#confirming to her that he did in fact see her twirling around like a fool that day and she did not in fact escape his notice 😔

[sovonight]

for a moment, carefree

[notyour-valentine]

John Shelby & Milf!Reader ~ Headcanon

Note: Too long ago @sonichkkaaascreams snowed into my inbox with the idea of the Shelby!boys x Milf and I do still have an idea for a multi!part series in the back of my mind, I didn't want to keep her waiting so here is John. I also thought of something in regards to Michael, Tommy and Arthur.

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes. Here is my Masterlist.

Warning: As I am an adult, all my writing I share is unless explicitly stated for adults (18/21+). Expect canon confirming tone, language and depiction of violence. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. 

Request: @sonichkkaaascreams

Wordcount: 580

You lived not too far where John and Martha used to live during the war. She had only been so young and you had pitied her with three young children and husband  away. So you helped out from time to time, especially when her last pregnancy grew difficult. 

So when you see her second, Johnny, who had been named after his father, with bloody knees after playing in the streets you sat him down on your kitchen table, cleaned him up and even offered to stitch his trousers.

During that time, he played with your children. Even though you were a good five years older than Martha, your children were of an age. 

You send him home once you’re done only to have him come by a few days later explaining that the baby was hurting and that they didn’t know what to do “because Aunt Pol’s out”

You found a house in chaos, with the youngest baby teething and screaming the house down. The other two children were as sleep deprived as their father, who really did try, despite the circles under his eyes and the desperation in his voice. 

You pitied her widower, just as you had pitied Martha, with four young children who either did not know or did not remember him and no idea how to really care about them. 

So you help, and once the baby is soothed with cold cloths to chew on and a massage to the gums (not whisky like his father suggested!) you give John the same offer you had given Martha, that your door was open any time. 

It’s slow at first, but then John Shelby shows up at your door more often, whether it be because a child was ill, or him not knowing how to do Katie’s hair and needing your help

In exchange he offers to help in any way he can, though in the most clumsy way possible - “With the heavy lifting…and stuff..and if anyone’s ever bothering you, I can take care of it.”

You grow to like him because, despite everything he has something so many people had lost - lightheartedness

He doesn’t mind crawling around on the floor pretending to be a horse with children, both yours and his, and doesn't mind playing the fool to make them - and you - laugh. 

After four years of war and hardship, it felt so good to laugh again

John, in turn, starts to like you because you don’t judge him for his mistakes but also because you’ve taken away his fear of failing when it came to his children. 

The rest just happens, really. 

One night, John brought liquor and while the children are asleep you get drunk in the kitchen. After half a bottle he insists on teaching you a dance he learnt as a boy when on the road. 

It is chaotic and wild, more twirling and jumping than actual steps, and it ended up with you both crashing to the ground trying to stifle your drunken laughter to not wake the children. 

You’re not doing all too well and so he silences you with other means

For a while, you were worried that things would change, but in fact nothing did, nothing except the fact that John couldn’t seem to be able to keep his hands to himself whenever even the slightest opportunity struck. 

After all, there wasn’t much time with that many children running around, but whatever time they had, he wanted to make good use of

And, of course, you didn’t mind in the slightest

~

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

Taglist

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @watercolorskyy

@books-livre @chlorrox @quarterpastmidnight

[kingsmakers]

a dangerous game - aemond targaryen x oc

Summary: This is literally just a self-indulgent one-shot for Aemond Targaryen and my oc, Elyana Sand. For context: Elyana is the bastard daughter of Criston Cole and Demelza Dayne, another of my ocs. Both Demelza and Elyana are featured in Gardens of Misery, though Elyana is not a central character until she’s an adult in a few chapters’ time. This is basically just shameless smut with her and Aemond for @alicent-hightcwer

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, minors DNI. Rough sex, choking, fingering. I told you, shameless smut.

Words: 2.1k

Elyana’s breath misted out in front of her as she clutched the shortsword, the metal on the hilt biting against her bare fingers. Though she typically didn’t mind an audience, the training yard was peaceful during the hour of the wolf. Elyana was suited to the darkness that settled over the empty yard, the only light from the torches that burned low along the walls, torches she had lit herself.

The shortsword fit her grasp well, though not as much as a flail. She was more proficient with lighter weapons, being smaller than both of her sisters. Her advantage lay within her speed, as Criston Cole had told her time and again.

Criston. Her father.

She had hoped that, over the years in King’s Landing, she would become accustomed to seeing him about the place. Unfortunately if there was peace to be found, she was yet to acquire it. Criston was torn between his desire to be paternal, and the fact that in doing so, he would confirm the whispers that everyone knew to be true.

“A bit dark for swinging that little sword, don’t you think?”

Elyana spun around, sweeping her dark braid over her shoulder. She had not anticipated company, especially not training alone, dressed in a loose tunic and a comfortable pair of pants. Aemond Targaryen strode into the torchlight, his eye glimmering as he observed her. He had forsaken the eyepatch he wore amongst the court for a sapphire that glittered in the torchlight. His gaze was intense, but when wasn’t it? Aemond was an intense young man. It was no secret to anyone, least of all Elyana, that his adorable childhood crush on her had developed into an infatuation.

Elyana was no fool. Aemond’s yearning might be more quiet and intense than that of his older brother Aegon, who had been attempting to bed Elyana since the pair were fourteen, but she noticed it all the same. Aemond watched her like there was a hunger gnawing deep in the pit of his stomach and she was all that could sate it.

“Do you want to cross blades, Aemond?”

“And damage that pretty face?” Aemond tipped her chin up with a finger, making her smack his hand away in annoyance. Up until recent years, Elyana had been able to bring Aemond down to the dirt with ease. Unfortunately, he had grown much taller than her, and had the advantage of strength.

“Don’t mock me.”

“Well, then, perhaps we should cross blades.” Aemond picked up one of the swords from the rack, twirling it experimentally before offering her a wicked smile. “It might teach you some humility. You’re awfully confident.”

Elyana was only three years Aemond’s senior, but she had always wielded those scant few years like a weapon. Not in the cruel way that Aegon had. No, Elyana had told herself that Aemond put her on a pedestal and once he was older, he would see she did not belong there. She was a bastard, as Aegon constantly sneered at her. Aemond would tire of admiring her, once he was a man grown. Yet that day had come and gone, and still, it was her that his eye was drawn to.

“You like that I’m confident.” There was a flirtatious lilt to Elyana’s voice as she watched Aemond, eyes raking over his form. He was taller than Aegon, lean, but she had seen him spar with Criston often enough to know that he was deadly in a duel. Nonetheless, she bested him as much as he bested her, and her heart thundered in her chest, a sly grin spreading across her face as she wondered who would win tonight’s bout.

“Hmm.” Aemond arched an eyebrow as he observed her critically. The torchlight illuminated his silver-blonde hair and brought out his sharp jaw.

Elyana was all too eager to lunge, the clash of their blades ringing out through the silent yard. Theirs was not a slow dance, but a fierce flurry of steel, each of them drawing back and then pressing forward. Aemond far surpassed her in strength, something that Elyana was acutely aware of.

When she duelled Aegon, who was far more hopeless with a sword, there was a sour twist to his lips when she emerged triumphant. Aemond’s eye glittered with delight at the challenge she posed, the speed with which she manoeuvred around him. Instead of pressing forward with brutal strikes, Elyana had a tendency to treat sparring as if it were a dance, spinning and twirling.

Elyana dodged Aemond’s sword, her breath coming in ragged pants and her muscles burning. A feral smile tugged at her lips as she feinted right and then slashed left, Aemond stumbling back and blocking her sword with his. A soft laugh escaped from between Elyana’s lips and she cocked her head to the side, examining her opponent.

“You can’t tell me that’s the best you can do. I think you’re holding back.”

A slight tug at the corner of his lips was all the warning Elyana had before Aemond swept his foot in a wide arc, catching her off balance and knocking her to the ground. She landed hard on her back, the wind rushing out of her. She managed to keep a grip on her sword by some miracle, only to feel a booted foot press down upon her wrist. Hard enough to make her wince, but not hard enough to break a bone.

“Impressive.” Elyana attempted to squirm free, but Aemond reached down and ripped the sword from her grasp. When she tried to surge upwards, he pressed her back on the ground, the edge of his blade kissing her throat.

“I’m glad you think so.” Aemond’s eye gleamed with something wild as he knelt down, straddling her and grabbing her wrists with his free hand, easily pinning them above her head in an unwarranted display of superior strength. Elyana struggled to catch her breath, his steel still pressed to her neck. She grinned up at him. He was so close that his own breath fanned out hot across her cheek, and strands of his silver-blonde hair swept across her face.

“You seem to be enjoying this,” she pointed out.

Elyana was twenty-one years old. She had been with men before. She recognised the ravenous gleam in Aemond’s eye as he stared down at her, and she tilted her head back to let him see her taunting smile in the moonlight. Aemond let his sword clatter to the ground, his fingers catching her chin with bruising strength. His breath rattled unsteadily, but it was no longer exertion from their sparring.

“I know what you want, Aemond.” Elyana’s voice was soft, with only the slightest hint of mockery. She was toeing the line, rather exhilarated by the idea of what might happen if she crossed it.

“I’ve made no secret of it.” Aemond’s fingers left her chin to cup her face, though his free hand didn’t release her hands, still pinned above her head. “Do not toy with me, Elyana. I am not Aegon, to be treated like a dog with a bone. If you don’t reciprocate what I feel, then tell me so, and I will leave you be.”

“And if I reciprocate?” Elyana’s heart raced in her chest. Aemond still had hold of her wrists, so she raised her head just enough so that her lips brushed his. “You want me. So have me.”

Aemond’s restraint shattered, and with a frustrated growl, he crashed his lips into hers. Elyana responded with equal ferocity. She attempted to tug her hands free, but Aemond kept a firm grip on them, his other hand moving to fist in her braid and roughly tug it loose, fingers winding in her dark hair.

Elyana could feel his pent-up desire and desperation for her in his bruising kiss, in the way his fingers tugged at her hair as though he feared she would slip through his grasp. She raised her legs to wrap them around her waist, tugging him close against her and gasping at the hardness of his cock through his pants, a heat searing through her lower stomach.

Finally, Aemond released her wrists, his lips descending upon her neck as he used hands to explore the curves of her body. Elyana writhed beneath him, letting her head fall back to give him access to more skin. Aemond’s teeth grazed at her neck, eliciting a sharp gasp from Elyana. He drew back slightly, staring down at her with lust burning in his eye.

“I want them all to see.”

Elyana frowned. “That I am your possession?”

“No. That I was the one you chose.”

Instead of bothering with the half-dozen buttons of Elyana’s shirt, Aemond instead ripped it open, sliding his hands inside the torn fabric to fondle her breasts.

“That was a good shirt,” Elyana chastised, though her protests were lost in a dizzy haze of euphoria as Aemond’s fingers toyed with her nipples.

“I can get you another one.” Aemond’s voice was ragged with desire, and then his mouth descended to replace his fingers. Elyana moaned softly, arching her back and fisting a hand in his silver-blonde hair as that damn mouth of his continued to tease her breasts. She did not wish to be tormented, though she supposed she had done as much to him with her sly flirtations.

Elyana kissed him passionately, running her hands down his chest and lower still, a triumphant smirk crossing her lips as she rubbed his cock through his pants. Aemond hissed, reaching down to catch her wrist before she could undo his pants. He tilted his head to the side, watching her with a taunting smile.

“Someone’s hasty.”

“I want you to fuck me, Aemond.”

“Oh, I will, sweetling.” It was a dark promise coming off his lips, and she had never heard more beautiful words. He reached down to tug her own pants down, pushing two fingers into her. Her soft whimper was accompanied by a low chuckle. “You like that, don’t you, Elyana?”

“Aemond, please.” She had not thought to be begging him, but she also had not thought that he would be the one to tease her. Savage delight crept across his face at the words, something lustful and unhinged entering his eye as he stared down at her.

“Well, since you asked so prettily.”

Aemond withdrew his fingers from her, undoing his pants and pushing them down. He was trying his best to appear controlled, but Elyana could hear the raggedness of his breath. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder as he sheathed his cock inside her, making her choke out a gasp.

Determined to taunt him as he had done to her so well, Elyana wrapped her legs tight around his waist and rolled her hips against him. She bit down on her lip to suppress a moan, delighting in the feeling of him inside her. Aemond’s low groan rumbled through his chest, and he reached up to wrap his fingers around her neck.

Neither of them were new to this. Elyana did not want this to be gentle, and she did not believe Aemond did either. Her hands slid up his shirt, raking down his back hard enough to leave scratches. Aemond laughed, hand tightening around her throat and making her gasp. His thrusts were hard and fast, coaxing moans from Elyana despite her best efforts to remain quiet. The sounds made Aemond’s smirk widen.

Elyana raised her legs higher, allowing him to pump deeper within her. Aemond’s free hand moved to her hips, pulling her tight against him. She arched her back, her moans intensifying in volume as a delicious heat began to build within her. The noise she was making seemed to excite Aemond, for he bared his teeth in a wide grin.

“Yes, Elyana.”

His thrusts were rough and hard, his groans of pleasure making Elyana certain that he would not last much longer. Elyana kissed his neck, fingers tightening in his hair as something burned and blazed within her, her moans ascending into cries of euphoria as she reached her climax, her body shuddering against Aemond’s.

Aemond’s fingers tightened around Elyana’s neck until her vision spun as he fucked her ruthlessly, groaning loudly as he spilled his seed inside her. Elyana’s body went slack, and she disentangled her legs from his waist. Aemond pulled out of her, fixing up his pants as Elyana smoothed out her hair, delighting in the fact that she would have bite marks and bruises in the shape of his fingers to adorn her neck on the morrow.

“So is that it, then?” Elyana kept her tone light despite her breathlessness. “The prince has his way with the bastard. The game is over.”

“You think this is over?” Aemond caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing a hard kiss to her lips. “Oh, my dear Elyana. You are not something to be used and discarded. Our game has only just begun.”

[wisteriashouse]

rule of three.

pairing: kamado tanjirou x sumiyuri hayami (oc)

genre: kimetsu academy!au; romance, fluff, love triangle

word count: 12533

a/n: thank you @hinokami-s​ for trusting me with your commission! this one took pretty long (and i fell in love with the wrong character) but i hope you like it!!

She’s doing it again.

That nervous little quirk of hers: when she pulls a few strands of her hair between her fingers, twirling the platinum locks around them before letting go and repeating the sequence of actions all over again. Sometimes, Tanjirou is unsure whether Hayami is even conscious of this habit at all, or whether she knows how obvious it makes her. It’s something she does every time she’s nervous or worried, and considering the fact that she’s been playing with her hair for most part of the school day, there must be something weighing on her mind.

Unsurprisingly, Tanjirou is concerned. Today has been a busy day for all of them in school, so he hasn’t found the right moment to ask yet, but he’ll definitely do that before her chauffeur arrives to pick her up—

“You pig headed boar, stop slobbering over my face and get off me!” Zenitsu’s piercing shrieks of alarm drag Tanjirou out of his thoughts and he looks up to see Inosuke rugby tackling Zenitsu to the ground, the two of them a mess of flailing limbs and flying buttons. Tanjirou simply shakes his head with a sigh: he’s learned from repeated experiences that he’s absolutely useless at pulling the two of them apart. Only Hayami has any hope of getting them to stop with their clownery. “Hayami, get this crazy guy off me!”

Tanjirou half-expects Hayami to laugh and distract Inosuke with a request for a smooth pebble or something else, but to his surprise, Hayami doesn’t even seem to have noticed the commotion taking place right next to her. Instead, she’s frowning at the school gates with a slight furrow to her brow, deep in thought.

“Hayami—”

“Don’t just stand there!” Zenistu protests in horror, but before he can say anything more Inosuke smothers him with a hand over his entire face. With a scream of disgust, Zenitsu promptly wriggles free from Inosuke and takes off down the road at the speed of light, with Inosuke snapping like a mad dog at his heels.

When the two of them are finally out of earshot, Tanjirou turns around to rest one hand on Hayami’s shoulder. “Hayami, are you alright?”

The hand on the shoulder was meant to be a calming gesture, but Hayami jumps so high in surprise that Tanjirou almost wonders for a moment if she’s levitating. “Yeah, yeah, of course I’m alright! Totally great! Just dandy, you know.” Hayami laughs nervously, winding her hair around her finger again — Tanjirou frowns openly at that — and tugging at the ends. Her cheeks are flushed. “Whatever made you ask that, haha!”

It takes one to recognise one, and Tanjirou recognises Hayami as a terrible, awful liar.

Still, it wouldn’t be very nice to just say that, so Tanjirou makes an attempt with a different approach. “You’ve been out of it all day.” He says, making sure to keep his voice light. Hayami isn’t one to just share her problems or struggles due to her upbringing (and nasty parents), so getting her to open up usually requires some coaxing and prodding here and there. “Is there something that you’re stressed about? I’d like to know.”

“I’m really fine, Tanjirou,” Hayami answers, trying for a placating smile. Unfortunately for her, it’s not enough to fool Tanjirou’s observant eyes, but she quickly changes the topic. “Our plans for the day after tomorrow, they’re confirmed, aren’t they?”

Tanjirou blinks, confused by the sudden turn this conversation is taking. “The trip to the aquarium, right? Of course it’s confirmed, we booked the tickets and everything last week. Did something crop up?”

“No, no,” Hayami looks relieved, actually. “I just needed to confirm my schedule and a few things on the side, and it’s been a really hectic week for me and I was just, uhm, looking forward to spending some time with— oh, Ginjiro! Sorry, Tanjirou, I’ll be right back, I promise!”

Tanjirou lets out a slow sigh as he watches Hayami jog over to where a familiar boy is exiting from the school gates, clearly set on discussing something with him. As much as he doesn’t get along with Ginjiro personally, he’s aware that Hayami has been close friends with him since the two were young. Still, inner Tanjirou appeals, he doesn’t have to like it when Ginjiro laughs and slips an arm around Hayami’s waist a little too easily.

He swears that Ginjiro gives him a little smirk.

Hayami is saying something to Ginjiro, gesturing with her hands (yet another habit when she’s losing her patience). Although Tanjirou is too far to hear anything, he does manage to catch a glance of a mischievous grin appearing on Ginjiro’s face. The dark harried boy leans down to whisper something into Hayami’s ear, and perhaps Tanjirou is only just a little too pleased when Hayami starts smacking his hands away, positively chewing his ear off.

Still, Hayami does look a little more invigorated after that talk with Ginjiro, which is undeniably a good thing. Even if it did come out of unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps what Hayami was worried about earlier in the day really wasn’t such a major issue, and all she needed to do was to speak to Ginjiro. It might have been about an assignment or something modelling related, and well, as long as Hayami is feeling better, Tanjirou can’t really complain.

Ginjiro chuckles at something Hayami says, wrapping another arm around her shoulder this time, and Tanjirou is about to march over to insert himself between the two when there’s the honk of a car. When he turns around, there’s a familiar black sedan pulled up at the school gates, with an even more familiar face behind the wheel.

Tanjirou gives Katsuo-san a bow and a wave.

“Oh shucks, I gotta go.” Hayami hurries over to the car, the strap of her bag slipping off her shoulder as she waves to the both of them. “See you then, Ginjiro, Tanjirou!”

The car has barely turned into the traffic when Ginjiro turns to give Tanjirou a smirk that can only be described as cocky. “Hope you enjoy the surprise,” Ginjiro hums lightly as he brushes past Tanjirou. Tanjirou frowns, utterly at a loss as to what he could be talking about.

“Surprise? What do you mean?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Ginjiro throws a cocky smirk over his shoulder, which does nothing to soothe the unease stirring in his stomach. “See you around, Tanjirou-kun.”

>>>

Hope you enjoy the surprise.

Ginjiro’s words still pop into Tanjirou’s head at random even after he’s reached home, so Tanjirou thinks that it’s completely understandable that he panics a little when his phone starts ringing all of a sudden after dinner. Surprise, surprise.

“I swear, if it’s Ginjiro…” Tanjirou mutters under his breath as he climbs the stairs to his rooms, his ringtone still filling the small house with its merry tune.

As far as he knows, Ginjiro doesn’t have his number. Hayami wouldn’t give him his number without telling him, right? Right. Also, why on earth would Ginjiro even need his number? Ginjiro hates his entire existence. Besides, they have nothing to do with each other. The words that he said earlier in the day had to be some sort of new way Ginjiro had come up with to mess with him.

“Hope you enjoy the surprise,” Tanjirou continues to mutter, reaching for his phone. “You’ll see soon enough. Why did he have to go and say that, huh? He really— oh, thank god.”

It’s Hayami’s contact flashing across his phone screen, and Tanjirou almost deflates with relief at the sight of it. Picking it up, he presses his phone to his ear and is immediately taken by surprise by the commotion in the background. “Hayami? Is something up?”

“No, no.” Hayami’s voice is just a tad bit breathless on the other side of the line, and Tanjirou can hear the multiple people rushing back and forth, their footsteps scattering their words into incomprehensible white noise. She sounds oddly nervous about something, and Tanjirou can already imagine her twirling her hair around her finger just like she always does. “Uhh, I know it’s strange to drop this on you so suddenly, but I kind of have a favour to ask of you.”

It is rather abrupt, but Tanjirou has never turned a request of Hayami’s down before, and he isn’t about to start now. “No need to panic,” he reassures her gently. “Whatever it is, you can just tell me.”

“Right. Right.” She hesitates for a moment. “I know this sounds kind of weird, but I promise, I’ll explain everything properly to you when we meet up—”

“Hayami, breathe.”

“Right, I’m getting carried away again. Uhm,” she sucks in a breath through her teeth before she exhales. “Is it possible if you, uhh, don’t tune into social media and television at all this evening?”

It’s hard not to be taken aback by such a strange request, especially with Ginjiro’s words from earlier still making the odd appearance in his mind. “The whole evening, you say?”

“The whole evening, yes.” Hayami sounds even more nervous now. “I can explain, but it would take too much time right now and I’m really in a rush to— oh, Toshiko-san, can’t you give me just a few more minutes?”

Tanjirou has to wrack his mind a little before he recalls where he’s heard that name before — Hayami’s personal maid, with the kindest blue eyes that remind him of his own grandmother. “I know that you’ve been rushing around a lot tonight, dearest, but I’m afraid that there’s still some adjustments that have to be made to your dress, and your mother is getting more antsy with each minute that passes. I can try to make an excuse of some sort, but…”

“No, no! There’s no need for that, tell her I’ll be out right away.” There’s some shuffling in the background and the muffled sound of a door being shut, before Hayami returns to the call. “I’m so sorry for this request, Tanjirou, I promise that it’s nothing bad and I’ll explain everything when we meet up tomorrow—”

At this point, Tanjirou is almost dying to know just why he can’t tune in to the television, but decides to let it go for now. “It’s alright, Hayami,” he says steadily, trying to calm her down. “I understand, and you’ll explain everything to me tomorrow. Is that right?”

Hayami cuts herself off mid-ramble, seemingly a little shocked by how easily Tanjirou is agreeing. “Y-yes, yes, that’s right. I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

“Mm.” As much as Tanjirou wants to know, he reminds himself that Hayami would never make a request like this without a good reason. He can wait until tomorrow to find out what it is. “Then, have a good night, Hayami. I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Hayami is oddly quiet for a while, and Tanjirou grows concerned. “Hayami? Is there something wrong?”

“Hayami, dear, we really do need to be going now!” Toshiko-san’s voice is a little loud with urgency, and judging from the clatter, Hayami had dropped her phone out of surprise.

“Coming, Toshiko-san!” Hayami responds frantically, before she picks up her phone once again. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow too, Tanjirou. See you!”

With that, the line hangs up.

For a moment, Tanjirou looks at the blank screen on his phone, before tossing it onto the mattress and burying his face under a pillow. Hope you enjoy the surprise, Tanjirou-kun.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long night,” he mutters to himself.

>>>

“Who were you on the phone with just now, dear?” Toshiko teases as she hurriedly adjusts the sash at her waist, adding a few pins to keep it cinched in place. Even her personal maid is dressed up for today’s banquet, her dark hair pinned up in a tight, elegant bun and little Swarovski crystals decorating her neck. If anyone else saw her, they’d probably think that she was a businesswoman just like any other. “Is it that cute Sato boy again? I always thought the two of you looked good together in the magazines.”

“Toshiko-san!” Hayami yelps sharply. “Ginjiro is not— ok, fine, he is cute, objectively speaking, but I don’t like him that way!” It’s bad enough that the tabloids think that there’s something going on between the two of them, but she didn’t expect Toshiko-san of all people to be reading the gossip magazines!

“Why not?” Her maid seems genuinely surprised by this. “He seems like a nice boy, and he always brings nice gifts whenever he comes over to visit. Besides, you enjoy visiting his house a lot, don’t you? The number of times Katsuo-san has had to pick you up in the morning from there…”

Hayami is sure her blush would be visible past the thick layer of foundation on her face. “Toshiko-san, really! I have no romantic feelings towards Ginjiro whatsoever, and besides…” Tanjirou’s warm smile comes to mind immediately, banishing all thoughts of Ginjiro with ease. “Well, he’s just not my type. Not in a thousand years.”

“That’s what all the girls your age say, dear,” Toshiko-san titters, before she holds out a hand to help Hayami down the stairs. With a groan of embarrassment, Hayami gives up on trying to convince Toshiko-san otherwise. “Come now, let’s get you to the car. Katsuo-san must be waiting.”

True to Toshiko’s words, Katsuo-san is indeed waiting for the two of them at the limousine, shaking his head when he sees Toshiko still fretting over the final details of her dress. “Toshiko, enough worrying,” he grunts, holding the door open as Hayami slips inside, “Or even more of your hair will turn grey, and then you’ll look like even more of an old hag than you do now.”

“I do not look like an old hag!” Toshiko-san’s hands fly to her face, horrified. “Hayami, dear, my wrinkles haven’t started to set in, have they?”

Hayami rushes to reassure her. “You don’t look a day over thirty, Toshiko-san. You look like you could be the model of an anti-aging cream, really! Do you want me to link you up with some cosmetics brands?”

Katsuo covers a snort with one gloved hand and gracefully escorts Toshiko into the limousine with the other. “Right. She could be the ‘before’ in those before and after commercials that I keep seeing on television nowadays.”

Toshiko reaches for her heel, and Hayami, fearing for her butler’s skull, reaches over to hold Toshiko’s hands tightly in hers. “Don’t listen to Katsuo-san, he’s just being rude. Besides, I think you look really, really pretty in your dress today! And your hair looks amazing in that updo, I’d love to try that elegant style sometime! Which salon did you go to get it done?”

“Oh, I did it myself, dear.” Toshiko chirps at Hayami’s sweet words, her earlier vengeance forgotten. “Do you really like it that much? I’ll help you do your hair the next time, if you want.” She sniffs at an unrepentant Katsuo, who’s just shaking his head. “And this impertinent cretin really has no manners at all! Even that young Sato boy is so much more of a gentleman.”

“That Ginjiro kid?” Katsuo looks distinctly unimpressed as he gets into the driver’s seat. “That rascal keeps putting his hands all over the Miss. I don’t like him one bit. The other boy… the one from the bakery near your school neighbourhood? Now that’s a gentleman if I’ve ever seen one. I like that one a lot better.”

Toshiko’s eyes go wide at Katsuo’s words, and her grip on Hayami’s hands turn immovable as stone. “There’s another boy? Hayami, you didn’t tell me about him! Quick, I want to know everything!”

Hayami cries internally. The whole reason she had never mentioned Tanjirou to Toshiko is because she knew full well what she would be like. The first time she’d stayed over at Ginjiro’s house, Toshiko had grilled her for hours about the boy. Katsuo, too, definitely knew she would do this!

She glares at the rearview mirror of the corner of her eye, and mouths start driving already. There’s a quiet chuckle from the front seat, followed by the rev of the engine. Defeated, Hayami settles back into the seat, resigned to answering the ever growing list of questions from Toshiko.

By the time the car pulls up at the banquet venue, Hayami is sure that Toshiko knows everything there is to know about Tanjirou, from his height to the number of siblings he has down to his blood type. She’s almost glad to escape the limousine when she sees her mother already waiting at the start of the red carpet with her father on her arm, professional cameras clicking away.

Hayami’s mood immediately sours at the sight.

“Don’t forget to smile, dearest,” Toshiko-san reminds her as the limousine pulls to a stop. Both Toshiko and Katsuo are more than aware of her distaste for the rest of the Sumiyuri family. “I know that you don’t like these kinds of events, but since you’re here and all dolled up already, you shouldn’t let that pretty face go to waste, hmm?”

“Just think of that bread boy and you’ll be fine.” Hayami’s cheeks burn and she reaches out to lightheartedly swat at her chauffeur’s shoulder.

“I’m telling you, he’s just a friend,” she hisses, trying her best not to flush now. Deep breath in, deep breath out. She can already hear the paparazzi gathering outside her door, pushing and jostling the security in a competition to get the best and most invasive photo of the sole Sumiyuri heir. In times like these, her mother’s words echo in her mind like an old memory carved into her bones. Back straight, chin lifted, eyes forward. You are a Sumiyuri, and you are better than every single one of those commoners, so act like it. That is something that will not change, no matter what you do.

Hayami hates it. Commoners, her mother calls them, as if they’re lower than her simply by status of birth. Still, this is a tried and tested method of keeping up the persona that is expected of her in the media’s eyes — as much as she loathes it, it works.

“She’s doing the thing again, isn’t she?” Katsuo-san whispers a tad too loudly, and it is only by virtue of the fact that there are cameras almost pressed to the window that Toshiko does not smack him on the spot. Internally, Hayami buries the quiet laugh that is on the verge of spilling out, before she manages to compose herself.

“Katsuo-san, get the door for me.”

“Of course, Miss.” Smooth as velvet, Katsuo slips out of the car before opening the rear door for Hayami. She takes a moment to leisurely gather the many sheer layers of her skirt, before stepping out of the car and onto the red carpet.

“Hayami, you’re here,” Sumiyuri Kuraihi comments as Hayami joins them in front of the cameras, her soft, demure voice almost concealing the ice beneath it. She’s as dazzling as a cut diamond, silver platinum hair falling in a pin straight curtain down her back and liquid lipstick flicked over the moue of her small mouth. Hayami wonders if she’ll ever look like that when she grows older, and immediately hates the idea of it. “Smile for the camera on the left there, that’s one of the chief journalists of This Patch. And your arms look awfully thick in this sleeveless dress, really. Are you sure you’re following your diet properly?”

“Dear, the paparazzi are watching,” Sumiyuri Daikoku reminds his wife, a neutral, pleasant expression on his face. Kuraihi’s face doesn’t change one bit, but she does pull Hayami just a tad closer for her hand to rest on her shoulder, and all three smile at the cameras, a picture perfect family on cue.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Kuraihi concedes, releasing her daughter. Hayami exhales discreetly in relief. “Daikoku, Hayami, we’re going… no, no. Let’s wait for him.”

Hayami blinks, confused. “Wait for who?” She echoes, but her question is answered as soon as it is asked. The next car that pulls up at the red carpet is a very familiar white Mercedes, and Hayami stares wordlessly when Sato Ginjiro exits the car, looking very dapper in a three piece tailored suit and his hair tousled in that faux casual style.

“What are you doing here?” She’d just confirmed his schedule with him this afternoon after school, there was no way that the event planners had changed it in the short time between then and now! Ginjiro smiles as he makes his way to her, bowing and waving as if it’s second nature to him. “It’s a pleasure to run into you, Mrs Sumiyuri, Mr Sumiyuri,” he greets politely with a bow, before turning to Hayami. “And you, my dearest Hayami,” he pauses for a moment, eyes widening slightly as he takes her in, and when he speaks again, his voice is slightly breathless, “you look absolutely delightful tonight, truly. You’re taking my breath away.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” she mutters, none too happy with this situation. His acting classes have paid off, truly, because Hayami almost believes that he wholeheartedly means what he’s saying for a moment. Hayami, on the other hand, takes no acting classes and has to fight to keep the grimace off her face.

“Hayami, don’t wear such an unpleasant expression on your face,” her mother chides without really looking at her, and Hayami bites her lip, forcing her displeasure down. “It’s a pleasure to see you here tonight as well, Sato-kun. We were just about to head in, and now that I see that you’ve arrived alone, perhaps you could do us the favour of escorting our dear Hayami inside?”

Dear gods and lords above, this is exactly what Hayami had been trying to avoid. “I don’t need an escort, really—”

“Hayami, don’t turn down the poor boy,” her mother titters softly, but there’s a warning creeping into eyes. They’re telling her that there’ll be hell to pay at home if she doesn’t listen right now. Swallowing, Hayami straightens her back.

“I mean, it is only polite for the man to offer first, isn’t it?” She explains weakly. Sumiyuri Kuraihi pauses this for a moment, considering, before she turns to Ginjiro. “Sato-kun, what do you think?”

Hayami barely glares at Ginjiro, but he’s already nodding brightly, flashing a charming grin. “I’d be delighted to,” he turns to Hayami, and she swears that she’s about to go blind from the flash reflecting off those perfect white teeth as he holds out his arm. “Shall we, milady?”

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Hayami very begrudgingly takes a hold of his proffered arm and is immediately assaulted by a flurry of camera shutters and flashes. She can already see the headlines on tomorrow’s tabloids: Sumiyuri’s Princess linking arms with the heir to Sato Conglomerate, secret clandestine relationship or budding romance? If they don’t somehow dig up some poorly edited photographs of the two of them in some sort of scandalous position, Hayami will be grateful enough. God, she’d already been trying not to make Tanjirou feel the huge wealth gap between the two of them, now this? This is just adding kerosene on top of the fire.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Hayami mutters out of the corner of her mouth as soon as they enter the private area of the event. Even if the paparazzi and the like aren’t allowed in here, there are still too many eyes and ears on them. At her words, Ginjiro’s pristine smile slips into something more laidback, a bit of the catlike Sato Ginjiro she sees in school visible under the carefully tailored clothes and makeup.

“Of course I am,” his voice is teasing, and Hayami can’t help rolling her eyes. “I’ve got the prettiest girl in the world on my arm and her company all to myself tonight. Why wouldn’t I be enjoying myself?”

Hayami has to bite back the urge to aim a kick at him. “I meant with the reporters outside, seriously. You knew that they would be taking pictures of us, and there’s definitely going to be a massive scandal of some sort tomorrow!”

At her words, Ginjiro looks at her wordlessly, the usual teasing expression absent from his face as his eyes sweep across her. He’s always been more on the effusive side, never restraining himself in showing how he feels, so worry begins to creep up inside her with each second he doesn’t speak. Hayami reaches out to tug at his sleeve. “Uhh, Ginjiro?”

“Is it,” he says, and Hayami is a little surprised by how solemn he sounds, “really that bad that you’re seen together with me?”

The tone of his voice makes Hayami feel like the absolute worst trash on earth, and she rushes to reassure him. “No, no! That’s not what I meant at all! It’s just,” she flounders for a moment, trying to figure out just how to explain things properly to him. “It’s just that I don’t like people assuming the wrong things about us. They always blow up into all kinds of ridiculous scandals that aren’t true, and they stress me out to no end with the paparazzi asking me who I’m dating, and—”

A big, warm hand over her mouth cuts her off. “I know, I know, I was just teasing you.” When she looks up, all traces of his earlier solemnity have completely disappeared, replaced by a cheeky grin. “It’s cute seeing you all flustered like that.”

