly to decipher the next course of action: a public statement to be broadcasted during Liam and Madeleine’s wedding shower.

Hana gently places her petite, manicured hand on Maxwell’s shoulder. Her warm smile and endearing touch calm his outward erratic nerves. Peering into her bright chocolate eyes, a roaring sense of courage overwhelms his internal timidity; he now has his own plan.

“You’re with me, Tariq,” Justin delegates, clapping Tariq’s back. The sound of his name breaks Maxwell from his fog. “We’ve got an appointment.” Maxwell’s eyes track the men as they exit the room, his opportunity for his own justice walking away in a tailored Brioni suit. He thinks quickly; this can’t be it. He needs answers.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Drake stifles a yawn, turning towards the open door. “But I need some sleep before we go to this shower.”

Perfect. Now is Maxwell’s chance. “Yeah,” his voice cracks before clearing his throat. “My eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds.” Hopping from the tufted leather chair, Maxwell smooths out his slacks. He finger-guns the ladies, hoping his humor covers up his awkward eagerness to leave. And to get to Tariq.

“Justin!” Maxwell calls out from down the hallway, jogging to catch up to the two men. Leaning into Justin’s ear, he begins to whisper an inaudible request. Though he keeps his head bowed, fixated on his notecards, Tariq casually sneaks a glance at Maxwell.

“Right now?” Justin scoffs, “we don’t have time--”

“Please. Just for a minute.” Maxwell pleads, a wave of seriousness washing over his body.

Justin sighs, placing a hand on his hip, looking at his watch. “Alright,” he motions with his head, “my room. Five minutes. But, then we have to leave if we’re going to get this statement out on time.” Justin ushers an unsuspecting Tariq into his hotel quarters before leaving him alone.

Maxwell takes a deep breath, willing the waves of his churning stomach to cease. He grits his teeth into a smile as his racing heart returns from the clouds. He pops his knuckles one last time before heading into the room to face him.

Maxwell slowly makes his entrance, easing the door closed behind him. With his arms crossed, he leans against the entryway to a small, breakfast nook. Ensuring that his presence is known, he softly coughs as he watches Tariq’s reaction.

Tariq quietly looks out over the busy Manhattan traffic, not acknowledging Maxwell’s presence. He wrings his hands as his thoughts appear to wander.

“Well?” Maxwell starts, chewing on his bottom lip. Tariq rolls his eyes to Maxwell before returning to the view. Maxwell scoffs. “So, that’s it then, huh? That’s what this has come to?” He puts his hands on his hips as he begins to pace. "After everything we've been through--"

“Maxwell--” Tariq meekly whispers.

“And then," Maxwell interrupts, "to hurt my best friend, trying to take away her happy ending, too--?”

“Stop it, Max--” Tariq gruffly mutters.

“I mean, God, Riq!" Maxwell stops pacing, searching for the right words. "What did you think--no, what did you feel when you looked through that peep hole and saw me on the other side, knocking on your door?”

His question hangs in the air as Tariq turns towards an angry Maxwell. Relaxing his shoulders, he slowly steps closer. “Relief?” Maxwell shakes his head in disbelief at the answer. Tariq comes closer, cupping his hand on Maxwell’s face, gently stroking his thumb. “I had always hoped you would find me.”

Maxwell grabs his wrist to stop his tender touch. “Why, Riq? Just, why? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn't you call me--?”

Tariq sighs, walking back to the window. “Constantine.”

“What does he have to do with anything--?”

Tariq let's out a long sigh. “He saw us, Max--” he looks to Maxwell, widening his eyes. “He--saw--us. You know? That morning?” He clears his throat. “At Applewood--?”

Max gasps, his cheeks flushing like a wildfire. “He saw us?” He tries to hide his grin, covering his mouth with his fingers. “But--”

“I know,” Tariq runs his hands nervously through his hair. “Later that morning, he requested my presence, only to threaten to reveal our relationship to the entire court--” he swallows thickly, “--not to mention our families-- and to the world.” Tariq’s eyebrows knit with worry as he continues. “My only deliverance was if I followed through with his plan to eliminate the American competition--” he defeatedly sighs, “--what I did to Lady Brooks, ‘for the sake of Cordonia and the Crown’.”

“Riq, I--I had no idea--”

“He told me I could return after Liam was married, but why would I want to?” The storm clouds gather in his eyes. “He would always have the truth about me--about us--hanging over our heads, not to mention how everyone must feel about me, how everyone must be disgusted with me--” he catches his head in his hands as his sobs. “How you must feel about me…” he whispers.

Max kneels in front of Tariq, taking his smooth, broad hands into his own. His eyes sparkle with adoration as Tariq stares at the floor. “Look at me.” Maxwell presses his lips to Tariq’s knuckles. “It’s okay--”

“I’m sorry,” Tariq stumbles over his tears. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done against Ramsford, against you--God!” He grips tightly to Maxwell’s hands. “I’m so sorry what I’ve done against us--if there’s even still an us--”

“Shhh,” Maxwell hushes his cries. “Riq, do you remember the last time we were here?”

The corners of Tariq’s mouth curl, his swollen eyes meeting Maxwell’s gaze. “How could I forget?”

Both of the men chuckle as Maxwell touches his hand to Tariq’s cheek, his thumb wiping away his tears. “We talked about finally going public--”

“I know, I know. And Max,” he sighs, “I’m still scared. Of what people will--”

“No, no,” he interrupts, smiling kindly at Tariq. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“Before or after the third bottle of that cheap Merlot?” Tariq raises a mischievous eyebrow, squeezing Maxwell’s hand. Maxwell’s eyes grow dark with desire, giving Tariq a knowing look.

“This was definitely before,” Maxwell titters; but his tone quickly grows serious. “But, seriously? Do you remember Riq?” Tariq softly nods, lacing his fingers with Maxwell’s. “I mean what I said--and I still do.”

Tariq leans forward, resting his head against Maxwell’s forehead at the sound of his words. Closing their eyes, they cherish the moment, savoring each other in the stillness of being together. They’re hearts intertwine, beating as one, keeping perfect time and rhythm.

“I still love you, too, Max.” Lifting Maxwell’s chin up with the soft touch of his hand, their lips meet passionately. Maxwell slips his arms around Tariq’s neck, deepening the kiss. Tariq quietly moans into Maxwell’s lips, teasing them with his tongue as he pulls him into an embrace.

“Gentlemen?” A sudden knock at the door makes them jump apart. Justin appears, tapping on his watch. “We gotta go! If we leave now, we will make it--”

“Just-in time,” both Maxwell and Tariq groan. “We know. We know.”

Filing out of the room, Tariq takes Maxwell’s hand in his hand. Maxwell pauses, giving Tariq an inquisitive look, looking at their laced fingers before continuing comfortably down the hallway.

“I’m ready, Max--”

“I know you are.” Maxwell squeezes his hand as they stop to wait for the elevator. “You’re going to do great--”

“No, no--” Tariq raises their hands, kissing the back of Maxwell’s hand. “This. I’m tired of hiding. From court, from Constantine, from everyone. I’m ready for this. For you.”

“Riq,” letting go of his hand, Maxwell’s eyes flutter, blinking away a tear. “Maybe we need to talk more about this whenever we get home--because, oh boy, I don’t want you to feel any pressure, and you know, I’m willing to wait forever for you, you know that, right? I just want to make sure--”

Tariq steps up, pressing his hands against Maxwell’s chest. He leans in to place a gentle kiss to his supple lips to quiet his rambling. “I’m sure.” He smiles, mirroring Maxwell’s toothy grin. “Now,” Tariq continues, tapping on his lips with his finger, “how about once more--for good luck!”

Maxwell grazes his lips tenderly against his lover’s mouth before embracing him tightly. Leaning into Tariq’s ear, Maxwell lowers his voice: “we don’t need luck. babe.”

As the doors slide open with the chime of the elevator, Maxwell takes Tariq’s hand. Smiling at each other, the men step onto the lift and into their future together.

🌈

TRR Tags (please let me know if you need a status change in your tag! If you were forgotten, please forgive me! A clean-up is coming!): @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @yourmajesty09

[kyber-kisses]

He Needs You

Endverse!Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader

warnings: cursing, character death (kinda)

here is part 2

Summary: When an alternate Dean falls into your universe, he almost breaks at the sight of you. You do what you can to help him.

Simplicity was a rare thing to come by when you lived with the Winchesters. And when you guys did have it- it never lasted long.

This was one of those instances.

Sam and Dean were away on a case somewhere in Indiana, and you had decided to hang back at the bunker for once. It was nice. You could blast whatever music you wanted and not have a care in the world for the next two days.

You were currently curled up on your bed, attempting to finish a book you had started months ago. The radio on your desk turned down low as you tapped your fingers on the edges of the book.

It hadn’t been this quiet in ages. You would think that living in a massive bunker would give you some serenity, but in truth that was a lie. The only sound you could hear besides the radio was the low hum of the generators.

Going to flip the page, you stopped short, jumping slightly as all the power within the bunker shut off. The hum of the electricity gone and drowning you in darkness. Hesitantly you closed the book, making your way over to where the radio was and fumbling to turn it off. As you did, the red emergency lights kicked on, slowly flashing a deep red.

Once again, simplicity never lasted long.

Using what little light you had been given, you maneuvered across your room, fingers wrapping around the pistol you kept under your mattress. Checking to make sure there was ammo, you cocked it and headed towards the door.

If the emergency lights were on, it could only mean one simple thing. You were not safe.

A crash echoed from somewhere down the hallway, sending you quickly and quietly towards the sound. Another crash, this time much louder and closer made you jump slightly. The red lights doing nothing to help your vision.

You nearly threw yourself against the wall when you heard a gunshot ring through the massive space. Raising your gun, you eased around the corner- eyes landing on a lone figure, their back turned towards you.

Squinting in the low light, you took quiet steps, all attention on the standing figure. For some reason- even if you could only see his back, he looked oddly familiar.

“Hands up, and drop your weapon.” You stated firmly, keeping the pistol pointed at his back.

At the sound of your voice, the mans heavy breathing stilled. His shoulders frozen. His mind trying to piece together how he was hearing that voice. It wasn’t possible.

You watched as he slowly raised his arms, his own gun dropping from his hand and clattering to the linoleum tiles.

“Okay turn around- slowly.” You added.

His heart was beating so loud he thought for sure that you would be able to hear it, but he complied, slowly turning to face you. The moment his eyes found you, he broke, his mouth slightly open in shock.

You weren’t having it easy either. Because standing in front of you, sporting a full beard and shocked expression was Dean Winchester.

Clearly neither of you knew what the hell was going on.

“Dean?” You questioned, lowering your gun and tucking it into your waist band, eyes never leaving him.

His mouth opened but no words came out. He was stunned to silence. At the same time he was trying desperately to force back tears. It was you. Standing there- breathing and so very, very alive.

You knew something was definitely off by the way he was looking at you. This wasn’t the Dean that you knew. This was another one entirely. He looked broken, and very sad. But a small part of him looked relieved as well.

This Dean knew you. A version of you at least, and by the emotion in his face you could tell that that version of you probably didn’t have a very happy ending.

A gentle and sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of your lips, as you slowly walked towards him.

“Y/n?” His voice shaky, as he finally spoke.

Hesitantly you raised a hand, placing it on his cheek, “you’re not my Dean are you?” You questioned slowly.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes shut, slightly shaking his head before melting into your touch. It had been so long, so long since he last saw you. He still wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse.

Needless to say, you were slightly shocked when you felt him lean into your hand, the hairs on his face tickling your palm as he did. The Dean you knew never showed this side of him, and having a big fat crush on him did nothing to help the case. You could feel the beginnings of a blush creeping across your face and you silently thanked the bunker for keeping the lights red.

“Well, We can figure out how you got here later. Let me fix that cut on your face first.” You sighed, your thumb lightly grazing over a gash in his cheek. His eyes remained shut, clearly afraid that if he opened them you would disappear. “Could you at least show me those pretty jade eyes?” You coaxed him.

