#but we would meet every morning before camp to see who could recite more at the other before I finally conceded victory to her

[savrenim]

ok who's your show horse for this tournament. your rare beast. your main contender. your ultimate vote

this is so hard this is impossible if only bc I'm A Pi Loyalist For Reasons but e^{i pi}=-1 is my Favorite Equation and e and i and -1 are also both in the running. and also how do I turn my back on sqrt(2). bUT 0!!! 0 AS A CONCEPT IS JUST TOP-NOTCH LIKE YOU CAN'T HAVE A RING WITHOUT BOTH AN ADDITIVE AND A MULTIPLICATIVE IDENTITY.

and there are just???? so many other good ones in there????? I'm an analyst so epsilon is my lifeblood, for a while I was planning on getting "Let epsilon>0" tattooed on me when I finished grad school, the golden ratio is fun to do number theory with, I could go on for like. half a dozen of these numbers.

but if you put me at chalkpoint and made me choose, I'm a pi loyalist, and in absence of pi, I'd go for i.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[nishigo]

an anomaly. // bennett x reader.

a page from the book of memories.

[ p a g e 3 2 9 ｡ ]

authors note: hello! this is my first ever attempt at something for genshin impact. this is longer than i expected, and there may be errors here and there, so i am sorry about that in advance. i do hope you will enjoy it though. i got bennett yesterday after rolling and although many say he’s annoying...he’s very much like me in real life. coincidence? i think not. Σ('◉⌓◉’) i also rolled a girl named keqing. she seems nice, and is a five star, but i don’t know if she’s rare. i truly don’t know how this system works, apologies. T^T anyways, traveler, happy reading. (*'▽'*)

word count : 2191

tw : none that i can think of. very much fluff. and perhaps a touch of a flirty!reader. :)

request status at time of posting : open.

in which he had finally someone who could balance out his unluckiness.

would you like to read?

＞　行｡ ( y e s )

＞　不行 。( n o )

———

Bennett was, to put it simply, confused.

He had just finished a mission with you, being your support the whole entire way through. There had been an offering that had been posted on the tavern’s walls in dark, smudged text that caught his eye at an earlier time. It read that whoever could get rid of the new pop-up hilichurl camp that blocked the path to Liyue would receive a grand sum of Mora. Course, running low on money, Bennett had decided to take up the offer. They would be easy enough to take down, just a simple slash of his sword and a few burns here and there could get the job done in no time. However, there was a problem.

No one would come with him.

Bennett knew that he was very...loud. And he was energetic. And annoying. And, though he hated to admit it...he was unlucky.

Everything seemed stacked up against him. Everyone he turned to in the tavern took a simple glance at him and rejected the offer with no further questions asked. He would try to convince them, but they would simply get more annoyed at his stubbornness and shoo him away with a flick of a hand or some splash of beer to the face. It’s not like he could take the older adventurers out either, they could barely walk on their own two feet. They were so old that they certainly would have shriveled up in the sun if he brought them along. So there that option went, leaving him with practically nothing else to turn to.

But then, if he had no one to go with him, what would happen? Would he continue to be stuck in that tavern? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to waste away like that. He was meant to be out there, in a world that could supply him with the thrill and rush that his heart yearned for. The boy desired to be just as great of an adventurer as the ones who came before him, or perhaps, dare he dream, even greater than them. Bennett desired to be a legend. But being a legend could not be done alone, even if that was what Bennett determined he would forever be, deep in the back of his brain.

Which is why you were such an anomaly.

You were the last person he spoke to that night. He was a complete mess. His shirt was damp with beer and some white wine, his white locks were a birds nest with the goggles sliding off slowly, and his eyes looked devoid of life as he took a deep inhale and they brightened up again. This was his last chance. You were the one who was either going to make or break this plan.

“Hello stranger! I am the great Bennett, and I was wondering if you would be able to help assist me with a mission that was posted on the tavern walls. It’s about the hilichurl camp by Liyue! Although I am rather strong, I need some help so it’s done more efficiently and faster. I’m even willing to split the Mora with you that we make out of it! What do you say?” Bennett recited his lines again, as if he was in an interview of sorts. His leafy green eyes watched as you scrunched up your eyebrows, as if thinking and examining him. Your face was blank other than that, lips in a straight line and hand cupping your cheek. Bennett found it to be quite terrifying. It was such an intimidating look, in fact, that he was about to ask you to forget about it before you spoke first.

“Sure.” You stated simply, a smile forming on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Ahhh, understood, I’ll get goi- WAIT!” The pyro boy turned to look right at you as he gasped. His face was one of shock morphed with a cute, ecstatic look. One could compare it to a puppy of sorts. You were not meant to say yes. You were meant to be like everyone else and reject him. He was dumbfounded as he grabbed a hold of your shoulders and tilted his head.

“You’re not joking?!”

“Course not! Why would I do such a thing?” You rebuked before he giddily jumped up and down while pulling you up to a sweet hug. It was a gentle and firm one, though, he pulled away quickly after realizing he still wreaked of alcohol. You told him you didn’t mind it though, making him rub the back of his head sheepishly and laugh. You two would converse for the night, agreeing to meet up at the gate the next morning so he could lead the way to the camp and also split the mora gained evenly. After the small chat, you would leave the tavern to stay at the local inn for the night and get some rest. Bennett’s eyes were trained on you as the door then closed, realization hitting him like a truck: he found someone. He found a real person to take on a mission. Better yet, they were as gorgeous as they were strong. This was better than any dream he could have made up. Bennett decided he had to turn in for the night soon after you left, taking a spot in his cozy bed under the sheets. His eyes closed as the curtains rustled at the soft wind that blew through the window. The pyro’s last thought before going to bed was that he truly hoped that you would fulfill your end of the deal and show up.

And you kept your promise. You were there as the morning sun rose to reflect your beautiful skin, hair flowing gently in the light breeze as he ran up to you and froze. You looked powerful now that you were out of the tavern and he could see you properly. You had on your adventure gear, dressed appropriately for a mission that required taking out many enemies. What caught his attention, though, was your white cape with golden accents that flowed from behind. Flicking your hood down and off your head, your face was now fully visible as you watched him stare. He was adorable, like a little baby who was just discovering the world for the first time.

“You’re really gonna do this with me?” Bennett asked in wonder. His face was blank as a smirk landed itself on your features. You positioned yourself to stand upright, away from the wall you were leaning on as you held your weapon of choice in your dominant hand. As for the other, you outstretched it towards him with a grin.

“Lead the way.”

Bennett didn’t even have to think twice about it as he eagerly took your hand into his own gloved one and began to lead you out of the city and into the wilderness. He seemed to be very hyper from what you could tell, as he couldn’t seem to stop commenting on how he was destined for greatness, or how thankful he was that you were going to come along with him. He also bombarded you with questions about yourself as well, like if this was your first time in Mondstadt or what kind of element you had control over. He was easily excited, but especially when you told him that you were a traveler that had been moving around place to place to see the sights of the world. It was why you were so strong, you had defeated a wide range of enemies, great and small, on your journeys. Bennett was fascinated by that, drawing him to be more and more curious about you. Alas, the questions and storytelling had to wait. You two had arrived at the camp, and it was time to take some enemies down.

You two ended up making a fantastic duo of sorts. With his sword and experience, he was able to cut down enemies with ease. You did the same, your speed and agility outmatched as you two basically made a massacre out of the camp. His fire would spread through the long grass, and with the natural wind, spread quickly to begin burning it all down. You were quick to come to his aid when he would sometimes get backed against the rocks or a tree, helping him heal with some quick magic you had learned. It wasn’t anything special, but it was enough to keep him up and moving. With such precision and perseverance, your duo was able to defeat the camp with relative ease. However, both you and Bennett were still tired from fighting for so long. You two were out of breath as the fire died out, heaving for air as you gave him a head pat and grinned.

“You did amazing out there. You’re a talented pyro user as well, I’m impressed.” There you went again, making him all confused as he sat there. You just complimented him. A powerful traveler, that has practically defeated every sort of monster there is out there, was impressed by him. Bennett, the unlucky, was impressive? For the first time, he was rendered speechless as he looked at you. It was now night, the moon high in the sky as it illuminated your face. Oh goodness, you looked ethereal. The way the stars were reflected in your eyes, the way the gold of your cape sparkled and flowed behind you, the way you smiled at him, like he was the most handsome boy you had ever seen. The only thing that stopped the comfortable silence between you two was the fact that he shivered when a breeze brushed against his pale, scar littered skin. You snapped out of it and looked him up and down, noticing how a lot of his skin was exposed to the chilly night.

“Here, take this.” You told him as you unbuttoned your cape, taking it off your shoulders. With one swoop, you draped it over his own figure, being as gentle as possible as you buttoned it up again. Bennett was reduced to continuing to stay silent as you clothed him. You placed the hood up on top of his head, a hand on your hip as you grinned at him. It was a bit big on him but nonetheless, it was rather cute. You used your other hand to take his chin gently, making him look you in the eyes. He was rather happy that the hood cast a bit of a shadow, because his cheeks were flushed a hot pink as he was forced to look at you.

“Huh. Looks better on you than it does me.” You commented before he seemed to regain his ability to speak.

“You need this more than me! I-i’m literally a pyro user, I c-can heat myself-” You hushed him, letting go of his chin as you put a finger to his peach pink lips.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t waste your energy to heat up, especially since we have to walk back to town. I’ll be fine, I’ve been through worse weather situations.” He glanced down at your finger, and then back to you as you dropped your hand and began walking down the path again, back towards the city. Why did you have to be so, so...enchanting? And you were so smooth as well! He had never been so flustered when talking to someone, heck, he was the one who was meant to be doing most of the talking! Though, he supposed that him being talkative didn’t equate to being able to flirt. But something about the thought of you leaving made him pout. It was as if the butterflies were leaving his stomach, but they left him emptier than before.

Bennett refused to be lonely anymore. Not when he had you.

“Hey, darling!~ Would you stop standing there and staring off into space? I know I look wonderful tonight, but we gotta get a move on! We won’t be able to get to town and rest our weary bones if you keep this up!~” You called out to him, making him shake his head and refocus. Right, a bed. Sleep did sound rather good right now, along with a shower and something to quench his thirst. He ran and caught up to you, walking by your side as he grinned. He began to already ask about other missions that the two of you could do together, like gathering supplies for the alchemist or helping around the town for some spare Mora here and there. Bennett then stopped for a moment again, looking at you.

“Would you like to work together again?” There was a moment of silence before you nodded.

“I think I would. We make a great team.” Bennett then continued walking with you, as if time didn’t just stop for a second as he went back to his usual, bubbly nature. The more he thought about it, the happier it made him. More adventures to be made. More memories to be created. All with you at his side the entire time.

And you would make all the difference.

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

on hands and knees

(A/N: I have been planning a Bucky longfic off and on for two years. Idk if it will EVER be written or posted, but this is a little drabble. Inspired by Hozier's "Work Song.")

Summary: Bucky thinks of her and her God in the cavernous silence of war.

Sweetheart,

If I close my eyes and think about it hard enough, I can imagine that I’m back home, lying in bed with you next to me, looking so pretty that I don’t know what to do with myself. I had you in my bed for a week, and what I wouldn’t have given to have made it last the rest of my life. We didn’t do half of the things I promised all those months ago, but I don’t think it mattered much in the end. I had you for a week, and that’s all an unlucky guy like me could have asked for.

I couldn’t believe it when you were there waiting for me as casual and sweet as anything, like I didn’t just leave you days before. It was the best surprise that I could have asked for, seeing you again before I was dropped into this Hell.

The shelling was constant now. If you were one of the unlucky ones, you’d hear as bullets or shrapnel met their marks and brought down men, leaving nothing but a puddle of blood and a sharp yell that rang in your ears for minutes afterward.

It was here in his foxhole when Bucky found himself thinking of God. He’d never been particularly religious, mostly because he could not imagine why some guy in the sky would be so cruel as to make the sweetest people suffer the worst. When he was young, his Ma had tried her best to teach him the chants and the prayers. Steve also took him to Mass, and he helped his friend memorize Bible verses until they could recite them in their sleep. But it never truly resonated with him. Bucky couldn’t understand the point.

That is until he met his sweetheart. The very first picture she had sent him, she had been wearing a cross. Seven to Bucky's nine, they had become acquainted through a pen pal program. She began as Steve's pen pal, but that was the winter that he was sick and spent more time in bed than out. She had sent letter upon letter upon letter until Bucky got so tired of it that he responded himself. Bucky fell in love with a pretty girl at least once a day, so it was easy for him to love her, too. But never in a million years did he think they would meet face-to-face. He thought he was the luckiest bastard ever to exist when he found out her relative ran the camp he was supposed to train at. It was there, amidst the muck and mud of Camp McCoy, that Bucky found God in the taste of her secret kisses.

He thought of her in those rare moments of loud silence where the only thing you could do was wait until the shelling started up again and until the bombs rattled the ground. With every jingle of the lucky Saint Barbara medallion she had gifted him, Bucky thought of her, thought of the love of his life. The dirt under her fingernails, the quirk of her lips, the unruly curls in her hair. The slow way she spoke. She was soft lines and smudged nail polish with hair blowing in her face. A run in her stocking that got worse until she got a new pair. She grew up half-living on her uncle's farm, doing math problems in the dirt. When she visited Bucky in New York the week before he shipped out, she had only packed one dress.

It was still the best week of his life.

It was Coney Island and riding the Cyclone under the setting sun. It was sugary sweet kisses and twirls on the dance floor that left his toes hurting whenever she stepped on them. It was necking in alleyways on the way home from the movies, a proposal that led to them falling into bed together. Though they hadn't been together face-to-face long, Bucky had known her all of his life. They were planning a wedding for when he returned.

Dawn was quickly rising around them as Bucky sighed sadly, itching to return to his favorite dream. He wanted this horrible war to be over. He wanted to take a real bath, have a delicious meal, and then go to sleep in a real bed with a real woman curled around him. She slept like the dead, Bucky remembered. Nothing roused her, not even the noisy streets of Brooklyn.

He pulled out a letter she’d written him ages ago after she turned down his first proposal. It was crinkled and barely legible under the fading light, but Bucky had the words memorized. He traced the edges with a careful thumb, imagining her huddled over at a desk and taking ages to figure out what she wanted to say. He smiled as he began to read:

Bucky,

I am not as good with words as you are. I hope you aren’t too sore at me because I have some explaining to do, and I want you to hear it. I am sorry it took so long.

War is in my family’s blood. My grandad fought in Puerto Rico, my great-grandpa down South. My papa and his brother were involved in the Great War, although their experiences were vastly different. My papa says his little brother got the brains of the family, which is why he joined the QMC. War didn’t touch him there, not really. He can still talk about his experiences with delight, his eyes lighting up whenever someone asks him about his heroism. Then he takes one look at my papa, at his leg that ends above the knee, and goes silent. No one asks Papa what he saw. We know better. I never knew him as he was before the trenches. Mama always talks about how right after he came home, she would catch him standing in the corner of their bedroom in the middle of the night. He would stare at the wall and talk to himself. What he saw at night, she never knew, and he never remembered it the next morning.

When I talk to him about it, he tells me little. He always says that he doesn’t believe in much anymore, but he believes in love. God leaves you in war, and my mama was the one who helped him find his way out of the trenches. I know that I am not one for taking risks, and I know that I am quite dull compared to what you’re used to, but I am like my papa. I believe in war, and I believe in love. We could be bombed by the Germans tomorrow, and you would never know how I felt. And I am sick to death of hanging my toes over the edge and waiting for the courage to jump. My mama and papa fell in love through letters. I suppose we did, too.

I hope you come back to me, sheik. But if you don't, we'll always have McCoy.

Tucking the letter back in his pocket, Bucky sniffled. It stank out here. Blood and dirt and gunpowder and sweat and smoke coated his lungs. The perfume she had sprayed on her letter had faded long ago. He wanted to feel clean again. He felt a pang in his chest as he looked down at his fingernails, dirtier than hers would ever be, and hoped he would get out of this alive and make his way home to her.

“Barnes!” someone shouted for him.

He stood up. The war was due to erupt any second now.

[hoekaashi]

3 am Talks - hq pt 2

a/n: i hope you enjoy these! they take place some time during the time skip or close to when the six years are up. pairings: oikawa x reader, iwaizumi x reader, mattsun x reader, kuroo x reader, kenma x reader warnings: some spoilers, smoking weed taglist: @babydabi​, @suckersuki​, @bakugoustanaccount​, @animoozies​ part 1 | part 3

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

⇾ c o n s p i r a c y t h e o r i e s ⇾ lots of aliens talk ⇾ will try to convince you that he did in fact, see a UFO once ⇾ but also, will complain about the flat ass comments he constant receives ⇾ spills his secret that not even iwa knows - he dropped a shitton of cash to work out with the Kardashian’s personal trainer in hopes to get a nice juicy bubble butt ⇾ spoiler: it didn’t work ⇾ if he’s in a more serious/softer mood, he would talk more about the mistakes he made in the past in regards to his relationships ⇾ friendships or romantic ⇾ a very vulnerable moment for him where he just let’s everything he’s been holding in out

“I swear! I was seven, I went camping with Iwa-chan and his family!” Oikawa was sitting back on his heels with his right hand up, swearing to you. You rolled your eyes. “What, did the aliens abduct you and perform a surgery? You got a nasty scar on you somewhere?” He narrowed his eyes. “I will prove it. I just need to find the picture for you.” “Right. Wait, have you been working out more?” His expression quickly changed from utter disbelief to a smirk. “I have.” “Well, none of it is helping your ass.” He hung his head in defeat. “All that money wasted. I can’t believe I actually thought the Kardashian’s trainer would be able to help me.” “Babe, they’re all plastic and I think that’s the only thing that will help you at this point.” “Every amazing thing about me is natural. Why would I ruin that by enhancing my features unnaturally?” You shrugged. “At least you have that going for you.” “What do you mean ‘at least’?” he asked with air quotes. “I have you, don’t I?” You didn’t expect him to say something like that. “What?” “If you’ve stuck around this long, I must be doing something right. I know I fucked up in the past, but I’m glad you’re so patient with me. It can’t be easy dating someone who only thinks about volleyball.” You smiled softly as he continued. “I want to apologize to Kageyama properly for the way I treated him. And Iwa-chan too. He always had to deal with my bs and that wasn’t his place as my friend.” “Well, he stuck around you all this time, so you must be doing something right too.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ since california is 16 hours behind, these talks would be in the middle of the day for one of you until a surprise visit happens ⇾ but usually, it would just consist of the two of you catching up ⇾ in person though, he would talk more about how freeing it is to be in a new place, away from everything that was familiar ⇾ how it feels good not to live in anyone's shadow and just start fresh ⇾ (not that he hated being with oikawa, it was just something new for him) ⇾ but also how he doesn’t want to get left behind in the game of life ⇾ how even his new friends *cough* ushiwaka *cough* is going after his dreams

“So how do you like California?” It was 2 am, you just picked up your boyfriend from the airport and you were heading back home. It was a long drive back which gave you plenty of time to talk. “It’s nice. You’re not there, but other than that, I like it.” “Don’t let Oikawa hear that,” you laughed. Iwa slid down his seat a bit and got comfortable. “It feels so freeing. It’s a new start. No one knows me as the ace of Seijoh or as the guy who’s friends with Oikawa. I enjoy people not assuming I’m gay for my best friend.” Even though he was being serious, you couldn’t help but snort at the comment. After all, you had been one of those people too. “It’s like I hit restart and I’m enjoying every minute of it.” “Do you miss anything though? You sound like you’re really enjoying it there.” “Of course I miss things and people. Even though it’s fun, I do miss Shittykawa’s annoying ass and walking in on Makki and Mattsun getting high. Hell, sometimes I miss not being around all the fangirls. But everyone is moving on with their lives, so I can’t stay stuck in the past.” You hummed to let him know you were still listening. “I refuse to get left behind. Even Ushiwaka is going after his own goals.” “Who would’ve thought you would go to a new country, run into him there, and become friends?” Iwa laughed. “Not me, and definitely not Oikawa. He still brings it up, to this day. It’s been two years and he thinks I’ve replaced him.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ high talks ⇾ i feel like he’s not stressed about much that he needs to vent or get something off his chest ⇾ would probably feel free when he’s high - free from being an adult - and would talk about that ⇾ maybe some funny stories from high school ⇾ makes lots of jokes ⇾ but once it hits him, he’ll be talking about deep shit ⇾ talks about life and everyone’s purpose, why we’re here, that sort of shit

“And then Iwa got so annoyed, he just pantsed Oikawa in front of the girl.” You giggled as Mattsun finally got the story right. “So what happened with the girl?” you asked. “I think she died in the spot because she got to see Oikawa in his underwear.” He took another hit of his blunt and blew the smoke out, over his head. “I wonder if he’s enjoying Argentina.” You glanced up at him before turning your attention back to the show neither of you were really watching. “I’m sure he misses you guys.” “I hope he finds his purpose. All that practice to never make it to nationals…” He sighed. “Iwa is studying to be a trainer. Him too. I hope he gets what he wants in life.” “And you?” Mattsun chuckled. “My purpose is to enjoy my time here. There are enough people in the world who are stressing over something or another. I’m here to balance the scale. Can’t have too much stress in the world or the negativity will just take over. That’s me and Makki, we just chilling through life. What's that saying? Que salsa?” “Que sera sera?” “Yeah that one! Oikawa said that to me when we were talking once.” “I’m surprised you remembered it.” “I’m smarter than I appear. I can’t threaten the nerds either. Balancing the scales.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ would range from crackhead ideas to deep conversations ⇾ could go from reciting a funny story about kenma to his insecurities in your relationship real fast ⇾ so kuroo is a scorpio and l i t e r a l l y every scorpio I know absolutely sucks ASS at opening up, doesn’t matter what gender ⇾ a part of his insecurities is that you’re constantly trying to get him to open up more and confide in you, but even after knowing him for as long as you have, he barely does ⇾ and it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s just he doesn’t like to feel that vulnerable with anyone ⇾ there would be a lot of thanking you - for being so patient with him, for dealing with his teasing, for accepting his friends, etc ⇾ he doesn’t strike me as someone who enjoys serious conversations too much so if he felt awkward, he would try to make things more light, cue talks about the latest scientific discoveries

The two of you were calming down from a story Kuroo told you about Kenma that happened recently. “I’m sure deep down, he wishes we never became friends.” “It’s not hidden very deep. He texted me that this morning.” Moving closer to Kuroo, you rested your arms on his chest and placed your chin on top of your hands. One of his hands automatically went to card through your hair. Kuroo’s face softened as he took a moment to stare at you. “I’m sorry.” You stared at him confused. “You’ve been with me for so long. I feel like I know your entire life story and your life stories from your last five lives and here I am, unable to even bring up my childhood and family problems. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.” You shrugged slightly. “I mean, yeah it’s pretty annoying but I’ve just come to…” You bit your tongue. “Come to what?” “Come to not expect anything,” you said with a sigh. That caused Kuroo to sit up, making you sit up as well. “Do you really not expect anything from me now?” “Well, not nothing. More like I’m not expecting you to open up. I’m tired of sounding clingy whenever I try to even ask about your day.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know I never want you to feel like that, right?” You shrugged again. “I just… I don’t know, it’s just hard for me to open up to other people. I guess I’m just used to having someone who understands me without me having to say anything. Vulnerability feels so strange to me so I just try to avoid it when I can.” He took both your hands into his. “I’ll do a better job, I promise. Thank you for being patient with me.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ he’s not much of a talker, we all know this ⇾ but if you ask him the right questions (ie. being annoyingly persistent) he’ll talk ⇾ LOTS of appreciation ⇾ very grateful to all the people he’s met in his life and how each one that he holds dear to his heart plays a different role in his life ⇾ how much he cherishes the people he loves ⇾ and then the conversation would turn to you - how much he appreciates you ⇾ let’s be honest, kenma sucks ass at being affectionate, his love language is probably quality time because just knowing that you’re willing to sit with him as he streams is good enough to make his gamer heart happy ⇾ so he would take the time to fully express how much he does love you since he rarely makes it known to you in other ways

“Kenma, how much longer are you gonna play? You have class tomorrow,” you said while he was streaming. Glancing at the time, he told his viewers that he was going to wrap it up for the night and he joined you in bed. You were talking his ear off about the meet up you had with some of your friends and you could see him grow more and more irritated. “Why did you call me to sleep if you were just going to talk.” “Oh. Well, this is the only time I got to be with just you today…” You pulled the blanket higher up on your body and curled into a ball with your back to Kenma. You felt him shift under the covers until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I’m sorry. Tell me what happened next.” You shook your head. “It’s fine, we can talk in the morning.” He buried his face in your neck, giving you a soft kiss. “I love you. I don’t say that enough. I cherish you even if I don’t show you that. You and Kuroo and Shoyo. All of you are the closest people to me, and I appreciate you all so much for the different ways you’ve helped me.” You placed your hand on top of his and interlaced your fingers. “I love you too.” “How about we have lunch tomorrow? I can cancel the stream at night and we can watch a movie.” “What about the viewers?” “They can survive one night without watching me. I owe you since I’ve been a bad boyfriend.”

[dansedan]

Uhhhhh I guess this is a chaaaaaapter?????? could even be called.... the first chapter. Chapter One, mayhaps. Under the cut

I.

Father Quiffrey was small, for a man his age, and in tandem with his pallor and trim, uniform way of dress, it gave him an appearance of being almost doll-like. While the generous freckling and pink sunburn of his face and hands should be identical to those of the men Fleetfoot had worked alongside on his father’s ranch, he was nonetheless for the first few moments in his presence genuinely convinced that he might be meeting royalty, rather than picking up a penniless clergyman hired out by his family. The older man seemed to have anticipated the staring, nodding with a tight-lipped smile as he stepped past him and further into the bay, rejecting his offer to help him carry the meager luggage. His gesture was conscious, put-together in an over-serious way that only added to his oddity- the whole way from the dock to their lodgings he could picture the windup key sprouting out of his slender back. He couldn’t have ever imagined father Quiffrey, but once they’d met, he couldn’t forget him for a second after, either.

They kept rooms together but seldom spoke the first few months- taking train after train to get from New England to Colorado. Quiffrey spent most of his time nose deep in a ratty copy of the holy bible- tired from the long trip there, very likely homesick and confused- which Fleetfoot would pity if it didn’t give him so many great opportunities to look at him. The reverend seemed to be constantly conscious, every action plotted out in small and subtle ways, like a sailor’s signals. They ranged from common to bizarre- his way of walking (straight, steady) was like a soldier’s, his laugh (dry and airy, restrained) reminiscent of debutantes, and especially his look of focus (an odd frown tossed past his thin glasses, under the brim of his stiff, flat hat with his chin tucked piously into the neck of his cassock) which seemed inherited from a much larger man, fat and gaudy in the way he had imagined British priests to be. With time, he could see even himself in some of his partner’s gesture, and he would wonder who, then, these other people were to him at some point in his life. He never seemed to wonder, then, why he was so insistent on this observation, just followed the instinct unquestioningly, to the point that with the passing of time it became so constant that Quiffrey started to catch onto him. The reaction was always the same- a dry laugh, that same terse nod, and some comment or another to diffuse the tension built up in their meeting gazes.

“You are quite… observant, Mister Stevenson.” Or

“ah, are my recitations bothering you?” or

“nasty bit of weather here…” or

“well, I suppose that’s it for the night.”

Soon, the first drowsy month of their journey came to an end along with the train-trail. All these new small interactions- not just the offhand comments every so often, but humming hymns in the early morning, returning his glance now more assuredly with his own greeting gaze- were starting to accumulate in his mind, flashing inexplicably before his eyes during their brief moments apart. By the time of their entry into Colorado, Quiffrey seemed to have finally recuperated fully, and he started tagging along for more of the busywork of buying and selling, keenly observing Fleetfoot’s menial exchanges with shopkeepers and townsfolk, chatting them up in his hush, clean voice to make up for the younger man’s brevity. This was particularly useful in the matter of getting a horse, as the only coper in the station-town was oddly closed-off and avoidant, refusing to sell to the pair until the reverend talked him down into trading a horse for a sermon. And so that same night, they bathed and dressed, and left the single white-dappled mare the old man had offered them to walk back to his ranch-house and sit at his dinner table, where Fleetfoot heard for the first time his partner’s language past the point of a sentence.

“And one of them, realizing he had been healed, returned, glorifying God in a loud voice; and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him- Luke, chapter seventeen, verses fifteen and sixteen. To express, in word or deed, our thanks towards those through whom the lord hands us our blessings, is one of the crowning virtues of our lives as servants of the Lord. Wise men of antiquity have said of gratitude that it is not only the greatest virtue, but also the parent of all others. The fear of God, who grants us all we have, and the humility of knowing we are dependent not only on Him but in our fellow-men…” The old man of the house was nodding in contentment, clearly feeling the flattery to be to his measure. He didn’t notice- none of them had noticed. Noticed that throughout the entire speech, past those wire-rimmed glasses and over the edge of the leatherbound bible, Quiffrey had been staring at him. Clearwater gaze trained, soft and serious on his own dark brown eyes. Fleetfoot felt frozen in place, shivering with the light breeze, almost forgetting to listen as he lost himself in questions. Soon enough, the homily was over.

“the gift of life, the air we breathe, our family gathered ‘round a table and the earth we till for work. All these, and the more precise and pointed gifts that fall upon us through our daily lives.” At this he nodded, knowingly, still staring.  “To all this, show your gratitude, to people and to God. Amen.” Lightly closing the book, a sleepy chorus of replies, and they were out the door with a pat on the back each, the coper nodding solemnly as he sucked on his pipe. They stepped into the desert night in measured silence, side by side.

“So,” the reverend began. “How did you find it, Mister Stevenson?” tempered, honey-whisper voice cutting through the night and jolting him awake.

“Seemed well,” was all he could say. For all his usual curiosity, it was suddenly impossible to bring himself to look anywhere other than directly in front of him. The older man just hummed and nodded in response.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Not quite used to preaching in translations, so I’m… well, I’m glad.”

The short walk home seemed to stretch out for miles in the white-sand darkness, step by careful step. It was only at the door of their hotel he brought himself to finally stop and look at the older man- catching up to him- almost touching- from behind, a gruff whisper forced out with what felt like a herculean effort.

“Thank you, father.”

And suddenly he rushed away and climbed the stairs, shocked at why this simple action felt like it took such bravado, scared at what could come next. He kept the room dark and laid quickly down to bed.

Morning came with a new day and the smell of coffee, the reverend sitting at the table with his bible as usual, fiddling with the pages in the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He was whistling a tune- an odd, airy melody- and only stopped to nod at him once he noticed Fleetfoot was finally awake, saying nothing of the previous night’s events. Well, of course he wouldn’t say anything about it, the whole thing had been perfectly ordinary.  Should have been ordinary, at least.

Father Quiffrey was small and dangerous- on a single horse, riding behind him with his breath hot on his nape, his new habit of memory conspiring to distract him with a few choice remembrances- brief glimpses of skin caught by coincidence, the occasional pleased, unfocused look that the reverend gave to the early sunlight, distorted by his mind into something that felt far more confusing. By nightfall when they stopped to camp he felt it almost unnecessary to build a fire, yet as they pulled away and stepped on solid ground again, he felt the absence of the other man’s warmth as akin to amputation, already grasping at unlikely excuses in his mind to get close again. In reality, though, they laid at a measured distance from each other, and listened to the sounds of pages being passed and the crackling fire as he fought against the fuzzy feeling at his nape.

It was confusing- this was supposed to be a solemn journey, his one brief opportunity to serve the church and redeem himself for his bastard birth, since his father had forbade him joining the local order, preferred him useful to absolved. He was to deliver the priest to Santa Clara, a piece of influence from his father’s motherland in the missions out west, see if it’d encourage small-town folk to turn to The Church. A man to serve the purpose of the icons, a face that would be, to them, more trustworthy than his own, than the ones of the Mexican priests who had been residing there for decades now, less foreign despite arriving from a greater distance. When he first saw Quiffrey he finally thought this hare-brained scheme might work, but now he could not be so certain, not when his observation seemed to stray from his control- to focus on the pink tongue flicking out the corner of the thin-lipped mouth and not the focused study even in this moment. What kind of icon could he be? - when scripture claimed that men were made in the image of god, and Fleetfoot felt sure that He had made Quiffrey in an angel’s mold.

“I looked up and there before me was a man dressed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like topaz, his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and his voice like the sound of a multitude.”

He’d slept little and rose in the early morning, rode distracted by the desert breeze and warm return of the body behind him until they reached the next small town over and came into it, set to buy another horse and cast away these feelings from himself. A brief errand, and he came back to find Quiffrey once again preaching for the townsfolk, some small crowd of women, kids, a barkeep. He smiled, meekly, upon noticing the younger man, gestured to the plate of eggs and meat that lay untouched in front of him with a sheepish look before continuing his sermon. Fleetfoot sat down to eat and listen, watch him speak, seemingly unaware he was describing himself. These people had likely never seen topaz, and likely never would, but in their reaction to the reverend’s words, his figure and appearance, he could tell they were just as convinced. Another point for Quiffrey the Icon. He was charismatic in the way he seemed untouched by his surroundings, too innocent to care about the histories of his makeshift parish, or the West as a whole. Then again, he could tell at a glance that there were those with less than holy motives for sticking around- a point then, for Quiffrey the tempter, and company for his own concerns around it. He seemed to deal with them well- a couple pointed recommendations of Hail Mary and a tender smile ‘good-day’.