Hayami gapes at him, before she succumbs to her violent urges and actually kicks him in the shin. “You—!” Ginjiro groans and staggers a step back, but there’s amusement dancing in his eyes.

“And there’s the Sumiyuri Hayami we all know and love,” he laughs, flicking her on the forehead. Hayami makes a face, but Ginjiro doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. "Don’t look so gloomy hanging off my arm next time, yeah? Other girls would be dying to be in your position, but you look like you’re actually dying.”

“Is this the moment where I say I’m not like other girls?” Hayami mutters, but still drags Ginjiro over with her to the refreshments table. “Really, I don’t know how you can just shrug off the rumours about us dating like that. It’s like water sliding off a duck’s back. Amazing, really…”

Ginjiro simply watches Hayami silently as she stares down at the table of hors d-oeuvres, tongue poking at the inside of her cheek adorably. “The canapes look good… hmm, so do the cranberry crostinis…” So adorably innocent, so painfully oblivious.

“Take both,” Ginjiro advises. “I’ll tell your mother I tried to feed you a little too much cake, and she’ll be delighted to hear that we’re getting along so well. Though you should probably make your choice quickly, because I think the dances are going to start anytime soon.”

As soon as he says that, the sound of bowstrings fill the air, the string quartet starting the night off with a familiar and upbeat step. Ginjiro takes Hayami’s hand in his own, and before she can comment, pops a cream puff into her mouth. “Come on, let’s go. I know this song.”

Hayami swallows the puff before smiling. “A little rude to just drag me along without asking, hm? What happened to being a perfect gentleman?”

“Oh, so now you want to play this game.” Ginjiro laughs, but obliges her anyway, stepping in front of her to hold out a hand. “Milady, I would be most honoured to be your first dance at tonight’s banquet. Would you make me the happiest man here tonight?”

With a laugh she takes his hand, and the two of them sweep onto the dance floor together. It’s a tune Hayami has heard many times already, and she puts one hand on Ginjiro’s shoulder while his own rests on her waist. Hayami has danced to this song so many times already that she could probably do it in her sleep, and from the ease with which Ginjiro moves, it seems the same goes for him. For a moment, Hayami wonders how Tanjirou would fare at a high society dance like this.

He’s athletic, of course, with remarkably good coordination over his limbs and he did perform that traditional kagura dance at their school festival once, but Hayami doesn’t think that he has much appreciation for Western classical music or their dances. Still, he would look amazing in a suit, as much as he’s uncomfortable with dressing up.

“I’m sorry for earlier, you know.” Ginjiro’s sudden words take her by surprise. When she glances up to look at him, Ginjiro’s dark eyes are on her as they sway to the rhythm together, unreadable. Frowning, Hayami squeezes his shoulder lightly in an attempt to get him to lighten up.

“What for?”

“The whole deal with your parents earlier,” he says, and his voice is serious as he twirls her effortlessly. “I couldn’t find one of the cufflinks I was supposed to wear tonight, so I told my own family to go on ahead. I didn’t plan this with your parents, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Hayami purses her lips as Ginjiro continues to lead her in the dance. “No, no. As much as your flirting leaves much to be desired,” Ginjiro manages a tiny smile at that, “I know you wouldn’t do something like that. But did you really have to escort me in?”

“Like I said earlier, it would seem strange if I just entered alone while you were there,” Ginjiro explains, and Hayami knows that she’s just whining at this point. If Ginjiro hadn’t offered to escort her in, the media would have spun the story in a completely different direction instead. Something like: Sparks crackle between two heirs! Bad blood between Sumiyuri and Sato families? “If you’re really that upset about it, how about I owe you one for this?”

“Damned if you do, damned it you don’t,” Hayami mutters under her breath, annoyed. “No matter what we do, there’ll always be some sort of ridiculous rumour floating around us. Ugh.”

“Well, I do know a way to stop those rumours,” Ginjiro shrugs, and Hayami looks up at him with wide eyes. Since when did he have such powerful connections in the media?

“What way?”

A gasp escapes her when Ginjiro pulls her into a dip, and her breath catches in her breath when Ginjiro leans in just a bit too close, his warm breath ghosting over the tip of her nose. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief, and for a moment, Hayami can’t look away.

“We turn them into the truth, of course.”

Hayami gapes at him for a full minute (probably not, but that’s what it feels like to her), before she regains her senses and pulls herself upright. “Like your flirting, your humour also leaves much to be desired, really.” Her cheeks are hot.

“I’m not joking. Think about it,” Ginjiro rests both hands on her waist and gently sways with her, his gaze serious once more. Hayami can’t bear to meet his gaze. “Your parents would approve if you got into a relationship with me, and then I would be able to take you away from that family you hate so much. I wouldn’t let them lay a hand on you ever again.”

“Ginjiro,” Hayami tries to say, but Ginjiro continues.

“My parents love you. My sisters love you. They’d treat you well.” He pauses. “And I… well, I’d take care of you. I would do everything to make you happy. You know I would.”

Hayami swallows, looking down at their feet moving in tandem together. It’s harder because Hayami knows it’s true: although he lays the flirting on a bit thick sometimes, Ginjiro would dote on her and take care of her with the same devotion he shows his family. And he’s one of her best friends, she doesn’t know what she would have done without him after… that incident back in her previous school. Hayami does love and care for him in return as well…

But probably, and perhaps unfortunately, not the way that Ginjiro wishes that she would.

“You don’t have to love me,” Ginjiro adds quietly, and for a second, Hayami feels like she’s about to burst into tears. In the next second, however, it’s instantly followed by a cocky, “I’m sure that I could get you to fall in love with me eventually, though.” The impending tears are instantly replaced with a roll of the eyes.

Still, Hayami’s grateful that he’s looking out for her. “Thanks, Ginjiro,” she says warmly, and really means it. “I don’t know whether I’m being silly or a fool, but… I’d still like to try finding my own happiness with my own hands first. If that doesn’t work out, well,” she shrugs, “at least I get Masako as a sister-in-law, am I right?”

Ginjiro gasps, playfully scandalised. “Masko is the one that you’re looking forward to? Not the sexy model husband who would make you breakfast in bed and buy your flowers everyday?”

“Toshiko-san knows my palette and cooks perfectly well, and I can buy my own flowers.” The song comes to a stop at that moment, and both Ginjiro and Hayami pull apart to dip into the final bow. “Thank you, though, Ginjiro.”

Ginjiro smiles, straightening up and adjusting his suit.

“It’s no problem at all, my dearest Hayami.”

>>>

“Oh my gods!”

Tanjirou flinches as Nezuko’s shriek (although banshee- scream would probably be more appropriate) echoes through their apartment. It feels a lot louder than usual, with the entire house being empty — his parents had taken the younger kids to visit their uncles Tsugikuni and Yoriichi in the countryside. With a sigh, he sets down the maths problem he’s been attempting to solve for the past half an hour and trudges outside. “Nezuko, keep it down. You’ll wake the neighbours and we might get a noise complaint again.”

“Keep it down?” Nezuko demands, not at all listening to him. She’s sitting in front of the television, sheet mask half falling off her face in indignant rage. “Keep it down? How on earth can I keep it down when this,” she gestures at the television screen almost violently with the remote, “is happening?”

Bemused, Tanjirou raises his head to look at the television — and remembers too late the promise that he’d made with Hayami earlier that night.

“Breaking news!” The live broadcast blares, unbearably loud in Tanjirou’s ears. “Sole heiress of Sumiyuri Corporation escorted by Sato Conglomerate Heir at the Ubuyashiki Charity Banquet, seen dancing and having intimate rendezvous together! Could there be a secret romance at play between the two rising stars of the business world?” The screen immediately cuts to some footage of Hayami on Ginjiro’s arm, being escorted down the red carpet —cut— Ginjiro feeding Hayami something next to a table of refreshments —cut— Ginjiro dipping Hayami during a dance, one arm keeping her upright and his mouth dangerously close to hers.

“Industry insiders say that the two have always been close since their childhood days, and Sumiyuri Hayami even transferred to Kimetsu Academy two years ago, where Sato Ginjiro was studying at the time. Could this be the blooming of a long budding childhood romance?”

The broadcast cuts to several magazine covers and pages that Hayami and Ginjiro had done together in the past, and a few blurry photos of the two of them in school uniform clearly taken by the paparazzi.

“That’s fucking ridiculous!” Nezuko hollers, and Tanjirou has to hold both her arms because she looks like she’s about to start swinging at the television any second. “As if she would ever like that flirty prick! Hayami-nee chan has higher standards than that! This is absolutely appalling and I—”

The television suddenly goes black, and Nezuko looks up to see her older brother with the remote in hand, mouth pressed into a neutral line.

“This—” Nezuko stutters for a moment, knowing that however annoyed she is, her brother must be feeling it ten times more. “What are you still doing here? Go!”

Tanjirou frowns. “Go where?”

“To where the banquet is, of course!” Nezuko cries. “Go confess to her on air and clear up this ridiculous scandal! I’m sure that Sato guy planned this… go and show that little slimy snake who’s boss!”

“Calm down, Nezuko.” Her older brother just lets out a sigh before setting down the remote, too calm for her liking. She needs to calm down? He’s the one who needs to be more upset about this! “Waltzing up to a high society charity banquet and professing my feelings to her in front of all the cameras… that would just lead to a bigger scandal of the same sort, not to mention irrational and… pretty much impossible. Besides, the tabloids are known for exaggerating. Her relationship with Ginjiro shouldn’t concern me.”

Although she’s still fuming, Nezuko notes how he says shouldn’t instead of doesn’t, but wisely chooses not to comment on it. It’s clear that her ever patient brother is annoyed enough as it is, brows slightly furrowed and mouth pressed flat. It can’t be a great feeling to see your crush dancing the night away with your love rival. “Uhm, whatever you say, niichan. Let’s just turn off the television for the rest of the night, they don’t know anything anyway! Fuck the tabloids!”

Tanjirou puts a hand over his younger sister’s mouth, one eyebrow raised. “And what’s with all the cursing and swearing tonight, hmm? Do you want me to tell okaa-san?”

Nezuko’s pink eyes go wide with terror. “Eye urm shorry,” she apologises immediately. “Eye wheel go to me rhoom now.”

Tanjirou smiles and releases her, watching as Nezuko scuttles off to her room. “Good girl.” The second the door closes behind her, he lets out a sigh and allows himself to flop onto the couch with a groan. Was this what Hayami didn’t want him to see? Why would she not want him to see this? No matter how hard he wracks his brain, he can’t make heads or tails of it.

Unwilling to sour his mood even further, he tosses a couch pillow onto his head in an attempt to bury those thoughts. And this must have been the surprise that Ginjiro was talking about… he can just see the smug look on Ginjiro’s face the next time they meet, hear the boasting in his ear...

He rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. Tanjirou doesn’t think like he’ll be able to act like he hasn’t seen the broadcast tomorrow, so it might be better to just confess earlier and be done with it. Pulling out his phone, he texts Hayami a quick message.

Saw the news. Hope you’re doing okay.

Tanjirou’s just about to toss his phone to the side when it starts vibrating in his hand. Nearly jumping in surprise, he looks down to see who’s calling and nearly jumps again when he sees that it’s Hayami. He didn’t expect the banquet to end so quickly. He’s not really ready to talk about this, but it would be strange if he didn’t pick up when he was texting her just a moment ago…

Reluctantly, he accepts the call and holds it up to his ear. Before he can so much as get a word out, however, Hayami’s already rambling at a mile per minute.

“What do you mean you saw the news?” Over the phone, her voice sounds frantic, almost guilty. “I just got back and I saw your text, I swear, Tanjirou, I really didn’t mean for you to find out like this—” Tanjirou’s heart sinks like a stone.

Well, that just makes Tanjirou feel a whole lot worse. So Hayami was trying to hide her relationship with Ginjiro from him, which probably means that she doesn’t see him as much as a close friend as he thought she did. “It’s alright, Hayami,” he reassures her, although he’s anything but. “Sorry for breaking our promise, but Nezuko was watching the television and called me over… I’m happy for you and Ginjiro, though. He’ll take good care of you—”

“No, no!” Hayami rushes to put a stop to Tanjirou’s words. “No, I’m not dating Ginjiro!”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to explain why I was going to be at the banquet with Ginjiro, since I know the two of you don’t like each other every much and he hasn’t been treating you all nice,” Hayami hurries to explain, as though afraid that Tanjirou might just hang up on her at any moment. “I really wasn’t intending on hiding anything from you, really!”

“I understand.” Tanjirou is probably feeling happier than he should be at the news, but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. “You don’t have to feel worried about that in the future, alright? I understand that you and Ginjiro are good friends, I won’t be petty over something like that.”

“Thanks, Tanjirou.” He can hear the smile in Hayami’s voice. “So… will I still be seeing you tomorrow?”

“Of course!” As if he would turn down seeing her. Not the slightest chance! “Ah, but won’t there be a lot of paparazzi tailing you? Would it be better for you if we reschedule?”

“No!” Hayami insists, more vehemently than Tanjirou had expected. “I mean, no, there’s no need. Sure, there’ll be paparazzi about but I’m more than used to them, and I know all their tricks. I’m not going to let some nosy reporters ruin our day out tomorrow! I was looking forward to this all week!”

The second she says that, Tanjirou feels his entire face erupt with heat. For one moment, he’s almost grateful for the distance between them — so that she can’t see just how red his face has become. Little does he know that on the other end, Hayami is on the verge of losing it with embarrassment.

“O-okay, then, if you say so.” Tanjirou says to break the silence after neither of them speak for a whole minute. “Should I, uhh, wear a disguise of some sort? Like they do in the movies?”

“Well, you don’t need to, but you can wear a mask and cap just in case. Public scrutiny and the tabloids, and all that. I’ll be wearing a disguise tomorrow too, so don’t be too surprised when you see me!” She pauses for a moment. “Not really the outing that we planned, is it? Sorry for making you have to go through something like this. You’re sure you still want to hang out, right? You’re not saying that just to make me feel better?”

“I promise that I’m not,” Tanjirou tells her. “And I don’t mind. We’ll be like those spies in the CIA movies with disguises… sounds fun.”

He knows that that was the right thing to say when he can practically hear her smile over the phone. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Hayami.”

>>>

When Tanjirou meets Hayami at their designated spot — a mall at the outskirts of the town, where far less people are likely to recognise Hayami — he’s not sure that Hayami knows what a disguise is. She’s dressed in a pair of ordinary black sweats and tee with a matching mask and cap, and she makes it look like she belongs on the front page of a women’s sportswear magazine. Not exactly being subtle like Tanjirou had thought, but Hayami is a model, after all.

He’s surprised that no one has recognised her before, though.

Hayami spots him as he approaches, giving him a bright wave. Her lilac eyes are sparkling behind her sunglasses. “It’s good to see you,” she says breathlessly, shifting from one foot to the other as she speaks. Perhaps she’s nervous about someone recognising her? “Sorry again about yesterday.”

Tanjirou smiles behind his mask. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, before pulling something out of his bag. “Here this is for you.”

Hayami takes it from him, looking down at it with bemusement before her eyes light up. “This is—!”

“One of my father’s taro mochi buns.” Tanjirou answers, scratching at his cheek a little awkwardly. “I was helping my father with the dough this morning and saved one for you since you never get any.”

“It’s not my fault I can never wake up early enough to get one! They’re always sold out by the time I reach the bakery.” Hayami tucks it into her bag like it’s some sort of precious gift. “Thank you, Tanjirou. I’ll have it later when we’re in a, uhh, more secluded place.”

“Let’s go then,” Tanjirou suggests, and for some reason, Hayami’s gaze suddenly turns furtive. “Uhh, yeah, well, about that… you see…”

“Baby, is this strange guy bothering you?” An arm reaches out, and Tanjirou looks up to see a masked vaguely familiar face pulling Hayami into his side. “Hey, we’re here together, so—”

Tanjirou exhales through his teeth. “Ginjiro-san,” he says begrudgingly. Unfortunately, he feels as though he’s already starting to catch on to what’s going on here, and he’s not at all too pleased by it.

“Kamado?” Ginjiro looks similarly bemused as to what the other is doing here, looking down at Hayami as if to confirm he’s got the right person before looking up at Tanjirou again. “Kamado? Kamado Tanjirou?”

“That’s my name, yes.” Tanjirou sighs, turning to look at Hayami, who’s suddenly not meeting his eyes. “Hayami? Is there something you would like to explain?”

“Yeah, Hayami-chan, did you mix up the dates that you were meeting the two of us or something?” Ginjiro reaches out to sling an arm over Hayami’s shoulder, which she halfheartedly bats away. “There’s no way you expected me to hang out with this guy for a whole day willingly, did you?”

Tanjirou folds his arms over his chest, unamused. “You’re taking the words right out of my mouth.”

Ginjiro’s eyelid twitches. “Now, you look here, you—”

“Stop!” Hayami steps between the two of them, pushing them apart. “It’s my fault, I’m the one who asked both of you here to hang out together.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” Ginjiro mutters under his breath, disgusted at the thought. Hayami smacks him in the arm.

“Stop that.”

“Ow…”

“As much as I hate to say it, I have to agree with Ginjiro-san on this one,” Tanjirou says, obviously quite unhappy with the whole idea. “I thought that it’s obvious that we, ah, don’t enjoy each other’s company. I don’t see how today’s going to turn out enjoyable for either of us.”

“I know, I know…” Hayami sighs, pushing out her lower lip and twirling at the end of her ponytail. “That’s exactly why I thought to ask the two of you out today, since I knew you would never agree to come if you knew I invited the other—”

“With good reason… ouch!”

“Anyways, I thought that we could all hang out together like respectful, civilised people, and that the two of you could probably get to know each other a little better and be less… antagonistic towards each other!” Ginjiro and Tanjirou give each other a doubtful look, realise that they’re making the exact same expression, and turn away immediately. “I know it’s a little thick skinned of me to ask this when I’ve basically scammed the two of you into coming here, but would the two of you please just try being friendly for one day? For what it’s worth, I am sorry for doing this.”

Ginjiro and Tanjirou make matching disgusted expressions again, and Hayami sighs internally. Look at the two of them, getting along quicker than a house on fire. Any more and the two would probably burn each other down. Literally.

“For just one day?” She pleads, trying for the best puppy dog eyes she can. Maybe this could be counted as manipulation, but if it would get these two to attempt at getting along for once, it can’t be an entirely bad thing, right? “It would make me very, very happy?”

Ginjiro grumbles half heartedly, kicking at the ground. “Well…” he mutters after a moment, “I do owe you one after yesterday, so I guess I could try my best to put up with this guy for one day. But only one day, you hear me?”

“Thank you!” Hayami says brightly, before turning to look at Tanjirou. His normally cheerful expression has gone as flat as a punctured tyre, and Hayami does feel guilty for putting him up to this. He was all excited to spend the day with her, and while she did have good intentions, she did metaphorically pull the rug out from under his feet. “Tanjirou? If you really don’t want to, I’ll understand…”

“Why does he get a Just Say No option and I don’t?” Ginjiro grouses, and Hayami ignores him.

Finally, after a few beats of silence, Tanjirou lets out an exhale and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, just for today, then.” Ginjiro’s expression turns a little dismayed — he was probably banking on Tanjirou turning this down for the both of them. “I understand that you had good intentions, but Hayami, let’s not make scamming people a habit, alright?”

Hayami grins sheepishly, releasing her hair from the death grip her fingers have on them. “Yes, understood.” She beams at the two of them. “Now, let’s get along well today!”

Ginjiro and Tanjirou exchange glances. This is going to be a very long day.

>>>

The first place their little trio for the day stops by is an obscure clothing shop, a brand which Tanjirou has never seen before. Hayami explains to him as they enter that although the pieces here aren’t those of the stereotypical big brands, they sell limited edition one of a kind fashion pieces that never go out of style. All Tanjirou knows is that he’s never had anyone escort him to a plush velvet seat the moment he’s entered a store, or offered him drinks of his choice.

From the way Hayami greets the staff by name and the way they fawn over her, however, they must already know who she is. For a moment, he worries whether the paparazzi will find them here. He’s not really interested in having his face plastered all over the tabloids, as happy as that would make Nezuko.

“They won’t find us here, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ginjiro remarks offhandedly when Hayami is being led around the store, looking through some of their newer pieces. Tanjirou stiffens for a moment, before he turns to look at Ginjiro. Had he really been that obvious? “You look like you’re a criminal who’s just escaped the pound. Relax or you’ll be giving your peasantry away.”

Tanjirou had almost been grateful until he’d said that last sentence. Barely refraining from rolling his eyes, he instead opts to stand and look through some of the items that they have on display.

There are socks here. Limited edition socks. Truly the statement of fashion and luxury. And they cost—

“You’ve probably never even seen price tags this high before,” Ginjiro comments snidely from behind, and Tanjirou refuses to grace the boy with even a single look, continuing to look through the items. He’s just trying to get a rise out of him, and Tanjirou refuses to play his petty games. His parents raised him better than this.

“So what if I haven’t?” Tanjirou retorts coolly. “I have no need for grossly overinflated socks. Not to mention, these look ridiculous.”

Okay, maybe he needs to practise some breathing exercises to calm himself down.

Ginjiro snorts. “Not that I would expect someone like you to be able to appreciate the finer arts. No wonder why Hayami wants us to wear disguises, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the same photograph as you.”

“Don’t insult Hayami’s character like that,” Tanjirou answers, turning away. Ginjiro is just trying to rile him up, he has to remind himself. He knows Hayami, and Hayami is nothing like that. They’re wearing disguises today because of the scandal from yesterday, not because Hayami is ashamed of Tanjirou.

But, a nefarious voice whispers in his mind, she didn’t have any problem being all close to Ginjiro yesterday.

“Why wouldn’t she? The two of you are leagues apart,” Ginjiro mutters under his breath. “You’re probably just some kind of charity case to her, or something along those lines…”

Tanjirou snaps. To hell with self restraint. If Ginjiro wants to aim below the belt, there’s no point holding back blows.

“Well,” Tanjirou retorts, uncharacteristically petty all of a sudden. “At least I’m not a desperate dog, slobbering all over Hayami when she doesn’t want it. Tell me, Ginjiro-san, how many times has Hayami smacked me away when I come into contact with her, hmm? How about taking that unwanted attention somewhere else where it’s actually wanted?”

Ginjiro’s face twists, and Tanjirou knows he’s hit a sore spot. “You—!” His fingers fist at Tanjirou’s collar, dragging the shorter boy closer until they’re eye to eye.

Tanjirou has no idea how that situation would have escalated, so it’s fortunate that Hayami shows up when she does, a small mountain of blouses in her arms that she can’t quite see around. “These look pretty interesting, I think I’m going to the changing rooms to try them out!” She says brightly, before trailing off when she sees the position that the two of them are in. “Uhh, guys? What’s going on here?”

The two spring apart almost instantaneously. “Nothing,” Ginjiro manages to spit out, the tips of his ears still suspiciously red. Tanjirou takes a deep breath and a moment to readjust his collar.

“He was just, uhh, cleaning something off my shirt.” Tanjirou makes an attempt at a reassuring smile, which isn’t working very well by the look of suspicion on Hayami’s face. Still, she doesn’t ask too much, instead giving them both a smile.

“Well, I was just thinking of going to try these out!” Hayami says, showing them both the clothes she’s picked out. “Want to help me rate them? I’m going to head over to the changing rooms now, but if the two of you don’t want to come along, I’m fine with that too…”

“Of course I’m coming along,” Ginjiro says loudly over Tanjirou, who barely manages to hold back a sigh and continues. “I’d like that a lot,” he says earnestly, and Hayami beams.

“Let’s go then!”

The second Hayami turns and moves off towards the changing rooms, Ginjiro and Tanjirou exchange glares one more time behind her back before they race to catch up with her.

>>>

The next stop of their little outing today is a sweets shop. Hayami has always had a preference for quaint, cosy European style cafes, and this one looks like it’d walked right off one of the sidewalks of France. After a few seconds of poring over the menu behind the counter, however, Hayami frowns and turns to look at them.

“I need to go to the bathroom for a moment,” she informs the two of them apologetically. Tanjirou barely holds back a grimace. He’s going to be left alone with Ginjiro again, and gods know how well that had gone the last time. “Would the two of you mind ordering first?”

“Of course I can order for you,” Ginjiro cuts in before Tanjirou can reply. “What would you like?”

Hayami scrunches up her face at the menu for a few seconds before giving up with a shrug of the shoulders. “Anything, really. The two of you can decide for me, I really got to go!” With that, she makes her way out of the cafe with an urgent bounce in her step, the bell hanging at the door chiming as if to announce her exit.

Great, Tanjirou thinks, keeping his eyes firmly on the menu. He’s determined not to respond to any of Ginjiro’s petty taunts today. Just great.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

“Good afternoon,” the cashier sounds polite, if not tired. Or perhaps annoyed. A university student working here part time, maybe? “What can I get you?”

“I’m thinking… a caramel and vanilla latte, and maybe some of the sweet jam or marmalade pastries,” Tanjirou says out loud, in an attempt to be polite to Ginjiro before ordering. After all, he’s already more than familiar with Hayami’s palate, having accompanied her many times to her shifts at Sweetie Cup. Hayami’s sweet tooth is almost scary to be reckoned with.

Ginjiro makes a face, as though he’s trying not to roll his eyes at Tanjirou. “That’s not even real coffee, seriously… That shit is like, ninety percent sugar and ten percent real espresso. You’re going to make Hayami drink something like that?” Tanjirou stares at him.

“That’s what she usually orders when we go out together,” he replies flatly. Ginjiro scoffs.

“Probably because she has to accommodate your peasant taste…” he mutters under his breath, before turning to the waiting cashier. “You probably don’t know what she actually likes. A rose tea and a slice of strawberry shortcake, thanks.”

Tanjirou frowns. “I don’t think you should be ordering the most expensive thing on the menu for someone who isn’t even here to make the decision.” The cashier stares between the two of them, fingers frozen above the ordering system. They’re not sure which order to take now. “It’s not very considerate to Hayami now, is it?”

“I never said I was going to make Hayami pay for it in the first place—”

“Oh, what are the two of you still doing here? You’re still not done ordering?” The two of them whirl around simultaneously at the sound of Hayami’s voice, to see her walking up to them with a look of confusion on her face. Silently, the cashier breathes a sigh of relief from behind the counter. When Hayami sees the tense looks on their faces, she frowns. “You’re not arguing now, are you?”

Tanjirou makes a face, unable to lie but not wanting to admit that they had, but before he can decide on a course of action, Ginjiro cuts in smoothly.

“No, not at all,” he says hastily. “I was just… thinking about what to order and couldn’t decide. All the stuff here looks, uhh, too appetising, y’know?” He gestures at the menu. Tanjirou stares at Ginjiro like he’s grown a second and then a third head.

They were just squabbling a moment ago, and both of them know that they’re not on good terms. So why is Ginjiro covering for him now?

The cashier gives him a flat look but wisely chooses not to comment. Their hourly rate probably doesn’t pay them enough for it. From the look on Hayami’s face, it doesn’t seem like she fully believes him either, but decides to let it drop anyway.

“Right… I’ll just… order for myself,” she says, looking between the two of them strangely before stepping up to the counter. “I’ll have a vanilla latte and a strawberry shortcake, then.”

Tanjirou and Ginjiro exchange a glance. Neither of them were totally correct after all, and so neither can gloat.

The tea is an awkward one between the two of them.

>>>

Finally, after the sun has gone down, the three of them exit the mall with Tanjirou and Ginjiro still no closer than they were before.

Still, Hayami looks pleased with how today has turned out — they haven’t gone for each other’s throats, not even once! — and so Tanjirou supposes that that is a win for all of them, Ginjiro included.

He walks both Hayami to the pick up area (—and by extension, Ginjiro), and is surprised when Katsuo-san is nowhere to be seen, only a sleek white BMW with an unfamiliar man dressed in a neatly pressed suit waiting for them. “Young Master,” he greets Ginjiro with an impeccable bow. “Miss Sumiyuri.”

Tanjirou glances over at Hayami. “Is Katsuo-san not coming?”

Ginjiro baulks. “You mean, that grumpy old man lets you call him by name?” He asks incredulously, which neither Tanjirou or Hayami seem to hear.

“Right, I was going to have a sleepover tonight at Ginjiro’s house,” Hayami explains. Tanjirou barely manages to stop himself from making a face, and then actually doesn’t when he catches sight of the smug expression that Ginjiro’s wearing. Luckily for him, Hayami doesn’t seem to notice that either. “However, I did make plans with you first today, and I do owe you one after the little stunt I pulled,” she seems sheepish at that, tugging a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “so, would you like to join us?”

Tanjirou can’t decide whether to burst out laughing or feel offended by the look of horror that appears on Ginjiro’s face.

“I’m not too sure that would be a good idea,” Ginjiro says, a tad too quickly to be sincere. “You know my younger sister, Hayami, she doesn’t like having people that she doesn’t know over—” Hayami frowns up at him.

“Isn’t Masako-chan, no, isn’t your entire family out of town tonight at a socialite gala?” Hayami raises an eyebrow. “Or do you just not want Tanjirou to come along?”

“No, no,” Ginjiro deflects instantly. “He’s more than welcome to come over if he wants to!” He looks like he would rather eat poison than say those words again.

“You don’t have to open up your house if you don’t want to,” Hayami insists. “I understand that it’s your house, and you don’t have to open it up to a stranger if you don’t want to. I can just arrange a sleepover at Tanjirou’s house another day, and—”

“No, I’m very sure! Kamado-kun can come along all he wants!”

>>>

And that’s how they — all three of them — end up at the Sato family mansion, Tanjirou dressed in some spare guest pyjamas lying around. Unlike the traditional Sumiyuri Estate, the Sato mansion seems to focus more on the newer trends, with tasteful pieces of abstract art hanging on the walls and eclectic furniture in all shapes decorating the rooms.

Hayami charges the two of them with preparing the snacks for the movie while she gathers the pillows and blankets, so the boys are left to their own devices again in the kitchen. In any ordinary setting, Ginjiro would probably just microwave popcorn or order some food online, but his ultimate rival is here, and he’s not going to pass up this chance to show Tanjirou up.

“Cream puffs,” he says, insistent. Tanjirou shakes his head from the other side of the kitchen island and holds up a bag.

“Caramel corn.”

Ginjiro scoffs. “That’s peasant food, Kamado-kun. I’m the host tonight, and I have no intention of feeding my guest second rate food.” The singular noun of guest makes it very clear that Tanjirou is unwelcome here.

“The cream puffs deflate with time and aren’t suited for the length of any movie,” Tanjirou insists, barely managing to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Besides, Hayami likes caramel corn. She asks for them all the time when she’s over at my house for movie night.”

The little argument may have developed into a full blown kitchen showdown if it hadn’t been for Hayami wandering into the kitchen, freezing the two of them in place. “Oooh, cream puffs!” She says excitedly, reaching out to take some from Ginjiro and popping them into her mouth. Ginjiro barely has a moment to feel smug before she sees the caramel corn in Tanjirou’s arms. “And you found the caramel corn! Together with the cream puffs, I think that’ll be more than enough snacks for tonight, won’t it?”

When neither of the boys reply, she frowns at the two of them. “Uhh, guys?” Tanjirou and Ginjiro snap out of their little staring match instantly.

“Yes, of course it’ll be more than enough—”

“Right, I was just distracted for a moment—”

Hayami pauses to stare at the two of them. Were they… having a moment? Had she interrupted them when they were finally starting to get along there?

“I could go first, if the two of you weren’t done with deciding on the snacks…” Hayami says slowly, and the two boys practically scramble over each other to get out of the kitchen.

“Nope, we’re good!”

Hayami frowns, following the two boys out bemusedly. “Okay…” She moves to sit at the side of the couch, patting the seat next to her. “Come on, hurry up and sit! I want to see what movies there are available.”

Both Ginjiro and Tanjirou take a step towards the offered seat and crash hard into each other. Before Hayami can so much as ask if they’re alright, the two glare at each other, sparks practically flying.

“I like the middle seat,” Tanjirou says suddenly, the pettiest Hayami has ever heard from him, ever. Ginjiro glares back at him.

“My house. I get the middle seat.”

“And as the host, shouldn’t you be more hospitable to—”

Hayami sees no other way to break up the fight, except by shifting to claim said seat herself. “Well, now neither of you are going to get it,” she shrugs, picking up the remote to flick through the Netflix catalogue. The squabbling is cut off immediately as the two boys turn to stare at her. “Early bird gets the worm, and all that. Really though, why so much quarrel over the middle seat? Seriously, guys.”

Tanjirou’s mouth opens and closes, like a particularly entertaining goldfish, while Ginjiro just grumbles and runs a hand through his hair.

“It’s got the softest cushion,” he mutters in way of an explanation, ears red, settling in the seat to her right. Tanjirou quietly takes a seat at the other.

Hayami bounces up and down on it lightly, surprised. She never knew that, even with all the times she’s been over.

“Really? It feels the same to me— oh!” Hayami looks at the two of them, startled. “We completely forgot about the drinks. The two of you choose the movie, I’ll be right back!” And with that, she disappears into the kitchen once more.

Both of them reach for the remote at the same time, and immediately jerk their arms back when their fingers meet. Ginjiro glares.

“Hayami likes horror.”

Tanjirou glares right back. “She likes animated family movies more.” Ginjiro was probably too pushy for Hayami to turn down the horror movie — he remembers her clinging to his arm when they visited the haunted house that Rengoku-sensei had organised for their class.

“She loves horror movies! Hayami’s said that—”

Hayami appears from the kitchen, carrying three cans of soft drinks. She stops when she sees the two of them glaring at each other, her own eyes narrowing. “Boys?”

“We’re not fighting,” Ginjiro rushes to clarify (or lie, Tanjirou supposes. Semantics.) before Hayami can form a conclusion. “We were just discussing which genre we should pick from. Hayami, you like horror, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I love ho—” she begins to say, but then rapidly cuts herself off when she remembers that Tanjirou is right there, staring at her with surprise written all over his face. Right, the last haunted house… it had only been a teeny weeny fib! “Uh, I mean I love horror when I have friends to watch them with! Makes me feel less scared and all that, you know?”

Her morality rolls its eyes while her pride is crying on its knees.

Ginjiro’s chest looks a little puffed out at her words. “So that’s why you watch them with me and not this guy,” he says, and Hayami has… no clue what on earth he’s talking about now. “It’s alright, Hayami, I completely understand.”

No, there isn’t! Hayami squints at him. What exactly is there for you to understand here?

“I suppose we can watch an animated family movie tonight,” Ginijro relents, taking his seat on the couch once again. Tanjirou just stares at Ginjiro for a moment, before shrugging and sinking back into the couch, clearly as lost as Hayami feels. But well, the boys aren’t arguing anymore, so that’s a win, isn’t it?

She slips between the two of them as the beginning of Inside Out begins to play, sagging into the cushions. Ahh, she and Ginjiro have watched this movie so many times before that she can practically recite the lines in her sleep. It’s become one of her comfort movies by now, but she just knows that Ginjiro is going to be sobbing again by the end of it.

And precisely because of that, she’s already nodding off before they even get to the ten minute mark, her head lolling to the side. Ginjiro is the first to notice, and he gives her a little nudge. “Falling asleep already?” Tanjirou glances over.

“Well, it’s been a long day.” She yawns, pillowing her head on Ginjiro’s shoulder. “And the two of you always look as though you’re on the verge of throwing hands, and I can’t have that, okay? Both of you are really important to me, and I just want my friends to be friends so that we can all get along…”

With that, Hayami finally drifts off the sleep, tuckered out for the night.

