#could not decipher his handwriting after the first line but we move. he's just like me in that way

[thelostboys87]

garth greenwell making me handwrite lover boy again everybody say thank you garth greenwell

[kessielrg]

[MMX] Future Me Hates Me: Part 2

Summary: After stumbling upon a Light Capsule, and having it erroneously refer to her as Kalinka, Aero seeks to figure out just what her family connection is to Doctor Light. Meanwhile, after the death of Iris, Zero vows to absolve himself of his past. However, as Aero becomes the target of a Maverick, Zero is forced into finding that not all bridges can easily be burned…

Rating: K+

word Count: 1,644 words

Part: 1, [2], 3, 4, 5

. . . .

Doctor Cain had given Aero a lot of his research journals. Many were from before she was born, documenting his archaeological digs and what he’d find (or not find) there. There was just one small caveat to them though: Doctor’s Cain handwriting was notoriously hard to decipher. It was why there were so few copies or recreations of the journal that documented the day he found X- no one was able to read them. Aero had only the faintest idea of what each chicken scratch meant, and that was only because she practically grew up with it.

It’s not like anyone asked her to transcribe them. But she probably would have refused anyway; for both her privacy and Cain’s. These journals were still holders to some of Cain’s more frustrated thoughts when it came to his life’s ambition.

‘Still nothing. For the last month, I have been sifting through the dirt trying to find a fossil record which would verify my findings on Mesozoic plant life, but so far I have come up empty. Tomorrow I'll move my archaeological dig to a new site. Maybe I'll have better luck.’

The start of Cain’s discovery to X. Aero had been looking for this journal since she got home. And, just as she feared, the place where Cain found X was nowhere near where she found the odd capsule. Still, she continued to read on. Aero hadn’t got to see X right after he came out of his hibernation station. The two had their first meeting almost a month after, and they tried to stay in touch up until X formally joined the Maverick Hunters. It was so weird to think it’s been that long…

‘How did Doctor Light have the time to make armors for a project he didn’t even know would see the light of day after he passed?’ Aero thought to herself as she went over Doctor Cain’s journals more. Surely there would have been other sightings of capsules beforehand too? Some mention of them at Doctor Light’s ruined and abandoned lab? ‘Wasn’t he ill for a really long time before he died?’

Aero absently bit the tip of her thumb in thought. A few moments more and she was digging around for her phone. By (rather embarrassing) instinct, she almost called X instead of her grandmother. X didn’t know any more about his creator than Doctor Cain did.

“Well, hello my darling.” Aero’s grandmother said once she picked up the line. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Gran.” Aero replied, a small grin teasing her lips. “I’ve just been wondering about something recently and wanted to know if you could help.”

“Of course, dear. What do you need?”

Aero hesitated for a moment, biting her lip.

“I wanted to know if you knew anything about your mom’s dad. I want to know how close Doctor Cossack was to Doctor Light.”

. . .

After yesterday’s assignment -a mission that did lead to any good answers- Zero had wanted to take on something more relaxed. He refused to take a day off, despite the suggestion of the Navigator, and so he shouldn’t have been surprised that he was given something he considered child’s play.

“We suspect that a Maverick has hacked into a human residence as of 500 hours and ongoing.” the Navigator told Zero. “Most of the data can be traced to a single street; Poplar Court. We know this to be from a Maverick instead of a human due to the manipulation of the cyber data directly. Further investigations show that it is a single residence that is being targeted, due to the abnormal levels of ping time between clients. The residence in question has the number 101-25 and is currently occupied by a single woman in her mid 20s.”

“1010-25…?” Zero started to wonder, knowing that the street name was familiar. When he realized how, he then hissed with disgust, “Aero.”

“Indeed.” the Navigator agreed. “While odd that a potential Maverick could be gathering intel from a human, it is still a cause for concern and needs to be investigated immediately.”

“Understood,” Zero nodded. “I’ll connect through our servers and navigate to those on Poplar Court from there. Also, has X been informed of this?”

“No. Maverick Hunter X has been placed on a multi day assignment that bars most communication from being accessible. Any and all calls are to be made in an emergency or otherwise dire situation.”

“Good.”

