#but I did the fourth most time consuming task of today

[shipskicksandgiggles]

I’ve consumed roughly enough caffeine to kill a small horse which might have been a mistake but that’s okay because I’m going to go experience the gauntlet of human emotions and then be productive

[reidsbookclub]

Stumbling Home Alone

Summary: Reader cannot seem to understand why Spencer hates her so much. Spencer cannot forget about that time reader made fun of the way he talked…. Or so he thought.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU! Reader | she/her pronouns |

Content warning: drinking, curse words (sh*t, f*cking), let me know if I missed something

Word count: 2620

inspired by: hints Gorgeous with hints Never Grow Up at the end

italicized are thoughts

It's the first fic / one shot I ever write so please bare with me while I grow as a writer.

this post is meant for @samuel-de-champagne-problems SDCP1000 celebration.

Out of all the doubts and “what-ifs” that plagued my mind in the deep hours of the night, I knew 3 things to be true:

I am in love with one Dr. Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid hates the mere thought of me

Spencer Reid has ruined my life by not being mine

I step into the elevator ready for my first day at the BAU. I have worked tirelessly to finally get to where I am. Everyone has spoken highly and respectfully about the team I am set to join today, reputation preceding all of them, I just hope that they are all as nice and accepting as people have told me they are.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

“Yes, I am looking for Agent Hotchner’s office”  I shyly state to the tall, brown-eyed agent in front of me.

“Ah yes, you must be the new profiler. I’m Anderson” the brown-eyed agent mentions “I mostly do paperwork and other tasks while the team is off on cases. Agent Hotchner’s office is up the ramp, second door”

“Thak you Agent Anderson”

“Please, just Anderson - or Grant”

Anderson seems nice and shy he mentions he has paperwork to go through but he leaves with the promise that I can count on him for anything and that I should consider him my first friend here.  Which leads to me giggling before saying my goodbye.

I walk up to Agent Hotchener’s and that’s when the nerves started getting the best of me, I knock on his door, hands shaking and starting to get sweaty. “Come in,” says a stern voice from the inside of the office. “Agent Hotchner, my name is-” I start talking when he looks up and meets my eyes “Agent Y/L/N, yes I’ve been expecting you. Sorry to interrupt but please sit down we need to get through this before we debrief your first case”

“First, I would like to mention that this job is very time-consuming. You need to be prepared to leave at any time of the day-”

“Sorry to interrupt sir but Dallas PD called, they found a fourth body, we need to get started,” says the most colorful woman that I have ever seen. She seems friendly and I cannot wait to make her my acquaintance.

“Looks like your first case is starting earlier than expected Agent Y/L/N, please follow me to meet the rest of the team and debrief the case.”

“Of course Agent Hotchner.” As I was about to introduce myself to the bright and overly happy woman I hear Agent Hotchner say “and please call me Hotch.”

“Team this is Agent Y/L/N, the newest member of the team. Please make quick introductions and you can get to know each other more on the jet”

“SSA Rossi, piacere di conoscerti” says the Italian man while shaking my hand.

“Morgan, Derek Morgan, nice to meet you, pretty girl.” Says as he shakes my head and kisses me on the cheek. I hear a woman laugh and say “god, don’t scare her off on her first day” then turns to me and says “ Jennifer Jareau, but please call me JJ and forgive Morgan he can be a bit much.”

“My chocolate thunder is not too much JJ! Hi, my sweets I’m Penelope and from what came from the search I did on you,  I can tell we will be the best of friends. You have to come to my Batcave and see all the--” “all right Garcia, you can talk her ear off later, I’m Prentiss nice to meet you.”

I then turn to the only person left, I can feel the butterflies as he looks up from the book he is reading and says “Dr. Spencer Reid, nice to meet you” not looking at me.

“War and Peace, one of my favorites, and in the original Russian, impressive. We should talk about it sometime” I extend my hand towards him.

“ I - uhh-” he looks around awkwardly “ Actually… The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss,” he says while looking anywhere but in the direction, I am at.

“Oh well in that case..” and I don’t know why or how but before my brain catches up to my actions I am kissing him on the cheek. Mortified and with blushed cheeks, I turn back around and sit down next to Penelope. Roaring laughter came from Morgan as he patted Dr. Reid on the back yelling “MY MAN!” I noticed Rossi smirking and Hotch trying to hide a smirk, but still slightly noticeable. However, not once did I look in the direction of Dr. Reid for the rest of the briefing.

The case ended up being a long, tiring one but eventually, the unsub made a mistake leaving room for the good doctor to crack the case and make sure everyone gets home for the weekend.

“My sweets, it has been a long, hard case and I know we are all tired but how about a couple of drinks to unwind before everyone heads home” Penelope happily mentions while greeting us all as we walked into the bullpen.  “Fine by me, I just need to get home at a reasonable hour for the kids,” says JJ. After JJ agrees and Morgan makes it clear that he would go even if no one else went everyone quickly agreed, including Spencer much to the surprise of everyone.

“First round on me,” says Rossi which was followed by a loud cheer from the group. Then came another round, then another. I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol but I thought I could still handle my actions. One thing that the team did not know about me was that when I liked someone I will talk and talk about them and like them nonstop. After all, they do say imitation is the highest form of flattery right?

I start feeling the effects of the whisky on ice, surrounded by the heat of the club, taking in the environment I glance over and see Dr. Reid casually reading.

“Wordsworth, you read all the good books, don’t you? What happened to War & Peace?”

“Finished it,” he says abruptly, never looking up from the book

o-okay, not one for talking I see.

“ finished it? You were reading chapter 2 this morning”

“ I read 20,000 words per minute,”  he says as he gets up, most likely for ginger ale.

Wh-what just happened?

Everyone was making their way back to the table, I can hear Morgan talking about that one time he and Dr. Reid got into a prank war.

“And then he answers the phone, enraged and all and stats yelling ‘Hello, this is Dr. Spencer Reid, I actually can come-”

“ Wait Morgan, he couldn’t have sounded like that” I interrupt him

“Oh! Pretty girl thinks she can do a better Reid impression, alright let’s see you try”

And that’s when I start making my best Reid impression, hand gestures and all. Everyone starts laughing, but what we all fail to notice is a shocked, teary-eyed Dr. Reid standing by the sidelines, holding a ginger ale in one hand and my favorite drink on the other.

Despite all of us being in the fine line between tipsy and drunk, Penelope figured it out

“you really like him don’t you”

“Whh-what are you talking about?”

“When we all tease Spencer we do it in a sibling type of way but you- you were blushing and your eyes were gleaming with adoration”

In that moment I couldn’t hide it anymore

“Penny let me put it this way I’m stumbling home alone to my cats because It makes me furious that I can’t have Spencer”

“What do you mean y/l/n” Hotch speaks up, that’s when I realized that everyone was very intrigued by Garcia’s and I’s conversation

“He can’t even look at me, I don’t think he likes me very much”

“Well, Spencer is just-” JJ begins to say as Derek looks around the bar

“Wait, where did the pretty boy go?”

~1 year passes by  ~

“Based on the crime scene, I don’t think he is psychotic”

“god, really Y/L/N how long have you been here? Have you honestly learned nothing?” Spencer hisses at me

“Spence-”

“Don’t! Only my friends get to call me Spence, you’d think that after 2 years you would know you aren’t my friend!”

After two years of enduring his criticism, constant annoyance, and honestly having to deal with the fact that he makes me so damn mad I just want to kiss him I snapped.

“THAT’S IT… I’VE HAD ENOUGH”

The whole precinct dropped what they were doing to look at me

“What have I ever done to you for you to hate me so much?”

“What have you done??  What have you done? Don’t you dare act so innocent!”

“Spe-- Dr. Reid, I truly have no idea what I ever did to you”

Spencer does something that seems like an incredulous laugh and starts shaking his head as he turns to walk away. Something in me changes. Despite all the fights we have had, despite all the names he’s called me he has managed to make me so sad every time I look into his eyes because I can’t be with him.

“ god Spencer you-you irritate me!”

Something snaps again and I can’t turn off the babbling mess of words that start leaving my mouth.

“You’re just so-so, you make me so sad, and mad, because you’re so damn gorgeous, smart, and nice to everyone and I can’t seem to understand why you hate me so much”

Despite my brain telling me to run I look up at Reid and see his facial expression morph into one of confusion, amusement, hurt, and something more, something I can’t quite describe.

“Y-y-yo- you are unbelievable, you think I would actually believe you, after the shit you said that first day at the bar?

“Reid, wh-w-what are you talking about?”

“I heard you. Before I had even seen you, I heard you-your giggle. God your giggle- it was like the strongest magnetic field pulling me towards you. Here I was not even being able to look you in the eyes because of how gorgeous they are, I felt like I could get lost in them forever, but then I heard you. That day at the bar. You were making fun of me, the way I talk, and the way I ramble. That’s when I realized that you- you are just like the rest of them.” Spencer finished with tears in his eyes. I couldn’t actually see his face but I could hear his tone of voice. All this time, and Spencer still hasn’t been able to look me in the eyes.

It’s then that I remember where we are. I look around the precinct, everyone was still staring at us. Hotch looked pissed, clearly not enjoying the scene that we were making. Rossi and JJ were passing around $50 bill between each other, guess they had a bet going on. Derek had his phone out on facetime with Penelope. And Emily- Emily was passing around popcorn to the amused local police officers.

Well, it was already out in the open, might as well go out with a bang.

“ you know for a genius, you are a big idiot”

“WOW-- really, that’s you being honest and nice?”

“ you want the truth, here’s the truth Dr. Reid.  When I’m drunk I can’t help but imitating the person I’m crushing on.  And honestly, Reid, if you already have a girlfriend, I’m fucking jealous of her but if you’re single then I really would like to smack you because I’ve been going home alone all this time.”  I laugh  “ I mean I am sure my cat Oreo thinks you’re a great guy and an ass and he probably thinks I’m crazy for talking about you so much”

And just as I had snapped before, I start getting angry, I can’t help but feel infuriated.

I start yelling.

“ But you know what, fuck all that. Because now I am just furious! Furious that you make me feel this way, that despite everything you say and do, you make me love you. And that makes me so mad!”

I don’t notice how or when but I feel someone grab my wrist, pull me close. I feel soft lips against mine. As I was about to kiss back, he pulls back.

“ Please just shut up, shut up, so I can tell you how gorgeously stubborn you are. And I truly am sorry for everything. I just- I thought you didn’t like me.”

He leans in, kissing me again. This time I kiss back. Spencer deepens the kiss.

And then, Spencer makes me laugh by saying something so amazingly sweet, dorky, and just so Spencer.

“So… how about after the case I take you home and meet Oreo, I would love to hear all the things this cat knows about me” he says while teasingly grinning.

But as cute as the moment was, Derek had to ruin it.

“GET IT, PRETTY BOY!! If you need protection I have some in my wallet!”

Morgan screams from the other side of the precinct.

The whole precinct explodes in roaring laughter and Rossi mutters, “Dammit kids, couldn’t you wait until we get back. You cost me a weekend of babysitting Henry for this.”

~  3 years pass by  ~

"And that Aurora, is how I met your mother,” Spencer mutters to the nearly asleep newborn.

“God, I don’t ever want you to grow up. I’d give it all I got Aurora if you could stay like this. Just stay this little.” Spencer starts saying while tearing up.

He doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway. Just soaking up this moment my favorite two people are sharing.

It is then that he looks up at me smiling and says

“But if you do grow up, I hope you’re just as stubborn as your mother.” with a wide grin, his statement effectively fulfilling his goal making me giggle.

“I will never get tired of that giggle of yours. What are you doing up my love, you just got discharged from the hospital. You should be resting.”

“I’ll go back to bed in a minute, look what I found.”

“Oh- oh wow! This is the nightlight Morgan gave me as a joke when I said I was scared of the dark!” Spencer gives me Aurora and takes the nightlight and plugs it in.

I place Aurora on her crib and as we both look down, Spencer says

“I won't let anyone hurt you. Won't let anyone break your heart. And no, we won’t desert you. Just try to never grow up. Please, just try to never grow up.”

I kiss my beautiful daughter on the forehead

“Sweetdreams Aurora”

"Sleep well my sleeping beauty. Let’s go to bed, Mrs. Reid”

“Let’s go Mr. Reid”

~ Present Day~

Dear Mom and Dad,

I promised I would write every day, just like Dad wrote to grandma. So here it goes.

Here I am in my new apartment in the big city, you just dropped me off.

It's so much colder and darker than I thought it would be, so I tuck myself in and turn my favorite nightlight on. Wish I'd never grown up.

PS: Tell Uncle Morgan that his little joke of a nightlight is what’s reminding me of home right now.

Much love,

Aurora Reid-Morgan

[somenewsarah]

Dear Draco ~ Part One

Summary: Ten years ago, Draco was sure you were dead. But after receiving a letter from none other than you, his world is flipped upside down.

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Fluff, a lil angsty

Requested: No, requests currently closed while I finish my sitting requests :)

Warnings: None

A/N: I know it’s been a while, and this is likely all over the place~ just something that’s been on my mind for a while and finally had some time to sit down and plot it out! Part 2?

The warmth of the fire can’t drive away the cold. It creeps in, starting from his toes and runs all the way to his chest. That cold that can only be associated with his own sadness. Draco sits in his favorite chair by the hearth, his eyes scanning the letter over and over again. Surely he’d seen this before.

“Darling,” Astoria, his wife of six years starts. “I’m putting Scorpius to bed, are you coming?”

“Not tonight,” he says. It’s firmer than intended, but he can’t even drag his eyes away to apologize.

Astoria lingers in the doorway of their meager living room of their meager cottage that they’d fallen in love with when they first saw it, but now needed more space. She eyes her husband warily and the letter in his hand, that smelled of the sweetest perfume and has him in a tizzy. She knew there’d been someone before her. Someone that never made it out of the war. Someone he loved more than anyone.

Astoria sighs, her eyes still watching her husband for a single second before she slips down the hallway.

Draco brings the letter to his lips, kissing the very paper it was written on, his mind wandering back to all the kisses he gave to you, all the times he’d kiss your forehead and hold you and tell you how much he loved you. He can’t believe the letter had even come.

Dearest Draco,

I’m sorry if this letter reaches you late. It is now May 10th, 1998, and by now you must be sure that I am dead.

Draco puts the letter down for a moment, his heart almost completely stopping in his chest. Alive? Is she alive? Should he leave now?

I hope someday you can forgive me for letting you think I’d ever meet such a fate in a war, but I assure you I am, for now, safe and sound. I made a deal with Dumbledore before your task. I’m continuing his work, growing my own power and studying as much as I can. I’ve followed the knowledge, as I always told you I would. I wrote the first half of this letter once I’d gotten out safely, but couldn’t bring myself to finish it. It is now August 25th, 2008. Ten years since I started.

She’s alive. She must be, if he’s receiving this letter now. He sets it on the arm of his chair and stands, pacing in that Draco Malfoy way. He stoops at the chair for his whiskey and the letter, his eyes scanning it.

I’ll be returning to London soon. I’ve taken up the Potions Master position at Hogwarts under Mrs. Granger’s rule, and I wanted you to be the first to know that I’ll be coming back. I hope to see you in Hogsmeade on the 29th of August. You know where. I’ll be there at 3pm, and I hope you show. I want to hear all about your life, Draco. Did you ever marry? Are you happy? I miss you, and I hope that you’ve built a life for yourself.

See you?

Love,

Y/N

Draco sits down in his chair again, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. Seeing you. Tomorrow. For the first time in ten years. The longest ten years of his life, thinking you were dead. The worst ten years. No, he married. He has a son. He became one of the most well-respected and astute healers in the entire wizarding world. He’s had a wonderful ten years. Right?

He stands again, pacing and pacing and pacing. Alternating between his drink and smelling your sweet, sweet smell that he’d tried so hard to preserve in one of his t-shirts you always wore to bed.

Astoria leans against the doorjamb, watching Draco pace and pace. She knows that pace. He’s stressed and conflicted and terrified. That look on his precious face…

She walks to him, taking his face in her hands.

“Draco,” she says firmly, catching his attention. “What is it?”

He’s quiet for a moment and she holds her breath, searching his face for any kind of answer.

“It’s Y/N,” he says, his voice almost a ghost of a whisper. “She’s alive. And she’s coming back. And she wants me to meet her tomorrow.”

Astoria drops her hands from his face, taking in his words. So, this was it, then. She knew who he would choose should it come down to it.

“That little twit,” Astoria breathes. “How selfish can she be?”

Draco, taken aback, gazes at his wife. “Selfish?”

“You were in hell for the first years of us being together because of her! You moped at our wedding. You won’t dare allow me to do simple things like wear your clothes to sleep in or go through your old Hogwarts trunk. All because you thought she was dead!” Astoria roars, finding her voice now.

“Darling, calm down,” Draco starts.

“Calm down?” Astoria roars, growing louder. “You’re going to tell me, your wife, to calm down, after telling me you’re going to meet the woman you’ve secretly wished I was for the last ten years? Don’t tell me to calm down, Draco. Don’t.”

Draco sighs. He paces the length of the family room, only stopping to sink into his chair.

“Astoria, I don’t know what to say,” he sighs. He drags his hands down his face, haunted almost. “She was the love of my life. She taught me everything I know about love and how to do it. That I was capable of it.

“Would you leave me for her?” Astoria asks suddenly, eyeing her husband.

“I wish I had an answer for that,” Draco relents.

 Astoria nods. She squares her shoulders, holding her chin high as her eyes water. “Then you can sleep on the sofa tonight.”

She turns and exits into the hallway, and Draco can hear her stalking to the bedroom and the telltale door slam.

~

Astoria doesn’t speak to him all morning. She gets Scorpius ready for his mid-day lessons and ignores Draco.

So, he gets up, showers, tousles his hair, and squirts on some of his best cologne. He’d look like the happiest man in the world today. Maybe because he is.

He leaves the house without a word to Astoria, only stopping to kiss Scorpius on his head and whisper a quick “I love you,” words he never heard from his own father.

~

Hogsmeade bustles with shop owners and consumers and students, all exploring the new world and everything it has to offer. Draco walks amongst the crowd, his teeth chattering despite the warm August day. His nerves make every step feel longer than it is, and his palms sweat profusely. He allows his mind to wander as he forages down the cobblestone pathway; what would you look like? What would you be wearing? Would you smell the same? Did you ever marry? Are you happy?

His train of thought is halted as he approaches the place that you used to call your spot. The little ice cream shop across from Creepy Cauldrons, a vehement Halloween only shop. You and Draco would go on ice cream dates almost every Hogsmeade trip since fourth year when you admitted you fancied him, and he you. It was the one spot he couldn’t bring himself to walk into when he thought you were dead. Not even with Scorpius.

He pushes open the door, the little bell jangling as it always does. It doesn’t take long for him to spot you. You were in the same booth you were always in when you’d meet up. Your booth you shared together.

Draco approaches you, though your back is to him. He wonders if it’s a dream. Could it really be you? Is this a cruel prank?

Upon hearing his footsteps, you turn, Y/E/C eyes locking with his grey ones. Draco stops. His heart stops, his mouth dry, his eyes watering. It’s really you.

 You stand and move to hug him, but Draco is stiff. He doesn’t hug you back.

 “Draco,” you start, pulling away from him. “I’m sorry this is so sudden. I understand if you don’t want me back in your life at all, I just wanted a moment to explain myself.”

 Draco nods. He takes his old seat, and you sit across from him.

 Over his shoulder, Sir Harrington- the owner of the ice cream parlor- gives you a thumbs up. He’d been serving you ice cream since you were kids, and you had no doubt he would forget you or Draco.

 “So,” Draco begins. He hides his shaking hands underneath the table. “You’re back? For good?”

 “For good,” you relent.

 “I thought you were dead,” Draco says. His voice betrays him and cracks. He clears his throat, but doesn’t continue.

 “I know,” you say. You reach across the table for his hand, but he doesn’t move. You withdraw your hand, knowing he’ll be cold as ice until you can crack him. “I know what everyone thought. I knew the repercussions of what I did, but I’m only sorry to you.”

 “Sorry to me?” He asks. “You’re sorry? You came here to tell me you’re sorry?”

 “Draco,” you start, but he cuts you off.

 “Don’t. You don’t know what it was like. I thought you were dead. I moved on. I lived in hell every single day that you were gone. I can’t even look my wife in the eye without wishing it were you,” he says through his teeth.

 “You married, then,” you say. Your resolve weakens, and you know it’s hopeless.

“I did. Astoria Greengrass and I wed in 2001. It’ll be seven years in December.”

 “I see,” you say. “I’m happy for you, Draco.”

 “We have a son. Scorpius.”

 You nod, chuckling to yourself. “The name we picked out for our first son?”

 Draco nods, and has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Astoria knows what you meant to me. I wanted to keep you alive in my memory somehow.”

 “Meant?”

 Draco remains silent, his eyes on his hands as he considers his own words.

 “Mean,” he says, finally meeting your gaze.

 You sigh and allow yourself a moment to get lost in his eyes the way you wanted to every minute you were gone.

 “I didn’t want to leave you, Draco,” you admit. “But it was for the best. I was doing dangerous potions work. Collecting samples of serums from creatures that can only be found in the deepest, darkest corners of the world. It was the type of exploring that I had to do alone.”

 “You could’ve at least told me you were alive,” Draco says. He leans across the table, taking your cheek in his palm. “I died over and over again every day that I thought you were gone.”

 You bring your hand up, holding onto his wrist, letting his words soak into your brain. You know you’ll likely never hear them again.

 “I didn’t know if I would ever come back,” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat. “So many times I was sure I was dead, but I kept fighting. I wanted to come back to you.”

 Draco drops his hand, though you had the feel of his warm palm on your skin already committed to memory.

 “What are we to do?” He asks, reaching for your hand.

 You trace the silver wedding band sitting on his left hand, fourth finger. “We go on with our lives. I’m sure I’ll be teaching Scorpius someday. I’m glad that you found love, Draco, and I’m sorry that it wasn’t with me.”

 You stand, turning your back on the boy you love so dearly, and walk out of the shop.

 Draco sits for a minute, taking everything in. Why hadn’t he tried to stop you? Why hadn’t he reached out for you? Why did he let you walk away from him again?

~

When Draco enters, Astoria rises from her place at their dining room table. She’s prepared for the worst, but Draco doesn’t look haunted anymore. For the first time in her life, he looks alive.

 “Draco?”

 His head whips to her, like he hadn’t seen her.

 “Oh,” he says. “Hello.”

 “How was it?”

 “It was… good?” he says. He takes a seat at the table, his eyes trained on his hands, recalling the feeling of her finger on his wedding band. “She said she’s happy I’m happy.”

 “What else?” Astoria pries.

 “She just wanted to let me know she was alive,” he says. “She’ll be teaching potions at Hogwarts. She likes that we used her name for Scorpius, said she looks forward to teaching him someday.”

 “She didn’t… she didn’t ask you to be with her?” Astoria asks. She can’t hide the shock from her voice.

 “No,” Draco says. “She didn’t.”

 “Well,” Astoria starts, her voice returning to normal. “I’m happy she’s okay. Come now, let’s shower.”

 Draco rises, follows his wife into their bathroom, all the while in a daze. His mind wanders to his time at Hogwarts with you, how much he loved you then and he wonders if maybe he still does.

 ~

 You look back at Draco, giggling as you pull him through the snow, trying to outrun Crabbe and Goyle to Hogsmeade.

 “Darling, come on!” You grin back at him. “They’re going to eat all the chocolate chip, and you know it’s my favorite!”

 “Slow down,” Draco laughs, pulling you to a halt. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “You’re freezing!”