Awkward but unwilling to break the silence, the movie continues until the moment Bing Bong is left in the Memory Dump, and Tanjirou hears soft sniffling from the other end of the couch. When he subtly glances to the side, he’s horrified to see Ginjiro with the blanket pulled up to his chin, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Silently, he picks up the tissue box and offers it to the boy.

For a moment, Ginjiro glares at him (although the threatening image is much ruined by his watery eyes), but at the last moment he reaches over to take some tissues and silently blows his nose.

Tanjirou returns the tissue box to the side delicately, and not another word is said until the end credits are rolling.

They’re clearing up after them with Hayami fast asleep on the couch when Ginjiro suddenly says, “You’re not actually all that bad, Kamado.”

Tanjirou pauses from where he’s picking up his empty can, wondering whether it’s another gambit from the boy. Eventually, he settles for a bemused ‘thanks, I suppose?’

Ginjiro rolls his eyes. “That’s the most that you’re getting out of me,” he snarks, before picking up a candy wrapper.

“We could be friends too, you know,” Tanjirou offers with a shrug of his shoulders. “Hayami definitely seems to think so.”

There’s a quiet snort, and Tanjirou barely manages to catch the chocolate bon bon tossed at his face. When he shakes his head, Ginjiro is grinning at him, but somehow with far less of his usual vitriol. It’s a strangely pleasant sight to see.

“Don’t push your luck too far, Kamado,” he warns with a roguish grin. “ Hayami’s still mine, and I’m keeping you at arm’s length.”

Tanjirou lets out a sigh, pushing down a smile. “We’ll see about that. I’m not planning on giving up either.”

Ginjiro scoffs at that, but there’s a grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

“And may the best man win, hmm?”

The two settle onto the pull out mattresses at the foot of the couch, and Tanjirou watches as Ginjiro pulls the covers over his head and goes to sleep. For a moment, he simply stares at Hayami’s peaceful sleeping face before he pulls the covers over his head.

“May the best man win,” he murmurs as sleep pulls him under.

>>>

Ginjiro stands his ground firmly in front of the stove. There’s a small mountain of little pancakes next to him, neatly stacked on a plate. There’s another cooking in the pan, courtesy of chef Sato Ginjiro. Tanjirou didn’t know the man could actually cook, which is another point that Tanjirou will use to contend with him.

“Pancakes. With chocolate drizzle and fresh strawberries.”

“Waffles,” Tanjirou insists, shaking his head. “Hayami likes them. She says they look like little hashtags.”

Ginjiro almost looks pained. “This is what I make every time Hayami comes over to my house for a sleepover.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time you tried something new, isn’t it?”

Ginjiro glares at him for a moment, before he rolls his eyes and steps forward. “Oh, for god’s sake,” Tossing his spatula to the side, he shoves Tanjirou out of the kitchen. “It’s the ass crack at the beginning of the weekend, and I’ve only got pancake mix in my house. You can buy a damn waffle iron if you want to make her waffles so bad.”

“I will!” Tanjirou calls back, as he makes his way back to the living room. “You’ll see the best waffles the next time I come by your house. By the way, I think that pancake of yours is burning!”

“It isn’t! And there’ll never be a next time, asshole!”

Tanjirou swallows his laugh and sits next to where Hayami is still fast asleep on the couch. She’d slept through the whole of last night like a baby, even through Ginjiro’s awful snoring and their bickering when they’d gotten up in the morning. Tanjirou had never been more ready to suffocate a man in his sleep.

Still, there’s pancakes and regrettably no waffles to be eaten, which taste best fresh off the pan, and so Hayami must wake up. He reaches out to shake her gently.

“Hayami,” he whispers gently. “Time for breakfast.”

She doesn’t stir at all, not that Tanjirou didn’t expect it. Sumiyuri Hayami is a notoriously deep sleeper, with the ability to sleep through an earthquake. But Tanjirou knows what to do.

He moves down to where her feet are covered by the blanket, and gently tugs it off. After a few seconds of being exposed to the morning cold, one of her toes twitches and she sits up abruptly, a grumpy look on her face and her platinum hair spilling everywhere.

So pretty.

“Why?” Hayami moans, looking like she’s about to slump back into the couch. Tanjirou holds back a laugh and reaches out to shake some alertness into her.

“Ginjiro-san is making pancakes,” he explains, and at the mention of Ginjiro’s name, Hayami’s eyes become a little more alert, her back straightening.

“Tanjirou.” She rubs at her eyes, before giving him a crooked smile. “You and Ginjiro didn’t end up fighting after I fell asleep last night, did you?”

Tanjirou laughs.

“Nope, we became best friends.” He quips, and Ginjiro yells back from the kitchen.

“No, we fucking didn’t!”

Hayami manages a laugh at the thought, getting off the couch. The sun is shining, there are pancakes to be eaten, and two of her closest friends aren’t at each other’s throats — at least not for now. Maybe all her little scheming and plotting did end up with some fortunate outcomes after all.

“Good morning,” Hayami grins sleepily at Tanjirou. “Let’s go eat some pancakes.”

[amxranthiine]

kalon

(n.) the kind of beauty that is more than skin deep.

request:  Can I ask for platonic Thranduil with sister in law reader, reader is Legola's aunt and she saved Legolas' mother from dying but ended up paralyzed from waist down, needing to be on a wheelchair (let's pretend they have wheelchairs), and Thranduil is very grateful and helps reader a lot with things?

pronouns: she/her

a/n: like six months late but ITS FINE

warnings: ANGST n fluff. mentions of death and orc attacks. nightmares.

---

“Nana? Nana! Wake up, nana, please! You have to wake up!” A little Legolas screams as he watches his mother and aunt’s bodies be carried in by his father’s guard. His mother was pale and lifeless - cold hands and dark eyes, staring back into his own blue orbs as he shook her body. Though, he felt no love from her stare. Nothing about her was the same, her soul had already been lifted from her fragile body.

Next to her lay his aunt, Y/n, his mother’s sister. She was alive but unresponsive, blood was leaving her body faster and faster each second, pooling beneath her like a crimson ball gown. From behind Legolas, his father, Thranduil, was quickly approaching the scene. Loud orders from him to his guards could likely be heard throughout the palace. One would be a fool to miss the fear, desperation and anger laced in his voice.

Y/n stirred from the commotion, her eyes burning and her body flaring in pain as she tried to become responsive once again. She could feel every centimeter of her wound, the sword that stabbed her was likely poisoned - and it embedded it’s way into her spinal cord. She could feel her life force being drained, the light becoming far too close for her liking. Even if she lived, she knew nothing would be the same - with her body and with her family. She had been too late to save her dearest sister, and that thought alone was almost enough to make her give up. However, her little sister left her a nephew and a brother, both of which would need guidance recovering from her sister’s death.

“My King Thranduil -” Started the Captain, though he was soon hushed by the horrified Elf. Thranduil was terribly shaken up, his hair was messy and his robes wrinkled, likely from the speed at which he was running.

Thranduil looked at his beloved Wife and sister in law, and he felt his blood run cold. There was - there was so much blood. His wife was nearly blue and unconscious, was she... No, he wasn’t think like that. He looked over to Y/n, where she was struggling to open her eyes, and groaning from the giant hole in her back. He could feel the tears in his eyes, and he knew deep down that his son no longer had a mother.

Y/n heard her brother in law approaching, and even though she was on the verge of death, she felt as though she had to be the one to break the news. “Thranduil?” She croaked, her throat dry and her lips cracked.

The King rushed to her, grabbing a waterskin in the process and lifting it to her lips. She coughed as she drank down as much as she could. “Y/n...”

She ignored the burning in her eyes and looked up at him, and suddenly, she wanted to cry. She didn’t have that much time left, and she had so much to say. Y/n attempted to take a deep breath, then said her last words.

“I’m so sorry, Thranduil. I - I couldn’t save her - I tried so, so - hard. Please, tell Lego - Legolas we loved him.” She used the last of her energy to say those words, and soon, her eyes slipped shut.

“No! Y/n! You can’t leave me! You can’t leave us! Legolas will need guidance. I will need guidance! Legolas just lost his mother, he can’t lose you too!”

The weight of losing both the love of his life and his sister crashed down on him, and he fell to the ground with a heartbroken scream. A tiny body forced itself into his lap as his son wept along with him, not knowing if he’d ever see his mother or aunt again. Thranduil’s arms wrapped themselves around Legolas as he rocked back and forth on the floor, weeping and crying out to the Valar, cursing them and asking to spare them.

Thranduil gasped for breath as he jumped awake, beads of sweat rolled down his face as he regained consciousness, the nightmare - no - memory he had tried so hard to forget was now engraved into his head once again. He felt the urge to go check on his, now paralyzed, sister in law. Her wounds from that awful day were fatal, but somehow she pushed through the worst of it.

Though, not without consequence. Apparently the blade had all but destroyed her spinal cord, and because of it she was paralyzed from the waist down. The healers told him that it was a miracle she was still alive.

He got out of bed and put on a velvet robe, ignoring the chill in his bones from the cold air. He quietly tiptoed to her room, trying to ignore the feeling of dread, likely the product of his nightmarish memory.

Soon enough, as it was right down the hall, he arrived at his sister's chambers and, as quietly as he could, opened the door. His heart dropped when he saw that she wasn't there, and her wheelchair was nowhere to be found.

Thranduil panicked, his mind buzzing for any clue as to where she could be. The kitchens? No, she has trouble reaching the cabinets, and the accident made it even harder for her to see. Legolas' chambers? Hard no. She could be quite clumsy and can't be quiet to save her life. Literally.

He was starting to panic. What if she was kidnapped? His dearest sister in law, kidnapped by the very creatures who paralyzed her in the first place? It seemed realistic. At least, it did to Thranduil - who was losing his mind from worry. Though the only way they could get into the palace was through the-

Of course! The Royal Gardens!

In his state of worry, Thranduil had conpletely forgotten that Y/n liked to go to the gardens when she was having a hard time, because it was one of the only places that reminded her of her sister, the place where they had the most memories.

He took off towards the Gardens, not really caring about it being in the middle of the night as Elves were light on their feet anyway. In moments he was standing before her, nodding at the guards who took place at the Garden entrance.

Y/n was laying on the grass, her wheelchair was forgotten next to her, and she was playing with an orchid she had plucked, twirling it between her fingers carefully. Thranduil's heart throbbed as he realized that orchids were his wife's favorite flower, and that Y/n was missing her as much as he did. If not more, the sisterly bond between them was something he had never seen before.

He cleared his throat, alerting the woman if his presence. Her head turned slightly to the left as a way to acknowledge him.

"You scared me, Y/n. I couldn't find you, so I assumed the worst." He muttered quietly and sat down next to her.

She chuckled, "You've known me for how long and you still don't know that I tend to... gravitate here?"

The King sighed, he had always known that she used jokes as a coping mechanism, a way to escape her reality. "Yes, yes, I know. I just... I was worried," He frowned, taking the delicate flower from between her fingers. She paused, and he could practically see the gears grinding in her head out of his peripheral vision.

"You're having nightmares again, aren't you?" She asked, and he could feel her eyes burn into his head.

"They aren't just nightmares, Y/n," He twirled the flower absentmindedly, "they're memories."

This time, it was her who sighed, "Of that day?" She questioned, already knowing the answer, but his nod only confirmed it.

"I miss her," Y/n said, looking up at the night sky. Thranduil went to say something, but she held one finger up. "Let me finish. Sometimes I wish it were me who died, instead of her. She had you and Legolas to come home to, and I didn't really have anyone. Yes, I had family here, you and my nephew for example, but my sister was your wife and his mother, and the queen for crying out loud. Why am I saying this? I honestly have no clue. I suppose my point is... After the accident, I was overwhelmed in guilt and sadness. I didn't really focus on the fact that I was alive because of you. You and Legolas have taken care of me since day one and I can't remember if I've thanked you for that. So... Thank you. For helping heal my mind, and my body, even if their isn't much left of it. I am eternally grateful for you, brother."

Thranduil stared at her, and Y/n sniffled. At some point along the way she had started crying, and he felt like he was going to as well. He pulled his sister into his arms and held her tight as she cried, holding onto one of the last pieces of family he had left with an iron grip.

"You do not have to thank me, sister. You are family and you will be treated as such, even during hardships such as that one. If anything, I should thank you for being there for both Legolas and I while we were grieving, even if you weren't in the best state yourself."

Y/n giggled, much to Thranduil's delight. The sound had pulled a small smile onto his face and they both relished in the quiet for a moment.

Finally, Y/n pulled away, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "Alright, my King, help me up."

Thranduil laughed, a very merry sound, and helped her into her wheelchair. "As you wish, my Lady."

[silksaddle]

The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing. 

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath. 

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours. 

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him. 

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view. 

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm. 

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

-

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand. 

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area. 

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort. 

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…” 

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband. 

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.” 

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly. 

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.” 

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion. 

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon. 

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair. 

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

-

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye. 

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands. 

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness. 

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt. 

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

-

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap. 

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you. 

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.” 

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.” 

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away. 

-

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe. 

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground. 

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips. 

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?” 

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order. 

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.” 

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

“Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace. 

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.” 

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!” 

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it. 

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!”  You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

-

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey​ @javier-pena​ @javierpcna​ @astroboots​ @userdindja @pedros-mustache​ @princessxkenobi​ @trashcora​ @writerdee1701​ @thelemongeneration​ @libraryofrecs​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @herb-welch​ @writeforfandoms​ @queenofthecloudss​ @leannawithacapitala​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @kesskirata​ @fuck-goes-on​ @lawfulgranola​@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza​ @xemmaloveskillianx​ @littlemissoblivious​ @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @little-big-mac2​ @recklesswit​ ​@frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed! 

[umiarumi]

fucking three houses | prologue/claude von riegan

afab she/her reader, originally posted on my ao3, myukyu <3

Twirling my sword, an excited grin fell upon my face as I jogged alongside Dorte and Marianne. "Hah! Marie, ya think I can keep up your old steed's pace?" I asked excitedly, huffing slightly. The academy had really buffed your stamina, shit, enough to keep up with a damn horse.

"Oh, (Y/N)! I-um, don't strain yourself since we have nearly reached the monastery." She hesitantly called out, brow furrowing. I laughed it off, nodding as I slowed my pace to meet Raphael jogging, carrying a very unamused Lysithea.

"What's up, you two?" I asked, grinning. The behemoth of a man beamed back, motioning his head to the pouting smaller girl in his arms.

"Lysithea here was starting to struggle, so as a good big bro- I mean, uh, friend! As a good friend, I'm helping keep up!" He cheered, laughing.

"I'll remind you, you thoughtless fool, I am not a child! I am quite the opposite, now." Lysithea barked out at Raphael, folding her arms.

I chuckled, shaking my head. I missed these guys, and once we make it to the monastery... well, teach better have kept his promise and not died on us. ~~~~ ~~~~ PROLOGUE END ~~~~ ~~~~ "Ahh... now this one is gonna fill the spot, thanks, prof!" You cheered, excitedly flicking your eyes between your delicious meal of Beast Meat and your slightly concerned professor.

"That smell... it's amazing! My fav, in fact. Do you like it too?" Claude nodded with you, looking to Byleth out of curiousity. Easygoing, huh?

"I like it."

Usually, you'd laugh at your teacher's blunt speech, yet that meat was begging you to devour it and hey- who are you to deny its wishes? Being back at the monastery with your class and teacher as much as you'd loved being back in your home country, you had a soft spot for the Golden Deer. But five years had changed the lot of you, various glowups being noticed, by the way. Yet, Claude caught your attention the most. Which, being honest, wasn't out of the norm, hell, for anyone!

As you tore through your meat, you caught your former classmate stifling a chuckle at your pure ferocity.

"Oi! Got thomething to thay," You quickly swallowed. "What's so funny!?" You annoyedly accused, slamming a hand on the table. He let out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Easy tiger! You just looked awfully cute with your cheeks stuffed."

You felt your cheeks darken, clicking your tongue as you went back to your meal. "Smooth, dickhead..." You mumbled as your teacher let out a sigh at the two of youse antics. As you all continue to eat, a comfortable silence fell upon your trio.

"That aside, I am glad to see you also returning. I heard from Lorenz that you had disappeared for a while." Your teacher finally spoke, looking to you. Your eyebrows rose in surprise as you let a crooked grin creep up your face.

"Funny you say that. How about yourself, five years asleep! Did any lucky gal or guy come to give you that awakening kiss~" You cooed, switching the topic onto him. You had no idea what you could say without getting yourself and Claude in an unknown amount of trouble.

He raised a brow at your dodging of the question but ultimately let it go. "I did not get kissed, no."

Claude piped up from his suspicious silence, leaning in to pester teach. "Ya sure? You were pretty popular back at the academy!" You snickered after this comment, nodding to egg him on.

"I believe we've finished the meal. I shall see the two of you later." He promptly stood up with his plate and cutlery, returning them to the kitchen before strutting off in his usual stern demeanour.

"Aw, we scared him off!" You jokingly whined, leaning onto Claude. Teasing your no-nonsense teacher was great since he's as clueless as Seteth with three times the patience.

"How will we ever apologise?" Claude moaned alongside you, resting his head on yours melodramatically. You tittered together before recovering and bringing your dirty dishes to the kitchen. Leaving the dining hall, you two walked in silence.

You walked with no aim for a while until Claude stopped. You turned to him, intrigued. Tilting your head, you asked him a question.

"Something up?"

He smiled softly, shaking his head.

"Nah, but I would like to ask you some things." He said, and the lack of a comedic tone set off a minor alarm in your brain. You were no stranger to his inquisitive nature, having known him for a good portion of your life. Yet, you had a feeling this related to before. Even Claude wasn't aware of your whereabouts.

"Sure thing, here?" You asked, folding your arms defensively.

"No... let's go somewhere more private." He said, walking off. You jumped, quickly following him.

~~~~

Following Claude up the spiralling stairs of the Goddess tower was quick, that you could confirm. Nearly stumbling over your steps as he transcended so damn fast, you couldn't even call out for him to slow the hell down.

As you finally made it to the top, avoiding the rubble which had gathered after the battle at the monastery, you had leant against the wall, quickly regaining your breath. Yet as soon as you blinked, Claude seemed to have moved from the centre of the room to a few inches away from your face.

"C-Claude! What the hell...?" You jumped, backing fully up against the cold, stone wall. Feeling the cool stones against your back, you shivered as your former leader stared at you.

"Answer teach's question for me, friend? Where were you while we were stopping the whole damn alliance from being chipped away by the Empire?" He asked, frustrated. He took a step towards you.

You gulped, shaking your head as your eyes darted around the tower, looking everywhere but him.

"That's not the answer I was looking for, (Y/N)."

Your breath hitched as he grabbed your chin to look you in the eyes. His voice lowered, a conflicted emotion on his face. A crooked grin tugged at his lips and yet his brows were furrowed, annoyed.

||Translation: فاک - Fuck||

"I-I was in Almyra!" You yelped, quickly realising what you said as you cursed under your breath, "فاک..." You hissed, embarrassed.

"First, you avoid our questions..." Claude listed, cruelly running his thumb across your lip. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes finally set on his figure.

"Second, you leave us... breaking our promise," He continued, striking your heart where it hurts.

You bit your lip, eyeing him as he let his hand drop to your shoulder. He pushed you further against the wall. You shivered, yet not from the freezing stone this time.

"I-I... even you said you had no attachment to Fodlan! I thought you wouldn't..." You trailed off, searching for an excuse.

"Everyone thought you died! I thought you died! And yet..." His voice rose, yet less out of anger. He finally brought his face to your extremely red own.

"Where was I? Oh yeah, finally..." You stiffened, knowing what he was going to bring up.

"Leaving me hanging."

Before you all reunited, you had made a short trip into Fodlan to grasp the situation. Yet, your undercover mission soon became an open one as a fateful night in Derdriu occurred.

~~~~

It was a warm evening the night you had made it into the lively streets of the city. Even after the effects of war, the city still seemed to bustle. Unassumedly passing by citizens happily talking, you looked for any Knights of Seiros stationed nearby or even members of the Leicester military. Noticing a particular armoured woman, you tapped her shoulder.

She turned, giving you a pleasant smile. "Do you need anything, ma'am?"

You nodded, playing with the sides of your bodice. "I live a while from the military posts, so could you please tell me... um, how is the war going?" Embarrassed, she laughed softly before explaining.

However, you were unaware of a keen eye watching you. The familiar bobbing of unruly hair, gleaning of sun-kissed skin tied in with a confident stance clued Claude onto just who it was he saw. He waited patiently behind market stalls, keeping an eye on you as you bid the woman goodbye. And oh-so luckily for him, you headed his way.

You passed by him, oblivious to the archer's presence. A sudden hand on your shoulder caused you to jolt, your hand reaching to the hilt of your sword. Whipping around, your eyes soon met the green ones of a certain Alliance leader.

"C-Claude!?" You shrieked, hand still cautiously resting on your sword, unsure if he would take well to your sudden appearance.

"So you decided to show up, huh?" He remarked, and if you knew him any less you'd think that easygoing smile meant he was happy. But that smile never reached his eyes.

Yet, despite his obvious inner conflict, you expelled a breath as he pulled you into a hug. You soon wrapped your arms around him. It had been four years since you left after Edelgard and her forces attacked. You felt his grip loosen as he rose a hand to your chin, that oh-so teasing thumb brushing against your lip.

"May I?" He muttered, and in response, you leant into him, lips locking. What started innocently quickly grew messy and needy, your lips growing red.

As you pulled back, you felt the hard pressure as your fronts brushed together. You blushed before turning your head away.

"I'm sorry Claude, I have to go." You muttered solemnly, pulling yourself together.

"Wait, what? Showing up randomly after four years and then blue-balling me?" He teased yet yearningly reached out his hand.

"I promise, I will return and finish what I started!" You called out, running off into the night.

~~~~

Your face grew hot at the memory. Shuffling nervously, you looked into his eyes.

"Then, will you finish what we started, miss?" He asked, running a hand across your face.

Inhaling, you nodded and answered him. "Yes... please."

With your consent, he pushed himself against you, lips squishing as he brought you upon his own. He soon ran his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission.

You parted them quickly, his tongue invading your mouth as your tongue danced with his. He began to unclasp your armour as you shifted to help them come off easier.

Before you knew it, you had both shed to your undergarments, all knowledge of this being an open area quickly leaving your mind.

His hands reached behind your back to fiddle with your bra for a few moments, soon letting it fall to the cold, stone ground. His eyes fell to your breasts, your nipples perk from a mix of the cold air in the Goddess Tower and the heat of the situation.

Quickly, his hands began to fondle and grope your tits, your hand slapping on your mouth as to not alert any patrolling guards.

"These really are great. Your armour disguises you, a good thing that is since you'd probably take a few hits otherwise." He commented cheekily, observing your tightly shut eyes and fluttering breaths.

God, he'd tease you even now!?

One of the hands dropped from your breast, the other continuing to squeeze and roll it like wet clay. The forgotten breast soon regained heat as the scruffy head of the brunette quickly moved to suckle on your aching nipple, causing you to let out a quick yelp.

"How cute." He mumbled into your tit, the vibrations sending a delicious shiver up your spine. Whilst you were focused on the pleasure at your chest, your throbbing cunt soon found a welcoming hand cupping it through your underwear.

"Soaked! Were you wanting this all along? Hah! Pretty slutty for an Almyran warrior." He cooed, fingers running against your clothed slit.

"A-ah... fuck you!" You hissed, deciding on paying back the offer. Your free hand reached down to cup his hidden boner, hand rubbing slowly.

"Ffffuck... fine, you want to do it right here, against this wall sweetheart?" He asked, grinning.

You nodded brashly, slipping out of your drenched underwear. He too shed his remaining clothes and your lips locked in a short kiss before he pulled away.

Grabbing onto your thighs, he lifted you as you hooked your legs around him. Pushing you against the wall, he angled his dick at your pussy. Rubbing slowly, teasingly. The two of you groaned, as finally, he stuck his dick in your needy cunt.

You gasped, feeling it stretch you out, slowly, inch by inch. Bottoming out, the two of you stilled for a moment, catching your breaths. Once you adjusted, signalling him with a nod, he pulled out to the tip, before slamming back in. You moaned unabashedly, eyes fluttering open to see Claude's face scrunch up.

He looked up to you coyly, smirking. "Do you want all of the monastery to find us? Would you like them to see you like this?" Your breath hitched.

"Sweating, being fucked against a wall by your former leader? After five long years, you decide to help." He hissed, continuing to thrust as you gasped with each thrust.

The fulfilling feeling of Claude's dick rubbing against your inner walls gradually inched you to your orgasm, the added brushing of fronts stimulating your clit.

"I could get used to this, you'll really help the war efforts this way. Those poor, exhausted knights who you could've helped. A nice cocksleeve like you, you'll do more by getting fucked than you have the past years." He grunted, venting his frustrations.

Yet, despite all the guilt you should've felt, it only made the aching buzz of your clit all the more stronger.

Your cunt spasmed with each thrust, the routine rubbing and brushing working you towards your end as you felt Claude's dick shudder every time he bottomed out.

"Maybe you could motivate Ignatz? He'd be shy though, but a girl so open like you would be perfect for that." He mumbled, watching your face darken.

"Or Raphael? He could use you as training. You'd be spent by the time he was even finishing, yet a slut like you would be okay with that, right?"

His dick continued to twitch in your pussy, your walls clamping around his cock like a vice. Fluttering as you were so close to your end.

"Shit... even Lorenz... he could use you as practice for his- ngh, noble duties!" He choked out a laugh, breath stuttering.

"But I think I like you best as my little runaway slut, yeah? You fit so well on my cock!" He emphasised the last word with a sharp thrust, your walls clamping shut on his cock, your head hitting the wall as you moaned in ecstasy.

He quickly pulled out, dick spurting ropes of cum on your chest and stomach. As you both caught your breath, you caught Claude smiling at you.

"It's good to have you back, my friend."

[aressss1]

The Bloody Red Banquet

(Technoblade x Reader)

Read me on AO3!

A/N:  Descriptions of blood and gore, as well as death in this one, so please turn back if that makes you uncomfortable. Also spoilers for the Red Banquet, if you haven't seen it yet.

~~~~~~

“Why aren’t you going to be there?” You whined, trying to give your love your best sad puppy dog impression. This caused an irritated sigh to escape Techno’s lips, as his eyes searched your face.

 “The last time I was at celebration it didn’t go well… Or do you not remember that.”  He grumbled. “You shouldn’t go.” His eyes pierced right through you. “Why would they just change their tune that quickly?” He questioned you gesturing in the direction of the main SMP. “It’s not safe.”

“Puffy and Niki asked me to go…” You bit your lip looking away from him. “Puffy doesn’t trust them either, and she’s got something planned if things go south.” Techno’s eyebrows furrowed, and he sighed, his hands dropping to his sides. You were going to go against the rules and bring your armor, not that you would tell Techno that, it would just make his point stand even more.

 “I’m not goin’,” He walked back toward his seat as he summoned his axe. You watched as he proceeded to sharpen the tool in his hands. “I’m not gonna stop you from goin’, I want you to have fun, and I could only hope they’re serious.” You gave a huff at his words. You wanted him there to back you up if need be. “I know you can handle yourself, you’re a great fighter.” He sighed, his eyes focusing back to the axe in his hands.

 He had his own plans regarding that banquet, he trusted you with his life… He just couldn’t risk word getting out about his plans. He would be there for you if need be, but he needed everything to go smoothly for him. He wasn’t about to lose you to the egg or anyone else for that matter. The netherite axe in his hands felt heavy, and his fingers tightened on the handle. You could handle yourself, he had faith in you and your fighting abilities.

 “Ugh fine…” You pouted climbing up to your shared room, finding your best clothes suitable for a banquet, you put them on feeling the fabric hug your form. You examined yourself in the mirror adjusting your hair, smoothing out the wrinkles in your clothes that you had missed. Some time had passed, and you were ready. Climbing down the ladder, you could feel Techno’s eyes on you, watching you. You gave him a smirk. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

 He gave a grumble as he set his axe down by his chair, walking over to you. Brushing your hair out of your eyes, he gazes over your face with a fond expression. You melt at his touch, as you place your hands on his chest. His hand slips up to the back of your neck.

 “You look amazin’,” His deep voice grounds you and you close your eyes as his face inches closer to yours. “I can’t wait until you take those clothes off.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks, as he kisses you hungrily, his other arm wrapping around your lower back to pull you even closer to him. He was still able to give you butterflies. You loved this hybrid. You almost whimpered when he pulled away. “You…” His thumb stroked over your cheek, “have a banquet to get to.”

 He pulled away from you, admiring the hungry look in your eyes. He made his way to the chair again taking hold of the axe. He wanted to go with you, especially with how you looked right now… But he couldn’t just back out on Quackity. This was too important.

 He watched you go, the sound of the stone sharpening the axe echoing through the house made it feel very lonely. But he would be with you soon. You would be safe.

 ~~

 It was a… Very red banquet… You were the second guest to arrive it seemed. So, when Ponk had taken your coat, you made your way to the venue. Niki was talking with BBH, you were about to go say hi to her when Sam and Puffy came in behind you. Puffy called you by your name excitedly and started gushing about your outfit. You turned and gave her a smile, meeting the two of them by the entrance.

 More guests arrived by the minute. Everyone looked amazing, and you giggled when Foolish flashed his rolex and started handing out the cider he had brought. It was cute watching Puffy with Foolish. Eventually, everyone moved to the dance floor. The music started up, and people started dancing, swaying to and fro with the music.

 Puffy had gone to talk to BBH and you found Niki, she flashed you a smile, and you started dancing with her. You had fun twirling around with her, the both of you laughed dancing to Hbomb’s song of choice. By the time the two of you were out of breath, leaning on each other, Puffy had come back to you, linking arms with you and Niki, as she was excited about the shrimp cocktail that Antfrost had promised her.

.

You sat next to Niki; your eyes curiously look over the red soup on the table in front of you. Beet soup? It wasn’t the best, but it was… red… Like everything else here. It definitely fit the theme. You could feel Ponk’s and Ant’s eyes on you as they whispered to each other, from across the table and you had a bad feeling settle in your stomach.

 Once everyone was in their place, you all listened to Bad’s beginning speech, asking if others wanted to make a toast. Foolish volunteered going first and you gave him an encouraging nod when he looked over you and Niki. Though his speech was… a little on the rough side, you raised your glass when he called for cheers. Niki patted Foolish on his shoulder as he sat back down on the other side of her.

 Eret volunteered to say a few words next. He held himself with grace, as he stepped up on the table, scanning those around him. You could have sworn you saw the monarch side of him come out. His toast was well said and you realized that even though he spoke words of everyone being reunited… You bit your lip. Spoken like a true king, even if the reality wouldn’t be that easy. In fact, it was near impossible, too much has happened, and you would be a fool to believe words like that.

 Ponk’s speech was short… and sweet? It was… Interesting… to say the least. You and Foolish exchanged confused glances when Sam called Ponk beautiful. Wasn’t he the one to take Ponk’s arm? You shrugged it off opting to think about it later. Everyone raised their glasses in a confused manner, well everyone except for Puffy, who stood up on the table, looking like she wanted to say her piece.

 When Puffy spoke, she was casual, mentioning how the egg tore her, Bad and Antfrost apart. You gave her a smile when she glanced over you and Niki as she expressed that she didn’t want any more friendships being ruined over the egg anymore. Everyone cheered as she made her way back to her seat.

 You pitied George when he was thrust into giving a toast, he clearly hadn’t thought of doing. But he did well, considering. Even asking Ponk about the soup. You giggled at Ponk’s explanation of free-range beets. George gave a yawn as he made his way back to his seat.

 Lastly it was Bad’s closing speech, and you listened intently. Your hands fidgeted with your glass. You kept seeing things in the rafters of this place, shadows… You had your armor in your inventory, you weren’t gullible, and even though Bad spoke of nothing but good things for the future… The temperature rose, causing sweat to bead off of your skin… Toward the end of Bad’s speech… Your back was burning, and when you turned around and were met with a wall of lava. You stood as Bad spoke those words, the words you had been waiting to hear. The words that confirmed that this was nothing more than a trap.

 “Prepare to die.” He spoke it so casually… Hearing the gasps of the other guests, you and Niki back up, creating as much space in between you and them as you could without touching the lava at your back. You and Niki watched as Puffy confronted all of them. Pulling up the tablecloth from the table revealing a chest.  

 “WHAT!?” Her shriek rang through out the entire banquet. You felt your blood run cold, your eyes connecting with Niki’s. Bad laughed as he summoned forth a set of diamond armor… Hannah, Antfrost and Ponk followed suit. Hannah stepped forward. A tainted apology spewing from her lips. You felt your fists clench and unclench as you were stepping forward, your eye on all of their swords, which they eventually swapped to their crossbows. Sam, stepped forward, his eyes on Hannah.

 “Well… That is tragic that you told them about our plans for the armor, buut…” Sam paused, continuing after Bad questioned him on what he meant. “There is something, that you should know… I had another plan because I didn’t trust you.” His eyes pierce through Hannah. You felt your lips quirk up as Sam mentioned his plan to blow the egg up.

 It all happened really fast, and you braced yourself, your hands coming up to cover your ears as TNT rained on top of the egg. Your eyes were closed, and you straightened up, your eyes looking over the still intact egg once all of the TNT had detonated. Obsidian covered the egg as if it were armor. Your heart sunk as you watched as the obsidian disappear without a trace. The TNT had failed…

 You tuned out Bad’s laughing, your eyes looking for any possible way out of this situation. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, and you were having trouble breathing. You willed yourself to calm down. Bad pulled everyone’s attention to the egg, as he stood in front of it. Straining to hear what he was saying you push through the crowd, planting yourself at the forefront next to Foolish and Eret.

 You were able to focus, when Eret called Bad a monster, only to receive insults back about his past betrayals. You bit your lip, your hands itching to call your armor forth, now wasn’t the time. Your eyes scanned over Eret gauging his reactions.

 “I’ve changed since then! I know not to break peoples trust anymore.” He was silent, his hands clasped behind his back, he truly held himself like a king. Bad smirked announcing that Eret would be the first one to be sacrificed on this night. You felt your eyes widen, adrenaline coursing through you. You tried grounding yourself, making sure your feet were firmly planted where you stood.

 You had to hold yourself back as they grabbed Eret, forcing him to kneel in front of the egg. Antfrost pointed the tip of his sword at Eret’s throat his ruby red eyes staring daggers at the crowd that watched. Eret’s crown fell to the ground as Hannah push him down exposing his neck for Antfrost’s blade to see.

 You grit your teeth, what could you do in this sort of situation. The others tried talking it out with Bad, but you zoned out of their conversation. Opting to once again scanning the area for anything that might help… Your attention snapped back to Eret and Antfrost, as Ant held his sword up, readying it to come down. You felt your feet start to move on their own, well… That is… Until Foolish started talking, you felt yourself stop, listening to what he had to say.

“Enough! I am sick of this foul, red stench. I am tired of this endless cycle of egg nonsense. I tried, WE tried to give this dreadful egg another chance. But it’s probably best it ends this way.” Your eyes flick over to Bad as Foolish keeps talking. Trying to gauge their reaction, you ready yourself to summon your armor. “But can it withstand… A barrage of lightning?”

 A few painfully long seconds, pass by… Your stomach lurched when nothing happened. Foolish fell to his knees. Studying his hands, he shook his head.

 “I don’t understand…” He was in genuine disbelief. His eyes lock with Eret’s. “Why… Isn’t it working?” He asked, as if Eret would know. Today was filled with many disappointments… You gulped down the lump in your throat, listening to Bad gloat, about how we were in the egg’s territory. We held no power here, as a human, and even as a God...