It was a universal truth that when around you, Dean Winchesters heart melted. He was completely under the spell that was your voice, eyes, even the way you carried yourself. In whatever universe it was always the same.

Taking another deep breath, he let his eyes slowly open, his breath catching in his throat the moment he locked onto your y/e/c eyes. Even in the red lighting, he could tell they were the same eyes he had looked into so many times before. “You’re real.” He breathed out, eyebrows still knitted together in slight confusion.

“Of course I’m real, Silly.” You smiled.

Before you could properly register it, he was wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a deep hug. Even if you were shorter than him, he still buried his face in your neck, holding onto you tightly. Slightly taken back by the affection, it took you a moment before wrapping your own arms around him. One of your hands moving to run through his hair gently.

“Hey, hey it’s alright. I’m right here.” You stumbled, doing your best to comfort him. After a few more moments, you pulled away, looking into his eyes. He looked so much more tired. “C’mon, let’s go patch you up.” You hummed, going as far as to lace your fingers through his, walking down the hallway towards the infirmary.

He was silent as you walked, his hand holding your tightly as he kept glancing over at you. He looked at you like he was seeing a ghost. You thought best not to mention it.

Sitting him down in a chair, you moved quickly to the electric box just outside the room, flipping the switches to turn all the lights back on.

For the second time, Deans breath caught in his throat. In proper lighting he could see that you still looked as beautiful as the day he had lost you. Your y/h/c hair tucked behind your ears and the glint in your eyes. Everything was the same. You were still stunning.

“I don’t- I don’t know how I’m here.” He spoke slowly, his mind trying to piece together the possibilities.

Tilting his chin up with your finger, you dabbed at the cut on his face, hearing him slightly hiss at the pain. “Sorry.” You mumbled, eyes concentrating on the task at hand. “ I don’t know either. I’m sorry though.”

“Sorry for what?” He questioned slowly, slightly confused at your words.

“I can see the way you are looking at me. I know that look all too well. I’m dead arnt I? In your reality?” You sighed, stopping your work to look down at him.

His eyes were filling with tears quickly as he turned his gaze towards the ground, slowly nodding. “You look exactly like her. Easily the most beautiful person I had ever met.” He swallowed, fidgeting with his hands.

Your eyes widened at his words. Dean thought you were beautiful? Sure, it wasn’t your Dean, but still.

“She was the love of my life. I never got to say goodbye to her.” The beginnings of a smile tugged on the corners of his lips as his eyes stayed on his hands. Memories of you coming back to him along with a flood of emotions.

That’s when you saw the wedding band on his finger. His thumb spinning it around slowly as he fidgeted.

Okay y/n, cool it, cool it. This isn’t you he’s talking about. It’s a different version of you. Calm down.

Even as you tired to calm yourself down, Dean caught the startled expression on your face. “Are you- are you okay?”

You let out a light breath, running your hand through your hair. “It’s just a little shocking to hear. The Dean in this reality? I don’t think he likes me like that.” You chuckled, face going red once again.

Pursing his lips, he shook his head. “Apparently I’m stubborn and suck at talking about my feelings in every version of reality.” He sighed, sending you a smile. “I can tell you with certainty, that he feels the same way.”

“How do you know?”

“Just trust me.”

With a huff, you sat down next to him, letting your head fall against his shoulder.

This was all so confusing.

He looked down at you slightly shocked, not at all expecting you to lean against him. It was one of those moments that made his heart melt all over again.

“I miss you so much.” He inhaled, resting his chin atop your head.

The both of you knew you weren’t her. His version of you. You could have corrected him, but you felt that he needed to speak his thoughts.

“And I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I didn’t think I was capable of these feelings until you came along. You were it for me- in every sense of the word.” He choked, trying desperately not to cry.

Your mind was racing as you tried to come up with a way to help him. Slowly you shifted, cupping his face in your hands and resting your forehead against his, eyes closing shut like his already were. “It’s not your fault. You loved me, and I am so grateful for that. Do not blame yourself. Never blame yourself.” You stated firmly, sucking gm in your lips. “I love you and I always will.” You finished, feeling your noses bump together.

You felt a calloused hand go to the back of your neck, slowly pulling you forward until his lips connected with yours. You could have pulled away, but you didn’t. Instead you kissed him slow and true on the lips, knowing full well that this was him getting his chance to say goodbye.

After a moment you pulled away slightly, just enough to where you could speak. “ maybe the reason you are here is to get the chance to say goodbye.”

He opened his eyes, looking at you with a familiar gentleness and softness. “Maybe.”

Maybe it was magic- maybe it wasn’t, but for whatever reason this Dean had found himself here for a reason. Maybe this was it.

“You should know-“ he began, taking your hands in his, “He needs you. It may be hard to see at times, but he needs you in more ways than you could ever know.” He stated, eyes glossy.

“He doesn’t-“ you began, but were stopped short by the lumberjack looking Dean in front of you.

“He does. You are the one that is going to keep him grounded. You are his rock.”

You were silent, face full of admiration. Apparently, no matter the universe, you and Dean found each other. There had to be a reason for that.

Maybe this whole fiasco was happening so you could help each other. That’s what you were doing.

The familiar and distant slam of the bunker door pulled you from your thoughts, both you and Deans head whirling around.

“Y/n, we got back early! Where you at?” A voice rang through the bunker.

Dean. Your Dean.

You froze, turning to look at the one in front of you. “How am I supposed to explain this?” You whispered quickly, eyes wide with panic. He shrugged, clearly not having an answer. You had to figure out a plan- and quick.

You could do this. You have faced weirder situations than this. Everything was going to be fine.

You quickly stood up, leaning down to place a firm kiss on his forehead. “You are going to be fine. You are going to be just fine.” You weren’t sure if you were saying the words to comfort yourself or the man in front of you, but either way worked.

As you skidded into the hallway, you found you were just in time to see Dean turning the corner heading down the hall towards you.

“Hey, You. What are you up to?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow since he had just seen you slide out of the infirmary doorway.

Quick y/n, come up with a lie.

“I. . . I tripped.” Solid one y/n. Way to go.

Deans face was a mixture of confusion and amusement as he walked towards you. “O-kay. You alright?” He clearly didn’t trust the lie you had given him.

“Yep, yep I am totally fine. All good here.” You quipped. You had to make sure he didn’t see the double of him sitting in the infirmary.

Taking a step forward, you pretended to trip, Deans arms quickly reaching out to catch you as you fell forward. “Geez y/n. Let’s at least get you some ibuprofen.” He sighed, scooping you up in his arms and stepping into the infirmary.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Okay, I can explain.” You spoke quickly, whipping your head around.

“Explain what?”

Your eyebrows crinkled together, as you turned your head even more, surveying the very empty room. He was gone.

Totally and completely gone. There was never even a trace that he had been there.

“Nothing . . .” You mumbled slowly, mind reeling. Maybe your guess had been correct. The only reason he was here in the first place was so you could help each other move forward.

His words echoed in your head.

He needs you. He needs you.

(A/n: thank you so much for reading! I hoped you guys liked it! Tell me what you guys thought !)

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Coming Clean

Harry and Draco go to tell Lucius and Narcissa that they’re dating, but they never expected the response they got.

For @loveyprophet

Draco tugged at the hem of his shirt, anxiously fussing with the fabric.

“It’s going to be fine,” Harry reassured him.

Draco let out a tense sigh, turning to look a Harry.

Harry had cleaned up well, wearing a deep burgundy shirt, black pants and a heavy black coat—the collar turned up to fight off the bitterly cold breeze. He had made an effort to tame the tousled mess of his hair, but it was all for nothing; his unruly curls refused to be tamed. It didn’t matter though; Draco found the scruffy mess charming.

Draco himself wore a black dress shirt that was embroidered with dark green silk, the elegant patter blending into the ash-black fabric until it caught the light. He also wore a black coat, the long fabric billowing around his legs dramatically. His long blond hair was draped over his shoulders and cascaded down his back, pinned back from his face by a simple but elegant vintage emerald hair pin that his mother had gotten him.

Harry reached forward and gently brushed a stray strand of hair back from Draco’s face, tucking it behind his ear before gently stroking the young man’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Draco smiled softly, looking at Harry lovingly as he felt the tension in his body subside and the knot in his stomach slowly untangle.

He took a step closer to Harry, wrapping his arm around the young man’s waist.

His hand brushed against something tucked into the back of Harry’s pants. He froze, his body going rigid as the smile fell from his face.

“You brought your wand?” Draco said, his voice tense and exasperated.

“Just in case,” Harry replied quietly.

“Just in case?” Draco repeated back to him.

Harry let out a measured sigh.

“I’ll be honest, I’m scared about what might happen when we tell your dad that we’re dating,” Harry admitted. “He could run us out of the house or force us to break up, whatever, but if he gets aggressive or tries to hurt you, I want to be able to defend you.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Defend me?”

“Not that you can’t defend yourself,” Harry blurted out. “It’s just…” He let out a heavy sigh. “If this does go badly and you get hurt, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

Draco exhaled, a faint smile turning up the corners of his lips. He grabbed the front of Harry’s jacket, tugging at it and pulling him closer, letting Harry bundle him up in his arms and hold him close.

Harry pressed a tender kiss to Draco’s temple.

“It’s going to be okay,” Harry repeated, but neither of them was sure who he was trying to convince.

Draco slowly pulled back, meeting Harry’s gaze.

“No matter what happens, you and I will be okay,” he said softly.

Harry smiled back at him reassuringly.

Draco turned, leading the way up the flight of stairs to the large manor. He reached out for the large door knocker, listening as the loud bang echoed through the house.

The door opened.

“Master Malfoy,” a withered old house elf said fondly, stepping back and ushering the young man in.

Harry and Draco stepped into the large foyer of the manor house.

Harry looked around, trying to hide his shock. The walls were painted black and decorated by elegant panelling that gave the space more depth. There were small tables either side of the door, decorated with extravagant arrangements of white flowers—lilies, white roses, baby’s breath, lilies of the valley, and white alstroemeria; enchanted so they wouldn’t wilt.

In the centre of the room was a large marble staircase with an ornate banister that trailed up either side of the stairs. The staircase split into two flights of stairs once it reached the landing of the second flood, diverting towards the hallways or the next floor.

There were large portraits hanging on the wall, paintings of old faces – members of Draco’s family – and pieces of artwork.

Harry eyed each one, waiting for one of them to move, but none of them did—a small comfort for Harry.

Draco shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the stand by the door.

Harry absentmindedly followed, making sure the back of his shirt hung low enough to cover his wand once he took his coat off.

“Your parents are waiting for you in the sitting room,” the house elf told him, gesturing towards the large doors off to one side of the room.

Draco nodded.

He looked over his shoulder at Harry. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Harry said, but there was no confidence in his voice.

Draco led the way through the large doors and into the sitting room.

Narcicssa sat in one of the arm chairs, a hardcover book lying open in her lap.

As they stepped into the room, she glanced up, her face lighting up with a sweet smile as she shut her book and set it aside.

“Draco,” she said as she rose to her feet and stepped over to her son’s side, pulling the young man into her arms.

“Hello, mother,” Draco replied, returning the hug. He looked over to where Lucius stood by the fireplace. He nodded to him. “Father.”

Lucius nodded in return. His cold eyes turned on Harry.

“Mister Potter,” the man greeted. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too, sir,” Harry replied.

“Come, sit down,” Narcissa said, her voice sweet as she ushered her son towards the couch.

“I’d rather stand,” Draco politely refused, saying close to Harry’s side.

“You said in your letter that you had something to tell us?” Lucius prompted.

Draco swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Yes,” he replied, trying to steady his racing heartbeat.

He glanced over his shoulder at Harry.

“I think it’ll be easier to just come right out and say it,” Draco said quietly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Harry took a step forward and tenderly brushed the tips of his fingers against the palm of Draco’s hand, unseen by his parents.

“Harry and I,” Draco started, struggling to find his voice. “…are dating.”

He swallowed hard against the wave of nausea that crashed over him, his stomach twisting in knots as the moment of silence that settled over the room seemed to stretch into oblivion.