 “Oh, it’s just a little cold,” you smile up at him. “We’re going to get ice cream, come on!”

 “Maybe we should get some soup or something?” Draco asks, keeping you tucked into his side. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

 You lean up, kissing him sweetly. “I love the way you take care of me, even when you’re stressed.”

 Draco’s cheeks redden as he smiles down at you, his blond hair flopping in his eyes as he kisses your forehead. “You’re my love. I’ll always take care of you.”

 Your returning smile is dazzling as you stop in the snow to hug him tightly, relishing in his warmth.

 “Just two more years and we can graduate and be married!”

 ~

 Draco towel-dries his hair as he sits on the edge of his bed. His mind feels like an unraveled ball of yarn, but he can’t ever remember feeling so happy?

 “What’s on your mind, love?” Astoria asks, crawling behind Draco on her knees. She rubs his shoulders softly, kissing at his shoulder blades.

 “Her,” he admits. “I was just thinking about some of our time together in school. Just some memories, that’s all.”

 “Let’s have another baby,” Astoria says suddenly.

 Draco turns to look at her, his heart torn. “I don’t think now is really a good time, Astoria.”

 “Why?” She pouts. “I think it’s as good a time as any.”

 “I don’t,” Draco says. He removes himself from her grasp, standing so he can properly look at his wife. “I just… I can’t right now. I know you can’t understand this, but I’m really trying to be the husband that you expect me to be.”

 Astoria gazes up at him. “You’re rejecting me?”

 “No, Astoria, I-“

 “If you wanted to meet my expectations as my partner, you’d give me another baby,” she says, determined.

 “I don’t want another baby with you,” Draco says almost immediately. His eyes are wide as he takes in the enormity of  what he’s just let slip. “Astoria, I’m sorry-“

 “Don’t,” she hisses. She closes her robe and moves to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

 Draco sits on the bed again, dragging his hands down his face once more. There it is, then. He doesn’t love his wife, he’s a terrible father, and everyone at St. Mungo’s would hear about this. With Astoria’s connections, he doubted there was a way out of this one.

 ~

 Knock knock knock.

 The door swings open and Narcissa Malfoy stands in the doorway, looking at her son who looks like he’d just walked miles and miles to even be at the manor. She takes him in her arms immediately.

 “Hello, my darling boy,” she smiles, kissing his hair.

 “Mum,” Draco says.

 Narcissa ushers him inside, closing the door behind him. The manor had changed significantly since Lucius’ trip to Azkaban, where he remains for conspiring against the ministry. Everything is white and crème, no more blacks and greys, though the telltale Slytherin green still decorates the throw blankets and some statues.

 “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Narcissa asks, sitting comfortably on the sofa.

 Draco takes a seat across from her.

 “Do you remember Y/N?”

 “Oh, how could I forget? She was fierce. It’s a shame what happened to her, I quite liked her,” Narcissa says, reminiscing to herself. “She would’ve done incredible things.”

 “I saw her today,” Draco says. “She’s alive.”

 “Oh, darling, are you still mourning her? I can get you some help, though you are the healer of the family,” Narcissa rambles.

 “No, mum,” Draco says. He wipes his palms on his pants legs. “I mean, she wrote to me, and we met at the ice cream parlor. She’s alive. And she’s come back to teach at Hogwarts.”

 Narcissa sits up immediately.

 “Draco…” she starts, choosing her words carefully. “But, what about Astoria? Scorpius? You have a responsibility to your family.”

 “I know,” Draco says. He rests his chin in his palm. “If she’d just told me she was alive… If she’d just… I would’ve waited.”

 “Don’t say that,” Narcissa goads. “Then you wouldn’t have Scorpius.”

 “I can’t pretend that I don’t love her, mum. Astoria wants another baby. I just… I would’ve waited.” Draco sighs. He runs a hand through his hair.

 “Does Astoria know?”

 “Yes,” Draco nods. “She’s not happy about it.”

 “No one would expect her to be,” Narcissa says. “She’s just found out the same news that you have, but now it’s a waiting game for her.”

 “A waiting game?” Draco asks, looking up at his mother.

 “Draco,” Narcissa smiles. “When have you ever picked anything over that girl? You were almost killed trying to protect her. It’s only a matter of time until you can accept the consequences and chase after her.”

 “I’ll lose everything,” Draco says, his eyes searching Narcissa’s. “I’ll lose my life, Astoria will make sure of that.”

 Narcissa stands and crosses the space between them to sit next to her son. She takes his hands in her own.

 “Answer me this, darling,” she starts. “Are you happy?”

 Draco takes a moment to consider this, chewing on his lip.

 “I love Scoripus, and-“

 “That’s not what I asked,” Narcissa interrupts. “Can you honestly look at me and tell me that you’re happy.”

 “No,” Draco admits. “I’m miserable. I’m stuck. I don’t love Astoria, she was just a good option, as harsh as it is. She deserves better, but I can’t lose my son.”

 “Go to her,” Narcissa instructs. “Tell her how you feel.”

 “Which one?” Draco asks, holding onto Narcissa’s hands for dear life.

 “That’s up to you,” Narcissa advises. “But always remember this: You’re a Malfoy and no matter what, there’s respect given for the name alone. I can spin a bad reputation, but I can’t heal my broken boy.”

 ~

You flit around your kitchen- though it’s not really a conventional kitchen- throwing herbs and animal parts into the large cauldron that adorns the middle of the room. Who needed a dining table when you can eat in bed?

 Taking a whiff of the potion, you smile- it’s perfect. You’re just about to extract it when there’s a knock on your door.

 Draco stands behind it, hands in his pockets, cheeks rosy, hair perfect.

 “Draco,” you smile. You hold the door open, inviting him in. “What a pleasure! I would’ve tidied a bit had I known you’d be dropping by.”

 “Pardon the intrusion,” he smiles. “I called in a favor with the Weasleys to get your address. Still messy as ever?”

 You laugh that cathartic laugh of yours, throwing your head back momentarily as you gesture around you. “Would you expect anything less?”

 “Frankly, I don’t know how you function,” Draco laughs. “How do you find anything?”

 “Organized chaos,” you shrug. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to goad me into cleaning, though. Is everything alright?”

 At your question, Draco is pacing again. Honestly, this boy could pace a hole in the floor, but you only lean against the kitchen counter, your arms folded, watching him in all his amusing glory.

 “What I’m about to say is going to sound daft,” he starts, chewing his thumb. “But I think I might still be in love with you.”

 He stops pacing and looks at you finally, but you can only raise an eyebrow at him.

 “Draco, you’re married.”

 “I know. And it feels so wrong,” he admits. He closes the space between you, taking your face in his palms so gently. “But I’ve never felt as alive and free as I do when I’m with you.”

 You pull away quickly, trying to be as gentle as possible as to not offend him.

“I know how you feel, because I feel the same way,” you start. Draco’s eyes light up. “But… I can’t be with you.”

 “Why not?” He asks, visibly shrinking.

 “You’re married!”

 “What if I weren’t?” He counters.

 “That’s not the situation,” you retort. “You are married. Had I known, I likely wouldn’t have written you. I would’ve let you find out on your own. I never meant to come between you and your family.”

 Draco runs his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated.

 “You are my family,” he growls. “Can’t you see? You and Scorpius and my mum are the only people in this world who truly matter to me. I married Astoria because it was what was expected of me.”

 “I’m afraid that’s not the way the world works,” you sigh. “I love you, Draco. I always have. I’ll probably love you forever. But I’m not a backup plan. You thought I was dead, you moved on. That’s something I’ll have to live with.”

 “Y/N,” Draco starts. He folds his hands in front of him, and he grows more and more flustered by the second. “I’m standing right in front of you, telling you that I choose you.”

 “And have you told your wife that?” You counter, folding your arms again.

 “I wanted to see how you felt first,” he confesses. “I was leaving either way, or so it seems. I just wanted to see what you thought.”

 “Draco,” you sigh. “Worry about your family for now. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

~

 Though the night is calm and peaceful, a storm brews in Draco’s mind at the thought of walking inside of his home. He sits outside on the front steps, encased in darkness, when it occurs to him that the home shouldn’t be dark.

 Curious, he stands and pushes open the front door with no resistance. It should’ve been locked. Flipping on the lights, Draco chokes back a sob. The home is empty of any presence of anyone other than himself. No photos on the walls. No dishes in the pantry. No drawings or lesson reports on the table from Scorpius. Everything lay bare and abandoned and sad. Everything but one envelope sitting on the small kitchen table, now devoid of any flowers or vases.

 Dear Draco,

After hearing of your escapades with Y/N, I’ve taken Scorpius away. I don’t know for how long we’ll be gone, or where we’re going, but I will not be a second option. I’ll allow you to decide: Me, your wife. Your son. Your home. Your career. All of your dreams. Or her.

Should you make a decision, send my owl immediately, as I’m sure she will have no problem finding me.

With all the love in my heart,

Your Wife

Astoria Malfoy

[1kook]

hi hello /sticks head in\ can u give swsh a pat for me . And a hug for oc><

1k for u and ur continued love of swsh jk😚

Jungkook doesn’t like pats, says they make him feel weirdly like a puppy, but he makes an exception for you. “Really,” he snorts under his breath, brow furrowed as he blindly reaches over for the tool cart beside him. “Now?”

The hood of the car he’s working on this time around is popped open, held up by a rusty metal rod that has you slightly nervous it’ll collapse at any second. The garage is stuffy tonight, makes sweat cling to his temples and onto the engine beneath him. His hair’s gotten long and his half-assed attempt to relieve some of the weight by shaving off the sides has him now rocking a tight little ponytail with strands that tickle his cheekbones.

He looks like an absolute wet dream, jumpsuit snug around his waist, sleeves of his undershirt rolled up around his shoulders. Had it not been for the fluttery feeling that had implanted itself in your chest during lunchtime, maybe you would have climbed him there and then.

Moving away from behind him, you settle against the metal tabletop nearest. “Sooo,” you muse, mindlessly organizing his tools around until they’re in neat rows according to size. Jungkook doesn’t look your way, too busy shoving his hand around the metal parts of the car. “Someone sent me flowers at work today.”

He pauses for the most minuscule second, before dutifully moving on. “Yeah?” he grunts, flicking his head to the side when his stray hairs get too bothersome. “Sounds nice.”

You agree, rounding the side of the car until you can lean against the cleanest looking part— god forbid you tainted a fourth dress suit this month —and try to catch his eye. His cheeks are warm and you’re almost certain it isn’t because of the heat. “They were my favorite,” you add, basking in the shy pucker of his lips as he hurriedly works away at the engine. “The ones I said would look nice at a wedding.”

“That’s, uh,” he clears his throat. “That’s nice of them.”

He casually avoids your gaze, but his fingers reach a little too clumsily for the rag on his shoulder. Feeling satisfied with your teasing, you round the car once more, successfully startling him back until he’s knocking against the tool cart. “Jeez, baby,” he chuckles, voice a little strained as he refuses to meet your piercing eyes.

“Was it fun,” you purr, hands crawling up to catch the neckline of his shirt. “Picking out pretty flowers for me? Did you have fun, sweetheart?”

Jungkook’s cheeks blaze, avidly craning his neck up at the ceiling. His hands are hovering over your waist— he also doesn’t want to pay for a fourth dry cleaning this month —as he contemplates what to say. He eventually settles on, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You scoff. His skin is still smooth, despite the fact he spends his days covered in oil and sweat and has the most half-assed skincare routine in the entire world. “Cute,” you preen, angling him down to face you again. Despite the huffy look on his face and the flaming color of his ears, you indulge him in a sweet little kiss. He melts into it right away, tilts his head for you when you swipe your tongue along his plush bottom lip. It’s with the willpower of twelve gods that you somehow manage to pull away, his honey gaze threatening to tug you under his spell once more. “Something you wanna tell me?” you tease, tracing your pointer finger along the soft slopes of his face.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head forward until his chin is practically touching his chest, as if this is the most bothersome task in the entire world. The truth is, he’s still a little shy when it comes to expressing his emotions. “Congrats on your promotion,” he mumbles, looking up at you through the dark curtain of his lashes. He’s acting demure now, like he didn’t have you bent over the wooden desk in his office an hour ago. Duality of a man, you suppose, reaching up to pat his head once more. “Were the flowers nice?”

One final gentle pat on the head for his bravery today. Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Very,” you beam, making a feeble attempt to tuck his stray hairs back into his ponytail. “We should really do something about this hair,” you suggest, “have you ever tried braiding it?”

But while you’ve become consumed in the act of styling his hair, you’ve greatly underestimated the duality of this man in particular. With his shy confession out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time crowding you against the car (dry cleaning be damned), sturdy fingers hauling you up onto the very edge of the hood. You’re terribly focused on the intricate engine lying just behind you and the old rod that barely keeps the hood up, but Jungkook is adamant on winning your attention. “New department manager,” he husks out, hand splayed across the small of your back. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

His voice is low, and his mouth is hot against your throat. “You’ll drop me,” you warn, fingers digging into his shoulders, but Jungkook simply laughs, the least bit concerned with safety.

“Let me fuck you in your new office?” he growls, tugging you close until your skirt is riding up over your thighs, the bulge at the front of his jumpsuit pressing against your core. You’re still a little sore from an hour ago, but the molten look he gives you paired with his request makes your legs feel like jelly. “What did you say it was, baby— 30th floor? Fuck, whole city is gonna see these tits when I press you against the window,” he groans, tongue gliding down your throat, fingers hastily undoing your jacket buttons. “How’s that sound?”

Risky, for one. Dangerous, too. But he’s already holding you precariously over an open engine, so. Jungkook feels so good, muscles fit perfectly against your body. He sounds good too, like what erotica novelists only wish they sounded like. So maybe you’re a little stupid when you respond, maybe you’re a little too in love.

“Absolutely perfect,” you whimper, meeting his devilish grin with a kiss.

[klaus-is-the-real-number-1]

The day we caught the train (Slytherin!Five x Hufflepuff!Reader)

 missvifdor said:  It would be for Five Slytherins with a Hufflepuff reader 🤗 they are very opposite in personality but they complement each other. I love Harry Potter and the umbrella academy, so i'm glad you write about both 😄 thank you,

A/N: this was like kinda vauge so i made up like a story line i guess?? Its kinda a mess and really long?? hope this is ok!! I really like these because i used to be obsessed with HP, in this i imagine Five would be from the really posh part of london where, the reader being opposites to him would be from a northern town and theyre both in sixth year which is age 16-17, i had to do so much research for this lol

Words: 2711

Footsteps echoed through the long empty halls as curfew rolled around, the sounds of students rushing to get back to their dormitories after a long night of studying and hushed whispering of passwords was not an unfamiliar sound at this time of night. Pictures were left empty as their residents wandered away out of frame and the castle slowly went to sleep, except for the prefects. As the sun went down, the prefects got up to do nightly patrols to make sure no students were up past curfew, each house prefect patrolled their own areas around their relative commonrooms to catch any wrong doers, not that they were many.

Tonight was your turn, patrolling the basement level and the kitchen corridor around the Hufflepuff dorm room, waiting for anything exciting to happen yet you knew it never would. Hufflepuffs always had a strong moral code and a clear right from wrong, every single patrol you carried out during Fifth year when you were appointed prefect you never caught a single person, now part way into sixth year still not once incident had occurred.

Yet, for some reason, every patrol you had ended up with a certain Slytherin prefect following you around, Five. Five was unusual to say the least, he was a well respected and slightly feared student, cunning and determined, he had a close knit clique of fellow pure blood slytherins, yet for some reason out of everyone in the whole of the castle, he had a soft spot for you. Even though he’d never show it in front of others, during the light of the day he’d sneak in side glances and small smiles, especially in the first few years making sure no comments came your way about your muggle parents or your upbringing.

Exactly on queue, a familiar sound of footsteps echoed down the staircase leading to you corridor only to stop short at the last step. A small ‘lumos’ echoed throughout the quiet hallway before Fives head pops into view, checking it was actually you there before a large smile breaking on his face as he walked into view. “Hey.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?” You smile to him as he got closer, crossing your arms over your chest.

“They know it’s me on, no one would dare try anything.” He smirks knowing he was right, striking fear into everybody, except you. His eyes soften and his tone became gentle when he was speaking with you. He’d always been like that, from your first journey on the Hogwarts express, talking the entire train journey up, secret library meeting when you both realised things weren’t as simple as just being friends. Things got difficult when blood ‘purity’ came into play, when suddenly you couldn’t be friends, which hurt.

The dimly lit hallways excentrated his features, his sharp jaw and high cheekbones cast shadows on his face and neck, yet his dimples still shone through when he smiles and breaks up the harsh exterior that he puts on. Stepping closer, you lifted your hand to run it through his hair, watching his face break out into a smile and wrap his hand around your waist. Small displays of affection weren’t uncommon between the two of you, only increasing through the years of being at Hogwarts. “I’m so glad you stopped gelling your hair back.”

“Don’t remind me.” He rolled his eyes, remembering his poor style choices of his past. You move your hand and run it down the side of his face and across his jaw, taking a second to admire him before dropping your hand.

“I’ve gotta go, my shifts nearly over.” A sad looking smile broke over his face as he slowly lowered his hand from your waist. “I’ll see you tomorrow though.” You say as you lock eyes with him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He repeated back to you. He smiled and started walking towards the stairs, just before his foot touched the first step he turned back to you. “Goodnight, y/n.”

Dueling was always one of the most exciting parts of Hogwarts, it was a welcome break from the immense workload that sixth years had to deal with. In sixth year you were expected to be able to cast non-verbal spells, a mentally challenging task where some were better than others. Over the past month your defence class had been working tirelessly on being able to cast successful non-verbal spells with the promise of having a period where you would be duelling, which was exciting for everyone involved, a chance to show your abilities and represent your house.

“I’m going to be pairing you up today,” Your teacher spoke to you all as he was stood on the dueling table, met with a grumble from the students. “With student of the same ability.” He continued, seemingly unaffected by the disappointed sounds of the sixth years. “When I call you out, both of you will come to the stage.”

Cheers and boo’s echoes throughout the room as students from different houses duled, light flying from wands as students desperately tried to conjure spells without speaking, some pulling through well where others barely being able to produce anything at all. Tension rose throughout the room as more people slowly got paired off, everyone wondering who would be the next pair.

“Y/n and Five.”

Smiling, you walk up to the stage and face Five, seeing a small smile emerge from his stern expression. Wands at the ready, you wait for the call to start from the teacher, already knowing your strategy. The air turned heavy and the room turned quite as everyone was ready to watch the duel, you were both the highest achieving students in the class and people were eager to see who would be the best.

Then it started, Five casting the first spell only to have you deflect it, causing a gasp to echo through the room. You knew it would be a risky move to cast a spell that hadn’t been taught, a spell that wasn’t even in the curriculum. It was the only way you had ever found deflecting a spell without having the spell hit your opponent, Five was stunned for a second before hitting back with another spell, only for you to deflect it again and again and again. Waiting for a hesitation from Five to strike and then you got it, a gap in his relentless spell casting when he took a second too long to think about his next spell. 

Before he could blink, he was thrown to the floor with his wand flying out of his hand as you hit him with expelliarmus. Cheers erupted from students interspersed with nasty comments from the Slytherin students, you walk over to Five who was winded from his fall on the floor. Offering your hand he goes to take it before hesitating, under the watchful eyes of his Slytherin clique he lowered his hand and picked himself up, brushing down his robes. 

“Right!” Your teacher stood up on the stage with you and Five. “Class is dismissed, remember to keep practicing these non-verbal spells.” Your eyes never left Five as your teacher spoke, you felt a stinging sensation wash over your eyes accompanied by a throbbing in your chest at his actions. You shook your head and turned away, unable to keep looking at him without bursting into tears. 

“I need you to stay behind.” He turned to you, giving you a stern look only to soften when he saw you in near tears. Slowly, everyone left the room, either going to the library or commonrooms to await their next lesson due to the early finish. Closing your eyes, you gently tapping the lids with your fingertips to try and ease the stinging feeling, you take a deep breath before re-opening your eyes.

“Am I in trouble?” You say as you sit on the side of the duelling stage, legs swinging as you play with your hands.

“Not exactly,” He sighs, sitting in a chair facing you. “Where did you learn that?”

So you start to explain, lying as you went, as you explained you started to immediately regret even casting the spell in the first place. In fourth year you were spending a late night in the library, trying to find any books to help you excel in your classes, you had piles of books in front of you and then one book you opened had sheets of parchment paper interspersed with the other pages filled with spells that weren’t on the curriculum. It was filled with defence spells, jinxes, curses and more, it had been your guide ever since you found it. This, however, was not what you explained to him, simply saying you were doing some reading and found it and were unable to find the book again.

You could tell he didn’t believe you, but sensed that he wouldn’t delve too far into your story. “You can’t pull anything like that again,” He looked at you for a response so you just nodded. “I won’t go any further with this, you can go.”

The rest of the day went slowly, doing everything in your might to avoid Five, you had been patient with him all these years and him not even wanting to let you pull him up because of his little gang looking at him hurt, it stung. You know he’s loyal to his house but after 6 years of always hiding and sneaking around you just couldn’t bare it anymore, couldn’t bare the fact that Five had let this wizarding class war consume him.

Post day was always fun, hundreds of owls flying into the great hall and dropping off post from friends and family at home, some received letters while others got large packages sent in. Bruce was your barn owl, he was large, brown and robust, he would usually reside on your parents farm, being well loved and looked after by your whole family whilst you were away but always knew when you needed him in the castle.

In he came, swooping down with a letter tied to him and landing elegantly in front of you. Petting him with one hand while the other unties the letter, excited chatter filled the room as most other people were doing the exact same thing, wondering what their loved ones had sent them. Carefully opening the letter, trying not to tear the envelope, your eyes scan over the hand-written letter, smiling at all the information that was written in great detail.

At the very bottom they’d attached a photograph of them all together smiling, along with your dog and a few other animals they all looked after. As you were smiling and showing your friends you felt it get pulled out of your hand; turning around, you were met with one of Fives Slytherin friends waving your photo around, calling on his friends.

“Ere’ give it back.” Getting up, you try and swipe it from his hands only for him to hold it higher, scrunching it as he did.

“What are you going to do about it, mudblood-” Before he could finish his sentence the photo was snatched out of his hand by Five, lightly tapping it with his wand and the photo returned to pristine condition before handing it back to you with a small smile.

“Behave.” Five said to him, pulling him away from your table and back to theirs. A smile snuck onto your face as you sat back down, Five had never done anything like that outside the darkness of the library or the nightly patrols, let alone in front of his friends. 

Then, very slowly, he started to actively integrate himself into your life, talking to you in class, helping each other with homework after classes and even sitting with you at lunch on a regular basis. Building up your trust for him again, building up your friendship publically even with all the snide comments other people gave him, he ignored them all for you.

As winter rolled round, snow dusted the castle and surrounding areas as if it was a cake getting doused in icing sugar about to be presented for a meal. Cold nipped at your noses as you made the trek into Hogsmeade, students rushing to buy last minute presents for loved ones before christmas break as well as a stream of students flocking to the Three Broomsticks to get their last sips of butterbeer before the train journey home.

The Three Broomsticks was so full that students were being turned away, it was bursting at the brim with some students even even sharing chairs. The atmosphere was buzzing with excited students, conversations so loud that you couldn’t even hear yourself think. Five and yourself had been lucky, opting to come to the pub first thing then doing your christmas shopping, finding a small booth hid in the corner.

“So are you excited to go home?” He was wrapped up in a hoodie and jacket, a discarded hat and scarf lying on the table, leaving him with flushed cheeks and tousled hair. 