 “Why don’t we start with Foolish instead?”Ant’s words caused Puffy, to scream her repugnance at them. They ignored her, as they dragged Foolish up from his knees and to the area where they previously kept Eret.

 “You two Bad, Ant, this is your last chance with me, your very very last chance. I am done after this.” Puffy ran to the front, anger flashing in her eyes as she looked over all of them. You could only watch, as Eret made his way over to you. Puffy was a good mother, defending her son. You listened to them fight, your hands shook at your sides. Ant blamed Puffy for everything that they were doing… Saying it was her fault… When Ant stopped talking and the sound of the blade had sliced through Foolish’s skin, his body falling to the ground made you tear up. Puffy screamed and you summoned forth your armor.

 The netherite armor you donned clung to your body, it was always such a perfect fit, expertly made by Techno. Foolish was dead and it was clear you needed to fight, otherwise you wouldn’t get out of here alive, and if this didn’t help you didn’t go down helpless. Everyone screamed as Puffy sunk down to the ground, tears in her eyes, her burning eyes trained on Antfrost.

 “Oh? What’s this?” Bad eyed you with an amused expression crossing his features. “I think we have a party pooper on our hands.” Bad’s group homed in on you. The sword in your hands was heavy, Techno and Phil had taught you how to fight. You could easily take down one maybe two, but there were three on you in an instant. You couldn’t even get a swing in with your sword, before they knocked the weapon from your hands, grabbing your wrists, and binding them together.

 “Let go of me,” You kicked and thrashed your legs to no avail. They had an easy time getting you into Foolish’s spot. They made you kneel… Where he kneeled… His blood pooled where you stood, it soaked into your outfit, the sight making your stomach churn in disgust.

 “Don’t worry, you will be a part of something bigger, than you and I.” It sounded like Bad was trying to reassure you… “Good thing that armor doesn’t cover their neck.” Bad shrugged as his eyes flicked to Ant who held his axe, instead of the sword he killed Foolish with, at the ready. You tried wrenching away, but Hannah’s hold on your hair kept you in place. You couldn’t see anything, but the bloody ground, tears on the brink of flowing. Techno’s words about it not being safe echoing in your mind.

 “I’m sorry… Techno.” It was barely a whisper, no one heard it but you. Out of the corner of your eye Ant raised his axe and in one fell swoop he brought it down. Your whole body tensed, and you waited for death… But it never came. Instead, a loud clang of metal on metal sounded out above you. Ant’s axe went flying, landing near puffy.

 “Bad stop, stop what you’re doing right now.” Quackity’s voice sounded out and Hannah’s hold on you was released as she backed away from your very own blood God who now stood next to you. Your heart soared at the sight of Techno, who didn’t hesitate to pull you up from your kneeling position and to him away from the enemy. You looked around for Quackity who had his hands up as he talked with Bad. He still had a sword in his hand, as he talked.

 You listened to Quackity, who you hadn’t seen in forever, not since he had kidnapped you to get an edge on Techno, so he would come easily to his own execution… His gnarled face… You knew Techno had done a number on him… But… It was easy to forget who Techno was and what he could do. Quackity was a good reminder, and you nuzzled yourself closer into Techno’s side. Techno’s eyes scanned over you, looking for any wounds. But when his eyes turned back toward Bad, he let out a whistle and out from the opening, you assumed Quackity came from, a hoard of dogs rushed in, as they planted themselves around their master. During Quackity’s speech Purpled made himself known, and you figured that had to hurt the eggpire since Purpled was working for them. You gave a sigh of relief.

 “Techno. You and Quackity are enemies why would you side with him?” Bad’s glare shifted from Quackity and Purpled, to Techno. Your Blood God tightened his hold on you as if they would snatch you away from him.

 “Listen Bad, I didn’t want to work with this guy either, but this egg… Is warpin’ people’s minds, it’s controllin’ them, and it has no plans of stoppin’ until it controls the entire world.” He paused, his nose wrinkling underneath the pig skull mask. “This egg stands for everything… It’s the epitome of everything I stand against as an anarchist, and if I don’t stop it… It’ll be the end of the world.” He squared his shoulders his eyes glancing toward you. “Not to mention, you almost killed one of the people most important to me, and for that, I’ll see that you will get tenfold what Quackity got.”

 “ANTFROST YOU’RE DEAD!” Puffy screamed, she had grabbed Antfrost’s axe, and she ran at him swinging wildly. “You’ve taken my kindness as weakness Antfrost!” Her axe hitting him square in the chest plate he tried blocking and dodging most of her shots, but to no avail, he stumbled back. She brought her axe down hitting him square in the jugular. Blood sprayed over her, as her grip tightened on the axe, and she pulled it out with a sickening crunch. His body fell to the ground and she turned around, her eyes scanning the crowd; it was truly a look of despair only a mother could feel.

 That was when everyone broke out fighting. Techno held you behind him, his cloak now covering your body. The dogs stayed around him attacking those who got close enough, keeping a good perimeter between the two of you and them, as Techno shot his fireworks at the enemy. You pressed your face in between his shoulder blades, your fingers intertwining in his shirt, just waiting for the sounds to stop.

 When Bad called for retreat, and everything quieted down you felt yourself breath a sigh of relief. You just wanted to go home at this point. You listened to the conversation around you, as Techno put his arm around you. His fingers rubbing tiny circles in your arm to try and comfort you.

 “Come on, I’ve got you darlin’,” He whispered in your ear, once Quackity said his piece to him and Sam. He carried you on his back, back to the place that you both called home. When you felt the windchill, you shuddered, happy to feel it again. Tears sprung forth and you buried your face in his cloak, your tears soaking into the red material.

 When you got into the house, he fed the coals of the fire, making it come back to life. He scans over your form, his heart sinking when you didn’t look up at him. He could have lost you in a second. Taking off his mask, he presses his lips to your forehead, his hands running up your arms.

 “Darlin’ let’s get you out of these clothes,” the scent of Foolish’s blood permeated the air, making the voices in his mind louder and more aggressive... Aggression wasn’t something you needed right now. He helped you get undressed finding more comfortable clothing for you to wear. While you bathed and eventually got dressed, he made dinner for the both of you. You were still in disbelief, that you almost lost a life, not to mention you felt horrible because Foolish did lose a life… You didn’t want to eat when Techno slid food in front of you.

 “Eat, you need your strength.” You nodded and picked at your food. You weren’t hungry, but if you didn’t at least try, you would worry Techno. That was the last thing he needed. The two of you ate in a comfortable silence, and when the two of you were done with dinner, he set your plates in the kitchen sink, opting to do them later. He turned back to you kneeling down to your level, letting his lips graze yours.

 “I love you.” He never said it out loud before, he always made sure you knew though but this time was different, sure Quackity threatened your life when Techno was on his way to his execution… But to see an axe flying toward you… Was a completely different feeling all together. Your tears sprang forth at his confession, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, as you sobbed. He held you close, even picked you up and sat down in his chair with you in his arms. “I’m here. It’s okay.” He tried calming you, as he pressed kisses to your head, while you sobbed into his chest.

 When you did calm down and you just laid there with your head on his chest, he started reading to you, his arm still around you while the other held up the book he read from. The two of you always did this, but this time was more special. He still had you in his arms, and you still had him. The two of you stayed like that until nightfall. The fire roaring beside his chair.

 It wasn’t until you were asleep, did he decide to take you to your shared bed. He climbed the ladder albeit a little awkwardly, but he got your exhausted form up there, like he had done many times before. He got ready for bed himself, and he climbed in the sheets with you, holding you closely to him. He vowed to protect you and he would, to his very last breath.

[theepisceswriter]

Can I request a fic of Connie Springer and a black female reader? The idea I had is that the reader was almost killed during a mission, so Connie makes passionate love to her. So nsfw lol

YEARNING FOR YOUR TOUCH 

TW: mature things obviously, mentions of death, a lot of angst in the beginning, typos probably because I didn’t proofread, 18+, MINORS DNI

WC: 2.5k

Connie’s whole body had been numb with shock for the last hour. He couldn’t even recall the last time he had moved his body an inch out of its original position since sitting down in the empty room nor could he even remember the last time his eyelids drooped down to blink. He couldn’t let them out of fear that the action would allow the tears accumulating in the back of his mind to fall the moment his eyelashes lifted from his cheeks and crying would only bring the whole reality of this situation clashing down on to him at once. Forcing him to accept the fact that you were indeed gone; that he couldn’t twirl your tight knit curls around his fingers to fall asleep like he always did when laying next to you in bed or see the sparkling glimmer of sunlight against your rich brown skin whenever you traded in your scout uniform for regular clothes, always eager to compliment you on how you looked like the gods had personally come down and kissed your skin. His whole body ached terribly for yours, for the warmth of your body heat and the sweet smell of oils and hair products that infiltrated his nostrils whenever he pulled you in for a hug. 

The thought of him never being able to do that again, when he did so everyday, wasn’t clicking in his head and his darling dearest being gone off the face of this earth never will sit right with him.

His memories of hours ago were still one big blur in his head because honestly, a big part of him didn’t want to remember the dread he felt in those moments. All he remembers is debris and a thick coating of dust clouding his vision as he did his best to search for you, passing other scouts stuck under large chunks of debris being moved by other team members hoping you weren’t in the same predicament as them. That hope was diminished greatly when he finally met up with the main team after not being able to find you on his own. He expected to see you standing there right alongside Jean, leaned up against him cracking a couple of jokes to ease the pain that always came post-battle, but the sunken expression his comrade wore on his features made his heart drop to his stomach alone.

“We couldn’t find her, Connie. We looked everywhere for y/n, but she most likely was covered completely by some large pieces of debris...Sorry Connie.”

Maybe they had Levi be the one to tell him because of his always monotonous tone, neither dreadful or happy, thinking the delivery would hurt him less, but each word still sent a painful dagger through his heart that left his chest burning with an indescribable pain. He couldn’t understand why things like this kept happening to him and even if he got an answer from the gods above themselves, none of this still wouldn’t make any sense. Especially not them taking you away from him. His one and only, his reason for fighting as hard as he did, his motivation; his everything. He wouldn’t even be able to give you the proper burial that you deserved, how was he going to recover from this?

It wasn’t even the sound of the door creaking open that brought him out of his sorrow thoughts, but the artificial light that peeked through that finally brought him to his senses. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize with anyone right now nor did he have time for their pity checkups on him. There was no telling what direction his emotions might go in if they kept prodding at him, so he was quick to open up his mouth to give whoever was at the door a verbal warning: 

“Get lost. I’m not in the fucking mood to be dealing with anyone and their bullshit right now.” He harshly spat out, not even caring who it was that he was speaking these words to. Surely they would understand and he would apologize eventually when he got a hold of his emotions.

“I never knew you had such a potty mouth on you, Connie.”

It couldn’t be. This wasn’t possible. He had to have been hallucinating the sound of your voice, his grief playing some sick trick on his mind. He couldn’t even turn around to confirm if it was you or not, frozen in place with a variety of feelings overriding his system. He had been through so much in the last couple of hours, this had to be some trauma defense mechanism his brain was creating to protect him from the reality of all of this, right? 

But it was the soft touch of your hand on his shoulder, a warmth and familiarity he’d recognize from anywhere, that brings him out of his state of denial. There are no words exchanged between you two when he turns around, brown eyes wide with an emotion you couldn’t quite read as his arms pulled you in for a tight embrace. His lips leaving kisses all over the bed of curls that covered the top of your head that he was reminiscing about only moments ago before he’s placing his lips on yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now. 

“I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.” Is the only phrase that leaves his lips continuously as he takes you in, your form, your scent, your whole being. It’s when he pulls away that he notices the streak of tears that wets your cheeks, thumb coming up to caress your cheek and wipe them away.

“Don’t cry, y/n. You’re going to make me cry.” He whispers in a barely audible voice with a chuckle, doing his best to still hold back his tears that he had been holding back since earlier. 

“I love you.” You manage to muster up through ragged breaths like the two of you were back in scout training as teenagers with growing pains and it was the first time you were saying it to him. 

“I love you way more than you’ll ever know.” He replies in an instant, letting the lips that hovered over yours finally make contact for a kiss that was a lot more passionate than the first. He wastes no time in letting his tongue lace together with yours letting you know exactly what direction this was going to go the moment you felt his chilled hands on your back working to remove the intricate design of the scout’s uniform off of your body. He’d ask questions on how you escaped an untimely death later, right now all he wanted was you and the warmth of your skin against his. He craved everything about you and he was about to fulfill that craving. 

In no time he had the black fabric falling down and exposing your bare shoulders and before he moved you to the janky bed placed in the middle of the room you kicked the door you had entered through closed with the heel of your foot.

“You have no idea how scared I was that I was going to lose you, y/n.” Connie spoke up as he pushed you down onto the flimsy mattress of the bed, hands hurrying to remove the fabric that was keeping him from seeing your body in all of its glory. And once he finally did get it off, discarding the uniform to some random corner of the room, he couldn’t help but do a double take, eyes lingering on each part of your body like your undergarments still weren’t on and like this was the first time he was ever seeing your body at all. Like the two of you hadn’t fooled around in the showers in the living quarters only two days ago, but considering all the two of you had been through, two days ago felt like 2 years ago. 

“I’ll never leave your side again, Connie. You’ll never have to worry about me again I can pro-”

“I think I’d miss your soft breasts the most.” The feeling of the buzzcut comrade’s warm mouth engulfing your brown areolas and gently flicking his tongue over the hardening bud that was your nipple cut your sentence off prematurely, not even noticing that he had pulled your undershirt down to the point where both of your breasts were exposed and spilling over the top. With a plop he pulled away and gave the next nipple the same treatment, tongue swirling over it in a way that turned the butterflies in your stomach into moths. It didn’t take long at all for him to pull away from them completely and begin to trail kisses down your stomach.

“I always did like rubbing your stomach and tracing over your stretch marks too. I go crazy everytime I see them peek through whenever you reach up to grab something high.” Compliment after compliment was mumbled into your soft brown skin. His hands moved to your thighs to spread them open, softly kneading at the thick flesh while profanities slipped from underneath his breath in amazement. There wasn’t a body on this earth that compared to yours in his eyes. Even as he was dying to place his head in between your thighs and bury his face in your pussy while he devoured it like it was his last meal, he decided to take his sweet time to make this experience more sensual and passionate with a side of pain for the both of you as he drug this out. 

“Connie, please.” You whimpered out in an attempt to get him moving. “I need you so bad right now.”

Little kisses were littered from you ankles up to the inside of your thighs until finally he spread them apart with his hands. Just the sight alone of your pussy dripping with arousal all because of him could get him off alone.

“God, you’re soaking wet just for me baby, hm? Of course you are, you in all of your entirety belong to me.” Nimble fingers dig into your folds to collect your slick, travelling it back up to your clit and working it in with his index and middle fingers with clockwork motions. Enjoying the way you squirm underneath him. He gave you no warning at all before he was removing those two fingers from your clit only to plunge them inside your hole while his mouth immediately went to your protruding clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bud fast enough to accumulate some spit that made the process to your orgasm all the more messier just how he liked. His face flushed against your aching clit that was practically welcoming him back home, your hips bucking up and grinding up into his face for added pleasure that left you a whimpering splayed out mess against the sheets of the bed. His fingers moved in a fast curled motion that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and with the mixed pleasure of his tongue and spit abusing your poor clit, it wasn’t long at all before you were gushing all over his fingers and mouth. 

“Oh fuck, Connie!” You yelled out at the height of your orgasm, him only humming in response against you as he picked up his movements to help you ride out the much needed orgasm.

“I don't know what I would do without the taste of your sweet pussy in my mouth, I never tasted anything better.” He continued on with his compliments as he pulled away from your cunt, face glistening with your orgasm and your juices dripping down his chin, but he didn’t mind at all and the image was surely going to be added to your spank bank for future references. 

“What else do you want, baby girl?” Connie asks as he positions himself so he’s now hoovering over you, fingers gently stroking your oversensitive clit as he awaits your answer. 

“You. I want all of you.” You reply even though there was no need for a verbal reply because the moment the question left his lips you were already helping him out of his uniform as quickly as possibly. As soon as it was off of him he repositioned himself between your legs, thick erect cock in his hand as he guided it to your already slick hole, teasingly rubbing his tip up and down your slit before entering you with ease due to your previous preparement. No matter how many times the two of you fooled around with one another, you were always shocked with just how full he always made you feel, like his cock was made specifically to fit inside of you and he’d agree completely if you ever told him this out loud. 

Your arms wrap around his bare back to pull him down closer to you as he delivers gentle sensual thrusts into your cunt that has you feeling every inch and curve of him. Soft murmurs of ‘I love you’s leaving both of your lips in between broken moans. You’ve never felt so at home then how you’ve felt in this moment; your lover’s arms wrapped around your torso and vice versa as he made the sweetest love to you that had your toes curling against the thin sheets of the bed. No one worked your body as good as he did and this session proved just that, pants leaving your lips and your eyes rolling to the back of your head with each thrust. He was your heaven on earth.

“I’ll always protect you from now on.” He spoke up between pants as he sped up the movements of his hips, feeling the two of you rapidly begin to reach your orgasms yet again. It was the clenching of your walls around him and throbbing of his tip each time it grazed over your sweet spot that gave it away. He knew your orgasm was approaching fast, and he wanted to give you what you needed. Connie used one of his hands to slide between your bodies to rub fast circles on your clit. His gesture sent multiple jolts of pleasure through your core, helping you archive your second orgasm. Your grip on him tightened as you reached your peak, your pussy clamping down on him and you whispered his name through moans of pleasure.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me please, cum inside of me Connie.”

It was those words leaving your lips that egged him on and sped up the pace of his thrusting until his own orgasm snuck up on him and had his whole body shuddering against yours, thick long warm webs of cum shooting up inside of you. Immediately after achieving his high he broke down on your chest, all the tears and emotions he had been holding back all day finally coming into play. 

“Please, please, please never leave me again y/n,” He sobbed out against your chest to the point where it began to dampen from tears. The arms he had around your torso tightening dearly around you as he held you close for comfort.

“I won’t ever leave you again. I promise.” You assured him as you ran your fingers through the short cut of his hair, holding him in your arms as you allowed him to get all those emotions out.

[booksarelife-stuff]

Dancin’ is a Dangerous Thing

James Potter/Lily Evans Potter (jily)

The moments in which James Potter and Lily Evans danced with each other. Pure fluff. 

Word Count: 2,556

Read on AO3

The first time Lily Evans danced with James Potter, it was a complete accident. 

It was fifth year, Gryffindors had not only won the Quidditch Cup, but the House Cup as well. The music is loud and blaring some wizarding band that Lily thinks is trying way too hard to be Queen. 

She’s tipsy, but not drunk. Her fingertips are tingling and she knows her face is flushed. She just finished her second firewhiskey of the night before Mary pulled her to the part of the common room where most of the other Gryffindors were dancing. 

She’s passed from partner to partner. She remembers Sirius at one point, watching him trying to teach Peter how to swing his hips. She laughed hysterically before Marlene pulled her back in.

She was sweaty when she spun right into James’s chest, almost knocking him over. He grabbed on to her to save himself from falling, his hands on her back, Lily’s face in his chest. 

“Oof,” Lily said. 

“A bit drunk there, Evans?” James asked as Lily pulled away.  She was so close he could hear him over the music. 

“Nope,” she said, stumbling. He snorted just as a new song started. This time it was Killer Queen. 

“I love this song!” she yelled. Lily would deny that she was the one to grab James’s hand and pull him in to dance, but all she could remember was the warmth of his hand in hers and how she laughed when he twirled her. 

The second time started with a question. 

“Do wizards even have their own dances?” Mary asked, scrunching her nose. All the sixth year Gryffindor’s had snagged a table in the common room and were quietly doing their work until Sirius asked a question about Muggle traditions for his Muggle studies class. 

“Nah,” James said from beside Peter. His feet were kicked up on the table as he leaned back in his chair. Alice had been doodling on his shoes, which Lily was sure James knew, but didn’t tell her to stop. 

“I mean, we have the same,” Sirius said with a shrug, “Just use them in different places.”

“These pureblood boys had to take dancing lessons,” Marlene said, smugly.  Sirius scoffed. 

“Yeah, so we could dance with whatever cousin Mummy and Daddy picked out for us,” he said. 

Lily blanched at that. 

“Mum made me do it to get out my energy,” James said. “Never worked. I would just waltz around until I broke something.”

The table laughed. 

“Lily, don’t you know how to waltz?” Mary asked. Lily sighed and nodded. 

“We learned in primary school for some reason,” Lily said. “Like anyone one of us in Cokesworth was going to need that knowledge.”

“Show me,” James said, his bright hazel eyes meeting hers. Lily raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” she asked, feeling the heat of a challenge from him. He smirked at her, a hand reaching up to his hair to mess it up. 

“You said no one from Cokesworth was going to need that knowledge,” he said. “So I’m asking you to show me.”

She knew what James was doing. It was plain as day. It was either a challenge or an excuse to dance with her, but frankly, she really didn’t care which it was, based on the way the butterflies erupted in her stomach. 

“I need a partner,” she said, sticking her hand out towards him. 

“You’re on,” he said, closing his book and dropping his feet to the ground. 

The warmth of his hand made her whole body tingle and she hoped her face wasn’t bright red as she felt his other hand appear on the small of her back, the starting position. Lily wondered when he got so tall, as she would have to crane her neck up to look at him. She decided to stare at the knot of his tie that was peeking out from his gray jumper. 

Marlene started humming, and they started off clumsily, but it was fine. 

“So, um, bad time to tell you Evans,” James started, glancing down at their first. “I’m bloody rubbish at dancing.”

He stepped on her foot and punched him in the arm. 

~~~

The third time they danced, Lily realized she was in bloody love with the bloke. 

Seventh year had brought a lot of surprises to Lily, including James as the head boy. It seemed since he walked into the prefect compartment on the very first day on the train, he was all she could think about. 

But they were just friends, she reminded herself every time he would playfully knock her shoulder during patrols, or stay up past midnight talking. 

When Petunia’s wedding invitation arrived at breakfast, Lily didn’t want to go, but an accompanying letter from her mother confirmed that Lily had no choice in the matter, but she could bring a date. 

When she asked James to go, her palms were sweating and her heart was jumping in her throat, but he had said yes, like it wasn’t a big deal. 

Petunia's wedding was on New Year’s eve, going into the new year. Lily had been in a bad mood as a result of her family bossing her around to get the wedding all ready. 

But when James arrived, everything seemed to change for Lily. He was dressed in nice muggle clothes and Lily could tell that he had tried to manage his hair. She hugged him tightly. 

He charmed her whole family in minutes, besides Petunia. Whether because he was a freak like Lily or because he had brown skin, Petunia glared at him constantly, her mouth pinched in a sour expression. 

Lily wanted to apologise for even bringing him into the situation but he wouldn’t hear of it. She instead, grabbing his hand, lacing her fingers with his, and didn’t let go of it once. 

During the ceremony, Lily could only focus on James’s hand in hers. He had always been fidgety, normally bouncing his leg, up and down, but he instead used Lily’s hand. Either drawing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb or just playing with her fingers. Lily didn’t mind it one bit and she realized that she let him do it forever. 

At the reception, Petunia and Vernon cut the cake before quickly going to their first dance. James leaned over from his spot next to her. 

“I thought Muggles smashed the cake into each other’s faces,” he whispered. Lily nodded. 

“Yeah, sometimes, but I highly doubt Petunia would go for that. Especially with how much her dress cost,” Lily replied. James pouted a little. 

“I came to see cake smashing,” he said. “I was going to write a whole paper on it for Muggle Studies.”

Lily laughed, causing a few people to give her some nastly looks because Petunia and Vernon were still doing their dance. 

“I’ll gladly smash some cake in your face,” she said. James squeezed her hand. 

“Save it for the wedding, Lils,” he whispered. 

If Lily’s heart could have leaped out of her chest, it would have in that moment. 

When James pulled out to the dance floor, she knew that she was in trouble, especially when a slow dance came on. She couldn’t help herself as she got closer to him, their bodies touching. 

“I don’t want to step on your feet,” he said, his hazel eyes sparkling as he looked down at her. 

“I don’t care, James,” she replied. “I wore closed toe shoes for a reason.”

He chuckled, Lily feeling his chest move. 

“Sorry I’m a horrid dancer,” he replied. “I practiced with Mum yesterday and I about broke her toes.”

“You practiced with your Mum?” Lily asked, feeling like the whole world stopped. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “I didn’t want to make you look like a bloody fool out here.”

She loved him, every doubt leaving her body. She stopped their lazy swaying and pulled away to look up at him, smiling like a fool. James, who had no idea what Lily was thinking, smiled a little confused. 

“Evans?” he asked. “Everything alright?”

“I bloody love you,” she replied. His eyes widened for a second, but they quickly closed as Lily pulled him into the best kiss of both of their lives. 

~~~

James’s hands were sweating profusely the next time they danced. 

Their small little cottage in the village of Godric’s Hollow was slowly becoming more like home to them, despite the random boxes that still linger two weeks after they moved in together. 

It had been a learning experience for both of them, despite the fact that they practically stayed with each other every night since they graduated Hogwarts some six months ago. 

Lily was a bit messy, rivaling James’s need for clear space. Lily walked through the house on light feet, but James seemed to make as much noise as possible, despite his efforts to be quieter. But all in all, they were happy and adjusting to each other. 

James did a once over of their house again, making sure things were in place. He used his mirror to talk to Sirius and Remus, basically nervously rambling until Remus looked James in the eye and told him he needed to calm down. 

But when the fireplace turned bright green, James quickly stuffed the mirror under the couch cushions and waited for Lily to emerge. 

He smiled widely at her when she stepped through. Her robes were covered in stains and she had a smear of something on her face. She immediately sat her bag down and started taking off her robes. 

“You would not believe what happened today!” she said, barely looking at James, who was smiling like a fool. 

“Was it that Cormic fellow?” James asked. Lily gave him a look, expressing her exasperation. 

“I have no idea how he even got this internship!” she said, her robes finding the ground. “He tried to put mercury in a pepper up potion. Literal poison James!”

Lily stepped forward, hugging James tightly. He squeezed her. 

“And when I put a gram of extra valerian root to increase the time of a pain relief potion, I have to write a whole report to justify it so I don’t get fired. I’m sick of it!”

“It’s absolutely not fair love,” James replied as Lily buried her face into his chest. He ran a hand through her hair. “Why don’t you go unwind in a bath, and I’ll take care of dinner, yeah?”

Lily nodded against his chest. Once she was up the stairs, it was go time. 

James quickly went to the kitchen, and lifted the spells that were keeping the smell contained. He knew if Lily smelled his Mum’s special curry when she first got home, she would be suspicious. The treacle tarts, Lily’s favorite, were kept warm in the oven. 

James quietly transformed their living room, dimming the lighting and starting their fireplace instead. He turned their coffee table into a dining room table, and shrunk the couch, placing it on the mantle for it to return to its normal size later. 

Lily was never long for baths, as she hated getting pruney, but he was adjusting the candles on the table when Lily descended down the stairs. 

“James?” she asked, causing him to jump. Lily was standing on the bottom step, nothing but her dressing gown on, which was tied tightly around her waist. 

James felt a lump in his throat as he took her in. She was so gorgeous and even though James had explored every part of her body, he still felt giddy. 

“I thought a romantic evening would be nice,” he said, gesturing around. Lily smiled. 

James went to the stairs and offered her his arm. 

“What is on the menu tonight?” Lily asked, leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment. 

“Euphemia’s special curry and rice, along with a treacle tart dessert,” James said. 

Lily beamed at him as he pulled out her chair. 

It wasn’t until the plates were empty and her dad’s old record player was playing an Elton John record. 

Just as Your Song by Elton John started, James finally mustered up the courage to start speaking. 

“It’s weird how we’ve been together for less than a year,” James said. Lily hummed in question. 

“Why?” she asked, snuggling up to his chest as they swayed back and forth. 

“It feels like we’ve been together forever,” he said. Lily thought quietly for a second. 

“Yeah, I feel that way too,” she said. “It’s weird. How we went from barely standing each other to missing you every second we’re apart.”

“Still can’t believe we thought we could live apart,” he said. Lily laughed again. 

“Won’t happen ever again, that I’m sure of,” she said. James' heart fluttered happily and the weight of the ring in his pocket seemed a thousand times lighter. 

“Living together forever, then?” he asked softly. 

“I plan on it,” she said, confidently. 

James released her. She looked up with questions in her eyes, but they quickly got the answers as James got on one knee. 

“I plan on forever too,” he said, looking at Lily who’s eyes were filled with tears. “We’re not even 19 yet, but Merlin Lily, I can’t wait. I can’t wait to start the rest of our lives together. I just know that you are the only person for me.”

He pulled the ring out of his pocket. It was a family one, but one that his mother had brought from her own family in India. Euphemia had insisted that this was the right for Lily. It was a simple opal ring, with an intricate band.

“Will you marry me?” he asked. 