The scene repeated in the next town, and several after. And soon Fleetfoot was giving into his compulsion to attach himself to the reverend, standing at his back unquestioningly (as questions, and not apologies, were always the difficult part with religion), soaking up the warmth of him and fixing those overfamiliar strangers with a stare that seemed to punctuate the older man’s suggestions. Finally making good use of those small, haunting eyes, piped the voice of his father at the back of his mind, Although, deep down, he knew his father would be scandalized at the hypocrisy of his motive, this little voice, all the way down, knew the farce better than he did himself.

Another point for Quiffrey the tempter.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Stuck With U

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: This is fluffy goodness. Check out the song Stick With U while you ready this beauty. Warnings: mentions of quarantine, COV-19. Summary: 

Tony hears the voice of an intelligent stranger in his Philosophical Ethics class and is immediately hooked. When he sees the person attached to the voice, there's no turning back.

Or, the one where Tony meets Peter in a coffee shop and an epic love affair occurs. It's based loosely off of Stuck With U.

Read it on AO3 here

I'm not one to stick around One strike and you're out, baby Don't care if I sound crazy But you never let me down, no, no

Tony always figured his humanities credit would always come back to bite him in the ass. For most of his college career, he’d gotten away with sticking around the engineering building – being a genius in the high school setting made bringing college credit in with him a brilliant thing. Despite having the ability to stay stagnant in the part of campus Tony liked the most, he wasn’t going to get to graduate unless he took a humanities course. And since karma was the ultimate bitch, the only thing available during his final year at UT Austin was Philosophical Ethics. What the actual fuck was philosophical ethics? To top off the increasingly delicious shit sundae, the humanities building was all the way on the other side of campus – and the class was in the middle of the afternoon. The petty part of him wanted to just skip the damn class every week to make a point. Who he was making the point to, he didn’t really know – which is why he found himself trekking across campus in the late September heat every Monday and Wednesday.

The first couple weeks were dull, the mundaneness of going through the syllabus and getting introduced to the course always seemed like a waste of time. The first real lecture happened the third week on Wednesday. The concept of virtue ethics wasn’t too complicated – how to live life and find the balance between virtue and vice. Dr. Sadler turned out to be a pretty interesting conversationalist and kept the entire class engaged throughout his talk. Tony didn’t think he’d be so interested in what the man had to say, but at the end of class – his hand hurt from writing notes and his mind was running wild with all of the information bestowed upon them. Other than the long walk from the engineering lab, Tony wasn’t hating the class. In fact, there were a few other people in it that were just as engaged in the topics and asked questions, rose their hands to answer intelligently, and sometimes even beat Tony to the punch.

One such day, Tony spent an extra second looking at the passage about Socrates before thrusting his hand into the air. For such a cool guy, he prided himself on his intelligence. When a soft but sure voice a row in front of him spoke up before he did, Tony tilted his head and watch with wonder as the guy recited the exact thing that’d been passing across the front of his mind since the question was asked. The feeling of being miffed stuck around for a second, then a weird sort of warmth settled. He hated to admit that he recognized it as respect and pride. Whoever the heck that kid was, he had a good brain on his shoulders. Tony forced himself to think of anything but that for the rest of class – his attention easily placed back on the older man at the front of room. The professor was the most interesting one he’d ever had. If Santa Clause wore Pink Floyd suspenders and brown instead of red – he’d be Dr. Sadler. It was easy to watch him walk around the lecture hall and blather on.

The day before the first test of the semester, Tony found himself in the little coffee shop not far from the building he was slowly getting accustomed to. He spotted it heading to class the previous day and decided to check it out. With his backpack over his shoulder, he figured he could stick around and get some studying done, too. The line wasn’t very long, so he was standing in front of the register in no time. Looking up from his phone, Tony started to order, but stopped dead in his tracks. The human person in front of him was the most beautiful thing in the entire world. His hair was on the longer side, the ends curly. The barista’s eyes were big, brown, and bright – the irises of them like warm chocolate. The thing that distracted him the most, though – was his smile. It was soft, like a shared secret and after a second of staring too long – it looked a little uneasy.

Laughing to himself and shaking his head, Tony got himself together. “Can I get your biggest sized espresso, please?” Tony asked, his voice a little scratchy from the lack of talking all morning. The guy behind the counter nodded, his smile taking on the adorably shy quality from before. “Can I get you anything else?” he said, and Tony’s eyes immediately bulged. He recognized that voice – this was the kid who answered oh so eloquently a couple of classes before. “This is probably going to sound weird, but you don’t happen to take Philosophical Ethics with Sadler, do you? There was this guy the other week that said some great shit about Socrates and his take on virtues – you sound like him, but what the fuck do I know?” Tony got out in what seemed like one breath. He shot a sheepish smile in the other guys direction – his shoulders shrugging. “I do, actually. My friend Wanda and I call him Santa. This is our third semester taking one of his sections. I’m Peter,” the other man replied, his cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink.

“Santa. That’s funny. I thought that, too. The suspenders really drive it home,” he slipped his credit card across the counter as he spoke – his eyes following Peter’s fingers, their length stupidly distracting for some reason. “Peter – nice to know you. I’m Tony. And I have to say – I was pretty impressed,” Tony finally managed to get out – if he didn’t then, he probably never would. The pink on the other’s cheeks turned to red and he tucked his head. “That’s something coming from Tony Stark,” Peter’s eyes flashed with mischief when Tony looked at him suddenly. “Yeah, I know who you are. You TA’ed in the physics lab in front of me last semester – I heard you tear down a kid in the dullest of tones. Kind of badass, dude,” Peter finished, the man passing him his card and receipt. “Oh, well – I aim to please. Do you have a break coming up anytime soon? I was going to study for Sadler’s test tomorrow – I could use a brain like yours.” He blushed at the way the words sounded in the space between them – but felt a bit better when the guy was nodding at him, his smile the entire width of his face.

“I’ll be off in ten minutes, actually. If you camp out in the back of the store, you’ll get the best Wi-Fi. I’ll come find you.” Peter flashed him a smile and turned his attention to the person behind him. They were probably pissed; he’d been standing there stupidly for way too long. Running a hand through his hair, Tony leaned against the pick-up counter and waited for his coffee with a dazed look on his face. What were the chances that the brainy intellectual he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to pat on the back or slap upside the head – was so goddamn beautiful, too? It didn’t seem fair. Hearing his name called, Tony pushed himself out of his thought and grabbed the cup – the warmth of it immediately grounding him a little. He didn’t wait for any of the heat to seep out, his tongue very used to his dumb ass self sucking down coffee straight from the pot. The coffee was tasty, and the extra jolt of caffeine immediately made him feel a little more motivated.

By the time he’d gotten his books out on the table and his laptop open, Peter was heading towards him. The pile of books in his hand made him seem a little younger than he probably was – the long sleeves of his hoodie were covering his hands, adding to the adorableness factor Tony started tallying in his head. Peter sat down and spread himself out, their clutter on the table taking up the entire surface. Looking up from his screen, Tony found himself smiling – Peter’s eyes were so nice, and they were staring right back at him. He tucked his lower lip between his teeth and ducked out of the eye contact, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the pen he’d set on top of his notebook. “You said you’ve taken his courses before, right? How are his exams? I bet a guy like that doesn’t change ups his teaching style all that much,” Tony said, breaking the silence. Peter nodded, the gesture obviously one of his customary reactions. “The format changes every time. The way he asks his questions doesn’t. The review we went over yesterday did a pretty good job mapping out all the things to look at.”

The hour went fast after that. They spent the entire time laying out a study guide highlighting all the information they went over in the review session and the things they noted more than once throughout either set of notes. When the blaring alarm cut through the haze of their little bubble, Tony had to blink a few times to remember where he was exactly. Tilting his head, he watched Peter start to collect his things, a soft smile on the guy’s face. “Thanks for sharing your break with me. I don’t think we’ll have to do much studying after making this thing,” Tony remarked, his fingers pointing to the several page document they put together. He caught the light pink hue on Peter’s cheeks and felt himself fall just a little. He didn’t know where he was falling exactly – but this guy did something to him, something that made him feel a little itchy and a lot warm. Like maybe he had a Peter allergy, but the histamine response was so, so, so worth it. “I like the way your brain works, Tony. See you tomorrow,” Peter said, his books once again tucked into the swell of his arm. He walked backwards for a second, looking Tony over – then he turned and headed to the back.

Tony watched the door swing back and forth, a dopey grin on his face.

The test went unsurprisingly well – Tony didn’t have to spend much time at all thinking deeply about any of the questions. The study guide they put together prepared him more than adequately. When he walked out, he noticed Peter was also getting out of his seat – so he waited. Their eyes met when Peter turned his paper into Sadler and the guy broke into a smile as they walked out the door together. “You’re a much better study partner than Wanda. That was so easy,” Peter admitted, his hands knotted together in front of him. “I’ve never finished one of Sadler’s exam that quick.” Peter’s cheeks were ketchup red and getting cuter by the fucking second. “I’m happy to have been a big help, then. I like him. He’s one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met, and I feel like that’s something coming from me,” Tony snorted at the look on Peter’s face – the pureness of quirked eyebrows and a crinkled nose so terribly hard to resist.

“You’re kind of an ass, aren’t you, Tony Stark?” Peter asked, his nose still crinkled, lips pulled into a shit eating grin. “Yeah. I’m kind of an ass. If you let it, it’ll grow on you,” Tony reached out and lightly punched the other’s shoulder. “Do you have class, or can I show you what I’m working on for my honor’s thesis? You were outside my lab last semester, right? So that means you’ve at least taking thermodynamics – you’ll understand a good bit of it.” Tony stopped his rambling when he noticed the look on Peter’s face – he looked like a kid that just got invited to Wonka’s chocolate factory. After a little bit of discussion, the day before, Tony found out Peter was a couple credits shy of being a junior and was soaring through the biomedical engineering program – the same way Tony did his own. Despite the guy’s shy tendencies, Peter was very smart and very outspoken about it. He smiled over at the younger guy and pressed a hand to his shoulder again. “You in or not, Petey?” Tony prodded softly, his smile widening at the enthusiastic head nod. “I’m in, I’m in. I haven’t seen the honors’ labs, yet.”

It was a little silly, how easily things seemed to settle into place. Tony considered Peter one of his best friends almost instantly. When Tony sat down on Peter’s right the next class, Wanda and all of her scarlet haired glory didn’t utter a word. The three of them talked like they’d always been a trio both before and after class – Tony found out very quickly that Wanda was very strategic, he’d need to watch his ass around her. Tony also found himself heading to the coffee shop at the edge of campus every Tuesday at 2PM to spend Peter’s hour break with him. They usually looked over Ethics, the homework a lot easier now that he was talking to a human and not the stupid robot he’d built for a robotics competition his sophomore year. The more time they spent together, though – the less of it they spent talking about Ethics. Tony knew the testing ideology now, so he wasn’t all the worried, anyway. No, he appreciated when the topic would stray away from philosophy and tread into the more personal. Peter was a conundrum and kept getting more complicated week by week.

Tony didn’t really do the feelings thing. Throughout most of his time on his own, he kept to himself. It was easy to get lost in another person; he’d seen enough people do it. He could still remember pre-Bucky Steve – the man was the life of the party. Tony liked to be by himself, and yet – he slowly started to find himself looking forward to Tuesday afternoons and the hour and a couple extra minutes Peter spent sitting with him, pretending to study and talking about all of the things. The week Peter missed class Monday and then wasn’t at work Tuesday, Tony was a little worried. It’d been practically an entire semester now of meeting up and he wondered a couple things when he didn’t have a way to contact him – why the hell hadn’t they ever exchanged numbers, and why did it seem so monumental, Peter not being there? Curiously, Tony waited until Wanda wasn’t busy behind the counter and nodded at her – his empty cup in his hand. “Where’s Peter?” Tony tried to casually ask, his fingers pushing the cup towards her in aid of his effort. “His aunt passed away. He’s been putting together her funeral for this afternoon.”

Tony felt his stomach drop. Peter mentioned May practically every time they talked about life outside of academic pursuits. It seemed like she was the most important person to Peter and the fact that she was suddenly gone – Tony knew how much the man must be hurting. Thanking Wanda, Tony didn’t wait around for the refill of his cup, his fingers already typing furiously on the screen of his phone. Google immediately showed him the obituary and where the funeral service was being held – if he wore the blazer in his car and got there in the next twenty minutes, he could make the service. Determined, Tony stopped in the bathroom and splashed some water on his face before grabbing his things and heading out to his car. A quick stop at the florist by the church and Tony was dragging his ass to the back of a small chapel.

Despite the place being small, there were a lot of people stuffed into the pews. It was obvious by the way Peter talked about her; how much she was loved – the people in the room just proved that. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house (Tony included), the ceremony was really beautiful and Peter’s brief, but powerful eulogy tied the entire thing together. Tony didn’t know the woman, he felt a little out of his league being there, but it felt good to support another person. Their eyes locked for a brief minute during Peter’s kind words about his aunt and for a brief second – he didn’t look as sad, anymore. Tony’s wobbly smile must have been encouraging, because the last half of his words were spoken more confidently. At the end of the service, Tony waited in the back pew for the crowd to say their condolences to Peter – he didn’t want the man to see him crying, either. He got himself together in the meantime – his eyes a little itchy from the blazer he’d been rubbing them on.

When he approached Peter, Tony immediately noticed how distraught he looked. He couldn’t imagine what it was like lose someone so special. Tony’s parents passing was hard, but he took it in stride – they weren’t very close. Peter looked like he might keel over – so Tony pulled him close, his arms tight around the younger man’s waist. He felt hands fist into his jacket, Peter’s nose pressing into the front of his shirt. Tony held him a little closer, his arms tight around him until the shaking stopped. He didn’t know when his hand started to move ever so slightly up and down the small of Peter’s back – but the touch was there, and it didn’t seem like he was going to be pulling away from him anytime soon. Peter looked up at him after a while, his cheeks tear stained, and eyes rimmed in what looked like an uncomfortable red. Without thinking, Tony let a thumb brush away a stray tear. “Your words were beautiful,” Tony mumbled, the lily in his hand a little crumpled from the neglect of it during their embrace. Peter didn’t seem to mind the bent stem, the boy bringing the flower to his chest. “Thanks for coming, Tony.”

A little while later, Peter found him sitting out on churches steps, his blazer now over his knee, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He’d been watching all of the people try and get the last little bit of Peter’s attention before they headed off to do who knows what. Funerals were funny things – people flocked to them, like the thoughts of someone else dying but not them were enough to overcome the grief. He remembered his parents’ soiree – there were so many people he’d never seen before, it felt more like a banquet dinner than a human person’s funeral. He kept his head down and waited until it was just Peter and a small violet urn – the last little piece of a life the man would no longer live. Tired eyes looked at him and, in that moment, all Tony saw was gratitude. He didn’t rush to give him a hug, or say how sorry he was, Tony simply held a hand out and let Peter take it.

They spent the rest of the night eating May’s favorite Thai food, with Peter regaling him with all of the best May Parker stories. The health conscious, vegan diner waitress with the biggest heart and warmest hug. The silence they eventually fell into was nice and easy, a little bit of relief from all of the emotion they’d been wrapped up in since he saw Peter for the first time at the church. Tony didn’t know much about Pho – but could tell this stuff was the real deal. He liked learning new things – especially where Peter was concerned. A noodle hit him in the chin and the wet squish of it slapping his skin broke the silence between them. Tony watched Peter laugh for probably the first time in days and felt a little piece of him melt – just a little.

“Why’d you end up coming, anyway?” Peter asked out of the blue, his voice still heavy with sadness and unshed tears. His eyes were hopeful, though – watery doe eyes big and looking directly at him. “I don’t really know, to be honest. Wanda told me about May and it just seemed like the right thing to do. Tuesday’s don’t have to stop being our thing because something bad happened in your life. I guess – you’re kind of stuck with me.” Tony shrugged his shoulders and went back to eating – his honesty a little too much for him in the moment. He’d never spoken so bluntly to someone before – at least, not someone he was saying something nice to, someone he admittedly admired so very, very much. “Okay, that sounds good,” Peter replied simply after a while, his shoulder pressing into Tony’s chest when he leaned over to press soup warm lips to Tony’s cheek. He felt his cheeks heat up, the spot on his skin a little moist from Peter’s lips.

It was pretty easy to make more than Tuesday their thing after that.

----

So go ahead and drive me insane Baby, run your mouth I still wouldn't change being stuck with you Stuck with you, stuck with you

The transition to being a boyfriend was surprisingly easy for Tony. Peter was the one person that gave Tony motivation outside himself – the happiness he felt when Peter smiled at him or looked pleased with him was totally different, something he wanted to cling to for as long as possible. After finals, Tony brought Peter into his small two-bedroom apartment – the two of them spending the entirety of winter break together. A part of him wanted to ask Peter to stay when the spring semester started, but he eventually came to the conclusion that they weren’t quite there yet. It didn’t stop Peter from being over at his place all the time, though. He understood what it was like to hate a roommate – the whole reason he lived by himself in the first place came from dislike of having to be around other humans. So, he didn’t mind the fact that his boyfriend found his apartment to be more comfortable than a place shared with two other dudes – dudes that, if Peter was to be believed, were very disorderly and distracting.

It was stupidly nice to have Peter with him all the time; Tony wasn’t going to object to that. It was nice to come home to a table filled with engineering textbooks and a couple cups worth of old coffee. There was a certain feeling about walking in to see someone he cared for so diligently doing something – it felt like a punch to the gut more often times than not. Peter’s brain was one of the things Tony loved the most about him. Loved – funny, they hadn’t said that word, yet. Though, Tony thought about it constantly. Time went by with Peter in a way that made things seem effortless. The longer they were together, the more Tony felt himself wanting to soak up all the things that came with having Peter Parker in his life. There were so many things he wanted to do with Peter in his life and the fact that they hadn’t taken the final step was a little intimidating – the more Tony held off, the scarier it all got. The worst thing that could happen was losing Peter, it didn’t take him very long to realize that.

It seemed silly, then, when Tony started to be a bit more of an asshole. It wasn’t Peter specific – there were enough dirty looks sent his way from the general populace to know he was being a bit of a prick to everyone. He didn’t mean it, either – there was a part of him that kept using that as an excuse for his grumpiness. The deadline for his honors thesis was quickly approaching and Tony felt stupidly underprepared. There were a lot of variables that were out of his hands and the stress of not having complete control of the situation made everything seem a little more monumental than normal. And though it felt like the world was quickly starting to close in on him, Peter remained steadily beside him. It was easy to see how much Peter endured in his life – he easily let Tony’s shitty remarks and sarcastic quips fly off his back. Every time Tony was a shit, Peter shook his head and gave him space – and later when Tony came crawling back with stupid excuses and promises of many, many kisses, Peter welcomed him back with open arms.

The closer it got to the due date, the worst it got – even Tony could rationally perceive it. It wasn’t hard to see how much longer it took Peter to bounce back from the stupid arguments Tony started – sometimes on purpose, if he were being honest with himself. It wasn’t hard to notice how Peter spent a couple extra days away between his stays with Tony. The rational part of him understood that he wasn’t the only person on the planet that needed space – that he wasn’t being nice to the person he loved more than anything. He couldn’t find the words to make Peter understand the type of stress he felt, so he didn’t say any. There were so many things trying to crush him – it seemed easy to lean heavily and rely on the one thing that hadn’t demanded anything from him.

Of course – things can only take so much pressure on them before they snap. As an engineer, Tony knew that better than anyone else. The morning the dam broke, Tony pressed the home button of his phone, his eyes blinking from a surprisingly refreshing sleep. The night before was one of the best they had in the past few weeks – Tony finally felt a little better falling into a deep sleep with Peter in his arms. After the second press to the thing, he put the pieces together and realized he didn’t plug it in to catch any charge overnight. Turning over, he caught the time on the clock on what he considered Peter’s bedside table for a while and his eyes bulged. There was no way he’d make it to his advisor meeting on time. Despite consciously knowing that, Tony went into panic mode. He got up out of bed and started rushing around the room. In his haste, he almost missed the sleepy “Tony?” coming from the bed.

“Go back to sleep, Pete. I’m a goddamn mess and don’t have any of my shit together. You don’t need to see this shit fest,” Tony mumbled, his teeth clenched together in a desperate attempt to keep whatever was bubbling up under control. There was so much stress and of course he’d be late for the one thing he needed to go to – the news about whether he’d get the rest of his research data approved, the final pieces missing to the honors thesis that’d been haunting him for weeks now. For whatever reason, Peter’s softly spoken “Sorry, Tones,” made him snap – his frustration finally breaking the last remaining supports keeping everything together.

“What are you sorry for, Pete? I was so happy to have you in my arms last night that I forgot to plug in my phone. I let myself enjoy something for a second and now I’m late and not going to finish college. I’ve been working my ass off and I’m not going to finish. I’m not saying this is your fault – but fuck it all. This is the worst possible time to fall apart.” Tony kept talking as he swept around the room, Peter’s confused look only slowing him down for a second. On a normal morning, the sheet slipping down the other’s shoulder in the tantalizing way it was would’ve had him getting into bed and ignoring all of his so-called responsibilities. Oh, how Tony longed for those days. He could feel tears starting to prickle in his eyes – a combination of shame and frustration mixing together to make a hurricane of hard to handle emotions. Slipping into the first pair of shoes he saw, Tony grabbed his bag and fled the apartment – hot tears spilling down his face something he was glad Peter didn’t have to see.

The walk onto campus was brisk enough to keep everything at bay – he’d never be able to get onto campus as fast he did that day again. Getting there with a couple minutes to spare, Tony instantly felt like a jackass. Not just because he’d lost his cool, but because he might’ve insinuated that the one good thing in his life was causing a commotion – which he wasn’t. Not at all. In fact, the only thing causing a commotion was Tony himself. That much was apparent when Dr. Coulson presented him with a fully approved thesis – the latest pieces of data and all.

It felt good to finally be done with the damn thing. Better than good, actually. He felt a lot of the cobwebs from the past few weeks start to shake off and the haze clear a little bit. What he was faced with wasn’t much to celebrate – the confused look on Peter’s face still alive and present in the forefront of Tony’s mind. He wondered why Peter continued to stick around through Tony’s latest grump streak, why the man chose to stick around and be on the end of ill-timed uncertainty. For the first time, Tony understood how important it was that Peter did stick around.

Pulling his phone out, Tony started to formulate a plan – one that would say sorry and thank you all at once. With quick fingers, he sent Peter a quick text, the good news still fresh in his mind.

Tony Stark [11:12AM]: I made it on time. They accepted my thesis. I’m officially done. Tony Stark [11:13AM]: I’ve been an ass, and I’m sorry. Tony Stark [11:14AM]: I’m glad you’re still here.

He clicked the lock on the phone and tucked it into his bag. There were a few things he needed to get done before heading back to his apartment. Before his little tissy fit, they’d been planning to spend the weekend together. If luck was in his favor, Peter would still be there when he walked through the door later. Tony forced himself not to think about what would happen if the man wasn’t there, or if he stuck around just to confront him and then jet. There were so many things Tony wanted to say – so many emotions he wanted to share. He just needed the chance to get the stuff out in the open. It felt important to be able to open up to Peter like that – share his fears and vulnerabilities. Peter was the man Tony invited into his bed on a regular basis. For all intents and purposes, they were sharing everything – cooking utensils and bodily fluids alike. It would make sense that he’d be able to be a little looser with the restraint on his feelings with him, too.

The nicest part about being with Peter came from all the similarities they shared. He knew the perfect thing to bring back to the apartment as a white flag and could honestly say he was looking forward to giving it to Peter. It relieved a lot of stress – something that Tony obviously wasn’t the best at dealing with – feeling so confident in the reception of a gift. A quick perusal through Game Stop had him clutching a small black bag and feeling a whole lot better. It didn’t really matter, finding the right present. What mattered was the fact that Tony felt good and conscious enough of his behavior to want to make it right. Baby steps, and all that.

Walking into the apartment to see Peter’s black Chuck Taylor’s still piled messily against the wall by the front door was an instant relief. Tony felt his chest unclench a little bit. The steadily collecting pieces of Peter around the apartment were still there, too. The PS4 and its many cables were still sitting next to Tony’s X-Box – and the collection of Family Guy and American Dad DVDs were ensconced nicely with Tony’s Mad Max collector’s edition box set. Now that he wasn’t stuck in a rut of anxiety and stress, Tony could see just how much of Peter there was around the place. Not even noticing made the feeling of rightness sink in a little more – the simple fact that it was natural felt like a pretty big thing. Gripping the bag in his hand, Tony kicked off the Van’s he’d been wearing and walked further into the apartment.

He wasn’t expecting the coffee table in the middle of the living room to be decked out with sleek black table settings and a single rose in between them. Though the TV wasn’t on, Tony could hear the scratch of the record player across a vinyl – the noise immediately making him feel calm, like the soothing noise of rain on a rooftop. Peter walked casually out of the kitchen carrying out a big pot – Tony knowing right away that there was mac & cheese waiting for them under the top of said pot. The other’s eyes were soft when their gazes met, and Tony felt himself relax just a little bit more. He wasn’t really sure what was going on, but he didn’t mind the light smile on Peter’s lips or the delicious scent of melted cheese and butter. The one thing Tony felt certain about was the fact that he didn’t deserve the beautiful man setting the hot dish on the table – he didn’t deserve the sweetness that laid so inherently inside Peter Parker’s heart and soul.

“What is all this, Pete?” Tony asked, his hands still fiddling with the bag he’d been clutching onto. Peter shrugged and took a seat on the couch – his hand patting the cushion next to him. “It’s not anything, baby. You did good shit today. I thought maybe we could celebrate with the only dish I can cook and the rest of that red we didn’t finish the other night.” The words were so genuine and so easily delivered. Dropping his backpack, Tony didn’t hesitate to sit on the couch next to him, their thighs brushing with his movements. He set the Game Stop bag on Peter’s lap and used his now free hands to grab his cheeks lightly. “This world doesn’t deserve you, Peter Parker. Especially me,” Tony murmured. He closed the gap between them easily, their lips connecting in a way that spoke of both parties leaning forward to partake.

Pulling away, Tony let his thumb linger against Peter’s lips for a moment, his eyes greedily taking in the way the other was looking at him. It felt like a long time since he’d been able to see those eyes with so much clarity. He let that sink in, the idea that he spent any time at all not worshipping the brown orbs that looked at him with so much want and affection. “I don’t know why you’ve stayed around with all the bull shit I’ve been dumping on you, but I’m glad. I hope you know that – I’m so fucking happy that you’re here, Pete,” Tony couldn’t stop himself; the words were dripping from him like a leaky faucet – each droplet of truth a little bit bigger than the last.

Peter caught one of his hands and brought it up to his lips, Tony’s breath quickening slightly at the touch. Those chocolate brown eyes kept up their glance, Peter’s gaze smoky – a little hazy in the way he couldn’t focus on just one part of Tony’s face. “I knew who you were getting into this. You’re an asshole – that’s not a lie. I didn’t expect that to be pretty. I didn’t expect you to be bright and shiny all the time. I get that you were stressed. You’re a human, Tony. And like you said, I’m stuck with you.”

Tony couldn’t remember a time when his words being used against him felt any sweeter. He quickly wrapped Peter in a tight hug, his lips pressing against the side of his head in a tender kiss. “Ecstatically so,” Tony said in a whisper, his entire being simply overwhelmed. He forced himself to pull away, Tony knowing that if he let himself, he’d get pulled under the spell of Peter and all the peaceful goodness his boyfriend could bring. He tapped at the bag he put on Peter’s lap, a soft smile on his lips.

“I know I can’t buy love and all of that, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Peter pulled out the Nintendo Switch version of Super Smash Bros Melee while Tony spoke, his eyes lighting up. They’d been watching all of the trailers and reading up about it – it was the ultimate date night adventure. “There’s a reason why we’re so good together,” Pete said, his feet already carrying him to the tv to get the game into the console. The remotes joined the bowls on the table, and the spent the rest of the night was spent yelling at the tv, each other, and binging on way too much mac and wine.

The next morning, Tony woke up with a gratifying hangover and Peter’s entire body weight against his right side – the best reminder of the gift he constantly got to keep on getting.

The slurred ‘I love you’ pressed against his chest wasn’t too terrible, either.

----

So lock the door And throw out the key Can't fight this no more It's just you and me

Two years with Peter past by insanely quick. After publishing his thesis, Tony graduated with highest honors and scored a pretty decent engineering job with Valero. The pay was great, the hours were nice, and he got to stay in his apartment. An apartment that at the start of the next semester, became Peter’s, too. Tony wanted to be able to give Peter the ability to have a stress-free academic experience. Their schedules intersected in a way that meant they got to eat dinner together every night – it was one of those scenes out of those dream montages for such a long time. Watching Peter learn and grow in both his knowledge and expertise was a lot of fun for Tony. Many nights were spent with the two of them discussing Peter’s work – the man was following Tony’s footsteps and doing an honors thesis, too. The five-year program was the perfect way to get a head start in the professional world – and Tony couldn’t wait to see what Peter was going to bring.

Aside from their jobs, Tony and Peter spent a lot of time with each other and the tight knit group of friends they developed during their time together. Steve and Bucky were old friends of Tony’s, so they were easy to add to Friday night dinners and double dates. It was silly to think that Bucky Barnes wouldn’t get along with another human. He and Peter kicked it off instantly and suddenly, two became four. Tony met Bruce in that lab at Valero – they were both fresh out of school and starting their careers. A little commonality went a long way. He and Natasha were easy to incorporate into the chosen family they were creating. Natasha treated Peter like a mother hen – it made his heart warm to see them sitting in a chair together, the woman running her fingers through Peter’s chestnut locks. Tony didn’t know much about family – but he understood enough to realize just how lucky the group of them were. Thursday night game nights and Sunday afternoon cookouts were the regular – it was nice, they were happy.

The original plan after Peter graduated was for the younger man to join him at Valero. There were many places for a mind like Peter’s in the depths of the energy company’s labs – but a piece of Tony felt like maybe that wasn’t the right place for him. The compound Peter created was unparalleled and his research was insane – to the point where Tony spent many hours reading through it, marveling at the intelligence within the written words. Tony could cop to settling for something that was steady and gave him enough freedom to enjoy the work he was doing. It was enough – yet, Peter deserved a lot more than that in his professional life.

Which is why it wasn’t much of a surprise when Peter brought up a job offer he received in New York – he’d been bouncing around for a couple of days and Tony finally sat him down and asked outright what the fuck was going on. His boyfriend presented research in New York and while there, Oscorp Industries sent a headhunter after him – offering him a job that was hard to pass up. Peter told him about it nervously, his hands fumbling in front of him, long pauses between stuttered out words. For a second, Tony wanted to be offended – the way Peter was acting made him feel like the scariest mother fucker in the world, like he’d be so far away from supportive. Yet, he saw the slightest bit of hope in Peter’s eyes and understood where the nervousness came from. “I want you to come with me, Tony. I know, you’ve got a job here and there’s the guys – but I think we could really make a go out there,” Peter flashed a smile at him, the hope in his eyes growing with each word.

Instinct kicked in and Tony nodded, his eyes wide. “Holy shit, Pete. Congratulations. That’s – that’s amazing!” They were hugging before Tony could even blink, his hands grasping onto the material of Peter’s t-shirt. “I will absolutely move to New York with you. Absolutely.” Tony heard the words in his own ears, the certainty of them. He felt his entire stomach clench – not because he was mad or upset, but because his entire world was about to change. Everything in his entire world was about to change. Peter’s hands framed his face and the rest of the conversation was history – Tony losing his pants in celebration not too long after that.

The next couple of months were jam packed full of both Tony and Peter getting ready to move their entire lives across the country. Peter was finishing up with the last few mandatory things for school and Tony was quietly making future plans – he’d been working on a few things in the lab with Bruce, things that could change the face of energy. Given the right place to do some expansions, they could easily be onto something. While Peter prepped the final parts of his thesis, Tony put together proposals and made finishing touches on presentation material. Though they weren’t spending an insane amount of time together, it was easy to feel assured – secure in the fact that they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. They were making plans and figuring things out. Tony was content and thought for certain that Peter was, too.

It made sense – the timing. Tony’s slew of interviews in New York were the same week as Peter’s thesis approval. When the younger man dropped Tony off at the airport, he was still a little grumpy from the little dispute they had earlier. Tony could still remember the heated look in Peter’s eyes. “Why do you have to go this week? You’ve been so quiet about all of this and now all of the sudden you’re leaving? This is a big week for me,” Peter’s voice was a little raw at the end, they’d been hashing it out for a while.

Tony shook his head, the roundabout argument of the unfortunate timing getting a little old. “I’ve shown you the arc reactor plans, Peter. I scheduled all of the interviews to happen all at the same time, so I only had to make one trip – if things go the way I’m hoping, I’ll be home before you find out. I’m sorry, Pete. It’s shit timing, I know. I’ve been keeping this close to the belt because I’m nervous and don’t want to jinx any of the opportunities. I’m sorry, Petey,” Tony mumbled, his hands desperately trying to grip Peter’s cheeks, trying to sooth the other.