“We have been together for a while now, but now that things are starting to get more serious between us we thought it was time to tell you,” Draco said.

Lucius didn’t say a word. He took a step forward.

Harry instinctively reached for where his wand was hidden in the small of his back –bracing himself, ready for a fight.

Lucius walked past them and over to the large doors, throwing them open and calling to the house elves.

“Bring everything we have gathered for wedding preparations,” Lucius told them.

“Wedding preparations?” Draco repeated, stammering over the words.

He looked at Harry, his stormy grey eyes wide with shock.

Harry looked back at him, stunned into silence.

“Father, we’ve only just started getting serious,” Draco objected politely.

“My son,” Lucius started, his voice shockingly soft and adoring. “It takes at least a year and a half to plan a proper Malfoy wedding, and planning yours will probably take two years—maybe more; I only want the very best for you. By the time we get preparations underway, you should be engaged, and if you’re not…”

His voice trailed off, the soft smile falling from his face as his cold glare fell on Harry, tearing through him like daggers of ice.

“Father,” Draco said warningly, glaring at Lucius.

Lucius looked back at his son, smiling sweetly. He took a step over to Draco’s side, gently cupping his face.

“I only want you to be happy,” he said softly.

“And I am,” Draco said. He glanced over his shoulder at Harry, a soft smile lying across his lips as he reached out to take Harry’s hand. “Harry makes me happy.”

Harry returned the smile, lacing their fingers together.

“And while we appreciate what you’re doing for us and we it’s nice of you to be so accepting of our news and to be thinking about our future, I think we’d feel a lot more comfortable if you just let us take this at our own pace,” Draco told his father. “After all, if you try to rush through life, you’ll miss all the good parts. Sometimes, you have to slow down and enjoy things as they come, because time goes by faster than you think and once a moment’s gone, you can’t ever get it back so you have to enjoy it while you can.”

Lucius looked at his son with pride.

“You’re exactly right,” Narcissa said as she rose from her chair again, stepping over to her husband’s side. She set a hand on Lucius’ arm, smiling sweetly at Draco. “We’re so happy for the two of you.”

Draco returned her smile, stepping back a little more until he brushed up against Harry’s warmth.

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly, finally letting out a sigh of relief.

Harry brushed the ball of his thumb across the back of Draco’s hand.

“We love you, not matter what,” Narcissa said softly. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Draco replied. “And I love you too.”

[AO3]

[booksarelife-stuff]

The Story of Us- Chapter 5

Jily (James Potter/ Lily Evans), minor wolfstar

Word Count: 3,999

Modern Muggle AU. When Lily Evans meets the man across the hall due to a fire alarm, she has no idea that a new chapter of her life has begun. Featuring a librarian Lily and sports journalist James.

Masterlist    Read on A03    Chapter 6

Chapter 5- but we were dancing

The options Mary presented to Lily were amazing. Lily didn’t think she could pull them off, despite Mary’s insistence that she would be stunning. In the end, Lily settled on an emerald green velvet dress that Mary insisted would look amazing on her and bring out her eyes. 

Lily had gotten Dorcas to come over to do her make-up because Lily was hopeless at eyeliner and she didn’t feel like winding herself up by re-doing it ten times before it only came out decent. 

“Can I see your dress?” Dorcas asked, lightly blending out the blush on Lily’s cheeks. 

“Sure,” Lily said, glancing at her analog clock on her bedside table. “We got time.”

“Do you know what James is wearing?” she asked. 

“Probably a suit,” Lily replied. Dorcas snorted. 

“Yes, probably,” she agreed. “I bet he is going to look dashing. Better than that walrus Petunia is marrying.”

Lily knew for a fact that James at his worst would look better than Vernon, but she didn’t even want to think about James and how dashing he’s going to look. 

“You’re all done!” she announced after putting some highlighter on the tip of her nose. She held out a mirror and Lily couldn’t believe how good she looked. The winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick were a bit much for the “natural” look Lily wanted, but Dorcas’s work was amazing. 

Lily told her as much as she went to her bathroom, the dress in the bag hanging from the door. Mary had already pressed it and made sure it fit her measurements, but Lily still hadn’t opened it. 

The dress was off the shoulder, so it exposed her collarbone and shoulders. There was a ruffle along the bust and sleeves to make her bust look bigger than it was.  There was a slit that opened up to her knee and Lily was thankful it didn’t climb higher.

When Lily looked in the mirror, she realized that Mary was right. The dress hugged her beautifully and her green eyes were shining. Her red hair stood out as well, even though Dorcas had pulled it up until an elegant knot on the back of her head, with a few pieces curled and framing her face. 

Dorcus gasped when Lily stepped out of the bathroom.

“You look drop-dead gorgeous,” she said, as Lily reached for her shoes. 

“It’s not too much, is it?” Lily asked. 

Dorcas shook her head. 

“No, but I don’t know how James is going to feel,” she said, a cheeky smile on her face. 

Lily spun around. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Oh come on Lily,” Dorcas said. “You have got to be joking.”

“I’m not.”

She sighed. 

“He couldn’t take his eyes off of you at the party,” she started. “You guys have lunch, what twice a week now? He watches Outlander with you! Outlander!”

Lily turned away and tried to focus on putting her heel on. She tried to ignore the implication of what Dorcas was saying because then that would cause her heart to start racing. 

“I’m just saying, if it isn’t into you, then I don’t know what he’s doing,” Dorcas said. 

“What if I’m not into him?” Lily whispered. 

Dorcas scoffed. 

“Then I’d be doubting your sexuality Lily,” she said. “I’m a lesbian and I think he is quite fit.”

“I don’t know yet,” Lily said. “I really like him but…”

“Scared?”

“A little yeah.”

“I think you would regret not trying,” Dorcas said, a tone of finality in her voice. Lily didn’t say anything more as Dorcas began checking her face and seeing any final touches that needed to be made. 

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door. Lily felt butterflies erupt in her stomach as Dorcas went to go answer it.

“James! You clean up nicely,” she heard Dorcas say. Lily took a deep breath and walked out of the hallway towards her living room where her front door is located. 

When she stepped in, her breath caught as she got sight of him. He was wearing a grey suit, one that had to be tailor made because it fit perfectly on him. His hair was a little more tame, but artfully messy. When Lily met his eyes, he was looking at her with wide eyes and his mouth open a bit. 

“Hey,” he said, breaking the silence. 

“Hi,” Lily replied. 

“You look gorgeous,” he said. 

“Thanks. Mary and Dorcas really came through for me,” Lily said. “You look nice.”

Lily wanted to kick herself. That was the lamest thing she could have said. 

James didn’t seem to mind as he smiled back. 

“Well, I should get going,” Dorcas interjected. Lily looked at her, a little ashamed to admit that she had forgotten she was in the room with them. 

“Bye! Thank you for the make-up!” Lily said, giving her friend a quick hug. Dorcas patted James on the arm before leaving. 

“So, ready to go?” James asked. Lily nodded and grabbed her phone and her keyes. She realized that she didn’t have anything to carry them in, but James took them and put them in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. 

Lily liked that he offered his arm to her as they waited for the elevator. She also liked that he volunteered to drive them there after Remus told him that Lily was a tiny bit scared of driving. He helped her into the car and Lily thought her heart was going to burst. 

“So I made a road trip playlist,” he said. “I put some bangers on there. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lily turned to him and smiled. “No I don’t.”

The drive was fun and it alone almost made Lily thankful this night. She was surprised that James knew every lyric to the Taylor Swift songs he put on the playlist. They had just done a wonderful rendition of “Better than Revenge” when James pulled into the parking lot of the ballroom that not doubtedly, Vernon’s family rented out.

“So why did her sister decide to have a black-tie engagement party?” James asked, turning his car off. 

“To show that she's better and classier than the rest,” Lily replied, rolling her eyes. 

“If this is the engagement party, I wonder what the wedding will be like,” he replied. 

“Probably the most outrageous thing you’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know about that,” James said looking at her. “Some of the kids I went to school with are having some crazy weddings. One of them had the whole bridal party on horses.”

Lily laughed. 

“Don’t tell Petunia that. She’ll get ideas.” 

James opened his door and stepped out. Lily went to open hers but James was too quick. He hurried over to her side and opened the door for her and offered a hand to help her stand. 

Lily didn’t expect to be jumped on by her mother the second they walked in. 

“Lily, dear!” Rose Evans yelled, making Lily jump. She barely had time to drop James’s arm before her mother’s arms were around her. 

“Hello, mum,” she said, hugging her tightly. Her mom pulled away and inspected Lily. 

Lily looked awfully like her mum, but in a slightly different font. Lily was a head taller and her dark red hair was the obvious difference, but other than that, they had the same nose that turned up and eyes. 

Mum was looking her up and down. Lily inspected her as well. She was still looking good in her willowy frame. She was wearing a light pink dress that was only fitting for the mother of the bride.

“You look beautiful, dear,” she said. She looked at James, and her eyes widened. Lily could see the excitement in her eyes. “You must be Lily’s boyfriend Tuney talked on the phone with!”

“Mum-” Lily started, purposely not looking at James. “He’s not-”

“You are dashing! What’s your name, dear?” Rose said, talking over Lily. Lily felt her stomach drop.

“James Potter, ma’am,” James said, not missing a beat. He flashed her a charming smile. 

“Lovely! It’s been awhile since Lily has brought anyone over to meet the family!” Rose said, looking like she was on cloud nine. 

“That’s because-” Lily started. 

“I’m a special one, what can I say?” James said. 

“Well, go get your seats! There’s gonna be a toast before the party kicks off,” Rose said, ushering them forward. 

James smiled and nodded and grabbed Lily’s hand. He laced their fingers together. 

“I did not tell Petunia you were my boyfriend,” Lily whispered as soon as Rose was behind them. 

“I know,” James said. “But I couldn’t dash your mum’s dreams.”

Lily snorted. 

“Was charming mothers a class at your posh boarding school?” she whispered. 

“Yes, actually. It was after ‘How to smile like a politician,’,” James remarked. 

Lily laughed a little as they walked to the main ballroom. 

Lily couldn’t believe how much Vernon had dished out for the engagement party. Lily knows there was no way Petunia could afford it with her career as a make-up saleswoman for that pyramid scheme she worked for. 

The centerpieces were huge, filled with roses that were painted gold. There were fancy name plates in a cursive that was barely legible. Petunia’s colors were an awful combination of hot pink and a bright orange. The table cloths were alternating between those colors. 

There was a live band that was setting up, composed of cellos, harps, and other instruments that indicated to Lily she was not going to be able to dance to the Cupid Shuffle tonight. 

“Wow, this is something,” James said. Lily could tell she was holding back laughter. 

“I think that pink is bright enough to burn my eyes,” Lily whispered. 

There was an usher, who guided them to their seats. Lily wanted to roll her eyes at her sister, placing her in the back corner and probably with Vernon’s cousin who they had deemed to be lesser than them. 

James pulled her seat out for her. Lily rolled her eyes at him. 

“What a gentleman, thank you,” she said. 

“My Mum would have my head if I didn’t act my best today,” he replied, sitting next to her. 

“Does your mum know you’re here?” Lily asked, looking over at him. He nodded, his black curls bouncing a little. 

“I tell my mum everything,” he said. Lily wondered what that must be like. “Speaking of which, you have been invited to an event of mine.”

Lily raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yep. Sirius and mostly likely Remus will be going,” he said. Lily hummed. 

“What kind of an event?” she asked. 

“It’s the Potter’s annual charity event and auction,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s more laid back than this, like a cocktail party if you will.”

Lily blinked at him. 

“How rich are your parents?” Lily asked. James glanced at her, smiling a bit. 

“My father is Fleamont Potter, Lily,” he said. 

“No offense, but am I supposed to know who that is?”

“I’d be surprised if you did. He invented hairspray,” James said. 

Lily laughed. 

“Okay, you got me,” Lily said. “What did he really do?”

James took a sip of his water, his eyes not leaving Lily’s. 

“You have got to be kidding.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my pretend girlfriend.”

“Give me my phone.”