Lily nodded, words failing her. She practically tackled him to the ground with kisses. 

~~~

Lily’s eyes opened up. She couldn’t identify the source of what woke her up, but as she turned over on her other side, there was no James besides her. It took a second before she heard the creak in the floorboard, coming from Harry’s room. 

She got up, knowing that Harry normally slept through the night with no problem at his age of a year and a half. The last time he woke up in the middle of the night, he was sick. Lily slipped on her slippers and walked down the hallway. 

Standing in front of the window was James’s silhouette, swaying back and forth. She could see Harry on his hip.

“You just wanted someone to cuddle, did you Harry?” she heard James whisper. Lily smiled widely.

James started humming as he rocked Harry back and forth. He pressed kisses to the top of Harry’s head.

Lily stepped forward, the wood creaking beneath her. James turned around. 

“Did we wake you?” James whispered to her as she crossed the room to him. 

“Probably,” she whispered, a smile on her lips. “But it’s fine.”

She wrapped her arms around the side of James that wasn’t holding Harry. She rested her head against his chest, coming face to face with wide green eyes. She joined in on their swaying. 

“Hi Harry,” she whispered, taking the hand that wasn’t wrapped around James to pat Harry’s back. His eyes started to flutter close. 

“He really just wanted to snuggle, huh?” she asked. 

She felt James chuckled. 

“And dance with us,” he said.

[peeterparkr]

perennial;tom holland|sixteen.

chapter sixteen: coneflowers

↳ flower meanings: justice

chapter summary: fragile box, please handle with care. 

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angst but not for tom and y/n :) , mentions of sex, timmy, cherry, fluff. 

word count: 11.6K

SOCIAL MEDIA BEFORE THE CHAPTER: none

previous chapter next chapter   perennial masterlist.

perfidy  ( series masterlist)

I know it took me forever to write this, I’ve been having a hard time, my dog passed and I have been grieving, however, somehow I found the strenght to write. 

I know, it’s long. I know, I’m too descriptive.idc :) I liked it. it’s my writing and i’m sharing it with you, hope you enjoy it. 

thanks to @erodasghosts​ for being a real one and helping me out. 

btw stop sending anon hate it’s getting tiring 

tags aren’t working, please leave feedback asdakd listen to taylor swift 

Someone once said, to never fall in love, everything that falls, breaks. Y/n knew she was fragile but she’d broken enough to know she couldn’t break again. She was but pieces now. However, she could mend it with love. 

There is always that inexplicable feeling of joy when you get to wake up being held by one’s love, it is believed to be one of the most pleasurable moments, or at least it was for y/n to ever think of. If not the most pleasurable one. You can always long to go to bed with someone, but to wish for someone’s mornings, when they have a new day, talks about the most intimate act of all. 

She was usually the one to wake up earlier than him, usually watching as the sun would creep in from the window to warm his cheekbones. So peacefully as he was far away, dreaming. Golden streaking under his lips. 

Y/n always wondered if he ever dreamed of her. Often dreams are senseless, and fun, however dreams can turn into nightmares. 

Nightmares which would disappear whenever she was close to him. 

As usual, she had opened her eyes before him. How could anyone doubt them? She inquired to herself, her fingers delicately traced his skin, as he was away in his own world. 

There was no feeling of storms approaching and if it did, she knew she’d be able to dance with him. And they would bloom again. Though they were not right now, they would eventually. 

 “Y/N?” He said sheepishly, an eye half open. 

Y/n jumped, slightly startled. 

She smiled, “good morning.” 

And it was a good one. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” He asked, chuckling as his arm tried to bring her close. 

She blushed, and placed a kiss on his nose, “I—I got lost….in… your eyes?” 

He scoffed, “my closed eyes?” He laughed, trying still to open one eye completely. 

“I—was thinking and your face happened to be the view I had,” she said. 

“The only view you need,” he smirked, nuzzling into her hair. 

She rolled her  eyes, placing soft small kisses around his jaw. 

It is never easy to understand why the heart chooses what it chooses. If someone dared to ask she wouldn’t have the answer. Maybe she did. 

She could tell them about the fact that she was herself, and how she wanted to see how his eyelashes shined against the moonlight. How his silences spoke to her more than words. Or how her body was tattooed by his kiss. How after everything, they wanted to fight for their love. 

“Go back to sleep, love,” he said. “We don’t have to be awake.” 

She rolled her eyes, “no,” she stated before gluing her lips to his neck, kissing her way across it. 

“Oh,” he chuckled and she felt the vibrations through his neck. “Or you can… do that.” He lifted his head slightly, allowing her to get her lips on the sweet spot he loved. 

She giggled as she continued. 

“I think I can get used to this,” his eyes fluttered open. 

Love is not something that has a formula, there is no reason as to why someone loves someone. But looking at him, maybe she could think of some reasons. 

To the world, and the world being the people in the house, they were the enemies who had turned into lovers. Y/N knew better, they were lovers who had tried so hard to fool the world into believing they were enemies that they ended up believing it. 

“Hm, you must,” she warned him, now moving her lips up to the corner of his, he blushed and finally watched her. 

“Oh, will it be like this?” He smirked and finally managed to open his eyes, he tried stretching out but his hands were too eager to hold her again. 

“Maybe,” she chuckled. 

Had they not had those moments alone all their life? A certain calmness they shared whenever no one was around, and even when they would mock and bicker, it would be a strange familiarity. Was he not able to make her laugh? And cry? And feel every emotion. Every single one of them, and one who is powerful enough to know how to break you but chooses to love you instead and heal you is incredible. Someone who tried to mend the delicate parts. 

Being enemies had only shown them they could love each other even on their worst sides. And it had built them up, in a good way. They would have fun, competition. Even after all their battles, she found peace in him. Besides they both knew they didn’t need each other but they chose each other. They were not meant to be but damn, did they fight for each other. 

She finally caught his lips in hers, as he managed to turn her around and deepen the kiss, his arms embracing her as close as he could. She knew no one understood how they could be so in love after everything. 

Y/N guessed no one would understand, how after everything her eyes still shined when he smiled at her. How she wanted sunrises and sunsets, and the fun that might come in between. And to write a new story, one that the world didn’t have to know. 

“Every morning?” He asked her, after pulling away from the kiss. “Is that a promise?” 

She bit her lip, “Not every morning.” 

He frowned. 

“Some other mornings I might not kiss your neck, maybe your forehead,” she giggled. 

He chuckled, as he blushed, “Oh, I like that idea.” 

“Hm, you do?” She grinned. “How about…. Your ear?” 

He smiled, “I like that, too.” 

“Uh… your jaw.” 

“Yes,” Tom confirmed again. 

She kept watching him with mischief, “uh… how about your chest?” 

“Yes?” 

“Hm…your shoulder?” 

“Y/N, let’s just agree that I like your lips on any part of me,” he laughed before getting his own lips caressed on her neck. “Though I like them better on mine.” 

Maybe that had been her mistake, to try and get everyone to know a story that only them seemed to understand. Though they were always trying and running and hiding. As if they were merely prays trying to be hunted and they were scared of the very next roadblock, the next needle that would pop them.

“Hm, good, and I like yours,” she agreed. He served as a great blanket,she thought before pulling him to a deeper kiss. 

And yet they’d have each other at the end of the day, and a kiss to look up to as if it was the first time.  There were no other two people so different and so impossible for everyone else but that worked together so well. They saw their truth in each other, and though it was stupid, it was real. 

Y/N loved Tom because she didn’t need a reason for it. And she wouldn’t feel guilty every time he told her he loved her, she did not have to. And she had not given up because she knew Tom turned everything bright, that was his goddam gift and curse, he turned everything golden. Midas touch that sometimes turned things into gold when they were not worth turning into. 

Even them, who were so broken, he managed to make it perfect. 

Because they were them. No one else had to understand and though she knew they had been waiting for explanations the night before she did not have to give them any because she did not want their point of view. She only wanted Tom’s. And his, it was looking so bright. 

She pulled away this time, “hm are we supposed to tell them?” 

“Hm,” he kissed his way down to her neck and then to the valley between the slight cleavage that could show a bit of her breasts. “Probably.” 

“I guess they will ask for an explanation,” she said, as her hands landed on his hair, twirling her fingers around it. “I mean, James saw me on the verge of killing you yesterday and today you are—“

Tom chuckled as he looked up. “Right, they looked very confused yesterday.” 

Y/N grinned, “wouldn’t you be, idiot?” 

“Not with us, no,” he admitted as he rolled off, now resting his head on his hand, watching her. 

“Why not?” Y/N frowned. 

He laughed, as if it was rather obvious. “We’ve been doing this since we were kids, idiot,” he remarked the nickname. “Fight to death, then be friends for five minutes,” he chuckled as his hands traced up her body. “Except this isn’t—friendship, or not the PG-13 version of it—“

“This is definitely not the PG-13 version,” she agreed. “But this isn’t friendship.” 

“No, and it won’t last five minutes,” he smirked as his eyes turned with lust at her. “Forty-five maybe?” His eyes were burning with lust as he kept kissing his way down.

“No,” she rolled her eyes, giggling. “Not right now, Thomas.” 

“Why not?” He looked up with mischief.

She chuckled, “what would they say if they heard us?” 

“Do we still have to be alone for us to work out?” He questioned. “Didn’t we agree on not—being secretive?” 

She bit her lip, “No, but… I am not exactly fond of the idea of them listening to us have sex.” 

Tom had made a point. And it was the point that they both knew it, it’s always been that way, Rome, New York, now his room. What a magical place it was when they were alone. Getting away to be happy because nobody wanted to see them tumble down. 

He laughed, “Oh, I—well, we don’t have to be—uh, I thought we could-“

“Easy, Tom,” she said then, rolling her eyes. “I think I also told you I want to slow things down.” 

He paused, “right—But you—“

“I know,” she gulped. “I know I can’t stop myself but we both get to put boundaries, and— I need to sort things out.” 

“Yeah, right, right—“

“But—that doesn’t mean,” she coughed. “That I don’t love waking up to you.” 

He watched her with a smile. “I know, I know,” he kissed the corner of her lips, more sweetly now and rolled off. “So, are we going to tell them?” 

“I believe we—“she chuckled. “Maybe they’ll assume we are—in a good place.” 

“Yeah, I mean—“ 

“I just—“ she sat up, Tom watched her, still laying down. “I need you to—understand something, I’m—Please just bear with me?” She asked him. “I don’t want to lose this, so—“

He was calm, even smiling as he watched her, his hand reached to her hair, slowly stroking it. So different, neither of them waiting to attack.

“I—“ she didn’t know how to put it in words. 

“No, no, I get it, calmer, I know you need time to figure out your thoughts but I’m here—“he said. “We need to figure it out, slowly, and talk to people. Cherry, Tim.” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. 

“Yes I know, ease your thoughts. You always have something in your mind but we agreed on figuring out how to soothe your mind.”

“Yours too.”

“But we have each other, don’t we?” He asked, a calm soothing smile. “We are figuring it out, together.” 

She beamed. “Yeah.” 

“I like this new us,” he pointed out. 

“What? The talking ones?” Y/N laughed.

“Yes,” he smirked. 

“Thought you’d be more fond of the ones that ignore everything and make out,” she sassed. 

“We can talk about it and then make out and other stuff, darling, they don’t cancel each other out, I like talking.” 

“I hate it, I barely know how to speak my thoughts.”

He chuckled, “that’s not true, idiot.” 

“No, but it was easier painting each other as villains,” she pointed out. “And we could’ve left it all behind and make out... and yet.”

“And yet, we spent all night talking.” 

They had. Figuring out why they worked, and it made sense. The flowers had never dried, not theirs, at least. Y/N had finally accepted it to herself, mostly. That they would work out not because they wouldn’t have any battles but because they would win them, if they were together. 

They didn’t blame each other, but they both assumed they’d hurt each other and they wouldn’t forget it. To leave it behind would let the wounds open, to acknowledge them would let the scars heal. 

But they both knew they weren’t going to now. That was the difference. Both of them would excel on trying to be the best for them. 

However, both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, and that’s why their decision was so strong. 

“How are you feeling now?” He asked. 

Not empty anymore, she thought. “Confused,” she admitted. 

She had the right to be confused. Her heart had been juggling with different emotions over the last 72 hours, a rollercoaster of emotions that didn’t quite mix. She still had her own words circling in her mind, about past wounds. About the kiss she’d seen. Though she knew it hadn’t been Tom. 

That was a difference, and yes, it hurt. But Tom had not been the one to kiss cherry. Tom had not kissed Cherry to hurt y/n. 

The kiss had been a mistake. And y/n knew she could forgive mistakes. 

That was the one difference between after Rome and this. This hadnt been a thought out plan. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He questioned, holding her hand. 

She looked at him, not really. But now at least she didn’t question whether he loved her or not. She knew he did. 

The thing is. She hadn’t seen the kiss coming, and that’s what had shocked her the most, and now she was starting to come back from her thoughts. 

“No, I just need to rest,” she said. “I think my emotions just need a break.” 

“We can have a break today,” he said. “I thought we said we would have it.” 

But she couldn’t have it, not yet. 

The decision they’d taken wasn’t permanent, just for now, at least.  Filming and then they’ll figure it out back in London, though she was slightly scared because he would be away to film, again, and she’d be left alone. But not lonely now, that would be a huge difference and she’d be looking forward to seeing him again. And she wouldn’t have to worry about the heartbreak now. 

“I guess,” she plopped back on next to him. 

“This week has been so stressful,” he pointed out. “I’m exhausted.” 

They were exhausted, both of them, from being adorable to the heartbreak, to the fight to making up and then fighting again and then talking, and talking. 

“We made the right choice, right?” She asked. Because she was sure they had but maybe it was just both of them being exhausted of feeling. 

“Are you having second thoughts?” He asked. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” 

“No, I do,” she said. “I think it’ll also be easier to talk to each other.” 

“Yes,” he smiled slightly. “In the quiet and peace of this very room.” 

She looked around. “It needs stuff,” she smiled. 

“Stuff?” He grinned. 

“Yeah, it’s too—plain.” 

“I’m sure we will take care of that,” he pulled her close. “I’m sure the Polaroids you’ll take will be the perfect decor. But—Look, see over there? Vinyls.” 

She laughed, “having them on the floor isn’t exactly decor.” 

“It’s art, darling, it turns you on,” he mocked. 

She laughed, “ah, right, it does.”

“But you’re right it’s plain,” 

She nuzzled close to him, “yeah.” 

“So more vinyls, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the Polaroids…?” 

She grinned, “yes.” 

“I actually,” he coughed. “Have some.” 

She glanced up with curiosity, “the ones I gave back with the box?” 

He chuckled, “yeah,” he glanced over. “Dude you really said let’s wreck this man’s emotions didn’t you?” 

She pursed her lips and cupped his face, “why?” 

“You literally—made a dvd,” he reminded her. “With videos of us?” He chuckled. “Like—you really said: ah yeah, fuck him, let’s remind him that we’ve done this before and that we transformed it into a relationship, and then you—Fucking saved the beer cap from that one time we—“ he cleared his throat. 

“Yeah when we first hooked up. And that controller from the first kiss—“

“I’m surprised,” he admitted. “Are you a kleptomaniac?” He laughed. 

“Maybe? I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s just—“

“They remind you of moments, right?” He questioned, 

“Yeah,” she sighed.

He looked at her, “why did you give them to me?” 

“Because—“she paused, “I know what I said in the script, and I know it was awful but I also—wanted to show you that I had written another story, you know? That that story was the one that made us and built us up and that I’ve been—Though it’s stupid, trrasuring it?” 

He stayed quiet. 

“I—Did I give you the letter, too?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah—I just—-you don’t know how many times I drowned going back through the memories, trying to figure out the puzzle. When—back in Rome it was my way of bottling up, as if keeping it in a box meant keeping my broken heart in a drawer?” 

He nodded. 

“But I—After we—I don’t know when we were with that whole enemies with benefits things and we kind of—Broke up? Can we call it that way?” 

“Uh… When was this?”  

“When—“she chuckled. “I—Well I was scared because all of sudden you were getting all coupley—I mean you bloody made me have breakfast with your parents and made me hold your hand the entire time.” 

He smirked, “Yes.” 

“Well, after that—You learned Tim had kissed me, which by the way, he did—I wasn’t—“ 

Tom rolled his eyes, “Yeah, seems—believable, but—Why did you—-Why did you suddenly just say no? Like—I was the one to kind of suggest—a relationship?”

“That was not suggesting a relationship,” she laughed. “Tommy I love you but your way of—“

He scoffed, “I—Okay, but what about that day?” 

“I was so confused because I—I finally opened up that box and it was like—as if—As if I—“

Tom seemed confused. “As if you opened your heart?” He said dramatically. He seemed amused. 

She rolled her eyes, “yes, Tom, and you should start getting used to that, all my metaphors.” 

“Sorry, I forget we are dating and that now I can’t mock you,” he confessed. 

“No, you can mock me but….” 

“Right but then I have to kiss you?” He grinned, leaning over.

She pushed his face away, earning a glare. “Ew, no.” 

He laughed, “What?” 

Y/n nudged him. “No, but like—I did it as if it was—I don’t know—But like that box?” She said. “I wouldn’t mind having that dress hanging around until… It hurt, like, all of my—Like I only boxed them when it hurt.” 

He remained quiet. 

“And then… It just… I couldn’t keep boxing it away, you know?” 

“And why did you give it to me?” 

“Because when—after the engagement party,” she started, “I guess it was—“

“Did you want me to see the heartbreak?” He asked. 

“No,” she shook her head. “I realized I boxed it because everything boxed is a good thing. None of it were—sad memories. I didn’t box the yellow flowers you gave me—I mean I didn’t have them but, I boxed the one you brought after prom, what I mean is that I only stayed with the good things? If that makes sense?” 

“Yeah, no I guess it’s—“

“And I gave them to you I guess as a lame excuse of trying to—Be like—Hey we have a lot of good things because we often try and forget that.” 

“Right,” he coughed. 

“And I think we shouldn’t, you know?” she said. “Like yes, we’ve been talking about the bad parts, but we also have a lot of good ones, you know?” 

He smiled.

 “What—what did you do with it?” She asked.

“It’s back home,” he said and then smiled. “Which could be your home when we come back, too…” 

She rolled her eyes, “So good for taking things slow.” 

He peppered her with soft kisses across her face.

“Tommy,” she giggled. 

 “We will talk about it, you know, eventually….” He reminded her,

“Yeah, I know,” she grinned. “No—but, yeah, that box, I have—“she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I thought you would burn it.” 

He chuckled, “I—honestly I did think about it, like when you did, burning the flowers right in my face.” 

“I was broken-hearted and petty,” she said. 

He chuckled, “it was aesthetic.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Am I wrong? Don’t you do everything for it?” He teased. 

“Oh, yes, I cried for months just because it would be aesthetically pleasing,” she snapped, pushing herself far from him. 

“I’m joking, hey, I’m joking,” he pulled her back to him. “Can we go back to decorating matters?”

“No.”  

“Ah, please, I know you’re dying to change this stupid room with your polaroids, and… maybe flowers?” He smirked. 

Y/n rolled her eyes, “you’re so stupid, yes,” she grinned before kissing him sweetly. “There’s—also, do you have some clear space for my clothes—?” 

“Yeah, I think,” he gave it a thought. “Yes there’s plenty of space, your clothes will be safe.” 

This was what she needed. Those little conversations about being normal, not about their past or not about how much her heart was breaking. 

“Hopefully they’ll stay there all the time,” he added. 

She raised her brows in confusion. 

“Oh please darling, it'll be better if we wear no clothes at all,” he suggested so smoothly, y/n thought she would melt. 

“You’re an idiot,” she blushed, giggling softly. 

“You love me,” he stated smugly. 

She grinned, “yeah, I do.” 

It was time for him to blush, and kiss her, gently. Leaving soft tray of kisses across her face. 

She smiled, “So, how about I— tell your brothers and you tell mine,” she suggested. 

Tom laughed, pulling away nervously , “are you trying to get rid of me?” 

“What? No!” She was clearly confused. 

“Look, y/n, love, darling, princess, angel—“ 

She rolled her eyes with a knowing smile, “what?”

“I love you but I don’t think I have the balls to tell your brother you are moving in,” he said. 

She laughed, “why not?” 

“You’re really asking?” He cackled. “Didn’t you hear him last night?” 

Ah, she had. James said: I swear to god, if they have make up sex I’ll kill him. 

“I mean,” she laughed, “he wasn’t wrong, he did say that we had make up sex—. That’s kind of—“

“No, no it’s not what happened,” Tom cleared his throat. “I mean, yes a little, but it wasn’t that, like, we talked, a lot and we got to many conclusions.” 

“Yes but we still—“

“So what? He said he would kill me!” He laughed. “The fact that it did happen—I mean he doesn’t know it happened but—“

She giggled, “but what?”

“I am not risking being killed by your brother.” 

“You are not going to tell him that, you’re going to tell him I am moving in,” she reminded him. “Not the… sex part.”

“Please, but telling him you are moving in is basically telling him we are going to have sex on a daily basis.” 

She raised her brows, “we are not—“

“You can’t keep your hands off me, dumbass, he will know.”

“I am not, but—That’s beside the point, I am not moving in because of that, did you really think—?”

“I know you—I know it’s not because of that but this is James we are talking about—He will assume.” 

It was only partly why she was moving in. No, not the sex but to be with him. They’d work it out together and being together more time would help. Besides, she knew that she had to get rid of Tim. Not because of Tom’s jealousy, no, but because Tim had too much power in her mind and she did not know if she was strong enough to stop him. It wasn’t that Tim still had her feelings, no, but she had to know who she was without Tim, and who she was with Tom. She liked the version she was with Tom, the kind of person who was willing to see the best and try and show the best. Y/n liked who she was around Tom now. This version, the one that was willing to make her most complicated thoughts less complicated. The one that smiled when waking up, the one that smiled after a kiss. 

Y/N didn’t need Tom, technically. She knew that she could be fine in an apartment on her own, but she wanted him. And her wishes had become so strong they’d turn into a necessity. Her body was tattooed with him, her heart had his name carved. 

Her time away from him had been only a proof that she’d come back to him. Maybe he was an addiction. Maybe she was young and stupid, but she knew him too well to know that it was better to keep him around than to be away from him. 

Tom was a part of her, and trying to deny it would only bring her down. So she’d said yes to his proposal to move in. Because she knew it wasn’t a proposal that came from fear, it had been a proposal that had come from passion. 

The sky was clear. After the storms. They didn’t have to dance under the rain because she’d finally punched the hole through the roof. They’d come back to each other. 

Though they could assume that she’d take revenge over his mistake, and he could take his own, neither of them would, because why would they ever break what they love.

And she wouldn’t because they’d be chasing shadows and she didn’t need that. 

Maybe they had to drown together, or understand they’d both drowned.

But the water, though still slightly altered, was swimmable, because she had him. And that’s all she needed right now, he was the only answer to the many of her questions. 

“Well, if he assumes it,” she chuckled, “it’s on him. Besides, if he assumes it that’s gross, why does he assume his little sister is having sex?” That made him laugh, “besides, I don’t care. It’s our decision, they don’t know about us.” 

There was something about them that they managed to see each other. 

“They do know us,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, separately, they don’t see this,” she pointed out. “I think they don’t fully understand us, and honestly, I don’t need them to.” 

Tom tilted his head. 

“Eventually they’ll see it, but I think they do, already, they just have this version of us, and we do, too, but I think we—“

“We are more than that, yes,” Tom agreed. 

“They don’t know about the things we do, they don’t know about the I love you’s.” 

He closed his eyes, “did you just fucking quote One Direction?” 

“They don’t know about the up all nights—“ she sang. 

“Stop. You’re ruining this.” 

“They don’t know—“

“Shut up, I love you but you should stop,” Tom laughed. “No—I hate you.” 

“I hate you, too,” she grinned, leaning down to kiss him. How marvelous, her enemies to lovers story had turned out. 

“Are… we avoiding going out and facing them?” He asked in between kisses. 

“Hm. I think so,” she admitted. 

They would have to face them, and so they, though they’d rather stay savoring each others’ words, they went to the kitchen, where they would be received with their spectators. 

Sam, James and Clark. There was no sight of Harry, y/n noticed. 

They froze when they saw them. As if with a word they could destroy each other. Y/N didn’t like to think of them so fragile but she understood where they came from. 

“Hello,” Tom was the one to break the silence. 

They didn’t answer. 

“Good morning,” y/n was next. 

Clark smiled, “good morning!” He greeted them. “How did you guys sleep?” He had a mischievous and knowing look on his face. 

“Fantastic,” Tom said. 

Y/N smiled, “Good, how about you guys?” 

“Ah, slept next to an idiot, but it was lovely,” he said. 

James glared at his fiancé. 

“Ah, me too,” y/n grinned. “It comes as a surprise, does it not? How incredibly soothing it is to sleep next to an idiot.” 

Tom chuckled and eyed their breakfast, as if trying to decide what he would have for him. Sam watched them with irony. 

“Surprising indeed,” Clark answered. 

“What?” James asked. 

“You wouldn’t know James, you are the idiot in the relationship. “Where’s Harry?” Y/n asked with curiosity. 

Sam smirked. “Not here.” 

Tom stole a piece of bacon from Sam’s plate earning a glare from his younger brother. 

“Not—?”Y/n frowned, very unaware of the situation. “Alright—uh, what can I have for breakfa—“

“Alright that’s enough,” James interrupted. “You guys are going to act as if nothing happened?” 

Tom took a deep breath, “good morning, James.” 

“Good morning?” James mocked. “Good morning? That’s all you have to say?” 

Tom chuckled, “sorry, how did you sleep, James?” 

James was losing it. 

“Are you kidding us?” James asked. “You—y/n almost murdered him yesterday—“

Y/N chuckled, “so? You pretended to be straight for fourteen years. And now you’re here engaged to a man, we all pretend to be things we’re not.” 

Clark bursted out laughing. 

“What the fuck,” was all James could say. 

Clark placed a hand on his shoulders, immediately James calmed down. “Jamie, love we talked about this—“ 

“I’m—You guys just—“ James couldn’t even speak.

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes, “it’s none of your business, James, but if you must know, I made out with him for 10 hours straight and forgot about it.” 

Tom was the one to freak out now, “no, no no—We didn’t—No, we—we talked okay?” 

Y/N laughed, “yeah—Fine.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “I think what James here means is that we are tired of not knowing how the hell to act around this and we need an update.” 

“Yeah. So about that,” y/n said. “First, I need you to understand that this is between Tom and me,” she cleared up. “Whatever we are going through, we don’t need you to meddle in, and we don’t want you to take sides or whatever, because there is no sides here, this is not y/n versus Tom, this is not a prank war, this is not—“

Tom cleared his throat. 

Y/N closed her eyes, “we came into a realization that we—no, we’ve always known who we are when we are together. We know each other, and we love you guys but this is our thing.” 

Clark smiled and then turned to James as if telling him: ‘I told you so’. 

“We—“Tom was the one to speak now. “I think what she’s trying to say is that we don’t want you guys to be worried about it.” 

 “Yes,” she said. “And...You guys all know us, we know, I know, James, I know you know me and want to protect me, however you guys barely know who we are together,” Y/N continued. 

James watched them, “We only want what’s best.” 

“Yes but how do you know what’s best for us?” Y/N asked. “And it’s… Look, I’ve never meddled in your relationship with Clark, I barely even knew about it and look at you guys.” 

“Yes but you guys-” James tried to intrude again. 

“We know,” Tom said. “We know, though it’s not perfect, it’s our relationship, and…” Tom took a deep breath. “Yes, you’ve been witnesses to the bad parts, and only the bad parts, but… we… We also have some very good ones, like back in New York, Rome or just this morning, and maybe that’s on us, because we’ve always feared about it and… We’ve always been so…” 

“Yeah, what we thought was that we… We are so scared of the outcome that we’ve always shielded ourselves by being alone, and we don’t have to,” y/n finished his sentence. 

“And yes, it’s not perfect, but it is the best that has happened to us and though it’s hard to believe we've brought the best of each other..” Tom cleared his throat. “We have.” 

“Yes, I know it’s hard to believe but I love the y/n I am when this idiot is around,” she admitted. 

James was listening now, Clark couldn’t help but smile and Sam was, honestly, just confused. 

“We’ve overcome the worst heartbreaks and we both know each other’s worst and we are willing to bring the best,” Tom said. “We are willing to work it out and step out of the idea we have of each other because we also know we are trying to become our best versions.” 

Sam nodded, “Cool, now, can we just please be aware of your relationship status? Though we won’t meddle I think we’re very involved in this and might as well—you know, be aware.” 

Y/N and Tom looked at each other, it was weird why they felt so insecure about it yet there was no reason to. 

“She’s moving in,” Tom announced, firmly but regretted it instantly. “Uh—Just—“

The room was incredibly quiet. Of course they had expected this, they had been on the verge of breaking up right now and this outcome was nothing of what they had expected. 

Y/N nodded, that’s all she could do. She walked closer to Tom. 

James took a deep breath, Clark held his hand, knowing that James was probably about to lose his shit. He didn’t. 

James didn’t look at Tom, he looked at his sister, who only reached out for her lover’s hand, now uneasy and kind of sweaty. 

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, and not because he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t sure why. 

Y/n thought  she knew what they were thinking, that they were completely crazy. That they wouldn’t last. That it was just another stupid idea. Like back when they were children and they had decided to play at the tree house together and five minutes in y/n had climbed down crying because Tom had said something mean. Or that one time when they had gone to the movies when they were younger and said they would share the popcorn and Tom had ended up with the bucket on his head. 

Like the old times when they always said they would be fine and then five minutes later they’d be at each other’s throat or on top of each other trying to hit the other. 

Y/n thought they were thinking that. And they probably were. 

The difference was that she didn’t care this time, because she knew that this time probably, yes, she’d be on his throat, but with her lips tracing its way and if someone was on top of each other, well, she would… really like that. 

“Alright,” James said, finally breaking the silence. 

That was new.

And everybody was confused. 

“Just know, that this is my sister, Thomas,” he added. “Please just stay five feet apart at all times. Separate bedrooms.” 

Tom chuckled nervously, he was sweating. He would actually take that in mind, he tried to walk away. He wasn’t sure why he was scared of James, it’s not like James would hurt him. Maybe it was a matter of trying not to disappoint him. 

“No, thanks for the suggestion,” y/n smiled. “But I’m good. He’s a good pillow.” 

James wanted to ask a million questions, and he only was squeezing Clark’s hand. Clark thought he would end up losing it. 

“So—breakfast?” Y/n said with a smug smirk.

Sam kept watching them with curiosity.

“Just—Just—“James was startled, y/n could tell, “I—“He was warned with a glare by Clark. “I need—I need to know, please, I just—how the hell—How did you guys even go—from—?” 

“From what? Enemies to this?” Y/N questioned. 

“That I can answer, she flirted once for 20 seconds and  I became obsessed with her,” Tom said and then laughed. “No, I’m joking, well, no—Not really, but she kissed me once and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.” 

Y/n smiled. “Yeah, he smiled at me once and that was it for me, also, I’m attracted to stupid. And he happens to be—“

“No—“James tried to say something but y/n interrupted him again. 

“Ah okay, well we flirted at some bar once and we—“y/n started. 

“Danced! Yeah, to that song from Risky Business!” Tom didn’t let her finish knowing damn well that hadn’t happened but he would not let her say they had flirted and hooked up and ended up with this. 

“Ah, yeah, but that didn’t happen until after—“

“I flirted with you on set,” Tom reminded her. 

She grinned,”that was flirting? Well, okay yes—“

“No, I didn’t mean—,” James tried speaking again.

“Ah sorry,James,” y/n laughed. “Right so—In his car—“

“We got pancakes at midnight,” Tom interrupted yet again. Did she want him dead? 

“And then I held hands with her having breakfast once and I realized I wanted to wake up every morning to her,” Tom said. 

Y/n glared, “that’s—“

“Yes, and we danced to that song from Dirty Dancing and she ended up madly in love with me.” 

“Yes and then on the plane—“y/n continued with a smirk, she was mocking him. She clearly knew what she was doing. This was Tom and Y/n in their splendor. She was teasing. 

“Yes we had a date,” Tom glared, interrupting again. “And then we danced in the middle of the street in New York..” 

“Why the hell is there so much dancing,” Sam asked.

Y/n laughed, “yeah, dancing.” 

James rolled his eyes, “I don’t care about whatever happened—“

“That’s the thing, James,” y/n said. “I know you’re asking how the hell did I turn from almost murdering him to now moving in with him, and that’s exactly the explanation I’m giving you. All those little details in our relationship? That’s what led us here.” 

James took a deep breath. Clark brushed his back trying to soothe him. Y/N knew they weren’t exactly happy with this, but this was it. 

Even last time she was nervous about it. How would they react, and how they feared they would respond. But why did it matter? 

Though she knew that they would be supportive, no matter what. They would be supportive. It was not then that mattered. 

She knew her mind could easily be manipulated by someone else. Someone who was not at that house. 

Y/N and Tom both expected James to say his infamous words ‘I’m happy you’re happy.’ Which would mean he didn’t agree. 

He didn’t, instead he said, “Dont’ fuck it up, please, I love you both too much and I really want you both to be happy, and if you guys make each other happy then don’t be fucking stupid.” 

They had his approval, not that it mattered. 

Sam had been quiet. Dangerously quiet.

Y/N knew not to push him. 

They had breakfast, and it had been calm. Clark had been kind enough to change the subject of conversation and brought the subject of the wedding though James had been reluctant. They did talk about it, and Tom had tried to make some points on it by recalling that he’d been the one to introduce Tom and Clark. 

“Introducing me to the love of my life won’t redeem you from even holding my sister’s hand, Thomas.” 

But though the sky was clear, y/n knew they had to drive to the storm, the difference this time, they’d go together. 

Y/N had given it a thought, she was not sure how she would talk to Cherry. She was going to...eventually. 

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Sam had asked as y/n and Tom were splashing water at each other while doing the dishes. 

Tom glanced at his brother. 

“Alone?” Sam remarked. 

Y/N chuckled, “Yeah, sure.” 

And she left with him. Tom didn’t know what that was about. Though he knew he didn’t have to worry, one because Sam would get y/n against him, not that he had to, and besides y/n had made sure to make Tom know that she wouldn’t let their relationship tumble down over little doubts and fears. 

Sam wouldn’t give her any. But he knew that there was something bothering Sam, he wondered what. But if it was a problem with Tom, he would’ve talked it with him. 

Tom never really understood Sam and y/n’s relationship, it was very peculiar and fun, he knew. He knew y/n trusted Sam with her life. And Sam trusted her with his. 

It took him a while, he’d seen them talking far away. 

“What’s--up with them?” Tom asked James and Clark who were on their way to go out, Clark explained they’d go tourist. 

“Dunno, maybe he’s trying to bring some reason to y/n and try and convince her not to date you,” James joked with a smug smirk. 

Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes, “You’re really hating this, huh?” 

Clark nudged James, “No, he doesn’t, he’s just being a bitter asshole, like the big brother he was to be.” 

“Yeah,” James confirmed. “I hate any guy who dates her, she may be a pain in the ass but no one deserves her.” 

Tom was slightly hurt by that, though he agreed, he knew James had never been this reluctant as when she was dating Tim. Tom faked a laugh anyway.

Clark glared at James. “You’re doing exactly what I fucking told you not to.” 

“Please,” James grinned. “Tom perfectly knows I’m joking, they’re so bloody meant to be it’s making me sick, but I still forbid you to even fucking hold her hand,” he said as he put on a jacket. 

Tom was slightly calmed by that statement. “‘Lright.” 

“But no, I wouldn’t worry about Sam, Sam is probably talking about a theory he came up about something, he was watching Sherlock last night, I think so… You know how he is.” 

Tom chuckled, “right.” 

“And they haven’t seen each other in so long so he just probably took the chance.” 

“Right,” Tom said, and it did make sense. 

Clark and James left, eventually after telling Tom their plans. Tom was still slightly nervous. 

When y/n came back, her eyes were distraught and distracted. 

“Everything okay?” Tom asked, quickly. 

She licked her lips, “Yeah, yeah, we…” 

“You don’t seem alright,” Tom pointed out. 

“Yeah, I… No,  don’t worry, Sam just…” She nodded to herself, as if she was figuring out her thoughts on her own. 

“You sure?” Tom pushed. 

Y/N only nodded before walking away

Sam was walking by too, “Don’t worry, let her… sit in her thoughts.” 

“What did you say to her?” Tom asked. 

“Nothing that prejudices you, don’t worry,” Sam said. 

Y/N needed some clothes and to start packing. y/n was quiet for another moments, and then asked to go to her flat, she wasn’t distraught anymore. Tom and her talked again, he didn’t push the Sam subject, but they talked, apparently it was something they were doing now. While in the car, just like they had in the morning, talking, calmly. With a few jokes in between. 

Y/n didn’t know how, probably Tom either but he was teasing, like old times. Both of them making fun of each other, remembering. 

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked as they were climbing the outside stairs to y/n’s apartment, he reached for her hand to stop her. 

She looked back, she wondered how their silhouettes looked, very Romeo and Juliet probably. Romantic. 

“Do what?” She asked, “go upstairs?” 

“No, dumbass,” he chuckled, as he took a step forward but she was still ahead. “Move in?” 

Honestly, she did have some doubts, that had nothing to do with Tom, and nothing to do with her apartment. Y/N had doubts on herself, not with Tom, but she—still was unsure on how she would feel when they would have to leave, eventually. Back to London. She was doubting the process of going back to London. And moving in with Tom meant she’d eventually have to. Or—what if she had to stay? How would she find another apartment—or would she have to move in back with Emma and Tim? Would Emma even stay in LA? And would Tim? 