There was no soothing, though – Tony could remember a time when he felt as irritable as his boyfriend and shook it all off. There were important things that needed to happen on this trip – and so many of them were hanging in the air. It didn’t make any sense for both of them to be irritable the entire time Tony was away. He ended up leaving the car with a soft kiss against his cheek and a subdued “I love you” which Tony took and returned in stride. With his bag in his hand, Tony stood on the curb and watched Peter pull away, a soft smile on his lips. Turning when he heard Bruce, Tony smiled even wider – they were heading to New York to pitch their arc reactor idea to a couple of investment companies. If all went well, they’d be well on their way to establishing their own energy business. Tony wanted to have the plans in place before telling Peter – he wanted to bring something to the other man to be proud of. Shaking his head and trying his hardest to clear it of the argument, Tony followed Bruce into the airport and boarded the airplane in no time.

The first day of meetings was a total blur. By the time he wandered into his hotel room, Tony sent Peter a quick text message saying he loved him and then dropped onto the bed – his brain totally wiped. Like he figured, there weren’t too many companies willing to give them free rein on the construction and use of the arc reactor – and Tony wasn’t willing to part with such a great piece of technology. It didn’t seem like Bruce was all that keen, either – and he hoped their next day of meetings would go a little better. He didn’t notice his phone buzz a couple of different times, his body and mind lost to the land of slumber until early the next morning. He got up in a rush, the disorienting feeling of sleeping too long hitting him – his body still so tired despite being immobile for more than ten hours. Rolling over, Tony checked his phone and grimaced at the ten missed calls from Peter and the handful of text messages that were considerably more concerning.

Peter Parker [7:30PM]: Hey babe, I love you, too. How’d all the meetings go today? Peter Parker [8:45PM]: Should I take the lack of communication as a good or bad thing? Peter Parker [9:34PM]: I’m getting a little worried. You haven’t answered any of my calls, either. Are you okay? Peter Parker [11:21PM]: I guess you’re just not answering. I hope New York isn’t up in flames, or anything. Peter Parker [1:01AM]: Dammit, Tony.

Sucking in a quick breath, Tony looked over the texts again. He wondered idly how he managed to miss every single one of these – how he didn’t wake up to the buzz. The fatigue of traveling and haggling must’ve really kicked his ass. Tony pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and thought for a second – his brain still a little slow from the haze of sleep sticking around. Why did it seem like Peter was so strung out? Biting down on his lip a little more, Tony shook his head. He knew why Peter was upset and understood it. Things were changing – uncertainty was the name of the game when the entire Earth felt like it was shifting gears. Long fingers tangled into the strands at the front of his hair for a moment before Tony was typing on the screen.

Tony Stark [7:45AM]: Pete, I’m so sorry. Tony Stark [7:46AM]: I got into the room and crashed. Tony Stark [7:47AM]: The meetings were all a bit useless – but we’ve got the ones I’m most looking forward to today. Tony Stark [7:48AM]: I miss you, baby. I’ll call you when we’re done for the day.

He didn’t know how satisfactory that was, but with the time difference between New York and Texas, Tony wouldn’t be able to call Peter before their first meeting at 9AM. He knew Wednesday was the day Pete had a late lecture and liked to sleep a little later into the day. To sweeten the deal a little, Tony clicked on the camera and sent a selfie of him blowing a kiss, his eyes so soft – even he could see the shine in them. Sighing, he got up out of bed and started to get ready for a day filled with negotiating and attempting not to sell their souls. It was exhausting business, trying to prove one’s worth to the rest of the world.

Fortunately, these meetings went much better. There were two investors especially interested in the end product Tony and Bruce had in mind – they were willing to back the project with a workable and decent percentage off the top. The meeting with the bank finished off the last little bit of money they needed and by the end of the day, Tony and Bruce were business owners – hoping to lead the way in clean and sustainable energy, one arc reactor at a time. Tony couldn’t believe they actually convinced people to buy into their idea. In their time in the lab, they’d put together a protype of the model they were interested in building – the thing only missing the necessary elements to bring it together. After Tony passionately describe the construction process and the benefits it would bring – the right people were eating out of the palm of his hand. Tony and Bruce exchanged a couple of brief hugs and then they were off in their separate directions – the one thing Tony appreciated about Bruce more than anything else. There weren’t any expectations.

Excited, Tony pulled out his phone and pulled up Peter’s contact information, his thumb hitting the call button without another thought. It only took a couple rings for the man to pick up – Tony glad for the millionth time that his lover wasn’t petty or able to hold much of a grudge. Tony did dumb shit all the time – he forgot silly things and didn’t answer his phone. Peter took it with grace, the man a saint in that way. A slightly subdued voice met him on the other side of the line. “Hey, Tones,” Peter answered. Tony couldn’t help but smile, regardless of how much he knew Peter wanted to yell at him.

“Hey, baby. I know I fucked up – but I’m so happy to hear your voice,” Tony responded immediately, his body relaxed for the first time since leaving home. Peter chuckled, the sound an immediate reminder of home. “You didn’t fuck up – I was just being a little needy. You leaving got me a little scrambled. I think I just miss you,” Tony sighed at Peter’s words, his heart heaving against his chest. “I miss you, too. But I’ll be home tomorrow – just in time to pick you up to celebrate,” Tony couldn’t contain the excitement in his voice, the joint success of following his dream and Peter realizing his so nice, so fulfilling for the both of them.

“And just what all are we celebrating?” Peter asked, the background noise making it sound like he shifted while he spoke. Tony ran his free hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the ends ever so slightly. “Your thesis approval, of course,” Tony started with, his voice dipping a little, “and the opening of S&B Tech. Bruce and I found some investors today. We’ve got enough to get off the ground and get a functioning prototype up and running.” The words were beautiful coming from his lips – the happiness in his chest hard to be contained.

He heard Peter gasp, the little inhale of breath a recognizable thing – something so very Peter. “Are you serious? I didn’t know you were looking to open a company, Tony! Why didn’t you tell me?” Peter’s question was valid, and Tony thought about it when they started this whole process. “The only honest answer I can give you, Pete, is the fact that I was scared of failing. I didn’t want to make all of these big plans and end up not fulfilling them. When we get to New York, I want us to be able to build from the ground up. It’s just you and me, baby – I wanted to make sure I could give us something worthy of us – of who we are together.” Tony felt so impassioned by the words coming out of his mouth, a huge smile slipping across his cheeks with them.

There was a moment or two of silence on the line, the only really exchange was the sound of their breathing. He’d been with the man long enough to recognize the organized pause – Peter was collecting himself, getting his thoughts together. Tony stuck the edge of his thumb into his mouth to bite at the cuticle – the wait killing him ever so slightly. “I’m such an idiot,” Peter mumbled, the words just barely there across the line. “I thought you were pulling away from me, or something. Like you ran off to New York with Bruce and you weren’t coming back. You’re just brilliant and trying to make the whole world see it. I’m such an idiot and so fucking proud of you,” Peter’s voice broke at the end, a soft laugh trailing off the last couple of words. Tony joined him, his chest lightening with ever vibrating laugh. “I told you before, Peter Parker – you’re stuck with me.”

The next day when Peter got him from the airport, Tony was greeted with two hands on his neck pulling him close – their lips meeting in a hot kiss that lasted much longer than appropriate in public. When they broke apart, Peter was grinning at him, his eye wide and bright – the irises rich like melting chocolate. “Hello, Mr. Entrepreneur,” Peter said softly, his cheeks a bright pink from the flush of their kiss. Tony smirked and leaned in for another quick peck. “Hello, Mr. Parker. Are you ready to celebrate all of the great things happening to us?” Tony’s answer came with a hand slipping into his, Peter’s slim fingers gripping his tightly.

“You bet, Mr. Stark.”

----

Kinda hope we're here forever There's nobody on these streets If you told me that the world's ending Ain't no other way that I could spend it

They stuck around Austin just long enough for Peter to walk across the stage for graduation. Tony didn’t want to admit it, but he’d never been prouder of anything in his entire life. Though they were seated far from all of the graduates, Tony and the crew all got up with a roar when the announcer called Peter Parker across the stage. Summa cum laude, honors graduate, and the Ben Henson grant winner – all and all, the man was stupidly smart, and Tony was so very glad to have someone like him attached to his side. Peter eventually found them after the four-hour ceremony – he looked a little tired and overwhelmed, yet, his eyes were glowing with excitement and happiness, too. When Tony pulled him into an embrace, Peter’s arms came around him tightly. “I’m proud of you, baby,” Tony mumbled, his lips pressed against the side of Pete’s head. Pulling back, Tony saw Peter’s lower lip tremble for just a minute – then he disguised it with a quick kiss to his lips. They didn’t get much more time alone together, the rest of the group embraced them both in a huge hug – the tears that didn’t get shed during the ceremony now cascading down all of their faces. Endings were hard – and this one came with more than a few changes.

Later that evening, Tony was sitting in a foldout chair with Peter in his lap. They’d lit their firepit on the small apartment balcony and the rest of the clan was gathered around it. Bucky and Steve were holding hands between two chairs, Bruce and Natasha were idly chattering to each other from the ground where they decided to camp out after Tony finished with the food on the BBQ. It wasn’t the most high-class graduation party, but they were quickly trying to put their lives into boxes and get their shit together to move across the country. Peter wouldn’t have wanted anything more, either – the boy wasn’t used to fancy things or people making big deals out of what he assumed to be the smallest things. Arms squeezing around his shoulders brought him back from his thoughts, Peter smiling down at him. “This is the best, Tony – thank you.” And little things like that were the nicest reminders of just how good he actually had it – the simple way Peter liked to live his life was all Tony ever wanted, he just didn’t know it until he met the man.

Before leaving for the night, Steve pulled Tony aside – the older man’s hand tight on his shoulder. “Do your best to keep him, Tony. This you, the guy standing in front of me – it’s the best version. I’ve never seen you look happier. And man is he good for you.” Steve stopped then, his hand moving to wrap around Tony’s shoulders to pull him in to a light side hug. “I’m going to miss you, brother. I’m happy to know that you’ve got someone worthy standing by your side, though. Take good care of each other.” He gave Tony another brief squeeze and stepped away, his hand finding Bucky’s – who’d been standing over to the side talking to Peter. The two of them left shortly after. Their goodbyes with Bruce and Natasha were brief – their places in New York weren’t too far from each other. After the door was shut firmly behind everybody, Tony didn’t have to wait long for Peter��s arms to wrap around him – his hands finding the thick locks at the back of his head. “Take me to bed, Mr. Stark.” He didn’t need any more spurring on than that – the rest of Peter’s graduation celebration took place behind a firmly closed door, just the two of them.

The moving van came two days later, the entirety of the life they built together over the past couple of years barely fitting into a medium sized U-Haul. It felt a little bittersweet driving out of Austin – Tony did the most growing of his life in that crazy city. He met the man of his dreams, graduated college, and realized exactly what he needed to be doing in life. He owed a lot to Austin, Texas. They shared a sad smile as they pulled onto the highway and started their first leg of the journey. Peter reached over and grabbed his hand, their fingers intertwining easily. There wasn’t much to be said – leaving together, sitting across the cab of the truck packed with all of their stuff – it was the easiest decision Tony could make. The grin Peter couldn’t keep from his face the first few hours of the drive said he felt the same, too. Though they were heading into the unknown, it didn’t feel as scary as Tony knew it could have.

Since neither of them were in any hurry to actually get there, they spent a couple weeks driving a longer route through Alabama, and then up through Virginia and into Pennsylvania. In the places either of them were eager to explore, they stopped. They took in the Atlanta Renaissance festival – which was an absolute blast. Tony had a hard time believing he’d change his lock screen from the picture of him and Peter dressed up as knights – his boyfriend’s tunic slipped down over his shoulder probably his favorite part. The day was nice when they drove through Virginia, so they spent a few hours exploring Virginia Beach – the taffy they found at a place called Candy Kitchen still making his stomach hurt from the massive amount they ate over the following few days. In Pennsylvania, they spent an afternoon in Philadelphia – the nerd in them both enjoying all of the history. The video he posted of Peter running up the stairs like Rocky got a lot of hits – and ended up scoring Tony the nickname Adrian.

By the time they actually got to the house they managed to score for a pretty decent price, Tony was more than eager to not be behind the wheel. Their adventures were great, and it was more fun than he figured either of them were expecting. It also took them three weeks, most of which Tony spent driving in some fashion, whether it was on the highway or navigating the little side streets of the places they were visiting. Despite the house being completely empty, it was nice to walk in somewhere and finally feel settled. He insisted on carrying Peter over the threshold of their home, regardless of the fact that they weren’t married, and he wasn’t the woman, thank you very much. Tony couldn’t help the huge grin that played across his face when Peter pulled him into a kiss, the younger man still tight in Tony’s arms bridal style. “It’s kind of perfect though, isn’t it?” Peter broke their kiss just long enough to get the words out – Tony’s favorite brown eyes alive, lit with passion and nerves and want and excitement.

That first night on the floor of their brand-new house was one of the best Tony could remember spending with Peter. Fatigue and tiredness fueled love making that was soft and sweet – Tony realizing that there was no need to rush, that now that they were home, they had all this time of their hands. Grown-up responsibilities were cake compared to the thought of what unlimited time with Peter Parker could give him. And when they were done, Peter slid their fingers together, Tony’s left hand tight in Peter’s right. “Do you want to be my husband, Tony Stark?” Tony sucked in a breath and turned his head, eyes wide. The dopey look on Pete’s face spoke of total sincerity and for a moment, Tony let himself soak that in. The most amazing person in the world wanted to marry him – wanted to keep him forever. Leaning forward, Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s nose, the touch lingering. “You bet your cute ass I do. Tony Parker-Stark has a nice ring to it.”

From that point on, life became about getting everything together. Their house, their jobs, and ultimately – their marriage. There weren’t too many surprised people looking back at them when they FaceTimed everyone to let them in on the news. Tony chuckled at Bucky’s “about damn time” and Peter colored when Natasha asked how good the celebratory sex was. It was hard to not be excited when Tony could feel everyone else’s joy for them. It was pretty easy to get lost in the bliss of what having Peter Parker as a partner was like, and the beautiful freedom of working for himself and himself alone. Things were good, and Tony tried to cling to every single piece of that goodness that he could.

The next time Tony looked up from the happy little bubble he was living in, another year had past and they were quickly approaching their wedding date. It was not very surprising, how easy it’d been to plan a wedding with Peter by his side. A small venue outside of the hustle and bustle of the city caught their eye early on and they snatched it up while they could. The place was small and intimate, on the right side of casual – the perfect representation of who Tony and Peter were together. Tony got his way with casual suits, his a light grey with a soft linen white shirt underneath and Peter’s a contrasting dark navy with the same white shirt to match. They didn’t sweat the small stuff and let it all come together.

At least, that’s what Tony thought, anyway.

Then, the coronavirus hit and everything about regular life came to a screeching halt. One week before they were set to get married, Tony got a call from the venue letting him know they were closing and could not guarantee a date that they’d be open again. To say he felt a little gutted was an understatement. Their entire group of friends took the week off to help Tony and Peter put the final touches together for the big day. While he got the call, Steve and Bruce were working on the labels for the small bottles of whiskey they were giving as favors for the guests. Watching the news, the past week kept Tony on edge, though he tried not to show it – he did all the things Peter asked. It seemed as if they were going to keep putting things together until there was no reason not to anymore. When Tony told him about the venue, Peter fell into the loop of Tony’s arms and let himself have a breakdown moment – their friends be damned.

Things got a little worse the next day when shit started to really break down in the city – the virus count was steadily climbing, and they were officially on a stay at home order. There weren’t better people to be stuck inside with, Tony knew that. It just hurt a little – knowing how close they’d come to actually getting married, to having that very group of people stand by their side as Tony finally got to say his vows to Peter and make the bond between them a permanent thing. Peter’s hands constantly grabbing for him or his sad eyes always looking to connect with Tony’s spoke volumes – the man just as distraught about the missed opportunity. In the craziness, it felt silly to be so down about a wedding – Peter was still healthy and safe, that should’ve been enough.

But – it wasn’t. After a mad rush to get groceries and enough supplies to take care of six adults for a while, Tony found Peter wrapped up in the comforter on their bed, his head somewhere in the jungle of all the pillows they kept there. “You doing alright, Petey?” Tony asked softly. He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed behind Peter, his hands reaching until he could pull the other man closer. His lips pressed against his fiancé’s forehead without a thought, the man turning at the contact. “Don’t pretend like you’re not just as strung out. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to see that ring on your finger,” Peter’s words were a little hard to make out, his face was still pressed against the pillow. Tony managed, though, and pulled him a little closer, his lips pressing a string of kisses against any of the skin he could reach. The tactile movement gave him a couple moments to think, his brain on overdrive – an idea finally coming to him.

“Why don’t we get married tomorrow, anyway? Natasha is ordained, she was going to do the ceremony. Let’s just – do it.” Tony sat up a little, his arms still tight around Peter’s middle. He could see the cogs turning in Peter’s head the second he put the idea out into the air. “The people in this house are the only ones that truly matter to me, Pete. I could care less about everything else – all I need is you. And someone to sign the marriage license,” Tony added as an after-thought. “There’s no reason why we can’t still get married tomorrow, baby.” He added a kiss to his last statement, the press of his lips against Peter’s a silent promise. “I guess we’re getting married tomorrow,” Peter replied with a laugh, his smile covering his cheeks – the sight of it for the first time in a few days lighting Tony’s heart on fire.

It didn’t take much effort to get the group on board with what they had in mind. Instead of walking down the aisle at the small venue, Peter would meet Tony at the bottom of their stairs. And instead of feasting on beef and brisket sliders, Steve and Bucky were going to put together a breakfast feast. It wasn’t the big thing he imagined being able to give Peter – what he felt the man he loved deserved. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling a little excited, no matter what got them there, Peter was going to be his husband - and there was no other way he could think of spending the rest of his days. He wanted Peter to have all of his time, wanted to know the feeling of losing his mind because of the man for as long he’d have him.

The early part of the next day flew by in a flash. Tony, Steve, and Bruce spent most of the day putting together the backyard of the house. They strung up white fairy lights around the perimeter of the fence to match the awning of the porch. Tony mowed the grass and etched around the fence, determined to make the slushy feel of winter disappear from the yard. The day was luckily not calling for snow, or stupidly cold temperatures, so they’d be able to enjoy some of the evening outside in the beauty of a crisp New York night. They moved all of the wooden furniture to the edge of the porch to make a small square of space where the six of them could dance to the playlist Peter spent a couple of months meticulously putting together.

Before Tony knew it, he was getting himself into his suit – the grey of it making his pale skin and dark hair really stand out. He put a little extra fuss to his hair and even let Steve trim up the sides of his beard that he couldn’t see – Tony wanted to look perfect. With the look pieced together, Tony glanced in the mirror. The cut of the jacket fit his shoulders perfectly and led down to his trim waist. The pants were cut right above his ankle, his socks with Peter’s face on them just barely visible. He laughed when Bruce presented them both with a pair the night before, they were the perfect thing to break up the simplicity. Stepping back, Tony nodded at his reflection, his nervous hands running through his hair – fingers just conscious enough not to ruin the rugged look he was going for. Steve and Bruce flanked his side in the mirror for a moment, the three of them looking smooth – like they were heading to the party of the century, instead of the living room of Tony’s house. Wrapping his arms around them both, Tony couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Thanks for being here, fellas. Means a lot.” Neither answered, they simply squished Tony between them.

The second Tony saw Peter start to walk down the stairs, he knew it wouldn’t have mattered where they did this – his soon-to-be husband was an absolute vision. The navy looked good on him and the smile that spread his cheeks from ear to ear completed the look – the happiness radiating from him something Tony knew he needed to work hard to keep around. The man was stunning, and it took Tony a second to realize tears were tracking down his cheeks. He couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that with each step he took, Peter got that much closer to becoming Tony’s husband. Their gazes locked, glistening chocolate brown meeting the lighter honey color of Tony’s. Peter’s pace visibly sped up after that, his smile stretching impossibly further.

Peter’s hand slipped seamlessly into the crook of Tony’s elbow and they took the final few steps together – Nat was set up at the far side of the room, the sliding glass doors behind her letting in natural light. Steve and Bruce were set up on Tony’s side and Bucky on Peter’s, the whole crew huddled together for the most important day of their best friends’ lives. Stopping in front of Nat, Tony turned until he was looking directly at Pete, his hand holding the other’s tightly in his own. They didn’t break eye contact – not even when Nat started to talk.

“It’s a little unconventional, this whole wedding. Which, I think is pretty perfect for Tony and Peter. Since I’ve known them, they’ve been the weirdos of the group. They always bring off the wall movies to movie night – and don’t even get me started on the boardgames they pull out when it’s their night to host. In all of my life, I’ve never experienced a couple who walked together in their weirdness – but these two do. Tony owns his love for making things blow up and Peter will not hesitate to talk to you about how many times he’s gotten his hands stuck to the desk because of his latest experiment. There are no two humans that deserve each other more than Tony and Peter do. It’s a true gift to be a part of that tangible love between them – and I can’t wait to see what the future holds. Like this day, like the two of them – their love is unconventional,” Nat’s voice was bright and confident, her eyes roaming between them. “Pete, you’re up.” She finished in a soft tone, everyone in the room now looking at the youngest of them all.

“Tony, I didn’t expect you. You blew into the coffee shop that day and I haven’t been the same. There are so many things about you that drive me insane. You’re bad at picking up your socks, you leave your whiskey glasses all over the place, you never sleep, and you’re always working. You’re irritating and you know it – which makes it even worse. But, without all of that, you wouldn’t be the most caring, lovable asshole I’ve ever met. You’re my strength in the storm, my reason in times of chaos, and the only person on this entire planet I’d pick up after. You love the same way you live – loudly, hard, and with everything you have. I’m lucky that I got your attention and that you haven’t left me alone since. I promise to keep you level and put you to bed when you need it. I can’t wait to watch your hair gray and spend the rest of my life by your side. I’m stuck with you and I wouldn’t change that for the world. I love you, Tony Stark,” Peter’s eyes jumped from the small vow book to Tony’s every few seconds – his voice getting more and more watery the longer he talked.

Tony wiped a hand under his eye, Peter’s words making everyone in the room cry. Sucking in a breath, he chuckled when Nat arched a brow at him, her eyes big and wet, too. “Good luck doing better than that, Tony.”

“I think it’s funny – how much you didn’t expect me. I dreaded heading into that Ethics class every week and then all of the sudden – I’m listening to this voice impart such wisdom. Then I saw you and it was pretty much over for me. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and you have this way of making everyone else see things your way. You’re stubborn, and when you want something, there’s no persuading you otherwise. I can’t wait to argue with you about time in the lab and whose turn it is to do the dishes. You’re the world to me and I’ll take all that comes with that. Pete, you’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for and all that I’ve ever wanted. Our brains together can do anything and today is just the first day of that journey. I promise to keep you safe, happy, and under piles of Legos. I wouldn’t change loving you, hating you, wanting you – for anything. I love you, Petey.”

When Nat finally got around to telling them to kiss, Tony gripped Peter’s cheeks and pulled him close. Their lips met in a kiss that felt different – despite Tony having tasted the other’s lips at least a million times by then. He let a soft groan slip before pulling away – his cheeks a matching shade to Peter’s. Turning around, Tony brought their joined hands to his mouth, his lips brushing the white gold band now settled there.

Later, sitting around the porch with bellies full of delicious breakfast foods, Peter sat in his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck, the position reminiscent of many times before. “Hello husband,” Peter said against his lips, the man’s eyes bright with booze and happiness. Tony pressed another kiss to his lips before answering, “Hey, Mr. Parker-Stark.” He dropped his face into the crease of Pete’s neck, breathing out a sigh of relief. It felt good to finally have his husband in his arms – the day suddenly feeling so long without this closeness. “Now you’re really stuck with me,” Tony rumbled against the skin of Peter’s neck. His lips lingering with each word. He felt Peter’s hands frame his face and pull until they were looking at each other.

“Happily so, husband of mine.”

[cupofteaguk]

the write ups

PART OF THE REPUTATION SERIES

summary: head boy Min Yoongi is a lot of things: patient, perfect, popular, and unwavering; structured so that nothing can threaten that mindset. nothing, except for you.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

genre: hogwarts au, head boy!yoongi, enemies to lovers au | fluff 

warnings: yoongi has a stick up his ass, many mentions of detentions various depictions of it that may or may not be accurate to actual Hogwarts detentions but alas i cannot say for certain

word count: 10k

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When Min Yoongi is seventeen, he receives the school authority to go around acting as if there were a giant stick up his ass. In other words, he gets selected to be a Head Boy.

Unfortunately, the role is entirely too fitting for a boy who appears to have spent the first half of his childhood reading the handbook of rules for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry line by line and the second half of his childhood reciting those rules to anyone just barely beginning to step out of bounds. You would be very familiar with the lectures he gives, given how often you’ve had to listen through on several of his different accusations regarding your rule breaking and lack of discipline.

There’s no surprise you are slightly less than fond about the thought of Min Yoongi. After all, he’s served as the catalyst for several incidents that only continue to put a bad taste in your mouth. Like that time during your first year when you were frantically attempting to finish the rest of your Transfiguration homework the morning of the due date, only to be discovered and reported—resulting in a stern talking to from Professor McGonagall about the importance of time management and leaving your cheeks red with humiliation. Who had reported you? Min Yoongi.

Or the time in your third year when you and Karly were passing notes to one another about who was going to ask Quidditch star Jeon Jungkook to the approaching Yule Ball, only to be rapidly interrupted by a loud observation about your diverted attention. Long story short, not only did neither you nor Karly get to ask Jeon Jungkook to the Yule Ball, Jeon Jungkook (and everyone else, for that matter) knew of both your pathetic thirteen-year-old crush as well as the intentional process to progress an acquaintanceship with one of the most popular boys in school, but you also got your first taste of detention at the hands of Professor Snape. Who had delivered that loud observation? Min Yoongi.

To this day, just the sight of the polished silver trophies in the trophy room is more than enough to make you nauseous, having spent an entire night scrubbing relentlessly at the metal until a reflection appeared across the surface. Like bad memories, your hatred for Yoongi brew under the surface and became something you thought about constantly—despite the fact that he was more often than not barely even worth a breath or a thought.

Although you know not to dwell on his actions and the outcome you had to pay for those aforementioned actions, you learn quickly how to mask your embarrassment as well as a large extent of your emotions. Seventeen-years-old looks a little better on you as you have four years of life, experience, and the ability to develop immunity against general embarrassing moments or moments of distaste. Well, for the most part at least.

“What?” You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from exerting too much of an exasperation, too much of a snarky nature that seems like the verbal form of rolling your eyes. “Min Yoongi got selected as Head Boy? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Good friend Karly sits opposite of you in the Leaky Cauldron, joining in on your criticism with an actual roll of her own eyes as her wrist flicks so that her palm faces upwards. “Apparently being charming in a way that involves kissing up to all the Professors is enough to guarantee you anything you would possibly want.”

You hum quietly underneath your breath, cradling the beer mug within your reach as you swirl the thing. The food you have ordered in front of you goes untouched. “I didn’t think Min Yoongi even wanted to be Head Boy. Thought he was too hung up on terrorizing young children who forget to turn in their homework assignments.”

Karly actually laughs at that, reaching over to pick at the french fries in the middle of the table. “I think that’s just with you.”

You roll your eyes back with a whine. “Please don’t remind me. As if Yoongi wasn’t already annoying enough, now he’s gonna be annoying with actual reason of authority. The highest reason of authority, for that matter.” You glare across at Karly. “Besides, he’s picked on you too. It’s not like his eagle eyes for trouble isn’t zeroed in on me. Have you forgotten the time we pulled that all-nighter in the trophy room because we had to clean all the trophies—because of Min Yoongi?”

“Oh no,” Karly interjects, palms directed at you this time. “I definitely remember that. But that’s the extent to which Yoongi has gone to rat me out, and I have a feeling that was only because you were gushing about how good Jungkook’s arms look like when gripping a broomstick!”

“Please do not remind me,” You emphasize, the slight flush on your cheeks serving as a reminder that of course you would remember such a thing. Jeon Jungkook has been part of Quidditch (and school, for that matter) royalty since his first year and all his accumulating friendships just add to that list of popularity. It explains why Yoongi is doing so well at the top of the school food chain.

Regardless, your crush on Jungkook is old news, as you are sure his head is too far up his ass, his mind is too fixated on playing professionally, and his mouth is prided upon kissing the most girls during after hours at the Three Broomsticks. You’ve taken to fixing your attention on much more pressing matters: like the upcoming NEWTs of your final year, or figuring out how to remain emotionally sane during your last year at Hogwarts, or just trying to navigate around handling Yoongi for one more moment.

“Oh god, speaking of…” Karly starts, trailing off when her eyes flicker towards the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron before immediately shifting back to you. Her eyes are hard and you don’t need a whole five years of friendship with Karly to know who she is referring to.

Although you normally would refuse to look over your shoulder to look upon what you know to be the bane of your existence, the temptation is strong this time around. Maybe it’s because you’ve gone the typical two months of summer vacation without having to hear his stupid voice that has only gotten deeper and silkier with the help of puberty or seen his dumb face that curves in all the right places. The thought only makes you hate him more.

As you look over to peer at him, you notice immediately that he’s with two other friends, two other pieces of the popularity crew. Kim Namjoon, Gryffindor, head of school newspaper The Hogwarts Daily, family who has just gotten back from China, or so you heard. Besides him is Jung Hoseok, Hufflepuff, a master at spells but also a master of tricks and pranks. You still remember one time during second year when he levitated a girl’s bottle of ink and accidentally spilled the entire content over her uniform.

You wish you could turn back around and go back to minding your own business, but a familiar yet unwelcoming weight places itself right behind your chair and Karly’s wary look leaves little to the imagination.

“Min Yoongi,” You greet in a false high-pitched voice that sounds anything but genuine. “I thought I could hear the cries of screaming children from that hell hole you crawled out of.” You rotate your hips enough to give him half of your attention. He’s alone, and when you flicker your gaze over you notice the two other boys already occupying a nearby table. “What are you doing here? Gonna stand outside Flourish and Blotts and breakdown all your horrible detention punishments to future students who’ll refuse to do their homework?”

Min Yoongi gives you a half-smirk, a little light setting in his eyes. “Charming as ever, I see. Although I’m warning you—you really shouldn’t talk that way to your new Head Boy. Haven’t you heard the news?”

“Unfortunately I did,” You return, turning around so that you give Yoongi your back. You reach for your mug of beer. “I hope you don’t expect me to go around kissing your ass and bending over for your every single whim.”

With your back on Yoongi, you don’t even know if he’s still around to hear these vaguely defined threats regarding his potential use of power. You do, however, stop when you feel a breath right at the shell of your ear. “I mean, you said it, not me.”

Your heart sticks itself right in your throat.

By the time you whirl back to look at Yoongi, he’s already making his way towards his friends at the other table. Karly is giving a wide-eyed look, as if she cannot believe what she just witnessed with her own two eyes.

You’re not even sure you would stand to explain it properly.

“I’m going to murder him slowly,” You say instead, reaching into your bag and pulling out enough money to cover the cost of the meal and the beers. You throw it on the table, grabbing your coat and scarf from the back of your chair. “C’mon, let’s get to Flourish and Blotts before Yoongi decides to make camp outside to terrorize the children.”

.

September first means an early wake-up call. It means meeting up with Karly at King’s Cross station and making your way together towards the platform division between nine and ten. It means running the carts headfirst and hearing the whistle of the train ringing loudly in your ear, serving as the best reminder that you are returning home.

Sticking to the normal pattern you have developed and memorized, you and Karly load your trunks and belongings into the side of the train before boarding. You meet up with Ronnie in a compartment he has saved for the three of you to occupy, giving you all a private space to gush to one another about the events of your summer holiday and what you hope the final year will consist of.

The art of catching up with two friends who have had their own set of vacations and plans and drama is a whole day ordeal. It helps time go by quicker, makes the hours between leaving Kings Cross to arriving at Hogwarts feel like nothing. Add the sweets from the trolley, it calls for a train ride of sugar and chocolate and a little too much laughter that leaves you breathless.

The sky is adapting a pinkish tint, a well-versed sign that the train ride is coming to a close—you assume it’s probably another hour or so before the train docks at the station and yet the conversations between the three of you are far from done. In fact, Ronnie is still telling you of the story in which he traveled to Japan over the summer holiday for one of those intricate silk bomber jackets when there is a knock on your compartment door. The silhouette doesn’t leave much indication about who could be on the other side, so you exchange a look with Karly before straightening up and sliding open the compartment.

You yelp slightly, blinking once, twice, thrice, upon the realization that Min Yoongi is standing right in front of you. From the looks of it, he’s already dressed and ready to depart from the train—all robes with his green tie perfectly grazed at his neck, the bright golden HEAD BOY badge displayed proudly right on top of Yoongi’s robe almost as if it were glaring at you or laughing at you instead. It takes a second to gather your bearings, which finds you leaning slightly against the doorframe leading into the compartment.

“Min Yoongi,” You greet.

He cocks up an eyebrow, repeating your name back to you.

“You’re a long ways off from that pit of fire you were created from.”

Yoongi cracks a smile. “Pit of fire—so you think I’m hot?”

You snort at that. “Did I say pit of fire? I meant more of a mixing bowl for the devil, from where I’m assuming he created you.”

The smile slips off Yoongi’s face as he levels you with a glare. “You’re lucky we’re not on school grounds yet and that I’m feeling lenient enough to let you off. But I can’t make those promises when we arrive.”

You roll your eyes. Did he expect you to be grateful about his current and extremely short-lived generous nature?