He handed it to her and did a Google search, only to see that James was absolutely right. 

“What the fuck?” she whispered. 

“Language Evans!” 

She handed her phone back to him, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“Crazy, I know,” he said. 

“Why didn’t you mention this?” she asked. James shrugged. 

“Didn’t seem important.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Only James would think it wasn’t important that his father had invented the very product she had sprayed all over hair for most of her life. 

Turns out they were seated with Vernon’s cousins who they had deemed untowardly. Surprisingly enough though, they were the ones that Lily actually imagined having a shot at getting along with. 

James had so much charm, it was practically oozing out of him. He had charmed the socks off of Vernon’s cousin, Elizabeth with a simple tale from his uni days. 

Mingling was not one of her strong suits, but James made it a lot easier. 

Lily’s gut twisted when the speeches started to kick off the night. The first one to go was her sister’s best friend from secondary school, Makayla, who had assisted in making Lily’s life a nightmare. 

Her speech was fine until they started talking about the “good ol’ days.”

“One of my fondest moments from our friendship early on was when we found her sister eating alone outside,” Makayla started. Lily’s breath caught at the mention of this and she stiffened. 

She felt James grab her hand. He laced his fingers through her’s and squeezed once. 

“We felt so bad for her! So we decided to sit with her,” Makayla continued. “We knew it would damage our reputation, but that’s what you do for family.”

There were a few laughs.

“That was until Lily started to get smart with her mouth and Petunia dumped her lunch all over Lily!”

Lily remembers it like it was yesterday. She had been reading a book, when her sister’s hoard of girls descended over her. They were spewing fake compliments, Petunia’s backhanded ones as well, Lily had had enough and looked straight at her sister and fired back at her. 

Lily had beans in her hair for the rest of the day. 

No one laughed, but Makayla trucked on to the story of how she met Vernon. 

Lily’s pulse rate was up and she could feel her cheeks flush with anger. She almost wanted to leave the room, but James was holding her hand. She squeezed it and James leaned over. 

“I take it, that's not the whole story?” he whispered. Lily shook her head stiffly. 

She didn’t pay attention to anyone else’s speeches. She kept her eyes down and was content to staying in a bad mood until James started a thumb war on her lap. 

He had just won for the second time when everyone started standing. Lily looked around in confusion. 

“I think we can get up and mingle now,” James said. “Or maybe we’re supposed to go greet the bride and groom?”

There was a line forming in front of Vernon and Petunia. Lily’s eyes passed over them and on to the snack table that only a few others were at. Lily eyed the champagne. 

“Snacks?” she asked. 

“Lead the way.” 

James, once again, lended Lily his arm as they made their way through the crowd. 

“What kind of party doesn’t have a chocolate fountain?” James asked as they neared the snacks. 

“They probably thought it wasn’t posh,” Lily replied. 

“I’ve been to plenty of posh parties and there has always been a chocolate fountain,” James replied. Lily laughed a little. 

“What about a cheese fountain?” she asked. 

“That sounds disgusting.”

“You can grab a tortilla chip and cover it in cheese.”

“Nasty, Evans.”

James grabbed a plate and let Lily fill it with whatever she wanted. She made sure to grab enough for both of them, James only turning down champagne. 

“Well, I’m going to need a lot to get through this night,” Lily said, taking a sip. 

“I wish I could,” James said, sighing. 

“Thanks for driving,” she said, smiling at him. 

“You only use me, Evans,” James lamented before popping a strawberry into his mouth. 

Lily was about to reply when Makayla walked up. She was looking at James though, like Lily was completely invisible. Lily fought the urge to grab James and run but Makayla was quick. 

Lily wasn’t in the business of hating other women, though it was hard to fight the societal pressures that had been pushed upon her since she was a kid. She didn’t hate Makayla because she was pretty or because popular in school. She hated her because Lily had spent many days crying and fearing her presence. 

“I don’t believe we met before?” she asked, extending a hand to James. “Are you one of Vernon’s cousins?”

James almost snorted, but Lily could see he was fighting his prep school education. He shook her hand. 

“No, I’m Lily’s boyfriend,” he said, smiling widely. 

Lily didn’t miss how her face fell a bit. She took a big gulp of her champagne. James put his arm around Lily and brought her closer. 

“Oh! I didn’t know Lily had a boyfriend. Petunia failed to mention that,” she said.

“This is the first time I’m meeting the family,” James said, smoothly. “We haven’t been dating long.”

“Oh well, this is a perfect occasion for that,” Makayla agreed. She finally turned her gaze to Lily. “How have you been Lily?”

“I’ve been good, thanks,” Lily said, forcing herself to smile and keep her tone light. 

“Still in school?”

“Post-grad,” Lily replied, evenly. Makayla hummed and turned her eyes to James again. James quickly stuffed food in his mouth, avoiding having to answer another question. 

“This has been lovely, but we really should be queuing to see Petunia and Vernon,” Lily said. “See you later.”

James followed Lily as they walked to the back of the queue. 

“I’m offended,” James said when they stopped. “She thought I was related to Vernon.”

“I bet she didn’t,” Lily mused. “She probably used that as an opener.”

James scoffed. “That’s a bloody fucking horrible opener.”

Lily laughed. They shared the snacks and Lily told him about the people she was recognizing. She didn’t have any cousins and her aunt had passed sometime ago, so it was only Vernon’s family and she didn’t know much about them. 

The couple in front of them started talking, revealing them to be Vernon’s cousins who had been shunned because she had gotten a divorce. It was nice bonding by being the family outcasts. 

Lily didn’t feel nervous until she was staring at her sister. 

Petunia was wearing a dress that Lily could admit was very pretty, but the sneer on her face is what made her ugly to Lily. Vernon was wearing an black suit with an orange shirt that blinded Lily’s eyes. 

“Lily,” Petunia said, stiffly. “How lovely to see you.”

Lily was determined not to live up to Petunia expectations, no matter how much she wanted to yell at her. 

“Lovely to see you as well,” Lily replied. “And Vernon as well.”

Lily saw Vernon eyeing James. 

“I’m James,” he said, a posh smile on his face. “I’m Lily’s date.”

“Or boyfriend, as you had decided to call it,” Lily added. 

“What do you James?” Vernon asked, shaking his hand. 

“Oh, I’m a trust fund baby,” James said smiling. “I don’t really need to work. I may go get a job at a McDonalds though. It’ll keep me on my toes.”

Lily bit back a smile as Vernon started to turn red. 

“Really?” he gasped. 

“No, just kidding,” James said. “I’m a journalist.”

The way Petunia’s jaw dropped, Lily would think that someone had committed a horrible sin right in front of her. 

“Is this the company you’ve been keeping, sister?” Petunia hissed. 

“Yep. Every night. We live together now,” Lily said, knowing it would make Petunia blow a gasket. It worked. 

“Vernon and I aren’t even living together yet! And we’re engaged,” she whispered scandalized. 

“Hm, maybe we shouldn’t tell them about the pregnancy scare?” James said, turning to Lily. 

Lily pulled him away as Petunia let out a little shriek. Lily was holding in a laugh as they walked through the tables. 

“Too far?” James asked. Lily shook her head. 

“No, just far enough,” she said. “They’re going to think you’re a sinning vagrant like me.”

James rolled his eyes. “If anyone here is a vagrant, it’s me Evans.”

Lily’s mother was waiting for them by their table and Lily’s laughter stopped. She hoped her mother wasn’t going to be stern with her. She felt like a kid again. 

“What did you say to get Petunia so mad?” Rose asked, swirling her glass around in the cup. 

“Oh, normal stuff,” Lily replied. Rose smiled. 

“I can’t believe you found a willing accomplice,” Rose said, gesturing to James. 

“I prefer partners in crime,” James replied. 

Rose smiled. 

“I’m going to ask that you guys stay for about an hour before you sneak out,” she said. 

Lily huffed as she was just about to ask James if they could leave and go get McDonalds. 

“Fine.”

With that Rose left, giving them a small smile. Lily and James some more snacks and soon the little band was playing. James stood up and offered his hand. 

“Uh,” Lily said, staring at it. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Not a problem. I’ll teach you.”

The truth was that Lily could probably get the gist of it fairly quickly, but the issue was that she had never danced with anyone before. Like never, ever, danced with anyone before. Not even at the little dodgy dances that school threw. She went to one and no one had asked her. 

For some reason, it was nerve racking, being that close to James. Sure, she sat next to him on the couch, shoulders bumping, their legs touching. But this seemed intimate.

Too intimate for their friendly relationship. 

James squeezed her hand as he led her to the dance floor. He gave her his wide, easy smile. It made her feeling comfortable, knowing that he was going to be embarrassed by her as they danced. 

They ended up doing the stereotypical slow dance that wasn’t really a dance. Just swaying with their arms around each other. 

Petunia only seemed to have picked ballads for this occasion because not a single song went to an upbeat tempo. So their position was cemented, one hand with their finger’s threaded together, his other on her waist and her other resting in between shoulder blades. 

“I’ll teach you to properly dance,” he said. “One day.”

“When will I ever need that?” she asked, smiling a little. James smiled too. 

“If you are accompanying me to any and all Potter events, you’ll need to know.”

Lily groaned but she wasn’t bothered in the slightest. 

It fell silent between them. Lily looked up at him, taking in his jaw and the way the lights of the room reflected in his glasses. 

Another ballad started and Lily realized she liked this. A lot. She liked being this close to James, she liked grabbing his hand, she liked sharing laughs between them. 

She liked James. A lot. More than she ought to. She wondered how this snuck up on her like that. She didn’t know the exact moment she started feeling that way, but based on the intensity, it had to have been for a while. 

James glanced down at her and she averted her eyes, staring at his tie. 

He adjusted their position. He encouraged Lily to get closer and she obliged. Her arm went around him and she rested her head on his shoulder while his hand rested on her back. He kept their fingers threaded together though. 

Lily’s heart was thumping and she hoped James couldn’t feel it, as there was no room to speak of between their bodies. She could hear James’s thumping.. 

She could melt right there in that very spot, that’s how close they were. She wanted to be this way forever. 

Lily forgot that the back of her shoulders were bare from how the neckline of the dress was until she felt James’s hand gently trace a circle on her bare skin. It made her body start to tingle and long to feel his hands everywhere on her. 

The song changed and Lily realized she was going to have to do something about this. But not right now.

“I think it’s been an hour,” she whispered. 

“Wanna get out of here?” 

“Yes please.”

[the-pontiac-bandit]

Prompt: Neal + waterfall 💛

Neal was blown away by the deafening roar that felt so tangible it might swallow him whole. He’d never found himself silenced by anything, be it the worst punishment Lord Wyldon’s surprisingly creative mind could devise or the sight of his wife on their wedding day, joy shining in her face while Lalasa’s finest work trailed through the dust of a northern border fort. This, though, threatened to render him fully speechless, and not just because his wife, standing by his side, couldn’t have heard even his best battlefield shout.

He bounced Akemi, nearly three but not yet too big to be held, absentmindedly against his hip as he stared. He could feel her giggle as a vibration against his shoulder, but even with her face inches from his ear, he couldn’t trace the sound of her voice from the thunder engulfing them. He spared a moment to look at his daughter, seeing her hair curling wildly above her head with the spray that threatened to choke them and smoothing it with his spare hand, but it was only a moment before his eyes were drawn back to the sight before them.

The waterfall stretched nearly four hundred feet above his head, dwarfing him in ways he’d never imagined. It cascaded over rocks and around plants tenacious enough to grow in its path, clinging desperately to the side of the cliff. He’d read about waterfalls, of course, had studied the effects of gravity on falling water, and of running water on rock, with his mother in the evenings as a child. He’d even seen some small ones in the years he’d ridden the length and breadth of Tortall with the prickliest knight-mistress in the Eastern Lands—although, he had to admit to himself, that wasn’t saying much, as there were only two.

He didn’t realize his mouth was hanging open until a fly flew in it. He sputtered, bending over and coughing desperately in an attempt to redirect the small insect away from both his windpipe and his stomach. Akemi laughed louder, although he still couldn’t hear her, thinking that his desperate hacks were a game. Then, he felt someone’s arms close around his daughter, and he let Yuki take her, freeing both hands to scrape at his tongue in one final effort to eliminate any stray legs.