No worries with Emma but—Tim. 

She’d worry about it later. 

“Yes,” she smiled as she pulled his hand, he climbed to the same step. “I’m sure, besides, it’s not like I’m moving in today, I’m just—getting some clothes,” she reminded him. 

“Right?” 

“Are you sure?” She asked. Maybe he hadn’t asked because of her but because of him. Maybe Tom was second guessing the proposal that had come in so abruptly. 

Y/N had not initially answered when he had asked, after all, he had blurted it out in a very compromising position.

“What?” she had asked. 

“That—was stupid wasn’t it?” It had been. But, really, y/n was used to his stupidity. 

And they had remained quiet on the ride. Tom had been so embarrassed for even daring to think of it, let alone asking it. 

Tom had tried to cut the silence. “I—“

“I just—“she laughed as she interrupted. “So—I was—you know, on top of you and you thought—Yes, I want to move in with her, that was what was going through your mind?” 

Tom turned red, “I—no—“

“Your mind was elsewhere while we—was it that boring—?”

“No!” He coughed. “I—No, nothing like that—No, I just—It was on my mind before it happened and—“

“It was on your mind?” 

“Yes. You mentioned how you had to move out and I couldn’t help but think that—I—forget it, it’s stupid.” 

“It’s not.” 

“What?” 

She had paused. “How crazy would it be? Like—Even in New York we had to get rid of the other room because—“

“Yes but—This is months—“

She paused, “right.” 

“I mean—I would love to,” he admitted. “We could—I dunno, waking up to you every morning sounds like a dream come true.” 

She only smiled shyly. 

“But no, it’s stupid right? Uh—should we go for something to eat?” 

“Yeah—“

“I—no—I actually did mean it,” he confessed. “I do mean it, it wasn’t the heat of the moment or whatever.” 

“You’re asking me to move in with you?” She questioned. As if trying to make him realize what he was really offering. 

“Yes, I am,” he had said firmly. “I—just think about the perks we would have.” 

“Oh, no, I know about those—“she sassed, chuckling slightly. 

“Like—we could drive together to set all the time and you could—Uh, there’s this room that you could use to write? Yes—and uh, we don’t even have to be on the same room, when James leaves you can take the room he was sleeping in.” 

She was amused, and watched him with a smirk, “so, roommates? Is that where we are standing now?” 

“No—But if you think it’s soon—“

“It is soon,” she pointed out. “But when have we ever—been good with any timing in our relationship?” 

He chuckled nervously, “true—But I mean—if it’s too soon then we don’t have to sleep on the same bed.”

She only watched him. 

They did go to a drive thru, and stayed quiet again. Tom had been so nervous about it. And he knew y/n didn’t believe him that he actually was offering it to her. 

“So, want to be my roommate?” He offered as he’d drove home, they had stayed at the car, sitting on the trunk, probably because neither of them wanted to face everyone in the house yet. 

“I—have been thinking about it,” she admitted. “But—being honest.” 

“Yes?” 

“I don’t think we could stay in separate rooms,” she recalled. “I—I mean—“

“Why—not?” 

“Tom.” 

“I—I—it’s cause, I know it’s soon but that way you don’t have to find another place, and—“

“No, no—I—like the idea but—“

“Yes?” 

“But… Are you seriously offering being… roommates?” 

He coughed, “Roommates who kiss occasionally.” 

She rolled her eyes, “Uh-huh.” 

“Look I… I don’t know, I… Ideally, you could move in and we’d be sharing a room,” he hesitated. 

“So coupley,” she joked. 

“I thought we… were that?” He questioned. 

She gave him a smile, “Well, yes, that’s why I figured we can’t be in separate rooms, and honestly even if we were I know I’d crawl my way to you.” 

He watched her with curiosity, as if he couldn’t quite understand why she was asking if he was sure. He was, and it didn’t matter if they moved in or not, she was his home, as cliché as it may sound. And it was exciting, though a bit scary, he was sure of it. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he grinned. “Why-wouldn’t I be?” 

The sun had posed on her lashes as she dedicated him a very shy smile. Tom wasn’t scared anymore. Though they’d started in a very cheerful spring and ended in New York for a very nice summer, the autumn was now their very best. A breeze made her hair fly, and they kept their way, Tom could only smile at the way the sun made its way through her face, as if it was made to shine on her. 

Tom knew they had to still mend each other’s hearts, delicately. But they had each other for so, and the future looked bright. Just like the sun in her face.

Y/N opened the door to the apartment, and Tom feared just a little, that their incredible drea would tumble down if Tim was there. He… wasn’t. 

Was it selfish to think that he somehow knew y/n would eventually come back to him? Was it that selfish to have that feeling so strong? He had thought about it, all night. A love so stubborn that they’d find a way to each other, even pretend to hate just to have a reason to talk to each other. Maybe they were young and knew nothing about love and it was stupid, but they knew everything about each other. 

He knew they’d be able to talk about the rain, they’d danced enough under it to know they would see it bittersweet. Maybe it wasn’t selfish to think she’d come back, because he knew he would, too. 

Y/N walked in and stared at the couch, curiously. There were a few clothes here and there. 

“What?” Tom asked. 

“I didn’t see the car,” she pointed out. She headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, getting out two beers, handing him one, “I guess they’re not here… the place is…” She shook her head as she frowned. “Nothing.” 

He knew it meant something, but if she didn’t want to share it then it meant she didn’t want him to know. He didn’t push it. 

He followed after her into her room, he sat on the bed and looked around. Her room was so… her. She always managed to make things hers, as if she had this mystical touch to transform everything into beautiful things. He always wondered how she did it, how she managed to turn the not so nice apartment into something liveable. 

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t broken up with him, because she’d even turn her heartbreak into something beautiful.

There was something beautiful in them, fragile things often tend to be the most expensive and the things you care for the most. He looked at the flowers, dried out now but decorative. Pretty. 

Her camera, some writings, polaroids. She was looking through her clothes, and Tom only remembered when she was packing back for New York. But she had boxes now. 

He beamed as he then walked through her room, he could still smell the perfume from the flowers hanging. All of them were yellow, or some tone near yellow. She had maps, also, with some places circled. He saw her notebook that she took to set, the script with scribbles and his name circled. Flowers sketched around it, he smiled. 

But there was a noise heard outside, a laugh? 

Both Tom and y/n frowned and tried to peek through the door, and then a view they had not expected. Emma’s laughter echoed through the apartment as she made her way to the kitchen, topless or her bare back gave away that impression, with Harry following right behind wearing only a pair of boxers, harmonizing his laughter with his, as he ran to her and hugged her from behind, kissing her bare neck. 

Both y/n and Tom widened their eyes as they turned to each other, with surprise. Tom quickly rushed to close the door, Y/N did the same as they quietly closed her bedroom door. And as soon as they had, they both tried not to laugh. 

“Oh my god,” both of them whispered, red from embarrassment, still trying to contain their laughter. 

“What the fuck?” Tom asked, happy for his brother, but also very uncomfortable. 

She snorted, “I don’t know,” she answered quietly. “Oh my god?” 

“Do you think they fucked?” Tom asked. 

“That’s your brother!” She playfully smacked his arm, giggling. “But… Oh my god, they totally did.” 

“Oh for fucking sure they did.” 

“That’s why Harry wasn’t—oh my god?”

“I… oh my god,” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I saw her boobs,” Y/N laughed, a bit too loud and Tom quickly covered her mouth. 

“Shut up, idiot,” He said. “They’re like fucking deers, they’ll be startled!” 

Y/N couldn’t stop giggling so instead she buried into his chest, expecting the shirt to cover the sound. 

“I… Okay, but…” Tom smirked. “Do you think they pulled a ‘Tom and y/n’ and just…?” 

“I mean,” she chuckled. “It’s an effective method. 

Tom chuckled. “He fucking judged us yesterday—?”

“Yes but I guess he saw us and went: huh that worked for them?” 

Tom cackled. “I can’t believe Emma would give in—“

“Oh, so you—“she frowned. “Emma wouldn’t but I would?” 

Tom knew he had fucked up, as he often does, cause he’s a man and an idiot. “Shit—No—I didn’t.” 

“Am I that easy to persuade?” She asked. 

“No—I don’t mean it, like that, I just mean that—“

“That Emma wouldn’t be up for makeup sex but I would?” 

“You have—been up for—,” he stated. “Look—I didn’t—“

She chuckled, “so you think you are in control of it?” She pointed out. 

“Psh, I know you can’t resist me, darling.”

She smirked, “Tommy, please.” 

He gulped, “I—okay, no I’m not but I didn’t mean it like that.” Tom rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Fine, you can do whatever you want to me, I give in.” 

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Harry!” And a giggle was heard from outside. 

Tom closed his eyes. “Wait—Please—please tell me they’re not going to—Go for it, again.” 

Y/N looked up. “I—I—Hope not?” She was scared. 

 “Are we trapped?” Tom asked. 

Y/n chuckled, “seems like we are.” 

“Great,” Tom sighed as he plopped on the bed. “Do you think she—forgave him?” 

“Shut up, you’re an idiot,” they heard Emma yell.  

Y/N listened and nodded before sitting beside him, handing him his beer “Dunno, but did you hear? Poor thing she’s bloody in love with him.” 

“She called him an idiot,” Tom pointed out, confused..

Y/N chuckled to herself, watching him comically, she smirked before drinking from her beer, “I know, dumbass.” 

Tom frowned, “So, she is mad right?” 

“Oh my god,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m—Oh.” 

He was an idiot. 

Tom, even if he would not dare to say it out loud was slightly jealous of his brother. In a weird way. In a way that Tom aspired to be the most adorable couple and Harry and Emma had always been 1st on that place. 

Tom knew Harry and Emma specialized on being adorable, hence why Harry would not stand Tom and y/n. 

They were such different couples. But there were a lot of similarities, Harry and y/n were very alike, very reserved. Tom and Emma were also very alike, so open and so cheerful. 

But Harry and Emma had more in common, they were very different in the way they approached things, which often came as a blessing and more often than not, it was not a blessing. They were so stubborn. 

Which was the difference with y/n and Tom who were so different, y/n was so into her world, calmly escaping in films, music, clothing, pretty things. While Tom escaped with the gym, golf and parties. 

Y/N loved quiet, Tom loved loud and yet. 

They were there, locked in y/n’s room and though there probably were a million other things to do, they both laid down with their feet resting against the wall. Trying to ignore Harry and Emma who god knows what they were doing. Talking about everything and nothing at all. 

Hands playing with each other’s hands. 

“No, but like—Mr. Darcy is just—“y/n sighed, dramatically. “He is a dream come true.”

Tom chuckled, “He’s emotionally unavailable.” 

“Yes, he is an idiot,” y/n pointed out, “which—of course , it makes sense I’d fall in love with him.” 

“I don’t understand why—Like, okay, the actor is handsome but—“

“Oh my god Thomas, no,” she interrupted. “I mean yes but it’s the story.”

Tom laughed. “The story?”

“It’s enemies to lovers,” she said as if it was obvious enough already. 

It’s fair to point out now, Tom was very dumb. “What?” He proved it with that. 

“I—“She chuckled. “Tommy, okay—So it’s—enemies to lovers who love each other but they don’t give in because of their misconceptions of each other.” 

“Yeah, it’s in the title—pride and prejudice,” he remarked. “So what? Why do you love it so much?”

Y/N looked at him as if she was reconsidering every life choice she’d ever made. “I—It’s ironic, even, Thomas.” 

“What is?” 

“What were we before we dated?” 

“Sad?” 

“I—“she chuckled. “No—I mean.” 

“What?”

“We were enemies, Thomas.” 

Tom then realized how stupid he was. He closed his eyes as he finally made the realization. “Oh.” 

“Yes—Oh, dumbass.” 

“But—Okay, I thought we would be more like Mr Bingley and Jane” 

She laughed, softly. “Please, you’re not nearly as adorable and you were just as emotionally unavailable to me half your life.”

“I was—Okay but like—I—I thought.”

“No, those two out there? They’re Bingley and Jane.” 

“Oh, makes sense...so, you and I are Mr. Darcy and Lizzie?”

“No, we are idiots.” 

Tom nudged her. “Yes, idiot but I meant—“

“Hm are we?”she questioned. 

“You’re just as stubborn as she is so,” Tom smirked. “I love you most ardently.” 

“You have bewitched me body and soul,” she proclaimed. 

“I think we are like them, even better,” he grinned. 

“No, I love you but no, we are not,” she smiled.“However, I do wonder how Jane and Bingley are doing.” 

Tom laughed. “I am pretty sure we are good to go out, are you ready to go? Packed enough for some days at least?” 

“Yeah, almost,” y/n said as she stood up after kissing his cheek. 

Tom watched her, “what did you and Sam talk about?” 

Y/N paused, “Stuff.” 

So she didn’t want to tell him, why? Tom coughed, “Uh, but are you okay?” 

“He… just made the type of questions Sam usually makes, you know, the one that… makes you think” y/n said and then took a deep breath. 

“Oh, those are… dangerous,” Tom pointed out. 

She turned to him,“I know-We agreed on talking, but let me just figure this one out and then I can tell you.” 

“Should I be worried?” he asked.

“No, not you,” she said. 

“Someone should?” 

She chuckled, “I… No, but… It’s just…” 

Tom only watched, still nervously and anxiously sitting on her bed. 

She smiled at him and dropped what she was doing, she walked over to him and wrapped her hands around him, “trust me, you don’t have to worry,” and she kissed the top of his head. 

Y/N picked up some of her stuff, as she’d walked out, she made sure neither Harry or Emma were around, they did not have to know they were there. Tom followed after helping her with some more stuff. But just as they were making their way, two doors opened, Emma’s and the front door. 

And then the flat was too crowded. 

Too crowded. 

Tim had walked in with Cherry following behind, stopping abruptly as they’d seen the other two couples. Emma was probably debating whether to watch the couple who had been already inside or the one just coming in. 

Emma felt this one familiar feeling, like she could hear sirens and she could see the red fire burning all the flat, like when she’d seen her own engagement party tumble down. Her skin scorched as the flames grew stronger. 

Harry felt it, too. Glass shattered for him, and now if he walked any further, he would shatter. Both of them were tired of this. Harry didn’t want to feel this fragile but he couldn't help it. 

Everyone remained frozen, as if they knew they were in a minefield and any further movement would break them all apart. Tom’s only instinct was to reach for y/n’s arm, as if he was protecting her. He only looked at her, trying to figure out what exactly was going through her mind. 

Y/N’s expression was very hard to read, but she gripped on tight to the box she was holding. Her skin was blazing, too, Tom could tell. Was she angry? Disappointed? Had her heartbreak come back? 

Was she mad at him or Tim? Or Cherry? Her sight was focused on those last two. Her breathing was fractured. 

Everyone remained completely still. 

Waiting for someone to shatter the utter and raging silence still lingered in the room.

Tom was the most scared one. But Tom only glared at Tim, whichever his intentions with Cherry were, were probably not good. And he was angry not only for y/n, but for Cherry. Tom was well aware of the power Tim held with vulnerable people and Tom could tell Cherry would be vulnerable right now. 

Tim opened his mouth but nothing could come out, he glared back at Tom. Tom tried to fight the urge to punch Tim in the face. Because probably Tim was judging y/n and Tim would probably try and persuade y/n into thinking this was a bad idea. 

Tim eyed the box up and down, then looked at y/n. 

“Please, for the love of god, do it somewhere else, whatever the fuck you’re doing, don’t do it here, don’t ruin my day,” Emma finally spoke, out loud. It’s fair to point out, they were dressed now. Fully dressed. Tom assumed they would go out. 

Harry only glanced at Tom, as if warning him to listen to Emma. 

Tom sighed. 

Tim glared at Emma. 

The next movement was made by y/n. She only walked past Tim and Cherry, ignoring them. 

Tom was… surprised. 

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Cherry’s voice had barely come out of her mouth, as if each word had physically pained her. 

Y/N stopped, glared at Tim and then turned to Cherry. “Sure.” 

No one had expected that from her. Especially Tim, he thought y/n would have only ignored her and just escaped. Tim didn’t know this, but y/n didn’t blame Cherry.

“Not fucking with this,” Emma dragged Harry out the apartment, they didn’t fucking need this drama. And they wouldn’t deal with it. She snatched the car keys from Timmy and kept dragging Harry. “Good luck,” she warned to y/n. 

“Bye,” Harry whispered led to them. 

Y/N watched them, Tom swore he saw her smile a little, but it was quickly erased as she turned to cherry. “So?” 

Cherry blinked, also baffled by y/n’s positive answer. 

“Right now?” Y/N asked. 

Tom only watched them. 

Cherry gulped, “Yeah, yeah--” 

“Here?” Y/N questioned. 

“I... Don’t know,” Cherry said, but she was speaking carefully. Terrified of y/n. Not that her cousin would be harsh on her, but y/n’s blank expression was enough to scare her off. 

“Your mum’s cafe is only a few blocks away, we could walk there,” Y/N suggested and then walked back to the flat, leaving the box on the counter. She gave a reassuring nod to Tom. 

Tom wasn’t scared of Cherry, it’s only fair to note. Tom was actually calm;  they could talk, but he wondered what Tim’s twisted mind had planned this time. Why the hell had Tim brought her here? 

Tim coughed, “are you guys sure?” 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be sure, Timothée?” Y/N questioned. “It’s my cousin, I should speak to her. None of your fucking business.” 

Tim frowned, she’d never spoken to him like that. 

Tom smirked, just lightly. 

“Of course,” Tim hissed. “But—“

“But what?” Y/N snapped. “You’re good to go, Cherry?” Cherry watched between everyone, she then directed a single glance to Tom. She was hurt, and Tom recognized that face. Not from Cherry, Cherry had the same face y/n had when he’d shown up at her house to give her the yellow flowers. The same damn face, so hurt. 

“Do you—“Tim pushed. 

“Oh my god, fucking leave her alone,” Tom interrupted again. “Can’t you for once fucking leave her alone?” 

Tim scoffed, “you’re one to talk?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I—I’m not even going to—“ she left, Cherry carefully followed behind. 

Tim seemed stressed. 

Tom was angry, he was about to go back into y/n’s room, when Tim spoke again, “Why the fuck does she get back to you when you’re always the shittiest to her?” 

“I’m not going to fucking argue this with you,” Tom snapped. “I don’t even want to bloody ask why the fuck you brought Cherry here?” 

“How the fuck was I supposed to know—?”

 “No, fucking no, I dont bloody care and you know what? Also fucking leave Cherry alone I know your thing is going after vulnerable girls or whatever the fuck but—“

“I’m not—“

“Fucking stay away from them, both,” Tom warned. “Cherry doesn’t need a manipulative fucker like you.” 

Tim watched him with repulsion, “You do realize you hurt them both by doing exactly the fucking same? You were a piece of shit—“

“And are you fucking taking advantage of that? Are you going to bloody antagonize me again?” Tom barked. 

“You bloody antagonize yourself!” Tim yelled at him. “Like are you fucking serious? You really just fuck everything up, it’s so incredibly stupid. I am really just impressed by it.” 

“I know I fuck up, but I own it! You have no business in my relationship with y/n—“

“No, I know that—“

“And I don’t want you to fucking come close to her, You never bloody admit what you fucking do, you just fucking paint yourself as the hero when you know damn well you are manipulating them, and you are doing the same thing with Cherry?” Tom blurted, he knew that if y/n was gullible and vulnerable she didn’t even come near to Cherry. And Tom did care for Cherry, in his own way, and Tom did not want to see it again, Tim being painted as the hero. 

“Doing what?” Tim had his posture hard enough, arms crossed with his eyes burning with rage. He did not stand him. 

“For fuck’s sake, you don’t even see it?”

“What I see is you slept with y/n’s cousin and fucking tricked her again, both of them,” Tim snarked. “You were not here. You always come back when she’s doing better—You we’re not here when she was crying, she was so destroyed, yet again.” 

“Ah, yes I was living rainbows and butterflies,” Tom rolled his eyes. 

Tim could not believe Tom dared to be sarcastic. “You made a fucking mess yourself, the script wasn’t even that bad for starters and you were the one to ruin Emma’s engagement, only because you fucking assumed y/n loved Harry. Which is the one most stupid thing you’ve ever done in your life,” Tim continued. 

Tom only clenched his jaw. 

“You decided to make everything big as you always fucking do and not talk, because you—“

“How many words did she not get from you? Did you not bloody tell her I am her—what was it—perfidy?” 

Tim stayed quiet. 

“I’m not saying I wasn’t shit but you painted me as a—monster, yes that’s the word she used. I admit I broke her heart, but you don’t bloody know a thing about me and y/n—“Tom was fuming.

“I didn’t have to.” But Tim seemed cold now, and he was hearing it, 

“Why don’t you bloody realize it? Yes I’ve hurt y/n, but you’ve hurt her too much, too. She feels so guilty, you’ve managed to make her feel guilty for not loving you—That's why she does all of this—I—I can’t deal with this, there’s no bloody point. And I meant it, stay away from Cherry.” 

And Tim wasn’t in love, but he did fall, and until then he finally broke. Had he been breaking y/n all this time? 

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[lxstfulbeans]

*Busts in with a plastic bag of crack* You want some crack, kids? I’ll give it to ya! 🥸 So Y/N forgot where she placed her phone at and her crush decides to call her phone to help hear the ringtone so she can find it better. However, Y/N forgot that she uses funny ass ringtones for said crush and even has funny contact pics/names for them in her phone. Said songs are “Something about you girl” by Ice JJ Fish, “Wap” but with Carl Wheezer’s voice, “Interior Crocodile Alligator”, and the NFL theme song. I would love to see head cannons of this for Hawks, Dabi, Aizawa and Bakugo.

“Something about you girl” - Hawks. He’s saved as “KFC” and his contact pic is of him making the light skin face that sent y/n to orbit (he thought she deleted it cuz it’s cringy)

“Wap” - Dabi. He’s saved as “Patchy the Pirate” and his pic is a blurred image of him chasing Y/N.

“Interior crocodile alligator” - Aizawa. He’s saved as “Dad of 20” and his pic is of him laying face first in his sleeping bag

“NFL Theme song” - Bakugo. He’s “Boom Boom Pomeranian” and his pic is of a Pomeranian with his hair photoshopped on it.

I know they’ll give some funny reactions! They’ll look at sis confused and she’ll just go “See about that...” and book it when she takes her phone. This idea had me busting my pancreas 💀💀💀

Bruh I- 💀 I’m literally hearin these damn audios as I’m reading this ask, I’m rolling. This is the best 😂

— 3. 2. 1. ACTION!! —

HEADCANON: Y/N loses her phone and forgets that she saved crack-fuelled pictures and ringtones assigned to her crush.

KEIGO TAKAMI [HAWKS]:

You were losing your fucking mind at this point.

Where the fuck could you have misplaced your cellphone?? You had to meet your homegirls at the club for girls night, PRONTO!!

Keigo raised a brow as he walked in on you basically tearing apart your living room for your phone, almost crying from frustration. “Whoa, kid. Ya lose something?” He had the nerve to ask when it was clearly the case.

Sure, there was a whole lotta things to love about this bird-man, but that smartass attitude was gonna get slapped outta him.

“dId yOu lOsE sOmeThInG- YES FOOL MY DAYUM PHONE!!” You huff, throwing another couch cushion on the floor before you fell to the floor in exhaustion. “I got to meet the girls for girls night in twenty minutes, and I can’t find my phone!” You briefly explain.

You heard him chuckle, pulling out his own phone. “Okay, okay, calm down, kid. It ain’t the end of the world, y’know. I’ll just call it and we’ll listen out for the ringtone.” He says, scrolling for a bit before finding your contact, pressing the call button and..

That’s when y’all heard it.

“THERE’S SOMETHIN’ ABOUTCHA GURLL! THAT JUST MAKES MY HEAD WANNA TWIRL!!”

Your ringtone went off under the couch, making Keigo look at you with the most confused face ever, his wings puffing up as he looked at you, yet you couldn’t stop laughing as he used one of his feathers to drag the phone from under the couch.

“What the hell, kid?? I though you deleted this cringey ass selfie!” He whined, looking at the contact photo of him making that dumbass lightskin face that had you howling the other day. “And what the hell is this ringtone?? AND YOU SAVED ME AS KFC??”

“BRUH I CAN’T BREATHE SHUT UPP—“ You screech as you curl up, tears pricking your eyes as you roll on the floor. Keigo couldn’t help but snicker, rolling his eyes at you as he got you off the floor, “Okay, you got some explaining to do.”

“Well, you see, what had happened was-“ You begin, trying to hold back your laughter before snatching your phone and purse, running out of the door. “I’ll see you later, KFC!! I’m running late!”

DABI:

“Aw, damn! Where in the entire hell did I put my phone??” You groaned.

Of course, this wasn’t the first time you lost your phone and you swore it would’ve been the last. But, you were so caught up on multitasking with so much shit you wanted to get out of the way, you completely forgot about your phone.

You sighed as you now have to tear apart the lounge that you JUST straightened up, making this much worse than it had to be.

“Hey, little mouse. What’s with all the whining and hollering for?”

“I can’t find my phone, I’ve been all up in y’all raggedy-ass lair lookin’ for my shit so I can bounce!” You say with an eye roll as you placed your hands on your hips, clearly not in the mood for the bullshit right now.

“Okay, calm down. It’s just a phone, I can just call it and you can listen out for the ringtone.” He said with a sigh as he brought out his phone, dialing your number and waiting for the tone to play. The two of you went from room to room, getting more anxious everytime the phone went to voicemail. You were visibly going to cry, there was no way that you could’ve left your phone anywhere that WASN’T in the LOV Lair.

“I swear, if you start crying, I won’t let you live it down.” You hear Dabi mumble to you as you both entered the last room, dialing your number one last time until...

“NYEOW FROM THE TOP, MAKE IT DROP, THAT’S A WHAP. BRING A BUCKET AND A MOP, THAT’S WHAP”

Your phone was jamming out on a chair, Dabi looking at you like you just committed a grave sin while the ringtone played. The longer he stared at you, wanting an explanation, you can’t help but burst into laughter as you crawl to your phone, and let the tone finish.

You just hoped that your crush was still going to hang out with you after this crackhead mishap.

“MACARONI IN A POT, THAT’S A WHAP. JIMMYY”

Dabi was literally at a loss for words, (lookin’ a lil like confused bakugou rn 👀) as you wheezed in laughter. “[Y/N]... what in the fuck was that?” He asked, you can tell he was serious from how low and menacing your name was said. You were either about to run for your life or die laughing.

“And why the fuck is my name, “Patchy The Pirate”? And what the hell is this photo?” He asked again. Man, was it getting hot in there or was it just you?

“Well, you see here, uh- MOINK!” You shout, howling in laughter as you were chased around the building. Kurogiri shaking his head in disappointment.

SHŌTA AIZAWA (DADDY. ERASERHEAD):

“Oh no.”

“Oh, no...”

“Oh, no no no no no..”

This cannot be happening, this CANNOT be happening right now. Lord have mercy, please let today not be the day.

“Goddamn it, where’s my phone?!”

Yep, your phone. Your new phone that Shōta got for your birthday, who you also had a huge crush on but would never tell that to ANYONE. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t lose this phone, it was definitely the most precious thing ever.

“Fuuuuck!” You whined, already on the verge of panicking while your tore apart your room for that birthday gift. “Hey, what’s all this racket for? I’m trying to sleep.” said your friend, roommate, and crush, Shōta.

“I-I’m just lookin’ for somethin’, Shō! Sorry for all this noise..” you mumbled an apology as you continued your search, swinging your arm around underneath the bed.

“You lost your phone, didn’t you, [Y/N]?”

DAMN, he catches on quick for somebody who sleeps 25/8. Maybe it’s because you don’t really have trouble looking for stuff unless it’s something really important to you.

You sighed, the embarrassment and disappointment washing over you as you laid in defeat on the floor. “Yeah.. I can’t find it..” you mumbled.

The older man sighed, cracking his neck as he got out his phone. “Okay, just calm down. I’ll call it and we’ll just listen out for your ringtone, okay? If we can’t hear it, we’ll track it.”

God, why was he so hot when he took responsibility? You couldn’t help but sit up and nod at his words as he scrolled through his contacts until he found your name, confirming the call until..

“INTERIOR CROCODILE ALLIGATOR. I DRIVE A CHEVROLET MOVIE THEATER.”

Your phone blasted the same line over and over, as hard as you tried to contain it, you couldn’t help but screech in laughter when you looked up to see Shōta’s disturbed, confused, and concerned face as he picked up your phone from underneath your dresser.

“”Dad of 20”?? What the hell type of name is that?” He asked, the iconic sleeping bag worm as his contact photo. The joke behind it was the fact that he was a whole teacher at U.A. You always thought it was cute that he was basically a father figure to those future heroes.

Plus, you wouldn’t stop joking about them being his, “lil chilrens”.

“Aight, aight. I wanna thank you for finding my phone, I promise not to lose it again!” You quickly say, trying to creep out of the room until you were confined with his capture weapon.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Fuck..

KATSUKI BAKUGOU:

“Hey, dumbass! Hurry up, or we’ll miss the movie!”

Damn, damn, damn!! You can’t believe you just lost your phone right now, you could’ve sworn you left it on your bed before you started fixing your hair in the bathroom.

“Shit, shit! Bakugou, can you help me find my phone real quick? Pretty please?” You call out to him, really anxious because you were really looking forward to this movie and you could not miss a second of it!

“Ugh, are you serious?? What did I tell you about keeping up with your shit!” He groaned, getting out his phone as he dialed your number and listened to the trill.

“I know, I know! I promise I’ll be more careful!” You say as you listened out for it, only to pull aside your blankets to see your vibrating phone with the ringtone on blast.

Oh yes, the NFL Theme. What made you lose your shit was Bakugou’s flabbergasted facial expression as he looked down at your contact photo and nickname for him.

You couldn’t help but cackle as you saw a vein pop out, popping hands reaching out for you. “Hey! What the fuck is this shit?? Imma show you a pomeranian!” He shouted.

“Katsu! Katsu! Relaaaxx!! You know you’re my bestie and I love you, but we got a movie to catch so let’s do this later fam.” You snicker, trying to calm yourself down as you yoinked your phone and took off out the door with your purse.

“OH, JUST WAIT UNTIL WE GET BACK HOME!”

— END SCENE —

Sorry that Bakugou’s was kinda short! But, hope you enjoyed these!

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyncien headcanon

Okay so my headcanon is that Lucien would try to be understanding about Elain and Azriel being together. The mating bond would be the only thing that would make him want to enact the blood duel but he would fight it cause he knows he isn’t owed Elain. Anyways this was the outcome of that.

Gwyn did not know why she was here. She told herself it was for Nesta, but she knew her friend would be occupied with her mate for most of the night. It was true torture to endure this night at the court of nightmares. She insisted that if she couldn't handle the court of nightmares there was no way she could handle the rest of the world. It was a test for herself. She couldn't tell if she were passing or failing though.

"Could definitely be worse." Gwyn whispered back. She tried not to stare. It only made her pathetic she told herself. Luckily though, no one was watching her too closely. No one knew that Azriel and Gwyn were mates which meant they weren't over analyzing the situation right along with Gwyn. When she had dreamt of finding a mate, she never imagined this. The way the bond could actually hurt Gwyn was almost too much to bear. No wonder mates never rejected each other. Gwyn had been so lost in her head, she hadn't noticed Lucien approaching her.

"You look beautiful tonight, Gwyn." The male gave her a shy smile before bowing. Gwyn frowned while looking down at herself. She was wearing her priestess robe with the hood pulled down to cover most of her face for once. She wasn't sure what he was playing at, but decided to play along. Anything to distract her from that wretched couple. Only then did it hit her that perhaps he was doing the same.

"Thank you. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Gwyn lifted her hood off her head and smiled at the red head. Similar in color to her own hair.

"I was hoping for a dance." He held out his hand. His smile turned more confident. He truly was handsome even with that terrible scar running down half his face.

"I don't know how to dance." Gwyn didn't want to make a fool of herself, especially when Azriel and Elain looked so graceful together.

"I'll lead. Don't worry. I won't do anything crazy." He sent her a smirk that told her he would, in fact, do something crazy.

"Okay." She found herself agreeing. Emerie sent her a wide look while nudging her. Gwyn sent a casual smile back. Lucien would never hurt Gwyn. She had over heard the story from Feyre herself. Lucien was one of few males who understood her pain.

He led her off to the floor and swept her into the ongoing waltz. He was close, closer than she had let any male before. Yet there was still a respectable distance between them for a dance. He kept his hand high on her back and she knew it would never veer from that spot. Her heart picked up out of conditioned fear. She took a deep breath to calm herself. He would not hurt her. They were slow and clumsy, but they were dancing which was surprising enough for Gwyn. She figured she would have stepped on his toes by now.

+

Azriel tried to ignore the mate bond as it tugged sharply. It didn't help that his shadows were angry about the situation as well. He kept making brief glances as his mate ineloquently danced along with the autumn lord. He knew Lucien was doing this on purpose. Azriel was unaware how the other male learned of his ties to Gwyn, but this was Lucien's payback for Elain and damn did it make Azriel feel guilty.

"What's wrong?" Elain spoke quietly. She glanced up at him through her lashes before focusing back on the dancing. She looked beautiful tonight, opting for red instead of black which he had to admit suited her much better. He hadn't told Elain that the mating bond snapped into place for Gwyn and him a little over two months ago. He didn't know how to tell her, although if anyone could understand, it was Elain.

"Just keeping surveillance." Azriel wished he had his shadows right now, so that they could keep track of Gwyn. Unfortunately, they still disappeared around Elain. He thought that had been a good thing. Now he wasn't so sure. "What is it like to watch Lucien dance with someone else?" He couldn't help but wonder if it felt the same for her as it did for him. He felt miserable yet had no right to be. Gwyn gave him an option. He just hadn't realized how insistent this bond would be.

"Uncomfortable." Elain decided after a long pause. "I don't really know him, so I should feel indifferent. But I can feel the bond tugging as though it's mad at me." He hadn't expected her to be so honest. He appreciated it anyways. Azriel did know Gwyn though. She was his friend which could be the reason the bond is much more painful than a mere uncomfort. He twirled Elain once more before she announced she was tired of dancing. They both retreated back to the dais where their friends were joking.

"It's not funny." Nesta groaned with a scowl gracing her face. Feyre, Rhys, and Mor were all laughing.

"What's not funny" Elain asked looking towards her oldest sister. Mor decided to answer when Nesta refused.

"It appears that the first man to pique the priestess's interest also happens to be the man that annoys the shit out of Nesta." Amren drawled after taking a seat. A bloom of anger rocked the bond so hard that Azriel's shadows came to life for a brief second before hiding again. The tight squeeze of Elain's hand into Azriel's let the Shadowsinger know that she felt the same way he did. It angered him to think that the first male to catch Gwyn's eye would be Lucien rather than him.

"It's not like that." Elain squashed any relationship theories right then. "Lucien wouldn't parade another female in front of me like that." While Elain's proclamation was true, it still made him frown. Perhaps Elain felt a little more than just uncomfortable seeing the pair dance. The rest of the group eyed Elain, but it was Feyre who came to Lucien’s defense.

"You refuse to talk to Lucien and are in a public relationship with our spymaster, Elain," Feyre was frowning as she spoke. "I think he can ask Gwyn, of all people, to dance with him." She finished by rolling her eyes at Elain. Azriel didn't like the insinuation Feyre made but kept it to himself all the same. The conversation quickly cut off as the group watched the pair end the dance with a bow.

+

"It sucks, doesn't it? Watching them be happy together?" Gwyn eyed Lucien. He couldn't know. Gwyn refused to tell anyone, mainly out of embarrassment. She supposed that didn't mean Azriel kept quiet though.

"I'm unsure I understand." She would play dumb for all it was worth. It made Lucien chuckle. He twirled her before pulling her back and continuing the conversation.

"I guessed you two were mates awhile ago. But you confirmed it for me tonight. You watch him like I watch Elain." He gave a sad smile before twirling her again. "I'm surprised he rejected you though. Azriel has been waiting more than 500 years for a mate."

"Not for A mate." Gwyn snapped. She couldn't control her rising anger. Not when it came to the mate bond. "He waited 500 years for the mate bond to snap in place with Mor and then Elain." She used her mind-stilling to calm herself. Lucien watched her intently with his one russet eye.

"He didn't technically reject me." Gwyn started the story she hadn't uttered to anyone before. "I knew he was still hung up on Elain though when the mate bond snapped into place. I told him I didn't want him to feel forced into this. So if he wanted to be with Elain, I wouldn't hold any resentment." Gwyn chuckled along with Lucien at that. The mate bond was not as forgiving. Gwyn hadn't realized how painful it would be to watch him with Elain when she uttered those words to him.

"The bond can be a fickle thing can't it?"

"Why didn't you challenge him to the blood fight? You had every reason to?" Gwyn couldn't stop herself from asking. She was glad he hadn't. It still didn't make sense to her though.

"Besides the fact that he would kill me and Elain would feel that pain? Would finally understand the true torture of the mating bond? Same reason you told him he could be with Elain. I don't want someone to be with me out of obligation." He twirled her once more and she was suddenly overcome with such sadness for the autumn lord. He deserved a mate that chose him. His eyes softened as they made eye contact again. Neither said a word for a solid minute.

“You are quick to underestimate yourself. Is that on purpose or do you truly believe you would lose?” Gwyn believed that at the very least, Lucien would put up one hell of a fight. He was raised by high lord Beron of all people, who was known for his cruelty. A sly smile quirked Lucien’s mouth.

“You’re the first to call me out on that.” It wasn’t technically an answer, but it told Gwyn all she needed to know. He allowed everyone to underestimate him. To believe he is only proficient in fighting. It should have made her nervous, but for some reason it had her laughing.

“I would love to see you kick Azriel’s ass.” It would be the kick to his ego that he needed quite honestly. Lucien laughed before a round of silence fell over them. Lucien was the first to break it.

"You could come with me. We call ourselves the band of exiles. It's just Jurian, Vassa, and I, but it would be better than watching their love story unfold." She was shocked by the invitation. She knew her face showed it as well. She knew she couldn't accept. At least not right now. She didn't want to leave Nesta and Emerie. She didn't want to stop her Valkarie training. The song was coming to an end and Gwyn knew that as soon as it did that this conversation would have to end with it.

"I have something I want to do." Lucien's brows furrowed in confusion, so she elaborated further. "I want revenge. But I'm not ready yet. Would this invitation still extend when I am ready?" Her voice was unsteady due to nerves. She hadn't mentioned her revenge plan to anyone before. A gleam entered Lucien's eye. He knew what she wanted and he would support her through it. The song ended causing Lucien to step away from Gwyn and bow once more.