And yet, Yoongi is not done with his interrogation. “How have you fared with the summer holiday homework?” He inquires next, tilting his head to the side. “Personally, I thought the essay we had to write for Professor Snape was the hardest.” At your momentary gape of silence, Yoongi raises an eyebrow once again. “You did do the homework, right?”

“Yah, of course I did Min Yoongi!” You snap.

“For your sake, I hope you did too,” He replies, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Otherwise I’d have to give you detention a lot sooner than I originally anticipated.”

“Hold your breath,” You retort. “I did the assignments.” You’ve been getting better at lying straight through your teeth, having to master the skill just to avoid certain situations like this with Min Yoongi.

Yoongi seems to yield at that, because he steps back and his eyes don’t look as dark as a few seconds ago—although you cannot recall when they became dark in the first place. “We’ll be arriving at Hogwarts soon,” He reports, eyes flickering down to you attire. “You should get dressed soon.”

“I know we’re arriving soon, I’m not a child, Yoongi,” You hiss.

“Well, from the way you were dressed at the Leaky Caldron, I was beginning to think otherwise—!”

You slam the compartment door right back in his face.

Ronnie and Karly are giving each other a look, a look that shifts as you move from the door frame back into your seat. It seems like there are a whole bunch of questions Ronnie wishes to ask in this situation, but he resorts instead to: “Did you really finish all your homework from the summer holiday?”

You’re halfway through on peeling the jacket off your frame when you give your friend a look of disbelief. “Of course not, that’s what the night before classes start is for.”

As you’re shifting your normal attiring for your Hogwarts robe and ties, you think about the encounter with Yoongi and how his attitude towards you hadn’t been that surprising considering the prior years in which the pair of you have known each other. Yoongi has been integrated into your life since the very first year, in which his attitude towards you always seemed to adopt a pattern of general sass and reporting. As far as you were concerned, you have been at the center of Yoongi’s target from the beginning in which you could never escape his mean remarks or his desire to have justice served in the form of seeing you planted in detention. Nothing much has changed from those earlier years. He still seeks you out and somehow it always ends up with you getting some form of detention and still knows exactly what to say to get you riled up—granted, in the more recent years he’s taken to banters upholding more flirtatious qualms.

But you had refused to put too much thought into it, staying secure on the thought and belief that the things he said and the things he did were made with no intention other than to mark up your permanent record. And for that, you only knew to hate Yoongi more and more and desired nothing but to return the favor of exasperation for him as he had done for you.  

It seems as if it might be a more difficult feat than you originally thought, especially when you walk into the Slytherin common room with your bag of unfinished homework assignment later that evening only to find Yoongi himself situated right in front of the fireplace.

Yoongi turns his attention towards the source of noise, eyebrow raising at the sight of you standing in the common room with a bag slung over your shoulder. He greets you by your name. “Fancy seeing you this evening, Miss Y/N,” He starts, straightening up and out of his chair as you notice he is still in his school attire. “As pleasant as it is to see you, I hope you realize it’s past curfew for students to be out of their beds.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “There are no curfews for students of that limitation.”

“Well, when the school’s Head Boy is part of your House, there’s always a curfew for students to follow.” He tilts his head to the side in mock curiosity, and yet something in his eyes plagues you as it always does—as it always seems like Min Yoongi is one too many steps ahead of you. “Besides, there’s no reason for you to be down here unless you are, perhaps, working on something.”

You shift, gripping the bag of your materials tighter in your grasp. “What would I be working on? There’s no assignments yet.”

“You tell me, Miss Y/N,” Yoongi counters, shifting his standing position so he could lean back on one of his legs. Despite his more casual stance, everything about him reads serious. “Given that you’re not working on anything, I think that you should go back to the rooms and get some sleep. I’m sure you have a whole day of classes, do you not?”

You fingers curl tighter and tighter around the strap of the bag at your shoulder, debating whether knocking Yoongi’s head with your textbooks and parchment paper would do enough to knock him out.

You’re so caught up in the serious consideration of this plan that you fail to notice Yoongi has moved closer to you the tips of both your shoes are touching. “So, class tomorrow?”

You level yourself with Yoongi’s half curious half amused glance before you find yourself caving. “I can’t,” You finally answer.

He raises an eyebrow. “You can’t go to class?”

“No,” You interject, already starting to grow exhausted of the conversation and you wish you spoke the truth earlier on the train if only to avoid this type of confrontation. Or, rather, a part of you wishes that you had just done the assignments when you were supposed to. “No, I mean I can go to class but I can’t go to sleep and I can’t leave the common room.”

“Hm,” Yoongi ponders this as if the question is actually something he has to think about and as if this situation isn’t something he has been hoping for since the encounter on the train. “Why is that?”

“Are you really going to make me spell it out, Min Yoongi?” You growl.

“I think I would appreciate it if you did.”

If your glare could cut, Yoongi would be a dead man. But he’s a dead man with an extremely cocky smile, as if he knows exactly what his questions and observations and general playing dumb is doing to you.

“Fine,” You snap back, holding up the bag for him to see. “Inside this bag is my summer homework assignments, okay? I didn’t get to finish them over the holiday, so I really need this time to get everything done. There, see, that’s the reason why I can’t go up yet. Are you happy?”

He shrugs half-heartedly. “Not really.”

Your glare hardens. “Yah, what do you want from me, Min Yoongi? I told you the truth, I need to do my assignments—are you gonna let me do it or not?”

“See, I could but,” Yoongi starts, taking another step forward and forcing you to take a corresponding step backwards. “Allowing you to do such a thing would defeat the purpose of it being summer homework.”

“Yoongi, let me do the homework,” You grit out between clenched teeth.

Yoongi ponders this for a moment. “Alright then,” He allows, stepping to the side. You, however, barely make it one step before his stupid voice is ringing out again. “Detention, Miss Y/N.”

“Detention?” You echo loudly. “Just because I didn’t do the homework?”

“Honestly?” He starts. “I could care less about the homework. Lying to Head Boy, however, is something I cannot excuse.” He grins, a horrible Cheshire cat smile. “Not that I would want to, anyhow.”

You clench your teeth together, so sure that if something was in between your teeth it would have snapped in half. “You absolute piece of—!”

“Shh,” Yoongi hushes, actually having the nerve to step forward and bring his index finger up so that it hovers over your lips. “Careful, Y/N. I don’t want to have to give you more detention for also swearing in front of your Head Boy.”

You like to think there’s a lot of things you are thinking in this moment. Rather than simply knocking Yoongi to the ground, you ponder locking him outside of the common room or throwing him out the window or feeding him to the magical creatures hidden in the Forbidden Forest. But the fear of having this disagreement drag on further in a way that will waste more time that you could be using on your assignments keeps you at bay.

You keep your mouth shut, which leads to Yoongi delivering another smirk. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it then. Have a good night.”

And with that, he steps back and steps around you, leaving you to only imagine locking him out, throwing him out, or feeding him away—as well as imagine what your first detention of the new school year will be like.

You absolutely hate Min Yoongi.

.

Your first detention of the new school year takes place on an early Saturday morning a few weeks into the new school year, assigned to clean one of the abandoned bathrooms with no help and no magic. Naturally, the smell and the labor and the exhaustion is more than enough to leave you in a bad mood as you find that you are practically seething by the time you make it into the shower. The water washes off the sweat and grime of a day that has started at five in the morning, but does little to take away the irritation that rolls off your body like steam.

Despite starting so early in the morning, by the time you finish with your shower and prepare a bag of assignments to take with you throughout the day—the breakfast is set out in the Great Hall and students from each of the houses have gathered to enjoy the meal.

“Hey—woah,” Karly starts, stopping immediately as if she can see deep enough into your soul to see the fiery depths of your anger. “What’s up with you? What happened?”

You slide into the seat next to your friend, hair still damp and eyes red from the early morning wake-up call. “Shit,” You reply, leaning forward to rest your forehead into the palm of your hand.

“Really?” Karly inquires sympathetically. “Detention must have been rough?”

“No, literally—shit,” You try again. Eyes still closed, you turn to face her. “I had to clean the bathrooms on the third floor.”

Karly’s momentary look of disgust is all she needs to do. “Oh my god, the ones that were closed after Moaning Myrtle clogged a bunch of them?”

“Yes!” You emphasis with a whine, pulling away from your palms and pouting. How could the world be so cruel to assign you such a labor intensive job as punishment? “All because Yoongi is such a stick up the ass about some dumb misunderstanding we had gotten into.”

Karly narrows your eyes. “Didn’t you lie straight to his face?”

“Who’s side are you on?” You snap.

“You’re not mad because it was a misunderstanding,” Karly corrects, pouring more breakfast onto her plate. “You’re mad because Yoongi has a stick up his ass, period. And he does.”

You sigh, easing up on yourself just enough to put some food on your own plate. “Well, you’re not wrong.” You straighten slightly, gaze shifting up and down the Slytherin table. These first minutes of conversation with Karly has been nice, of course, but has also been unusual. Post-detention torture is usually followed up with a sickening smile from the man who assigned you the detention in the first place, followed by a whole bunch of inquiries about the detention session as if he wasn’t the reason for your misery. Post-detention torture is filled with Min Yoongi, which is exactly what your morning is missing.

“He’s not here,” Karly remarks.

You stare at her. “Well, where is he?”

“Not sure,” She replies with a shrug. “He sort of left out that information while we were braiding each other’s hair and sharing our deepest and darkest secrets with one another.”

“You could just said you weren’t sure and left it at that,” You grumble, sending a pointed glare to her cheesy grin. But just as you fix your gaze on Karly, your gaze immediately gravitates towards the entrance to the Great Hall and you see three familiar figures lingering in the frame. Familiar not because of the friendly feelings that the sight fills you with; but familiar because of the reputations that come along with it.

At the frame leading into the Great Hall stands Min Yoongi, Jeon Jungkook, and Kim Taehyung and it appears that they’re still in the middle of joking about something. Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung are dressed in a casual Saturday attire of a polo, slacks, and the ties showing off their house colors while Jungkook is sporting a Ravenclaw sweater and is balancing his Firebolt atop shoulder.

“They probably just got back from the Ravenclaw Quidditch practice,” Karly voices your own internal observation. She follows your gaze down the hallway to where the boys are conversing; but the sight is enough to get you to turn back to your own meal. “I think Yoongi saw us, he’s looking this way,” Karly continues to comment, although her attention is still heavily diverted at staring quite openly at the three boys.

“Probably thinking about how he could embarrass me in front of Jeon Jungkook again,” You spit out, despite not being affected by the sight of Jungkook. Your little crush on him is ancient news, but the sight of Yoongi and Jungkook together sometimes just brings back memories that are four years old.

Karly actually laughs at that. “I doubt that. He keeps glancing over here. I wonder if he’s wondering how your detention went. Maybe if he knew you had to clean toilets, he’d feel a little guilty.”

“I don’t even think feeling guilty is in his limited range of emotions,” You note, digging a fork into your eggs. But something about her words stick with you for a moment. Although you doubt that Yoongi would ever think to connect guilt to your punishment, you like to think you could do something to level the playing ground. Or, more simply put maybe getting back at him this once would be enough to ease your desire for revenge. “Hm.” You ponder, placing your bag on your lap and immediately digging through the contents. It’s an old bag, something you’ve had packed since the beginning of the year and has since served as a trash can of sorts that you throw a wide variety of items into. You continue your search, mind wandering to your Diagon Alley visit and a corresponding purchase you remember stuffing into your bag.

Karly takes note of your silence long enough to shift her attention back to you. “What are you doing—?” She cuts herself off mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly when she sees the jar you are producing. She starts to laugh. “Oh my fucking god, dude.”

“What?” You inquire, lips starting to quirk up slightly as the weight of the U-No-Poo jar starts to settle more in your lap.

She continues to laugh, rolling her eyes slightly but the smile is still there. Karly isn’t your best friend, your partner in crime, well-equipped in the behavior that has landed you in detention, for nothing. “Well, alright, hand some over.”

Grinning, you pick out two pills of the U-No-Poo and hand it over to Karly. You watch for a moment as she pulls out her wand in order to break down the original structural integrity of the pills, reducing them into crushed particles.

Initially, you had purchased the jar of U-No-Poo from the Wealseys’ Wizard Wheezes shop in Diagon Alley with little intention of doing anything with it. Just the thought of having it filled you with a sense of power—especially considering what it did.

As you wait for Karly to bring you back to Earth, you turn the jar in your palm to read the labels. Basically, U-No-Poo is a product that brings constipation to the taker—not exactly the most pleasant experience for anyone who had the misfortune of ingesting this pill. That’s why you never had a genuine thought of sharing the product with anyone. But that was before Yoongi gave you detention under the prefix of something as stupid as a lie.

Just as you’re slipping the jar back into your bag, Karly holds up her plate that is now devoid of food with the exception of the crushed U-No-Poo pills. With another smile, you grab one of the glasses of water in front of you and dump the crushed remnants into the liquid. You look into the glass, swirling it once or twice before you look back out down the hall. Yoongi is still there with Jungkook and Taehyung.

“If you get caught, Yoongi will totally drag you to hell,” Karly advises, but she’s still smiling and even twists herself a little in the bench to get the best view. It’s almost amazing how neither of you have been caught or questioned, but the Saturday morning crowds for breakfast are never too crazy so it’s more natural for groups to come together and keep to themselves. It’s the perfect atmosphere for trouble.

“With the way he’s been my entire life, it kind of feels like I’m already there,” You retort, grabbing your bag and detaching yourself from the table as you make your way down the stretch of distance towards the end.

Jungkook and Taehyung are at the beginnings of disembarking from the group just as you’re approaching. Taehyung is making his way towards the Hufflepuff table while Jungkook is turning on his heel to exit the Great Hall—probably to take a shower and put down his Firebolt. This leaves Yoongi wide open to conversation, one he immediately invites you to with a quirked eyebrow and a call of your name.

“Heard you finally got your detention,” Yoongi greets, stuffing his hands into his pockets and the distance between you allows you to take in the stance. There’s something almost irritating and unfair about the veins that decorate down his arms and the traitorous lingering of your gaze makes you want to curse yourself. It also makes you want to punch him in the mouth.

“No thanks to you,” You say, still holding the drink to your chest. You try to think about how you want to play this out. “But luckily for you, it wasn’t that bad. Just cleaning. Anything worse and I would have attempted to drive a brick for your head as soon as you walked in.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at the threat. “If a more challenging punishment lets me see the more feisty side of you, I may have to talk to Filch about changing some things around.”

“Why? Because you like seeing me feisty?” You retort, meaning nothing with that kind of question. Although the way Yoongi looks at you afterwards makes you falter.

“Oh, I think I might like seeing you a little bit more than that.”

Your heart stammers in your chest and you want to plummet it into the ground as a result. Yoongi is giving you a familiar challenging look, the type of expression that is encouraging you (daring you) to continue. Rather, you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Are you going to go sit down and eat?”

If he’s disappointed in your abrupt change of topic, he doesn’t give an indication of that. Rather, he jumps on the new pace of discussion. “Naw, I stopped by just to walk with Taehyung. I actually have a meeting with some professors that I have to get to soon.”

“Hm, you should at least have something in your body,” You note, shuffling forward and tilting the glass of water towards him. “You want some?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you share?”

You snort. “Are you implying that you think I would be okay with you getting your germs on something I’ve already drank? Of course not. This is a new glass—something originally for me but given that I’ve already eaten, I wouldn’t mind letting you have this.” You don’t leave him with another choice as you step forward and practically shove the glass into his hands. This brings you closer to him, almost able to feel the warmth of his presence, but you pull back. “I have to go to the library.”

You make a beeline to get out of sight, looking over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi take a sip of the water.

The remainder of the day proceeds normally—you spend a majority of your day in the library working on the first Transfiguration essay of the year as well as studying for your upcoming Care of Magical Creatures exam. Saturdays are filled with the books and the sunlight streaming in through the glass windows of the library, company that eventually takes the form of Ronnie and Karly.

In fact, it’s such a normal Saturday afternoon that you completely forget about the repercussions from the morning until you walk into the Slytherin common room and find Min Yoongi lying on the couch and groaning into the pillow.

“Oh my god,” Ronnie observes immediately, coming up to the edge of the couch where Yoongi’s feet are rested. “What’s up with him?” He lowers his voice, despite the fact that you’re the only individuals in the common room at this time of day. “Yoongi, are you okay?”

When Yoongi doesn’t respond, you tilt your head slightly. “Maybe he’s sleeping on a stomachache.”

“Maybe he ate something,” Ronnie supplies.

“Or drank something,” Karly includes with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows.

You scoff to hide a laugh. “Karly, no.”

“Uh, Karly yes,” Ronnie interjects, leaning over so that he can catch a better glimpse of the two of you. “What did you do? Poison him?”

“No!” You hiss.

“You might as well have,” Karly adds with a shrug, before turning to Ronnie. “She slipped U-No-Poo into his water.”

“Detention, Miss. Y/N!” Yoongi crows, sitting straight up on the couch as the sudden movement drags a scream out of the remaining three of you. It seems, however, that the action has prompted too much movement for a sickening Yoongi, because he falls back against the couch with a groan. “It was you! I knew that water had to be spiked with something—I’ve been feeling like shit ever since then.”

“Oh my god, keep it in Min Yoongi,” You retort, lips edging into a smile as you round the couch in order to hover near his head. “Not that you have a choice, anyway.”

Without a warning, Yoongi reaches out to grab the collar of your shirt and pulls you down. On instinct, your hands come up to land right on his chest. The arms distance away from him is more than enough to provide a separation between the two of you, and yet you can still feel the warmth of his body through his shirt and you can see the glint in his eyes.

Even though he’s upside down in your field of vision, it’s hard to miss the glint and the weight of his finger pulling at your collar. “Detention for a week, Miss. Y/N,” He grumbles and you almost forget to feel angry over the tripping of your heart.

.

Following a week’s worth of different detentions that consist of a wide range of different activities like polishing the silverware to sweeping the entire school grounds last into the night with the only company taking the form of airy ghosts, to cleaning the glass windows and venturing into the Forbidden Forest for unicorn blood. All these things have contributed higher and higher to your exhaustion and your increasing desire to keep counteracting Yoongi’s detention punishments with your own form of payback.

This mostly takes the form of Karly meeting up with you in the Slytherin common room on a Tuesday morning to begin descending towards the ground floor for your morning classes. “Are you good?” Karly inquires after a moment, shouldering her bag and directing you with a stare. “Like sanity-wise? You good? A week’s worth of detention seems like more than enough to drive anyone crazy.”

“I’m okay,” You answer, although the distant soreness in your legs and arms tells another story. “Sore, though. And filled with a desire to kill Min Yoongi.”

Karly nods. “The usual response.”

“I mean, what’s up with him?” You grumble as the pair of you enter your Charms class. Given that you and Karly do not sit together, you continue to linger near the doorframe in order to keep the conversation going. “I always figured that slipping U-No-Poo into water would have earned like a day’s worth of detention, not a week. Who gives people a week’s detention, anyways?”

“Like I said,” Karly supplies with a shrug of her shoulders. “He’s got his eye on you. Like, really has his eyes on you.”

“Shut up,” You snap back, flashing back to the conversation the pair of you had in the Leaky Cauldron all that time ago and suddenly feeling nauseous.

Karly’s laugh leaves little hope that she’s just fucking around to make you nervous. Instead, you choose to ignore her as you turn away and enter deeper into the classroom. The space between you and Karly is mainly emphasised by another desk and a row—a desk taken by Hufflepuff Jung Hoseok, someone whose connection with Min Yoongi is something you don’t really bat an eye to. At least, in comparison to the other boys and their relationship with Yoongi. More often than not, when it came to Jung Hoseok, he wasn’t really one to rat someone out.

Apparently, the day is counting on that because as soon as you settle in your seat and take in topic of the upcoming lecture, Hoseok is sliding a paper onto your desk. He gives you a head tilt towards Karly’s direction when you give him a pair of inquiring eyes, allowing you to lean forward just enough to catch aforementioned friends eye. She quirks an eyebrow, turning back to face the front.

You do the same, flickering towards the blackboard and mountain of books that Professor Flitwick stands atop of. He’s providing an introduction of a Gripping Charm, which is always about as interesting as one would think when learning about a spell but being unable to start practical application. The slow-moving pace of the day allows you to take the time and unfold the paper from Karly.

Look up, guess who’s watching you again

Eyebrows furrowing, you look at Karly again. She’s must feel the weight of your gaze because she quirks her head just enough to give you a look. You return it, holding the note a little higher to inquire about it without actually inquiring about it. She smiles a little, tilting her head a little towards the front of the room. Clueless, your eyes follow her line of sight and you’re not entirely sure why you feel your heart trip slightly when your gaze meets one Min Yoongi, who has turned slightly in his chair a few rows ahead of you just to watch you in your seat.

After a moment of this stare-down, Yoongi shift his gaze down to your desk before moving back up to your face. He knows you’re passing notes—well, not that you and Karly ever tried to be extremely subtle about your actions.

You press your lips together. Maintaining eye-contact, you take the parchment Karly had given to you and your quill and begin writing something down.

Min Yoongi is a poop head

Looking back up, you find Yoongi is still staring at you. His eyes have hardened slightly, challenging you to follow through on something that will most definitely get you in trouble. You don’t care. You turn to Hoseok, to which he takes the note and mindlessly hands it to Karly before—!

Yoongi straightens up out of his seat, darting towards the row separating you and Karly in order to snatch the note out of Hoseok’s hands. Yoongi gives Hoseok a look, one that Hoseok returns with amusement to showcase how little fucks Hoseok has in contributing to less-than-perfect behavior, for it’s in his nature and part of his charm. But of course, Yoongi overlooks Hoseok in the long run to feed you a look.

You tilt your head down slightly in a nod, lifting your palm up towards him in an inviting gesture. It’s a gesture to read the note you have so graciously written with the knowledge that he would see it and read it.

“Mr. Min, is something wrong?” Professor Flitwick inquires from the front of the classroom.

Yoongi doesn’t answer him at first, instead taking the time to open the note. His gaze takes in the note written across the parchment, silent for a moment before he lowers his arm and slips the note into the back pocket of his slacks. “Nothing, Professor,” Yoongi says after a moment. “I just want Miss. Y/N to know publicly that she just earned herself another detention.”

The statement is followed with a sound quieter than silence, one that envelops the entire room and leaves everyone shocked. Not over the fact that you have just garnered another detention under your belt, but because Yoongi had to announce it in front of everyone.

You, however, are not included in this pool of surprise. Rather, you raise your eyebrows and wear a more amused expression. “Never expected anything less from you, Mr. Min.” And really, you hadn’t. Judging from the slight tint across Yoongi’s cheeks, it seems obvious to believe that he had read the entirety of the note—including Karly’s observation about who had been watching you. His hesitancy to give you detention at the expense of his wandering eyes seems like a slight crack in his otherwise uptight facade and you think you might run with that.

.

The library during the first wave of exam season is always a wild mix of exhaustion—filled with all different types of students just collectively coming together to conquer a singularity goal: pass. With the looming mountain of tests and assignments and essays hovering over everyone, it’s normal to walk through the halls of the library and see students either laughing over the tipping of their sanity, beady eyed trying to get their fifth essay done, or students who have just given up entirely and spend time whispering amongst their friends.

You find yourself drawn between the second and third option, given that you are trying to write your third essay on Magical Creatures while also joking around with Ronnie and Karly.

“Ah, shit,” You grumble, looking over the requirements for your next essay for Transfiguration and realizing you don’t have any of that information in any of the notes (or lack thereof) you’ve taken throughout the lectures. You straighten slightly, tucking your quill, ink, and parchment under your arm. “Alright, I’m gonna go find that Transfiguration textbook. I’ll be right back.”

Karly and Ronnie wave you away as their own form of goodbye, too distracted with their own little game of Wizard’s Chest to process the whole reason for your departure. But you ignore that, slipping into the main hall of the library. You’re too busy overlooking the requirements of the essay and what you’ll have to look for when you locate the Transfiguration aisle of the library that you don’t notice someone equally as distracted walking towards you until you crash into them and feel something like cold, wet ink spraying everywhere.

“Oh—fuck!”

“Ow!”

You look up from your assignments, taking in the sight of Min Yoongi right in front of you. The blackness biting at his shirt and your own makes you realize that that ‘like cold, wet ink’ actually has been cold, wet ink that is now all over your shirt, all over Yoongi’s shirt, and all over the pile of whatever Yoongi had been holding before the collision.

The sight of Yoongi drenched in ink makes you inwardly groan, wondering what the punishment would be since you figure Yoongi would serve you detention under the pretense that you had purposely tried to sabotage his day. “Sorry Min Yoongi,” You speak first. “What’s the damage for this, since I clearly went out of my way to direct an entire bottle of ink on your chest.”

Yoongi stares at you for a long hard minute, but it’s missing that usual glint of scouting out for trouble. Instead, he’s looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Just wash our clothes and we’ll call it even,” He grumbles before he brushes past you and continues down the hall, leaving you with your own ink-splattered shirt and a forgotten Transfiguration essay tucked under your arm.

However, in retrospect, having Yoongi entrust you to wash his uniform hadn’t been the smartest decision on his part. Mainly because you still hate him, and you suppose that getting detention would have been a better bargain for him considering that getting detention would avoid letting you get tangled with any of his personal belongings.

You do not know why he doesn’t hand out the punishment, but you want to make sure that he regrets this. You wash the shirt and robe perfectly, just to give this opportunity a fighting chance. You take his green tie, however, and steady it just as you take your quill between your hands once more. With a bottle of that really serious ink—the kind that is almost oil-based in the sense that it is nearly impossible to remove—you dip the quill in and start writing—!

“POOP HEAD?” Min Yoongi’s voice roars through the nearly empty Slytherin common room, earning a noiseless laugh to spread across your lips as your body lurches with the force of your amusement. You should be able to endure the loud kind of laughter that this kind of oncoming prank deserves, given that you are the only person in the common room at this hour on a Thursday. You’re skipping your Astronomy lecture for this, but it’s worth it.

You stay in silence, however, allowing yourself to hear the grumbling curses from Yoongi—talk of what he’s going to do when he finds you and how he’s going to make you buy him a new tie and all that jazz before—!

“Oh.” Yoongi stops at the sight of you leaning against the back of the chair; you, arms crossed and the highest of amusement dancing in your eyes.

“Something wrong, Min Yoongi?” You inquire, although it’s hard not to notice the giant POOP HEAD wording, followed by an arrow pointing upwards towards his face across his green tie. “Nice tie.”

Yoongi grips the fabric a little tighter in his hands, approaching you. “Look at this shit!” He retorts after a moment. “What kind of fucking ink did you use with this? It doesn’t come off, I swear to god Y/N—look at this! What am I supposed to do, walk into class with this? I’m the Head Boy—!”

“Well, I think,” You start, interrupting him as you start forward. Yoongi goes silent, watching as you make your way towards him. “I think the tie looks great.” Playing around a little, a corner of your lips quirk up at the sight of Yoongi looking increasingly frazzled to see you walking closer and closer to him. “I think the color of it really brings out your eyes.” To take things up to an extreme, you take the tie in between your fingers, tugging him closer to you. “Are you sure there’s really a problem to this?”

“I…” Yoongi starts, trailing off the longer his eyes are trained across the expanse of your face: from your eyes to your mouth. It looks like he wants to say something, like he’s dying to say something, but the words are lodged in his throat. You wonder when the last time Yoongi had been in such close proximity to a girl. With all his responsibilities as Head Boy and confiscating dung bombs from fourth years, you assume it must be hard to fit in simple and mundane things like flirting with girls and taking them out on dates or just having a casual conversation with them generally. Although the rest of his friends (especially Jeon Jungkook) have had their fair share of girlfriends, Yoongi always stayed out of the picture.

You never questioned it, sure that Yoongi spent more time terrorizing away girls rather than dating them, and the way he’s looking at you as if you’re growing spikes on your face makes you think that perhaps he’s just scared of you.

He’s standing so close to you at this point that you can feel the warmth of his body traveling towards you and there’s something almost comforting about it. He smells really good too. You wonder what kind of shampoo and soap they offer in the Prefect bathrooms where he probably goes to every night.

“You know what color I’m really thinking represents you?” You inquire, still playing with his tie. When Yoongi doesn’t say anything, you lean so close that your breath tickets his cheek. His breath hitches. “Brown.”

Yoongi nearly pushes you away, scowling at your color description in relation to the statement on his tie.

You laugh. “What’s wrong, Min Yoongi? Was that too much for you? Are you gonna give me detention now for fucking up your tie?”

He thinks about it for a moment before he untangles the tie from around his neck and bunches it in his hand. “I will just buy a new one at Hogsmeade later,” He reports quietly, mostly to himself before turning around and making his way up the stairs.

You watch him leave.

.

February means snow and chill and lovey dovey emotion that can only be felt in the air—for February also means flowers and chocolate and confessions. But to you, February means the most number of detentions, twelve in a row so far and you still reportedly have three more to go.

When you thought the previous two incidents and encounters with Yoongi might have softened him up, it seems as if fucking up his tie had been the wrong card to pull because if he had been hawkeyed on you before, now he’s just unfair.

Your uniform with just a tie out of place? Detention.

Showing up late by five minutes to a lecture simply because there was a line to the restroom? Detention.

In fact, things you’ve done within the past few weeks that have earned you another detention are as listed: whispering in the library, tapping your quill once on the desk, not walking fast enough in the halls, turning in homework with handwriting a little too sloppy—the list goes on. You would be annoyed if you weren’t so exhausted. Twelve detentions in a row is a lot to ask of someone.

Your exhaustion turns into the loss of sanity, until Professor McGonagall calls you into her office and you walk in to find Min Yoongi seated in front of her desk.

You stop short. “Uh, what’s this?” You inquire, gesturing between Professor McGonagall and Min Yoongi. “Is this because of the comment I made against cats in Yoongi’s write-up? That was just a joke, I promise. Am I getting expelled? Because if that comment against the cats is enough to warrant this kind of punishment then I should let you know that Yoongi has been up my ass—!”

Professor McGonagall interrupts you with a shrill call of your name. “Miss. Y/N, please mind your language—why don’t you put your butt on the seat instead of your foot in your mouth.” As you lower yourself slowly into the other chair opposite of her, she speaks again. “And for the record, Miss. Y/N, I had no idea about the comment you made against cats.”

You grit your teeth slightly, berating yourself for saying such a thing. Yoongi presses his lips together to hide his smile, and you kick him in the shin.

Just as Yoongi parts his lips in a silent ring of pain, you speak. “So, Professor McGonagall,” You start loudly. “What seems to be the issue?”

“Well, it has come to my attention that Mr. Min has been giving you a lot of detentions since the start of the school year,” Professor McGonagall notes. “An excessive amount, for that matter. Not that we have anything in our policy that goes against too much detention. In fact, Miss. Y/N—you are scheduled for another detention on February 14th, is that correct?”

“Uh—I assume so,” You reply, sparing a glance towards Yoongi. It’s not like Yoongi pencils you in for detentions whenever it’s convenient for you. He doesn’t even run the detentions for you himself, it’s always Mr. Flich, who has looked increasingly and increasingly more exasperated especially when you know he’s running out of things around the castle for you to do. “Yoongi doesn’t really… tell me anything after telling me I have detention…”

Yoongi looks like he wants to speak up, but he is quickly shot down by Professor McGonagall. “Mr. Min, I just need to let you know that no one will be able to run the detention for Miss. Y/N on February 14th so I will leave you in charge for that day.”

Both of you straighten up at that.

“What?”

“Wait, no.”

“Why?”

“I would rather bathe myself in any river in the Forbidden Forest past midnight and get eaten by a lion.”

“Okay, Y/N, first of all, there are no lions in the Forbidden Forest.”

“How do you know that? There’s no way not to know that. The Forbidden Forest is forbidden to students. What did you do? Sneak in with your idiot friends one time?”

“Kim Namjoon is not an idiot—!”

Your eyes widen and point a finger at Yoongi. “PROFESSOR.”

“Okay, enough you two,” Professor McGonagall interrupts, rubbing at her temples and you wonder if she’s held off on talking to the two of you for so long for this very  reason only. It’s why your normal interactions with Min Yoongi were so short if you could help it. “This is not up for debate. Mr. Min, you are running Miss. Y/N’s detention. As Head Boy, it’s one of your responsibilities. Own up to it. Both of you are dismissed.”

Yoongi sighs, looks like he wants to argue more, but he detaches himself from the seat and makes his way towards the door frame exiting Professor McGonagall’s office. This leaves you little choice but to do the same.

Yoongi is still outside in the hallway by the time you exit. “You could still cancel my detention if you want,” You supply, hands in the pocket of your skirt. “I’m sure you have plans on February 14th that I would hate to intercept with.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi grumbles. “Meet me in the detention chamber.”

“Bring some candles, Min Yoongi!” You call teasingly.

.

Min Yoongi is unsuspiciously moody on February 14th when you enter the confines of the detention chamber. He’s facing the blackboard and looks to be deep in thought. That thought, however, is crossed out when he grumbles something as soon as your footsteps sound through the chamber. “You’re late.”

“I got lost,” You lie.

“Shut up.” Yoongi whirls around, sneering. “You’ve been down here plenty of times—in fact, you were here just last week. Got lost, my ass.”

“Oh is that what I said? I meant I didn’t want to come here.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Just sit down.” He gestures to the empty desk right in front of him. You slide into the seat, your bag slipping to the floor as your fold your hands atop each other and gazing up at Yoongi. “You’re gonna write lines today.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow, lines. That’s exciting. Just so original, oh wow.”