“I ain’t going home,” You say, taking a sip of butterbeer. “I never have, I’d have to get the muggle train back north, costs around 100 quid each way.” You tap your fingers against the half empty glass. “Canny afford it.” 

“You’ve never gone home for christmas?” Sadness was present in his eyes as he locked them with yours but you just shrugged.

“It’s not that bad, it’s like, my sixth year staying so everyone is just used to me now, I get to phone home and they basically give me access to the kitchen and all the teachers who stay put on interest lessons and such.” A breeze caused you to shiver, wrapping you jacket tighter around you. “I also help with the animals.”

Upon seeing you shiver Five leant over the table to wrap his scarf around your neck before gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear; the small display of public affection causing you to blush. Once you’d finished your drinks you head into town, looking down the alleys for all the little shops you could find, looking for the perfect gifts for your family, asking a slightly unenthusiastic Five for a second opinion and just receiving a series of raised eyebrows or nods of his head. 

Taking your time to walk back to the campus, Fives hand had found its way into yours, swinging your entwined fingers as you went. As the large castle came into view a bittersweet feeling washed over you, knowing that Five and everyone else would be leaving for the holidays tomorrow while you stayed at the castle. Even if the empty hallways felt like home there was always a pang in your chest on christmas morning, even if it did ease off during the day whilst sat round with friends and teachers, it still made your chest throb.

Joy was evident in the great hall, everyone talking loudly and laughing with their friends knowing they won’t be seen for the next two weeks, an exchange of gifts and cards being passed around. Slowly, everyone faded out to the dining hall, getting ready to get on the Hogwarts express home, you passed around hugs and goodbyes as your friends left the common room, all of them leaving cards and parcels by your bed and made you swear not to open them until christmas day. 

All morning you were looking around for Five but were never able to see him and as everyone left for the station you were convinced he had gone. Defeated, you walk through the empty hallways to the great hall for the regular meeting where the staff discuss the rules with the rest of you who had stayed behind. You heard a voice call your name behind you, quickly turning around, you see him. “Five?”

“They needed a male prefect to stay on campus,” He says as he gets closer, grin covering his face. “So I volunteered.” Instead of answering you just throw yourself at him, embracing him in your arms. His arms instantly wrap around your figure, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Thank you, Five.”

[zersium]

Cloak & Dagger Update — Status and Future Plans

So, it’s been a while, huh? Read below regarding Cloak & Dagger’s current status, plus a more detailed breakdown of changes made to the first instalment, from a certain point of view!

Hello and welcome! Today marks Cloak & Dagger’s fourth anniversary (isn’t that just nuts?) so today I’d like to talk a bit more about my plans for the series, and to expand upon my answers to recent asks on the subject.

from a certain point of view, 2.0

Before you read any further, you can find the updated from a certain point of view here on AO3. The rest of this post contains spoilers, so if you haven’t read it be sure to do so! 

Below are my comments on a few of the changes I’ve made (which might clue you in on possible future events):

Conclusion of Anakin vs Obi-Wan ➤ Obi-Wan leaving Anakin whole was always something that I’ve stayed true to—suitless Vader is simply too good to resist—but this ambiguous approach to the conclusion of their fight is unique to the revision of the fic. At the culminating moment of their fight, Obi-Wan doesn’t reach far enough to maim Anakin, and thus Anakin doesn’t fall by the bank. This is something I believe could have happened in canon had Anakin been more in control of himself, as his fate here hangs on his ability to make the right call of judgement. In canon, he is unable to do so when consumed by the Dark, but C&D Anakin can sense the danger of his darker emotions, to a point where he knows to twist out of the way when he leaps. 

Obi-Wan’s Dark Side ➤ The ambiguity of my previous point lies with the hint of Obi-Wan’s own weakness, and the recollection of TPM. This aspect of his character is not something I initially thought to explore, but seeds of the Dark appearing in Obi-Wan’s most desperate moment is definitely plausible. Here is a man who has lost everything, who has been given an impossible task—and though he is a perfect Jedi, what is a perfect Jedi when there are close to no Jedi left? This is a recurring theme post Order 66—a Jedi’s place in the world without the Order—and that all begins here, in Obi-Wan’s darkest hour.

Caleb and Grogu ➤ Four years ago, Mandalorian did not exist. Yet, with the ever-evolving SW canon, and with my own returning interest linked in part to the show, Grogu’s existence was a point of particular interest in the context of the alternate Temple attack. Plus, I think Kanan is rad, and since the Ghost crew appears later on in “revelation”, well. (Another surprise sometime down the line? Perhaps!)

Padmé’s Funeral ➤ Anakin feels?? Hello??? In all seriousness, this scene is something I wanted to include as a way to expand upon Anakin’s emotional state, and the effects that the duress of the mission have had on him so far. C&D Anakin is a lot more in control of his feelings than in canon (and for this there’s a reason!), so he doesn’t succumb to acting on anger as a first resort. BUT, this transition to a hollow state is a lot scarier for him, as it forces him to further come to terms with the weight of his responsibilities in this assignment. Sorry, not sorry. Anakin suffering is in and of itself a recurring theme ;)

Closing Scene ➤ For readers familiar with the original conclusion to this fic, the ending on Anakin finding Ahsoka’s shouta is new! As you can probably gather, it’s for the same reason as above—TCW season 7 was simply not a thing in 2017, and since its release I could not stop thinking about the absolute desolation this scene portrayed. It’s a perfect cinematic conclusion to the era, and a perfect transition for this verse’s Anakin.

These are all the major changes I made that I’d like to touch upon! There’s a few more tweaks here and there, of course, but these 5 in particular I feel warrant a full explanation for those that would like to read it. 

The Future of Cloak & Dagger

Regarding the future of this series, for the moment I’m working on a revamp of the other published works ahead of starting any new ones. The truth of the matter is that most of these fics are pretty dated, and my writing has changed a lot over time. As such, there’s areas of the series that I’d like to restructure and new details I’d like to add for the sake of cohesion and an improved narrative. Evidently, this’ll take time, but I’d like to extend a shoutout to those who’ve stuck by me throughout and continue to do so—your support over the years means more to me than I can adequately express. 

If you’ve made it to the bottom of this post, thank you so much for reading through my ramblings! I have a lot of thoughts about these changes, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed the updated from a certain point of view. If you’ve got any more questions, or would like to share your thoughts, feel free to shoot me an ask!

[trillian-anders]

bewitched

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader

warnings: violence (physical violence, mentions of suicide, death, harm to a child), angst, smut

word count: 4544

description: part 1 of 3. there’s a curse on your kingdom and as the king’s mage it’s your duty to break it. but only when the curse seems to befall you do you call for help. a man you’d seen once in your youth. a witcher. 

note: (can be read as stand-alone) there are some trigger warnings, it’s dark as far as mentions suicide and a child is harmed in this.

It was slow, moving through the foggy moor. The dew not yet settled. The sound of the spectre cutting through the grass could be heard if you listen, but the poor victim was not listening hard enough. A man who’d been travelling for days, escaping to the next village over for fear of prosecution. His hands were stained with blood for the woman he loved, and he accidentally killed. The man’s guilt was feasting on his belly, rum and whiskey he’d been trying to burn it away with did nothing more than stir the bile. 

Vomit stained his boots, upchucking again, dry heaving by the side of the road. He gagged, sipping water from his hide, he persevered on. Through the fog and tall grass he could see his destination. The village was a good size for him to disappear into, in a dip of land behind a mighty castle, large sea rock behind, waves crashing upon the cliff in steady beats. It was lively enough to have an open pub. A place to further drown his sorrows. 

A scratch. That’s all it takes. Deep and unseen. The scratch that leads into madness. His guilt the trail of breadcrumbs leading the spectre to its feast. He stumbles into the warm stone building, stragglers and early morning travellers dipping into their vices once more before starting their day, those who’ve not rested since the previous evening. 

A stumble and fall into the bench, his eyes unfocused. Sweat pooling on his brow as he replayed his crime. Over and over until the slosh put in front of him wasn’t enough to drown. He swallowed his guilt, coins tossed on the table and asked for a room. Sleep his sorrows away until they no longer felt so raw. 

But it did nothing to quell the festering wound left by the spectre, the wound he didn’t know existed. The spectre stayed in the shadows, enjoying the meal it had been given. The guilt filled it’s belly for the first time in ages. But it wasn’t enough. The spectre was patient. This wound would fester more until it consumed the man’s body, until he was empty in madness or until he ended his life. And it would be fed. After, it could sense the delicious trail of guilt and sorrow in this village, it would feed again. The shadow demon grew satisfied in that it would no longer feel the acidic gnaw of hunger. 

A place destined for madness. 

Years passed and those who did not live and die in this village never stayed for long. Some stories would say it cursed. People would grow mad, men and women slitting their throats in the street. Hanging themselves in the gallows. Screaming and becoming belligerent. Locked away for the rest of their lives. Holy men dared not step foot on the plagued ground. And the king grew sick with it. The disgrace handed down to him from generations before. The blame put on a mad King, his Great-Great-Grandfather now long dead, buried in the crypt below his feet. 

With three wives dead, a fourth with a child on the way, hopeful for a son. He buried himself into resentment for the life he’d been given. Ungrateful for the fortune and wealth. Ungrateful for the ease in which he was able to live. 

That’s what you resented him for. 

You’d been given away as soon as your parents realized you had the gift. Trained and tasked with becoming the mage you were today. A king’s mage. The Cursed King’s mage. You’d seen this lineage’s descent into madness and were expected to stop it. You lurked in the shadows of his life, willfully standing by as wife after wife failed to produce him a son, the curse of the town pulling them into madness. 

The first threw herself from a tower. The second put rocks in her pockets and walked her and her newborn daughter into the sea. The third was locked away in the asylum, screaming until her throat bleeds. The King, unsatisfied with his brood, took on a fourth wife. Maybe this time she’ll provide him a true heir. 

But in all this, you felt, maybe you were the ungrateful one. You were given whatever you wanted, whatever resource you could possibly need or want. And you didn’t even have to fetch them yourself, a courier would pluck your herb and slaughter your animals. Your hands, shaking as they may be in grief for your position, no longer have the dirt and scars from your youth. 

“You’re a beauty.” He’d mused. Your old King. He’d sought for you, the talent you’d possessed when you’d felt yourself still a girl. You were naive then, unknown to you the curse he brought on his back and lay at your feet. The dance in court, a seduction to your new position. Whether it was for you or him there was no clear answer. You knew, as your master had taught you, that he would never see you as more than a pretty ornament. A tool for his mastery. 

It was better than digging up radishes and eating half cooked potatoes in your family’s shed. You wouldn’t care to wonder what they are doing now. Your parents and sisters are most likely older, more gray and more dead. A lineage you know not if it was passed on, but you weren’t of them anymore. Not for nearly half a century. 

He was fat, your king, stuffing his sorrows down with roast pork and wine, blind with it. You mused if he could even perform at all let alone produce an heir on his part. His pretty bride, sold to him by her own family, a noble’s daughter who was afraid, very afraid. 

“Will I be cursed?” She asked, made aware of her pregnancy, the seed having taken root in her belly like the beginning of her end. A death sentence created by rumor. “When my babe is born, would I sooner throw myself into a pyre than try to produce again?” Her eyes dazed, wide, and unblinking. 

You were meant to console her, you assumed. Tell her what she wanted to hear, that she wouldn’t fall into the same madness that had taken every Queen before her. 

“Madness only takes you if you let it.” A small vial for the health and well being of her baby. “Persevere and keep yourself strong.” That’s all you could give. 

You’d come here softer than you should, calloused from your training, but training and real world experience were very different. The first time the old King had come to you in ramblings and despair you’d given him something to sleep, you tried to find the source of his pain like he’d instructed, but he’d soon fell. Locked away in the stone walls of this castle until the day he’d passed, his son taking the throne hastily after and finding a proper bride who quickly sired him a son. Your current King. The one who took his throne only after his Father was slipped into madness like a dream in the night. Swift and abrupt, unending nightmare of a dream. 

He’d hung himself in the main hall. 

His son was a child then, twelve when he’d taken the throne. You’d served a boy who’d barely found his own cock before he was giving you instruction. Pompous and confident in the wake of his Father’s death, the boy seemed so sure he would not meet the same fate. But now as his beard turned gray without an heir he claimed he was given a headier curse. 

“Is there anything you could do to guarantee me a son?” His face half lit by the candles in your room, red and puckered with age. 

“There is nothing guaranteed with magic.” You state and wrap your gown further across your body, the King having interrupted your bath, gown sticking to your legs. “I’ve done everything I’ve known to try to give you a son, everything ethically possible.” His mouth stank of rot. Spitting, snarling, hair pulling,

“Well try something unethical then or it shall next be your neck hanging from my gallows.” 

It was hard to be grateful for this life, but swallowed down by the guilt of others suffering. Those you could see without food or drink, empty bellies in his Kingdom he cared not about more than his own life. 

There was a way, but it was never something you’d expected to be pushed to do. It seemed madness had already taken root in him, or perhaps it was you for you were not sure who was more mad for this act. Him requesting it or you following through. 

It made you sick, but it was not something you could show. And when he asked it done you appeased him. The memory of the sweat and crying, your fingers aching with it. The unrest afterward. 

The village, thick with mud from the last rain, smelled of shit. You thought about all of the other mages that were gifted with you, their gilded cages in high towers above prosperous cities. You’d picked the short straw. Or perhaps you’d been the short straw that your old King picked himself. 

Winter was approaching, snow would soon lay thick on the ground, so you had to move quickly or else you’d never get a moment of peace until well after the birth of the new prince. Your fingers found the precarious rock’s surface. A deep crawl belly to salty rock to make your way into the sunken cave, the ocean spraying against your side, soaking you to your slip as you made entrance. 

A wave and the fire roared to life, illuminating your place of escape. 

You’d found it in a dream, leftovers from the mage before you, burned on a pyre for bringing this curse upon the village. The curse upon her king. But you knew it wasn’t a curse, you’d known that for a while now. It was your purpose to identify the source of the curse, but you had. It was not something you knew how to fight. 

The beast was uncommon, a whisper heard in the shadows, a task only a Witcher could take on with hope to survive. The last Witcher that had stumbled upon your town had gone mad in his own right, succumbed faster than any before him and threw himself into the sea. 

That seemed like a lifetime ago. 

The cave was hot with the fire, clothes discarded, you kneel at the foot of the fire. Seeking, in fear for your own life now, the guilt of what you’d just done was enough to take root deep in your belly and rip you apart. You had to find another Witcher. And soon. 

You drift into a memory. Just a girl, well before you knew what you would soon become. Your hands, clean, reverting to calloused and thick with dirt. You hadn’t had your first blood, your breasts mere buds, new and tender, you were back on your family’s farm. 

You saw him there for the first time. The man they called the White Wolf. He threw a creature at the foot of a man’s hearth. An exchange of coins, your eyes looking up to meet his; gold. You felt bewitched by them. A wash of familiarity... You’d been waiting near his horse, a gut feeling you couldn’t resolve. He’d paused, you were sure looking down at your dirty face and hands. An empty belly. A moment of eye contact while you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He’d slipped you a coin, pulled from his pocket and into your grubby little hands. One coin. Before his back turned and he rode his horse out of the village and far away from you. 

You felt it, beneath your fingertips. Smooth and cold. You marveled at how men would kill for this shiny piece of metal, given no more worth than what they themselves give to it. 

When you’re pulled back to your present it was there, between your thumb and forefinger, the only difference being fifty years. But the world was vast. It would take a certain orchestration of events to get your Witcher here. It would be your paranoia maybe, or the fact that the spectre knew what you were doing, but you could see the shadows shift out of the corners of your eyes. 

The Witcher needed to get here fast, the Hym seemed to have locked it’s sights on you. 

…

The Witcher heard tales of a beast, coin for another, and another. He’d never had good enough fortune for money such as this. Every village he went to seemed to have a story for another, and another. On and on until the realization. A clear path on a map leading him to an unknown destination. He wondered who’d orchestrated this. You could sense it from your sanctuary. 

The wonder of the plan. The hope that it would be a lost love. You cared not for who he loved but only wished he would quicken his feet. The paranoia grew by the day. The fear buried in your gut and sickness that washed over you as the Hym suckled at the guilt, feeding it’s belly on your mistakes. 

A trail of breadcrumbs stained the bodies of creatures you’d placed into his path. Bodies slewn and dispatched for thankful villages and the satisfaction of a job well done. It had been months before you saw him cross the threshold of your castle. The paranoia and fear growing in bile in your belly. You weren’t sure he was even real until your King called an audience with him. 

The Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. He stepped into your throne room and there was a primal feeling in your gut. You’d brought him here, to you. The Hym scratching at your back. You knew your King would seek any cure to save his life that he could, even if it wasn’t actually his life that was in danger. 

You could imagine the spectre’s claws in your back as your King began to speak. 

“I’ve heard tales of you, Witcher.” Your King’s voice, sure and booming for respect. “The White Wolf.” You watched Geralt, expressionless, almost bored. “I have a task for you Witcher.” You saw those gold eyes shift from him, a pull towards you that you’ve created. A raised eyebrow. “My family has been cursed for nearly a century now.” He stood from his throne, stepping towards the man. “My useless mage has not found a resolve for said curse,” His eyes drift to you as well as your King’s. You willfully show no response. Your King scoffs, “I’m hoping to employ you for the cause of saving my kingdom.” More to save himself. 

The Witcher looks to you, the familiarity on his features, the same familiarity you felt when you’d met him as a child. You could see the gears of his mind turning. He turned his gaze from you slowly as your King continued. 

“We’ve been under this curse, turned my family, my citizens into madness.” He says, “With not a clue as to the cause. If you listen you can hear the screams from the mad in the asylum upon entrance. If any being born of magic can break this curse, it would be you Witcher.”

Like poison in your veins, black and thick, you dipped down into that madness. Sweat on your brow, sorrow and rough cries in the night. It’s how he found you. 

“How long have you known of this Hym?” His voice gruff, deep. You could see in the mirror your sunken eyes and vacant expression. A pallor of death. 

“Long enough to be a fool to be taken by it.” You breathe, dampening a cloth to place on your neck. He leaned against the wall by your door, reflected in your mirror. 

“Were you the one laying beasts in my path to lead me here?” Those eyes, focused and calculating, sent a chill down your spine as you turned to him. 

“How else would I have acquired a Witcher?” His eyes focused on the shifting shadow. A pass of the spectre hiding behind you.

“What is your guilt?” He asked, hands clenched tightly by his sides. You swallow roughly, the words not wanting to peel from your throat. 

“To be fair,” You bemoan, “I deserve death.” A hand braced on the table. “It feeds on the despair of the guilty and has served its cause.” You can’t sink down into it, the drowning. 

“Killing.” He states. You shake your head, swallowing roughly. 

“Saving.” He circles the room, stepping close to the shadow, the spectre moving out of his way. “Brutal men... rapists and murderers. Women who drown their children based on their sex.” Your heart picks up speed as he settles in front of you, “It deserves to die with me.” 

“So you would let it take you?” His eyes looked through you, burying themselves into your thoughts. 

“I deserve this madness.” A hand placed over your belly to steady yourself, “I’ve given the King what he wants at the cost of my own conscience.” You had to admire the Witcher for his poker face. Not many men would not show emotion when you admit to a child sacrifice. The give and take of magic a cruel fate for the King’s needs. It felt justified and left you craving his disappointment, his ire. But it hadn’t been given. 

“Slaying a Hym isn’t easy.” You could feel the spectre, the emotions it felt at the cost of the proximity to the Witcher, but departing a Hym from its meal was a feat on its own. 

“You’re Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf,” you muse, “If anyone can do it, you can.” You see him swallow, eyes focusing in on yours. Close enough that you can feel his breath. 

“We’ll have to go somewhere a little more private for that, its lair will be the place tied to your guilt. We have to go there.” The sorrow, the lust for death, a sweet release from this ebbing guilt. You could almost taste it.

Your shadow shifted and he could see the horns. A demon to be exorcised. 

He followed you to the cliffs, trusting your footing to be true as you climbed down into them, sliding your belly against the wall and watching as he held his sword aloft to fit through the small space into the cavern aglow by fire. 

“I’m going to need more light than this.” His eyes focused on the damp walls and dim glow. A log pulled from the fire. He lit the torches in the corners of the room, a deep dark hole that led further into the cave systems beneath the city forgotten, his back to it while he faced you. “I need you to focus on something, anything else but the guilt… preferably something pleasant.” He steps towards you, “It’s going to come out of hiding and what you will feel will be intense, whatever you do, don’t succumb.” A vial, procured from his pocket and quickly drank, eyes blackening. 

“You make it sound so easy.” A drawl from your mouth as the whispers begin. The haunting demon who plagued your every thought, the despair that grew on your tongue. 

“Focus.” His voice cut through, pushing you back against the far wall, “And stay here.” His sword gripped in his hand. “Do not interfere.” He turned his back to you, the shadows shifting on the ground as the Hym exposed itself. The tall spectre’s horns brushing the top of the cave. Red eyes glowing in the pitch black. 

Elder spilled softly from your mouth, his sword turning in his hand, before striking the beast. Your vision blurred, knees sinking into the floor as it flooded your airways, burning down your throat. 

“Again!” a yell. A rod against your back, you straighten. Your training, so long ago now. Tissaia. The old mage taught you well. Raised you practically in the cobwebs of her home. The place that birthed every proper mage of your lifetime. The chaos that spilled from your fingertips, the fire burning in your belly, stoked by her hand. “You’re better than this.” Her beauty matched only by her venom. Her bite, fierce and lethal. “Do better.” 

You flourished under her through perseverance and determination. These private lessons you’d suffered through long before you were brought into the circle, years before you would ascend, years before your time in court. 

“Focus!” Was that her voice or… your vision snaps back to the present, Geralt damp with sweat, blood cascading down his arm you find yourself panting on the ground. His silver sword slashes across the demon’s belly. A high pitched whine. You could feel the edges blur again, ebbing and flowing, taking your consciousness. 

A boy birthed in the asylum. A slight deformation. You hushed him quietly as you robbed him in the night. Villain. That’s what you were and what you’d come to be. This boy wouldn’t survive. A slim chance with the ailments he was born with. He would soon be ripped from this world regardless, that’s how you reasoned in choosing your prey. Your last ingredient for a spell you shouldn’t be casting. 

You’ll do this, and then it will take you. That blissful Hym. It will give you the final push into cowardice. The push you would need to finally be rid of this place. This useless mage you’d become. His belly was round, so were his cheeks, his legs kicked in the cold air of the cave as he wailed. 

Elder words spill from your mouth as you raise the blade into the air. Striking true between the third and fourth rib. A wheeze and he’s gone. 

You found yourself gasping for air. Screaming as the wind picked up, a strong force over your mouth and chest. You felt trapped, cold stone against your back. It clears, your vision focusing in the dark. Whimpering against Geralt’s hand, “You’re fine.” Gruff words of comfort. “It’s gone, you’re free.” You catch your breath against him, pinned down by his arms in your anguish. What had you done?

You wail. Embarrassingly and out of code. You wail. He lets you struggle out of his grip, hands beating on his chest. “I told you to let it take me!” His jaw clenched, letting you sit up, backing yourself away from him and pressing as far into the wall as you could possibly be. “I told you--”

“I know what you said.” Voice level as always, even though there’s blood crusting on his arm and neck. “I saved you--”

“I should not have been saved.” He scoffs, sitting on his ass. 

“I thought that was the Hym talking.” He shrugged, steeling you with his eyes. You glare. 