"I'll be waiting." And then he was walking away. Gwyn floated back to the dais, to her spot by Emerie. She was so lost in her new plans, new plans that Lucien helped establish that she hadn't realized the entire inner circle staring at her. Including Elain and Azriel. Both had unreadable expression but both made her skin crawl uncomfortably. One of Azriel's shadows whipped out at her, barely grazing her wrist. It barely stung, but enough for Gwyn to know the shadows were upset with her. She frowned at them.

"What?" Redness rushed to her cheeks at the attention. She knew it wasn't good attention either.

"What was that about?" Nesta inclined her head to the dance floor. Gwyn didn't want to talk about it especially in front of the inner circle.

"He asked me to dance so I said yes." Gwyn shrugged as though it meant nothing. Truly the conversation had meant a lot to Gwyn. Finally being able to talk about it to someone lifted a weight that she hadn't known was there from her shoulders.

"Is that why you were making goo goo eyes at him?" Emerie teased while nudging her. Gwyn didn't see why this was being openly joked about. Azriel and Elain only went public with their relationship a month ago. Before then the entire inner circle was sure that this would cause war. Gwyn chanced a glance at Azriel, but his face gave nothing away. She looked to his shadows because she knew that those were much harder to control around her. Unfortunately the shadows had disappeared.

"Lucien is my friend." The words were colder than Gwyn had meant, but it turned the teasing air into awkward silence. Nesta and Emerie were searching Gwyn's face for any tells. They came up empty though. It was Rhysand to respond next.

"Sorry Gwyn. We weren't trying to imply anything." His words were kind but it only made Gwyn's face flame brighter. Of course they wouldn't imply anything like that with her. It reminded her of how they all see her. Trauma first. Person second.

She wondered if any of them, besides her two sisters, would ever look at her and see anything other than that day in Sangravah. She peeked a glance back at Lucien and saw him for what he could be. A fresh start. He knew about her experiences, but he wasn't there that day. He didn't see with his own eye what they had done to her. Perhaps Azriel's rejection was a blessing in disguise. Azriel himself had saved her that day. Maybe one look at her face and he found himself back in Sangravah, lifting her weak body into his arms. Before she could sink too far into the memories, she felt the mate bond being tugged at. Her eyes snapped to Azriel's where he was already staring softly back. It only fueled her anger though. She knew he had done it to pull her away from those memories but he had no right. He didn't get to use the mate bond unless he wanted to be with her.

"Stop looking at me like that." It was meant for Azriel, but applied to most of the group as well. Gwyn pulled her hood up and turned back to the dance floor. Her silent way of telling them to fuck off. She felt Emerie link their arms together. Nesta found herself on Gwyn's other side, grabbing her hand.

"I swear if you like Lucien I'll rip all my hair out." Nesta muttered in her ear. It had Gwyn laughing out loud. She gripped her friend's hand harder.

"I'd expect nothing less."

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

The Hard Things

Doing the right thing is never easy. Calum and Freya have a lot going for them. But what happens when fear gets in the way.

Inspired by I Follow Rivers by Marika Hackman and Starting Line by Luke Hemmings.

Calum X Black Female OC.

I cried once writing this. 7.4k words. Angst. Just angst and sarcasm.

@notinthesameguey is personally responsible for this. So blame her.

The Hard Things--Alternative Ending

Masterlist (on semi hiatus)

___________________________________

If Freya were going to be honest, she would admit that the second she saw Calum and his friends walk into the building she knew things were going to be bad. But Freya’s not being honest. Because being honest would almost include admitting just how too easy it was that day. How if those particular sequences of events hadn’t happened that specifically, then she wouldn’t be here--trying not to watch the quiver in his chin or the way he blinks rapidly. Then she wouldn’t be trying to forget the way his voice quakes.

But they did happen in that particular order. On a Thursday afternoon, he and his friends walked through the door. And here, here at this part, it’s easy to be honest.

Honestly, she is staring--way too hard and way too long at the rag-tag gaggle of people, but especially the man pulling up the rear of the group with a bright red hat snug on his head and covering his eyes, though not even the brim can hide the plump full lips pulled up into a tiny grin at something that must’ve been said. Because another guy, this one fairer-skinned in a hat too and a baggy t-shirt is also laughing. And of course, this group would enter just as Tre stepped away to check on the lanes already throwing. Vanessa wasn’t too far from the desk, but she was trying to help some parents figure out when they could schedule an event for someone’s birthday in the coming weeks.

This only leaves Freya as the only person available right now until rounds were completed to handle any new patrons. With a glance down to the clock on the computer, she could see that a couple more folks would be coming back to the front at any point. But clearly, that point wouldn’t come quick enough.

“Hi,” Freya greets flicking her gaze back up to the group with a quick smile. It’s the training. The fact that more than once she’d been told that customers liked her, especially the way she gave instructions but she needed to smile more. And if this weren’t the job keeping her afloat during her time of getting her degree, in addition to the administrative desk work she did at the university, she would leave here in a heartbeat. Possibly even in the blink of an eye. Whichever was faster.

“Hey! We were hoping you had a couple of lanes for us.”

Freya counts the head. “Just you seven?”

The guy that spoke initially turns the man in the back with the bright red hat on. “Still no word from her?”

The guy shrugs. “Don’t sweat it.” And Freya clings to every syllable. The almost sleepy drawl to his voice lined with a twinge of an accent. She can’t place it at first. But all of them share slight variations in it. The man in the red hat’s voice is low but smooth.

“Yeah just the seven of us,” a taller man pipes in.

“Okay, we can only have two people throwing on a lane at a time. I can put you on neighboring ones but we’ve got very strict rules about how many people can throw at a time.”

There’s a murmur amongst the group but eventually, it comes back to Freya that they’re okay with it. She runs down the safety rules, the forms they have to form out, and checks their IDs. She notices the man with the red hat’s name is Calum and though she knows she shouldn’t, she tries to commit it to memory. It won’t last long. She forgets names all too fast, but she never forgets a face.

“Nessa, watch the desk for me!” Freya calls out as she collects the cases with the axes and directs the party to their lanes. There’s a table for convening and a separate for the axes to rest. “Alright,” she starts with a quick whistle to settle the group. They get chatty but are quick to turn their attention back to her. “I don’t want to kick anyone out, but I will. So one last recap of the rules.”

When Freya finishes, she has the entire group repeat the rules back to her. When they return it to her all correctly, she smiles. “I appreciate y’all already. There are several range officers. They monitor carefully from several posts,” and she points them out as she speaks. “The shift rotates out in an hour. Meaning you’ll have to pause let the old shift go and let the new shift jump in. You’ll hear beeps to signal you to stop and start. If you have any other questions or concerns, you can find me at the front or a range officer. And we’ll be happy to help. Let’s keep all fingers, toes, extremities, and eyeballs intact and we can have a great day together. Enjoy.”

Usually, in her safety spills and best way to throw, Freya makes sure to keep eye contact with everyone in the group. However, she places a purposeful gaze on Calum when she tells them to enjoy. It’s reckless--she knows that. A little flirting hasn’t hurt her. Besides, she knows the moment she walks away, he’ll forget about her. They always did and she likes it like that. Flirty enough to keep good reviews, but never too flirty to insinuate anything more.

In her departure, Freya feels eyes on her, lasting longer than usual. And maybe she put more emphasis behind the swish of her hips and maybe she hoped it was Calum watching her walk away. But she doesn’t dare turn around. No matter how much she hopes in a fleeting second that maybe she had flirted just a little too much, Freya does not turn around to confirm or deny anything.

Back at the front desk, Freya takes a look at the cameras. Anyone at the front can see the lanes too--it’s for safety when you have live blades. Her gaze travels over each one though just out of the corner of her eye she catches the bright red hat. A few guys clasp him on the back but she can’t hear whatever else is said. The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly. As people leave, few come in to replace them. The weekend will be busier--it always in. And Freya knows that soon too, once the afternoon becomes evening things will pick up just a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Everything okay?”

Freya barely sees who it is talking before they’re out of the door. Calum, phone pressed to his ear. She watches him for a beat as he paces near the front windows of the establishment. Her gaze doesn’t linger long before something on the floor catches her eye. She sees it’s black and square. When she gets closer it looks like a wallet. Clearly used and loved by the creases in it. She glances back up to Calum to see him still on the phone and peeks at the ID just to make sure who it belongs to.

With the blank stare of Calum’s ID photo looking up at her, Freya takes it back behind the desk. She’ll wait until he gets off the phone. A minute or two later, the door chimes again with Calum reentering.

“Hey, you dropped this,” she calls out, stepping out from the desk to hold out the wallet.

Calum pats his pockets and a split second panic causes his eyes to go wide. “Oh shit, thanks. I-I didn’t even realize it fell out of my pocket.”

“No worries. Just glad to get it back to you.” Calum takes it and slips it into his pocket, hands patting the outside to make doubly sure it’s secure. “You guys doing okay back there?

“Yeah, we’re good. Though I think somehow the girls are kicking our asses.”

Freya smiles with a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “It’s power and finesse. You can tear down brick buildings but if you don’t get the release right so it’s not twirling over the axis too many times, you’ll come up with nothing.”

“So says the expert?”

Her cheeks heat for a second at the raised eyebrow Calum gives her. Running her tongue over her teeth to hide the smile, Freya nods. “Yeah, I’ve thrown an axe or two in my lifetime. So I guess that counts as me being an expert.”

Calum laughs. Whether it’s at her or not, Freya’s not sure. But she likes the sound of it. “Tell me what else the expert suggests.”

A moment passes where Freya’s watching his gaze. Wondering if an anime glint will twinkle over his brown eyes because it’s a smooth delivery. Smoother than some of the stuff she’s done. There’s no way he’s fucking real.

Freya takes a half step back, slipping through the threshold that separates the front desk from the main lobby and the hallway to the back where the lanes are set up. “This expert suggests that you try her advice and impress all your friends.”

“More finesse. In the wrist, right?”

“In the wrist.”

A shy smile is shared between the two of them. It borders telling everything and saying nothing at all, borders on giving away on how much Calum might’ve considered concocting a ruse just to get her attention and how much he did backtrack on his plan because it was his sister calling and that shocked him. The smile borders on Freya twirling the Havana twists around her finger and her rolling her eyes at Calum’s thinly veiled attempts at flirting.

Both of them are saved by the front door chiming and Freya gives a nod to Calum before turning her attention to the person now entering. But Calum watches the way she leans into the counter and smiles down at the small child standing next to their parent. “Oh my god, you’re getting so big,” Freya comments and then walks back around to settle next to them.

“No, Fre, I’m not bigger dan yesterday,” the kid responds.

“Huh, could’ve fooled me. Your dad will be out in just a second. Shift change had to wait for one more person. Anything cool happen at school today?”

Calum leaves then, though he can catch the small boy gush about the races he won at recess. It’s probably crazy of him to try and find some sort of way to come back here again soon, but Calum’s already trying to put together an excuse.

When Calum heads back to the front with the group, laughing at Michael’s utter disgust at the way the last few throws went, he does look for Freya. A girl with red hair is sitting at the desk instead. And though a little bit of disappoints settles into his stomach because he wanted to tell her how well her advice worked, he finds himself resolved and it wouldn’t be broken.

******

Calum told himself whatever Freya had to say during this talk wouldn’t break him. Hell, if he were honest, he didn’t think it would go like this. “You know, I used to say I was no good for people all the time,” Calum laughs. He sniffs hard and wipes his noses on the back of his nose. “It was a clean get-away line.”

“I’m not giving you a get-away line. I’m giving you the truth,” Freya returns.

“No, I’m-I’m not saying you’re giving me bullshit. You’re setting a boundary and a good one at that. I respect it. I’m just saying the irony. The same thing I used to tell others is coming back my way.”

“Karma’s a bitch.”

“I don’t regret it.” Calum shakes his head, not because he’s lying. But to emphasize his point.

*****

Calum doesn’t regret going to the Yelp, Facebook, or Instagram page of the business to see if she had liked it or appeared anywhere on their social media. And luck would have it, he manages to find her. The owners like to show off their employees. Their preferred form of employee appreciation appears, in Calum’s investigation, to be a quick bio of new employees along with a video of them throwing. He nearly misses Freya’s post because of his quick scrolls. The bottom of the page comes up quicker than the app could handle and just as the new page loads that he notices it. The thick twists and black lipstick sitting on her cool dark brown skin.

He doesn’t regret it when he followed the account that was tagged, or the message he sent her from his finsta, or the messages they exchanged for a few days. And he for damn sure can’t find himself to regret it when he came back to the place a couple of weeks later to see if Freya was working.

There’s no regret when she smiles at him and laughs. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to test your theory yet again. It worked last time. But I want to make sure that it wasn’t beginner’s luck.”

“You doubt me. You dare doubt me? I’m offended.”

Calum laughs briefly as he leans into the counter of the front desk. “It’s more like I’m testing a theory. Making sure the results can be recreated.”

“Oh, I promise you my results are valid.” She reaches out for his ID and every so gently their fingers brush. Calum can’t tell if that’s intentional or not, but it doesn’t the slight shiver that runs down his spine. “So just you today, huh?” Freya continues on, grabbing a clipboard, some forms, and a pen.

“Just me.”

“Rest of your friends scared.” Her gaze falls to the stack she’s gathering, checking something off on the top page and then sliding the ID back to Calum.

“They’d probably laugh at me if they knew I was here.”

“Laugh at you?”

“Tell me--why do you think I’m here?”

A moment passes between them. Though it takes up more like several seconds, time feels froze as Freya studies his face. Calum wants to reach up and readjust his hat out of a nervous habit. He wants to take it back. But more than anything, he wants to know if he has a shot. If it’s worth really pursuing.

“I think you’re here to test a theory. Maybe, just maybe you’re here because of Vanessa too,” she smiles as it says. Like she knows that isn’t the truth but she doesn’t want to give into Calum.

And while it’s not the answer he was hoping for, Calum takes it. She wants to play a game and he can be down for that.

*****

She wants to reach out for his hands. They sit next to each other in the lounge chairs Calum keeps lined around his pool. But Freya thinks twice about it. The bulbs dangle above them casting an amber hue onto the water, a stark contrast to the twilight pressing evening closer to night’s full darkness. Freya does regret it. She regrets not leaving her teasing response just to testing a theory. She knew what Calum was fishing for, what he was hoping to confirm when he came back by himself.

Maybe it was just where she was then. Then she thought she could give more. Now she realizes she can’t. She likes it when she’s dating someone and they can decide on a random Sunday for errand runs. She likes having them around. And not that Calum wouldn’t be around. Tours didn’t happen all the time. But they did run long. And who the hell knows where she’d be in eight months after she graduated. Her life wasn’t stable--she wasn’t tied to the West Coast like Calum was.

Her life was full of variables. Ones that she didn’t really plan on trying to solve until closer to Christmas in the spring right before graduation. And she didn’t want to give Calum any more false hope. It wasn’t set in stone that she’d be staying in LA and it wasn’t set in stone that she could handle the long departures. Calum deserved someone that was more sure of themselves.

“I think having regrets is no good anyway,” Freya says, finally breaking the long silence between them. “Having them doesn’t change what happened anyway.” But that doesn’t change the fact that you still regret this, Freya thinks to herself.

“I used to believe love could overcome any obstacle.”

Freya turns to look to Calum and catches thhe way the stubble on his chin from the few weeks he’s gone without shaving halos just a little in the lights. “Used to? The right person, the right love--”

Calum shakes his head. “Now I think people loving me means that they love themselves and they can tell me what they want or need. No guessing. No games.”

“Still sounds a lot of a hell lot like overcoming obstacles.”

“But it’s not a dream. It’s tangible. It’s not me daydreaming up in the clouds. It’s me--right here. Right now. Knowing seeing what it means more than anything else that all the shit I was thinking of as a kid really needed just to be put on the ground level for me.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“I mean as much as it fucking sucks that you’re telling me no, I know you’re doing it for the right reasons. I-there’s like this thing with me. I watch people. I don’t walk into a room of strangers and become the center of attention. I don’t like people all that much, but I care. You know? I care about the people I put into my life and I want them to do well and succeed. I want what’s best for them. It’s not always easy to want that, but innately, I do, I think. Deep down I want what’s good for people. And maybe love is doing the hard things, you know.”

He pauses. Freya watches the way he drops his head, fingers threading through the curls. She keeps quiet. There’s something more, something deeper to the words. “And you’re doing the hard thing. Whether it’s for me or not is debatable,” Calum continues. “But I think love is doing the hard things.”

“You said that having some space was important to you. And while I understand that, like you do need to be your own person in a relationship--”

“Your reasons or how you want to justify it to yourself for me isn’t something I need. You already said that you know what you expect and like out a relationship and that the touring would be too hard for you. Set boundaries for you. What good does it do to justify it to me?”

“So you know I’m not being an asshole, Calum. For fuck sake.”

“No, no, I-shit. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant--who are boundaries really for? What do they do?”

“I guess they do protect the person making them. But I’m not trying to be an asshole to you. I swear.”

Calum looks up from the cement of his background lining the pool to the glossy sheen coating Freya’s eyes. They’re black in the settling night. But Calum knows they’re more like a medium brown--dark enough to get lost in them, but when they catch the light just right, they can feel like an enchanting spell sucking him in.

“Freya, you are a sarcastic son of a bitch. But an asshole to those that don’t deserve it, never.”

She sucks on her teeth, swatting at his bicep. “Take that back.”

Calum leans onto his left elbow, closing the gap between them just a little. A smile lifts his lips gently. “Never.”

“We’ve both been burned. Is it bad I didn’t want that again?”

“No. I used to say love is a scam. So I don’t think I’m necessarily the poster boy for relationships.”

“But admit it, you hoped this was the one so you wouldn’t be the odd man out.” His brows furrow at her comment. Freya gives him a soft smile. “Two of the guys are engaged. But all three of them are in a relationship.”

He sighs, gazing dropping from her face. “Maybe I was hoping so. Is it bad of me to want to be in love?”

“No. I told some kids that my boyfriend was Shermar Moore,” Freya admits with a laugh. “I was working at a summer camp and one girl saw his picture on my phone. It was my lockscreen for the longest time. So I just went with it. Well, I was spurred in part because of Drew who was a fucking creep and wouldn’t leave me alone. But I did fantasize about it. Dream of being in love with some famous and the limelight. Shit at that point, I hadn’t even dated anyone either. So another part of it was a desire too.”

“Is that part of it too? Worried about what trolls and whatever will say?”

“Oh, no one who doesn’t know shit about it can make me get outside myself.” Freya laughs but reclines into the cushions of the chair. “But maybe it’s a little bit of it. That’s too many voices talking all about you. It’s a lot of noise and some of it has to bleed through you know. Even if you’re careful and you work not to take it in, some does, right?”

“I don’t think humans were created to be able to handle that much criticism or even love and adoration. Our brains can’t handle it. So yeah, a little bit seeps in. But you keep that door closed as much as you can. You talk to people that also get it. Fuck, you even get a therapist.”

“Or a dog,” Freya says before turning her head to watch Duke laying inside next to the back door.

“And a dog,” Calum corrects.

“Excuse me, you get a therapist and a dog.”

“Tell me something.”

“I’m listening,” Freya returns, looking back to Calum.

“Before you go tonight, tell me the thing you’re going to cherish between us.”

“Will you do the same?” Calum nods at the question but doesn’t respond verbally as he gazes at her.

“Do you want to answer now?”

“Are you leaving now?”

“I-I didn’t think you wanted me to stay.”

“I want you to stay as long as you feel comfortable. And then when you leave, the parting thing we have is the good, the best of us.”

“What if I stay until dawn?”

“Then you stay until dawn. Though, I think it’s safe to say both of us will pass out by 3 AM.”

“That was the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever done,” Freya laughs. Remembering the same she spent a Friday night after a shift at Calum’s place. He had a birthday party on Saturday along with a vet appointment with Duke. And then Sunday, Freya had we weekly lunch with her friends that she couldn’t miss. So Calum asked her if she wanted dinner Friday night at his place. Which she said yes to, but then it turned into them doing a movie marathon. Which then turned into Calum betting her that he could stay up longer than her. But they ultimately passed out around 3 in the morning on Calum’s couch.

“Thankfully, I did not miss Duke’s vet appointment that time,” Calum tacks on.

“Yeah, no thanks to me waking you up half an hour before it.”

“That darlin’ is what I call details.”

“No, I call that a very important fact,” Freya defends sitting up. “Duke would’ve been late twice if not for me.”

Calum giggles at her incredulous look. She always got heated fast, though she knew when it was serious things and when it wasn’t. “It wasn’t him paying for the visit.”

“So you ought to kiss the ground I’m standing on right now because you didn’t have to pay anything like a cancellation fee.”

“You’re not standing on any ground right-” the sentence doesn’t get the wind to complete itself when Calum watches her stand up. “Or maybe you are standing up.”

Freya hears him, but she gazes up to the sky. Trying to look past the twinkle of his backyard lights. There’s not much to see due to the light pollution. But the sounds capture her attention next. His neighborhood’s almost been mostly quiet. But with the twinge of the summer’s heat fading, Freya can hear the last bit of people outside. A dog barks into the night and there’s the crunch only tires on gravel and asphalt can give. There’s a hum in the night that Freya can feel in her bones.

It’s hard not to fall in love with the sounds of the night. It’s hard not to romanticize this, how possibly if things were different she could find herself at some point always standing in the middle of this backyard listening to the sounds of the night, having Calum beside her or maybe Duke when he’s gone and just letting herself go to the buzz. In all honesty, Freya craved stability. Always having something to come back was her dream. But in that dream it was a partner who would be there for every dinner. A shared space that was full with both of their presences.

“When you think about coming home what’s there?” Freya asks. “Like, in ten years, what’s in your home when you walk inside?”

Calum closes his eyes, bringing the picture to his mind’s eye. “Like, the truth of what I see?”

“The truth,” Freya confirms.

“Two kids, a dog for sure. Maybe two. A wife. A lot of laughs. Being knocked over with hugs. Maybe a movie that hasn’t quite been paused catches my ears. Maybe it’s summer and my mum’s over too. Because she wants to be around the kids as much as possible. And my sister--she comes over when she can too. So we have to figure out what to cook because it’s a family dinner night. I’m mostly likely in Australia. But I could be somewhere else. Just not LA. I don’t think I could have kids here.”

“That sounds lovely, Calum.”

“But I am scared. My parents divorced. What if it doesn’t work out?”

“That wasn’t your fault. And if we heal from our trauma before having kids then maybe some of our fears won’t come to reality.”

“And if it does.”

“Then we know the boogeyman is real and sometimes we can do our best but things that are meant to happen will still happen.”

“Your parents are divorced too, right?” Calum remembers her mentioning a distinction between her mother’s house and her father’s house. But she hadn’t outright stated that her parents were divorced, just alluded to it.

“Yeah. My dad remarried. He seems happy.”

“What about you? If you closed your eyes and thought about yourself in 10 years, where are you?”

“I technically asked what do you see in your home when you walk inside 10 years from now.”

“Oh, come off it,” Calum laughs, throwing a dismissive wave her way.

“But,” she giggles and then closes her eyes. The breeze blows across her face and she lifts her chin up to catch as much of it as she can. Then she speaks, “I don’t know. Home’s full of the people I love. And I feel stable. I’m not worried about what I’m going to do weeks from now when something inevitably has to change. Because nothing’s going to change. Or at least, I’m not anticipating change. I think that’s what I’m sick of. I’m sick of dealing with change and constantly moving around and not knowing what the next year is going to look like. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and planning. I just want to be still.”

“You did the whole back and forth between houses, huh?”

“Yeah. I always felt like I was playing two versions of myself when I was younger. I had to be one way around my mother and one way around my father and according to my therapist, the constant games of charade fucked me up a little.”

“How often did you go between their houses?”

“Every weekend.”

Calum sucks in air through his teeth, “Yikes. Yeah, no wonder you want stability.”

“Oh, thank you Dr. Hood. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well this is a question so it’s not something you don’t know, but is the thought of me being gone for months at a time remind you of that? Like, you’d have to be one way while I was here and then another way when I was gone?”

Freya shrugs. But it’s right on the nose. “I’d have to learn to be with you and then be without you. And all I have are switches. No dimmers. I’m either on or I’m off. And I-I’m working on it. But I’ve got a long way to go.”

Calum scoffs, whispering mostly to himself. “All I have are switches. No dimmers.” It’s not a taunt to her. It’s not him blowing her concern off. It’s recognition that colors his tone. It’s the sigh when hearing something that connects so deeply it takes all the oxygen from lungs with it.

“And I swear to Christ, Calum, if you make a Lowe’s or Home Depot joke, I will extract your ankles from you right here right now.”

“Extract? What the hell?” Calum laughs.

“Broken ankles heal,” Freya returns with a smirk. Her face is lit mostly from above due to continued standing position but Calum catches the way her lips move.

“Remind me to really never piss you off. Between your ability to throw axes and the time you told me about putting ham on a girl’s car, I don’t think I want that kind of trouble in my life.”

“I only put the ham on the car because my friend was heartbroken and she was a cunt for cheating.”

“Yeah, see that’s what I mean,” Calum points out, his index finger swirling in a circle in front of her.

“I could’ve slashed her tires too.”

“I think ruining her paint job was more than enough.”

Freya places her hands on her hips, looking down at Calum. “I’ve got some anger issues too. Did I mention that?”

They laugh but Calum recovers first to speak. “I hadn’t noticed it before. Thank you for telling me that. But in all seriousness, Freya, the boundaries you have make sense. I hope you continue with therapy as well,” he states with a giggle. “But it’s not easy to look back at yourself and realize ‘Oh shit, maybe I don’t want that thing again because that actually fucking hurt’. And do something about it. That takes a lot of strength.”

“Thanks, Calum. And I will continue with this therapist for the rest of the school year because it’s free. Shoutout to some universities for having really accessible mental health resources.”

Freya finally sits, facing Calum. He keeps his gaze averted. But it doesn’t bother her. “What’s the intention behind telling me I can stay as long as I want? Is it to get me to change my mind? Just earlier both of us were near tears and now we’re walking down memory lane. Sharing things we hadn’t shared yet.”

“I want as much of you as I can get before you’re gone. Selfish, right?” The tears are back, she can hear them in his voice.

“No. A bit of your masochism showing, certainly.”

“You ever know something’s bad for you, but you want it anyway? You want the pain anyway?”

“I mean considering both of us are littered tattoos, pain’s not something we’re too worried about.”

Calum wishes he didn’t laugh, not even the short burst of laughter. “Someone’s coping with humor.”

“Someone’s self flagellating.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want you to go. But I don’t want you to hurt yourself either.”

“Maybe love is doing the hard things. You said that yourself.”

Calum swallows hard and his voice only comes out in a whisper. “I know I did.”

Freya blinks away the blur of tears. But as soon as they clear, more replace them. Her voice is tight as she speaks. “Doing the hard things suck though. Don’t think this is easy.”

“It’s because it’s the hard thing,” Calum returns. He wants to smile and manages to get a small one but he knows. Freya’s going to leave. She won’t stay.

“My favorite thing,” she starts and Calum exhales hard. There it is--the confirmation. The sentence gets caught in her throat so she pauses to clear it, work the tears down to at least speak. God, why couldn’t it have been easy. “My favorite thing between us, about us, whatever you want to label it as, is that we could also be honest. And even if it was burning waffles or ducking paps to watch a movie for an anime that you had no idea anything about because I wanted to go desperately and you had to Google a summary during the previews, we were always honest with each other.”

“I want to put it out there that you only told me that it was for an anime as I was buying the tickets. So I had zero time to prepare beforehand.”

“I told you the name of it the Monday before we saw it.”

“And admittedly, I forget it the second after you said it.”

“Fair enough, Calum. Fair enough.”

Calum spins in the chair and takes her hand. The first time they’ve touched today. Normally, Freya was more than happy to give out hugs but when Calum opened the front door, she have a half smile and stepped inside. If he could go back to earlier, he’d tell himself that was the first sign.

His thumb passes gently over the butterfly on her left hand. “The thing I’m going to cherish is that you made me feel sixteen again. My entire life changed at sixteen and I felt pretty invincible. I was also scared and excited. I was going to be in a band, like a one with lots of records and I don’t know--I only had that dream to believe in because I damn sure did not have a back up. It was before the downs. And I don’t regret the hard times either. But you’re the first person in a long time that gave me those butterflies. Assumed I was just never going to feel them again and I wasn’t a good person before, not as good as I could’ve been. But you gave me something to be good for again. Getting your text made my whole fucking day. And you-god, you cared about so many things. I bought books you recommended and couldn’t wait to talk about them with you. I remembered the kind of person I want to be. So thank you. For making me feel sixteen again in the cheesiest way possible but also in the best way possible too. That things are worth giving a shit for and that we can let people in and it won’t always burn.”

“Just a little sting.”

Calum nods. “Just a little sting.”

Freya brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the right one. Her sniffle is loud amongst the hum of the night. “If it weren’t for the fact that my eyeliner is tattooed to my face it would probably be running. I’m sorry it has to hurt at all. But-but I’m hopeful.”

“Hopeful?”

“Hopeful that we’ll get what we need out of life.”

He nods again, watching the tears track down her cheek. “We will.”

Her hands gently slip back out of his grasp and she uses the back of her wrist to press under her nose. The tremors shake her hands, so she shakes them before standing. Calum cranes his neck up, words about to fall from his lips. But she cups his cheek and smiles at him. “Don’t. There’s nothing else to say.”

It happens just as he blinks. He sighs, eyes closing to steel himself. Because there’s always so much else to say. And then her lips are pressing to his forehead. It last long enough for Calum to take hold of her thighs instinctively want to pull her in closer to him.

Then she’s gone. His hand slides down the rough denim and Freya’s walking to the edge of the backdoor. Duke picks up his head but doesn’t move much else. “Oh yeah, you don’t need to move. You know everyone comes to you, huh?” She gives him a few pats and scratches. “I’ll send you something for your adoption day, okay, love? And you might hate wearing it or you might love eating it. But be on the lookout for the mailman. He’ll have something from me.”

Calum doesn’t say anything as she says her goodbyes to Duke. She kisses the top of his head too and he thinks she might’ve whispered something else but he’s not certain from his spot on the chair. The swish of the tassels on Freya’s jeans signal her and the click of her heeled boots tell Calum she’s walking farther from him. The latch in the fence clicks and the wood around the hinges creak as she presses into the door. There’s a soft thud as the door shuts and then Calum can’t hear anything over the cough he uses to try and cover the tightness in his chest, can’t see anything in the blurry vision of his tears

She’s just gone.

******

When the front door bell sounds, Calum doesn’t think much of it. It could be a package or someone selling something. So he pushes up from the kitchen table and heads to the door. There on his porch is a light blue box with white bones on it. The subscription box that Calum gets already came. But then he notices an index card with a handwritten address on it. He picks it up. Right there in the return address is Freya’s name. He sucks in a breath and then looks to see who it’s addressed to: Duke Hood + Calum.

“Duke,” Calum calls out, stepping back inside to the house. He closes the door with his foot. The click of paws let him know the old man’s heard his call. “A little early birthday present has arrived just for you.”

He walks deeper into the living room and sets the box on the coffee table. Inside holds an olive green harness, treats, and a card. Calum laughs as Duke presses his snout against the bag of treats. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

Duke happily munches on one of the chews from the bag and Calum opens the card. A different letter slips out into his lap. He can see the ink and lettering pressing through to the other side. His heart hammers, but he forces himself to turn back to the card. “Dear Duke,” Calum pauses to see if Duke responds but his investigation continues on the treat. “I mean, fair enough.” Calum continues to read the card written by Freya, “Even though only the universe knows your true birthday, this card, harness, and bag of treats is meant to mark you sticking it out with your pops for yet another year. To spare you the grumps about a very cute hawaiin shirt I, instead, got a badass harness. Now you’ll be the coolest guy on the block. Happy Birthday/Adoption Day. With Love, Fre.”

Duke, done with the treat, looks to Calum and settles next in front of his folded legs. “Oh, so much work eating a treat.”

But Calum reaches down to gently pats at his tummy. The front of the car is cute, Calum finally recognizes. A cartoon white dog is drawn on it with large pink glasses against a yellow background. There’s no telling where she found it at. Calum looks down to the handwritten letter on printer paper. What would Freya possibly have to say?

Calum hadn’t had the guts to press send on any of the texts he drafted in the three months since they last talked. He wasn’t sure if he could. He is sure that if Freya hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, she would’ve said so, and she wouln’t have sent this box for Duke. His fingers tremble as he unfolds the letter.

Calum,

I figured you heard me tell Duke he was going to get a gift. And I knew I couldn’t not deliver on my promise to him. But I do apologize if it crosses any line. Please let me know too--if it crossed any boundaries.

I hope you’re well. Congrats on the latest album too.

With Love,

Freya.

P.S. I saw you a couple times drafting a text to me but never seeing one go through. And if you’re asking why I hadn’t sent a text either, know it was fear too. And me not being sure if keeping it open like that between us would only do more harm than good. So I’m sorry. But I am here, in the sense that to the best of my capacities, I can try to be here.

*****

Her bag’s slipping off her shoulders but she finally gets the key into the lock and gets her front door open. She sighs as she falls into the ugly blue apartment door and all but flings herself into her place. The stack of mail in her hands barely makes it to the edge of the kitchen counter too. It was just one of those days and Freya couldn’t be mad at herself. Everyone had days like this.

Putting her keys up and getting her backpack next to the couch, she settles into the stools at the kitchen counter to sort through the mail. One’s a bill from the dentist she visited a few weeks back. The one thing her student health insurance didn’t cover. But she couldn’t complain.

There are few junk flyers that she immediately tosses. And it’s her name scrawled in a almost all caps that catches her eyes before she even gets finished with the rest of the pile. In the top corner for the return address she catches the name: Calum Hood + Duke

“Mail from Duke, what a surprise.”

But the real surprise is Calum’s name. It’s just a plain white envelope with a stamp and the city mark it was mailed from. Freya pops it open and sees a sheet of legal pad paper folded up.

Freya,

Thank you for Duke’s gift. The chews are a hit. The harness is much appreciated for our walks. Though, I think they’re more like walks for me. And Duke gets a little exercise in before he tuckers out. But I don’t fault him. No lines were crossed. So no need to worry about that.

I think I like the idea of mailing letters more than I do like texting. But I understand. Doing the hard thing sucks. It always has and always will. Do what you need to for yourself.

Thank you. I wouldn’t normally do this. But there’s a couple songs--they’re about you. I wanted to give you a warning before you listen to it. If you listen to it, I guess I should say.

Best of luck with your last year of school. You’ll have that Master’s in no time and then maybe soon you can take over the Library of Congress like all your evil plans have laid out. (I know, I know. Not what your Library Studies degree does. But I still think you should.)

With Love,

Cal

Freya chuckles at the Library of Congress comment. She picks up her phone and finds Calum’s thread. It’s easy to want to tell him that she can’t take over the Library of Congress and that she’s glad the treats went over well and that the harness was really more of an accessory to make sure Duke looks like a badass.