“When you only have two days to plan two hours worth of detention, there are limited options,” Yoongi supplies, taping his piece of chalk against his chin. “So you’re gonna spend two hours writing this.” He turns back to the blackboard, bringing the chalk up to the surface and—!

I AM AN IDIOT WHO CONSTANTLY NEGLECTS MIN YOONGI’S WORD OF AUTHORITY AND HENCEFORTH, I DESERVE EVERY SINGLE PUNISHMENT THAT HAS EVER BEEN HANDED TO ME EVER.

You sigh, reaching into your bag and producing a parchment and quill. “Charming with words as ever, Min Yoongi.”

He shrugs, leaning against the desk at the front. “I try.”

The full vantage of his profile allows you to scope a good glance over his uniform for the day. Polo shirt and slacks, still no tie—but the sleeves of his shirt have been pulled up to his elbow and his teeny waist showcased in his slacks. It’s not just distracting, it’s unfair entirely.

You get through about half of your first line before you put your quill down. “So, Min Yoongi,” You start.

“Do your lines.”

You ignore him. “If you didn’t have to run my detention for the day, what plans would have awaited the great Head Boy of our beloved school?”

“None of your business,” He grumbles.

“Because I am sure someone as… compelled as you are,” You start, purposely pausing when coming up with an adjective to describe Yoongi and the one you select makes him scowl harder. “Would have no trouble conjuring up an activity on Valentine’s Day.”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.”

“Well, there’s a lot of things that you shouldn’t stick your nose in either,” You retort. “And yet here I am, probably servicing my one hundredth detention because you read my personal notes.”

“You were passing notes in class!”

“Passing personal notes in class,” You emphasis. “And it’s none of your business and yet I still had my privacy invaded so that excuse does not work on me, Min Yoongi.” You push yourself off the desk despite Yoongi’s noise of protest. “I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t protest much or if at all to Professor McGonagall assigning you to watch over me for detention.”

“So?”

“So, is that because you don’t have any plans at all for Valentine’s Day?” You’re standing right in front of him now.

“Miss. Y/N, if I were you, I’d shut my mouth and write my lines.”

His defensive nature makes you quirk the corner of your lips. “Oh my god.” You’re grinning now. “Did you not have anyone to celebrate with?”

Yoongi’s gradually stiffening frame as you on the brick of laughter. “Shut up.”

“Not even a crush? No one to spare a confession for? That’s kind of sad.”

“Oh like you’re so high and mighty about this—do you have someone to celebrate with?”

“No,” You reply with a shrug. “And I don’t care too much. You care though, don’t you?”

“I don’t,” He retorts, but it’s a weak argument and you can hear the waver in his tone.

“You do like someone, don’t you?” You inquire, smirking a little. “What is that like? What is the girl like? Why won’t you say anything to her, Min Yoongi? You may be emotionally constipated but you should know how to process constipation by now right? Seven years and no girlfriend; doesn’t that bother you in the slightest? Why waste time with me when you could—!”

The rest seems like such a blur, because you are interrupted when Yoongi darts forward, one hand around your waist and the other curling fingers around the back of your neck, before he is kissing you. Your lower back hits the edge of the desk, a pain that you don’t register anymore as you find yourself completely distracted by the feel of his lips—which are a lot softer than you thought they would have been. Immediately, the sensation feels as if it has springboarded you through the galaxy above, his lips moving against yours and dragging out these whimpers that sound from the back of your throat.

Suddenly, it feels like you can’t get enough of him as your nails dig into his arms, his shoulder blade. His anger seems to subside the longer he kisses you, going from using his teeth to soothing the burn from his tongue, a gesture that sends a shiver up your spine.

The hand at your back finds its way under the material of your polo shirt, his thumb rubbing softly at the skin of your back as the pair of you separate. Your lungs feel like they’re about to burst, so the frantic beating of your heartbeat means you don’t think twice about resting your forehead against Yoongi’s. “Do you do that to all the girls who yell at you?”

Yoongi sighs like he’s waited years for this. “Just the ones whose attention I feel like I would lose unless I granted her with detention every two point five seconds.”

“So you aren’t entirely a stick in the mud,” You observe, almost losing your train of thought with the way Yoongi is tracing patterns into your back again. “You did have plans for Valentine’s Day.”

“Well, it was more along the lines of how I had plans to find you after your detention and get another fight out of you,” Yoongi starts, corner of his lips turning up into a meek smile. “So this is obviously a step up.”

“Aw,” You coo. “You really are emotionally constipated—I’m sure there would have been much better ways of expressing your emotions.”

He shrugs. “Just for the girl who was about to write sixty lines about how much of an idiot she is.”

“For your information, I only got through half of a line. What if I don’t want to write sixty?” You challenge, lifting your chin slightly towards him.

Yoongi hums, readjusting his hold around your waist so his nails are digging into your bare skin. You are too high on possibility to notice the potential bruising. “I’ll convince you,” He whispers, lowering himself closer and closer until he seals his lips with yours. A promise, and a challenge—as it always should be.

[icyharrington]

Sinful Thoughts (Michael Langdon X Reader) Part 1

ok now that i read this over i lowkey hate the way it turned out, but i spent a lot of time on it so im gonna post it anyways lmfao. y’all wanted sexual tension, so sexual tension you shall receive! 

plot: you’re the epitome of a good christian girl. michael langdon intends to ruin that.

warnings: high school au, fem!Reader, masturbation, sexual tension, no actual smut

word count: 2.7k

i.

“Alright, last pairing. (Y/n), your lab partner will be Michael Langdon.”

You were sure the color drained from your face, because a collective snicker spread itself throughout the classroom the minute you registered your teacher’s words. You’d always hated group projects. Even worse to you were involuntary pairings. Especially when it meant that you were now obligated to do your school project with the weirdly flirtacious kid who lived across the street from you.

You froze, looking across the classroom to the boy who’d been named. He smiled at you innocently, hands crossed neatly in front of him. Your stomach lurched.

“Uh, Ms. Calvin? Would it be okay if I, um, worked by myself instead? I don’t mind taking on the extra work.” You swallowed nervously. More laughter from your classmates, which you did not acknowledge.

Your teacher frowned, emphasizing the deep-set lines in her face. “If I let you work alone, I’d have to let everyone work alone. This project is meant to be completed with a partner.”

You sighed, trying not to seem too distressed as you fidgeted with the sleeves of your pale pink sweater. “Then could I possibly get a new partner?”

“Ms. (Y/l/n), sometimes we are dealt things in life that are not ideal to us. Michael is a perfectly capable young man, and you will work with him.”

“But-“

“Unless you have a valid reason not to work with Mr. Langdon, he will remain as your lab partner.”

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip. What was the reason you were so opposed to working with him? He hadn’t done anything to you, not really. You’d known him since he’d first moved into the neighborhood two years back- from the second you’d saw him, clad in all black with a confident stride, he made you nervous.

Of course, there was also the fact that he seemed to love making you uncomfortable. He’d make some sort of flirtatious comment nearly every time your paths crossed, and it made your insides churn. But still- it was possible he wasn’t even aware that he was being flirtatious, though you doubted that from the way his eyes would glint each time he’d make you blush.

The bell rang, jarring you, and you tucked your books away into your sensible messenger bag. Then you tugged gently on the dainty cross which hung around your neck on a thin gold chain. You always fiddled with it when you were feeling anxious; it brought you comfort to feel the smooth symbol under your fingers.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when somebody leaned on your desk, placing both hands palm-down with a startling thud. You didn’t even have to look up to see who it was: you saw a leather jacket and black button-up, along with large hands adorned with several rings.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” came a smooth, slightly mocking voice. “What’s so bad about being my partner?”

You looked up timidly, flinching slightly under the boy’s piercing blue gaze. “Nothing. I just- um.” Your voice trailed off, and you realized it probably hadn’t been the wisest choice to request a new partner in front of the entire class.

“You just what?” He tilted his head to the side, widening his eyes. “You has no problem voicing your thoughts a minute ago.”

Since looking into his eyes was making you impossibly nervous, you tried instead to focus on his hair, which even you had to admit was lovely. “I just think we’d both work better with other partners.”

He shook his head, allowing his blond waves to fall in front of his eyes. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, (y/n),” he said softly. “Perhaps you’d like me better if I weren’t so nice?”

You scoffed, and he cocked an eyebrow at you, seemingly pleased with your defiance as a grin began forming across his full lips.

“You’ve never been nice. You just love to make me uncomfortable.”

“If anything I’ve said has made you uncomfortable, then that’s on you.” He stood up straight, drumming his fingers on the black belt around his slim waist. “Why would you think I care enough to try and make you squirm?”

You pushed back in your chair and jumped to your feet, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Just- don’t talk to me unless it’s about the project.”

“So we’ll meet on Friday, then?” he grinned at you, baring his perfectly straight teeth.

“I am not going to your house,” you snapped. “You can come to mine.”

“Fine with me. I’d love to see the way a girl like you lives.”

“I’m not even going to ask you what that’s supposed to mean,” you muttered, walking around your desk so you wouldn’t have to cross paths with Michael on your way out.

“Oh, (y/n)?” he said, just as you were about to leave. Back still to him, you grimaced.

“What?”

“That’s a nice necklace you’ve got on.”

Your hand flew up to your neck, caressing the cool metal frantically. In your head, a prayer repeated itself over and over; you shut your eyes, hoping it’d calm you down, but for the first time in your life, it didn’t.

ii.

The week went by impossibly fast, and before you knew it, it was Friday. You’d almost forgotten the plans you’d made with Michael— almost— but Michael had made sure to cheerily remind you that morning as you left your house to leave for school.

Now it was 3:59. He was supposed to come over at 4. Your palms sweat profusely as you waited in the living room, and you wiped them on your modest knee-length skirt.

You hoped maybe, by some miracle, he’d forget. But you knew that would never happen. He was looking forward to this, looking forward to getting under your skin.

The clock on your phone switched briskly to 4:00, and you winced. There was a beat, and then came three sturdy knocks on your front door. Of course he’d show up at 4 on the dot. What else had you expected?

You stood up and fixed your hair, hoping he wouldn’t be able to sense the intense anxiety coursing through you. Then you made your way to the door and swung it open, letting out shallow breaths in an attempt to compose yourself.

He stood there on your welcome mat, backpack slung over his shoulder and smirk on his lips. He made no attempt to conceal the way his eyes traveled over your body, and you shifted, uneasy. “Michael. Come in.”

“You seem enthused,” he said, brushing past you and into your home without a second thought.

You turned around, watching him enter your living room, his head turning to observe every last detail. His lips curved upwards slightly as he regarded the various religious symbols mounted on the wall- an old-fashioned crucifix, a simple wooden cross, a framed painting of Jesus that your mom had bought at a yard sale. Then his eyes fell upon the leather-bound bible on the coffee table, and he chuckled.

“What?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Nothing,” he sang, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket and flashing you a close-mouthed smile. You returned it with a straight face, entirely unamused.

“Wait here while I get my stuff,” you said, turning on your heel and heading for the stairs. “And don’t follow me.”

You made your way up the carpeted steps, tensing as you could practically feel his eyes bore into you from behind. All at once you felt self-conscious, and you wished you’d changed into a pair of sweatpants instead of staying in your skirt.

When you got up to your room you let out a breath, immediately relieved once you were out of his admittedly intimidating presence. You walked over to your desk, impeccably tidy save for your biology binder set in the middle.

“Hm. Looks exactly like I expected,” came a drawling voice in the doorway, and you jumped.

“I thought I told you not to follow me,” you said through grit teeth, jaw clenching as you tucked your binder under your arm. That was strange, you thought, the way he’d snuck up on you without you hearing his footsteps on the stairs. He ignored you and tilted his head quizzically, running his fingers along the rosary hanging off your doorknob.

“Don’t touch that,” you said, and he let it drop, beads bouncing noisily against the wooden door.

“So you really believe all this Jesus shit, huh?” he said, amused, taking a few steps inside.

“Get out of my room,” you said in as firm a tone you could muster, but you were surprised when your voice trembled.

He looked at the wooden cross hanging above your bed, and then down at the blue blanket and matching pillows, positioned evenly and smoothed out. You felt vulnerable, somehow, knowing that he now had an image in his mind of where you slept.

“Everything in here is so impossibly perfect,” he stated, running his fingers idly along the frame of your bed. “You want to be perfect, don’t you? You want to be mommy and daddy’s perfect little Christian girl.”

You stared at him, feet planted to the ground as you tried to come up with something to say. He sounded so sure of himself, like he’d been inside your mind and was simply reciting the facts. You wanted to punch him right between those hooded blue eyes, but something inside you prevented you from moving.

“I assume you’re saving yourself for marriage?” he continued, coming closer to you with a smug expression on his handsome face. You willed your feet to move, and your eyes widened when you realized you literally were unable to. Panic rose in your throat, contrasting harshly with his cool exterior.

“None of your business,” you spat, curling your fingers into your palm to try and conceal the silver purity ring you’d been given at church camp several years ago. He laughed, stopping in front of you.

“You’ve never even kissed a boy, have you?”

He craned neck slightly, just looking at you. Then he reached up and tucked two fingers beneath your chin, tilting it up so you could look at him. “And I’m certain you’ve never touched yourself.”

Your face burnt up at his words, and you knew he was enjoying watching the redness creep across your face. He was mere inches away from you now, smiling serenely as you tried your hardest to pull back.

“I’ll even bet that every time you feel that ache between your legs, you drop to your fucking knees and beg god for forgiveness,” he whispered, breath hot on your face.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, focusing all your energy on trying to move. What was keeping a hold on you? It couldn’t possibly be Michael- how would he be able to do something like that?

“Because good Christian girls aren’t allowed to feel carnal pleasure,” he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Are they?”

His hand moved from your face to your neck, his pace painfully slow. Your breath hitched when his fingers reached the thin chain around your neck, toying with it for a moment before continuing downwards. He took the cross in his hand and surveyed it, running his thumb across it as he leveled it in his palm.

Before you could do anything, he let go, and all at once the hold on you seemed to break. You pushed him back, hard, silently thanking god for freeing you.

“Leave. And don’t come back. I’ll do the whole project myself. You can take credit for half, I don’t even care.”

He let out a low chuckle. “I’ll let you get back to your prayers.”

You eyed him as he turned around and left, following him to the top of the stairs and watching as he left through the front door. You waited a minute before returning to your room, fixated on the door as if Michael might change his mind and burst through it. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as a familiar, unwelcome sensation began radiating from between your thighs, which you intended to ignore as usual.

You were so distracted by the thoughts of what on earth had just happened that you almost didn’t notice the small change that had been made in your room.

The cross above your bed- which you could’ve sworn had been upright when you followed Michael out- was now, plain as day, upside down.

iii.

You blinked twice, mind foggy as you took a step forward, toes curling at the feeling of cold wood against your bare soles.

You looked down; you were naked, skin dotted over with clusters of goosebumps as your hair stood on end. Your nipples hardened at the low temperature, and all at once you realized you could see your breath in front of you.

You heard something stir from afar, and finally you averted your attention to the opposite end of the room. You were in a church, it appeared, the pews of which were empty. The noise you’d heard had come from behind the altar, and it quickly became apparent that somebody was standing behind it.

Your mouth went dry. It was Michael. His face was heavily shadowed, but from his stature alone you knew it was him. He, too, was naked, at least as far as you could see from the portion of his body that was visible.

A chill rolled up your spine and you wrapped your arms around your stomach, shivering as the cold set into your bones. Michael raised one hand, and though his eyes were obscured with shadows, you knew they were settled on you, your body.

From his fingertips, a flame ignited. He rolled his wrist back, cupping his hand around the flame as it grew. Then he flicked his hand forward, and you stumbled backwards as each pew went up in flames, the rich scent of burning wood invading your lungs. Your skin prickled at the feeling of unbridled warmth enveloping you, and from your throat spilled a grateful moan.

“Touch me, and never again will you freeze,” came a booming voice, loud enough to bring you to your knees. You realized that Michael was now much closer to you than he had been before, standing bare as he looked down upon you. You reached for him without shame, lips parting, and before you could feel him, everything went black.

“Michael-“ you croaked.

Your eyes shot open; you were in your bed, legs entangled in a mess of sweat-stained sheets. It took several seconds to collect yourself, and once you finally had, you discovered that your hand was slipped underneath your underwear and buried between your thighs.

“Oh my-“ you stopped yourself from finishing the sentence, removing your hand as if it’d been burnt. Running your hand over the fabric of your underwear, you were alarmed to find that it was completely soaked through.

Face flushing with guilt, you groaned at the pounding coming from your core. It almost scared you how badly you wanted to touch, how badly you wanted to slip your fingers up inside yourself and ride them until you couldn’t hold back the screams.

There was something seriously wrong with you. Usually you were able to ignore the feelings, but with each passing second the throbbing intensified, causing you to squirm restlessly. Images of Michael flashed through your mind, the filthy words he’d spoken to you earlier vibrating in your ears, and you bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Your hips bucked up towards nothing involuntarily; your chest rose and fell hard, one hand settled on your breast through your sleep shirt.

It’s not right, you thought, applying slight pressure to your nipple before drawing your hand back. You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your lips silently as you methodically recited prayer after prayer in your mind, hoping to find the strength to ignore the feeling and go back to sleep.

It felt like an eternity had passed before you fell back to sleep, and when you woke up the next morning, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself, sneering at your reflection in the mirror for being so goddamned weak.

You didn’t know what kind of spell Michael had cast over you, making you think such vulgar thoughts, but you were sure of one thing: Michael Langdon was nothing but trouble.

[scifiwithswords]

A Peculiar Homecoming: Chapter 1

‘cause i just reread chapter 1 and????? i like it???? this is from 2017 so not my absolute best but i forgot what a good concept APH was 

Anna slid the lime slice on the rim of her glass, around and around and around, the circles growing smoother every time as the juice from the lime wet the sides and Anna’s hand grew used to the motion.

“You ever think about how this is us?” Anna asked. Maya glanced up from her phone and Anna gestured with her other hand towards the glass, the rim of which was now visibly coated with drips of lime juice, and on which Anna was now spinning the lime on fast enough to knock it over, if she wasn’t careful.

“I think you’re drunk,” Maya said. “You always get like this when you’re drunk.”

Maya wasn’t wrong. Anna frowned down at the glass. “You get it, though,” she said, experimentally flicking the lime with one index finger to see how far it would slide on its own. “This is all we do. Just the same routines over and over again. Nobody told me adulthood was going to be just…spinning.” On the next flick, Anna hit the glass by accident, and it wobbled dangerously.

Maya caught her hand before she could do it again and squeezed Anna’s fingers until Anna looked up from the now-destroyed lime and the mostly-empty Cosmo that it had adorned. Maya’s dark eyes, under her usual perfectly done makeup, were laughing at Anna, which, well. That was probably fair.

For a second, Anna thought that Maya might say something gentle and inspiring, like you may do the same things every week, but the people you meet doing them are what makes it interesting. You teach third grade. Every TFA fellow in America would murder you if you called that boring. or Adulthood is where you get to make your own fun. You want to skip a week of school to go on a bender in Vegas? You’ll probably be fired but technically you can do that. It’s not being boring, it’s just making choices.

But they’d had all those conversations before. Tonight, Maya went with “Stop being such a downer.” She released Anna’s hand, sooner than Anna would have liked. Then she rubbed salt in that by saying “Tony’s still stuck at work, but he’ll be able to meet us in like an hour.” Anna did her best to not react to the mention of Maya’s boyfriend and their perfect beautiful heterosexual whatever. “What do you want to do til then?”

Anna picked up the rest of her Cosmo and drained it. As trapped, as stuck as she felt, she was at her favorite bar in Minneapolis with her best friend whose boyfriend wasn’t going to steal her away for another hour.

She slammed the glass back down on the table, harder than she would have if this wasn’t her fourth one. The lime, dangling by now, fell off the rim and into the glass. She pulled Maya out of her seat and steered them towards the dance floor.

“Spin.”

--

BANG BANG BANG.

Anna heard the knocking on her door before she was aware of any of the input coming from her other senses. The light streaming in through the window of her bedroom, for instance. The goosebumps on her arm from having shucked her blanket during the night. The absolute pounding in her head in relative time to the knocking.

What is the fucking landlord doing here at nine in the fucking morning on a Saturday? was what Anna wondered as she stumbled into a sweater and through her apartment to the door. Her headache didn’t really leave room for any other thoughts before she yanked open the door, expecting to see Bud’s trademark frown and baseball cap on the other side.

It wasn’t Bud. It was…wow. A tall woman, about Anna’s age, tanned and wearing a casual t-shirt and jeans. Toned limbs, wide blue eyes. Her short, blondish hair was pushed back with what looked like a strip of plain leather.

“Anna,” she said, her voice soft and full of meaning.

Oh god. What had happened last night?

“That’s my name,” Anna replied, completely disoriented. This stranger showed no sign that she was about to offer hers, so Anna suspected that she was supposed to know it already. “Come in, I guess. I’m not doing this before I have coffee.”

The stranger followed her inside, glancing curiously at Anna’s walls, which were off-white except for a few forest prints she’d harvested from garage sales, a huge print of a birds-eye view of Tokyo that she’d bought for entirely too much money online, and her floor, which was bare wood except for a few scattered books. Nothing to be ashamed of, she thought.

She reached the kitchen and grimaced. The sink and counter next to it were piled high with dishes. Not exactly a sight she would want to show a beautiful stranger who she had apparently made enough of an impression on while drunk to have her show up at her door on a Saturday morning and whisper her name in a husky voice that just barely tugged at the edges of Anna’s memory.

“You like coffee?” The absence of a name to tack on to the end of the sentence haunted Anna, and the stranger seemed to notice. She looked towards Anna, blue eyes narrow, now. She followed Anna into the kitchen and stood awkwardly in front of the breakfast bar that passed for a table in Anna’s tiny one-bedroom. Anna stood on the other side, between the stranger and the sink full of dishes. It was brighter here, and Anna noticed that the woman’s eyes were a deeper blue than she’d noticed before, surrounded by short but thick lashes and scattered brown freckles. She felt like she could stare into the blue depths forever. She felt like maybe she had before.

“Yeah, I still like coffee,” the woman said, tilting her head. Anna blinked hard and then kept looking at her, trying to remember where and how she’d met this person if it wasn’t last night, if it was a time and a place where it would make sense for Anna to know that she liked coffee. Nothing came to mind, nothing at all.

And now she’d invited this person into her home thinking that this was a woman she’d hooked up with, last night or possibly last week, and that some quirk of hers or a few minutes of proximity would remind Anna exactly what circumstances they had met under, and when, and why she might have shown up at Anna’s door. But coffee? Still? Anna was completely lost.

She turned away after a moment, not trusting herself to respond to all the questions the woman’s statement had raised. Instead, she started preparing coffee, taking extra care to scoop the grounds into the filter as she tried to figure out what to say next.

After she’d pressed the brew button, no idea was coming to her. “So,” she said to the coffee pot, like a coward. She turned to face the problem head on. The woman’s eyes were narrow still, confused or wary. “This is embarrassing, since I already invited you in and all, but I have absolutely no idea who you are.”

The woman’s mouth slackened and her eyebrows shot upwards. She recovered in seconds, narrowing her eyes and slowly placing her palms on the counter. “I thought you might be mad,” she said. “But this is just immature.”

Anna turned back towards the coffee pot, which had just started to drip. It had no advice to offer her. She turned and stared at the woman again, hoping for some glimmer of recognition, some association. Someone she’d slept with in college, and had breakfast with afterwards? Still nothing came to mind.

“Immature?” Anna parroted. The woman’s response, though bewildering, had opened an avenue for one of Anna’s favorite communication tactics: reply with whatever the person said to you so that they had no choice but to reveal more.

“Pretending you don’t know me. It’s immature.”

“Are you sure that it’s me you were looking for? Maybe some other Anna?”

“Your name is Anna Melbourne, you’re twenty-three, your birthday is August eighteenth, you were born in Sable, Virginia and raised there and in Fredonia, New York, your mother is a music teacher and your father runs a bakery.”

Anna had been pulling mugs out of the cupboard and promptly dropped one. It bounced off the side of the counter and then shattered on the tile floor. “My father died three years ago,” Anna said flatly, not turning around. She’d gone from confusion to fear. Who was this person? Why did she know all that? And what did she want with Anna? Maybe she should be trying to get away, dial 911 and report a stalker.

But the woman came around to the other side of the counter and started picking up the shards of ceramic, and Anna found herself crouching down to help. The gesture, and the tug of familiarity—or the possibility of familiarity, at least, that she’d felt, quelled the urge to question the situation.  

“I’m sorry about your father,” the woman said as she dumped a handful of ceramic shards into Anna’s trash. “So…you do remember me?”

“Still no,” Anna said, still wary. “Remind me. What, did we meet at summer camp or something? Please.”

“You really don’t remember?”

“I really don’t.”

“Who was your first kiss with?”

The question caught Anna off guard, and Anna told herself that it was just because she’d been expecting an explanation instead, but maybe it was also because this was a woman she would totally 100% have kissed given the opportunity.

“Chelsea Day, summer after my junior year of high school,” she said.

“Well, mine was you,” the woman said. “And I think yours was mine.”

“What, were we little kids or something?” Anna asked. The coffeepot chimed, and Anna turned around, grateful for something to do with her hands. “Milk and sugar?”

“Black, please. We were fifteen.”

“Tell me more.” Anna’s voice shook as she passed a mug to the woman and set about adding soy milk and sugar to her own.

“We were camping in Sudwood. We talked about liking girls, then about liking each other. We’d just roasted apple slices over the fire, and that was what it tasted like,” she recited. Anna just stared. That was it, this person was crazy. Where even was Sudwood? Anna felt herself shaking her head and set down her coffee, about to make a run for her room where her cell phone was charging.

But the stranger didn’t look to be making any move to stop her. She had taken a small sip of the coffee and seated herself at one of the stools next to the counter. Instead of going for her phone, Anna…tried again. She looked at the woman, looked into her eyes, and tried.

After a moment, the stranger sighed and turned her gaze to the ceiling. “This is dumb. Anna, we met when we were nine and I last saw you when we were sixteen. You visited more during the summers, but I saw you almost every day, especially towards the end. Do you remember anything about Hagan at all?”

“Hagan? Could you…remind me what that is, maybe?”

“If you remembered at all, I wouldn’t have to remind you.” The woman closed her eyes for a long moment, made an expression which, Anna realized, she recognized, even though she didn’t think she’d ever seen it on anyone else. This stranger was closing her eyes to distance herself from the scene around her, giving herself just a moment to pretend that something else was happening. Anna had assumed, until now, that she was the only one who did that.  

In the split second before the stranger opened her eyes, Anna realized two things: first, somehow, this person was right about what had…apparently happened between them. If she was wishing that the situation wasn’t real, then real was what it must be.

Second, this wasn’t her first time seeing this person. The ‘close your eyes to forget where you are’ expression, the double-knotted makeshift headband, aesthetically unappealing but functional, even the way she held her coffee cup, fingers splayed on the side and thumb hooked under the handle in ignorance of the handle’s actual function—those were Anna’s habits. Habits that she didn’t remember picking up from anywhere, unlike how she’d gotten her dress sense from her dad and her preference for Mac computers from her freshman-year girlfriend. Maybe these things had been Anna’s first, and maybe they had been this woman’s. Either way, it wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

A part of Anna didn’t want it to be.

Anna’s heart thudded in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. It felt necessary, even though she wasn’t nearly sure why.  

The woman, now contemplating her coffee, forced out a laugh. It was short and breathy, more to release tension than from any sort of humor. The laugh faded into the tension that already sat heavy in Anna’s kitchen, rippled into the still air and the steam slowly rising from the coffee mugs. The not-stranger looked up at Anna. “When I came here, I assumed it would be me who would be doing the apologizing.”

“Why?” Some quiet, rational part of Anna’s mind reminded her that probably she shouldn’t have entirely discredited the stalker theory.

“I’ll tell you that I’m sorry when you understand why I’m saying it,” the woman said. She drained the last sip of her coffee and slid the mug across the counter. “Come on. We need to find the others, then we need to get to the portal and figure out how to get your memories back.”

“Wait. Wait.” Anna took a sip of her coffee, not even sure where to start with that revelation. “What others? What portal? I don’t even know your name.”

“No, you don’t know my name. But you have to—” She stopped midsentence to reach into the well-worn backpack that she’d set down next to where she stood, on the other side of Anna’s counter. She tossed something at Anna. “Remember this?”

Anna reached up with both hands, caught the object with one. She looked down at what she held.

Inside a battered ziploc baggie, looking worn but not much more so than it had the last time Anna had seen it, was Anna’s yellow Hit Clip. It was the precedent to a Walkman, tiny and egg-shaped and capable of playing one-minute clips of songs that were stored on tiny discs. Anna had lost it in fifth grade. She’d assumed she’d left it at school, or at her grandparents’ house. Somewhere logical.

“Did you find this?”

“You gave it to me. Do you believe me?”

It was perfectly preserved. Some of the letters on the logo had rubbed off when Anna had been using it, but no more so since then. In thirteen years. And all the cassettes seemed to be there—even ones Anna had forgotten about. “Yes,” she found herself saying.

“And do you trust me? Even not knowing my name?”

For a moment, Anna felt like she was outside of her body. It was some other woman, standing in Anna’s kitchen in a sweater and pajama pants with messy dark hair and a hangover, holding a nearly-forgotten childhood relic. Some other woman who looked up into the eyes of the woman in front of her as she said, in a near-whisper, “Yes.”

“Good,” the woman said, clipped and no-nonsense and just touching the edge of familiar, and suddenly Anna was back, staring at her from across the counter, steam still rising from her half-full mug. “My name is Sam. We need to go.”

[mangsluts]

Happy Camper

A Taeyong Fanfic

Camp Counselor!AU

Rated: M

Contains: teasing, cursing, graphic sexual content

Description: You didn’t want to, but you reluctantly agreed to take you friends spot as a camp counselor when he suddenly gets sick. Despite hating the outdoors, there’s something there that might make it worthwhile.

Requested by: @still-blossom99

-admin mangbebe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re not serious, right?” You groaned into your phone, voice going a little high with inquiry.

“Yes, I’m serious... please... I have the flu, and I-“ Your friend Mark sneezed into the phone loudly, and you rolled your eyes.

“I really can’t cancel on them now. They already don’t have enough people and the kids... they’d be so devastated if we had to cancel so suddenly...” His voice was nasally and obviously stuffed up, sounding like it hurt his throat just to talk.

You sighed, knowing how much he loved this job.

Every summer, your good friend Mark Lee—who you’d known for years—went on some scout camping trip as a counselor for some rag tag scouting company. It was neither girl nor Boy Scouts. They were called simply “cub scouts”, and the team of counselors would take all the children on a camping trip into the woods for about five days, teaching them basic survival skills, leadership and teamwork, and about the outdoors. Basic summer camp stuff, except no cabins or electricity or fun. Great. But Mark absolutely loved doing it, and you really didn’t want to let him down. Finally, his sad, sniffling voice broke you down and you sighed.

“Fine. I’ll do it for you. But you owe me!” You pointed into your phone, knowing he couldn’t see you, but could feel your attitude.

“Thank you so much! I promise I’ll repay you some day! I’m so happy!” You could hear him shuffling through papers on his bed. “I’ll send you all the information. You’re able to go tomorrow right? All you have to do is show up at this cabin, which is where the counselors, children, and parents will meet up at first... Just tell them you’re filling my place.. I’ll talk to the camp leader so he knows you’re coming.. They’ll teach you everything. I promise it’s easy and you’re gonna love the kids and the experience!”

Mark continued to go on and on about the glory of friendship and the beauty of the outdoors but you had pretty much tuned out. You just wished you could stay at home in bed, and watch Netflix. You didn’t want to spend the next five days stuck in the outdoors with all kinds of bugs, no reception, and screaming children.

“Yep yep yep... can’t wait... Bye Mark.” You finally cut him off and threw your phone next to you before cuddling into your bed to go to sleep, dreading the morning coming soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘God this is horrible... how can anybody feel cute in this? I have a horrible wedgie.... and god it’s so hot out here...’ You thought irritatedly to yourself as you waited with a group of the other camp counselors. You were all wearing the same ugly scout uniform looking outfit. It was some ugly green shirt with a big name tag saying your name, paired with probably the worst khaki shorts you had ever seen. There were six other counselors with you, two of them wearing purple shirts, two wearing blue, and two wearing orange. Looking down at your shirt, you felt weird being the only one wearing this ugly green.

“Hey uhhh... What do these shirts mean?” You asked one of the girls in orange. You hadn’t really gotten a very good debriefing, since the ‘team leader’ that was supposed to explain everything to you was too busy talking to children’s parents and getting all the kids ready. “Every counselor gets a partner, and the two of you get assigned a group of children to be your ‘team.’ It just makes everything easier to separate all the children cause it can get overwhelming.” She also noticed you were the only one wearing green. “You’re probably paired with the Team Leader, since him and Mark are usually partners. Don’t worry about it! He’s a really good guy and he’ll teach you everything!” She said with an overly obnoxious smile and it took every fiber of your being not to groan in annoyance.