He straightened, wiping his hands dramatically on his tunic as he stared once again at the majesty before them, but all too soon, Yuki had a hand on his arm to pull him back.

They retreated to a spot in the trees, only yards away from their prior place but more suited to conversation, as long as that conversation were held at a volume more appropriate for the training yards, or perhaps a ship being captained through a hurricane, than polite company.

“I can’t believe you grew up with this,” Neal shouted at his wife. They’d left her family’s home that morning for a hike that even Akemi could manage on her chubby, still-unstable legs, with plenty of help from a da willing to carry her on his shoulders for long stretches while she pulled his hair like the reins of the pony she was just learning to ride. It was his first time in the Islands, after years of war and raising an infant that had prevented a long sea voyage, and he was still in awe of the beauty that felt almost commonplace among the mountains of his wife’s homeland.

“There’s nothing quite like it in Tortall,” she replied. The pitch of her voice was in sharp contrast with the soft, wistful look on her face. Neal vowed in that moment he would never again let her spend eight years without returning home.

They stood in silence for another moment, listening to the crash of the waterfall in front of them, but Akemi wouldn’t allow them to stand still for long. She’d begun insistently tugging at her mother’s necklace as she talked, demanding motion in all the ways she knew how. In accordance with their daughter’s iron will, they moved further back, towards a clearing dry enough that she would not slip on the wet rock.

They watched their daughter play in silence as she added enough mud to her kimono to make even Neal wince.

Yuki was the first one to break their trance. “I don’t think I realized how much I missed this.” Her voice was quiet and sad, in a way that told him just how much effort it had taken his usually happy, eager-to-please wife to voice her thought. “I’m not sure how I’ll board the ship again next week.”

Neal thought of Yuki’s parents and younger brother, waiting for them with a hot lunch back at her childhood home. They reminded him almost painfully of his parents and Jessamine, in the ways they found to laugh with each other—or smile silently with just the corners of their eyes, as the case may be—in large stone hallways and communicate boundless love in a ruffle of hair or a gliding touch across a shoulder. His parents-in-law had been strangers to him a mere three weeks ago, but they’d embraced him as one of their own in a way that gave him just a taste of the heartbreak his wife must be feeling at leaving them behind.

“We could stay.” The words left his mouth unbidden, before he’d had time to think of the ramifications of such an offer, but just as immediately, he knew they were true. He could not bear asking her to leave the magic of this place. “We’d have to return, of course, to gather our things and to say goodbye to my parents, but we could—”

She cut him off with a surprisingly sharp elbow to his unprepared side. “We couldn’t. We have a life elsewhere.” Her words weren’t nearly as final as Neal knew she hoped they sounded.

“We could. Jessamine would be thrilled to manage Queenscove in our absence—it’s her home as much as it is ours. We could return to the Yamani court, or I’m sure Roald could find posts for us as ambassadors of some form. Akemi could grow up knowing her Yamani roots, and we’d be happy here.” His own heart cracked, just a little, at the thought of leaving his sister alone with his brothers’ graves in their childhood home, of abandoning the king-to-be and the realm in whose service he found genuine fulfillment, but his heart also knew he could for the woman whose elbow had come to rest more gently against his side.

“What of her Tortallan roots?”

Neal was genuinely surprised by the question. “Well, of course, I could teach her about—”  

“You couldn’t teach her all of it, just like you couldn’t do the work you love or visit your brothers on holidays or argue endlessly with your father over the best way to heal a fracture.” Yuki cut him off, her voice finding more resolve the longer she spoke.  

Neal thought, with a groan so quiet he was sure Yuki could not hear it over the still-present roar of the waterfall in the distance behind them, of the reports from George that were most certainly piling up on his desk in his absence, and of the lecture he was sure to receive from his father’s second-in-command about the shifts in the city’s clinics everyone else had been forced to take in his stead.

“Thinking of work?” When he turned to look at her, shocked that she’d apparently read his mind, Yuki’s eyes had a glimmer of wickedness in them, amusement breaking openly across her usually-guarded expression. He leaned down to kiss her firmly enough to wipe the smile off her face, whispering something wicked of his own in her ear as he broke away. She was unruffled.

“My point still stands,” she continued, a more serious air returning to her voice. “We belong in Tortall.”

He knew she was right, and he knew how much it cost her to say it. He took her hand in both of his and turned to face her for the first time. “I would have stayed for you, you know. Truly, I would have.”

“I know. That’s why I can go back for you.”

Her reply was simple, but firm, and the only appropriate response seemed to be to release one of her hands and lunge out to grab their daughter, whose face was now fully caked in fresh mud. He gathered his wife and daughter in his long arms and held them tightly there for a long moment without a care for the mud Akemi smeared on his tunic, listening to the thunder of falling water in his wife’s homeland.  

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“First Lines” | Tag Game

Hey Y’all I have gotten tagged in this a few times— thank you so so much @auroracalisto @mikaelson-emma and, of course, @hellotvshowtrash— I haven’t had much time to read them and form coherant thoughts but expect some soon. 

So the rules are you post the opening lines to 20 of your most recent fics— or all the ones you have if you don’t have 20— and it kinda just shows who you are as a writer and it’s just fun!

I decided to include some WIP’s— and expose to everyone who is not @activist-af the sheer amount of fics that I start and then set aside. Please enjoy y’all I got a kick out of compiling this list!

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

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies, a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies. Right?

(WIP | Persephone’s Symphony | Bucky Barnes)

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“Did you pack my dress!” A shrill voice assaults her eardrums as she scurries towards the door.

It comes from a tall, thin, young woman. Her face and fingers are boney, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back. The faintest aroma of honeysuckles and violets wafts off her creamy skin. She is beautiful, her step sister Anna. At least in theory. The sneer on her cherry lips and the hatred in her cerulean eyes, unclouded and accusatory, can’t be hidden by any length of silky dress or ruby lipstick, though. She is ugly, even if just on the inside.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter One | Loki)

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The ride to the capitol takes three gruelling days. Each night is spent at a different tavern. It is the same story each time; Estrid and Anna spend the night in a lavish bed and Y/n is left with the horses, curled under her thankfully baggy cloak. It is neither warm nor comfortable, sleeping on the bench seat of the carriage. She never really falls asleep, she only dozes in and out of consciousness. It is almost always interrupted by footsteps or the murmurs of animals or her own mostly empty stomach growling into the night. That one is twofold- usually her stomach is in so much nauseating pain that she cannot sleep but, on the off occasion she can, she is then awoken by the loud roars it makes.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Two | Loki)

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“Please Surtr.”

Her voice rings through his ears on a loop, the most beautiful and agonizing melody that he has surely ever heard. She must be magic- something strong and powerful and like nothing he has ever seen before. There is no other explanation. It had been magic when she appeared to him, literally falling into his lap as if out of thin air. He is the god of tricks but even he cannot do that- he cannot make women that smell like flower petals land in his arms at will. He wishes he could- more than anything he wishes he could pluck her out of his dreams and bring her back to him. But he cannot because that was not a trick. That was something else entirely.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Three | Loki)

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Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Four | Loki)

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“On the balcony,” Frigga calls back, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulders. “We have company!” She adds, seemingly as an after thought— she is too busy pouring wine from a glass feeder into a beautifully ornate cup.

At least, Y/n thinks it is wine. She can smell the fermented berries— sweet and tangy and warming her nose as all wines she has encountered before have— only this wine is a pale violet shade. It is not an opaque rouge, not a barely there chartreuse. Nothing like what she has ever been able to get her hands on by way of bartering or shared celebration. Weddings and births. She takes a seat in one of the golden chairs, trying not to think about how out of her element she truly is. The little details are starting to show though. Not just extravagant pools and marble hallways. Even the food here is luxurious.

(WIP | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Five | Loki)

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She would have never thought it possible. Never. She’s the type to sit at home and crack open a good book. Maybe make a nice cup of tea. Lately she has been finding hibiscus tea to be a nice way to end the night. That’s besides the point, though. The point is that she is nothing like her older sister Jane. She is a dreamer, not a doer. Not a traveller.

Especially not a traveller of space— of foreign planets.

(WIP | Untitled | Loki)

_

“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”

Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

(Posted | Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys)

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“Get away from me, Kai!” Y/n snarls, pushing her way through the grill with a huffing witch on her heels.

She had been eating her meal- staring at her meal more like— and trying to ignore the constant buzz of her phone. He was incessant, texting her non— stop as if it would make it all better. After the thirtieth text she had turned her phone off, preferring to look at her food in silence. No text can erase his voice in her head. She means nothing to me.

“Not going to happen, kitten,” Kai purrs, his hand wrapping around her arm and tugging her to his chest, “you’re not going to ignore me.”

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

_

New Orleans isn’t all that it was cracked up to be she muses to herself as she winds her way through the tombs. They tower over her, shadowing her with the sins of so many people before her. They’re lonely. That’s all she can think, over and over again. They must be so lonely. There can’t possibly be enough people to visit each of them. There aren’t even any people to visit her, let alone thousands of lost souls. She laughs to herself, a cruel sound breaking through the crashing silence. She is a lost soul.

(WIP | Do You Have A Moment? | Kol Mikaelson)

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A little bit outside the city lines of New Orleans, tucked precariously off highway 109, there stands a roadside market. It isn’t too far, nor is it too close; it’s just right, like the porridge in some half assed, uninspired fairytale. It’s nestled perfectly on the edge of the bayou, drawing in just enough business to keep the two girls running it in business. The jam is sweet, the ham is honeyed, and the women have smiles that look a little bit like rain in a drought: necessary for life but too much water on dry soil is a recipe for disaster. It’s all a little bit too perfect. Too clean cut and wholesome. But this isn’t a fairytale, after all. It’s the story of the girl who got away with it and the girl who helped her do it.

(WIP | Hey Tommy | The Mikaelsons)

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The Salvatore house has always smelled the same; like oranges and rum. A lot of rum. It is a welcome scent, one that smells almost like home. It will never truly be home, those scents are already reserved in your very essence, but it’s close. You’ll always be happy to walk through their door. Today is no different.

(WIP | Forever and Always | The Mikaelsons)

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Kol drags a hand through his hair, his eyes locked on the book in front of him. His eyes wander the page, the corner of his mouth lifting when he skims something particularly interesting. You, too, have a book in your hands but, unlike him, your focus is elsewhere. To be exact, your focus is four feet away, basking in the sun on the lap of one shirtless vamp.

(WIP | Best Friend Things / Part Two | Kol Mikaelson)

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“So, love,” a pair of arms snake around your waist, pulling you into a warm chest, “these are the famous pumpkins?”

A familiar blonde head, the one you woke up to this morning, settles against your shoulder. He must be leaning significantly given the fact that he’s at least a good head taller than you. You break the rain spell you had been working on, laying your wand next to your pumpkin starts. That’s the beauty of magic, you can grow in any season. You turn to face Klaus, a soft smile on your face.

(WIP | Pumpkin / Harry Potter Universe AU | Klaus Mikaelson)

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The salt clings to her sticky skin, her hair grainy and matted from the surf. Thunder rolls overhead, chasing her through The Cut like. It’s only half past noon but shadows layer the street, casting everything in a dusky gloom. The pavement smells sharp; the rain is coming and fast. She hikes her tote higher on her shoulder and wishes for a moment that she hadn’t dove for as many shells today. She feels like a beached whale with all the dead weight. Business is business, though, and the tourists go crazy for a handmade necklace.

(WIP | Thunderstorm Afternoons | Jj Maybank and John B. Routledge)

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She shoves her key into the lock of the Smith’s beach house, turning it with an audible click and smiling when she pushes the door open to the smell of warm pizza and oranges. Try as the boys may, Mrs. Smith’s affinity for essential oils will always prevail over the mass amount of cheap pizza they consume on what is— unfortunately— the daily. She hauls her bag higher on her shoulder, closing the door behind her and thanking the heavens she remembered to pack some of the chicken her mother made for dinner on her way out the door. No Domino's tonight, thank you very much.