“It was not.” He hummed, looking around the room, seeing the vials and herbs strewn about, glasses broken in battle. 

“I thought Mage’s brave.” He mused, “You’re a coward.” 

“I brought you here for a reason, Witcher.” Your head leaning back against the stone. 

“If you wanted to die, you wouldn’t have brought me here at all.” His brow furrows, in mock contemplation, “But why wouldn’t you let it just take you? Once you’re dead you’d no longer have to concern yourself with a Hym anyway. It doesn’t torment the dead. So that means…” You roll your eyes, avoiding his gaze. “You care enough about the people here, as much as your cold dead heart could, to save them from the same fate…. How noble of you.”

“Shut up.” His smirk, you let a heavy breath, eyes dry and itchy from crying, “I still killed a child.” The smirk drops, and he sighs as well. You were sure your womb would be aching if you had one. 

“The child,” He starts, “Wouldn’t have survived either way?”

“It might have if--” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes with your hands. 

“You wouldn’t have chosen a child not destined to die.” A glare, your glare. 

“You don’t know me.” You spit, pushing yourself up from the floor. He follows suit, standing across from you. 

“You’re right, I don’t.” A step closer. “But I’ve known Mages like you.” Another step. “And Mages tend to have a soft spot for children.” You could feel anger bubbling up in your chest,

“I’ve never wanted a child,” You bite.

“Regardless of that you no longer have the choice.” His canines were sharp up close. “And that kills you.” 

“If only.” He scoffs, close enough to taste his breath. You remember the rumors about Witchers, the rumors you knew to be true. How they were formed. “You know,” his head leaned down, forehead brushing yours. “I’m sorry for what they’ve done to you.” A stab into his chest, drowning out in a primal need. The comment ignored as he smashed his lips with yours, tangling his fingers into your hair. His teeth were sharp against your bottom lip. You beat him back with your fists, blood smeared on your bottom lip, his pupils blown wide. “Cad.” You spit, a grin, and you meet again. 

The stones rough against your back as you submit to him, his palms wrapped around your wrists and pinning you to the floor, a rough thrust and a gasp from first contact. Those eyes, black around the edges still, boring into your very soul as his hips meet yours in a brutal pace, splitting you into eye rolling pleasure. 

The friction of primal need. A burning of adrenaline in your veins. His hands release yours, sitting back on his haunches he grips your hips tightly. Your own hips rocking to meet him on their own accord, chasing the pleasure you so desperately sought. The slip you’d been wearing, torn on the sides from hasty tugging, he leaned over lavishing a nipple into his mouth, your fingers drifting between the two of you to bring yourself over, breath being caught in your throat, face red with exertion you push him over, his back meeting the stone floor where you straddle his hips. 

You slip yourself down his length, legs still shaking in orgasm and press your hands to his chest, rocking yourself, grinding your oversensitive clit against the course hairs at the base of his cock. His head hits the ground, hands bruising your hips as you work both him and yourself to a release. Head tossed back, sweat dripping down your spine. He spills himself inside you while you work yourself through your own aftershocks. Panting and suddenly extremely tired. Drained, you collapse next to him, his seed dripping down your thigh. 

“Collect your coin,” You pant, “And be gone before I wake.” You could see from the corner of your eye, his head turning towards yours. A pause, your breath catching. You felt bare, naked before this man. The forgetfulness of lust crusting on your leg. You needed him gone, if only to drown your sorrows once more before moving on. You see his mouth open, then close, deciding against whatever he was originally going to say. A moment of quiet. 

“As you wish.”

.

.

.

taglist //  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious​

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//nine years time. kuroo tetsurou//

Request: Hello can you write royal kuroo promising y/n when he comes back they will both marry. But it has been 9 years and y/n married someone else to finish their duty as a royal. Then a month later kuroo comes back.

Warnings: none???

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: hi yes i love you. please drink lots of water, okay?

“I won’t be long, I promise.  A year at the most and then,” he raised your hand up towards his lips, placing a lingering kiss against the skin of your knuckles before continuing, “we can finally get married, just like we’ve always wanted.”

The war had been waging for far too long, but with the kingdom’s final move on the horizons, it was only a matter of time before this would all be settled and an air of peace would once again fall over your home.  You should’ve been happy, ecstatic even, that everything would go back to how it used to be before this entire conflict started, but the young man in front of you, that you had been so captivated by from the first time that you met, was about to leave to stand with his military.  After all, some member of the royal family had to be present to negotiate the peace treaty and with his father becoming too old and frail to make the journey, it only made sense that the prince should take his place.

But, the goodbyes and the warm feeling of Tetsurou’s hand engulfing yours nearly brought tears to your eyes.  He was still going away to war and that title of “prince” just added a bigger target to his back.  And even if it was only going to be for a year, those days would seem like an eternity as you waited for his letters and counted the weeks to his return.  

“You’ll wait for me?” Tetsurou asked, raising his hand to lay it gently against your cheek.

“I’ll wait as long as I must to be with you, my prince.”

But, that first year had ended with a letter announcing that things had not gone to plan.  They would be staging a siege to cut off the supply lines of the enemy, but there was no telling how long they would be there, waiting for a surrender.  

Hopefully they will see that their efforts are futile and I will be able to return to you quickly.  I miss you more with every passing day and I want nothing more to have you in my arms once again.

Take care, my love, and I will see you soon.

K. Tetsurou

By the end of the second year, the letters had slowed.  Monthly letters now came at a snail’s pace of one every few months.  And by the third year, they had stopped all together.  No matter how many letters that you penned to your prince so far away, there was never anything in return.  It was only after the fourth year that you stopped trying to reach him, giving up and letting the worst possible outcome consume you.  

It was really the only logical outcome that your brain could come up with.  If he was still alive, he would’ve written to you.  He wouldn’t have just ignored all of your letters.  He would’ve gotten in touch with you somehow.  The loss of the kingdom’s prince, your first and only love, was the only explanation.  And it tore you to pieces.  He was meant to come back to you, officially make you his.  Tetsurou was supposed to meet you in town when he rode back in with the rest of the troops and give you the kiss that you had been waiting so long for.  But, there was none of that and there never would be any of that, because he was gone and he wasn’t coming back.  

The fifth year without him was the worst.  You found yourself struggling to carry out your day to day tasks, unable to see the purpose in carrying on if he wasn’t able to be there to give you tender kisses on your temple at the end of the day and hold you tightly within his arms.  There would be days when you would see something that was so distinctly Tetsurou that you would quickly turn around and hastily walk in the opposite direction so that no one could see the way your eyes glistened with tears that wished to fall.  You would lie awake and read his final letter to you over and over again, skimming your fingers across his name as if that would be enough to bring him back to you.  You would anxiously wait for the mail every single day in the off chance that maybe, just maybe, this would be the day in which a letter would come announcing his return.  But there was never anything apart from the occasional invitation to a ball or a letter from a friend that only brought sorrow to your heart when you realized that it wasn’t the letter that you were hoping for.  

But, it was year six when you met him.  The man with the bright smile and the shining eyes.  The man with the most cheery laugh that you had ever heard.  He had spun you around the ballroom for what seemed like hours, telling you stories about his travels, cracking jokes in an effort to see you smile all over again.  Yes, Bokuto Koutarou had made you feel something that had been void from your life since the letters stopped coming.  The way that he gripped onto your hands in excitement as he asked you for yet another dance had your heart fluttering as you nodded your head.  You were barely able to get a yes out before he was dragging you back out towards the center of the dance floor, giving you a low bow as the music began.  

In that sixth year, he had made you happier than you had been in a very long time.  There wasn’t a moment of sadness when he was there to brighten your day, his smile more contagious than the plague, and a heart that had the capability of producing such raw and honest emotions.  He was so intoxicating that you found yourself thinking of the prince that had originally stolen your heart far less than usual.  Whether you were awake or asleep, Bokuto consumed your thoughts, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain one bit.  

Because in the seventh year, when he was given your parents’ blessing and he asked for your hand in marriage, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying yes, thoughts of finally being able to marry a man that you loved so wholly bringing a smile so wide that it pained your cheeks.  But, it was also in that year that you found yourself sitting down at your desk in front of a piece of parchment, a quill sitting next to a bottle of ink.  In year seven, you drafted your final letter to Kuroo Tetsurou, a goodbye to set your mind at ease, to be able to guiltlessly move forward with your life.

Tetsurou,

I hope that this letter finds you well.  It has been much too long since I have last had the pleasure of hearing from you.  Perhaps the war has needed your full attention over these past few years and, if that is the case, then I cannot blame you for not taking the time to write to me.  But, there is something that I wish to tell you.  

Seven years ago, I made a promise to you.  Do you remember that?  I promised that I would wait as long as I must to be with you, to finally be able to marry you.  But, I am afraid that today I have broken that promise to you for I have accepted a marriage proposal from another man, one that makes me as happy as you did.  He brings me a feeling of happiness that I only ever felt with you. 

My prince, I waited as long as I could.  But, the silence had worn down on me to the point that it was unbearable.  I had waited in sorrow for a letter that never came and when I needed a light the most, he was there, shining brighter than any star in the galaxy.  I hope that you will forgive me and I wish you all of the best in your future.

Best,

Y/N

And you had folded up a letter with the name of a man who would never read it, but still, when the day broke the horizon the next morning, you met the postman at the door, a piece of folded parchment in your hand, a letter that would fall on deaf ears.  

It wasn’t until the eighth year after Tetsurou’s leave that you took a new last name.  You found happiness in Koutarou, a sense of peace that only he could offer.  His joyful laughter echoed through the walls of his manor as he lifted you from the ground, spinning the both of you around and around until he was sure that he would collapse as the room continued to spin even after he was sure that his feet had stopped.  But, he couldn’t have been happier.  Being here, in a home that had felt so lonely for a long time, now with someone that he loved more than anything in the world, Bokuto wasn’t sure that there was anything that could’ve made his life better.  

It was also in that eighth year that Bokuto realized that there was one thing that could make his world even brighter and it came in the form of a small bump that you carried with you everywhere you went.  His little bump.  A child that unified you better than any wedding band or string of vows ever could.  Everytime that he would look at you with your growing stomach, he could feel his heart swell, a new sense of pride filling his chest at the idea of becoming a father to his beautiful little baby.  

In year nine, the two of you became parents to a precious baby girl that had Koutarou wrapped around her finger from the very minute she was born.  With his wide golden eyes and silver locks, she was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined.  It was as if after all of your years of turmoil, the gods were blessing you with the perfect life that you had always envisioned, but a different man was by your side rather than the one that you had always pictured as the father of your children, your loving husband.  Yet, despite your life not turning out exactly how you had planned, there was nothing that you wanted to change.  You were finally happy and at peace with losing your first love.

But a letter had arrived in the mail.  One that announced that the war had finally drawn to a close and that the troops would be arriving home the following week.  

“It would be nice to go.  We could see the soldiers back and then we can go visit the shops downtown, stop for lunch, and do whatever else you’d like for the rest of the day,” Koutarou suggested, laying the letter down on the dining table.  “But, we obviously don’t have to go!  If it may upset you, then maybe we shouldn’t,” he added quickly.”

“Koutarou, please.  You have nothing to worry about.  I’ve come to terms with his death a long time ago.  I think a day in town would be perfect.”  You smiled warmly, laying your hand over his, letting him lace his fingers with yours.

There were very few things that you were expecting after nine years, but the look on Kuroo Tetsurou’s face when he laid eyes on you that day, the returning troops at his back, was unforgettable.  There had been an all too familiar sense of longing in his expression when he had initially recognized your form, but when his brain registered the man who had a protective arm wrapped around you and the small bundle of blankets in your arms, the adoration had fallen from his eyes only to be replaced by a sad look in his eyes, one unlike something you had ever seen cross his face.  The prince that you had fallen in love with all of those years ago, now looked like he had aged 20 years, whether it be from the stress of war or from the realization that his one love had continued moving forward in their life, even he wasn’t sure.

Yet, despite everything in his body telling him no, Tetsurou dismounted from his horse, long legs carrying him easily over the distance that kept you from him.  It was in that ninth year that Kuroo Tetsurou was careless and crashed his lips against your own, a desire to pull you closer to him and finally feel your body against his that had been stopped by a baby.  A baby that started crying when Tetsurou’s body bumped against it.  A cry that snapped him back to reality and had him pulling away from you.  Remembering that the child in your arms was not his.  Remembering that after nine long years, you were no longer his.  

[plaguethewaters]

fourth time’s the charm

so. @greenninjagal-blog . Fool me trice had me in tears and emotions so i MUST retailiate by giving you hopefully as much tears and emotions. Obviously, this being a sequel of Green’s fic, I highly reccommend going to read hers first and giving some love, she really deserves it.

*** Wc: 2182

Characters: Janus, Virgil, brief mentions of all the other sides.

Relationships: Janus/Virgil Cw: Crying, mentions of shouting and arguments, slightly heavy metaphores, implied kissing, self deprecation and blaming, mentioned oast arguments, identity theft? tecnically? but it’s just Jan doing his thing. (As always feel free to tell me to add more!)

Or: Janus and Virgil have a lot of feelings. Would be nice if someone taught them how to deal with it.

[after thought note, because I realized it might not be as understandable as I tought, the things in brackets are Virgil’s thoughts].

Janus woke up at the shifting of a light.

The corridor light, to be more precise, the one that only turned itself off when everyone was supposed to be asleep. Which meant it was either very, very late, or very very early.

He took a moment to let panic consume him, the looming shadow of every task he didn't do filling his head, before taking a deep breath. Roman had said he would take care of it, (or at the very least, he thought he had. His memories about that conversation were still way fuzzier than he'd like them to be, that with emotional fatigue and actual fatigue messing things up), and even if he hadn't there was nothing he could do now. He had to wait until the morning, survey the damage, and try to fix his mistakes as best as he could.

Taking another breath (funny how he'd almost had to remind himself to) he opened his eyes.

To Virgil.

Virgil, entering his room with a way too obvious "caught in the act" expression, and a tray in his hands carefully balancing what looked like biscuits and tea. (His favourite late night snack. Virgil's had been dark chocolate and milk, and he wondered whether it had changed as much as everything else).

"Uhm, Hi," He said, ever the most eloquent in his still half asleep state. "What are you doing here?"

"Patt told me to bring you something to eat."

Janus was pretty sure Patton didn't know of his current condition at all. And even if he had, there was a very low chance he'd decide to get him caren of at such an ungodly hour of the morning (which, glancing at his clock, revealed itself to be three o'clock), but he politely decided not to point that off.

[Patton had not, in fact, told him to do this. It just sounded like a less pitiful excuse than "I heard you were sick and I literally couldn't sleep until I'd seen you breathing".]

"Roman told us about what happened today." Virgil said, voice revealing as little emotion as possible, while he brought the tray over his nightstand and retreated.

And oh, there it was, the icy coldness of dread washing over him. He did not really know what would happen, now. A screaming match, maybe? He hoped not, not now when his throat was so obviously hoarse from crying, not when his brain couldn't have tried to keep up the mask of hate.

He'd end up doing something absurdly stupid, like being honest to someone who so clearly didn't want to hear the truth.

"I'm not... pleased. About you using my face to do your thing.  You should contribute with your own appearance or, you know, ask. I still think lying this much is wrong, for both you and Thomas; we're going to hit a wall where either no one believes us anymore, or we have so much stress from keeping up with it all that we break down, " He sighed, "That being said, you probably did, something right. Roman hasn't smiled like that since, what, the christmas episode? Logan had lunch with us today, he actually talked about this book he's reading, even if he expected to be shut down at any moment; Patton has asked us to give him so space. He set boundaries  Jan, I don't think I ever seen him do that. Hell, even Remus seemed more okay than usual. Whatever you've been doing, it made them really happy. Keep it up."

[There was resentment, in those words. A little bit of venom sliding over, a "why are they happy with you and not me?" hidden behind the praise. The old nickname, going out before it could even hit his brain, did nothing to alleviate the burn.]

Janus was silent for a long time, long enough to look like he wouldn't answer at all.

That was... way calmer than he'd expected this conversation to go. Less screaming was involved, and definitely less tears (on both parts).

Being accredited of what was probably Roman's work helped, surely (why would Virgil think he was the author of all of that?), but there was still a layer of doubt frizzling under his skin. The kind of hate they felt towards each other, that Virgil felt towards him, the years of resentment onto their backs... They didn't go away that easily.

[He had considered keeping up the hate and the hissing, to pretend like he still despised the Janus' very presence, but he was just so tired. Regret and rage were all encompassing, and took way more out of him than he'd like to admit.]

When Virgil went away, he hadn't had much time to think: anger and betrayal flooded his veins, his brain nothing but a mixture of tears and regret. He had fallen in a never ending cycle, blaming Virgil and then Remus and then finally himself, everyone and everything being at fault for things that didn't have a fault at all: he needed to direct his rage at something, and where all failed it was forced to turn inwards. Never, from those miserable moments to the present, had he ever thought to compare  just how similar Virgil's function was to his. Protection was protection, be it through fear or deception, be it born of safety or happiness; making Thomas (and by proxy, his sides) safe and content, was all they ever wanted (even if it meant sacrificing everything. Even if meant sacrificing yourself).

Virgil would have never turned his own hate onto the others, not when there was a risk of hurting them. (When Janus' blaming couldn't find a scapegoat, it turned onto himself. Where had Virgil's hate gone, if not entirely on him?)

"What about you?" Janus said, words escaping his lips with almost no sound.

Virgil, halfway to the door, turned to him with a confused expression.

[He hadn't expected him to reply. He didn't think, after how much of an idiot he'd been, that Janus would ever want a conversation with him.]

"What about me?"

"You listed everyone except yourself. Are you happy?"

"Of course," came an answer, too quick and too bitter to be the truth. Surprising, for someone who lived with him for so long, not to come up with a more convincing lie; it was clear Virgil never really believed in it himself.

[He wanted to believe in it, oh, how he wanted. He'd been trying for so long to be happy, yet he couldn't, not with that hole in his heart heavier than any worry].

"Do you... Do you know why Roman knew I wasn't you?" Janus said, an apparent non-sequitur that still made too much sense, voice still low (don't raise it, don't scream, you'll make the same mistakes again-) and looking intently at his hands.

Virgil looked up, looking surprised. Janus couldn't blame him: with all the years he had spent admiring every inch of his skin, every thread of his favourite hoodie, every wrinkle formed with is smile, every note in his giggles of excitement, he could make a copy almost equal to the original. (Almost, always almost, could never come perfectly close to something so magnificent no matter how hard he tried).

He'd know Virgil like the palm of his hands, deeper than he'd ever known himself.

It didn't come to his mind that it wasn't the same for  the others.

"I wouldn't have... expected. Him to notice, that's it. You make a good me."

"Neither did I. Apparently I had made a mistake in thinking he'd ever seen you actually happy."

"Ah, That." Virgil sighed.

Resignation, maybe, or shame: Janus wasn't sure, but neither of these option were pleasant. He looked intently at the other, asking him to continue with no bravery to speak.

[- those eyes, always staring, always seeing so deep into his soul in a way that shouldn't have been endearing and yet never failed to make his heart race-]

"It's not that I was never happy. I was. They make me happy, and very much so," he continued, thoughts going to a quiet christmas, to a hundred movie nights, to a thousand shared meals, "I love them as much as I'd like to think they love me. I just.. keep it covered around them too. At first it was just to, you know, scare Thomas off? Somehow? But then, thoughts started happening, with reasons and stuff, and I decided to keep it like that. It wears down every few hours, but I like spending time alone anyway ."

"But why?" He asked in disbelief, not able to fathom covering something so beautiful, the glow in his eyes he'd spent so long getting lost in-

"I was scared, okay? Of ... you."

Suddenly his thoughts stopped.

Virgil still wasn't looking at him. [He wasn't brave enough to.]

He felt as if he was about to cry, again. There sure was a trend to this evening wasn't there?

[Oh god, tears. Retry, retry quick-]

"Or, well, not of you you. The memory of you. Of the past, in general, and the past with you all. Being completely happy in the Light, comfortable showing emotions and like, content with the life I had chosen? It mean leaving you behind. It meant admitting I abandoned you, abandoned everyone and everything. And admiring that, meant also acknowledging the fact that I felt like shit about it. "

[Had he always rambled so much?]

"I missed my old me, and my old life, and it scared me so much. I missed you."

Janus left out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Everything in his body flooded with relief, veins filling with the happiness of reciprocation, the burn of an old feeling coming back to life, the sheer energy of the love he felt.

He knew that this was as much as a confession as they would ever have. They had never learned to deal with emotions as big as these felt, never knew how to put them into words in a way that would have made sense for anyone else. For them, something as simple as “I missed you”, said in a rush at three in the morning, when both their brains were too tired to keep up a filter, meant everything the words could mean and a billion times more. It meant love, in it simplest of terms that really, wasn’t simple at all.

And in that faithful moment, after what felt like eons and billions of seconds, like eras ending and worlds ending, like lakes of tears being spilled and blind joy being felt, their eyes met.

Eye to eye, [still beautiful as that first day], deep dark brown drowning in his own, technically the same as Thomas' but [so so different, sparkling with yellow and green and a rainbow of colors vibrant enough to blind] and somehow so dark and static at the same time, purple voids full of swirling emotions. It had been long enough for him to be accustomed to this, [the sheer pain of not having,] the pain of not feeling, [the pain of being so far apart you don't know where you start and the wanting ends], the pain of not having anyone near in the moment of need, stern and strict when he forgot to take care of himself over everyone, [calm and gentle during panic attacks,] a voice and a laugh for every sad moment [a tear and compassion when he didn't know he wanted them]; Yet it hadn't been long enough for him to forget the way those eyes spoke, [no words ever necessary,] an "I love you" hidden in their banter, [a "I'll be there for you" after a sleepless night.]

A "I will miss you" in the anger.  [A "I'll regret this" in a betrayal.]

Soon hands followed where the eyes watched, words another time rendered useless in the heat of the moment.           [He never knew how to actually say how he felt. Emotions were too                      complicated to be said so simply.]           He needed to show him, to let all of his love for Virgil fill his body until it                spilled over in his arms.

They rushed, fervent with the need and passion  of a flower torn to shred, clinging to the last few strands of stem it has left; yet they were calm to the eyes of anyone else: the rush was in their minds, in the way they caressed each other's face, in the way they hugged as long lost souls.

 Everything just seems so fast when the world has stopped moving.

Suddenly the came to a halt, lips inches away from one another. It was too fast, too fast to seem real and probably too fast to be right: they should have stopped, apologized, thought it through. They should have tried seeing  how ridiculous this situation would've looked from an outside perspective, how impossible would be a sudden change from hissing at each other whenever they were in the same room, to caressing each other's cheeks in utter adoration.

They were never one to follow the standard, really.

"You know," said Virgil with a smirk, softly caressing his scales, [God they were so soft-] "We should maybe talk about all of, um, this. Like functioning adults."

"I think I have been a functional adult enough for today. I need a break," he snorted, taking the others hand and leading him to the bed.

As they came in contact, "I think we can talk tomorrow" was heard, a whisper whose origins couldn't count now that their bodies were fused in one, feelings encompassing and engulfing what little of physical they still had left.

When Janus fell on his back, with Virgil's lips a fire on his own and the pillows freezing on his back, his world drowned in purple and he was finally really truly happy.

[halfwaythereroyalwrites]

It’s a Date (Poe Dameron x Reader) - Kilig

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Warnings: This can be read alone or as part of the Kilig series. Cursing. Drinking. No other warnings I can think of unless your secondhand embarrassment is really bad. 