“Well guys, the bus that was supposed to take us to the campsite is running late... Looks like we won’t be getting there until later tonight. Guess we’ll have to push off today’s activities and go straight to the bonfire!” A commanding voice said from behind you, and you whipped around to see who the voice belonged to, and your jaw immediately dropped in shock. You suddenly took back everything you had said about the ugly clothes. Right in front of you stood probably the hottest man in existence. He had sort of a sassy aura to him, resting his body weight on one side of his body, hand on his hip. He had pale pink hair that looked like it had been dyed a hundred times, but still somehow looked beautiful and silky. When he turned to the side to check the time on the wall, you should see how sharp his jawline was. Even in that ugly green shirt, he showed off so much confidence that it looked good.. and you couldn’t even start on how good his thighs looked in those short khakis.

“And you.” Suddenly you were pulled out of your trance and saw this man pointing at you, specifically your green shirt. His smile was almost feline like, having a point in the middle and the two sides curling up cutely. “It seems you’re my partner this time. Filling in for Mark right?” He asked, a dark eyebrow raised. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you and your cheeks began to flush a light pink.

“I... uh.. yeah. I’m here for Mark.” You finally spat out, smiling nervously. This man knew just how to make you feel better, which made sense considering he dealt with kids all the time.

“Well welcome to the team! My name’s Taeyong, I’m the team leader here. I’ll teach you everything there is to know about camping and teamwork.” He said, sounding like he had recited this a million times, and offered a big hand to you. Slowly, you took it, and were immediately surprised at how soft his hand was, trying not to focus too much on the veiny arm that it was attached to, but your eyes couldn’t help but wander elsewhere.

“Well, lets get a move on!” He suddenly withdrew his hand and clapped happily.

Ugh. This was gonna be a long week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wait for the bus was long, and the ride there was longer. The whole way there, the children were screaming and singing songs—camp songs?—you didn’t know, but everyone seemed to know them. What you did know by now, was that Taeyong could sing all these songs the loudest, and you wanted nothing more than to shut him up

By kissing him?

No. You’re not going to ruin this and make it weird for Mark. You decided looking out the window and away from him was the best option.

You arrived at the dingy campsite at around 8pm and helped the other counselors get all the equipment out while Taeyong took care of getting all the children situated.

“Who’s ready for the bonfire?? It’s time for s’mores-“ Taeyong’s loud voice echoed in the woods as he held a flashlight up to his face and turned it on, illuminated his practically flawless face. “And spooky stories!!” He said in a creepy voice, wiggling his fingers. You found yourself smiling at him unknowingly until his eyes met yours and he smiled back. You looked away. Nope. Not today. You went back to busting yourself with getting the tents set up with the other counselors. Once you had enough set up for all the children, you made your way over to the bonfire, where everyone was sitting in a circle around a huge campfire, holding sticks with marshmallows on them over it. A couple of the counselors were helping transform the kid’s burnt marshmallows into s’mores. Unsure what to do, you took a seat next to Taeyong who was in the middle of a scary story.

“....and when he opened the door... there was nothing but..” he swung his hand up that he was hiding behind his back, that had a fake hook attached to it.

“A bloody hook!!” He finished dramatically, many of the children shrieking in horror.

He smiled eerily, putting his hand down.

“Some say that you can still hear the moans of those who were killed that night... in these very woods.” He said, leaning in and whispering for effect. “T-Taeyong... that’s not real right?” One of the kids asked, basically shivering with fear. “Who knows.. You’ll just have to listen at night and see for yourself.” He said again, and turned his flashlight off to spook the kids one last time. “Alright, I know you don’t want to, but it’s time for bed now. We’ll have much more to do tomorrow!” Taeyong said in that fake happy camp voice again, followed by the groans of children who didn’t want to sleep yet.

Personally, you were tired, and complied to the bedtime rule, telling the rest of the counselors you were gonna go ahead and head back to the tents. They waved you off, saying “go ahead” and decided to stay at the bonfire to finish the leftover s’mores. You walked down the trail quietly, until you reached the campsite you had set up earlier. The counselor’s tents were a small distance away from the kids, in case anything happened and they needed an adult in the middle of the night. There were four tents, and You logically inferred earlier that you would be in the green one, so you had put your bags in there. After entering the tent, and zipping it back up, you sighed and slumped down. You hated the outdoors, and there was still four full days ahead of you. Without thinking, you began stripping off your clothes so you could put something comfortable—and not ugly—on. First the green shirt came off, then the khaki shorts, both being shoved back into your bag.

Zzzzzzzzziiiipp

Surprised at the sudden burst of air on your bare skin, You shivered and turned around quickly to see what happened.

There was Taeyong, his face beet red, crouched in the opening of the tent.

“Oh shit-“ he said, finally exposing his real voice. Not that super happy voice, but a real low scratchy noise when he cursed. He hopping in quickly, zipping the tent back up so you were no longer almost naked by a hundred sleeping children.

“What are you doing? You know we have bathrooms for this stuff right?” He said, obviously trying not to look at you in your underwear.

“I... uh... I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You said, feeling your heartbeat in your throat, so embarrassed you couldn’t even move to grab your clothes.

“You’re sorry? I’ve been staring all you all day trying not to lose my cool, Mark didn’t tell me he sent his hottest friend to take his place.” His eyes went to meet yours, but it was impossible not to see your breasts, all exposed like that. You only wore a bralette, because anything with underwire would be stupid to wear in the woods all day, and this bralette happened to be very see through. Suddenly “tent” didn’t just mean what you were currently in. Through the silence, your own eyes traveled down his body, seeing his erection grow firm in his shorts. Feeling empowered by this, you decided to try your luck. He was fucking hot, and you were alone, and he obviously was attracted to you. You crawled down on all floors, your breasts hanging seductively below you, and crawled towards him in the small space. “Am I doing this to you? I’m sorry... I’m just..” you reached behind your back and unclasped the bra, allowing it to fall to the ground. You feigned surprise, watching as his face struggled not to react.

“So clumsy..” you finished, your voice like velvet.

Suddenly, the firm hand that had shaken yours earlier was now clasped around your neck. Not hard or threatening, just... warning.

“You’re asking for it you know.” He said, pushing you backwards by the neck to the back of the tent. Without breaking eye contact—Jesus those hooded eyes were so full of lust, he looked like a completely different person—he reached into his bag and pulled out the rope that would be later used for crafts and knot tying. Within seconds, your wrists were tightly bound together behind your back in a perfect knot. Obviously he was still the same camper from earlier. “You know, I was hoping we could do this...” his voice trailed off as one of his hands roughly grabbed your breast. “...but since you wanna play... you don’t get to touch.” He finished in a low growl, two fingers pinching your nipples, earning a breathy moan from you, then letting go too quickly for you to feel pleasure, and began flicking it and gently swiping his fingers over it, as if by accident. The tiny movements were driving you crazy. “You fucking tease.” You mumbled. At your words, he smirked and slipped his hand into your panties, feeling how wet you were. “Dripping.” He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear, his two fingers coming up to your face.

“Suck.” He commanded, and without your answer, his digits entered you mouth and you found yourself sucking on his fingers, tasting your own juices, willing to do anything for him to just fuck you already. “So eager for something you don’t get to have... how sad.” He gave you a fake pout before suddenly retreating his fingers from your mouth and entering them into your soaking pussy that was just begging for him. You moaned out, his hand still placed on your throat, slightly squeezing it. “Shhhhhhh... no noises.” The pressure on your throat was orgasmic itself, intensifying all your feelings. He could feel you getting too much pleasure from his fingers entering you, so he immediately pulled them back out, causing you to whine. Roughly his thumb ran over your clit, sending a surge of pleasure through your body, and you bucked your hips harshly, begging him for more. His index finger slid over your slick folds, running through every area, gently passing two fingers over your entrance, threatening to enter in, but not allowing you to have it. His slender fingers exited you once again, flicking your clit softly, then building it up harder, his grip on your neck tightening just enough for you to feel consumed by the nerves being sent through you.

Seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head and in ecstasy, he suddenly stopped all his actions, dropping you harshly from your high. All this teasing was putting you on edge, and you were panting heavily. “Beg for it.” He said simply, pulling his khaki shorts down, taking his underwear with it, and you saw his member spring out, standing tall in front of you. “Please give it to me.”

“Give what to you?”

“Your cock. I need it. Please.” You whined, desperately, your hands straining behind you, wishing you could touch him.

Wordlessly, he stood you up, aligned his throbbing dick with your walls, and slid through them. He deliberately avoided entering you, to tease you until you were fucking shaking. The very tip of his dick grazed your entrance, but would quickly be taken away before you could have it. He used both of his hands to play with your nipples, while slowly sliding his member over your wet folds, feeling more empowered by hearing your begs and pleads for him to just fuck you

“You should have thought about that before you teased me, because two can play at that game. “ he muttered into your ear, his hot breathe sending a shiver down your spine, and a loud moan exiting your mouth from all these fucking feelings on your body at once. Even though there was an aching feeling in your womanhood because of his teasing, you felt yourself reaching a sweet high.

As if your soul had been ripped out, all the feelings stopped again as he pulled himself away from you, watching you writhe and whimper because of him. He grabbed your face within his hand, forcing you to look up at his burning eyes.

“Don’t ever tease me again.”

[lighthouseofthewanderess]

Experiment

Have you ever done something you clearly know isn’t meant for you? If yes, welcome to the club of Unlucky yet Brave Experimenters. UBE was a one member secret club for the longest time before the founder, me, dissolved it out of realization that life itself was about experimenting. But I could resurrect it and we can pretend to be the Illuminati or something.

My years of experimenting started long ago. I don’t know if we can count it, but I ate chalk when I was in kindergarten. In my head, I had eaten earth from the garden and it had tasted so rich. The texture was brilliant, and the color stuck to my fingertips. Some of the earth got under my nails and I could snack on that later. Chalk I thought was no different. But when I ate it, oh boy it tasted so much better! It even came in an easy stick format to break off into bites. My grandpa on my mother’s side looked amused every time I bounced up to him demanding slate chalk. I would always say it got over,  I’m studying well, or that my friends stole it from me. He willingly gave into my trickery till he caught me chewing on it while practicing my alphabets on the slate. I just couldn’t help it; I need to think and chewing chalk helped. After that, my grandpa made it a rule that I drink a glass of milk -- “she’s eating chalk because her body needs calcium.” he would scold my grandma like it was her duty to have figured this out before him.

Anyhoo, I kept UBE a secret affair. The caterpillar that just won’t float on water? I really thought they were capable of it. The dolls with eyes carved out and replaced with marble? Why was it creepy, she had beautiful eyes now. For a long time I stuck to things around me and it fueled my curiosity but I also got bored of it too soon. I gave it up  -- for the poor butterflies, the ants, and flowers that were getting tortured by me. My heart was a noble one. Head held high I went about life accepting things the way they were. Then I got the brilliant idea of experimenting with myself. The mission was simple; do one unexpected thing every day. What was I on the search for? The million different parts of me that make me who I am. It started with the coloring. My teachers in India complained that I might have an eye problem. “She is coloring roses blue and all.” I wish I can see their faces now when there’s not just blue but black roses as well. Ha! Then I thought why not fight for the things I believed in. I undid the red ribbon of a girl in class and when she yanked it from my hand, I yanked it back. It turned into a fight just like I expected and we stood on top of the benches and wrestled with each other. That experiment ended up with bruised elbows and a 100 ‘I am sorry’ on the blackboard. Damn that girl. I was just trying to see if I had a fighter in me. UBE would have to some basic rules that saved them from situations like this. Rule #1: If your experiment involves a person, an animal, a flower or any living thing… do not harm it. Fate will boomerang back. That left me the only choice of putting myself in awkward situations. After pre-school, mom would take about 2 hours to come pick me up. Her job was tricky. So I would play around, seesaw on my own or just sleep on benches. A light bulb went off in my head during one of those slumbers. Next day after I finished up, I climbed the stairs and sat inside the 5th grade class. The teacher didn’t object, the students welcomed me with open arms. Literally. They picked me up and took turns seating me on their lap. The blackboard swarmed with letters and symbols I didn’t understand but I stared at it fully in awe. In my eyes,  this experiment was a successful one. I would come back and wait right on time for mom to pick me up. I was so used to the routine that even the lunch my mom packed would be forgotten, eaten only minutes before she arrived. One unlucky day she caught me eating my lunch, which had kind of gotten spoilt in the summer heat, on the steps by myself. I looked super content, but my mom almost burst into tears. After that she got an aaya to pick me up right after school and keep me with her, make sure I was fed on time. Time for UBE to have another rule. Rule #2 - Tread with caution when there are moms involved. They have the power to banish all experiments.

With these two rules, I had my fill of experimenting without hurting anyone for years. Even in the US. Climbing trees, hanging like a bat, fries in my ice cream. Life was so rich when every day was a new affair. There was one time I took UBE to the next level. A midnight release of a new Harry Potter book was announced. There would be games and exciting gifts, almost the whole school was going. But I wasn’t a fan. I knew nothing the other potter heads knew. Rise to the experiment, oh brave one I told myself and dragged my mom with me. At the library every one had dressed up. Polaroids were being clicked. There were cauldrons with little wands. There was a line of people waiting to answer and get their prizes. I happily went and stood there. As my turn approached, I didn’t have the slightest fear that I wouldn’t be able to answer. The point wasn’t to win, it was to experiment. The lady at the counter asked me a question.

“What was the name of Ron’s brothers?” Um, no clue. I shook my head. The line behind me gasped. I heard them whisper that I didn’t know even the basics.

“Okay. Here’s an easy one, hon.” She asked me about the platform number. Someone in line even offered to answer for me. I shook my head again.

“I just wanted to know what the prize was, that’s all.” I said to her, shrugging my shoulders. She smiled and gave me one last questions.

“Who are Muggles?” I paused to give it a thought. The line was getting restless, they hated my guts. Well, everyone has to human right? Plus she used ‘who’.

“Humans?” I stated. Everyone broke into an applause and some even clapped me on my back. Well done they said. At least you know the difference between the wizard and the human world. I was just happy I get the gift. It was a pack of gummy worms. Aw man, really? Rule  #3: A smart experimenter assesses risks.

From there I went on try one thing after another. Spanish classes. Adding ‘ito’ to everything didn’t work so I stepped out of class. Bharatnatyam went on for a bit but Ballet was more fascinating. Swimming felt like I still needs to sprout some fins so I made a mental note to try it out later. Caramel apples. Plaster-of-Paris. Swinging from the door. They all went down in UBE’s history. I remember playing the piano for a recital. I practiced with a Casio keyboard at home and rendered the beautiful ‘To a wild rose’ by McDowell. Bach. Beethoven. It started getting too sad for some reason. Switch to something else. Karate. Held onto that till the gold belt and then tossed that away too. I was super restless. I was focused so much on getting my little feet into everything that I never stuck to anything for too long. What if I’m meant to do something more? Ice skating. The flute. Singing.  It was all a whirlwind when I look at it now. I don’t even know if I had a favorite hobby. Well, maybe climbing trees. But I couldn’t choose one. Too much experimenting. Rule #4: UBE practices a good interval between two experiments. To learn and experiment better in the future.

Somehow, on the way to India, I lost UBE. Maybe I packed it with the wrong boxes. Maybe I have to join another secret club when I land there. I knew it the minute cranberry juice was placed in front of me, a thousand feet above sea level. I didn’t feel like trying it out. What? That doesn’t normally happen. I tried to sleep it off. Then I blamed it on the jet lag. Then came the ‘national’ language called Hindi and what a horrible experiment. When my Principal, John Zachariah, admitted me in the middle of the year he asked me why I was hell bent on Hindi. Why not try French? “I am a secret experimenter” I whispered when my mom stood far, straining to hear what we were discussing. In a year, I changed that to Tamil, another experiment but a successful one at that. I tried my hand at throwball, loved the matches in the rain. For the sports day, I did the ridiculous thing of trying out for tug-o-war. Here was another joke -- this girl was underwait, a thin fragile thing and she fainted a lot. But when pitched with others at the tryout, I won all three. Pure bone weight. All those glasses of milk and chalk must have nursed my bones. The last significant thing I tried, apart from writing, was the National Cadet Corps. NCC in a lot of ways made me tougher, even thought I was just eyeing the 15% marks that would come out of it. On my first NCC camp, I tried a lot of new things and every night I would ache all over but feel intensely successful as a member of UBE. In the early morning jogs and yoga, I came to realize two things about me. I am not a morning person and Yoga made me sleeps. And just like that, I was able to draw observations about myself after every lab session. Even from the ones I think I would suck at the most. Rule #5 - When you’re unsure about it, that’s the UBE sixth sense telling you that you have to do it.

I have been following these rules for a long time now. I have surprised myself time and again with the things I set out to do. Solo travel. Tattoos. Gardening. Oh what the hell, even babysitting. And I think the only mistake one can make as a member of UBE is fearing the outcome. That gives birth to normalcy and monotony. The kind that makes you pick the same things from a menu, the same colors from the clothes aisle. Choose a heavier ball when you go bowling, take a different route to work, eat Doritos with chopsticks. Sometimes I’ve taken a chance on people too; meeting them once just to see how it goes. I love getting to know them and experimenting in understanding what I feel for them. Even if this goes against Rule#1, I know I wouldn’t harm them no matter what. I know to step back from there. One can argue that repetition of certain tasks and decisions forms tastes, styles, and shapes one’s personality. And I agree. Yes, comfort in the familiar is a safe thing, but then again as Tove Lo puts it, ‘If you had any flavor in the world, would you still choose vanilla?’

[bloomsburgu]

How this alumna went from respected business leader and Army veteran to state treasurer

By Tom McGuire Marketing and Communications

To say Stacy Garrity ’86 is not your typical politician is an understatement. She went from political unknown to winning a state row office, a journey that has taken the Bradford County native around the world. Her election victory shocked even the most optimistic of supporters and has suddenly thrust her into the thick of the political world.

So how did the Athens resident and retired Army Reserve colonel make it to Harrisburg as Pennsylvania’s new state treasurer?

The oldest of four daughters of Howard Garrity and Beverly Arbie, “we were raised to be about God, country, and family,” says Garrity. “We went to church every Wednesday and Sunday. In the summer, we attended vacation Bible school, and every morning at school, we recited the Pledge of Allegiance. And on top of everything, no matter what, I had to watch out for my sisters.”

“My parents were very encouraging,” says Garrity. “They always made it a big thing to say that whatever you put your mind to do, you can do it. I grew up just believing it in a naive sort of way.”

Following graduation from Sayre High School, Garrity knew she was going to college. It was something her parents drilled into her and her sisters. However, the first-generation student admits she didn’t put much thought into what school she would attend. “My reason for [first] choosing Lock Haven was simple; my friends were going there.”

“I wasn’t well-traveled and lived a pretty sheltered life, soI figured I could carpool and come back home on the weekends,” Garrity says. “After a year of adjusting to college life, I realized I should look for a school with more of a focus on business, which is what I was interested in. When I looked around, I saw that Bloomsburg had a very good program and so I transferred.”

As a student, Garrity was intrigued by business and economics and how markets function. It was a field dominated by males in the 1980s, which did not worry her in the least. At BU, Garrity studied finance and accounting and was influenced by then chair of the accounting and business law department, the late Bernard Dill.

“Professor Dill was very engaging with his students,” Garrity recalls. “He was funny, he was motivating, and he made me take a strong interest in the major.”

Garrity, a runner in high school, also found time to be a varsity cheerleader, but more importantly, she joined the Army ROTC on the encouragement of her parents, both 20-year Navy Reserve veterans.

“Basic training was an eye-opening experience. I wasn’t mentally prepared for people being in my face and yelling. We weren’t allowed to call home for a few weeks, and when we did, of course, my mom immediately said forget it and to come home. My dad said never quit. So, I stayed so I wouldn’t disappoint my father.”

“My dad supported us and told us ‘whatever your mind believes you can achieve, you can achieve’ and that ‘winners never quit, and quitters never win.’ It stuck with me.”

After graduating from BU, Garrity joined Global Tungsten and Powders Corporation , or GTP, in Towanda and advanced through several positions, becoming vice president of two of GTP’s three business units. She was VP for government affairs and industry liaison before stepping down to assume her elected position.

At the same time, Garrity was a member of the Army Reserve, but certainly had no plans for what would become a 30-year military career.

“My original idea was to do my six years and then get out. Of course, after 9/11, I went to Kuwait. That was my first deployment. Upon returning home, I just could not bring myself to get out. I felt I needed to stay and serve our country.”

GTP management shared Garrity’s commitment to the Reserve. “At some companies, when you return from a deployment, management will try to reorganize you out. But every time I got back from a deployment, GTP would promote me. They are a great company that has been around for more than 100 years. We have many third-generation employees. And, of course, they were always very proud of me and my work.”

“The entire GTP Group organization has deep respect for Stacy,” says Hermann Walser, president and CEO. “She is always looking beyond her direct responsibilities. The well-being of all stakeholders, customers, employees, community, and country, is her priority. Her ability to motivate and convince people, to communicate, and to network are unique. We will desperately miss her in this function, as well as a member of our GTP family.”

During her last overseas deployment in 2008-09, Garrity earned the nickname “Angel of the Desert” while serving as the acting battalion commander of the military police at Camp Bucca in southern Iraq.“Our mission was to provide care and custody with dignity and respect to the 7,000 detainees.”

“To make sure all the rules and regulations were being followed, I would walk the camp after midnight because I always said nothing good happens after midnight. I would walk with the senior staff and just check on soldiers. Then we would have meetings and make sure everything was going OK.”

“We also had a deal that as long as the detainees weren’t doing anything to hurt our soldiers, then we would allow family visitation or even some soccer matches. The detainees would also get videos once a week. But, among our staff, we had zero tolerance for abuse. We were the first internment facility to have zero abuse allegations. I’m very proud of that fact.”

Garrity’s outstanding work in Iraq did not go unnoticed. She was twice awarded the Bronze Star and received the Legion of Merit before retiring from the Army Reserve with the rank of colonel. Back in Bradford County, she and her husband Dan Gizzi, married since 2005, kept busy with water skiing, snowmobiling and running. But the desire to serve others was always an itch.

“As I was thinking about what to do, volunteer work and politics were two of my choices. I’ve always liked politics, so I called our state representative Tina Pickett, who I knew from my job in government affairs since my real passion is the industrial base and making sure that we keep jobs in the United States.”

Pickett recommended jumping into the race for Tom Marino’s U.S. Congressional seat after his resignation. “The next day she had me lined up with a political consultant, and they pushed me right into the deep end.” Despite 31 candidates in the race, Stacy finished a respectable sixth. That showing led the state GOP leadership to reach out to her in late 2019 to gauge her interest in running for statewide office.

“I started praying about it, and I thought, OK, Lord, if you want me to do this, then open the doors. And, he did, and then I still was pretty hesitant. When the GOP leadership said they couldn’t find anyone to run for treasurer, I decided, if not me, then who’s going to do it.”

Shortly after making the decision to run and receiving the state Republican Party’s endorsement to challenge incumbent Democrat Joe Torsella, the COVID-19 pandemic hit.

“Trying to campaign and raise money during a pandemic was hard. I had to go total grassroots with the odds stacked against me. A Republican had not defeated an incumbent Democrat since 1994. Many people told me ‘Stacy, you’re running a great campaign, but there’s no way you can beat this guy.’”

As Election Day grew closer and the polls showed a tight race, Torsella mounted an advertising blitz with a campaign chest of more than $2 million. But on election night, as results showed her in the lead, she was cautiously optimistic. A week later her opponent called to concede. She had pulled off a win no one had expected. “Joe was extremely gracious and very helpful in the transition. I’m sure it was tough for him because he was told there’s no way you’re going to lose to somebody from Bradford County who had never run before.”

At her swearing-in ceremony in January, Garrity did something most unusual. She offered Torsella an opportunity to deliver some remarks. “Joe rose above politics and helped ensure a smooth transition. As we say in the military, thanks for your service.”

In her inaugural address, Garrity touched upon several key points that have been a part of her life. “Service to others, be it in elected office or wearing the uniform of our country, is the highest calling.”

“Getting the job done in good faith and with honest effort is the watchword by which I promise to serve. I say we look ahead to a place of optimism and cooperation.”

Garrity says her goal for the office is to make transparency a top priority and put taxpayers first. “Putting those checks and balances in place is what I want to focus on so that we can make sure that we’re being a good steward of our taxpayers’ money. Taking transparency to the next level is something that I want to do, and then probably further enhancing the savings programs.”

Throughout her journey from rural Pennsylvania to the battlefields of Iraq and then through the rigors of a political campaign, Garrity has never forgotten her roots. Her advice to young girls and women is to remain true to your values.

“I’ve really tried to live my life with integrity, selfless service, honor, loyalty, and duty. If somebody like me from Bradford County, who grew up on the left side of middle-class, can put myself through college, join the military, then work in manufacturing and become the first female vice president in my company, deploy three times overseas, and retire a colonel, then anyone can do it.”

As for the next part of the Stacy Garrity journey, only one person knows for sure.

“People have already called me about running for other offices, and I’ve told them I campaigned on staying in the job for four years and want to be the best treasurer I can for the people of Pennsylvania. And then we’ll see what God has in store for me.”

Spoken like a true non-politician.

[funnyfolk]

The Tent

I was lucky enough to grow up in the sleepy countryside further North than I am now. My days were filled with big fields, meandering streams and local pubs who would serve a 12 year old a pint if they knew who their dad was (like a farmers Masonic lodge, there’s straw everywhere and a faint smell of cow). One of the highlights of my youth was a festival held deeper in the depths of the countryside, into the picturesque valleys of closer to wales than anyone will admit. The valley provided the perfect backdrop for consuming large amounts of brightly coloured alcohol until you couldn’t see, cow tipping and sourcing your red diesel. Legend had it there were panthers and all sorts lurking about up there but then there was also some fairly strong psychotropic mushrooms going around at the time so that was taken with a pinch of salt. I never went in for psychotropic drugs, the thought of suddenly being surrounded by shapeshifting rabbits and jumping out of windows was unappealing. I digress.

Festival time rolled around again and I was working in the local hardware shop (I stand by this shop being integral to the functioning of the village. I was a hero in a blue polo neck). During my time of employment in the house of the never ending lightbulb (a nightmare to organise) a young man used to come into the shop fairly regularly, for the purposes of this story we shall call him Peter. I had known Peter for a great many years, he had been a couple of years above me at the substandard secondary school we both attended. I used to find Peter and his friends lurking in the back lane to my house, smoking and talking about boobs (I imagine, they were 15 year old boys. I can’t think what else they would have to talk about). I had an adolescent crush on Peter so naturally used to berate him for his smoking habit, a memory we later shared over several pints whilst working through a pack of tobacco like a pair of poorly swept chimneys. I was such a self righteous adolescent until I discovered alcohol, cigarettes and my ability to adopt the roll of the class clown (much to the annoyance of most teachers, my parents and the librarian) that I had somehow convinced myself that acting like a 40 year old parish councillor would make Peter fall in love with me. It did not. Peters semi regular visits to the shop used to be the highlight of my fairly mundane existence.

The weekend of the aforementioned festival arrived and I had planned to attend the event with friends for what I had built up in my mind to be the night of the year. The vodka had been bought (and smashed, then subsequently re bought) there was beer and brightly coloured spirits with labels written exclusively in polish and we had picked outfits suitable for being in the middle of a field but still retaining an air of nonchalant style. As i worked away in the little shop- one hour feeling like 4- in came Peter. It transpired that he also would be attending the weekends frivolities and as such I gracefully hinted that I might see him there. He told me that he would have to get in in the boot of his friends car because he hadn’t bought a ticket, which was probably the sexiest thing seventeen year old me had ever heard, my insides turned to mush and I spent the rest of the day looking misty eyed into the distance thinking of all the romantic ways we could meet up and declare our undying love for each other (full of cheap alcohol, yet still able to speak without dribbling. High hopes.).

The time finally came for to leave for the festival and we piled in the car of a friend of a friend who was frankly far too old to be ferrying around a load of excitable 17 year olds. On reflection I question his motives. We arrived in the picturesque valley, and within three minutes I’d seen four vaginas, a penis and a poorly hidden sexual act. I was having the time of my life. The next forty minutes were spent filling ourselves with as much cheap alcohol as possible and busily speculating about the evening, whilst sat in the caravan of another man who looked as though he shouldn’t be around children. As I stumbled out into the vast expanse of fields, I followed the sounds of alcohol induced vomiting to find the toilets. As I wandered through the field in an alcohol haze , who should I bump into but Pete! What luck! Words were exchanged and I must have been both coherent and persuasive because we tripped off into the field to sit together and listen to music we didn’t like whilst drinking alcohol that made us feel sick.

The evening wore on and at some point, magic happened. Pete kissed me. Or I kissed Pete, whatever, his face was on my face and things were looking promising. We made our way back to his tent (which, on reflection was exceedingly lucky because I hadn’t actually worked out where I was supposed to sleep). What followed was classic drunken fumbling in the dark. Pete had managed to pitch his tent (pun intended) on a slope, which lead to many a polite and slightly trepidatious “Um.. sorry... could we just... my neck is at a funny angle...” and a number of awkward stop starts, as we retreated back up the slope to the top of the tent. Now, I look back at this evening with a sense of regret. Not for Pete, I liked him very much for quite some time and indeed I still see him occasionally when I return back to the promised land of trees and cow shit (he has a delightfully tiny girlfriend now.). No, I regret not actually going ahead and doing the deed. In my adolescent hormone riddled brain, filled with the advice of Mizz magazine (excellent free gifts, fantastic problem page) I decided that in order for Pete to foresee a future with me, I best not sleep with him. Hand stuff was fine, oral was maybe crossing a line but I’d risk that, but no full sex. Put me in this situation now, and I would have already been well into round three without so much as stopping for a rejuvenating cup of tea (judge as you will, I know what I like), but all those years ago my abstinence did not waver. The fumbling continued until we heard voices outside... and the unmistakable sound of the outer entrance of the love tent being unzipped. Loud protestations followed as I made myself decent and after scrabbling around I managed to put some clothes on. It was one of Peters friends inviting us to sit by the fire and enjoy the bohemian sounds of a poorly played guitar. The offer was accepted and I sat by a fire with people I didn’t know wondering when I could get back to fumbling. It was a delightful experience and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, Petes friends were just as lovely as he was and I basked in the warm glow of the fire thinking “this couldn’t have gone much better”. Eventually we returned to our abode for the evening, fumbled some more and then fell asleep (it wasn’t very romantic, I’m an unattractive sleeper and I’ve often been compared to a corpse that occasionally twitches and speaks. Evil dead style.). The next day rolled around and everyone hazily stumbled around, still half drunk from the night before and wondering if there was any chance of a full English in the heart of the sleepy countryside on a Sunday morning (there wasn’t).

Peter very kindly offered to drive me home, which, on reflection probably wasn’t really that kind as he only lived three minutes away from me. He was pretty much obliged I realise now. On the way home through the country lanes my favourite song (Jamie T- Sheila) blared out of be radio (with a tape deck) and I confidently recited every single word perfectly without missing a beat, until I realised it was a radio edit and an entire chunk was missing from the middle of it, I was too late and had already launched into the verse before I realised. The wind was rushing through my already out of control hair (I looked like a lion) and the sun was blazing down upon the lush green countryside. Life was looking good. Peter dropped me off home and said a casual hello to my mother who was loitering about in the kitchen with a glint in her eye. The sly old dog knew exactly what I had been up to but spared me the humiliation of ever asking about it. As we walked down the garden to put my camping equipment (a sleeping bag) into the shed Peter pulled me in for a snog as soon as we were shielded by the large and fairly out of control ivy bush. I was stunned and more than a little excited- this was the morning after! Maybe this was something? Maybe I could replay my drunken fumblings with Peter for real? repeatedly? It was not. Peter and I crossed paths romantically a couple of times after that however, the romance burned quite considerably brighter on my side than it did his. In the end, his sister, who was also the local barmaid, informed me that maybe he would prefer someone who was more conventionally attractive (thin). I gave up after this. The moral of this story is, always fuck on the first date if that’s what you feel like. You may never get another opportunity.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – THE PAST REVISITED

Duns House, Berwickshire

Abby was in her chamber, sitting in her favourite chair by the window, looking out over the grounds of Duns House. A grey mist had settled over the landscape, obscuring most of the view. A few trees loomed out of the mist, like ghostly skeletons of their former selves, and a lone stag stood on a rise, bellowing, his breath clouding the air. She was thinking about Marcus; it had been more than a sevenday since he had left her, and four days since he had gone to the castle to meet with the Warden. She had heard nothing since and was worried. Alasdair had thankfully left again, and he hadn’t bothered her while he was here, leaving her to Sinclair, who had come by every day to make sure she was obeying Alasdair’s orders to stay in the house. Raven had been worried as well, and had ridden to camp that morning to see if she could find out what had happened to Kane and Jaha. Abby was expecting her back later that night with an update.

There was a knock at the door, and she turned as Sinclair walked in followed by Blake. Blake was ashen-faced and Abby’s stomach flipped. He didn’t smile at her and she knew immediately something had happened. Whatever it was didn’t bother Sinclair as much as it did Blake because his greeting was cheerier than usual.

“Good morning, My Lady!”

Abby somehow managed to form words, though she didn’t know how because her throat was dry. “Sinclair.”

“Wonderful news, My Lady. The Grey Wolf has been captured!”

It was a good job Abby was sitting down because she was certain she would have fallen down otherwise upon hearing these words. She gripped the arm of her chair to steady herself.

“What do you mean?”

“He has been taken alive, My Lady. Lord Griffin apprehended the monster himself.”