(WIP | Sleepovers | The Kook Boys)

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“Y/n, darling, come here,” her mother’s sweet voice trickled over her from the front hall, “I have some people I want you to meet.”

She stepped into the hallway, coloured lights pouring over her. It was Christmas time, her favourite time, and everything was extravagantly decorated. Garland lined the grand staircase, there was a tree in almost every room, and, her favourite, holly strung in every doorway. Her house radiated magic, more so than usual, that is.

(WIP | Hufflepuff Princess | Draco Malfoy)

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Her feet hit the pavement with careful clicks, her heels— while undeniably killer— a little loud for her taste: a product of her day spent in practice with the other debutante girls. She has to force herself to make her steps light. This isn’t New York, it’s Mystic Falls. Being a southern woman is not a choice; it’s an obligation. A prior commitment she agreed to before she was old enough to truly fathom what it meant. For the most part she loves it— the elegance and refinery, the teatime giggles and flouncing skirts— but the heels? That’s a hard no.

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

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She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n.

(Posted | The Bet | Rafe Cameron)

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Her bubblegum lip gloss attacks him from all the way across the café, cutting cleanly through the aroma of coffee and donuts and sending his heart racing at the obscenely sweet scent. He should hate it. No, scratch that, he shouldn’t think anything of it at all. It’s not in his nature to enjoy things- or to feel things at all, to be frank- but he can’t help it. The drugstore brand, wildly over-scented balm makes his head fuzzy like nothing else.

(Posted | Bubblegum Princess, Cherry Angel | Kai Parker)

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I don’t really know who to tag because I haven’t been active these last few days so I am tagging people I have not seen do this yet and if you have just ignore me : @elijahs-wife @draconisxcaput @imaginearyparties @dumble-daddy 

[everandevermcre]

shrike mall after dark - approximately two & a half weeks ago lennon harlow ft. josie taylor // @bustedbucket​ 

   ‘  knock knock ! is anybody home ? ’ lennon’s voice sing songs through the cracked open backdoor on the east wing of the mall. it’s around 9:37pm on a friday night. no one works late on fridays, which means lennon is setting herself up to look like a saint. i guess a saint might have shown up on a saturday morning, or sunday after church ( always in daylight ) but lennon prefers the things that happen after dark. like a put together long island mother, she appears in a beautiful dress, all dolled up with italian wedding cookies, her specialty, in one hand and a bottle of shrike’s finest cabernet in the other. ‘  hi !  ’ an excited greeting swings abruptly like the sound of new york traffic. her gaze is less abrupt as she waits for his to find hers. once he does. it causes a stumble in her act, falling for a pair of blue eyes that quite mimick their own. she holds it as a smile tugs across her face. ‘  oh. hi,  ’ it softens.  ‘  this is a neat little passageway you’ve got back here.  ’ eyes break away from his and begin  to look around the room, eyeing the decor of tools and equipment that line the shelves in that new way only a person - who’s - never - been - to - the - home - depot could.

   she places cookies and wine on his desk in the corner and straightens back up. ‘  i’m lennon. i work in duchess jewelers upstairs.  ’ it was a plan so simple you would think it bound to get caught ... instead it’s foolproof. she had been doing this a long time. get in, swap jewelry, get out. ‘  i have a bit of a favor to ask. i forgot to close out a couple of the drawers today and my boss will kill me if that’s how they find it on monday. can i quietly go up there and take care of a few things ?  ’ blue eyes plead with a smile so impatient it becomes a bit lip in anticipation. a naive, innocent expression, one that tells joseph one simple yes would put all the stars in that blonde’s sky - so he gives her one. ‘  you are the best, josie. i mean it. you’re saving my ass right now.  ’

    a sense of euphoria comes from the adrenaline, one that hasn’t died down in the few years she’d been hitting shrike yet. upon her walk back she’s thinking about the the springy mess of curls that framed joseph’s face as much as his beard did. there was something gentle in his eyes that almost required you to reciprocate, but lennon knew better than to believe that could be josie’s only temperament or personality trait. at the top of the stairs descending to josie’s room, lennon remembers the sight of him mopping the floors. even at a distance his overalls had brought out the blue in his eyes. the thought of it makes lennon reach for each heel and making her way back to josie with no noise to detect her. 

   once downstairs only one hallway light is left on. it is completely silent outside of the faint hum lennon guesses is a radio. it is one of the few times the murders in town creep in the back of her mind. she decides to call out to josie rather than await finding him to be sure she isn’t alone.  ‘  i didn’t wanna scuff up your clean floors !  ’ brooklyn accent ricochets off the shapes between openness. ‘  someone’s gotta see these and pay you extra; i mean, your floors are so clean i could eat my dinner off ‘em. ’ turning the corner josie finally takes lennon up on her witty banter and responds. if his voice wasn’t already pleasing to her, it is a giant heap of relief washing through her body now. lennon watches the shape of josie’s mouth as he talks, eyes following the lines his body makes while he works, all the while not missing a beat in paying lennon attention. any hesitation has her hanging on his words, like the murder might be right around the corner, or maybe she holds onto that notion as an excuse to stay. get in, swap jewelry, get out. emphasis on get out.  lennon stays, leaning up against the wall in silence now, eyes dancing around him. who would break against the silence first ? he looks up at her and she turns on her heel abruptly. it is enough to leave josie dumbfound - people usually say goodbye. a moment later the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, things rattling in the walls between them. when josie appears on the scene it is with the amount of vigor lennon suspects it takes to pull someone out of a tornado. it wasn’t the reason she was making such a ruckus while trying to find glasses, but then again, maybe subconsciously it was. regardless, josie appearing to make sure she is okay makes lennon’s heart flutter like a schoolgirl. she is crouching down to the ground when josie finds her. there is a cute expression of defeat in the form of a pout on lennon’s red lips. a dramatic shrug of shoulders is included in saying, ‘  have a glass of wine with me.  ’ lennon both asks and tells him. she finds her way back up to her feet, which are back in shoes she had put on before entering the room filled with cleaning chemicals, nails, and trash, and things. the setting does not phase lennon the way you would think it does a woman with a membership to the spa. she steps closer to josie. ‘  if you’re too busy, or your wife would hate you, just tell me to fuck right off, okay ? i brought that wine for you not me. i just. i don’t know ! it’s friday night !  ’ laughter trickles in self - amusement. ‘  so, what do you say ? have a glass with me ?  ’ 

   josie opens the wine and finds them cups and the kindness puts lennon at ease. they start with their mutual interest, the mall. funny stories and war stories become more personal the deeper into the wine bottle they reach. ‘  i need a change of scenery,  ’ lennon says once, sitting up on his desk with legs dangling and head turning to watch him from her new, close proximity. a wine - stained breath escapes lennon’s lips before she’s biting down on her lip, gently. he speaks in bubbled passion for his family and she listens genuinely. she asks if she’s the best part of his day, but finds correction that it’s night. ultimately lennon pulls the rolling chair she’d previously sat on with the long skinny heel of her shoe to the other side of the desk, beside josie. she maneuvers her way off of the desk, the hem of her skirt brushing against his leg as she passes. sitting beside him now lennon lets her chin sit in its hand. an offhand deck of cards gives lennon yet another reason to stay, becoming engrossed in a game other than the quick grip of her leg, a hand on his shoulder or lean in direction. at the end of the night, they take a walk to her car, finishing up whatever number cookie they were each on. by the time they get there it is so late that lennon regrets parking in the far off parking lot rather than outside the door. ‘  get in.  ’ lennon tells josie. ‘  listen, next time i’ll park closer, but tonight you get in.  ’ so the radio plays amongst them and lennon drives them back to the door in which she’d entered. once the car is in park and the radio turned off, lennon closes the gap between them, and places a kiss on his cheek in sheer gratitude. ‘  goodnight, josie. it was a pleasure meeting you.  ’

[prince--thomas]

Blood is Our Inheritance (or: how to wound) ~~ [Flashback] [Self-para]

In which Tom’s dad teaches him a lesson…[takes place: June 22, 2007]

[tw – sword fighting, violence, blood, sexism, #justorderthings]

A storm is just breaking clear over the island of Lindisfarne. Tom stands on his tiptoes on a chair at the window, watching it roll away over the ocean. The air is thick with moisture, Tom can feel the pressure in his ears. Tom is twelve, the summer has just begun, and his father is leaving on a hunt tomorrow. But for now, his mother and sister are standing with their hands on their hips behind him watching the dough that they had set aside yesterday. He can see their reflection in the window pane, against the dark clouds. His sister’s sparkling new wedding ring glints against the first rays of sun peaking through. 

“How much water did you put in?” his mother is asking Olivia, who is twenty-two and lovely, her blonde hair curled in a bun on top of her head.

“The normal amount!” 

“For the winter or the summer?” 

There is a beat of silence. “Dammit. Denmark has ruined my sense of seasons.” 

Tom looks over his shoulder at his sister, who snatches the dough tray off the counter. Her face is twisted in annoyance. He watches as she crosses towards him and tosses the dough into the sink. His nose wrinkles as he watches the pale yellow blob slouch to one side, as if letting out a sigh. 

“I wouldn’t mind eating it,” Tom tells her with an encouraging smile. 

Olivia shakes her head, a few tendrils of golden hair falling around her face. “You would when it’s gone soggy, Tommy.” 

“No, I think it’d be alright.” 

Olivia ruffles his hair, but she’s not scowling anymore. 

“Be that as it may--”

“Tom!” comes a voice echoing down the hallway. 

Both of the women, and Tom, jump a bit as the shadow on the wall grows larger and then turns into the figure of his father, rounding the corner. 

“There you are. What are you doing down here? Get out of the kitchens.” Thomas, the second, says. His voice is not harsh, but Tom can tell he’s annoyed.

“Spendin’ time with Liv,” Tom says, glancing at his sister.

“You can see her at dinner. Come with me. I have something I want to show you.” 

Tom sighs, but he hops down off the chair he was standing on to look out the window. He’s tall still, but not nearly as tall as some of the other boys his age. His father claps a hand onto his shoulder when he nears and guides him out of the kitchen, then out of the castle, talking all the while. 

“You’ve got to leave the women to it, Thomas,” his father says. “I know you don’t mind so much, but you get in the way. And men aren’t supposed to be in the kitchens. It ruins the surprise for dinner.” He gives Tom’s shoulder a shake that rattles his teeth. 

Tom could say several things: like how he wasn’t actually helping (he knows better), or how he was just keeping an eye on things (his mother is always the one who says this), or that he was making sure they were alright during the storm, but he doesn’t say anything at all. He lets his father lead him down the backstairs of the castle. On one side, the ocean crashes violently against the shore. On the other, a mist hangs low over his mother’s gardens. The lawn is well manicured and glowing the special, emerald green of fresh rain. The flowers are bright and cheery. 

“Where are we going, da?” Tom asks when his father keeps walking, out past the gardens and down the path toward the stables. He looks up at his father, whose face is silhouetted by the sun. 

“To the sheds, before it starts raining again and we lose the light,” his father replies, looking down at him with a smile. “I’ve decided it’s time you get a one up on the other boys, eh?”

Tom doesn’t know what his father means by this, so he just nods in agreement. He likes the other boys, though. The other boys are John and Phil, and a few others his age. He is smaller than most of them, but he’s also quiet and agreeable, and doesn’t get in nearly the amount of fights John does. People like him and he likes them. 

“You will be starting your squire training at the end of next year,” his father continues monologuing as they trudge down past one of the fields of horses. His father’s favourite steed, a golden brown bay named King, is grazing lazily, as if the storm had never happened. 

Tom knows about his squire training. How could he forget?  

“And there is no time like the present to get a headstart on things. You will be the very best. I have no doubt about that. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Da,” Tom agrees. He doesn’t know what this means either, or if it is true. There are many boys and they all have different strengths, how can one person be better than all the rest collectively? But, he wants it to be true, if only because that is what his father wants. 