But she knows--she knows the ease got her into a pickle before. It’s why she stopped things before they got more serious. But was fear going to always predict what she was going to do in her life? Maybe the ease of things was a sign to continue. But if what if things got too far? WOuld be able to handle Calum being gone? Would she inevitably get her heart broken? And sure no amount of contemplation can predict things like this, but she did want to play with that risk no matter how fucking easy it was in the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Freya drops her face into the forearms. Her phone is still in her grip with the movement. “It’s never fucking easy is it!” she shouts into her apartment.

There’s silence that engulfs her but it gives no response.

[fanficsforheartandsoul]

The Dragonborn | M!Reader x Geralt of Rivia | Part I

Just an idea I had after reading an awesome story by @waiting4inspiration

Notes: I never finished Skyrim. Also, many things I’ve written here are based on The Witcher 3 game, since the lore of the Series is not covering everything. Also, also, this story is inspired by a headcanon of mine about the Dragonborn. I will elaborate further in the next part :)

Fandoms: The Witcher (TV Series), The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim

Warnings: Non-Canon Story, Swearing, Gore, Slight OOC

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier meet a stranger in the woods while on the hunt for a special monster. They decide to team up but neither does Geralt realize that his prey is close to him nor does the stranger notice he's the one being hunted...

Word Count: 5785

Taglist: @yes-captainstark​ @stuckupstucky​

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name!

Please note that The Witcher is supposed to be around the Middle-Age. Homophobia existed.

Part II

_______

He definitely had to rethink his decisions when it came to helping villagers.

Geralt usually never hunted monsters that weren't on the information boards in towns, but when he heard the rumors in the tavern and the worried glances from every villager, he made an exception—something he regretted now.

He wanted Jaskier to stay at the tavern, but the bard was stubborn and just tagged along into the forest.

"Don't worry, Geralt. I won't get in your way."

The witcher didn't say it out loud, but that wasn't exactly why he wanted him to stay behind. Hunts with unknown monsters were dangerous even for an experienced monster slayer like him.

The Butcher of Blaviken couldn't prepare his silver sword with special oils since he didn't know what he would encounter. But from the rumors he had heard, the monster seemed to be a draconide, so Geralt used some strengthening potion on himself.

He didn't find any other clues, and the whole search for information hadn't helped at all. So he decided to just go for it. He would probably regret it later, but when did he not?

And now here they were. In the middle of a dark forest. It was almost nighttime, and Geralt and Jaskier hadn't found shit.

The witcher had left his horse in the stable of the village's tavern because the forest was close, and he didn't want Roach to get hurt in case the draconide wanted her as food.

So they had to carry everything by themselves. Thankfully, Jaskier insisted on taking their sleeping blankets and food rations.

"You know this could be a great opportunity for a new song. An unknown monster to slay, a dark and eerie forest, the Butcher of Blaviken..."

The bard appeared to be as lively as ever, Geralt on the other hand couldn't share his excitement. In fact, every muscle in his body was tense, and he concentrated hard on his hearing. The forest was whispering, and he heard a twig snap in front of them.

"...be something along the lines of Slay-"

"Shhhh."

The bard's expression changed, and he stopped talking immediately. The witcher unsheathed his sword and listened intensely. 

There it was again. A shuffle in the bushes, the crunch of fallen leaves. A presence coming towards them. His shoulders tightened, ready to attack when the bushes parted, and a man tumbled before their feet.

"Oh, greetings, strangers."

Jaskier just stared at the newcomer while Geralt pointed his sword at his neck. The man was wearing the strangest armor he had ever seen. It was black with blood-red features and had pointy shoulder pauldrons. 

It gave the man an intimidating aura, and the large scars in his face didn't help. But the way he greeted them and how he awkwardly scratched his head in uncertainty, made him look less dangerous. Oh, and the fact that his sword was sheathed. 

"Wha-what an odd turn of events," commented Jaskier, who tried to hide the fact that his legs almost gave out when the stranger had appeared before them. 

Geralt studied the man with a strange feeling in his chest. He could sense it. Something was strange about him. Maybe it was his accent, or the foreign armor, or how he looked completely calm when a blade was pointed at his throat. 

"Do you not know what lurks in this forest at night?" 

His tone was harsh, the stranger slightly agitated him, although the witcher didn't know why. The other just watched him for a few seconds, his e/c eyes scanning him. A shiver ran down Geralt's spine. 

"I'm hunting." 

Jaskier seemed to feel the strange atmosphere between the two because he said with a light undertone: 

"Well, we do too."

The witcher gave him an angry look, but the bard looked purposely in another direction to avoid his disapproving eyes. The stranger's expression turned somber when he heard these words, and Geralt furrowed his eyebrows, this fellow was definitely strange. 

"I assume you're a witcher?"

His voice was missing any disgust or contempt which surprised him. Geralt didn't respond, but he didn't have to because Jaskier, the babbler, took the word, as always. 

"Yes! He is Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken. And I am his humble friend, Jaskier, who tells the world his noble deeds. And who are you?"

The stranger seemed stunned by Jaskier's cheerful behavior, but then he returned the smile and bowed a little. It looked weird with his intimidating armor. Geralt squinted his eyes. Was this man a fool? His adam's apple almost touched his sword now.

"Call me Y/N. I do not have a last name, but I come from Keizaal, a faraway land. And I’ve been staying here in the forest for a few weeks in a hut half a mile from here."

Keizaal? The witcher had never heard of it before, and it disturbed him. All the studying he had to do when he was younger, but the homeland of this person was unknown to him. 

Geralt examined the man closer. For someone who apparently stayed in the forest for a long time, he looked a little too clean. But maybe people from Keizaal had a different washing methods. His thoughts trailed off.

"A pleasure to meet you, Y/N," replied Jaskier and bowed in return, he gave Geralt a look and the witcher only hummed, although lowering his sword. 

"What are you hunting if I may ask?" requested the h/c haired man while he absently watched how the moon appeared in the sky over the tree line. It was fully night now, and Jaskier unconsciously took a step closer to Geralt. The witcher had no problems seeing in the dark, and the stranger didn't appear to either. 

"None of your concern." 

Once again, he gave the man the cold shoulder, but Y/N ignored it. He only raised an eyebrow and grinned slightly. Surprisingly, it made Geralt's blood boil. That bastard's presence was bothersome.

"It looks like we need to part ways again, but it was a pleasant surprise to meet the witcher everyone is talking about." 

He tensed at the mocking undertone. 

What was that supposed to mea-

A scream disrupted the three of them, and both Geralt and Y/N turned around to see from where the sound came from. 

"Jaskier," grunted the witcher, and the bard stepped behind him. 

"The Nightwraith," murmured the foreigner, and his head whipped around to him. 

"How do you know that?"

Geralt's voice was sharp and menacing, but Y/N didn't respond, he unsheathed his sword and swung it in his hand with practiced ease. His defensive stance screamed mighty warrior, and a shiver once again ran down Geralt's spine. 

What is this strange feeling? 

He could hear Jaskier's heart pounding fast with the help of his increased hearing. The foreigner's heartbeat, on the other hand, was calm and steady as ever. 

"It might be best if you protect your companion."

These words were the last ones of the stranger before he disappeared through the bushes.

"What are you doing?!" shouted Geralt, but Y/N was already gone. 

-

The man ran until he confirmed that the distance between him and the two others was big enough. He clenched his hand and concentrated on his Magicka. The spell for detecting any undead engulfed his eyes, and he saw the Nightwraith 30 meters in front of him. The ghost looked straight at him and once again screamed like bloody murder. 

"What a shame that the ghosts here cannot be captured in soul gems..." 

Y/N grimaced and decided to attack first. As long as the spell was activated, he was able see the monster even when she was in her ethereal form. It would decrease her chance of escaping and attacking the witcher and the bard. So he decided to charge. 

"WULD NAH KEST"

A whipping sound erupted, and a familiar feeling washed over him as he dashed towards the Nightwraith with inhumane speed. The creature screeched in surprise and pain as soon as his enchanted ebony sword hit her. He understood the confusion of the ghost, his weapon was not from this world, and neither was he. That's why he was able to harm her even when she was in immaterial form. 

He had fought against thousands of monsters, slew giants, trolls, werewolves, and even daedras. And obviously dragons. A mere ghost like the Nightwraith was nothing for him. 

He slashed the monster's gown, and the cloth sizzled and turned to ash when the ebony touched it. 

She tried to fight back, raised her clawed hand in an attempt to attack his head, which was the only part of Y/N's body that wasn't covered by his armor, but her claws didn't connect. His sword impaled her rotten body, and a howl full of agony erupted from her mouth. 

A tremor in her body and the lack of physical resistance to his sword showed him that she was about to split into three copies of herself, but he wouldn't let her do that. The man shifted, ignoring how her body disappeared and then turned around to face her petty trick.

A fiery heat crept up his throat, and the ground shook slightly when he shouted:

"YOL TOOR SHUL"

The copies that appeared behind him got engulfed in green flames and turned to dust. With a twirl of his hand, Y/N rammed his sword inside the original Nightwraith's skull, who emerged from the left. 

A wail escaped from the monster's lips when her body too exploded in green flames and vanished. 

The man's legs buckled under him, and he had to use his sword as support not to fall. 

Using two shouts so quickly after another had always weakened him. Even when his body began to adapt to his soul. Slowly he sat down on the moss-covered ground and took a deep breath. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave and he huffed.

Maybe they had heard the Nightwraith's dying scream because he could listen to fast footsteps approaching him. He only glanced into their direction, and when he saw that the witcher and the bard looked unscathed, he sighed in relief.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

Geralt of Rivia was fuming, he could smell it, and his voice clearly gave it away. 

"I was trained to kill monsters; I am a witcher! Did you believe a mere human could kill a Nightwraith?! Be happy you didn't find it. It would have torn you to shreds!"

When he heard the insult, his eyes twitched, and he closed them. It wasn't a good idea to show them to the angry witcher at the moment. 

After so many years with his dragon soul, which prolonged his life, his body began to go through chances. His pupils turning to slits when he was agitated was one example.

The fact that the bard had watched the white-haired man with a surprised expression showed him that he wouldn't normally react this strongly. Y/N shifted, and the clinking of his armor drowned out his scornful snort. 

"Well, I am quite happy because I was indeed able to kill her."

He didn't see the witcher's expression, but the silence said enough. The corner of his lips twitched, and when his eyes stopped hurting slightly, he opened them again and stared into Geralt's yellow ones. 

"But I'm exhausted now. I don't think I can stand up and return to my hut."

Jaskier exhaled through his nose and muttered: "with this armor, no wonder." The bard turned to face his companion, and they held a short silent conversation before he set down his lute next to Y/N and said with a lively voice: 

"Well, since it's already night, let's camp here together."

"NO!" yelled both of the armed men at the same time. Geralt glared at him, and the other returned it with a scowl.

Jaskier eyed his partner suspiciously and then turned to the h/c haired man who's intense stare made him unconsciously lick his lips. Oh, he saw what this was.

"Come on. We cannot leave Y/N alone out here if he isn’t even able to stand up. We will light a fire and give you some of our food." 

In the end, they both complied even though not without grunting and murmuring curses under their breath. Geralt lit the branches he gathered while Y/N peeled off his armor with skillful efficiency. His clothes underneath looked elegant, but they were dirty and had brown stains, which most likely were blood. 

Jaskier prepared some bread and cheese that they had taken from the tavern back at the village and then sat on his sleeping blanket. The witcher watched as the foreigner and the bard started a conversation.

"How far away is Keizaal? I never heard of it."

The man took some time before he replied.

"I had to cross the ocean for a year to get to you."

"A year?! Mercy! Did you hear that, Geralt?"

He only grunted. Skellige was already so far away, how many miles had the man traveled to get here? That fact impressed him a little, but he didn't show it and just continued stacking the branches he collected.

"You look skilled with the sword..." 

Y/N looked at his strange weapon, and Geralt couldn't help himself to listen carefully when the other began to talk about his life.

"From where I come from, men have no choice but to learn how to fight. There was a civil war when I first came to Keizaal, or Skyrim how the natives call it. I had to pick sides, and many people relied on me. Fights with monsters like the Nightwraith", he pointed to the heap of dust a few meters away from their camp, "happened daily. Your continent and Redania is similar to Keizaal in that matter. You can die anytime. If you're not careful."

The man had a longing in his voice when he spoke of his homeland, and his silhouette looked lonely. Then he laughed, but it sounded bitter.

"Oh, but there's one difference to your land. We had dragons."

Geralt stood up and turned to face the man. 

"We have dragons too."

Y/N shook his head and dismissed the comment with his hand.

"I mean real dragons, not your pathetic lindworms. The first time I met one, fire rained down on earth, and a whole town was burned to ashes. Keizaal was in the claws of terror for years. His name was Alduin, the World Eater."

Jaskier's jaw dropped, and he grabbed his lute. 

"Tell me more! I get inspiration from stories!"

The h/c haired man shifted to sit more comfortably and then started to tell the story of the most significant threat Keizaal had ever faced.

-

"...and that's how the Dragonborn slew Alduin and returned to Keizaal." 

Jaskier's eyes were beaming, and his face showed a slightly scary expression, but Geralt knew that the bard just imagined all the things the warrior had told them.

"And then? What happened to him? I mean, you should know, you said you were his friend."

Y/N grimaced and let his rough fingers travel across his blade. He looked like he didn't want to talk about it, but in the end, the man sighed and just said:

"His dragon soul was too much for his human body, and he slowly turned into a dovah. His humanity was gone, and only a violent beast stayed. His other companions and I had to kill him."

Geralt noticed the pain in his eyes, and he felt bad for the man who had lost his best friend. Y/N lifted his head and realized that the witcher was looking at him. He turned away in slight embarrassment.

"We should sleep now. I will stay on watch first."

The Butcher of Blaviken only nodded, and Jaskier sighed. 

"Then, I will take the next shift." 

He didn't like taking the last shift, but Geralt didn't say anything and just laid down on his blanket, facing away from the two others. 

Dovahkiin. It really sounded strange. The fact that there was a place out there so different from everything he had ever known... It intrigued Geralt. Y/N seemed to have been bound to fate, too, at least in a way. 

He regretted yelling at the man, but at that time, he had really believed that he was just some fool who tried to boast about his skills. But Y/N had indeed killed the Nightwraith. Geralt had seen the remains. 

He looked at the shadow of the foreigner that danced on the trunk of a tree close to him. Since he wasn't wearing his intimidating armor anymore, he just looked like a normal man, who had seen too many people die and fought against too many demons. 

Just like me. 

He felt a strange bond between himself and Y/N, and he decided to try and be a little friendlier tomorrow. 

He closed his eyes, and the only thing he heard before he fell asleep was the steady breaths of Jaskier, the man humming and the fire's crackle.

.

Hands touched his shoulders. They were rough and big. Geralt shivered when they traveled across his back and all the scars he had received from his life as a witcher. "What are you doing?" he asked when he could feel a breath on his neck. "We are the same," replied a deep voice, and it sounded raspy. He wanted to turn around, but somehow he couldn't. "The same?" He stopped short when a warm body pressed against his back. The person snaked their arms around his torso and touched his chest. Geralt felt heat creeping up his body. Laying in the arms of this person, he felt safe but also slightly uneasy. His heart skipped a beat when two lips touched his neck. They were rough, but the kiss felt like a feather. The other person's breath tickled his skin, and he shivered, although it was pleasant. "Both of us are monsters." The hands on his chest suddenly began to claw into his skin and ripped deep wounds into his flesh. He began to scream.

"..ralt, Geralt! Wake up!"

He jolted awake and found himself staring into Jaskier's worried face.

He grunted "what's going on?" his voice deep from sleeping, and the bard bit his lip. 

"Y/N went to take a piss, but he hasn't returned, and I heard a roar, a thunderous roar."

Geralt sat up and rubbed his eyes with one hand. His forehead was damp from sweating so much, and he cursed the person of his dream. 

"He didn't run away?" 

Jaskier shook his head and pointed to the armor next to the warrior's blanket.

"He woke me up for my shift and then said he would be right back. He wasn't even wearing his boots." 

He didn't miss the worried undertone of his friend, and Geralt sighed deeply.

"I'll go look for him. Stay here. Don't let the fire die out and call out to me if something approaches the camp!"

The bard was definitely not happy with being left behind, but he knew that was better for all of them. He wasn't much of a help, not when it came to killing monsters. And the thing he had heard out there was definitely one.

Geralt took both of his swords and sheathed the one made out of steel. With the silver sword in his hand, he began to walk into the direction Jaskier had pointed to. 

He saw the footsteps on the ground, leaving a trail of dark spots on the dewy moss. He followed them, and they led quite far away from their camp to a tree from where he could smell the stench of piss. He wrinkled his nose and searched for other tracks, but there weren't any. 

"What in the worl-"

He was still able to turn his head around, but he couldn't avoid a black thing that slammed into him at full speed. 

The witcher was sent flying, and when he crashed on the ground, it took his breath away and caused his vision to turn black for a few seconds. A roar shook the earth and the trees as if there were an earthquake and a storm at the same time. His ears rang and he lost focus for a second.

A shadow cast over him and Geralt's blood froze when he saw two rows of gigantic sharp teeth with a blurry vision. An orange glow appeared, and he could feel the heat radiating. He threw himself to the side; any second later, he would have been turned into roasted meat. 

His instincts told him to run, and he did. Shameful, but a witcher knew when his opponent was too strong. He still couldn't see properly, his head was ringing painfully, and his ribs and chest felt like they would explode, but fear carried him forward. 

Thundering footsteps could be heard behind him, and a roar erupted again from the beast's throat that pursued him. It shook him to the core, and he was sure that this was the monster the villagers had talked about. The beast was growling, and he paused mentally. Did this thing just say something?

Geralt took a step forward, but there was no ground underneath his foot, and he tumbled down a steep hill. Stones dug into his back, branches tore his undershirt, and his head hit a bolder. It felt like his energy was sucked away. Everything turned black.

-

"I found him!"

Y/N informed Jaskier and rushed down the small hill into the dry riverbed where an unconscious witcher laid. He knelt and checked Geralt's pulse. It was slow and slightly weak but there. He searched with his hands for any severe wounds, but besides the nasty gash on his temple, he was fine. Or that's all he could see for now. 

He pushed the shirt of the Butcher of Blaviken up and touched his torso. He was correct. There were some bruises right over his ribs. Fortunately, nothing seemed broken. He pushed and felt around some more until he heard a cough, and he stiffened.

"What.. uhm, what are you doing?"

The bard's voice sounded suspiciously like he was grinning, and Y/N clenched his teeth in annoyance. 

"He bruised his ribs. It will probably hurt for a while. We should take care of his temple wound."

Jaskier whistled, which caused him to furrow his eyes, but he didn't say anything; instead, he stood up and roughly grabbed the witcher and threw him with ease over his shoulder. Y/N turned and left the bard standing there with a gaping mouth. What a hassle. 

It had been strange. When the man had woken up six hours ago, he had laid somewhere in the forest, his enchanted shirt torn at the back, and his hands and feet were dirty. His fingernails were stained black because of the earth under them, and he had a raspy throat. He had no memory of what had happened. 

The sky was still dark, and next to Y/N laid a fallen tree that looked like it had been broken in the middle with force. Wood splinters surrounded him. 

He had used one of his spells to find the way back to the camp, where he found Jaskier alone and scared shitless.

"You're alive!" was his greeting. 

The bard told him how Geralt went looking for him, and breathlessly explained that he hadn't come back. He thought the warrior from Keizaal had died. 

Y/N luckily didn't, and they decided to look for the witcher in the morning. Or he decided, Jaskier was firmly against it, but when he taunted the bard to search by himself, he gave in quietly. He knew that it was safer for both of them. 

While he waited with sweaty hands, Y/N realized something and discreetly changed his torn shirt. He also wondered how his enchanted clothes could be damaged to such extremity.

When the sun rose, they had begun searching, which led up to now.

.

"Isn't he heavy?" 

Jaskier's question made him chuckle. 

"Try lifting my armor. If you're not strong in Keizaal, you'll die before you can hear the end of the Dragonborn song."

The bard suddenly grabbed his arm, and Y/N stopped walking. Jaskier's eyes were wide, and his face had a pleading look when he practically yelled:

"A song? Sing it to me, please!"

He blinked slowly. When was the last time someone asked him to do that? Was it 50, no 80 years ago? He didn't remember. 

The ring on the necklace he wore around his neck seemed to burn his skin, and a pair of eyes flashed before him. It had been so many years, and his heart still hadn't let him go. 

"I can't sing well... But if you really want me to..."

The smaller man nodded profusely. 

"Yes! Absolutely. Please."

Y/N needed a moment to translate the text and remember the tune, then be began:

"Our hero, our hero

Claims a warrior's heart

I tell you, I tell you

The Dragonborn comes..."

-

Geralt woke up 2 hours later. His head was still pounding, and his ribs also hurt, which was strange. Did his healing abilities not work? And where was his undershirt? Why was his head bandaged? He looked at the crowns of the trees and pondered for a moment. What happened?

"You’re awake?"

He turned his head and stared into the e/c eyes of the foreign warrior. His hair fell into his face, and Geralt thought that the scars in Y/N's face must have really hurt. Somehow he was relieved that the man was alive.

"What happened to the monster?"

Y/N furrowed his brows. He didn't seem to know what he was talking about. Slowly he sat up, and a groan escaped his lips when his chest protested.

"You should be careful, nothing's broken, but bruises can hurt anyway."

Geralt scoffed. "I had to endure worse things." 

Then he paused. That's not what he wanted to say. Didn't he decide to be friendlier? 

The warrior didn't reply, but his shoulders stiffened, and he realized that he might really be a little too unfriendly. But he was a man anyway, so why did it even matter? Maybe he got a concussion after that fall.

"Did you find me?" 

He changed the topic, and when Y/N nodded, he looked away and hummed.

"Thank you."

He only received a pat on the back, and Geralt's heart skipped a beat. The man's hand felt like the one's from his dream. Was he thinking about Y/- 

What a stupid thought. The witcher shifted and turned to face the fire where Jaskier sat and roasted a rabbit. 

"Oh my, I had thought it before, but seeing you now... you look like shit if I'm allowed to say." 

You already did.

"Well, you try and get chased by a fire-spitting beast."

The bard paused and exchanged a look with Y/N. He wondered when they got so close. Could people consider this to be close? Exchanging knowing looks? Geralt had no idea. He didn't even know why that mattered. Maybe he had really hit his head a little too hard.

"So that's what happened? You ran away?"

Jaskier was as considerate as ever. He clenched his jaw and then relaxed. Might as well tell the truth.

"Yes... I think that thing is completely different from anything I've ever hunted before. I wasn't able to see it properly, but it spitted fire and walked on two legs. The latter would suggest a wyvern, but the fire doesn't, and another thing was strange... I think it spoke? It said Gaan Vah Haas or something like that."

Y/N suddenly coughed. Both their heads turned to the h/c haired man.

"Gaan Lah Haas? Are you sure?!"

Geralt nodded, and the eyes of the man suddenly beamed. He blinked. The way the man's eyes turned into crescents had something... captivating. 

His brain sputtered. He could only nod some more, his mind too focused on the strange thoughts.

"Do you perhaps know something about this beast?"

Jaskier continued to turn the rabbit over the fire, but his eyes were fixed on Y/N, who was silent for a while before answering.

"Truth be told, I only came here because I was searching for someone from Keizaal. He disappeared, and I was put in charge of bringing him back."

This new information made him regain focus.

"Are you implying the thing that chased me and tormented the villagers is the one you're looking for? It may have had two legs, but it definitely wasn't human."

The man shook his head and pulled a satchel out of nowhere. He put his hand inside, and Jaskier's eyes almost popped out when his arm entirely disappeared as if the satchel was much bigger than it looked. He retracted his hand and conjured a red scale. It was gigantic.

"This..." began Y/N, and his eyes held a look of melancholy, "is one of his scales. He's a dragon. Like Alduin."

The bard was still in shock about the magic satchel, while Geralt studied the scale from afar. It had a vibrating red color and beautiful iridescence. When the beast had chased him, he didn't see exactly what color it had, but if it’s scales were such a vibrant color, he would have surely noticed, right?

"A dragon from Keizaal?"

He received a nod.

"And you have to bring it back?"

"His name is Odahviing, and he's harmless. Also, yes, I have to bring him back."

"The thing out there definitely tried to kill me, I don't know about you, but that doesn't look harmless to me."

Y/N's expression turned dark. 

"He's mostly harmless. But that's why I have to bring him back."

-

Truthfully, he was spouting horseshit.

All the things he had said up to this point, about his life in Keizaal, his journey, all were lies. He didn't travel a year to get to this continent, or more like this world. He walked through a goddamn portal and arrived in the middle of some forest he had never seen before. 

Had he not met a kind but old soul who took him in and helped him, Y/N would have probably gone crazy. Or maybe he already did. After all these years, he wasn't so sure if that wasn't already the case. 

Furthermore, he wasn't the Dragonborn's companion, no, he was him. 

Or had been. He wasn't anymore. 

After all, Alduin's death was 130 years ago, and everyone who knew his real story was already dead. Only his friends from the Mer side had remained. And Paarthurnax and also Odahviing. 

Using his friend's name felt like a betrayal. But he couldn't really explain the portal thing without telling Geralt and Jaskier that he was the Archmage of Winterhold and he already said that the Dragonborn held that title, so... 

That was also why he didn’t heal the wound of the other man although he really wanted to. He somehow couldn’t bear the thought of the witcher hurting.

Y/N used his friend as an excuse to not hurt the dragon. 

He decided to spin a story around it.

Well, it was only half a lie. The thing that attacked the Butcher of Blaviken appeared to be a dragon from his world. The shout that Geralt had heard and obviously also had to endure was proof enough. 

It was the Thu'um with which a dragon could drain the vitality of their prey. If Y/N had to guess, that was why they had to bandage his head wound and why the witcher's healing abilities weren't working for the time being. Besides the fact that the shout was otherworldly magic.

But what he didn't know was how a dovah from Keizaal could come to this world. The portal he walked through had appeared in the middle of the woods, but he had slain all the dragons after Alduin's death, so it didn't make sense. 

Well, he would probably find out the truth in the next few days. And when he found the dragon, he would just ask them. They would probably also be the key for him to return home. 

Y/N slightly paused. Did he even want to go back to Keizaal? 

Most of his friends had already left for Sovngarde, and the ones who remained had been troubled by the personality changes he had gone through after his lover’s death. 

Would they be happy if he returned? 

Maybe I should stay... There's so much to learn about this continent and its inhabitants.

His eyes traveled to the witcher.

He would think about this later. The most important thing right now was to capture the dovah so that they could interrogate them.

"My job is usually to kill monsters. Not capture them."

The white-haired man pulled him out of his thoughts. 

Y/N searched his eyes, and his heart stung a little when he realized once more how similar Geralt's yellow eyes were to Farkas's when he had turned into a werewolf. It devastated him but also drew him to the witcher. 

Geralt was grumpy. Just like his love had been often. Talos, his heart...

"If I plead, will you not kill him? Or do I have to toss you a coin?"

The remark made Jaskier beam, and he grinned a little. 

The bard was the complete opposite of the witcher. Maybe that was the reason why they were friends. Although it did look like the brown-haired man would just hang onto the other if he wanted to or not.

"You know the song?"

"Of course I do, there's not one tavern where I haven't heard it." 

"You do not have to plead nor give me money. As long as that... as long as he stops terrorizing the villagers, I'll try not to kill him."

Geralt's voice sounded once again harsh, but Y/N could feel his sincere feelings, and he smiled at him. 

"Thank you."

A silence fell over them, and Y/N was pleasantly surprised when the witcher returned his smile with a small but existing one. His heart skipped a beat, but he ignored it. 

The atmosphere around them was peaceful for the first time they had met, but Jaskier interrupted it:

"So am I correct when I say that you just teamed up to capture this Odahviing? Oh, heavens, I just received your inspiration for a new song!"

While he grabbed his lute and began to mutter things along the lines of "Two warriors so great" and "Once upon a time, two monster hunters met and became friends," Geralt and Y/N exchanged a look and rolled their eyes simultaneously. 

Maybe they would indeed become friends.

________

Wuld Nah Kest = Whirlwind Sprint (A shout that grants the ability to dash rapidly forward.)

Yol Toor Shul = Fire Breath (A shout that allows one to breathe a forceful blast of fire.)

Part II

[sapiowoman28]

Try (Chapter 4): A good choice?

Pairing: Mark x female reader x Johnny

Genre: Smut, fluff, undercover au with cranky undercover agents

Warnings: threesome (mmf), mentions of handcuffs, Johnny is a soft dom, Y/N is a switch, Msrk is a bratty sub, daddy kink, mummy kink, hints of previous trauma

"I don't judge people, man. You can ask Y/N." Mark assured Johnny. "So what is it, bro?"

"Well. This is my first time."

"It's my first time too. That's not a problem. I don't get it..." Mark frowned.

"I mean, here's the thing, Mark. I've never been touched by a man before, and i don't know what i feel about it. And i don't know what you feel about it either. And i want all of us to be comfy." Johnny blurted out, looking relieved once he said what he said.

Mark nodded, deep in thought. He didn't know how he felt about it either.

"Just have an open mind, bro." Mark shrugged. "We're both here cos we want to give Y/N some fun. If anything else happens and it's fun too, why not? I'm not going to kill you just cos you try to kiss me or something. If i don't like it, there's the safe word which any of us can use in fact."

Johnny smiled. "I think we chose the right person."

"How did you guys decide on me bro?" Mark asked, curious.

"Are you guys done?" Y/N yelled from the room. She was clearly impatient to get things started.

Both men remained in the living room, looking at each other with a smirk.

"A little while more, princess" Johnny called out.

"You 2 gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Mark giggled.

"I can hear you Mark. You are going to pay for it!"

"Give me a minute. Wait here." Johnny said to Mark, going into the room. There was a whole commotion between Johnny and Y/N, but Mark couldn't hear anything clearly because the room door was now closed.

A minute or two later, Johnny came out with a huge grin.

"What happened?" Mark asked.

"Handcuffs." Johnny gave a thumbs up. "She can't do anything now.

"Well she's still gonna yell at us." Mark chuckled.

"I stuffed her mouth with her thong." Johnny smirk.

"You are one scary dude bro!" Mark exclaimed, feeling himself get harder. This was going to make Y/N mad, and mad Y/N frankly was what turned him on the most.

"SO. As i wanted to say." Johnny interrupted his thoughts. "We chose you cos we trusted you."

"Y/N knows me. But not you."

"I trust Y/N's judgement. She doesn't trust people. Only me. But she also trusts you." Johnny shrugged.

Mark nodded.

"Also, Y/N and I know about your crush on her. We thought it'd be fun to have you here."

"You're not jealous right?"

Johnny let out a smirk.

"You need to understand this. She thinks you're hot. She's always thought you were hot. But she will always come back to me, like i would always come back to her."

Mark's ears turned red at the thought of Y/N thinking he was hot. He kind of knew, but she never confirmed it.

"So, Mr Lee, are you ready?" Johnny asked.

Y/N wasn't just pissed. She was fuming mad when Johnny finally unlocked the handcuffs. Firstly, they kept her waiting. And now, Mark couldn't stop laughing at the sight of her in cuffs.

"Mark Lee! You are in trouble!" she screamed as she grabbed the thong out of her mouth. He laughed harder, pushing his luck as far as he could. The more he riled her up, the more it turned him on.

She grabbed his wrists and pulled him down on the bed, climbing on top of him, grabbing his jaw.

"If you know what's good for you, stop now. Or else."

"I'm not scared of you" he grinned.

"Oh i fucking hate you Mark Lee!"

"Is this the thing that Kun hates?" Johnny asked as he was stripping. "Cos now I can see how it gets irritating."

Now all three of them were giggling.

"Kun fucking hated it when we did this, yo." Mark said in between giggles. "For six months we did it. Every single day."

"Sometimes we did it on purpose." Y/N grinned, getting off Mark.

"Wait, I thought you were going to ride me!" Mark teased.

"No! I want to fuck Johnny. You can watch." She said, climbing on top of Johnny, sinking down on his member, which Mark thought was impressive.

Y/N let out the sexiest mews as she bounced on Johnny, who grabbed her by her hips to quicken her pace. Mark froze. This was going to be hard. He was so hard.

He unzipped his pants.

"Who said you could do that?" she asked, proving that yes, she was secretly watching him. The thought of her secretly wathing him thrilled him.

"Please can i?" he whined.

"Please who?"

"Please mummy?"

"Please mummy what?"

"Good grief Y/N!" Mark started. "You're such a pain!"

"Do what she says or I'm throwing you out." Johnny stunned them both with his stern tone. Y/N looked at Mark with a smug smile.

"Please mummy can i play with my cock?" Mark asked, feeling like he could come anytime.

"Yes baby." She said sweetly, before turning her attention back to Johnny.

Mark took his cock out quickly. it was red and furious, with precum oozing out. He was not going to last long. But he couldn't take it anymore. Y/N's mews. The way she had been dominating him. The way Johnny and Y/N were screwing. He grabbed his cock and moved frantically.

"Yes princess, you're doing so well, baby." coo-ed Johnny as Y/n babbled incoherently about how good he felt.

Mark continued to fuck into his hand. at the back of his mind, he felt like he was third wheeling. But he also felt like he had front row seats to Y/N the goddess. Not Y/N the hacker. Or Y/N the cranky rebellious agent who was fearless. This was Y/N showing a side of her he had never seen, no matter how many times they had their secret rooftop chats. no matter how many times they flirted.

Johnny and Y/N had changed positions now. She was now on all fours, face near Mark's, with Johnny ramming into her from behind, one hand rubbing her clit. sweat was dripping down the sides of his face.

Mark didn't know how much time had passed, but his mouth was wide open as Y/N came screaming Johnny's name a few minutes later, body shaking, as Johnny held her through her orgasm. For a moment, neither Johnny nor Y/N moved. His cock was still in her. Then Y/N said, "Ok. Go." and Johnny continued ramming into her.

Y/N's face softened as her eyes met Mark's.

"Kiss me, Mark." she begged.

He complied. Her lips sought his hungrily. His hand left his cock, reaching out for her nipples instead, rubbing them.

"Mummy" he whined.

"Yes baby? Mummy's here baby."

"Can you play with my cock?"

"Do you want mummy's mouth on your cock baby?" she grinned as he nodded.

Johnny shifted himself and Y/N so she could get to Mark's member.

"Yeah princess. I told you, he's got a big one." Johnny smirked.

Mark felt his ears go red again. But then he went crazy, as Y/n gave a few tentative licks over the head of his cock.

"No coming without permission." She said. Before engulfing her mouth around his member.

Mark let out a gasp, not expecting it to feel this good. She alternated between twirling her tongue around his head while bobbing up and down his cock.

"Mummy" he whined. "Don't stop, mummy."

"Mark's really loving this princess." Johnny said proudly. "My princess is the best."

He watched as Y/N now took him towards the back of her throat. He grabbed her hair, moving his dick into her mouth. He knew he was supposed to ask for permission. But at this point, he didn't care. He needed to come, and come he would. and when Y/N suddenly looked up at him, straight into his eyes, he lost it and sent shot after shot into her mouth. She opened her mouth wide, letting it all drip down the sides of her mouth onto his stomach.

She smirked, using her fingers to clean her mouth and sucked on them.

Mark panted. That was the largest orgasm he'd had since... actually he couldn't remember the last time he came so hard.

"Thanks Y/N" he said. "That was awesome."

She moved her face closer to him.

"Mark. You broke 2 rules." she said almost too calmly. "You fucked my face without permission. And you came without permission. I think you should leave."

Mark's jaw dropped. He wasn't ready to leave. He really wanted to give her an orgasm.

"I'm sorry, I can explain." he stuttered. "I got too caught up."

"We have rules, Mark. And if you don't abide by them, you can't stay." Johnny said. Why don't you take a shower? I left some clothes you can use in the guest room in case you need it."

Mark realised he had screwed up. But he was also pissed. He didn't know if he was pissed with himself. Or pissed with Y/N and Johnny. This wasn't fair. What did they take him for, a fool.

He picked up his clothes silently and left. So much for a night of fun.

Johnny was in the living room after he took a shower, and changed into the fresh clothes he left for him. Mark was still pissed. He wish he didn't have to see or talk to Johnny or Y/N now.

"Are you here to laugh at me? To tell me you're the only one she wants? This was what it was all about wasn't it? About who owns Y/N" Mark snapped. "Or was this some kind of joke both of you wanted to play?"

"Dude, listen to me," Johnny tried to explain.

"Don't dude me!" Mark yelled.

"I can explain. But if you're going to yell like that. Then leave." Johnny said firmly, sounding serious.

Mark bit his lip. "Speak."

"She doesn't like being mouth fucked. Just don't ever do that again. If she blows you, let her lead it. Do not, I repeat, do not, ever hold the back of her head."

Mark looked at Johnny. "I don't understand."

"Look, with Y/N, you just gotta play by her rules. if you can't do that you're out. it's as simple as that."

"Then maybe i was the wrong choice." Mark shrugged. "Thanks for having me. I'm going home."

With that, he left.