Sinclair smiled with pride but Abby was horrified. She could hardly take in the news. Alasdair had captured Marcus! Her worse fears had come true. She looked at Blake, hoping he would say it was all a mistake, knowing that he would not.

“Blake?”

“It is true, Mistress. I have seen him myself.”

“You’ve seen him? Where is he?”

“He is at Lightwater Castle. He has been there four days now.”

Sinclair frowned. “What concern is it of yours where he is, My Lady? Ye are not still bothered about what happens to him, surely?” Sinclair knelt before her, took her hands in his. “Forgive me, Mistress, but he is not worth protecting. He has confessed to defiling thee during the raid. He is going to pay for that and all his other crimes.”

Abby ignored Sinclair; she only had eyes and ears for Blake. “He has confessed? Why would he do that?”

“Because it is the truth, Mistress.” Blake shook his head, while looking at Sinclair, trying to tell her to keep quiet but Abby was beside herself, and was in no mood to be reasonable.

“Was he beaten?”

Blake nodded, and Abby cried out. “Oh!” Visions of Marcus flashed through her mind, curled up in a dirty prison, bloodied and bruised. She had to do something, try to save him somehow.

Sinclair stood up; put his hands on his hips. “What is going on, here?”

“Sir, I think the Mistress is unwell. Perhaps we should leave her to rest.”

“The Mistress is not unwell, Blake. She is upset, over a captured reiver who has confessed to using her in a most disgusting manner. I am at a loss to explain yer attitude, My Lady.”

Abby got up from the chair, crossed to where Blake was standing. She turned to face Sinclair. “He has not used me, Sinclair. I have been willing.”

“Mistress.” Blake put his hand on Abby’s arm.

“No, Blake. It is time he knew the truth. We need help if we are to free Marcus.”

“He is yer husband’s man, Mistress.”

“He was Jacob’s first, and he doesn’t know who he is dealing with. At least, I hope he doesn’t.”

Sinclair was staring at them both, shock and confusion on his face. “Will ye stop talking about me as though I’m not here, and tell me what is going on! Ye were willing to be raped, My Lady? I do not understand thee.”

“No. I was never raped. He never had me that day, he just pretended to.”

“Why?”

“Because he is a good man, Sinclair. I know that is hard for you to understand, but if you let me tell you the tale, I think you will come to see the truth of it.”

Sinclair sighed. “This is most disturbing, My Lady.”

“You are right; it is a disturbing story. Will you let me tell it?”

“Aye. Ye have piqued my interest, I cannot deny. Ye may not like my response, though. I am not going to agree with thee just because ye think I should.”

“I would expect nothing less, Sinclair. I trust you, and your judgement. I will tell you everything, and you must make up your own mind.”

“Very well, then.”

Abby arranged the chairs so that they could see each other and she, Sinclair and Blake sat down. She was nervous, but not as much as she thought she would be. She believed Sinclair was a good man. He knew what Alasdair was like with her, and probably knew some of what he was like with others. As Heid of the Guard he must see a lot, but Alasdair was devious, and had hidden the worst of his behaviour well. She had to trust that Sinclair did not know the extent of it, and that he would believe her and want to help her. If he did not; if he betrayed her to Alasdair, then so be it. She was starting to learn not to measure her worth against that of other people, but she did not want to live without Marcus, and she certainly could not go on living with Alasdair. This was it now, do or die, and she was willing to face both eventualities. She took a deep breath, and then started to recite her tale. She started at the beginning, and the pale sun had crossed the sky by the time she finished.

Silence followed. Sinclair had not interrupted her once while she told her story, although his face had betrayed much of what he was thinking. He had been stony-faced at first, then curious, then horrified, and finally he just sat shaking his head. Whether it was in disbelief or anger she couldn’t tell. Finally, he spoke.

“I need a drink, after hearing that. Fetch some wine, Blake.”

Blake hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave Abby alone when they didn’t know what Sinclair’s response was going to be.

“It is fine, Blake. Please do as Sinclair asks. Bring us all a goblet.”

Blake left the room and Abby looked at Sinclair. He shook his head again.

“It is a lot to take in, My Lady.”

“I know. It was a lot for me, and most of it I have only learned this past fortnight.”

“Can I ask thee something?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Can I see them? Yer scars?”

“Oh.” Abby had not expected him to focus on that part of the story, so his question surprised her.

“Please, My Lady.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Abby stood up and undid the buttons on the back of her dress. She turned around and let the bodice slip down, revealing her back to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She buttoned herself back up as best she could and turned around. Sinclair had tears in his eyes, and when she saw them, Abby began to cry as well, for the first time since she had heard the news about Marcus. She had held herself together well, but seeing Sinclair’s distress was too much.

“Sinclair.”

“Mistress, why didn’t ye tell me?”

“I could not. You are his man.”

“I know he’s not a good man. I know he has done many bad things and I have shut my eyes to them, but if I had known this…”

“What? What could you have done?”

Sinclair shook his head. “I don’t know, but something. I would have tried to help thee.”

“No one could help me, Sinclair. Do not feel bad, it is in the past. Are you with me now?”

“Aye, My Lady.”

“Please, call me Abigail. We are about to commit treason together. My Lady is too formal.”

“I am not sure that I can.”

“Please try.”

Blake entered the room at that moment, and set the wine and the goblets down on the table. He poured them each a good measure. Sinclair downed his in one and so Blake topped it up again. Abby sipped at hers. She wanted to remain as clear-headed as possible. If Sinclair was on board, as he seemed to be, they needed to form a plan of rescue, and there was no time to waste, but first, she needed to know what had happened to Marcus in the castle.

“Blake. You said you had seen Kane. What was the circumstance?”

“He was strung up, Mistress, in one of the chambers of the castle. I wasn’t there to witness what had happened before that, but I heard that he managed to escape Lord Griffin and got to the causeway but the sea had come in and his horse was in danger of drowning. Lord Griffin put him in a dungeon for two days with no food or water and then had him brought upstairs for questioning. That’s when I first came across him.”

Alasdair had had Marcus strung up so that he could question him, and no doubt beat him, while he was defenceless. When she did not think he could get any more loathsome, he did.

“What was the questioning?”

“The Master accused Kane of raping his brother’s wife. Kane denied it, said they both knew who had really done it. I wasn’t sure what he meant at first but Lord Griffin seemed to know and he didn’t deny anything. He asked Kane if he had raped thee, Mistress, and he said he had. Then Lord Griffin beat him with a club.”

Guilt overwhelmed Abby. Marcus had no choice but to admit the rape because to deny it would be to accuse Abby of lying, and he would never do that. Why had she not just told Alasdair the truth in the first place? If she had done that, he would not be so hell bent on destroying Marcus. She had let her anger with Alasdair for not supporting her get the better of her, and now the man she loved was going to die because of it.

“We have to save him,” she said. “He is innocent.”

“We will, Mistress, but there is one more thing. Lord Griffin wanted some papers that he thought Kane had, but he could not find them. Kane refused to tell him where they were, so the Master got very angry. I thought he was going to kill him, so I managed to stop him.”

“Those are the papers I was telling you about,” said Abby. “But where are they? Raven said Kane had them on him, and he was only going to give them directly to the Warden.”

“I don’t know, Mistress, but right now, the fact that the Master doesn’t have those papers is the only thing keeping Kane alive.”

“Then we must hurry. What do you know about the Isle of Light?”

“It is accessible only twice a day, when the tide is low, and at the moment that is either during the day or after midnight,” replied Sinclair.

“After midnight would be good. No one will see us.” Abby could picture them now, sneaking across on their horses in the dead of night.

“No My Lady, er, Abigail. It is treacherous ground. It is a new moon and will be black as pitch.”

“We can take lights.”

“Lights would be seen from the Priory and ye have to go past that to get tae the castle. They’d be waiting for us.”

Abby was disappointed. It had seemed such a good idea. If that was the only way on and off the island, how were they going to rescue Marcus?

“We could get a boat,” said Blake. “A fishing boat, get up alongside the castle. There are some old lime kilns down on the shore that would provide cover.”

“We would still need a light,” said Sinclair.

“Aye, but a light on a fishing boat is to be expected.”

“True.” Sinclair rubbed his chin as he considered the plan. “It could work.”

“Then we just need to get a boat,” said Abby. Hope was rising within her.

“Aye,” said Blake. “And get into the castle, find Kane, release him from his dungeon, sneak him out and into the boat and get away without his guards noticing. Nae problem.”

“Guards can be bribed,” replied Sinclair.

“I don’t have any money.”

“There are other ways than money, Abigail. Leave it tae me.”

She nodded at Sinclair, satisfied with their plan, relieved to be doing something to help Marcus.

Suddenly the door banged open and Harper ran in, skidding to a halt in front of them. “The Master,” she said in between taking great gulps of air. “On his way.”

“Shit,” said Sinclair.

Abby looked at the wine on the table, and the three of them standing close together. They were the very definition of a conspiracy. She quickly opened the window and flung the goblets and the wine outside, fervently hoping no one was standing beneath because a wine bottle falling four floors was going to do someone’s head a lot of damage. Her heart was pounding, her limbs shaking with fear, and anticipation. She was excited, she had to admit. Her blood was warm, as Marcus would say. She sat back down in her chair. Sinclair and Blake stood beside her, as though they had just come to check on her. They got into position just as Alasdair strode through the door.

“Here you all are,” he said.

“Just checking on My Lady, Sir,” said Sinclair. His voice was even enough but Abby could detect an edge to it, a hint of steel that had never been there before when he talked to Alasdair. She didn’t think her husband would notice, he was clearly desperate to share his news. He had a broad smile on his face and he was all puffed up, chest pushed forward, back straight. He had a small cut on his neck that was scabbing over. Abby hoped Kane had given it him when he first tried to escape. She concentrated on that point now as he spoke to her.

“Have you heard the news, Abigail? I have snared the Wolf!”

“Sinclair has just informed me. Congratulations.”

Alasdair rubbed his hands together. “He has confessed to it all. To attacking me, robbing me of my property, your defilement and that of his brother’s wife. He’s going to swing faster than you can say good riddance, Grey Wolf!”

“Congratulations, My Lord.” Sinclair held his hand out to Alasdair who shook it. “When is the Sheriff heading to the island, Sir?”

“Oh, I’m not keeping him at the island. He’s already on his way elsewhere.”

Abby struggled to hide her shock. She resisted the temptation to look at the others, but it was hard.

“Where is he being taken, Sir?”

“Here.”

“Here?” Sinclair was shocked. “To Duns House?”

“No, not here, man, to Kelso Castle. I’m going to make an example of him on his own turf, in front of all his cronies.” Alasdair gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I will be in my chamber. I don’t wish to be disturbed, I have much to do.” With that he left.

Abby, Blake and Sinclair looked at each other.

“We need a new plan,” said Sinclair.

---

Kelso, Roxburghshire

In the dark of a cold November night, under a cloudy, moonless sky with no stars to light the way, two figures crept through the streets of Kelso, hugging the walls that surrounded the town. Dressed in dark cloaks, the hoods up and pulled tight to conceal their faces, they moved like shadows towards the castle keep, where a man was waiting for them, ready to open the door at their knock. Abby was one of those figures, and she hesitated as she reached the heavy wooden door. She raised her hand to knock but suddenly she couldn’t do it.

“Is there a problem?” whispered Sinclair.

She turned to him. “What if it’s a trap, or he has been taken ill and there’s someone else on duty?”

“This man is a long-standing friend. I have faith in him. As for the other possibility. That is a risk we must take.”

She nodded. It wasn’t that she was worried for herself so much, she had thrown caution to the wind the day she met Marcus Kane; she was concerned for Marcus, didn’t want to jeopardise his safety if they were caught. He had already been punished enough by Alasdair. She knocked softly on the door, unwilling to make too much noise it was so quiet in the town. There was no answer.

“Ye’ll have tae knock louder than that, Abigail,” said Sinclair. “Shall I do it?”

“No.” Abby wanted to do this herself, take as much of the responsibility as she could. She knocked louder, flinching as the sound echoed between the walls of the castle and the surrounding houses. The door creaked as it opened, and a face peered out at them.

“Ye’re late,” the man said.

“Aye, sorry about that, Stephen. We got held up at the house.” Sinclair shook hands with the man and he stood to one side to let them pass into the castle.

Abby looked around. They were in a narrow stone passageway with a low ceiling. She had no trouble standing up in it but Sinclair and Stephen had to bow their heads as they walked. The hallway was bathed in an orange glow from the light of candles attached to the walls. Sinclair had told her the passageway was used to take goods in and out of the castle, and sometimes the mistresses of the Abbot who lived in the castle rather than in the priory on the other side of town. Now it was being used to allow her to see Marcus for what she hoped would not be the last time. Stephen led them along the passageway and down some steps to another passageway almost identical to the one they had just walked through. It was colder down here, though, as they were beneath the ground. There was a large door at the far end with iron bars across it and a huge lock. Stephen pulled back the bars and searched through his enormous bunch of keys for the right one, before inserting it and opening the door. Abby went through. The room she was in had a series of archways along both sides, each with a wooden door. The doors had barred openings half-way up. The room stretched as far as her eye could see. They were in the basement of the castle, in the gaol. Anticipation grew inside Abby, making her limbs tingle and her heart race. Marcus was in one of these chambers.

“Keep yer hood up,” said Stephen as he led them to a chamber half-way along the room. He inserted a key into the lock and opened the door. “Ye have five minutes.”

Abby nodded and stepped through into the chamber, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. Only a faint light entered the chamber from the outside, but it was enough for her to make out a figure sitting in the corner. He got to his feet, chains rattling, as Stephen closed the door behind her. Abby swallowed a cry at the groans he made as he straightened himself up.

“What do ye want?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“Marcus, it’s me!”

“Abby?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me, it’s Abby. Oh, it’s so good to see you.” She pushed her hood back and stepped forward at the same time Marcus did and they were face to face at last. His eyes were wide with shock, the whites of them bright in his dirty face. He was bruised, the skin she could see was mottled purple and yellow. He had a barely-healed cut on his lip where his old scar was, the one he had got in a fight with his brother.

“Abby,” he said again.

Abby reached up and put her hands on the side of his head and planted kisses all over his face, from his forehead, along the fine bridge of his nose, to his cheeks, which were hollow, the bones hard-edged beneath her lips, his beard rough and prickly. She kissed his mouth, pressing lightly so she didn’t disturb his cut. He didn’t respond at first, his lips remaining shut in a thin, tight line, and then he opened his mouth a little, and she took advantage, slipping her tongue in to taste him. He moaned, and then began kissing her back, hot and urgent. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her hard to him.

“Is this a dream?” he whispered into her mouth.

She broke away from his lips to kiss his neck, along his throat. “No, love, it is not a dream. I am here. Feel me.”

His hands slipped beneath her cloak, the chains heavy against her as he roamed her body, mapping the shape of her, and she pressed herself to him. She wanted him so badly, even now, in this most inappropriate of places, she wanted him to touch her, bring her to life like he always did, but it could not be.

“Ye are here, my Abby.” His voice was so rough, cracking with emotion, that it brought tears to Abby’s eyes.

“Yes, but I do not have long.” She stepped away from him reluctantly.

“What are ye doing here? How?”

“Sinclair has a friend who owed him a favour.”

“Sinclair?” He sounded bewildered, and she couldn’t blame him. What a shock it must be for him to have her suddenly here in his cell, when he had been alone for so long.

“Yes, he is our ally now, but I don’t have time for the full story. You have to trust me.”

“I do, but Abby.”

“Shush, listen. We are going to save you. I just need to get money together, to give to Stephen, the man who has let us in here today.”

“Why can’t we leave now, if he has let ye in here already?”

“He is willing to help us, Marcus, but if he let you leave now, he would be blamed, and hanged in your place. He needs money, to get away from here as soon as you are escaped.”

“Aye, of course. No one else must die because of me.” He took her hand in his, caressed it. “Abby, I don’t like the sound of this. It is too dangerous. If ye are caught, ye will be condemned to death too.”

“Then I won’t get caught. Please, Marcus. Let me help you. Let me save you, as you have saved me.”

He sighed. “Where are ye going to get the money from?”

“I have some jewels to give him.”

“Ye cannae give him yer jewels, Abby. Alasdair will notice they are gone.”

“What does that matter once you are free?”

“I won’t be free. I’ll be on the run. I’ll have tae leave here, go tae England, or France even.”

“And I will come with you.”

“Oh, Abby. Have ye thought this through? What will we live on? That’s no life for thee.”

“I can determine what life I want to lead, Marcus. Anyway, when you are free what is to stop us continuing with our plan? You still have the papers, don’t you?”

“They are hidden in the dungeon at Lightwater Castle.”

“Then we will retrieve them, and we will use them to blackmail Alasdair into granting me a divorce. He gets to keep his good name, his land and titles, and we get to walk away.”

Marcus shook his head. Abby wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t like her plan, or he was afraid for her safety.

“I don’t want ye to sell yer jewels, Abby.”

“I have to, and even that will not be enough. Do you still have my cross, the one Jacob gave me?”

“Ye are not selling that to save me. No.”

“Marcus, it is only jewellery, and he would want to help me, I know he would.”

Marcus folded his arms in a gesture of defiance, and didn’t speak, just stood with his lips tightly pursed.

Abby sighed. “Then I will have no choice but to sell my body. I have learned how to use it well these last few months.”

Marcus stared at her open mouthed, and she smiled. He laughed then. “Aye, ye would fetch a pretty price, I’m sure.” He caressed her cheek, wincing as he lifted the heavy chains up to do it.

“Marcus, you’re hurt. I haven’t even asked how you are I was just so happy to see you.”

“I’m fine, dinnae worry about me. Listen, Alice might be able to help you, with the money.”

“Your sister-in-law?”

“Aye. She keeps a little money of mine, from before. I didn’t know about it for a long time, but she got a message to me once, said she had hidden it, and it was there if ever I needed it. I didn’t want any reminders of my life before, but it’s yours, Abby, if ye’ll take it.”

“Will she see me?”

“I don’t see why not. Ye’ll have tae hurry, though. My execution is set for the day after tomorrow, and it’s a long way to Weatherton.”

The door opened, and Stephen entered. “Ye’ll have to leave now, My Lady. It is time.”

“Just one moment. Please.”

He nodded and went to stand outside in the passageway.

Abby turned back to Marcus. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. He held out his arms and she fell into them, embracing him so hard he let out a small gasp of pain. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be. It is a beautiful pain.” He kissed her, and it was bittersweet, because no matter how optimistic she was about her plan, it felt like goodbye.

“I’ll be back for you, I promise.”

He nodded. “Stay strong, Abby.”

“I love you, Marcus. I love you so much.”

“My Lady. Ye must come now.” Stephen came right into the room, so she had no choice but to leave.

Abby nodded, and smiled at Marcus, before turning and walking out of the cell. She had to force her legs to move, because all her body wanted was to stay in there with him, be with him until they both died if that was how it had to be. Sinclair was waiting, and he put his arm around her as they retraced their steps back to the passageway, and the door to the outside world. She felt like she was leaving Marcus behind forever.

---

Weatherton, Dumfriesshire

It was late in the afternoon before Abby had been able to leave for Weatherton in Dumfriesshire. She had updated Raven on her meeting with Marcus as soon as she had returned to Duns House, and the girl had promptly ridden to the Isle of Light to see if she could find where Marcus had hidden the papers. Alasdair had then moved the household back to Arkholm as it was closer to Kelso and she had spent the morning packing her things and transporting them back to the tower. Normally, she would have been excited about going back to Arkholm, because it was the home she loved the most, but the delay it caused only made her anxious. She was reunited with Juno, however, and seeing her beloved horse gave her great happiness. Thankfully, Alasdair had promptly left for Kelso, where he intended to spend the time before Kane’s execution, no doubt with his mistress. He had insisted Sinclair go with him, so it was Blake who was accompanying her on her journey across hill and dale to Dumfries. It was a long journey and to make it there and back in time they had stayed overnight in a small cottage belonging to a friend of Blake’s. Now they were getting close to Weatherton and Abby was excited to see where Marcus grew up, to stand in the place that shaped the young boy, and the man she loved, but she was also nervous. She had to persuade Alice to speak to her, give her the money, and then face the long ride back to Kelso to arrive before dawn. They had to rescue Kane under cover of darkness; there was no room for error, no way she could be late. She didn’t like to think about what would happen if Alice wasn’t there, or if she refused to give Abby the money. She trusted to hope, and spurred her horse on ever faster.

Kane’s home, Weatherton Castle, sat at the foot of a range of hills, and as Abby and Blake crested the final hill, she looked down on the plain, and got a bird’s eye view of his ancestral home. It was nothing like she had expected, and was the most unusual castle she had ever seen. The fortifications were laid out in a triangle, with a large gatehouse at one point and two smaller towers at the others. The main house and courtyard sat within the walls and the whole castle was surrounded by a triangular moat and a large grassy bank. The castle was made of sandstone, and stood out proudly, orange-red against the blue of the sky and the dark waters of the moat.

“Have you ever seen anything like that?” she said to Blake.

“No, Mistress. It is astounding.”

“It is. Let us descend and go to the gatehouse.”

They followed a rough path down the side of the hill. Abby imagined Marcus running about these hills as a child, hunting rabbits, laughing and chasing his brother, his dark hair flopping in his eyes. The image made her smile. Up close the gatehouse was imposing, with twin towers either side of an arched entrance. The Kane family crest was carved into the stone above the archway. It was two wolves, poised as if about to pounce, staring out at the viewer with curious eyes. So, that was why he was called the Grey Wolf! All the time she had known him he had never told her, and she had never asked. She had meant to, but then he had turned up injured and she had forgotten all about it. A wooden drawbridge lay across the moat to the entrance of the gatehouse and they rode across, before dismounting when they reached an iron portcullis within the arch of the gatehouse. A guard came out of a small room off to one side.

“My Lady. What is yer business here?”

“I am here to see Lady Alice Kane, is she at home?” Abby held her breath while she waited for the guard to answer. If Alice wasn’t home, then their journey was for naught.

“She is, My Lady. Whom shall I say is calling?”

“My name is Lady Abigail…” Abby hesitated. Would Alice receive her if she said her name was Griffin? Would she want to see the wife of the man who raped her? She had not thought this through, so eager had she been to save Marcus. He had seemed sure that Alice would see her, but now that Abby was here, in the place where it had all happened, carrying that hated name with her like a stain that could not be washed out, she was not so certain. What else could she say, though? Why would Alice receive a stranger?

“My Lady, are you unwell?”

Abby had paused mid-sentence, and had been quiet too long, she realised. “Yes, I am sorry. Please tell her that Lady Abigail Griffin wishes to speak with her.”

“Very well, My Lady. Please wait a moment.”

The guard summoned another guard who was on the other side of the portcullis and instructed him to find Lady Alice. Abby looked at Blake. He raised his eyebrows in a “let us wait and see” gesture.

“Kane’s home is not what I expected,” he whispered.

“No. It is much grander than I thought it would be”, Abby replied.

“Did ye know his family was this wealthy?”

Abby shook her head. “I know nothing about them.” It was becoming clearer to her now just how much Marcus had given up for the sake of Alice, and his family’s reputation.

The guard returned and there was a loud clanking noise and the grinding of cogs as the portcullis was slowly lifted.

“Please follow me. I’ll show ye where to stable yer horses.” Abby and Blake passed beneath, following the guard to the stable where they handed their horses to the groomsman.

“Perhaps it is best if you wait here, Blake.”

“Are ye sure, Mistress? Will ye be alright?”

“I am sure. This is something I must do alone. I will be fine.” She patted Blake’s arm and then followed the guard across the courtyard to the main house. The door opened into a large hallway with whitewashed walls covered in portraits of what she presumed were Kane family ancestors. Oak tables and cabinets lined one side of the hallway, heavy, solid pieces that looked centuries old. Bronze statues of deer and wolves sat on top, with jugs of pewter and ornately-carved candlesticks.  At the end of the hallway was a huge door, the wood almost black with age, and studded with iron rivets. It was made to be imposing and Abby began to lose her resolve as she contemplated what was on the other side. Alice was waiting for her, and Abby had no idea how well she would be received. She had imagined walking in, telling Alice that Marcus was in need and Alice being so moved by his plight she would run to get the money and Abby would be on her way before Juno had finished her hay. Now she had a sick feeling that it was not going to be as simple as that.

The guard opened the door and showed Abby into the Grand Hall. It was twice the size of the hall at Duns House if not bigger, with a vaulted ceiling almost as high as the whole house. Huge tapestries hung on the stone walls depicting scenes from history, battles that she suspected the Kane family had been involved in themselves. Three large oak dining tables with benches sat in the main area of the hall, but Abby took no notice of them. Her eye was drawn instead to the portraits hanging over the fireplace. There were three. An older man with sandy hair and a pale face stared out at her from one. He had a strong face, with heavy cheekbones, pale blue eyes and a nose that she recognised immediately. It was Marcus’s nose, only straighter, perhaps as his must have been before whatever fight he was in caused it to bend in that way she found so endearing. The portrait must be that of his father, Lord Robert Kane, and the one next to it was unmistakably Marcus’s mother because he favoured her with his black wavy hair and dark eyes. His mother’s hair was braided like Abby’s but she could tell it was curly from the way it was fighting to escape the braid, wisps of it sticking out everywhere, the way Marcus’s hair never seemed to lie still, as though it had a life of its own. Abby felt a warmth towards her immediately. She was in a serious, dignified pose, but the artist had captured her twinkling eyes and the slight smile that was tugging at her thin lips, Marcus’s lips. Beneath those portraits hung one other, that of his brother, James. He was blonde and blue-eyed like his father, and nothing like Marcus at all save for the same mouth. What caught her eye more than the pictures themselves, though, was the space next to James, where clearly Marcus’s portrait had been before his disgrace. The family had not sought to replace it, or rearrange the other pictures to hide the space; it had simply been left, perhaps as a permanent reminder of what he had done, and what they had lost.

“My Lady.” The guard disturbed Abby’s reverie and she followed him to a nook at the end of the Great Hall, where two richly-covered sofas were arranged around a small table. This end of the room was panelled in oak, which should have given it more warmth, but instead it seemed austere, with landscape pictures on the walls that all appeared to have been painted during extreme weather conditions or in poor light. Abby could not imagine Marcus living in a place like this; it was too cold, too stiff and formal. His spirit could never have been happy cooped up here, and she wondered if he would ever be able to live this life again. His life now may be poor and sparse, but he had freedom, and she couldn’t see him wanting to give that up for anything, maybe not even her.

There was a woman standing at the window, looking out onto the castle’s outer walls. She was dressed simply in a flowing pale green dress, and was tall, and slim, with long arms, and hair so blonde it was almost white.

The guard addressed her. “Lady Alice. The Lady Abigail Griffin is here.”

“Thank you; you may leave us.” She turned, and looked at Abby. Her eyes were the blue of a robin’s egg, her skin creamy and flawless. She was almost ethereal in her beauty and Abby was taken aback. She was suddenly aware that she was dressed in her simple blue riding dress, and her hair had escaped its braid in numerous places, and was falling into her eyes. She was flushed and damp with sweat from her long ride, and her fingernails were dirty from picking a few rare plants she’d spotted along the way. She held her hands together to hide them.

Alice took all of this in, of course, her cool eyes surveying Abby but giving no hint of what she thought.

“Lady Abigail,” she said. “I do not think we have met?”

“No, My Lady. We have not met, but we have a mutual acquaintance.”

“Oh?” Alice flinched, and then straightened again. Abby cursed herself. Alice must have thought she meant Alasdair. Of course, they had two mutual acquaintances but she didn’t know that.

“I am talking of Marcus Kane,” said Abby. “He is, er, a friend of mine.”

“Marcus is a friend of yours? Oh. I thought, with your surname…” She trailed off, and there was an uncomfortable silence while Abby worked up the courage to admit the other man they both had in common.

“Yes.” She coughed. “I am who you probably think I am. Lord Griffin is my husband.”

Alice stared at Abby, but didn’t speak. Abby felt an overwhelming urge to fill the silence.

“I know. Erm, about your circumstances. Marcus. Well, he told me. I know what my husband did to you.” The last words came out in a breathless rush.

“Do you?”

“Yes, and I am sorry, so sorry.”

“I have often wondered what his wife was like. What kind of woman could be married to a man like that.”

Alice was softly spoken, but there was an edge to her voice, sharp steel, that cut into Abby’s veins, making her blood run cold. Abby swallowed. She was completely unprepared for this visit. How could she have thought she could walk into this woman’s home, get what she wanted from her and leave without any disturbance to either of their states of mind? She could not speak; there was a lump in her throat that was preventing words from getting out. She tried to swallow to shift it but it was stubborn.

“You are not as I imagined,” Alice continued.

“Oh,” said Abby at last. “What did you imagine?”

“I imagined you dressed in the finest cloths from around the world, draped in jewels, everything about you perfect and pampered. How else could he get you to turn a blind eye to the man he was?”

“I did not turn a blind eye. I didn’t know what he had done.”

A flush of pink spread across Alice’s nose and cheeks. She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “How could you be married to him and not know?”

Tears didn’t just well up in Abby, they poured out of her, flooding down her cheeks, dripping onto her bodice, staining it dark blue. It was devastating to hear the question she had asked herself so many times coming from this woman, her tone accusatory, disgusted.

“I thought it was just me, that he abused. I didn’t know there were others. He hid it well, and my servants hid it from me. No one told me, until I met Marcus.”

She looked up at Alice, who frowned. Her manner didn’t soften, but she gestured to the sofas. “Let us sit down.”

Abby sat on one sofa and Alice on the other, the table between them.

“He abuses you? How?”

Abby didn’t want to tell her story to this woman, this stranger, but she knew she had to. She owed it to Alice to tell her the truth.

“He takes me by force, when I don’t want to. I never want to but it doesn’t stop him. It is his right, as my husband, I know that, but he is not tender. He does not spare me. And he beat me, for years, because I couldn’t give him a child. He scarred me with a hot poker. He kept me down, belittled me, made me feel worthless until I was at the point where I didn’t question him, I just obeyed to save myself from another beating or dressing down. I was a shadow, existing in the darkness where no one could see me, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. I didn’t know what was going on in the world because I barely existed in it.”

When she finished, she forced herself to look up, to face the woman her husband had wronged so badly. There were tears sliding down Alice’s face as well. There was a silence, save for the sound of two women crying for themselves and each other, and for what they had lost, what had been taken from them.

Alice wiped her face, sucked in her cheeks in an effort to hold the tears back.

“I did not consider that his wife was a victim too. I am sorry for you.”

Abby nodded. “There is no need for you to be sorry, but I am grateful for your consideration.”

“You said you were a friend of Marcus, that he told you about your husband. What is the circumstance of your meeting him? You know he is banished from this house, and why?”

“I do. He told me when we first met that he had not done what he had confessed to, and then a short while ago I found out the whole story. I was devastated. For him, for you.”

“But how did a Lady like you meet a reiver like him? How is he your friend? He is an outlaw.”

“He’s not just my friend.” Abby took a deep breath. She had to be open with Alice, because she wasn’t going to give her the money if she didn’t trust her, if she didn’t know the whole truth. “We have been having a love affair since I met him during a raid back in September. I love him and I think, I know, that he loves me.”

“Oh! But your husband!”

“He does not know, but he has had a vendetta against Marcus ever since he raided us with his clan, and he has finally caught up with him.” She leaned forward. “Alice, Marcus is to be hanged tomorrow. My husband is holding him in Kelso Castle and he means to bring him to the gallows and kill him.”

“Oh!” Alice gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth in shock.

“He told me you were his friend, the only one he liked in his family, that you tolerated him. Those were his words.” Abby gave a small laugh, as Marcus had done when he told her.

Alice smiled. “Yes. I liked him very much, but he didn’t make it easy. He was arrogant, and wilful, and didn’t listen to anyone else.”

Abby laughed. “He is still those things, but he is also kind, and loving, and strong and brave. He is a wonderful man, Alice. I wish you could see him as he is now.”

“What do you want from me, Abigail? You must be here for a purpose.”

“I need money, to bribe his guard so he can escape before his execution tomorrow. I was going to sell what jewels I have but he has refused to allow me. He said you had some money of his, that you would give it to him if he ever needed it. We need it now, Alice.”

Alice sat back on the sofa, surveying Abby. “You are brave, to come here, to face me, knowing what your husband has done. I can see what Marcus likes about you. He always did like a spirited woman.” She paused, and smiled, as though a happy memory had come to her mind. “I do have the money, and you are welcome to it.”

Relief flooded Abby’s veins. “Thank you.”

Alice held up her hand. “There is a condition.”

“If you wish.” Abby felt nervous again. What could Alice want in return?

“I want that husband of yours to face justice. I don’t care how you do it, but he must pay for what he has done, Abigail. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. Of course.” Abby felt guilty, because she had decided that all that mattered was for her and Marcus to be able to live together freely, without the threat of Alasdair hanging over their heads. The only way to do that was with a divorce. It was rare for a woman to divorce a man, but not impossible, and she was convinced they could blackmail Alasdair into allowing it. Now, Alice was wanting justice, and Abby knew in her heart that she was right, but they had trod that path, and it had led to Marcus beaten and languishing in gaol awaiting execution. She put all thoughts of guilt to the back of her mind. All that mattered was getting the money and getting back to Kelso before it was too late, before Marcus was lost to her forever.

Alice seemed satisfied. “Very well then. Please wait here.”