Tom has trained just as hard as anyone else at his age. He will be thirteen by the time summer is well over and already knows how to shoot a bow from horseback and how to throw a lance. So far, he has mostly trained with wooden swords, but he knows how to block and perry and advance. He has read books about werewolves, demons, banshees, and sea monsters. Enough to fill his head with nightmares of blood and death. He’s been out to hunt--deer and pheasant, not monsters--though, he hasn’t killed anything himself yet. (Last year, he managed to miss, not once, but twice, and gotten a boxing around the ears for it.) 

“Very good,” his father says and unlocks the door to the shed. Inside is a massive furnace, though it sits empty and black now. Along the wall are various weapons hanging along the wall. They glint in the low light and remind Tom of Olivia’s wedding ring.

His father crosses to the swords. 

Tom stands with his fingers twisting around each other. The wind is dead now that the storm has gone, but when he looks down, soot has clung to the toes of his muddy boots. He wiggles his toes, making the soot dance off in a little cloud. 

“Thomas.” 

Tom looks up to see his father holding a sword out to him by the hilt. He can tell his father has said something to him. “Yessir,” he mumbles. He takes the weapon offered to him and his father lets go of the blade. Immediately, the tip of it falls into the dirt, twinging his wrist as it bends at an awkward angle, not used to holding the weight of the steel.

Before it can hit the ground and make another cloud of soot, his father catches it with the toe of his own boot. His boots are somehow still clean, Tom notices. 

“Weren’t you listening? I said don’t let it drag on the ground. You’ll dull the blade. Sometimes, I don’t know where your head is at, boy.” He kicks the blade so it jerks up in Tom’s grip, making his teeth rattle as it moves through his arm. Tom holds it properly this time, readjusting his grip the way he’s been taught on wooden swords. 

“Better,” Tom’s dad says and ruffles Tom’s hair. “Let’s go.” 

It is only when he turns to leave that Tom notices his father also has a blade tucked under his arm. 

They go back out into the field. King has ventured closer to the fence now and his head hangs over it. Tom watches the muscles in the horse’s jaw as he chews and then moves his eyes towards the dark clouds in the distance. They are getting farther away, but the sun has been covered by another round, drenching everything in a dismal grey. 

His father’s eyes are grey too when he turns and looks at Tom, squaring up. Tom does the same, though his boots slide a bit in the mud. 

“Lean back, your stance is off.” 

Tom adjusts, doing as his father says, and he can already feel himself grow sturdier. His father always has a way of doing that: of making Tom feel sturdy. There are few things that Tom is ever sure of, but he knows that his father will always make him feel more sure. 

He adjusts his grip on his sword before his father tells him to do that too. His father nods at him and then parries forward. Tom, caught off guard by the sudden attack, raises his own blade to block it. Once again, his teeth rattle as the swords clash together. They do not clang the way that they do on the telly. That is the only thing Tom has time to notice before his father has pulled away and feinted to the left. Tom’s wrist drops slightly, to block, but he forgets the weight of real steel again and the tip of the sword lodges in the mud. 

His father’s sword clashes against his anyway and the sword flicks upwards, flinging mud into the air. It has started to rain again. Not as hard as before, but the drops fall in his hair, onto his shirt, and plink against the sword. 

“Remember the weight,” his father says to him. 

It’s too heavy, he wants to complain. His wrist is throbbing a bit now, but he just grits his jaw. Princes do not complain. 

His father raises his sword again, bringing it down in a quick slicing motion. Tom raises to block it. If it was his wooden sword, he would have done it easily--he knows the move, how to twist his arm to save his opposite shoulder. But the blade is sluggish and unfamiliar in his hands. His father’s blade finds its mark and slices against his arm. For a moment, he doesn’t even feel it, but as soon as the blade lifts away and Tom sees the blood on the silver, he feels its sting. 

“Again,” his father says. 

And so they go again. Tom slips in the mud, but he manages to block the next assault, if only barely. The way the blades have cross, Tom knows he can flip them over and gain the upperhand. He throws all his strength against them, his arm throbbing, blood dripping down his elbow, but he manages to twist their blades and push forward. 

His father smiles as his own foot slides back. “Good, Tommy boy.” 

The inertia sends him further forwards, the weight releasing now that he has the upperhand. The sword slips as Tom loses his footing in the mud. He sees it happen a moment before it does. His blade slides against the flesh between his father’s finger and thumb. There is blood on the silver and he hears his father hiss.

Once again, his sword tip drops against the earth. This time, he lets go of it completely. When he looks up, regaining his balance, he can’t make out his father’s expression because his own vision is too blurred with tears.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says, his lip already trembling, waiting to be boxed around the ears.

Instead, he hears his father laugh. Then curse once. Then curse again.

Tom blinks the tears away quickly, hoping they blend in with the rain, which is starting to fall harder around them. 

“Don’t bloody cry, boy,” his father sighs and Tom winces.

“I d-didn’t mean--”

“And don’t apologize.” The elder Tom laughs again. “Blimey, I didn’t think you’d actually manage to nick me. Bet John and Phil can’t say that. Eh?” 

Tom feels his father clap him on the shoulder and he sniffles. “No, they don’t spar with real swords.” And now, Tom sees why. He doesn’t want to spar with real swords either. 

“That’s right. And now you have. So you’ll have a leg up on them, won’t you? We will practice more when I get back. Now, let’s get these into the shed before they start to rust and your mother gets cross with us.” 

Tom nods and follows his father back into the shed, his sword hanging down by his side, though he doesn’t let it strike the ground again. His other hand is clamped over his bleeding shoulder. As they walk, he stares at the blood on his father’s hand. It dribbles down over the hilt of his sword, entwining in the elegantly carved walrus-ivory handle. Tom looks away, back over the moor and the sunset in the distance. It is too dark with storm to see what colour it is and something settles uncomfortably in Tom’s stomach. 

He feels as if there is nowhere safe to look and drops his gaze to his muddy, soot-covered boots.

[rainandhotchocolate]

Honeymoon

A/N I wrote this for @siriuslyjanhvi! it was a super cute request (and hella smutty) so was v fun to write :)))

“So are you excited?” Lily poured a large mug of tea, adding a spoonful of sugar and pushing it in front of Y/N.

“For what?”

Lily rolled her eyes but continued to pour two more mugs of black tea, pushing them over to Marlene and Remus in turn. Remus was smirking at Y/N as he picked up his mug, eyes twinkling.

“For your little getaway with Sirius.”

“It’s a business trip, you wankers,” Y/N huffed, hiding behind the steam that had begun clouding her glasses slightly.

“It’s a secret pre-wedding sex romp, don’t you go hiding details from me now,” Marlene retorted, gulping a large portion of her tea and wincing as it burnt the roof of her mouth.

“Honest to god, Sirius is ‘gathering intel’, whatever that means,” Y/N could help but feel a little frustrated as she spoke the words out loud. She knew what being engaged to an Auror meant, and what it would mean for Sirius if he was idiotic enough to casually let her know what he was up to on a day to day basis, but she hated being so separate from this part of his life nonetheless.

“I don’t know why they hired James, he can’t seem to keep a secret to save his life.”

“That you know of,” Marlene winked at Lily who gave her a glare in return, “And you’ve also distracted us from you again, Y/N! Or are you just hoping to find out how Lily extracts information from James,”

“I really do not need a play-by-play of Lily’s sexual exploits,” Y/N chuckled, and turned upon hearing voices in the living room.

“I really would love to hear that actually,” James pushed open the door to the kitchen, Sirius following him closely, both of them covered in flecks of snow.

“Who forgot to invite us?” Sirius pouted over exaggeratedly at the little group assembled before them.

“You’re perpetually uninvited actually,” Marlene said, moving over to give Sirius room to join them, “ever since you told me Frank Longbottom was into me as a joke,”

“Oh come on, it was for the greater good! Alice picked him up quick smart,” But Sirius was still grinning mischievously at her as he placed his arms around Y/N’s shoulders and leaned over her.

“I was subtly letting him down for weeks! He thought I was insane.”

“Well there was more fun in that,” Sirius winked at her and leaned down to kiss Y/N softly on the forehead, “Hello.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel her lips curl into a smile even though she could feel her eyes rolling simultaneously.

“Ahh the honeymoon phase,” James said wisely, pulling a chair out next to Lily and putting an arm around her shoulder.

“How quickly that fades,” Lily hummed, her face pulled into a melancholy smile.

“We barely speak to each other anymore.”

“Can hardly be in the same room.”

“Shut up you two, the amount of times I catch you snogging is unnerving,” Marlene groaned at the two of them and cracked out her back, “anyway shouldn’t the two of you be leaving?”

“Yes, you packed?” Sirius asked Y/N who nodded, standing up to say goodbye.

“Enjoy the sex!” James called out, receiving a blow to the head from Lily.

“We will after the wedding!” Sirius replied with the finger, waving goodbye at the rest of them.

“Don’t know how they are waiting till their honeymoon to have sex again,” Y/N could hear Remus chuckled behind them as they left the kitchen.

“We have better patience than the four of you put together,” Y/N called back, letting Sirius pull her toward the fireplace and grab a handful of Floo powder.

“Ready to go?” He murmured, quieter now that they were away from their friends. Y/N smiled up at his dark grey eyes, a piece of hair falling in front of them and curling around his cheek. She went up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss to his cheek.

“Always am, love.”

They arrived in a hotel lobby that was covered in brightly coloured plants and tiles so white Y/N felt like she had to squint slightly as they walked over to the check-in desk.

“We’ll be out of here soon,” Sirius murmured as they walked across the tiles, noticing Y/N’s discomfort, “It’s the Nordic wizard-style that’s currently popular, floors like ice.”

“Ahh Mr Black, I have your key right here,” The front desk clerk didn’t wait for them to speak, pulling out a little keycard and handing it over to him, “And are you wanting another for your fiancé?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sirius’ voice had hardened slightly, posture was straighter as he nodded his head in thanks and led them up towards the elevators.

“Am I seeing the notorious ‘work’ Sirius for the first time?” Y/N grinned up at him as the elevator doors opened and they walked inside.

“I think it’s remnants from the Black family training,” Sirius barked out a laugh, pressing the number on the elevator. Y/N felt it jerk to life, her stomach dropping as they were lifted quickly into the air. She hadn’t ever quite gotten used to the elevator, internally wishing they could have just apparated into their room, but unfortunately security protocols in hotels meant that apparating was not allowed in case anyone happened to apparate into the ‘wrong’ room.

He brought her along the deep blue hallways and towards the room right on the end.

“This is a ministry room, I had to get real flirty with some secretaries to let them allow me to add you to the Fidelus charm,” He winked and Y/N hit him lightly on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, I mentioned my wedding date as I left them.”

“The things you can flirt out of people will never cease to amaze me,” Y/N snorted, watching the wall closely as it began to move sideways, a white doorway squeezing its way out of the wall and into existence in front of them.

“Well I’ve already got you, so I doubt I’m going to need to go hard on the flirting much anymore” he teased, pushing open the door to reveal the quaint little room set up inside.

“Excuse you, mister Black, you could lose me at any time.”

“Is that so.”

“Mmmhmmm, I could get a better offer if I could really be bothered to,” Y/N watched him closely, a smile curling on her lips as she continued to tease him.

“Well I guess I’m going to have to make sure you can’t do any better,” Sirius’ eyes flashed and he walked closer to her until her back hit the wall and she was staring up at him once more. He held her wrists softly and brought them up over her head so that she could see his bicep bulge slightly through his shirt. Then, Sirius leaned in and kissed her deeply, pushing his chest up against hers so that she could feel his heart pounding.

He pulled away, smiling at her slightly breathless expression.

“Can I stay?”

“For now,” Y/N breathed out, taking the moment to look around her. The room reminded her a little of Grimmauld place, the old musty furniture and grand paintings hanging up across the walls. However part of the room had obviously been modified, the bedroom sheets looked brand new and were a dark blue, a stark difference to the light brown bed frame.

“You’ve been here before?”

“A few times,” Sirius nodded, bringing their bags into the bedroom and flicking his wand so their clothes made their way into the closet and drawers, “couldn’t stand the smell at first but you get used to it.”