The Navigator gave a nod of confirmation of her own before going to type something at her computer.

“We have Data Room 5 ready for your transfer. Remember that any and all injuries you sustain in Cyberspace could prove fatal. Should you die in Cyberspace, your body will fail outside of it and R-DNA data retrieval will not be possible. Do you understand and respect these terms, Zero?”

When the Navigator looked up, Zero was already gone.

Entering Cyberspace was nothing new for Zero. He knew the risks and had seen many of the repercussions first hand- even the permanent ones. All he really needed to hear was which room was open. Dealing with an in-mainframe hacker was exactly the light work he needed today anyway. If he was clever, he might even convince them to disconnect peacefully. Zero snorted at the thought. X was the better peace negotiator between them- it was the Mavericks that decided they didn’t want to listen and, in doing so, signed their own death warrants. Hopefully, if this one was smart enough to get into a human’s communication system, then they'd have the common sense to back down too.

Navigating Cyberspace was not dissimilar to simply walking down the street. Especially when most traffic lights or billboards were connected to the interconnecting data transfer of Cyberspace to begin with. And, much to his wish to forget it, Zero knew the general path to Aero’s street like the back of his hand. Before X became a Hunter, Aero’s place was where Zero could usually find him. The two used to be quite close before then- Zero could remember Doctor Cain once telling Sigma that he hoped Aero and X would be the first Reploid and human union. The thought of it still made Zero sick to his stomach. X was destined to become a Maverick Hunter. It gave him purpose. Far more purpose than pretending to be human with another-

Zero had been so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t see the bug. In Cyberspace, what would have easily been a webcam or computer set became a small pocket of red data. It would collect information from anywhere its range could reach. Right now, its only reach seemed to be right above Aero’s home. A less experienced Maverick Hunter would have said it was inactive. Zero knew far better.

After some careful manipulating, Zero could get a feedback loop of what Aero had said, to what the hacker would also be mumbling. Aero took up the left screen from the loop, the hacker (whose appearance was obscured due to purposely cutting off any potential video feed) occupied the right screen. He hadn’t been an easy fix. Whoever this hacker was knew what they were doing.

“I believe my grandfather left behind some of his research work with Doctor Light in Russia.” the voice of Aero’s grandmother said. A recent phone call must have triggered the bug’s recording abilities. “A family vault with a code that you would be able to figure out, my dear.”

“Lemme guess, a very important date?” Aero snarked. The grin on her face was knowing, and almost mischievous.

“There was no doubting my grandfather’s love of Kalinka.” Aero’s grandmother laughed. Even Aero joined in. Zero had only a vague idea of the joke, but kept that thought pushed away for now.

“I might catch the next plane over, then.” Aero decided. “It’s a weird in-between with work now, you know? And I’ve got the zenny stored up that’s not going anywhere.”

“Would you like my card, darling? Exchange rates are so high these days…”

“No, I think I can handle it, Gran. I’ll send you a message when I get there though.”

“That would be wonderful. Be safe darling, I love you.”

“I love you too, Gran.”

The feed of Aero’s call ended, leaving only the audio from the hacker.

“Russia, huh?” the hacker mused. Their voice was also synthesized to all hell and back, making the vocal pattern unrecognizable. “I should have known. Finally, all the secrets to the ultimate Reploid will be mine.”

After that, the feed disappeared as well, leaving behind the hibernating bug. The vagueness of it all immediately hit the alarm bells in Zero’s mind.

‘Why is Aero suddenly interested in Doctor Light? She can’t even handle being related to Doctor Cain. And Russia? Who in her family could have had ties with Russia? It must have been someone important if this was the information the hacker was waiting for. Why would the hacker be listening in anyway? Aero wouldn’t know anything about the ultimate Reploid. Only Doctor Cain would, or even Doctor Light who made X- who in and of himself could be called the ultimate Reploid. Someone in Russia, family of Aero’s, who could potentially have the knowledge to make…’

“Shit.” Zero cursed. He immediately withdrew his data and woke up at Maverick Hunter HQ.