She left the room and Abby sat back. She was shaking, and she wondered if she had been shaking during the whole conversation with Alice, without realising it. She picked at some of the dirt in her fingernails, prising it out in an effort to make herself more presentable, and then didn’t know where to drop it, because everything in the room was so pristine. There was a large fern in a pot near the window, so she went over to it, and dropped the dirt in there, where the soil could be of some use. The view out of the window was just of the castle walls, which seemed to close in as they were set out in a triangle. The house was suffocating, and she couldn’t wait to be able to leave and get back to Kelso.

When Alice returned, Abby was sitting back on the sofa as though she had never left it. She stood up as Alice held out a parcel to her.

“All of the money is there, plus some of my own. It should be more than enough to bribe the guard, and for anything else you might need.”

“Thank you, Alice,” said Abby as she took the package. They stood awkwardly opposite each other, as close as they had been during this whole encounter.

“Give my regards to Marcus.” Alice closed her eyes, and breathed deeply before opening them again. “I am grateful to him. You must believe that. He saved my life, our family life.”

“I know. And he would do it all over again if he had to.”

Alice’s face crumpled at Abby’s words, and tears fell again.

“Oh, I am sorry,” said Abby, and she took hold of Alice and pulled her into a hug. Alice resisted, standing stiffly until Abby held her tighter, whispering to her. “He loves you very much.”

Alice brought her arms up behind Abby, returning the hug. “Thank you.”

She stepped back then. “You must go to him. Hurry.”

“I will.” Abby turned to head back towards the door, and Alice called after her.

“Abigail?”

Abby looked around.

“Yes?”

“Write to me.”

Abby nodded, and smiled, and then walked to the door, pulling it open with some effort. The guard was standing behind and he led her back out of the house to the stable, where Blake was waiting.

“Is everything alright, Mistress?”

“Yes, Blake. I have the money. Let us not delay. I have been longer than I anticipated, and I fear we will not make it before dawn.”

They mounted their horses and Blake led the way back through the portcullis, across the drawbridge and back out onto the hills. They had a long ride back to Kelso, and no time to stop. Blake shouted as he spurred his horse up the rise towards the top of the hill, and Abby followed, her heart thumping in her chest. Would they make it in time?

---

Kelso, Roxburghshire

By the time the River Tweed came into view, Abby was exhausted. Juno had slowed to a trot over the last two miles, refusing to respond to Abby’s desperate urging for her to move faster. Abby couldn’t blame her, would never normally try to force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, but the sky was starting to lighten. They were long past the time she had arranged to meet Stephen and Sinclair, and she was worried they would have given up on her. More to the point, as dawn broke the town would start to wake. The market traders would arrive to set up their stalls, suppliers would come to the castle to bring the food for the day ahead. The baker would already be hard at work in the kitchen. Smuggling Marcus out in the midst of all that activity would be impossible.

When they came to the river they dismounted. Abby handed Juno to Blake.

“Wait here for me.”

“Do ye have the money, Mistress?”

Abby tapped her pouch. “Yes, it is safe in here.”

“Good luck.”

She scrambled down the bank of the river to a point where there was a ford, a shallow place that could be crossed on foot. She lifted her skirts and waded across. The water was deeper than she’d hoped because of recent rains, and was getting closer to the top of her knee-high boots the further across the river she went, until some of it spilled over, down into her boots, ice-cold as it soaked her stockings. She ignored it, continued wading across, fighting the current that threatened to knock her off balance. When she reached the other side, she climbed the bank and found the rough path that led along the outside wall of the castle. Her boots were squelching with every step she took, and the noise was so loud she had to stop, bracing herself against the wall as she took off one boot, turning it upside down so that the water poured out in a long stream, and then doing the same with the other.

The path was normally guarded by a watchman who stood in a hidden alcove set into the wall. Sinclair was supposed to have bribed him with the promise of a tryst with a woman, a thought which disgusted Abby, but needs must. She had found she was prepared to do a lot of things she would never have dreamed she would do only a few months before. She crept along the path edging closer to the alcove, hoping that the guard was still with the woman. She had not bothered trying to come up with a reason for being out on a path outside the castle walls in the early hours of the morning because there wasn’t a plausible one. If she was caught, it was the end for her, but she had promised Marcus she would not get caught, and so far, so good. The alcove was empty, and Abby let out a sigh of relief. There was only a short distance to go and then she was out on the main street, a few steps from the side entrance she had used two nights before. She paused to catch her breath, to ready herself for the next phase, when a hooded figure loomed at her out of the darkness. She nearly screamed, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the noise so that it came out more like a squeak.

“Abigail. It is me, Sinclair.”

Abby’s heart was racing so fast she could hardly breathe. “Sinclair!”

“Aye. I’m sorry if I startled thee.”

“Startled me!” gasped Abby. “You have nearly killed me! I thought I had been discovered.”

“I am sorry.”

“What are you doing out here? We were supposed to meet inside. Is something the matter?” Dread settled over Abby. Had their plans changed? Was Marcus still in the castle? A thought came into her head that filled her with a sense of horror. What if he had been executed early? She would not have known. He might already be dead. A small cry did escape her as she thought that.

“Nothing is the matter. I was concerned about thee. Ye are so late.”

“Oh. It was more difficult than I expected, but I have the money.”

“Good,” said Sinclair. “Then we should delay no further.”

Abby followed him to the door which he opened without knocking. He ushered Abby inside and closed it again. Stephen was waiting for them.

“I’m glad you are here, My Lady.”

“Thank you, Stephen. I have your money. Is Marcus ready?”

“Aye. Ye’d better get down there quickly. He’s like a cat on hot coals. He thinks ye’ve been captured.”

She followed him down the now familiar route, to the large door and through it to the cell where Kane was kept. She could see his hands holding the bars of the window, and when she got closer his hair was visible, because his face was pressed to the bars, straining to look up the hallway towards the sound of their footsteps. She ran ahead of Stephen and grasped his hands.

“Abby!” He beamed at her, lifted her hands and pressed his lips to them through the bars. “Ye came back for me.”

“I told you I would.”

“Step back, My Lady, while I open the door, and be quiet.” Stephen opened the door and Kane tried to push through but Stephen held him back. “We need to get those chains off ye before ye go anywhere otherwise the clanking will wake half the county.”

Abby waited outside in the hallway while Stephen searched his keys for the right one. Kane was tapping his foot with impatience, she could hear the chains moving rhythmically as he did so. The moment he was free he pushed past Stephen and took her in his arms, holding her tight to him, kissing the top of her head. She looked up at him and he kissed her nose, and then captured her lips in a deep kiss.

Stephen’s cough interrupted them. “There’s time enough for that. Let’s get moving.”

Kane took hold of Abby’s hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb, and they headed down the hallway and up the stairs to the low passageway where Sinclair was waiting for them. There was an awkward silence for a moment as the two former enemies came face to face. Sinclair held his hand out to Marcus, who took it, shaking it firmly.

“Thank ye for helping Abigail, and me.”

Sinclair nodded. “Let’s get you out of here first, then ye can thank me.”

Sinclair headed towards the door and Kane bent his head as he followed. The corridor was too narrow for Kane and Abby to walk side by side but he didn’t let go of her hand so she stumbled along behind him, doing a kind of sideways shuffle so they didn’t lose the contact. When they reached the door Sinclair stopped, and turned around with his finger to his lips. He eased the door open and slipped outside, shutting the door behind him. For one heart-stopping moment Abby thought he had locked them in, that he would return any moment with Alasdair in tow and all would be lost. She squeezed Marcus’s hand and he squeezed hers back, pulling her closer to him. Then the door opened and Sinclair was standing in the dawn’s early light. He was alone. Abby breathed a sigh of relief. Sinclair beckoned them out.

“Let us go. It is safe for now.”

Kane started to head to the door, but Abby pulled him back.

“Wait a moment.”

She turned to Stephen. “Thank you for everything you have done. I hope this is enough for you to start a new life.” She handed him the package Alice had given her. There had been a lot more money than Abby was expecting, so she had removed some of it for emergencies.

“Yes, we are most grateful,” said Kane.

Stephen took the package. “Bless you, My Lady. I wish thee both well.”

“Come on! There is no time to waste.” Sinclair was getting anxious and Abby could understand why. She could hear the rumble of cartwheels in the distance. The market traders were on their way.  

Abby took the lead and retraced her steps along the castle wall towards the river. She had to drop Kane’s hand because the path was so narrow and there were places where she had to brace the wall for support. She could hear him breathing behind her, and it was the most comforting sound in the world. By the time they got to the ford it was so light she could see Blake standing on the rise on the other side of the river. He waved at her and she waved back.

“We have to cross here,” she said to Kane. “The current is strong. Will you be alright?”

“Aye, I’ll be fine.” He bent down and took off his boots and tied the laces together. Then he took off his socks, stuffed them into the boots and slung them round his neck before wading into the water. Abby cursed herself for not thinking of doing that when she had first crossed the river. Her feet were still wet and cold so she didn’t bother doing the same, just followed him as he crossed, keeping as close as she could in case he fell. He would be weak from his time in captivity but knowing Kane as she now did, he would ignore that fact and keep going until his body gave up.

Blake scrambled down the river bank as they approached, wading in to the shallows to grab hold of Kane who was stumbling as the strength in his legs started to give way.

“Sir, it is good to see thee.”

Kane collapsed onto the bank as soon as he reached the grass. “It is good to see thee as well.”

“We don’t have time for ye to rest, I’m afraid.”

“I know, son, just let me get my breath back.” Kane sat back on his elbows, breathing heavily.

Abby knelt beside him. “Sit still for a moment. You are weak from your captivity. When was the last time you ate or drank?”

Kane shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Blake. There is some bread and water in my saddle bag I think. Fetch it.”

While she waited for him to fetch the food, Abby took Kane’s boots from round his neck, untied them and took his socks out to put back over his feet. They were threadbare, more holes than wool. She was going to have to learn how to darn at some point as well. That thought made her smile as she slipped his boots on and tied the laces. Kane put his hand on her head and stroked her hair.

“What is amusing you?”

She looked up at him. “Nothing. I am just happy.” Blake returned with the food and she gave the water to Kane. “Just sip it. You can nibble the bread as we go. Take small amounts so your stomach can get used to it.”

“We need to go, Mistress.”

Abby nodded. “Very well.” She turned to Sinclair. “You had better return to Alasdair. How long do we have until he will know Marcus is missing?”

“The execution is set for midday, Abigail,” replied Sinclair. He may want to go and visit Kane beforehand or he may not, I cannot be sure. Either way, he will be expecting you at the market place at midday to witness it.”

“Then we must hurry. I will be back for then.”

Blake pulled Kane to his feet. “Do ye want me to help ye get on my horse? Ye’ll have to ride with me.”

Kane shook his head. “I’ll ride with Abby.”

Abby mounted Juno, and Blake helped Kane to get up behind her. He put his arms around her waist and held on tight. Abby urged Juno forward, and as they got closer to the hills, she relaxed, allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his body wrapped around her, his warm breath on the back of her neck, the soft kisses he planted every now and then in her hair.

Raven was waiting for them at the top of the path that led down to the cave she had found for them weeks ago, and she ran up to Abby, helping Kane down before enveloping him in a big hug.

“I thought I had lost thee forever.”

“Ye can’t get rid of me that easily, ye know that.”

“I have yer horse! And the papers!”

“Ye’re the best, Raven.” Kane sagged in Raven’s arms, and Abby stepped forward.

“Let’s get him to the cave. He needs rest. There’ll be plenty of time for you to catch up later. Blake, can you help?”

Blake put Kane’s arm over his shoulder and guided him down the path to the cave. Inside, Raven had made up a bed with a straw-stuffed cover, and had brought some of Abby’s medicinal potions and tinctures, together with cloths and fresh water. A fire was burning near the entrance, a tin filled with water hanging above it.

“You have done a wonderful job, Raven.” Abby put her hand on the girl’s arm, and she smiled.

“Only the best for him.”

The three of them helped Kane to the bed and laid him down.

“I think we should go and feed the horses, Raven. They have had a long trip,” said Blake.

Raven pulled a face, because she clearly didn’t want to leave Kane, but Blake grabbed her arm and led her out of the cave. Abby heard him say “ye can have him when she’s gone” as they disappeared out of sight. She knelt beside Kane, stroked his matted hair.

“She’s in love with you, isn’t she?”

Kane nodded. “I didn’t know, until just before I left for the island. It is a passing fancy, nothing more.”

“I doubt she feels that way. You must treat her with care.”

“I will. Oh, Abby! I thought ye had been captured, when ye didn’t return on time.”

“I am sorry, my love. It took longer than I thought, and it is a long way. The horses were tired.”

“I know, I know. I was worried, that is all. I could not live, if anything happened to thee.”

She kissed his hand. “Nothing will happen to me, I promise. Now, let me have a look at you. Where do you hurt the most?”

“My stomach.”

She pushed his filthy shirt up over his chest and gasped when she saw his body. His stomach had so many bruises they had merged into one huge purple mark covering his abdomen. It was still an angry purple, fading to yellow around the edges. She placed a gentle hand on it and Kane winced.

“What has he done to you?”

“He’s a cowardly man, Abby.”

“Blake said he hit you with a club.”

“Aye.”

“Oh, Marcus.” She kissed his stomach, her lips barely grazing his skin because she didn’t want to hurt him.

He sighed. “Kisses make everything better.”

“I wish they did, but they will not heal this wound. I will put arnica on it, to help the bruising. She smeared the tincture over his stomach and then wrapped a cloth around him. “Raven will need to put this on you twice a day until the bruising fades.”

“She will enjoy that.”

Abby looked at him. “Not too much, I hope.”

Kane smiled. “Dinnae worry. There are parts of me that will only ever be for thee.”

Abby gave him a wry smile. “I wish I could stay to look after you properly.”

“So do I.”

She pulled his shirt over his head, checked his chest and his arms. He had a few cuts that were healing over and more bruising but nothing as bad as his stomach. She dipped a cloth in the warm water and washed him. His wrists were lacerated from the chains, and she cleaned them and dressed them in fresh cloth. “It is like when we first met. When you rode back from Newcastle.”

“Aye. Ye took care of me then as well.”

“Will this be our life? Is it always going to be like this?”

“We will be rid of Alasdair soon.”

“I’m not talking about Alasdair. I’m talking about me and you, when we are together. You put yourself in danger all the time. Am I to be always patching you up, worrying about you?”

Kane took a deep breath. “No. I did a lot of thinking, while I was locked up, and I have made a decision. I am going to see my father once we are free of yer husband. I will tell him the truth, and he will take me back, I am certain.”

Abby shook her head. “You will not be happy there, in that house. It was stifling, Marcus; I couldn’t picture you living there at all, except as a young boy perhaps.”

“I did not have thee in my life then. Everything will be different.”

“I will be happy with you wherever we are. I don’t want you to lead a life you don’t like because of me, but I don’t want you getting hurt either.”

“I want thee to have nice things, Abby, a good life. I want to give ye that.”

“I had nice things; they do not make people happy. I didn’t bring this up because I want you to leave the clan. You said I hadn’t thought it through, running away with you, and I hadn’t. We haven’t thought any of this through, have we?”

“No, we haven’t. Let us at least go and see my father, and listen to what he has to say. Then we can decide what we want to do.”

Abby nodded, rinsing out the cloth she had used to clean him and laying it on a rock to dry.

“I must go. Sinclair is expecting me.”

He took her hand, pulled her towards him. “No, Abby. Come and lie down with me.”

“Marcus, I want to but there isn’t time.”

“There is time. I want to feel thee in my arms again.”

He shifted closer to the wall, and Abby lay down on the mattress facing him. She unfastened her cloak, and covered them both with it because Marcus was shirtless, and it was cold in the cave. He caressed her face, his thumb tracing her lower lip, pulling it down a little. He pushed the tip of his thumb into her mouth and she sucked it. He moaned, and took his thumb away, replaced it with his lips, kissing her, pulling her closer to him.

Abby could feel the desire building within her. He was impossible to resist, but she must try.

“Marcus.”

“Hmmm?”

“We can’t.”

“I want thee.”

“I know, I want you. I want you so much, but you are in no fit state.”

“We could touch each other. We could just lie here and touch each other.”

He pulled her skirt up, let his fingers brush over her sex. Oh, this was torture.

“Marcus, the others are just outside. They could be here any moment.”

“We are covered. Touch me.”

The touch of his fingers was so sweet, so hot, that she gave in, and reached under his kilt for his cock, stroking it to the same rhythm he had set up, feeling it thicken and swell beneath her fingers.

Kane closed his eyes. “I thought I would die in there,” he whispered.

“You did not die. You are alive.” She kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth, finding his, tasting him, her fingers gripping his cock as her desire grew. He groaned.

“I am alive.” His fingers stroked her faster, dipping in and out of her, setting her on fire.

“Yes. Yes, you are. Oh!” She came so quickly beneath his fingers she was shocked, her whole body buzzing at his touch, and she paused, her hand still clutching his cock, lost in the sensations he had produced.

“Abby. Don’t stop!”

She started stroking him again, rubbing her thumb and forefinger over the head and the shaft.

“I am sorry,” she said. “You made me feel so good. I lost myself.”

“How did it feel?” He was breathing faster now, his eyes locked onto hers.

“It was hot. So hot. Like you had lit a flame in me.” She drew closer to him, so that their heads were almost touching. “You do this to me. Every time. You bring me to life.”

He came then, with a loud groan, emptying into her hand. “I cannot live without thee, Abby.”

Tears sprang to Abby’s eyes. She stroked his hair, brushing the tangled curls away from his eyes. “You won’t have to.”

“Ye are leaving me now.”

“Only for a short while. I have to, you know that.”

She pushed the cloak off them and grabbed a cloth to clean them both up before Raven or Blake came in and saw what they had been doing.

“I don’t like the thought of you being with him. He is going to be so angry when he finds out I have escaped.”

“Yes, he will, but not with me. He will think it is the clan that has bribed the guard. Sinclair will put that rumour out. Your job is to recover. Raven has given the clan orders to dismantle the camp and move so he can’t find them. She will take you to the new site in a day or two.”

“Ye have everything under control.”

“Yes. You have taught me well.”

“So I will see thee in a few days?”

“As soon as the camp is moved and you are fit to travel we will confront Alasdair with the papers together.”

“Then I had better do as ye say and recover as quickly as possible.”

“Yes. I have left everything Raven needs and she knows what to do. Eat. Drink. Let Raven take care of you.”

She was surprised to see tears spilling down his cheeks. He had been through a lot over the last few days, beaten, left without food or water with only rats for company, thinking he was to die. She blinked her own tears away. She must be strong enough for them both.

She cupped his face, as he had so often done to her. “You are my strength and my courage.”

He brought her hands to his lips. “And you are mine.”

Abby nodded and smiled. She wiped a tear from his cheek, and then stood up, walking out of the cave without another word or a backward glance for fear that a longer goodbye would break her. Raven was coming down the path as she turned away from the cave. She gave Abby a hug.

“I will look after him, I promise.”

“I know you will. He needs you, Raven. He needs your spirit and your energy. Send a message to Arkholm when he is ready to meet me.”

Raven nodded and disappeared into the cave. Abby walked up the path towards Blake and Juno. She was heading into a difficult and dangerous situation with Alasdair. She had made light of it with Marcus, but she was terrified of his reaction, scared that he would hunt Marcus down before he had a chance to recover. She couldn’t change what was going to happen; all she could do was keep calm, and stick to her plan. She took a deep breath. She was ready.

[imagine-hamilfluff]

The Night We Fell in Love

Thomas x Male Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3083

Request: Jefferson x Male Reader?

A/N: It’s officially Camp NaNoWriMo! And I promised one last imagine before I cut myself off from the imagine world to finish IIHMC (hopefully this month). I’m slightly cheating by posting this though, because I wrote it a really long time ago when I was inspired to, and it’s really far down on the request list, but it’s what you’re getting, lol. Fun fact! Thomas is my favorite character to write because his personality is just like my best friend’s, so it’s v easy for me, ha. (Also, I know the end is rushed but idk how to fix it, I’m sorry.)

Thomas tried to ask you out for a week before he gave up.

If you could call it giving up.

“Y/N, wait! I’m not asking for anything romantic at all. You’re clearly not interested, but my friends and I are going to this amazing jazz band tonight that you would love,” he talked rapidly as he threw his body in front of your to block you from walking out of the doorway. His eyes were wild, but his grin remained mischievous.

You studied Thomas. He was admittedly attractive, but he also wasn’t any different than the boys you had dated or hooked up with before. His smile would make anyone weak in the knees; his mind was probably keeping a mental checklist entitled “Pants I Want to Get In”. The connection with him would be breathtaking for a very limited amount of time, and the fallout from the relationship would never quite be healed. And beyond all of that, Thomas was also just kind of an asshole.

You had sworn off these boys so violently, just being within a foot of Thomas repulsed you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you contemplated Thomas’ offer. You had heard of the band, and actually was planning on making a point to go. Though Thomas had never been a part of that plan.

Gritting your teeth and suppressing a groan, you finally replied, “Maybe I’ll see you there.” Thomas’ face lit up, and you rolled your eyes pushing past him.

As you walked out the door, you heard his voice call out after you, “Don’t worry! I won’t do anything to make you fall in love with me tonight.”

Your face immediately flushed with heat, but you convinced yourself it was just anger. He was lucky you didn’t rescind decision right then and there. Instead you just walked faster and more determined towards your dorm.

When you returned to your dorm room, you heatedly relayed Thomas’ latest offer to your roommate. Alex gave a disappointed frown when he heard you were going to the band despite hating Thomas.

“I like the band anyway,” you defended yourself. But Alex just shrugged his shoulders from his bed.

“I just think you should avoid this Thomas dude altogether. He sounds like trouble and an ass.” Though you couldn’t disagree with Alex’s logic, you couldn’t seem to convince yourself not to go to the concert. Besides, you told yourself, if anything did happen tonight, what was one night with Thomas that you didn’t already endure with other guys? Not everyone could be as lucky as Alex and have a John.

As you went to leave the room later that night for the concert, Alex suddenly sat up from reading his book laying on his bed. “Hey, Y/N?” You turned around quizzically and met Alex’s eyes. “Don’t fall in love tonight.”

You scoffed at the proposition. “Alex, that is the last thing that’s going to happen to me tonight.”

But you were wrong.

When you arrived at the venue, you were quickly able to seek out Thomas and his friends. Introductions were made to Angelica, Abigail, George, and James. Thomas explained Abigail’s boyfriend John couldn’t make it, and you smiled at them all, hoping your smile didn’t look too forced.

Your group took up a whole table in the small club, and you got seated between James and--of course--Thomas. But the evening wasn’t near as hateful as you expected it to be. You almost effortlessly assimilated into their group of friends, and eventually you were able to relax so much you could hold a light conversation with Thomas… or maybe it was the alcohol that allowed you to do that.

Either way, you actually managed to enjoy yourself. And the band was definitely worth any torture Thomas could have put you through during the night. Though the alcohol was definitely beginning to have more of an effect on you, you noticed after you had a light banter with Thomas about the best musicians out there and both of your gazes lingered a little too long on each other. You must have been imagining the look in his eyes, however, for when you shook the moment off and looked back at him, he seemed completely unperturbed in a conversation with George.

At one point in the night, Thomas left to get another round, and Angelica and Abigail went to the bathroom. You sat silently and contemplatively, listening to the slow song that was currently playing. George across the table hummed softly along, when a voice began speaking beside you.

“So Thomas couldn’t get you either then, I take it?” James asked, with a sloppy grin on his face. The question caught you off-guard, but you quickly recovered with a small chuckle.

“Oh he tried,” you stated rolling your eyes. “You?”

With a smirk, James gave a little laugh. “Oh yes, he tried.” He looked at you like he was considering something, but then nodded at something out past your shoulder. You turned around and saw Thomas with hands filled with beer stopped halfway back to the table by a girl, and by the look in Thomas’ eyes, no one at the table was getting any more alcohol any time soon. “I wouldn’t worry about him anymore,” James commented lightly, “He’s moved on.”

With a mischievous grin to mask the sour feeling in your stomach, you turned back to James and noted, “I would, however, like him to come back to me long enough to get my beer.” A brilliant grin broke out on James’ face, and it unexpectedly made your insides warm and eased whatever was troubling you earlier.

Your conversation with James continued long into the night, and you found you both were essentially the same person. And it was just so infectious to meet someone you just automatically clicked with. You learned James didn’t actually go to your school, but one across the city. He made a point though to journey to this side for “good friends and company”, he worded it.

At the end of the night when you were you were all getting up to leave, Angelica snuck behind you and James and whispered “Get a room”. A blush immediately warmed your face, but not unpleasantly; James chuckled and put his arm around you as he stood up. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Thomas staring at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite pin.

No, you were sure you were just imagining it, for when your eyes met Thomas’, he held a light expression on his face, and began teasing you. “I told you, you would like this band,” he boasted with a wink, then quickly turned without another word and left the club.

You ignored the small pang in your stomach and focused instead on the amazing guy you just discovered: James. With a grin, you both exited the club with arms wrapped around each other.

It only took James three days after that to ask you out.

And now only three years later, you both were still happily together in a serious relationship; quite the opposite of your best friend Thomas, who was soon going to run out of people to bring home from the club, you were convinced.

“You know the deal,” Thomas said to you seriously as you laid sprawled out on the couch. “James gets you two nights a weekend; I get you one. We’re going to the club.” You groaned. You wished your boyfriend and best friend weren’t also good friends that could trade away your time. Though it did make things run pretty smoothly, you admitted to yourself regretfully.

“We never do anything but go to the club. I get drunk. You get drunk. You come home with the boy or girl of your choosing. You get laid. I call James because I’m bored. And then in the morning I make your night buddy breakfast, and send them on their merry way,” you complained, reciting exactly what happened every Saturday night. Thomas laughed, unable to deny the truth of it. He roughly sat down on top of you, and you shot him a glare.

“Well, that’s your own fault,” he stated simply. You looked at him confused. “You don’t have to make them breakfast,” he shrugged. You playfully tried to shove him off of you, but he just forced himself down on you until your foreheads were touching.

His eyes were so close to your face that they blurred, but you could still see his blue eyes gazing into yours. Your stomach flipped. He pulled this shit on you all the time, and for someone who had a steady boyfriend and loved said steady boyfriend, it should not have this type of effect on you.

But it did. It always did.

Reacting as you always did, however, you rolled off the couch pinning him under you. His breath caught from the fall, and he smirked. You felt his hands grab your waist, and you bit your cheek as you rolled your eyes. A neutral expression fought to keep its place on your face, as you were acutely aware Thomas was aware of you hardening on his hips. But as this wasn’t the first time either of you found yourselves in this situation, Thomas let out a brash chuckle. Keep it playful, you reminded yourself.

“Imagine if James walked in on us like this,” he teased you innocently. With a smirk, you leaned down until your lips were a fatal distance apart.

“He wouldn’t bat an eye, because he knows how much of a whore you are,” you responded with a gleam in your eye. With this, Thomas let out a loud laugh and let your hips go. You quickly jumped up and turned to walk towards your bedroom.

“A whore and proud,” Thomas proclaimed, still laughing. You gave out a little chuckle.

When you reached your bedroom door, you turned and made a face at Thomas. “Why did I ever agree to share an apartment with you?” you asked sarcastically, as well as contemplatively.

“They could make a show about us!” Thomas called after you as you shut your door, and you shook your head still laughing. “The Whore and the Prude! Only showing Saturday nights.” You laughed heartily at the joke and proceeded to change into clothes for the club when your phone started ringing.

You picked it up eagerly when you saw it was James. “Save me, we’re going to the club again,” you half joked with him, immediately as you answered the phone. There was a long pause.

“Hey, Y/N, I’ve been contemplating this for awhile…”

You don’t know how much time passed before Thomas knocked on your door.

“Dude, seriously, if we don’t leave soon, I’m not going to get-” He cut off as soon as he saw you curled up on the floor staring at your phone. He stood in the doorway waiting for you to say anything. Slowly, you let your eyes meet his.

“James, um… James just, uh… He.” You closed your eyes and sighed, and then reopened them to find Thomas’ worried face. “He just broke up with me,” you finally admitted, immediately averting your eyes as soon as the words hit the air. The silence hung for several seconds before Thomas spoke.

“He what?” You could feel his eyes on you, looking for you to contradict what you had just said, but you kept your eyes trained downward. Thomas’ eyes moved to the phone. “He broke up with you over the phone?” When you didn’t respond, he became indignant. “That utter bastard, I’m going to-”

“Don’t,” you said quietly. Thomas stopped and looked at you, pain in his eyes. “You’ll only make it worse.” It had been almost fifteen minutes now, and still not a single tear had fallen from your eyes. You felt numb. “Can I-” You stopped and swallowed quickly before continuing. “Can I get a raincheck on the club?” You looked up and met his eyes once again.

He looked at you with such empathy, it made you want to look away again, but you held his blue eyes with yours. “Of course,” he said simply. “I’ll stay home with you, so-”

“No,” you said a bit too harshly. Thomas looked taken aback, and you didn’t have the strength in you to look at him anymore. “I just need to be alone right now.” I just need to not be with you right now.

He stayed silent for a moment, then finally said, “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” You nodded mutely and listened as he slowly backed his way out of the room and eventually left the apartment.

You curled up once again, pushing your head into your knees. James’ words rattled around in your brain.

“I think we both know who you fell in love with that night.”

“I don’t hold it against you.”

“You two act more like a couple anyways.”

You had loved him. You knew you had. You wanted to marry him. You were going to pick out a ring. You were going to live out the rest of your lives together.

You paused. Weren’t you supposed to cry when someone you loved broke up with you? You shook the thought from your head. James was delusional. There wasn’t any way Thomas-

Thomas.

You had tried so hard not to think his name. But as soon as you did, your thoughts became overflowed.

Waking up to early morning violin practice, and coming out of your room groggily to a chipper Thomas. Having to cook almost every meal, because if Thomas cooked, you knew it’d be mac and cheese. Thomas complaining you didn’t eat enough mac and cheese. Having to put a blanket around his shoulders after he passed out while studying. Seeing Thomas walk around the apartment unperturbed after a shower with just a towel around his waist. His endless taunts and horseplay. Making breakfast for his overnight guests, but being the one who gets to stay with him when breakfast is over.

Of course you were in love with Thomas, you admitted to yourself for the first and only time. And only then did you allow yourself to cry. James was right.

After you allowed yourself to grieve over the fact you stayed with an amazing man for three years so you wouldn’t have to address your feelings for the annoying, arrogant man who would probably never settle down with anyone, you slowly moved yourself to the couch and put on a movie. Anything to ignore reality. You were half asleep when the door to the apartment opened and closed.

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you knew it was too early for Thomas to have brought anyone home. You sat up groggy and confused. And there was Thomas. Just staring at you helplessly.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Thomas? What are you doing back so early?” you whispered for no reason.

He too, responded in a hushed voice. “It just didn’t feel right to leave you like this.”

His answer caught you off-guard, and you pondered it for a moment. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Thomas,” you responded, straining to keep the tears from exploiting themselves. “But don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Or I’ll be fine.”

His face looked pained. “No, I,” he grimaced and closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m telling you I couldn’t bring someone back here while you’re here like this.”

You stared at him confused. Finally, you replied in the same tone, “And I’m telling you not to worry about me.”

He threw his hands up, and let out an exasperated sigh. You looked at him with wide eyes as he began pacing the living room, trying to figure out what was going on. When he finally calmed himself down, he stopped and looked at you with those wild blue eyes.

“When I say ‘leave you like this’,” he struggled to explain, “I don’t mean ‘leave you while you’re upset’.” He gave you a pointed look, but you still had no idea what he was talking about. He hung his head and buried it in a hand, and then he looked up at you and tried again. “I mean ‘leave you while you’re single’.”

You stared at him for a while, noting he was visibly cringing waiting for a reply. But you still didn’t quite understand.

“ ‘Leave you while you’re single’? Thomas… Just because I’m single doesn’t mean you can’t hook up with people. I’m seriously, fi-”

A loud, annoyed grunt escaped Thomas’ mouth, along with a “God damn it, Y/N.” You looked at him confused, but before you could read his face, he lunged at you.

It took your senses a few moments to catch up with what was happening. His warm, soft lips--which you had teased many times before--pressed hungrily into yours. His fingers greedily ran through your hair. You moaned softly as you felt him straddling your hips. You felt your hands slip under his shirt to graze his warm skin.

Suddenly, he quickly broke your embrace and stared at you with disbelief glittering in his pale blue eyes.

“Shit,” Thomas muttered, quickly backing off of you and stumbling on the coffee table in the process. “I’m a horrible friend. Shit. I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have- I-” He cut off, his wide eyes pleading with yours. You stared at Thomas, stunned, trying to find the right words to say.

Because you had so much to say, but you mind was completely clogged by that kiss.

Thomas, observing your state of panic, ran his fingers through his hair, and turned from you. “Shit!” he said, out loud this time, visibly cringing as he said it.

You both stayed frozen for a long while. Eventually, you broke the silence. “Thomas?” you asked quietly. His body stiffened at the sound of your voice. “I- Am I going to have to make breakfast for myself tomorrow morning?”

Thomas slowly turned and met your eyes, questioning whether he heard you right. You let your eyes hold his steadily, allowing them to confirm his thoughts.

“You’re going to have to make yourself breakfast a lot of mornings,” he commented slowly.

Laughing, you stood and embrace Thomas, running your fingers through his thick, curly, dark hair and pulling him back down on top of you.

This was an arrangement you could stand behind.