“Do you have to spend a lot of time in here?” Y/N traced her finger across the large armchair that sat in front of her, turning to face Sirius in the bedroom.

“Not too much, the guest I’m looking for tends to spend a lot of time in the bar. But spending time up here won't’ be so bad this time around.”

“Ahh is that so?”

“Mmmhmm, I actually, have a girl coming over,” He walked back over to her, pulling her waist towards him.

“I better clear off then,” Y/N pretended to look a little glum.

“How bout a quickie? She won’t be here for another few minutes,” Sirius waggled his eyebrows at her and Y/N pushed him away.

“Only one more week, Sirius, you know it’s going to be so much better if we wait just a little bit.”

“I know, but it would be almost better if we just had never had sex, I wouldn’t have any pictures in my head of your beautiful body grinding on top of me,” Sirius sighed, still grinning at her, “Come on, let's get dressed for dinner, having a date is always a good cover.”

Y/N flicked through her clothes, picking out a particularly tight-fitting dress from the closet and heading towards the bathroom to pull it on.

“You do know I’ve seen it all by now,” Sirius snorted at her hiding in the bathroom to change.

“I want it to be a surprise for once.”

“You always surprise me.”

“You’re a sap.”

“Only for you, my darling.”

Y/N slipped on the deep red dress, arching her back to zip it up and fixing it in the mirror. She tied up her heels and took a second to look at herself.

Sirius was fixing his tie in the mirror against the wall and saw her walk in from behind him, swivelling quickly around on his heel.

“Hey, love, I’m going to have to go down now, I need to make contact. I’ll meet you downstairs at the bar,” Sirius called out from the bedroom, his voice already fading as he clearly was edging towards the door as he spoke.

“No worries,” Y/N called back, letting out a soft sigh. She’ll have to surprise him downstairs instead. Y/N played with her hair in the mirror, unsure if she should bother with doing anything else with it. In a split second, she picked up her wand and gave it a flick, watching her hair fall down in front of her in loose curls.

She knew she shouldn’t be thinking this way, but there was a little part of her that wanted to see if she could break him. See if she could push him far enough to get him to push her up against a wall and take her. Make him lose a little bit of that control he’d put in place when the war had begun to rage and suddenly, they were full of responsibilities.

Y/N took her time wandering through the room and then downstairs towards the lobby where there was a small passage leading to the bar and restaurant. She felt eyes watch her as she straightened her back and ignored them, searching for a man in a navy suit and curly black hair.

Sirius was sitting in the corner of the restaurant, deep in conversation with another man with brown quaffed hair and a pinstriped set of dress robes. Y/N caught his eye as she walked in, revelling in the way he bit his lip slightly before turning back towards the conversation he was having, trying to pay attention to the other Auror in front of him.

Y/N moved to the bar instead, sitting on a stool and crossing her legs so that the small slit on the side of her dress would fall and show her thigh towards Sirius’ direction.

“A drink, Miss?”

“Aviation, thanks,” Y/N smiled at the bartender and he nodded, beginning to make her cocktail as another man sat down beside her. She could sense him glancing at her, clearly sitting close to her to grab her attention. When she continued to ignore him he spoke instead.

“Excuse me, but I was wondering if I could grab you a drink?”

“I’ve actually just ordered,” Y/N smiled placidly at him, nodding at the bartender, “But thank you for the offer.”

She sat her hand underneath her chin, flashing the jade encrusted engagement ring Sirius had given her 8 months previous.

“Ahh of course I hit on the engaged one at the bar,” The man chuckled, putting his hands in his head, Y/N finally turning to face him properly so she could give him what she hoped looked like an apologetic smile.

“Yes, you don’t seem to have a great radar,” She laughed softly and he lifted his head.

“I’m Rick, by the way,” He smiled at her, waving down the bartender who had placed Y/N’s drink and shuffled off towards the back of the bar, “A scotch neat, thanks.”

“Y/N.”

“So where is this very lucky man who took away my chances at such a pretty lady,”

“I don’t know if lady is the most flattering term,” Y/N snorted, taking a sip from her cocktail, “But he’s over in the restaurant meeting a business partner.”

“Ahh of course, a successful man, I bet he’s stupidly good looking too?”

“Of course!” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his sigh, “So no luck with the ladies so far then?”

“No, I don’t seem to be good at finding people who are single, or remotely interested in me.”

“That is quite a conundrum,” Y/N watched him put a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“What are you two doing here? A weekend away?”

“Something like that,” Y/N smiled a little, but it must have given something away because he raised an eyebrow and said,

“A business trip huh?”

“Potentially.”

“Yes, my last girlfriend wasn’t particularly fond of my regular business trips, was something I actually regret quite a bit, putting work above her,” He nodded a little sagely, before forcing back a smile, “Sorry, that was a bit morbid.”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N laughed, “It’s not quite like that for my partner, I understand the reasons he’s so busy, I just wish I could steal more of his time.”

“A worthy wish!” Ric took a large gulp of the scotch and winced, “I have to admit I thought this order would make me look cooler than I think it actually is.”

“Yes, I think you might be lucky I am taken at this point.”

Ric faked pulling a dagger out of his heart, groaning.

“I’m not making you desperately wish you were single? And here I was thinking it was just my intimidatingly good looks that were keeping all the women at bay.”

Y/N kept Sirius in the corner of her eye, wondering if he was watching the two of them talking. She thought she saw a dark mood flash across Sirius’ features but he was so far away it was hard to tell.

Ric and Y/N continued to chat for the best part of the next half an hour, slowly draining two different cocktails in the process of waiting for Sirius to be done with his meeting. Eventually, Y/N saw Ric’s eyes look up and she turned to see Sirius walking towards them, an odd expression across his features.

“Well now that’s not fair,” Sirius eyed the dress up and down, his eyes twinkling, “You can’t go around looking that hot, everyone’s going to be giving me the dirty eye wondering what you’re doing with me.”

Y/N still felt her heart jump slightly when he looked at her like that, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

“Well, I think this might be my cue to leave, it was lovely meeting you Y/N, and I hope you are taking good care of this one, she’s lovely,” Rick winked at Sirius and nodded at Y/N before moving down the bar.

“Glad you found someone to keep you entertained whilst I was occupied.”

“Well you heard him, I am lovely company,” Y/N chuckled at Sirius’ expression and poked him lightly in the side, “Come on, you’re not jealous are you?”

“I wouldn’t say jealous perse” Sirius was watching her curiously, eyeing her neckline, “Why don’t we get room service.”

“Sounds good,” Y/N raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Sirius held out a hand for her to grab and he led her out of the room and down towards the lobby. He held her close to his side as they reached the elevators, entering one, Sirius pressing the close door button almost immediately.

And then he was pushing her up against the cold walls of the elevator, one hand in her hair and the other trailing the slit of her dress up towards her thigh. His lips pressed almost desperately against hers as if he wanted to taste every part of her, and he was never going to be able to do it again. Y/N pulled him closer to her, wrapping her arms around his back and tracing the muscles tensed along with his spine and shoulder blades.

Sirius’ fingers hoisted the edge of her dress up slightly so he could slip his hand along her inner thigh, smiling into their kiss as he felt her gasp slightly at his touch. Soon he was pressing his thumb lightly along her panties and moving in little circles as Y/N felt her breathing hitch further and the desire to moan into his mouth increased. He pulled away from her mouth and moved around to place light kisses along her neck and up towards her ear.

“You’re such a tease,” He whispered into her ear, making her grin between the soft moans that were now escaping her mouth.

“Couldn’t handle me with another guy huh?”

Sirius growled lightly, biting her ear and pulling down softly.

“Walking in there looking like you did, I wanted to rip the clothes off you right there and then.”

“So why don’t you?” Y/N replied softly, not meeting his eye. She knew it would be breaking the one thing they said they would do, hold off for just two weeks, but she could also feel herself begin to get wetter as he pressed his expert fingers up against her clitoris and wanted nothing more than for him to push himself inside of her.

The elevator dinged suddenly, and they pulled apart, the doors opening to reveal their floor. Sirius grabbed Y/N’s hand and led her quickly down the hallway and towards their room, barely opening the door before he cupped her cheeks and kissed her again, pushing her into the room with his lips still on hers, kicking the door closed with his foot.

He pulled her across the room, hands still on her face, Y/N gripping tightly onto his waist as she followed him into the bedroom and up against the pale white wall next to the bed. Sirius slid one hand down her shoulders, tracing the line of her clavicle and making Y/N shiver before leading further down and tracing the outline of her breasts, grinning into her mouth when he realised that she was braless.

“You’re just making it too easy for me,” He growled into her ear, kissing down her neck as he massaged her breasts roughly, Y/N pushing her head back into the wall and taking in a deep breath. She felt her heart pounding stronger with every touch across her body, the feeling of anticipation building as his hand moved down her waist, inching closer and closer towards her thighs.

“Perhaps I went a little overboard with the teasing,” Y/N gasped a little, grinning at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry I’m sure I was very close to jumping you in the shower,” He chuckled a little, biting his lip as he watched her squirm with his fingers’ movements. Sirius’ reached the slit along with Y/N’s dress and pushed it up, slipping his fingers underneath her underwear and pulling them down quickly, letting her flick them off quickly with her feet.

Y/N pulled Sirius closer with his belt, undoing it with quick movements and unbuttoning his suit pants, pulling them down to reveal his large, pulsing penis. Sirius reached down and felt along his shaft, smiling at Y/N as she watched him, feeling wetter as he touched himself, flicking a thumb across the head.

Then, as if he couldn’t bear being this far apart from her again he pushed his chest against Y/N’s, and hitched her dress up over her hips and hoisting her legs around his waist so that he could push the head of his cock into her vagina.

Y/N gasped, gripping his sides so tightly she was surprised Sirius didn’t push her off but it seemed to egg him on instead, moving completely inside of her so she would moan even louder.

“Fuck me, Sirius, please,” Y/N begged, desperate to feel him move. He didn’t need telling twice, grabbing her hands and pinning them above her head and using it as leverage to move in and out of her. Y/N felt her head banging against the wall, loving the roughness of his voice as he penetrated her, his eyes looking wild as he moaned her name into her ear.

Y/N gripped one hand around Sirius’ neck and reached another one down so that she could press a finger onto her clitoris.

“Fuck I love it when you do that,” Sirius breathed, grinning at her, pushing harder inside her with every motion. Y/N smiled back at him, gasping as she felt the combined touch of her clitoris and the feeling of Sirius’ penis pushing into her vagina starting to build, get stronger and stronger.

“I’m so close Sirius, fuck, fuck me,” Y/N hit her head back against the wall, moving her hips harder in time with his own, wanting to climax with his body pressed up against him, still half-clothed.

“Yes, come for me, Y/N,” He gripped the back of her head roughly, pulling her into a kiss, loving hearing her moans on his tongue as he flicked it through her lips. Y/N’s orgasm built in her stomach and she felt herself begin to shake as she felt closer and closer until she felt it completely overwhelm every part of her.

“Sirius,” She sighed, little bursts of her orgasm still jolting through her with every thrust of his penis into her.

“Y/N,” Sirius snarled in response, speeding up his thrusts until Y/N felt him relax, his arms gripping onto her tightly as he came inside her, pulling her head back slightly with his fingers still holding onto strands of his hair.

Sirius pulled out of her, lowering her slowly, and shakily, down to the ground, both of them panting loudly, the smell of sex and sweat hanging in the air around them.

“I’ve never felt so happy to break a promise,” Sirius put his forehead against Y/N, laughing softly.

“I can definitely forgive you.”

“Oh yeah? Cause if you don’t, I know something that might make it up to you.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little giddily at him reaching around and pulling down the zipper that kept up her dress.

“I think you can make it up to me by ordering some room service and soaking with me in the bath,” Y/N slowly undid the rest of his buttons that they didn’t manage to undo, Sirius stepping out of his pants.

“I think that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Sirius declared, holding out a hand for her to take and bring her into the bathroom, “Can’t wait till our actual honeymoon.”

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