Word count: 4k+ 

A/N: I’ve switched the POV from first person to second person

Kilig is a Tagalog word to describe the feeling of excitement and exhilaration and possibly embarrassment from anything remotely romantic.

Part 1 + Part 2 + Part 3 + Masterlist

______________________________________

“SHUT UP!” Rose exclaimed, hitting your arm way harder than you expected.

“You are too loud!” You shushed. “And that hurt!”

“I can’t help it!” She squealed. “You and Poe are finally going on a date! This is big news!”

“You and Poe are going on a date?!” Finn questioned, appearing behind you, seemingly out of nowhere.

“You two might as well announce it to the whole base.” You remarked dryly.

“Announce what?” General Organa asked, also appearing out of nowhere and joining your group. Ah shit. Finn and Rose were —  for once — speechless, and their guilty glances flittered between you and the general who stood patiently, awaiting an answer.

“Uhhh…General! Good to see you.” You greeted, knowing your attempt at a cheerful smile didn’t quite reach your panicked eyes.

“Good to see you too. Now what were you two going to announce to the whole base?” You could’ve sworn General Organa’s eyes were bemused at the two Resistance members looking to each other for an answer. You stood at General Organa’s side, wide-eyed and subtly making a quick side-to-side motion with your fingers pointed to your neck, warning Finn and Rose not to fold.

“Uh Rose…just wanted to let everyone know that she…uh-she…wants” Finn stuttered, blinking  repeatedly at much too rapid of a pace.

“She and Poe are going on a date!” Rose blurted out and looked at you apologetically “I’m sorry, General Organa was looking at me, and I can’t lie to her!” You felt heat creeping up your neck, pointedly not meeting General Organa’s eyes which were now studying you.

“Well, that’s nice to hear. Maker knows he’s been trying to date you since you almost broke his nose.” It was your turn to stare wide-eyed at General Organa’s statement.

“Wh-What? You know about us?!” You stammered in disbelief.

“Honey, everyone knows about the two of you. For what it’s worth, I approve. My advice? Just slap him around a little bit when he gets to be too much,” General Organa winked and patted your shoulder comfortingly before walking away. All three of you stared at her retreating figure, jaws dropped in disbelief at General Organa’s verbal approval of you and Poe. Finn was the first one to break out of his stupor, shaking his head, and turning to you.

“So what are you doing for your first date?” Finn asked.

“I don’t know actually. He hasn’t told me anything other than it’s tomorrow night.” You shrugged. Rose started excitedly shaking both of her fists and squealing, a giddy smile spread wide across her face.

“Oh that is so romantic! You have to tell us everything about your date right after!”

“You have a date?” Pava asked, overhearing Rose’s squeals on her way to the landing area. You knocked your head back and loudly groaned in frustration. You really should just announce it to the whole base at this point. Pava responded by softly bumping her shoulder against yours. “Is it with a certain commander?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Is it?” Bump. “Is it?” Bump. “Tell me, is it?”

“Ok, I have actual work to do now, so I will see you all later.” You saluted your three friends and walked away, fighting a smile from making its way onto your face.

“SO IS IT?!” You heard Pava bellow from a distance. The faint giggles of Finn and Rose following her loud outburst.

The rest of the day passed by without much fanfare. Your new role as one of the lead communications officers meant you had to shadow the more experienced officers before being allowed to run point on a mission by yourself. This meant long days of trailing behind your experienced colleagues, taking notes, and working under direct supervision. Added together with the stress of a new position made for an exhausting and — at times — monotonous day. Of course, the highlight of your day was your lunch with Poe. You faintly smiled at the thought of the dark-haired debonaire. Ever since your first lunch together, he always made a point to spend his lunch breaks with you. There were times you had been overly occupied with your work, buzzing around command center, consumed with accomplishing tasks and making the most of your time.

However, on his lunch break — without fail — you would look up to see Poe leaning against the wall by the door, patiently waiting for you to take your break. When you would finally take notice of him, there was never a hint of impatience in his eyes. He seemed almost…content…just watching you work, as if there was nothing else he would rather be doing. The moment you met his gaze, he always greeted you with his bright smile which you couldn’t help but reflect. You would quickly excuse  yourself once you’ve finished whatever task you were doing and walk over to him, fighting off the giddy urge to run to him instead. He would offer his arm and pull you close when strolling over to the mess hall. After a few of your daily lunches, he had finally asked you out on a date when he escorted you back to command center. The urge to yell out “Finally!” was overwhelming. Instead, you settled for, “Sure. I mean, yes!”

Presently, you were wrapping up documentation on intel that had been collected from Coruscant. Your head did a double-take and furrowed your brows at the sight of Poe leaning up against the wall. It was the end of your shift, and other than your daily lunches, you usually wouldn’t see each other until much later when he finished his work. He pushed himself off the wall and made his way toward you.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” you questioned.

“I just wanted to see you.” Poe remarked, giving his signature smile, making your knees go weak.

“You saw me earlier.” you retorted.

“You’re worth a second look. And a third. And a fourth. In fact, I’m gonna walk back in to…”

“Alright, Dameron.” You put your hand up, rolling your eyes. The heat in your neck and cheeks was growing with every word he uttered. “I meant I usually don’t see until you’re finished with briefings and drills.”

“I wanted to let you know that I can’t make it to lunch tomorrow.”

“What?! Why?”

“I gotta get ready for our date,” Poe laughed. Your shoulders visibly relaxed at his answer although the disappointment at not seeing him until tomorrow night was starting to settle. Poe’s hand trailed down your arm and took your hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I told you I already got all of this planned out. All you have to do is meet me at the Millennium Falcon tomorrow night.” He kissed your hand. His soft lips sparked a warm spark to travel from your hand to your neck.

“Ok. Could you please give me a hint of what you have planned for tomorrow?”

“Mmmm you should cover up.”

“…That’s a sexy hint,” you deadpanned.

“Had something else in mind?” Poe winked suggestively. You snatched your hand out of his grip, cheeks burning, hand poised at the ready to hit him in the chest. Poe raised both of his hands in surrender. “What? I am down for whatever you wanna try.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Trust me. I got this. I do have one question though.”

“What is it?”

“How many people did you tell about our date tonight?” Your jaw dropped.

“I—wha…ugh! I’m going to kill them!” you growled. “How many people know?!”

“Uh…based on how many people asked me about it today, a lot.” Poe answered.

“Oh Maker! I didn’t want everyone to know! I told Rose but Finn overheard and then General Organa overheard who was like ‘oh I approve’ and I thought that was that and then Pava heard Finn talking about it, and…” Poe grabbed your shoulders, effectively halting your babbling.

“Hey! It’s ok. I don’t mind people knowing.”

“I kinda mind.” You shrugged.

Poe’s brow knitted at your words. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not that I don’t want people knowing about us. It’s just that…I wanted this moment to be between you and me first.This is a small base, Poe. Everyone is going to ask us about us. Hell, they’re already asking you about us.”

Poe contemplated your explanation before nodding his head in understanding. He pulled you into his arms, providing a comfort that muted the nervous buzzing in your head. You wrapped your arms around his waist and melted into his embrace. “Let’s take things one step at a time, alright? We still have a date to go on.” You felt the lingering soft touch of his lips on your forehead. “And if they talk? Who cares?”

You tightened your arms around his waist and mumbled against his chest, “You’re right. You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” You gently pushed against his chest, trying to pull away from his embrace. Poe responded by tightening his arms, effectively squishing your face against his chest. He smelt of fuel, sweat, and faint traces of his cologne: an intoxicating blend only he could ever possess. Your arms fell at your sides. “Poe?”

“Mmmm.”

“You can let go now.”

“I know.” He didn’t let go. The deep rumble of his chest prompted you to wrap your arms around him again. Taking this all in. Paying no mind to the fact he and you still stood in the command center; its several occupants pointedly refusing to glance at your display of affection though you took notice none of them were speaking. Their ears were directed toward the two of you. Poe tightened his his embrace one more time before letting go — the absence of his warmth left you longing. “Tomorrow night. I’ll see you then.”

You nodded. He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek before jogging away. The site of his kiss left its burning mark, and your hand flexed at the urge to immediately caress your cheek. Tomorrow is not too far, you thought. Your colleagues’ heads whipped away from your gaze when you turned around, busying themselves with menial tasks and nodding at each other — babbling vaguely related chatter. These next few hours were going to be interesting, you mused.

And interesting they were indeed. The next day, rumors and whispers about you and Poe spread like wildfire throughout the base. People bombarded you with an endless stream of questions about your first meeting, your lunches, and what your first date was going to be. It seemed the gossip provided a much-needed distraction from the realities of war, and people were much too eager to partake in it. On the other hand, any person could have walked up to you, placed their hands on your face, and sworn you were feeling sick. You appetite had diminished. Every rumor and question not only fanned the the heat in your cheeks but also the nervousness you felt about what Poe had planned. He gave no hints as to what was actually happening tonight. The rumors grew a life of their own; by the time you had to get ready, people had built up their own scenarios of your first date.

“So is Poe really taking you to Naboo?” Rose asked, taking a seat next to you in bed. She found you in the barracks, lying down, and looking up at the ceiling — fanning yourself from the inescapable jungle heat. “I always thought that was such a romantic place! I’ve always wanted to go.”

You met Rose’s question with a scoff. “I told you I don’t know anything about the date. I think everyone knows more than I do. General Organa even gave me the rest of the day off.”

“Soooo…are you hiding?”

“No, I was trying to nap the anxiety away.”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

“Come on. Get up.” Rose shoved your legs off the side of the bed with a surprising amount of strength. “You haven’t even gotten ready, and you only have an hour.” You groaned, sliding the rest of your body off the bed. Taking into account Poe’s sole hint, you wore a white long sleeve with your brown slacks and black boots. Rose, meanwhile, was listing off the different date ideas she had collected from others throughout the day.

“Maybe Poe will take you to Coruscant! I heard they had a bunch of nice restaurants there!” Rose suggested.

“Eh maybe,” you were absentmindedly tucking in your shirt into your slacks then buckling the belt. This proved to be a harder task than normal granted your fingers were shaking. You wiped off your sweaty palms onto your slacks, disguising the movement as straightening out any wrinkles.

“Or maybe Poe will recreate your first lunch together as your date!” A series of excited beeps came from the doorway. BB-8 rolled over to you and chirped a hello, informing you that it is here to take you to the Millennium Falcon. “Oh my gosh how cute!” Rose gushed. The pounding in your chest spiked, and your head whipped around to Rose.

“Ok how do I look?!” you asked frantically.

“You look great! Tell me all about it when you come back!” You nodded, but your feet remained firmly planted in place.

“What if I mess something up? Oh gosh what if this doesn’t go well? What if he changes his mind?” You couldn’t keep yourself from rambling. The moment was forthcoming, and the anticipation amplified by all those around you added to the existing anxiety you felt. Rose giggled and nudged you toward BB-8 who could not keep itself from rolling back and forth animatedly.

“It’s gonna be fine! Have fun!” Rose waved goodbye as we left the barracks. The walk to the Millennium Falcon was not far by any means, but even BB-8’s excitement wasn’t enough to calm your fretting mind. You trust Poe. Of course you trust Poe. But a series of ‘what if’s?’ went through your mind as you and BB-8 made your way over to the Millennium Falcon. What if the date doesn’t go well? What if Poe changes his mind about you tonight? What if…?

The sight of Poe turning around and catching your gaze silenced all anxieties and doubts. He was standing in the middle of the path, and you laughed at the sight. The man was wearing an outfit almost identical to yours. The differentiating factor was his dark brown leather jacket which looked especially dashing on him tonight. The sky was melding into hues of soft oranges, pinks, violets, and reds —  forming a picturesque sight to see of Poe Dameron. His chiseled face looked cleanly shaved. The blue shadow of his usual stubble that often occupied his jawline was only faintly there. His curls sat perfectly atop his head, and he stood ripping a white handkerchief.

“Hey,” Poe greeted, holding your gaze as you walked towards him — bringing on a now-familiar heat to your cheeks. He scanned you up and down, grinning. “Wow… you look beautiful.”

“I look like you!”

“See that? We’re already linked!” He pulled you into his arms into a brief embrace. “I mean it.” His voice dropped an octave as he muttered the next words. “You really do look beautiful.”

“You look…handsome,” you whispered in reply. “It’s almost annoying.” Poe pulled away, beaming. He held up the white handkerchief in his hand.

“Ok before I show you what I have planned, I need you to put this blindfold on.”

“Poe, is that really necessary? I can just close my eyes.”

“Come on! It’s part of the surprise. Do you trust me?”

“…Yes,” you sighed admittedly. He came up behind you and tied the blindfold around your eyes. Your senses heightened at the absence of your sight, immediately trying to place where Poe was. Poe thanked BB-8 for all its help, and the droid beeped in response before whirring away — leaving the two of you alone. Poe placed his warm hands on your shoulders, gently rubbing up and down your arms. His touch made your breath hitch.

You could feel the presence of his lips by your ears; his deep voice whispered, “Are you ready?” You nodded. He gently led you down the path, occasionally warning you to mind your step. The first thing you noticed was the unmistakable musk of smoke, followed by the crackling and pops of a campfire. Poe halted your movements and removed your blindfold. Your jaw dropped.

The Millennium Falcon’s boarding ramp was open, emanating a soft light onto the clearing. The clearing in front of the cargo ship boasted a makeshift pit in the middle — a medium-sized fire already burning, adding to the dream-like, serene atmosphere and melting some of the humidity out from the tropical air. Between the fire and the boarding ramp, a large blanket was spread out. The center of the blanket held an impressive display. Two large pillows were on either side of a wide gray box that acted as a table. The ‘table’ had trays of food, two bottles of wine, and, placed in the center, a canteen filled with rominarias.

“I…uh…I might have gone overboard, but I figured you —“

“It’s perfect,” you whispered. Poe let out a sigh of relief at your reaction. He straightened up his jacket and posture, cleared his throat, and offered his arm. Poe led you to sit on one of the pillows, and he made his way to the other side. The ambient lighting did wonders to highlight the sharp planes of his features. His presence enough to rob you of your breath. Lost for words, you pressed your two fingers to your pulse point, the steady beating of your heart grounding you. Poe cleared his throat.

“I thought you’d like to be more lowkey with you know…everything,” Poe explained. He popped open one of the bottles of wine and poured equal amounts into your glasses. “Cheers.” The two of you clinked your glasses together, and you gulped a generous portion of the wine, reveling in the warm, liquid courage it brought. Swallowing the knot at the base of your throat, you managed to croak out.

“Yeah it’s great! It is…but…there is one thing that’s off.” Poe sputtered out his drink, eyes going wide at your comment.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“…I can’t hear you all the way from over there,” you teased.

Poe smirked and quickly gathered up his pillow — plopping into the space next to you. He rested his hand on your other side, his arm coyly close to your back, and his body close to yours. “If you say so.”

The conversation started to effortlessly flow after breaking the tension between you two, with the aid of several glasses of wine. The night had long gone dark, and the only light was provided by the crackling fire and the light from the Millennium Falcon. Sometime during the night, Poe’s leather jacket was laid on your shoulders, adding extra protection from the bugs flying about the air. The trays of food were steadily cleared of its contents. Currently, Poe and you were seated facing each other, locked in a playful — and to be quite  honest, tipsy — competition to see who can catch the most grapes in their mouth. Poe was beating you — at the very game you suggested — by a laughable margin.

“You’re cheating!” You giggled, lightly slapping his chest.

“How?! You suck at this,” Poe garbled through a mouthful of grapes.

“Okay. One more time, for the win.” Your eyes focused on the grape in your hand, determinedly. You tossed the grape straight up in the air, clearly in the path for it to land in your open mouth, only for Poe to slightly pull you towards him and out of the way. The grape smacked your eye, eliciting an offended yelp out of you. Poe couldn’t contain his laughter at your plight.

“Now watch the champion work.” Poe winked and tossed the grape into the air. Instead of settling for a slight nudge, you tackled him to the ground, the grape bouncing off your back. Poe laughed even harder, his arms securing you on top as you fell the short distance to the ground together. You pushed yourself off your elbows.

“You are a cheater! You just couldn’t stand to let me win!”

“From where I am, I’m definitely still the winner here.” Your cheeks flamed at his comment, taking notice of your suggestive position. Your hips were straddling his. Poe’s knees were flexed, keeping you in place. Your hands were on his chest, his hands on your hips, and your world came to a dizzying pause. Only the sound of the sizzles, crackles, and pop of the fire were heard between you two. Neither making a move to change positions. Only watching each other’s movements expressions. Your fingers felt the tiny ridges of the metal chain he wore around his neck. The bottom of the chain held a ring.  

“What’s this?” you asked. Poe pushed himself off the ground, and you slightly moved down his legs, remaining on top of him. He pulled a steel ring out from under his shirt and held it up to the light. The brushed steel was polished neatly. Poe was twisting the ring between his fingers, studying the small glints of light that would result.

“The ring was my mom’s. She was a pilot in the Rebel Alliance. She’s the one who taught me how to fly in her A-wing. Leia always said she was strong, smart, highly-skilled, although stubborn at times…”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you quipped. Poe chuckled in agreement.

“Yeah…I like to wear it as a reminder.”

“Of what?” You whispered as your fingers were absentmindedly playing with the curls on his head — observing the ring.

“Of what this…this war…is all for.” Poe lifted his head, simultaneously tilting your chin upwards, locking your gazes together. You’re not sure what it was. The long-standing tension. His persistent efforts. It could have been his looks. His charm. The fact he planned all this for you. Something. Something pulled you to him. Led you to lean closer and close the distance. Poe placed his hands on both your cheeks, leaning closer to you. You closed your eyes and soon felt the faint outline of his soft lips on yours. Closer.

Poe took you by surprise when he pulled away. He tilted his forehead to rest against yours, taking a breath before, whispering.

“I wanna do this right,” Poe explained. “We’re both tipsy. It’s not right.” You pulled away to fully look at him. “I want to remember every detail of the first time we kiss,” he whispered. His words fanned the warmth fluttering in your chest. Though slightly dejected, you nodded in agreement.

“Who knew Poe Dameron could be such a romantic?” you teased, playing with the ring that was now proudly displayed against his chest. Poe took your hand and placed tiny kisses on the back, trailing to your fingers, and ending in the palm of your hand. Poe laid back down and gently pulled you to follow suit. You laid at his side, snuggled into his comforting warmth. He placed his arm around you, and his other hand reached for yours and placed it on top of his chest — on top of his mother’s ring. You studied the dancing shadows of the fire’s light on his face, reveling in the all the feelings Poe Dameron drew out in you. Poe caught you studying him and smiled.

“How was this for a first date?” he asked.

“Pretty good.” you grinned in response. He hummed in delight. He brought you closer to place a kiss on your forehead and squeezed your hand. You felt the dull thumping of his heartbeat against your hand. Curious, you slowly brought your other hand flat against your own chest. The combined sounds made your breath hitch in your throat. The melodic chorus of both of your hearts were beating in unison. Together in time. As one.

______________________________________

Part 1 + Part 2 + Part 3 + Masterlist

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think and if you want to be added to my taglist! 

Taglist: @multifandomlife22 @peppermintvanillaa @thottiewinemom​ @princeabomination​ @aroseamongthestars​ @svetlana-beilschmidt

[pocketsizeddemon]

Yule - Bang Chan Smut

I’ve been wanting to write a second part to Beltane since... well since I wrote Beltane. So with Yule coming tomorrow, I wrote this baby! Happy Yule my darlings and Happy Holidays in general~

Bang Chan smut, 2.3k words, AO3

It was well into winter already. You could see it in the nights that were getting longer and the brightly decorated shop windows. But most importantly you could feel it was getting colder, it was finally “hoodie season” as your boyfriend would say. The boyfriend who was lately way too busy.

           Chris and his group were currently promoting their new album and you’d be lucky if you got to see him a few hours a week, but really you couldn’t blame him. You knew all too well how time-consuming and exhausting his job was, and also how much he loved doing it, you just missed him terribly. But hopefully tonight, the longest night of the year, this would change. You wouldn’t really call it a date or anything but he had promised to you, since he’d have the weekend off that you could watch movies and spend time together.

           He arrived late in the evening. As it seemed appropriate for the occasion and the terribly cold weather you had lit up the fireplace a few hours ago and the house was cozily warm. He found you sitting on the couch with a notebook in your hand, a warm cup of tea, wearing one of his hoodies that looked adorably oversized on you and barely covered your bare thighs. He smiled softly as he took of his coat and put his backpack away on the counter and quietly sat next to, trying to not distract you from your task.

“What’d you got there baby?” he asked and giggled as you let out a tiny scream. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, I was doing something.” you answered, laughing along as you placed your notes on the coffee table and gave him a big hug. Oh how you missed his hugs. They made you feel so warm and fuzzy… They felt like home.

“Just writing down a presents’ list. I want to make sure I didn’t forget anyone.” You answered while nuzzling closer to him, leaving a tiny kiss on his cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too” he answered as he softly held your face and kissed you. “And I must say, coming home to you wearing my hoodie…that’s the best way to welcome me. You look so cute.” You blushed ever the slightest and playfully pushed him away. “Any presents left to buy?” he questioned, checking out your mostly checked list.

“Nope everything’s all set. I just need to finish the last few cards and I can ship them all out on Monday… which is technically on time but not really.” You giggled. “Gift-giving is a Yule tradition after all, so I should be done by today.”

“Yule?” Chris scrunched his nose. “Isn’t that the winter solstice?”

You nodded. “Yes! And it’s actually were many Christmas traditions come from. The Yule Log, the tree, even the gifts are all much older than <<Christmas>>. Oh! Speaking of which!” you beamed and hopped up, giving him a peak of the lovely white lace panties that you were wearing underneath his hoodie in the progress. You ran to your bedroom carrying a bag decorated with a big bow and gave it to him. His joy could not be hidden when he carefully unwrapped camera you had bought for him, smiling fondly as he remembered that he had told you how he was really starting to get into photography lately. He hugged you tightly, thanking you and already thinking of all the pictures he could take.

“So,” he asked after a few minutes “what are the plans for today babygirl?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. You came straight from practice so we can just watch movies and cuddle if you want.” You said with a shrug. Honestly as long you got to cuddle him you were perfectly fine with anything. He bit his lip in thought.

“You know what would get this on a whole other level of coziness?” he said, looking way too serious for the casualty of the matter at hand. “Let’s build a pillow fort!” You couldn’t help but laugh at his cute expression and beaming smile though you were certain yours was just the same. His idea was indeed really nice.

Getting down to what wouldn’t really count as work, but more as a playful treasure hunt, you gathered chairs, sheets, blankets and all kinds of pillows to build the perfect fort. It took you the rest of the evening to make but it was all worth it, you thought to yourself as you added one last detail : a leftover string of fairy lights, from decorating the other day, which made it all the more cozy. As he was setting up your laptop, you quickly sneaked into the kitchen to make two hot cocoas for both of you.

You snuggled into the warm and cozy fort, sipping your warm drinks and enjoying your movie and most of all each other’s companies. It wasn’t long until you were laughing along with How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Halfway through you were only partially paying attention as Chris had gotten busy leaving sweet kisses all over your face between your guys’ giggles. By the end of the movie he was comfortably nuzzled on your shoulder, leaving small kisses on your jaw and neck while you played with his soft fluffy hair, letting out small content hums.

           As soon as the credits rolled he lazily shuffled to your laptop, closed it and pushed it on the nearest chair. You laid comfortably between the pillows, making grabby hands for him to come back, with your cute sweater paws. And return he did, wriggling over you, supporting himself so that he wouldn’t fall on top of you. He stared at your warm smile under the soft lighting of the fire and fairylights, his eyes so full love.

           “Help me! I’m feeling!” he comically quoted the movie, dipping down to kiss your lips. You gently pulled him down for a second… and then a third and fourth, each kiss deeper and more heated than the last. He traced your bottom lip with his tongue, wordlessly asking for permission to take this further and you complied, weaving your fingers into his hair. Warm fingers were soon pressing into your thighs, sneaking their way under your shirt to feel more of you.

           He was headed lower, peppering open mouthed kisses all over your neck and shoulder, softly biting your clavicle as he was desperately trying to expose more skin. Raising the hem of the hoodie just a little higher, he moved towards your chest were he could continue his sweet teasing, leaving you breathless. You squirmed as his warm lips ghosted over your sensitive nipples and your hips bucked when he sucked one of them in his mouth. And still he continued, with small loving kisses on your tummy and a tantalizing nibble on your hipbone.

           Completely ignoring the place you wanted him most, he turned to your thighs, getting comfortable between your legs and taking his sweet time kissing your inner thighs, playfully biting and sucking small hickeys on them, both a warning for what would come next and a reminder for the following days. A chill ran through your spine as he reached the edge of your panties and a whimper that you hadn’t realize you were holding escaped your lips. The light of the fire made his eyes look like honey as he gazed up to you through his eyelashes, teasingly kissing your lower lips through the lace garment and smirking a devilish smirk when he heard you moan. Like a silent plea, one of your hands was grabbing at his shoulder, pulling on his hoodie, almost begging him to take it off.

           As much as wanted to keep on teasing you, tonight was the first time he had you all to himself in a while and he didn’t plan on spending all of it like this. He did quick work with taking off his own hoodie and pants, and then slowly removed your panties before he lied down between your legs. Your fingers were in his hair as his hot breath hit your bare pussy.  His tongue touched you next as he took him time to warm you up, moaning as if you were the sweetest caramel he had ever tasted.

           You almost had forgotten how skillful his tongue was, slow long strokes exploring your folds, softly flicking and sucking on your clit then licking again. He was truly taking his time with you, instead of rushing to make up for the weeks he hadn’t touched you, he was going slowly yet in an overwhelmingly passionate rhythm that was making you moan and whimper, matching the movements of your hips with his tongue’s. And oh did he love hearing your sounds. It was a truly rare occasion to have you so open, exposed and unapologetically vocal and all for him.

           “C-Chris, please. I need more please~” You groaned out in exasperation. And he was happy to comply, stopping his ministrations with a last teasing lick and sitting up. He was almost sad to discard the last piece of clothing off of you, his hoodie, and then took of his boxers, freeing his hard cock. With small kisses he made his way up to your lips again, giving you a much rougher kiss while grinding his erection on your wet folds

           You sighed, as he teased your entrance, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him to move. The drop of his jaw was barely registered when he filled you up, as your hands reached for his shoulders, moaning out at the sudden stretch. He started a slow pace and shallow thrusts, wanting to give you some time to get used to his size and mostly just enjoying being so close to you.

           With breathless whispers of I-love-yous he kept going slow and steady, switching between kissing your lips and softly nibbling on your neck. You were overwhelmed by how gentle and loving yet passionate he was, truly seizing your first time alone in a long time. This wasn’t a simple quick fuck, hidden away and trying to stay quiet. He was sweetly making love to you, pouring out his feelings in every single move of his hips and each tiny kiss on your skin.

           Just like his thrusts started growing faster and deeper, so did your moans grew louder. Your nails were scratching on his sculpted back, making him hiss and riling him up to go harder. He could feel you tighten around his cock in return and low groans left his throat. You were matching him beat for beat, pushing back against him as you felt your orgasm approach, pleading him to go just a little faster, you were almost there.

           Knowing his own high was approaching just as fast, feeling that tightening knot in his abdomen, he picked up the pace. In an instant your noises filled the little room, your back arching off of the soft futon on the floor, squirming around his cock. Feeling your convulsing walls was more than Chris could take and with a few more thrusts he was cumming deep inside of you.  

           You ended up falling asleep in the fort, all warm and cozy, comfortably cuddled up together, way too lazy and fucked out to even consider moving to the bed. The morning sun woke you up as it shone through your balcony door and over one of the blankets that have fallen overnight. You turned around in Chris’ embrace, who had somehow ended up spooning you in his sleep, finding him still fast asleep. His arms instinctively hugged you a little tighter, a gesture that only made the warm feeling inside you grow.

           The thought to wriggle away from your cuddly boyfriend’s hug and warm blankets into the cold room seemed insane and so you stayed there, counting Chris’ light freckles. You probably cooed a little too loud at an exceptionally cute constellation on his cheeks because he sleepily opened his eyes. As soon as he realized that he was holding you instead of his usual pillow he stirred, memories from last night flooding in making his smile mirror yours.

           “Good morning babygirl.” He said, his voice still rough from sleep.

           “Good morning baby.” You answered stretching as you got up. “I’m going to go wash up and get started with breakfast.” you told him with a kiss before making your way to the bathroom.

            He joined you in the kitchen a little later, as you had just started making coffee. Still slow from sleep and his hair adorably fluffy, he walked behind you giving you a back hug and resting his head on your shoulder. He seemed to get a little more awake as his backpack caught his eye, left on the counter from last night. Opening it quietly as he was fumbling around with the compartments, while you grabbed a few muffins from the box you had bought the other day and set them on the table along with the coffee cup. He followed you, holding a tiny box.

           “I was going to give it to you as an early Christmas present yesterday, but we got a little carried away yesterday.” He giggled as he opened the box for you, revealing a delicate silver moon necklace. “For you,” he continued “my moon in the darkest nights.” He told you as he fastened the accessory in the back of your neck. “I love you, babygirl.”

           “I love you too, Chris.” You said with a soft blush blooming on your cheeks as you pulled him down for a kiss.  

[percywinchester27]

About a boy (Part-11)

Word count: 2.8K

Warning: Suspense, feels, physical abuse, child-trafficking, kidnapping, child-violence, bullying.

Characters: Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Benny, Michael, OCs and… Sam?

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: Okay, I really hope you all like this chapter! <3

Thanks to my lovelies @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​​​​​​ and @deanssweetheart23​​​​​​​ for beta reading this story <3

About a boy masterlist

“You know what would help? Lightsabers!” Will proclaimed.

Dean laughed and Cas gave Will an amused look.

“You guys think it’s funny, but we sneaked a Star Wars tape last year- you remember that, don’t you, Cas?- and those sabers could light up the whole place,” he reasoned.

“You know Lightsabers aren’t real,” Cas said patiently.

Will rolled his eyes at that. “Of course they aren’t real. I know that! But they must be using something similar during the filming. That’s what we need. We could light this whole place up. No need for dumb flashlights that give out in the middle of creepy staircases.”

Dean smiled indulgently. “That was one time.”

“And one time was enough,” Will said decidedly, his tone effectively dismissing the matter.

It sure had been a struggle, sneaking each night into the record room without letting anyone know. Even more, it was a task to smuggle and return Will from and back to the 4th floor. But if Dean was honest, Will kept them going. He had the sort of brightness and enthusiasm that never gave out… even on the dullest of nights.

It had taken Will a few days to come back to himself, but after that, Will was the driving force behind the ‘Sam search mission.’ In fact, he seemed too bright sometimes. Dean worried if somehow Will was overcompensating, thinking that it was his job to find Sam before he left with his adoptive parents at the end of the month. That was another thing- No one was to bring the adoption up. Dean wasn’t sure it was denial. It appeared more like Will was pushing it deep, deep down. His anxieties only surfaced sometimes in the dark when it was just him and Dean, with their backs to the grill. He would suddenly go quiet and Dean would just know.

“Found another!” Cas announced. “Matt Wilcox. It says he was transferred to Missouri, but no paperwork to prove it.”

“We have twenty-three now,” Dean said, grimly.

They hadn’t found many leads on Sam. Will had suggested that they go by the law of omissions. Eliminate those files that had no chance of being Sam’s. Like all kids who hadn’t been admitted around the age of 6 months, or whose physical descriptions were way off. It was time consuming, but it was still something. Meanwhile, Dean used the same idea to look into Stynes. In the past three weeks since Dean had actually started investigating the matter seriously, they had come across multiple instances of paperwork that wasn’t just shoddy but didn’t make any sense. Most of these were kids who had been abruptly displaced. Dean didn’t know if bad paperwork or a complete lack of follow-up would be good enough for Jody to make a case out of it, but if they found enough files, maybe some other link could be found.

It was serious work, and Will’s periodic complaints about the lack of good flashlights- which had become an essential commodity at this point- was the only entertainment.

Dean stashed his files away and checked his watch. It was just past 4 am.

“We should get back,” he suggested. “You don’t want to fall asleep in the class again, Cas.”

“It’s what the English Lit class is meant for,” said Cas, getting up anyway and stretching his arms. Beside him, Will nodded in agreement.

Dean smiled fondly at him. 

Quietly, they made their way back to the left wing under the light of a single flashlight. It was little help, but too much light could attract attention. It was vexing to crossover from the barren left wing each night, but it was much better than risking being sighted.

Just as they landed on the fourth floor, a weird creaking noise came from the further left part.

“What the hell?” Dean scowled, pointing the flashlight. There was nothing there. Acting on an instinct, he shut the light off completely, gesturing with his hands for his other companions to stay put. 

As if on point, a dark figure emerged at the very end of the corridor. Dean’s breath hitched; behind him, there were similar gasps of shock. 

“Shhh…” he said, pushing them back into a deeper corner. The figure at the end was well-built and tall, and was looking straight at them in the darkness, as if suspecting their presence. After a few moments that stretched too long, the figure disappeared into the hallway ahead. 

They stayed put like that afterwards for what seemed like ages just to make sure that they weren’t caught; then at Dean’s signal, took another flight of stairs and reached the 5th floor, opening the door and crossing over to the dorm side of the building.

Cas sagged against the rusted iron door, with his hand over his chest. “What. The. Hell was that?” he gasped, breathing heavily. Will was looking wide eyed, completely silently now, waiting for Dean to answer the question.

“I don’t know,” Dean finally said. “Whoever it was, wasn’t scared of being found, that’s for sure.”

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” Cas asked, brow sweaty and furrowed. Both Dean and Will nodded.

Neither of them said it out loud, but if whoever it was didn’t care about being spotted, it was because they thought they had the upper hand. Almost like… they owned the place. 

The Stynes.

“Tomorrow,” Dean said. “We find out what the hell is happening there tomorrow.”

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

All through the day Dean couldn’t concentrate. It didn’t help that Cas kept falling asleep in every class. Maybe it was the complacency from staying in a place as dangerous as the bellstone orphanage for so long, but Cas was taking their impending adventure in stride. He was behaving ordinarily. In fact , he had even prayed like he usually did in the morning. 

Cas’s calm energy gradually caught up with Dean and by the time they got back from school, his nervousness was almost ebbed. It was ticking in the back of his mind that Will and Barry hadn’t joined up with them after school as they usually did, but he didn’t pay much heed to it. Lately, the school was conducting weird psych analysis on Will to determine if he was all set for the adoption and subsequently the move to New York. 

Dean couldn’t think about it without feeling a punch to his gut, so he pushed the thought out of his head.

“Hey,” Cas whispered as they reached the entrance of the boys home. “I’m going to go see if I can pick some more flashlights out of Garth’s supply closet. Meet you in the dorm room later?”

“Alright.”

They had put their heads together and deduced that there was no way Garth was involved in any of the stuff going around here. As Dean made his way to the shower room, he thought to himself that it may very well be possible that Garth was completely unaware. He lived down in the town, a good five miles away from the orphanage, and rode on his decrepit motorcycle every alternate day to do the essential maintenance or janitorial stuff that boys in the home couldn’t take care of. On occasions, he had stayed over late, but it was plausible that he didn’t know that there was something sinister going on here. Besides, anyone who had met Garth knew him to be absentminded. Good, but lost in his own tune.

Somehow the thought was uplifting for Dean. Not everyone in the staff was horrible. He hadn’t given the cook and the two henchmen like dudes that seemed to hang around with Andy the benefit of the doubt yet.

The shower did its work and Dean felt alert as he made his way back to the dorm room. As he reached the 5th floor main corridor, he saw Will.

Will was white. His forehead was clammy with sweat and his eyes were wide in horror.

Every thought abandoned Dean except for a nameless alarm over Will’s horror. Was he hurt? 

Before Dean could utter another word, Will came barreling forward, almost tripping over his own shoes.

“Dean!” Will said, the name falling out of his lips like both a call for help and a prayer of relief.

“What happened?” Dean asked dreading the reply

Tears Swam in Will’s eyes. Tears of helplessness and fear. “They took him, Dean,” he sobbed. “They took Barry.”

With that, he collapsed on the floor, his knees completely giving out beneath him.

Dean rushed to him, falling on his own knees. “Barry?”

Will’s lips were quivering, but his voice was surprisingly strong. “I saw him at school in the morning, but he said he was feeling sick, so they let him go early. I-I just had a bad feeling about this so I skipped the class and came back here, but Barry was just gone.”

“Hey, maybe he’s just hanging around somewhere,” Dean tried to rationalise. “Maybe he went into town instead. It’s just 6 in the evening. You don’t know that he’s decided to play hooky and be somewhere else.”

“No-no,” Will shook his head. “Barry isn’t like that. You know him! I’m his only friend and he always sticks by me. Besides, I asked this other kid who had stayed back from school today, and he said Barry had definitely come back.”

“We need to ask Andy,” Dean said. “He’ll-...”

“I asked already!” Will cried. “He said Barry was transferred.”

Shit!

“I- I,” Will said, looking around wildly. “We need to go to the left wing. I know that’s where they are keeping him. They have to be!”

Dean didn’t think it was possible to be more horrified… but somehow he did.

“Will!” Dean shook his friend by the shoulders to get him to snap out of it. “Listen to me! We will find Barry. We will go there tonight and bring him back, okay?”

Will’s eyes stilled, the black pupils were so dark they overpowered the hazel around it.

“You promise?” 

Dean cursed internally, but outside, he said, “I promise.”

So fast that Dean didn’t have time to react, Will flung his arms around Dean’s middle and hugged him hard. Dean’s own hand instinctively came to rest over Will’s head, his fingers weaving into the soft brown. He could feel Will’s sobs wracking his own body, the tears staining his shirt, but Dean held on, tightening his grip on the boy, as if by sheer willpower he could fix everything that was wrong.

A part of him did not want to let go. Something deep inside was just screaming at Dean to hold on to Will and make a run for it. Leave everything behind to just protect this kid. But there were lives at stake here. He could picture Barry’s crying face when that bully at school had raised his arm at him, then the absolute faithfulness with which he looked at Will. 

Dean ran his hand over Will’s shoulders, over and over till his heaves subsided.

He moved back ever so lightly to look Will in his tear stained, anguished eyes. “You listen to me now, Will. Go back to your room and wait for us to signal you at night, okay?”

Will nodded,with implicit trust in his eyes and Dean wanted to kick himself for lying.

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

Dean sprinted all the way back from Will’s room, after having walked him down there, and skidded to a halt in his dorm room, almost banging into Benny. He let out a yelp of surprise at the intrusion but then gave Dean a brief, hesitant smile. Benny had been trying to be nice after his blow out almost a month ago. Sometimes Dean could see he was struggling to say the words, to make it okay, but hadn’t been able to.

Today, he actually tried. “Hey, Dean-,” he started to say but Dean cut it off quickly.

“Where’s Cas?”

“He’s not back yet.”

Dean turned around and kicked the foot of his bed. “Damn it!” he yelled.

“Dean!”

Behind him, Cas had just entered the room, slightly sweaty and breathless, two flashlights clutched to his chest. 

“Barry-” 

“I know!” Cas said, forehead crumpling. “A couple of kids were talking about it.”

Dean gave another frustrated yell.

“What? What happened?” Benny asked, vigilant now, all awkwardness gone.

Hurriedly, in a low voice, Dean repeated everything that had happened with Will. When he was done, both Cas’s and Benny’s faces were identical masks of horror.

“We have to go to the west wing, Dean!” Cas said decidedly, his voice grim.

“Yes,” Benny agreed. 

Dean sank down on his bed with a thud. “You can’t come with us, Benny.”

“What? Why-” Benny started to protest but Dean cut him off. Again.

“You can’t come with us, because I want you here, standing by the door, making sure no one knows or follows us.”

“I don’t see the need,” Benny reasoned. “No one will be up at night.”

Dean exhaled, slowly. “We are not going to wait for nightfall. We’re doing it now, in an hour.”

“But Will? You just said that you promised him we’ll go after the lights go out...” Cas trailed off.

“This is because of Will,” Dean said through his teeth. “I lied to him. He’s just a kid. Sneaking into the record room at night is one thing, but dragging him into this? When even I don’t know what’s waiting there? I can’t do it. Better for him to be angry with me tomorrow than risk his life. Besides, he is in no shape to go anywhere. He’s scared out of his mind for Barry.”

Dean knew everything he was saying made sense, but the real reason behind lying to Will was that Dean knew he'd be himself paralysed with fear for Will, if he was to go anywhere near whatever crap was happening in the west wing. The mere thought of Will being in danger made Dean’s knees give out.

“In fact, Cas,” Dean said slowly, “I can’t ask you to risk your life for this either.”

“Oh, shut up, Dean!” Cas sais, exasperated. “How old do you think I am? 12? I can make my own decisions and I’m coming with you.”

Dean felt his body loosen slightly with relief. While thinking of Will in a dangerous situation filled him with dread, knowing that Cas was going to be with him, made him feel relieved. Friendship was unpredictable like that… you couldn’t guess how it would make you feel.

“Alright, then,” Dean said, “This is how we do it.”

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

It was as dark as it always was in the west wing, despite it being just over 7 o clock, and the lights in the compound still on. Both Dean and Cas had their flashlights throwing lights into the far end of the corridor as they made their way through the stinking, grimy passageway. Benny had deftly taken his place next to the door, without any hesitation. Dean had handed him the set of keys and decided on a certain knocking rhythm so he would know it was them when they returned and opened the door for them. The door opened easily from the outside, and unlike the long nights, today Dean didn’t have the luxury of trying all the keys in the dark till the right one fit.

With precise coordination that only came after weeks and weeks of sneaking around in dark decrepit places, Dean and Cas moved along the decaying wall towards the end of the corridor. From what Dean knew of the building footprint, having extensively inspected the form from the outside, the corridor should lead into something of a hallway. Even as they rounded the corner, a sense of foreboding gripped Dean. In all of their nightly excursions, they had never ventured this far into the west wing. The hallway opened up into another short corridor that swiftly made a left turn, blocking all view.

Dean quickly exchanged a look with Cas, confirming that they both agreed upon continuing further ahead. The swift left turn wasn’t in fact a turn, but a narrow, crooked staircase. What was more? There was light emanating from the bottom of the stairwell. It was dim and threatening, but there was definitely something going on there. With another cautious look, Dean started descending the staircase, now switching off the flashlight. Behind him, Cas did the same. Together they climbed down, clutching the wall for support.

The staircase led all the way down till what would be the first floor. The passageway ahead was lit with less wattage bulbs emitting a dull reddish light. It was menacing. The floor itself was like the dormitory wing he slept in. Rooms on one side, next to each other, all connected by a single, small passage. But unlike the dorm, the wall opposite the rooms didn’t have a line of windows; it was blank and solid. 

Suddenly there was a banging noise. Without thinking, Dean dashed ahead, passing small rooms with grilled iron doors. His peripheral vision caught something and he came to a skittering halt.

One of the rooms was unlocked and the rusted, the metal door swaying off his hinges. Inside, hanging from the ceiling were long chains that ended in shackles. What was worse? There were dark splashes on the wall- dark brown in colour- of what suspiciously looked like blood.

Dean’s stomach turned and he looked away. If there had been anything in his stomach, it would have come out now.

“Is that… is that…” Cas was too disgusted to even complete the sentence.

The banging echoed again and Dean rushed towards the door it was coming from. That particular room was in darkness as the light within had been turned off. However, there was movement in the shadowed corner.

“Dean?”

The voice was muted and hopeless… but it was definitely Barry’s.

Dean banged against the door. “Barry! Oh thank God you’re okay.”

But he had said it too quickly. For Barry’s small figure dragged its way across the small room towards the door, and in the little light reflecting from the bulbs above, Dean could see the dark wetness of blood against his face. Barry’s spectacles weren’t on him, and his leg was twisted in a way that was anything but natural.

“My God,” Cas whispered, and fell against the grill, trying to shove his hand between the rod to get to him. “Barry!”

Barry broke down completely. His face was bloodied and bruised but the most horrifying thing was the hopelessness in Barry’s eyes. He had given up.

“Barry!” Dean reached out so the tips of his fingers touched Barry’s brown hair. “I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Barry just shook his head. “They’re coming for me, Dean. I heard them, the car is right outside,” he cried, in a dead voice. “You can’t help me.”

“I’m not giving up, Damn it!” Dean said fiercely. “I’m going to get out of here and inform the police. I have a pager stashed under my clothes. They’ll free you.”

They had to free him.

“Cas,” Dean said, “Stay here and raise a riot if you see any movement or hear anything, okay? I’m gonna head up and contact Jody.”

Cas’s chin jerked up in quick acknowledgement and he shuffled closer to the grill.

Dean turned to Barry, his eyes stinging at the corners. “You hold on, Barry. Cas is right here with you. I’ll be back in a moment.” 

At long last, Barry nodded, a small light of hope in his pained eyes. With one last look, Dean bolted back towards the hallway, and up through the staircase. Nothing seemed real to him anymore. He banged three times as they had decided, and within seconds the door opened. Dean stumbled out and onto the floor.

Benny was next to him in a flash. Maybe it was the look on Dean’s face or Cas’s absence, but Benny stiffened. 

“I- I need to get to the pager,” Dean heaved breathlessly.

Benny didn’t ask for an explanation or even what had happened. He moved quickly and helped Dean to his feet which were starting to feel like the bones were beginning to melt. Somehow, Dean managed to stand straight and reach his room. Once there, he hauled his duffel bag from under the bed and yanked the zipper, frantically digging into the base of the bag to find the rolled up wad of socks in which he had hid the pager.

Soon, his hand wrapped around the small plastic object and he pulled it free of the clothes. He hurriedly turned it on. It seemed like an eternity before the pager beeped to life and the small line blinked on. With shaking hands Dean typed-

EMERGENCY. COME NOW.

He hit send and the pager tumbled out of his shivering hands. It would take Jody at least an hour and a half to get here. And Barry had said that the car was already here to take him. Till then Dean had to do all he could stall them. 

“Get a grip!” Benny said, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. His voice was gruff, but kind. Dean felt a welling gratefulness towards Benny.

“Benny,” Dean said, getting to his feet. “We have to hurry, but there is one more thing I have to do.”

“What?”

“Hide Will here!”

There was a sick feeling in his stomach that refused to go away, and it only multiplied whenever he thought of Will. “I’m going down to fetch him, and then we’ll lock him in our room. I know it sounds stupid but I just… I…”

“You don’t need to explain, brother,” Benny said. “I understand how you feel. I would have done the same for Jaime. I’ll go find Castiel in the west wing, you find Will.”

Dean quickly explained the location of Cas and Barry, and then Dean was running again. It was dinner time so he rushed to the dinning hall first, but in all the crowd, he couldn’t spot Will’s particular mop of brown hair. With rising alarm he looked in the library, the game room, even the godforsaken record room, but his friend wasn’t to be found anywhere. Finally, almost on the verge of nausea, Dean reached Will’s room. His sandy haired roommate was sitting on the bunk bed, shuffling through laundry clothes.

“Will?” Dean asked, throat parched. “Where’s Will?”

The kid gave Dean an odd look. “He’s not here,” he said. “Left with Andy a while ago.”

The blood in  Dean’s veins seemed to go cold.

“Andy?”

“Yeah,” the kid shrugged. “Andy said his adoptive parents were here for him, for some urgent formality. That their car was waiting outside. Will wanted to say goodbye to you, but Andy said he could say it when he came back.”

The car was waiting outside.

Blood thundered in Dean’s ears, and without his mind directing, his body moved, taking him upstairs in a desperate numbness. 

Outside, his body collided with Cas’s. 

Castiel was crying. There was a thin stream of blood trickling down the side of his face, along his ear and neck.

“Barry is gone,” he said, voice completely hollow. “I was waiting there, but something hit me hard on the head and I clocked out. When I came to, Benny was standing over me and Barry w- was... gone.

From the grounds, there was a sharp sound of an engine revving, and all three of them turned to watch through the north windows as two cars drove away from the fence… their tail lights becoming pinpoints as they disappeared into the night.

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

A/N 2: Man, I am soooo sorry for the cliffy! If it helps, the next chapter is written. I’ll post it within the week! 

Please do tell me what you thought of the chapter? I live for comments!

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[sirrriusblack]

Wizard Chess

James was asleep on one of the red arm-chairs by the fire. His charms essay, half finished, lay in his lap underneath his quill. The pot of black ink was balancing on the arm of the chair, dangerously close to tipping over. I sighed as I walked over and took the things off his lap. He’d been working on the essay for hours, running his hands through his hair until it was messier than I’d ever seen it, and I do not say that lightly. I don’t think he was struggling with the actual work, James was fairly good at charms, but more with focusing on the task itself. he’d been distracted all day, barely registering when teacher’s called on him in class or even when any of the Marauders were calling his name.

James stirred as I moved his stuff off of his lap, opening his eyes slowly, as if the firelight dancing around us was too bright. 

“Lily?” I nodded in answer. “What time is it?”

“Eleven. You fell asleep in the middle of writing. You looked uncomfortable so I was going to move your stuff,” I explained. James’ glasses were falling down his face and in his eyes, veiled by sleep, was a rawness I’d only seen from him a few times. He straightened, moved further up in the seat, and that look was gone in a second. It was replaced with joking smirk. Almost like a mask, hiding what was really happening.

“Stop lying Lily pad, I bet I looked gorgeous.” James had started calling me Lily pad in second year, like some sort of pet name. I’d hated it at the time, had told him he could go shove the name where the sun doesn’t shine, but it stuck. And it was starting to grow on me. At least now that we were friends and he used it as a joke and not a form of seduction.

“Oh, most definitely. I have to confess though,” I started, pausing for effect and sitting in the chair across from him. James raised his eyebrows. “It was the hair that made me come over.” James snorted, reaching a hand up to his head, where his hair was sticking out in all sorts of places. All jokes aside, as I looked at his face, his eyes and the bags hanging underneath, my stomach twisted. There was something happening.

James must have noticed the change in my mood. “You okay?” he asked. I couldn’t help myself.

“Are you?”

“What?” James looked taken aback at the question, not what he’d been expecting. I shook my head, ignoring how the heat of the fire seemed to consume me.

“It’s just... you’ve been acting odd all day. And you seem really tired.” James’ eyes widened. “And we don’t have to talk about what’s wrong, but, I’m here if you need.” He looked around the room, empty save for a couple of fourth years by the portrait hole. James pulled his legs up to his chest. The firelight played in his hazel eyes, and the flames flickered across his face, the fire the only source of light in the darkness.

“I...I slept in today, we all did.” I guessed he was referring to the marauders. I furrowed my brows, not quite understanding why that was entirely so bad. he opened and closed his mouth a few times before pushing his glasses up his face. “Remus woke up and he was freaking out cause we had to get to class and he started yelling.” James rubbed at his eyes and I didn’t know what to. I thought of all the times he’d showed up after a bad letter from Petunia or a nightmare from the war, I thought of how he’d stayed with me until I was a laughing, happy mess. I felt useless compared to that. But this was better than nothing. “and we all woke up and Sirius was out of bed, wand pointed at the ready and Peter was on his bed clutching his wand and so was I and it just- it just hit me that we’re in the middle of a war.” He looked up at me, and there was such emotion in his eyes when he spoke next. “We’re in the middle of a fucking war, Lily and we might die. I might die, my friends might die my family might die.”

“I know,” I said, reaching for his hand. It was all I could think to do. I thought about the first time James found me crying over a stupid letter. he’d stopped me in the middle of a sob and asked if he thought he could beat me in a match of wizard chess. It was such a random question that I’d started laughing until I was winded, not from sobs, but from stupid, crazy laughter. So we’d played like twenty games and I didn’t beat him once. “I reckon I could beat you,” I challenged.

James looked up at me, his eyes red and watery. “What?”

“A game of chess. I’ve had practice since third year. I reckon I could beat you.” James looked down at our linked hands for a moment, as if only just remembering I’d grabbed a hold of his. A smile played on my lips as the darkness in his eyes lifted and he instead looked at me with a glint of challenge.

“You reckon?” 

[wisdomrays]

RETURN OF GRACE

Question: The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, was an epitome of generosity, full of grace for others. Could you further expound on the contributions of his generosity and benevolence to the overall mission he represented?

Grace is a very significant feature of the Prophet's character. In fact, whichever characteristic of him we may consider, he was able to make the best out of them so that all of his efforts paid back many times as much. Grace relates to his benevolence, generosity, and unselfishness. While these terms are differentiated from each other by tiny nuances, they all indicate the same point. The Prophet was taught by God, thus his character developed with the morals of the Divine, which he practiced so well that He did not waste even an iota of it. Then, God Almighty returned the results of that divine morality, but with a multiplied amount. The Prophet, as being the Pride of Humanity requires, has surpassed all people - and even the angels.

In fact, this is not something reserved to him exclusively. That is, whatever someone grants on the way to God's contentment shall return to him/her a multiplied amount. Many of the verses of the Qur'an state this fact very clearly: "Whoever comes to God with a good deed will have ten times as much" (6:160). Yes, if a person does a unit of goodness, God Almighty shall multiply that goodness by ten and return it to him/her. This is the least degree of divine favor. God Almighty sometimes multiplies by hundred or thousand. It depends to a certain extent on one's depth of sincerity. He may multiply even by thousands, in accordance with the depth that that particular person subjectively loads on that particular practice of worship. Still, depending on the particularity of certain days and nights, or on the degree of altruism and unselfishness of that person, and on the firmness of his/her association with God, God Almighty may grant him/her a million times more. In sum, something like that may happen to every single person. However, the Prophet, we can confidently argue, benefited from this potential in full and made the best out of it to the last drop.

Grace is one's being locked on or knotted around benevolence, or that one's nature is completely engaged in doing favors to others. Actually, this emotion is shared to a particular extent by any human being. However, some people dull this emotion, whereas some others enhance it by a life-long process of practice. When they do this, the path of grace becomes the main road for them. By this way, they live their life always as a devotee radiating around pearls of grace, without straying in any other direction.

Due to the heavy mission he was loaded with, God favored the Prophet immensely from the very beginning. Parallel to the magnitude of this load, his nature was equipped with kernels that were able to shoulder this weighty task and responsibility. Nonetheless, he improved those kernels and extended them beyond expectations. By means of His all-covering divine knowledge, God Almighty had taken into consideration that the Prophet was going to give his willpower its due in the future, and bestowed him, at the very beginning, grandeur exceeding all other creatures.

Grace covers his character of benevolence as well as his capacity to be blessed with wonders - as he gave away in charity, God bestowed upon him His favors. As each of these incidents also served to endorse his messengership, they can certainly be considered miracles. Indeed, miracle is defined as something wonderful created by God through the hands of a prophet, particularly aimed at the confirmation of his prophethood. The Prophet's nature, peace be upon him, was already prepared to welcome such wonders.

Grace and generosity have been among the key features of praise throughout history. It is reported in a story that Prophet Abraham owned a herd of livestock, and he had shepherds and dogs to attend them. When some angels, according to the story, could not reconcile his mission with this extensive wealth he owned, God told them to test Abraham. Angels visited Abraham in human form, and when they came close, they praised God, saying, "You are All-Glorified, All-Holy, the Lord of angels and the Spirit," and they made sure Abraham could hear their prayer.

Each single one of these words were chosen precisely in the name of the glorification and sanctification of God. The true value of chosen words in a poem can be appreciated by true poets and experts of oratory; similarly, the very fine selection of these words would certainly be appreciated by Abraham, whose conscience was able to perceive the situation. Therefore, once he heard the angels verbalizing that utterance of glorification, he almost lost himself and said: "what a beautiful expression! Please say it once more; I will give you one fourth of this herd in front of me!" And when they did so, he offered them half of it for one more utterance. And when said it once more, he declared "I am a slave of yours, together with my shepherds!" As you see, if wealth is firmly connected with that kind of feeling, it becomes a vital support, instead of opposing the post of prophethood.

Prophet Muhammad, too, peace and blessings be upon him, was blessed with wealth through Khadijah, his beloved wife, who was a reputable businesswoman. Nevertheless, by the second or third year following the advent of his call, they had nothing to eat. That huge fortune had almost melted for the sake of mission, spent on banquets to win the hearts of people, or to decrease the tension of conflict. But at the end, that huge fortune was used up. It was consumed to the point that the Pride of Humanity started to bind stones on His belly in order to rid himself of his hunger. You see, this generosity and grace inherited from Abraham was not something unfamiliar to the people of Mecca. And, any member of this city used to have a share from this grace, in accordance with their personal position. However, no single soul was in a position to compete with the grace of the Prophet - even before his prophethood. Indeed, God's Messenger was the final and the most inclusive fruit of the tree of Abraham. He inherited almost the whole grace of Abraham. This grace increased after the prophethood, and God's Messenger became an embodiment of grace and generosity.

Especially during Ramadan, as Aisha stated, God's Messenger was like winds of grace and abundance; he used to give away everything he could to the people around him. For God's Messenger, accomplishing the exalted mission God Almighty had loaded upon his shoulders was a blessed ideal, even an ambition. God Almighty modified and consoled him in the Qur'an by saying, "Yet, it may be that you will torment yourself to death with grief" (18:6). However, he never gave away his wealth in vain; in contrast, he appreciated doing so on the way to God's contentment. He scattered whatever he was endowed with like seeds scattered on soil, and every single grain he scattered became an everblooming flower.

The devotees of today, who are striving for the good of all humanity "so that others may live," are in no different a situation, as they may be considered as inheritors of the prophetic mission. These inheritors should behave in exactly the same way as the Prophet, who revived the character of generosity and grace in His own era and elevated it to its zenith. Taking him as a role model, we can invest all the resources God has given us in education, without wasting a penny. Yes, our generosity has brought about, and will bring about, results that are vitally important for the future of humanity, and so valuable as to be worth all sacrifices.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Baby, You’re a Firework (baon)

Summary: Every year the city of Ebott has a 4th of July festival and Edge is taking Stretch. Please save him.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic, Fluff, Edge Is A Good Husband

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series. 

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

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Every year since Monsters came to the surface, and surely many years before that, Ebott city held a festival for the Fourth of July.

A carnival would set up in town and crowds of Humans and some of the braver Monsters would go to spend time with family and friends, a day filled with food, frenzy, and laughter for all.

As far as Edge was concerned, it was misery incarnate.

Nothing less than grease-coated nightmare to be endured and it was only his love for Stretch that had him sullenly standing in line at the ticket booth, ignoring the curious looks from the Humans around him.

It made him wish Jeff was further along in his recovery, because at least if he and Antwan were with them it would be a shared misery. But even out of the hospital, Jeff was still spending most of his time lying down, shuffling between the sofa and the bathroom while Blue fussed over him.

True to his nature, Blue had pointed out that he was the best option for Jeff, as he could take time off work easier than anyone else and was familiar with caring for a sick person. He’d run roughshod over any arguments to the contrary, mostly Antwan’s, and Jeff had been quickly installed into Stretch’s old room to be coddled by one rather short, very determined skeleton.

Not that it hadn’t been terribly amusing to watch Blue successfully argue the case for him being caretaker over a lawyer, it certainly was. If nothing else came from that awful night, he could find amusement in that and even Jeff seemed bemused by the various people arguing over him.

So it had been decided, mostly by Blue, that Jeff was staying with him for the time being as he recovered, and while Stretch usually chafed at his brother’s fussing, for now Jeff seemed to bask in it, along with Antwan and Stretch’s daily visits.

Ah, and there was something else curious to consider.

It was their turn at the ticket booth and Edge absently handed the Human several bills, accepting the paper wrist bands they held out in exchange. He fastened one to his own wrist before putting one on his impatiently bouncing husband. But his thoughts were still in their friends.

There was something going on between Jeff and Antwan that Edge didn’t quite have a bead on, something that left Antwan quieter than his normal self, often sleeping over at Blue’s on the sofa rather than walking the few minutes it would take to return to his own home. The sofa was at Blue’s insistence that Jeff was still too hurt for shenanigans, as he put it, and Antwan hadn’t argued. But he stayed and Edge didn’t blame him for it. Nothing could have torn him from Stretch if the situation was reversed. His unnatural quietness, though, that was a concern. Was it trauma from the incident, stress from the sudden increase in his workload, something else entirely?

Honestly, Edge needed to corner Antwan soon and get a few answers about that, but for now, he simply needed to survive the festival. The moment his wristband was secure, Stretch was off, Edge reluctantly at his heels over the muddy fairgrounds.

That alone was proof that even if they’d smuggled Jeff away from Blue’s hovering, he probably wouldn’t have enjoyed much from his constantly stuck wheelchair anyway. Edge could only resign himself to the day, sardonically grateful that at least his years in Underfell had given him excellent endurance.

From all appearances, he’d need it.

The normally enjoyable sunshine became welter of heat beating down on the tents and booths. Gratingly cheerful music poured from speakers that seemed to be everywhere, loud enough to be heard over the many chattering patrons.

Concession sellers hawking their wares shouted into the crowds about ice cold lemonade and beer, while others pitched cotton candy and corn dogs. The overwhelming smell of hot grease seemed to coat the very air, clinging stickily no matter where they walked. Each booth was covered with garish advertisements showing cobs of corn dripping with butter, ungodly desserts dipped into fry batter, and people crowded beneath striped awnings for whatever food on a stick they craved.

The pictures were awful enough but to see the other patrons stuffing such monstrosities into their mouths with relish was enough to make Edge choke back a gag.

Stretch loved all of it, of course.

He fit in entirely too well with the crowd, carrying a bag with goggle-eyed goldfish covering it slung over one shoulder, filled with stars-knew what. His tank top was scrawled with ‘I Flexed and the Sleeves Fell Off’, which prompted many a glance at his slender, skeletal arms. Unremarkable baggy shorts showed off similar legs, with bright green crocs on his feet, easily Edge’s least favorite item in his wardrobe. His own sedate jeans and a plain t-shirt garnered no looks past the fact he was a Monster, but he was well accustomed to those glances.

The real chore of the day was keeping Stretch in sight, a surprisingly difficult task considering how they both towered over most of the crowd. Keeping an eye on Stretch was second nature by now, but adding in Humans who’d consumed stars only knew much alcohol upped the challenge. Stretch’s eagerness was also an effective escape mechanism, and he could be surprisingly eely in a crowd, weaving through without so much as brushing elbows while Edge was forced to push onward with muttered apologies, a steamroller chasing after a dirt bike.

The easiest way to slow him down was to overcome his distaste long enough to fill Stretch’s arms with things to carry. Soon a bag of somewhat mangled pink and blue spun sugar hung from one hand, a corn dog dripping with honey gripped in the other.

There were downsides to that technique; the extra sugar didn’t offer any benefit to slowing him down and while Stretch knew better than to offer Edge any, he could never help himself when it came to grabbing Edge’s arm in excitement whenever he saw something of interest, and the row of sticky handprints trailing down his sleeve to his arm was evidence of that.

Stretch never had qualms about stopping to chat with Humans who knew him from Twitter. Pausing for selfies. Offering the dogs roaming the fairgrounds with their masters a biscuit hastily dug from his bag, even as they strained eagerly for the remains of his corn dog. Or perhaps it was an attempt to nibble on his finger bones, either was possible.

It was difficult to stand back and watch, but Edge did, his awareness of how close these unknown Humans were to his husband battling with the softness in his soul at Stretch’s laughter.

Eventually, they made their way down a pathway that led to a crowded row of so-called games where gaudy prizes dangled temptingly from booths. Years of experience with traps and puzzles made it obvious to Edge’s shrewd eye lights that every game was rigged and very few of those large prizes would be ending up in anyone’s arms.

Why anyone would want a sawdust-filled Spongebob knockoff was past Edge’s understanding anyway…so of course Stretch announced, “i need one.”

Unfortunately, his skill with crane machines didn’t translate well to tossing rings or throwing darts at balloons, and the sag in Stretch’s shoulders as they walked away from yet another game without a cheap prize made Edge reluctantly offer, “Would you like me to try?”

For one, he didn’t have any qualms about cheating in an unfair game.

“no,” Stretch said stubbornly. “i can win my own prize.”

That prophecy refused to come true until they reached a booth with a kiddie pool. Swirling through the flimsy plastic pond was a flock of bedraggled rubber ducks, paint flaking from their faces. A young Human who looked as greasy as the corn dogs called them over, waving a hand at the pool.

“Easy, peasy, pick a duck, win a prize, duck down and try your hand,” he warbled. Edge wondered idly how anyone could talk that fast without breathing. “Everyone’s a winner here!”

The bill Stretch held out was quickly tucked into his apron, and Stretch crouched low, studying each duck with fierce intensity. Next to him, a toddler chose a duck and crowed in delight as he was handed a toy that probably had a list of warnings longer than Edge’s arm.

“rubber ducky, which is the one, gonna pick one and have some fun...” Stretch sang under his breath. Finally, he plucked one dripping from the pond. A number scrawled on the bottom in faded sharpie had the Human digging in to a bucket and soon Stretch had a keychain of a ghastly plastic cactus dangling proudly from a belt loop.

Ah, well, at least it wasn’t a clown. Or Spongebob.

Then there were the rides. Just looking at them was chilling and Edge could only wonder when they’d last been properly maintained. Parents who would never dream of allowing their children to step a foot outside of a crosswalk were eagerly shuffled them into these death traps managed by teenagers who looked as if they’d graduated high school as recently as that day.

Still, Edge would have gone on those horrors himself, if only to keep Stretch in close reach, but simply watching the twirling cars was enough for nausea to lurch in him.

If a shortcut could send him dashing to the nearest toilet, Edge wasn’t about to press his luck with something called ‘The Zipper’.

It left him as both observer and coat rack, holding Stretch’s bag as he stood in line for each one, bouncing on his toes and chatting with the people surrounding him, taking selfies with many of them.

Watching Stretch on the ride was nearly as bad as being on it himself. Usually the sound of his delighted laughter raised Edge’s own happiness. Today, it was an effort to force himself to watch, swallowing back nausea as he stared at swinging ships and whirling platforms.

He was even forced to beg off on the bumper cars, watching as Stretch was crammed into a tiny car, his knees bent nearly to his skull. His attempt at driving brought a great deal of understanding as to why he’d chosen not to get his license.

A low-key headache was starting to throb faintly as he followed Stretch through the crowd after the last ride, a grim march onward to the end.

It wouldn’t be for much longer; the sun was going down, taking with it some of the heat, and the rides were starting to come alive with lights. Soon, the fireworks would begin and after that was the blissful quiet of home.

That headache was looming ominously. Perhaps he could persuade Stretch to step to the outskirts for a moment? If he suggested a smoke break it would be suspicious, but perhaps—

“let’s hit up the 4-h tent, babe, check out the animals?”

Or they could do that. Edge sighed inwardly and followed him mutely along to his doom.

Inside the stifling tent was the overwhelming smell of animals and their waste, along with groups of children either squalling to pet something, squalling from exhaustion, or simply squalling to add a new layer of pressure to Edge’s incipient headache.

The last one was probably untrue but it certainly felt that way.

Normally Edge was fond of children, but those ice-pick shrieks were everywhere, the crowds keeping them from catching more than a glimpse of any animals. It seemed too much for even Stretch and they exited quickly on the other side of the tent.

Edge took a deep breath of slightly cooler air as they stepped out. There was a hand washing station set up nearby and more parents grimly scrubbing their children clean of accumulated filth. The water was tepid but Edge didn’t care, stripping off his gloves to scrub past his elbows, indulging in the bliss of soap.

That Stretch willingly stood next to him and did the same meant either he was finally managing to impart some cleanliness standards into him, or possibly that Stretch simply loved him enough to do it without being asked. Edge would be happy with either.

Better was Stretch digging through his bag and pulling out a fresh pair of gloves for him. Edge pulled them on with a sigh of relief while Stretch rolled up the sweaty pair into a ball and stuffed them away.

“are you having fun?” Stretch asked. He scrabbled into the bag again and came out with a bottle of relatively cool water, handing it over.

Lying was not a skill that came easily to Edge, but he couldn’t bear to rupture the hopefulness of that expression. He stalled, taking a long drink from the water bottle before he temporized, “I always have fun with you.”

The lopsided smile said he was less than successful, but the soft kiss he was granted meant the effort was appreciated.

“yeah, no. you’re sweet, but i can almost see the dust from grinding your teeth.” Stretch caught hold of his elbow with a freshly washed hand. “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Edge resisted. “You wanted to see the fireworks.”

“and you are gonna get a headache if we stay longer. i had fun today, babe, let’s end it on a good note?”

He hesitated. Leaving sounded like a gift, but the day was never meant for him. Yet if they stayed and he ended up with a miserable headache, the misery wouldn’t be only his. “All right.”

The walk to the car was a quick one and so was their exit. There were few other cars on the streets; it seemed most of the city was still at the festival. The cooler darkness was already easing away his headache, the rush of the wind soothing.

Next to him, Stretch sprawled back in the seat, staring lazily up at the darkened sky where stars were beginning to twinkle above them. Soon it would be filled with fireworks, sprays of color painted against the velvet night, and Stretch was going to miss it.

Or...

With the top down and the sun finally gone, the breeze was glorious but they didn’t experience it for long. Edge turned into the entrance of a Jamba Juice, parking in the furthest part of the lot away from the straggle of other cars.

“did you want a drink?” Stretch sat up, confused.

“No. Just wait.”

His timing couldn’t have been better. In the distance came a boom, then the crackle of fireworks exploding across the sky, soaring overtop the trees. The cacophony was muted but the show was no less brilliant.

Nor was the soft delight on Stretch’s face, and Edge’s attention was split between the sparkling sky and his husband’s quiet enjoyment. Slender fingers caught his own and Edge squeezed them gently, then blinked in surprise as they pulled insistently, until he was tugged over the gearshift to the passenger side.

They were slim enough to fit together in the seat without too much discomfort and was worth it to have Stretch snuggle back into his arms.

He sat back and watched the fireworks, breathing in the sweetness of his husband’s scent as he held him, a lovely ending to a long day.

But tomorrow, there was going to be a chat with Antwan and Edge was in no mood to take no for an answer.

-finis-

[flowerynameslover]

Enigma Chapter 10

"…I can't help seeing that you are very lonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart." — Louisa May Alcott (Little Women)

-

Chizuru and Inoue exchanged a glance of shared frustration.

It really wasn't a surprise that Souji was refusing to rest like Hijikata ordered him to, or that Souji was being difficult at all. But they normally had better luck with him, managing to coax him with their concern for his well-being and the fact that Inoue was one of the few people Souji was humble around. Chizuru also liked to think that her keeping his secret played a part too. But today, they had no such luck. Souji was not hearing a word of their pleas and orders, and he knew full well that Kondou was unavailable to offer his own persuasion.

So the disguised girl and the older captain sat with their chins on their fists, trying to think of how to make Souji see reason. Occasionally their eyes met, ideas having sprung to their brains only to be dismissed with simultaneous headshakes as they realized that idea was bound to fail. Meanwhile, Souji was moving around the room like a mischevious child.

Chizuru sighed. Kondou was not available, Hijikata just barking more orders at Souji would be ineffective as usual, Yamazaki would have the same luck as Hijikata, Saito had been twice as busy lately so getting him to talk sense into Souji wasn't an option. And there was no point in even considering asking someone else for aid. It seemed Souji had won.

Right as Chizuru was about to give up, an idea clicked in her brain. She jumped a little in her seat, making Inoue and Souji shoot her curious looks though the latter shrugged it off and went back to ignoring them.

"You win this round, Okita-san," Chizuru said, standing. Inoue stood with a raised eyebrow. Chizuru winked at him, then returned her attention to Souji."Do whatever you prefer for now. Just know that I'll be informing a certain someone of today's events, which he specfically instructed me to do in such a situation."

Souji's eyebrows rose."Really, Chizuru-chan? Threatening to tell Hijikata-san on me?" He crossed his arms, unimpressed and amused."I can't believe I expected better from you."

Chizuru smiled sweetly."I wasn't referring to Hijikata-san." She felt a spark of sadistic glee."Do you remember the cat incident?" A pointless question. One would have to be suffering from terrible amnesia to forget a single detail of that day.

Souji's eyes narrowed. She could picture the gears turning in his skull, trying to figure out her plan. Inoue watched with equal curiosity.

Her smile widened."Well then, I'm sure you remember that Sanan-san pulled me aside and protected me so you couldn't involve me in your mess. He told me that if anyone ever tried to force me into one of their schemes again, I should tell them I was under strict orders from Hijikata-san." Souji narrowed his eyes further, knowing there was more to it than that. Chizuru crossed her arms, enjoying the incoming smugness."Sanan-san also said that if the mention of Hijikata-san was not enough to discourage the troublemaker, then I had his blessing to mention his name as well." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, pretending not to notice the way Souji whitened."If memory serves, Sanan-san personally handled your punishment for the cat incident and you walked with a limp for two days after some rather vigorous training." She adopted an innocent expression, waiting for Souji's decision and half-hoping she would get to make good on her threat.

Souji recovered swiftly, giving her a shaky smirk."Nice try, Chizuru-chan, but given the current circumstances-"

Inoue clapped his hands with enthusiasm and approval."Splendid idea, Yukimura-kun. I can easily deliver this message to Sanan-san and arrange for him and Souji to discuss this little problem."

Souji gawked at Inoue, whose smile was even sweeter than Chizuru's. Truly, Sanan would be proud of their attempts to mimic his mixture of pleasantness and unpleasantness.

Souji looked back and forth between them, mouth opening and closing. After swallowing nervously and pondering for a minute, he hurried to sit down and consume the meal they'd brought for him.

Chizuru and Inoue covered their mouths to hide their grins. Souji glared at them, impressed and annoyed at having to concede defeat.

After making sure Souji ate everything they brought and that he was actually resting, they left him alone.

Inoue patted her on the shoulder as they walked."Excellent job, Yukimura-kun. We should use that tactic more often."

"It won't get old?"

"Not even Souji is brave or foolish enough to take any chances with Sanan-san. No one knows that better than the man himself."

She giggled. That definitely sounded like Sanan. She could imagine him chuckling and smirking while his terrified subordinates shook and struggled to form excuses. Her amusement doubled at the knowledge that Souji easily counted among those unfortunate souls, although she couldn't deny that he often deserved it.

She bit her lip. She hadn't heard or seen anything related to Sanan since the note at her window last week. No one mentioned the Itou issue during the more private, secretive meetings; she was torn between relief and unease about that. It seemed everyone went out of their way to avoid the topic of Sanan and the Water of Life, and they certainly couldn't use the excuse of being careful with information around her anymore.

Chizuru looked around to ensure they were alone and there was no risk of being overheard. "Inoue-san?" She said hesitantly.

Inoue turned to her."Yes?"

She leaned in to whisper,"D-Do the others talk about Sanan-san much?"

Inoue frowned."You've noticed it too, then." Looking ahead of them, he sighed."It is no different when you are not present; they avoid that topic like a plague, only mentioning it when absolutely necessary."

She would be lying if she claimed to be shocked by that. It was just a confirmation of what she already strongly suspected.

"Like the recent Itou problem," she murmured. He nodded with a grimace.

"Have you heard anything?" She asked. Inoue was among those sent to handle the meals and supplies for the Fury Corp. and the only one that didn't express negative thoughts about it. Chizuru had done that a few times after they moved to the temple, but soon received other duties and barely saw the Furies. And with the two new recruits, Souma Kazue and Nomura Risaburo, becoming her page protégés, she did not expect that to change.

Inoue shook his head."I have not seen him in awhile, no. That task has fallen on others lately." He pressed his lips into a thin line."The last time I saw him was a few weeks ago, just before Itou started experiencing...nightmares. He seemed...the usual."

Chizuru opened her mouth, closed it, and lowered her head. As she'd expected, and as she'd worried. His next words made her head snap to the side to look at him so quickly that it was a wonder her neck didn't snap.

"It is possible I will be assigned to that task again soon." Inoue spoke smoothly, understanding in his eyes and the ghost of a smile teasing his lips. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. After looking away for a moment, she glanced back at him with gratitude clear on her face and nodded.

-

Sanan watched the fury like a hawk.

He decided to bring the fury that had shown hints of intelligence and rationality to a separate room, away from their more savage counterparts. He had been ready to give up on it, but it'd again reacted fiercely during one of his bloodlust attacks and grown quiet when the pain stopped, as if it sensed what was happening to Sanan despite being in a different room. He undid its chains and waited for something, only to be attacked again. But as he re-chained the creature, it lifted its gaze to meet his own and though he couldn't decipher any emotion in its eyes, the calmness in them was human.

Just a day after he gave Chizuru the note thanking her for her kindness and trust, he already had hope for his research. A possible breakthrough. He did not let himself be giddy, however, left he become more vexed if this turned out to be nothing. Still, it was a nice thought to have some hope, for however long it would last.

After the second incident, he arranged for the fury to have its own room, still chained but receiving more observational visits for studying than the others. He spent almost half the night watching it, taking note of every movement that stood out. The creature kept its head down, but shifted whenever he entered the room. The first night was mostly growls and struggles, albeit not as fierce as in the past. Sanan placed some medicine within its reach, but it did not react. The medicine was still there when he came back later. The second night was the exact same, as was the third night. The fourth night was when things started to change. He left the medicine, and when he came back, it was gone. The fury still would not look at him, but as he left, he could have sworn that he noticed from the corner of his eye the fury glaring at his back. The fifth night was when the fury finally met his gaze, but still waited until he left to take the medicine. The entire time it glared at him, gaze never wavering. The sixth night was when the fury did both, watching him like he watched it and taking the medicine in front of him. Sanan smiled and avidly recorded this in his notes.

Now here he was, having just awoken on the seventh night, eager to continue with this breakthrough. It seemed he would truly not be alone in maintaining his mind, after all.

Someone was supposed to come tonight to deliver fresh supplies for the Fury Corp. For once, Sanan was glad that most of his comrades disliked venturing to this section of headquarters, as it meant there would be no dillydallying with small talk that distracted or delayed his work. He was not about to waste precious time and energy that this potential lead required. Though it would be nice to have someone to share his enthusiasm with, if only to brag.

Alright, maybe it was too soon to brag, but this week was more productive than any other period of time had been for awhile.

That was why it was a pleasant surprise to see who had been assigned to bring the supplies this time.

"Inoue-san." Sanan's eyes widened briefly before he nodded at the older man and let him in, taking some of the supplies from his hands. Inoue hadn't been assigned this task since a few weeks ago, shortly before the Itou problem began forming.

"Sanan-san." Inoue smiled as he followed him to his room."You seem to be in a good mood."

"I am," he admitted softly. He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to check Inoue's expression. Inoue was always polite and friendly to everyone, and had never expressed a solid opinion on the Water of Life and Furies, so it was impossible for Sanan, despite his skill at reading people, to tell if this was a courtesy question or true curiosity.

"I might have reached a breakthrough in my research," Sanan confessed."Time will tell if it is truly signficant, but I am hopeful."

Inoue's smile grew."That's good to hear. I'm sure Isami-san and Toshi-san will be happy to know that as well."

Sanan shrugged. Almost everyone seemed content to ignore the Fury Corp.'s existence, and the few who tried to be more open-minded changed their minds and fled at the last minute, like Heisuke had done recently. Souji and Chizuru might be interested, if only for the sake of making sure he was well in the latter's case. Souji might be a mix of both concern for him and interest in the serum.

Sanan bit his lip."Is Yukimura-kun well?" He hadn't dared go out on any walks after the Itou problem was taken care of, hesitating to simply step outside for a minute of fresh air. He had no idea how Chizuru was doing since Yamazaki finished helping him and providing updates and had returned to his normal duties.

Inoue's smile was a knowing one."As well as can be expected." He said pleasantly."She has had more work to do recently, nothing that she can't handle, of course, and not that she is complaining. Souma Kazue and Nomura Risaburo have become pages for Isami-san, and Yukimura-kun is in charge of training them. She seems to enjoy it, and they are quite enthusiastic to learn as much as possible from their new Senpai. And since she has actually been allowed to act as Hijikata's page, she has plenty to teach."

"I am certain they will benefit greatly from learning the art of tea-making," Sanan said dryly.

Inoue chuckled."You joke, but that will indeed be a very valuable life lesson."

"Who said I was joking?" Sanan asked, half-humorously. He remembered his own beginnings as an instructor back at the dojo. A learning experience for both himself and his students. He was glad that Chizuru would get to experience that for herself. The boys were lucky to have someone so bright, kind, and optimistic guide them into properly serving the Shinsengumi.

Then something hit him. One of those names rang a bell."You said Souma Kazue has joined our ranks?" The same Souma Kazue that carried a painting of Serizawa in Fury form given to him by Ibuki? He did not expect to hear or see anything of him after the matter was resolved and he was let go.

Inoue nodded."Along with Nomura Risaburo, yes." Then he frowned."No one told you? Surely Toshi-san and Isami-san would have-"

"I do not get much news here," Sanan said icily, shrugging in partially feigned nonchalance. He'd already talked about this with Chizuru and wasn't in the mood to be reminded that his existence was a popularly ignored topic."The last update I received was a week ago, from Yamazaki about Itou-san's nightmares." He looked straight ahead as he walked, his good mood fading.

"I see." Inoue spoke quietly."That's very unfortunate." There was a hint of displeasure in his voice.

Sanan gave another shrug without looking back."Kondou-san and Hijikata-kun are busy men." He smiled sadly as he recalled Chizuru saying something similar while trying to comfort him after he admitted the same thing to her.

"Hmm." Inoue pressed his lips into a thin line."And they are especially busy at the most convenient times, it seems." The displeasure was far more noticeable now. Sanan opted to ignore it. Nothing would come of this, and his eagerness to return to studying the intelligent fury was all that kept his good mood from completely dropping. It was no insult to Inoue, of course, but simply how things were and perhaps how they should be.

Inoue finished helping him with the supplies in silence. Once that was done, he smiled kindly at Sanan and reached into his pocket."Before I go, there is one more thing I was asked to give you." He retrieved a folded piece of paper and handed it to Sanan, ignoring his confused expression.

"Good luck with your work, Sanan-san." Inoue patted his shoulder and turned to leave. Sanan watched him with a raised eyebrow. Once he heard the door open and close as Inoue left, he examined the note. Inoue claimed he was asked to deliver this to him, so he obviously hadn't written it and surely he would have just told Sanan if he wanted to let him know anything. Could it be an update from Yamazaki that he was too busy to do himself or just gave it to Inoue since he knew the older man was already coming here? Maybe a well-intended but ultimately meaningless apology note from Heisuke? Certainly possible.

Sighing, Sanan shook his head. He didn't need more reminders of what an unpleasant necessity he was viewed as by his comrades. So he decided to dispose of the note without reading it.

Until another possibility popped up in his brain. Could it be from Chizuru? A response to his own note to her from the previous week? Sanan hesitated for a second, then shook his head and unfolded the paper a little faster than necessary.

A slow but wide and genuine smile graced his face when he saw the familiar handwriting, and his heart swelled when he read the words.

I will always trust you.

"Let us hope you do not regret that, my dear," he whispered.

His left hand tingled at the memory of her touch. All the negative feelings left him, his eagerness to return to his research matching his hope for the new development. He placed the note in his journal, promising to write a new entry once he finished tonight's research.

His smile vanished as he walked to the room where the fury was kept, but his positive feelings remained strong as ever.

This time, the fury was already watching the door as if awaiting his arrival. It kept its calm gaze on him despite its slight physical struggles. Sanan placed the medicine in front of it again, hoping for a repeat of last night. Regardless, the fact that it seemingly had been expecting him by now was progress.

The fury kept staring at him. In the previous staring sessions, it had done so without blinking, but now it did blink. He wrote that down, trying not to rush in his excitement over the growing potential success of this lead. The fury directed its gaze to his notebook, following the movement of his hand and pen. Sanan stopped writing, and its gaze stayed glued to the pen. Sanan leaned down to make eye contact, and its eyes flickered to met his own for a second afore returning to his writing utensil. Sanan restarted writing and its eyes followed each motion, stopping when the pen stopped and glancing up at him briefly whenever he tried to make it look at him. The more he did this, the more he could have sworn that he detected an increasing glint of annoyance in its eyes. Sanan moved backward a bit, just in case its apparent annoyance eventually drove it to try to attack. The fury blinked, then narrowed its eyes, realizing he'd moved. It kept observing his hand and pen, though. Did it really understand what he was doing?

Sanan ceased writing and held up his pen, moving it around in the air. The fury's eyes did not follow the movement, yet they did narrow in understanding of what he was trying to do. The nonsense act was ignored by the creature, who cared only for the notebook. Sanan put down the pen and moved the notebook around the same way he'd done with the pen. The fury gave the same reaction to that action.

"You do understand then," Sanan murmured. The fury either didn't hear him speak or ignored the words. He placed both items down, receiving a brief glare. Sanan retrieved the items and began quickly writing, both from his eagerness to get all of this down and to see how good the fury was at following his movements. Its eyes didn't move quite fast enough, yet the creature was clearly trying.

A half-grunt, half-growl escaped its throat. Sanan's head snapped up to fully look at it, and his hand instinctively moved closer to his sword. He wasn't close enough for it to actually touch if it attacked, but one could never be too careful.

The fury made no move to attack, or any move at all for that matter. Nothing about its facial expression or body language indicated a threat, merely irritation.

Sanan took a gander at the medicine, hoping the fury would take it while he was watching just like it did last time. No such luck. It hardly mattered, though, with all the other things it had done. Accepting this was all he would be getting out of it tonight, (other than the medicine being gone when he returned, of course), he sighed and closed the book and stood to leave. Right as he was about to open the shoji, however...

"T-Took...l-long..."

He froze, almost dropping his supplies. He spun around on his heel, gaping at the fury. Had he imagined it, or had the fury actually spoken? Its lips were parted and it was swallowing profusely, which made sense given how hoarse and quiet the voice sounded. He wasn't imagining it.

Sanan took slow, careful steps toward the fury and knelt in front of it. He inclined his head, realizing what it'd been trying to say.

"What took me so long?" He asked slowly. The fury nodded curtly, actually nodded!

"You were waiting for me earlier," he whispered. Another curt nod from the fury!

"You can tell time then," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

The fury tried to speak again, but only a choked grunt came out, so it settled for a nod.

Sanan sat there in silence for several minutes, head swirling with so many thoughts that he almost didn't notice the fury reaching for the medicine. Their gazes met as the fury slowly and clumsily unwrapped the packet and stuck the medicine into its - no, his - mouth.

For the first time, Sanan no longer felt so alone among his fellow furies.

-

After completing their patrol for the day, Heisuke accompanied Chizuru in checking on Souji.

Partially, it was because he wanted to spend more time with Chizuru to make sure she was alright after the Itou problem. The other part was a feeling that she would need his help in getting Souji to cooperate.

So he was pleasantly surprised to see Souji fully cooperating. He was also amused by the smallest hints of nervousness on Souji's face and in his voice as he greeted Chizuru. For her part, Chizuru was wearing the ghost of a smile that reminded him of...Sanan. So much so that he wondered if they'd switched bodies.

Despite his uneasiness about Sanan's possible involvement, Heisuke grinned and raised his eyebrows at Souji."Who are you and what have you done with Souji?"

Chizuru giggled. She sat beside Souji and started pouring him tea and making sure everything was properly arranged on the tray.

Souji scoffed and crossed his arms. Chizuru giggled again, making him pout and point at her."Chizuru-chan is an evil genius." His eyes narrowed."Don't let that adorable face fool you!"

Chizuru looked away to hide her blushing cheeks, though her laughter didn't cease. She waited a moment to collect herself before giving Souji the tray with a stern countenance. Heisuke chuckled despite himself. If she really was the evil genius Souji claimed she was, then maybe seeing that adorable face would be more than worth the suffering...

Wait, what? Heisuke's eyes were now the size of saucers and his face turned crimson. Had he really just thought that? Clearly, the wrong brain had taken over for a moment.

"Heisuke-kun?" Chizuru touched his arm, frowning in concern."Are you alright?"

Heisuke blinked twice, then nodded rapidly."Ah, yeah, I'm fine, just got lost in thought for a second there." He grinned sheepishly.

Her frown didn't falter."You were red." She put her palm to his forehead and pressed her lips together into a thin line."Hmm, you don't have a fever. Don't strain yourself for the rest of the day, just in case, okay?" She smiled kindly, looking, well, adorable.

Heisuke dipped his head in a clumsy nod. Chizuru patted his arm and turned back to Souji. Her touch had almost made him blush harder than earlier.

The shoji suddenly slid open and Inoue poked his head in. He smiled in amusement and satisfaction when he saw Souji was complying. He gave Heisuke a nod, but was mostly focused on Chizuru.

"Yukimura-kun, can you help me with something?" Inoue asked. He appeared pleasant enough, but there was the slightest bit of ire in his eyes. Not directed at them, though. Heisuke wondered what and who made Inoue angry, then it hit him. Inoue was the one to deliver supplies to the Fury Corp. last night...

Chizuru and Souji seemed to be thinking the same thing, the latter grimacing while the former quickly stood up and hurried outside. Inoue stepped aside to let her pass and gave a polite wave to Hesiuke and Souji before closing the shoji.

"Well, they're dead," Souji said wryly."Kondou will be mostly alright, but Hijikata may have to take the Water of Life after Inoue is through with them."

Heisuke scowled."That's not funny!"

"What's not funny?" A new voice enquired. Hesiuke turned to see Harada, Shinpachi, and Saito standing in the doorway. Without waiting for an answer, the three entered the room. Saito took a seat next to Souji whilst Shinpachi and Harada sat on either side of Heisuke.

Shinpachi pointed his thumb over his shoulder."Does it have anything to do with how angry Gen-san looked?"

"Last night was his turn, correct?" Saito guessed. Heisuke and Souji nodded. Saito sighed."The Chief and Commander will be getting an earful."

"The rest of us won't be off the hook," Harada said, rubbing the back of his neck."Even if we don't get it as bad as those two."

Souji snorted as he put down his teacup."Speak for yourselves. I have an excuse." A genuine cough escaped him, and he smirked as he gestured to the air as if say,"See?"

"It has not stopped you from jumping and running all over the place while Commander Hijikata yells at you," Saito stated, pouring a fresh cup of tea for Souji and handing it to him."And based on your out of character good behavior, I assume that he has already found a way to frighten you for the time being." A statement, not a question.

Souji huffed."It was mostly Chizuru-chan." At everyone except for Heisuke's surprised and curious expressions, he said,"You remember the cat incident?" They all nodded."And how Sanan-san rescued her and protected her from being dragged back into helping us?"

Heisuke shuddered. He had sent Sanan and Chizuru desperate looks, beggng them not to abandon him. Chizuru hesitated a bit, but Sanan tightly gripped her shoulder as he ushered her out of the room, the door closing behind them mere seconds before Hijikata exploded. At the very least, he didn't have to endure an extra punishment at Sanan's hands like Souji. At the end of the day, Hijikata was stuck with a lost voice for a little while and Sanan and Chizuru showed up at the meeting room with the cat. Sanan explained that it came into his quarters a few minutes prior, yet Chizuru's refusal to look at anyone confirmed that they'd found the cat long ago. Afterwards, Sannan grabbed Souji by the ear and dragged him away. The cat refused to leave Chizuru's arms until the next morning when she and Sanan ensured it was properly fed and clean before giving it to the owner of their then-headquarters' child, who'd told Saito that he liked playing with it often. Souji suffered from a limp for two days due to the vigorous training Sanan subjected him to as punishment.

"Well," Souji continued,"Sanan-san gave her his blessing to mention his name if someone ever tried to cause trouble for her. Gen-san backed her up. I wasn't gonna take my chances. You'd have to be an idiot to risk his wrath."

Saito chuckled, earning a glare from Souji. Heisuke and Shinpachi burst out laughing. Harada snickered into his fist. Scowling, Souji gulped down his tea a bit too quickly and thus choked. Saito slapped him on the back, and he spat out the liquid, waving off Saito's worries.

Once he recovered, Souji pointed at Heisuke."What was that look on your face earlier about?

Heisuke paled. Of course Souji noticed that! Harada, Shinpachi, and Saito snapped their attention to him so quickly it was a wonder their necks didn't snap.

Heisuke bit his lip."W-What are you-" He knew before he spoke that his attempts at denial were doomed to fail.

Souji scoffed."You're a worse liar than Chizuru-chan." He smirked, eyebrows shooting up."Blood flow to the wrong brain for second back there?"

Heisuke almost fell onto his back in shock and humilation. Shinpachi loudly choked on his own breath; Saito coughed lightly; Harada stiffened and looked away. Souji shook with the force of his cackling.

Heisuke hugged his knees to his chest and hid his face. Eventually, someone cleared his throat.

"Alright, that's enough," Harada said sternly."Lay off him." He patted Heisuke comfortingly on the shoulder.

Souji rolled his eyes."Don't think nobody's noticed you acting the same way around her."

Harada bit his lip to stifle a response. Taking hold of Heisuke's arm, he forced him to stand up and beckoned Shinpachi."Let's go listen in on Gen-san lecturing them." He waved an arm to the door.

"Please let us know what you hear," Saito said, then midly glared at Souji."Souji, your food and tea will get cold if you keep laughing to distract yourself." When Souji ignored him in favor of continuing to laugh at Heisuke and Harada, he picked up a piece of food and shoved it into Souji's mouth, shutting him up.

"You deserved that one," Harada said dryly.

Heisuke almost ran from the room alongside his two best friends. Shinpachi walked ahead of them, just out of earshot.

"Just ignore him," Harada whispered, lightly tapping the back of his head. Heisuke gave a small grateful smile to his friend and nodded. They caught up with Shinpachi and the three of them walked along in silence.

-

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