“Zero,” the Navigator said from over his headset, “Is everything alright? The threat hasn’t been-”

“The hacker wasn’t there. It was a bug.” Zero told her, rather harshly. “They already have the information they need. A Maverick is planning on harming a human for information. Our next course of action is to track down that Maverick because they are on the move. We also need to contact Aero -over a secure connection- now. She is in danger.”

[ragingbookdragon]

The Secrets Best Left In The Dark

Batsis x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 4K Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Death

Author's Note: I thrive on angst, so I have no apologies for y'all. Enjoy! -Thorne

They’d never claim their eldest sibling was cowardly. Far from it, she put her life on the line every day, in and out of the suit, defending those she cared for with a strength that they’d never seen in anyone. But while everyone in their family was typically hot-tempered and ready for a beatdown, she was calm and quiet. Always kind, and never letting anger, or any type of other emotion show besides pleasantness. For a while, they merely assumed she was the doormat type, simply on the basis that she never argued with their dad over anything—the whole “It’s my way or the highway” and his way was what she always went with—and that made her seem like an alien surrounded by humans because everyone argued with Bruce. That, and the fact that whenever she got into the rare fight during patrol, she’d never hit anybody. She was trained to take down multiple combatants and not once did she ever punch, hit, or kick a single person.

It was practically abnormal to be in the Batfamily and never lay a hand on a criminal, and yet that was what their sister did. Hardly ever did she use force to get what she wanted, always relying on stealth. Even on the minute cases when she got caught in an infiltration and had to fight her way out, she used electrified gauntlets to subdue them, rarely coming to blows. So, in a sense while everyone in her family was an aggressive fighter, she was a defensive—or perhaps a passive one—and that’s how she acted in life too. Always passive by nature, but always playing the peacekeeper between brothers and between fathers and sons.

They never knew why she was such a way, from the stories that Diana and Clark used to tell, back when it was just their sister and Bruce, she was a whirlwind that got into fights with anything that dared breathe in her direction—apparently, she made her angriest siblings look like mice. But no matter how many times they pried or even asked Bruce (apparently, he didn’t know what changed either—and this was coming from the World’s Greatest Detective), she never talked about it, simply saying that she grew out of always being angry and wanted to be calmer.

They suspected she held a dark secret—but no one could’ve prepared for just how dark and damaging it had been to her all these years.

***

In hindsight, taking a trip into Scarecrow’s lab was a bad idea, but when the offer had come up in the cave from her father, (Y/N) was happy to lend a hand, knowing that with his recent injury, he wouldn’t’ve been able to get out there during the night. It was also amazing, in the twenty-seven years she’d been alive, and in the past nineteen years that she’d been a vigilante, she’d never seen her father take a break—she could count on one hand how many times he had, and even then, he was still working in the cave, so technically it wasn’t a break.

But after tangling with Bane and Croc, he’d broken a few ribs and after repeated complaints and worries from her, his sons, and Alfred, Bruce finally agreed to let his children handle patrol. Which is why when the quadrants of the city were split up between Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian, it left (Y/N) to pick up specific places that Bruce wanted checked out—she warmly agreed to do so. And while she was confident in her abilities to do everything, he asked of her, she should’ve called for backup when it came to infiltrating Scarecrow’s hideout.

***

Another vent went off above her and she ducked, eyes narrowing as she watched the orange fog, appearing blue through her detective mode, drift out. She would’ve sprayed it, but she’d used up all of her explosive gel covering the others. Now she simply had to avoid them and hope that her gas mask filtered properly—so far, it was. A shrill laugh echoed through the speakers above her, and shivers went down her spine.

Anytime now, Batgirl. You will fall too.

She frowned. “I’m not afraid of you, Doctor Crane.” Ducking under another pipe, she added, “I can help you if you’ll let me.”

Help me? Help…ME? You can’t even help YOURSELF!

Scarecrow had always been a talker, much like the majority of the villains they faced, and he was looking for a rise. She came to the end of the corridor where the pipes met a brick wall and she sighed, searching for a way through. A vent covered the top right corner and she pulled out the grapple gun, pointing it at the grate. She pressed the trigger and it latched onto the metal bars; grasping the cord, she yanked as hard as she could, stepping backwards when it fell, hitting the ground with a clang.

(Y/N) heaved herself up into the vent and crawled on her hands and knees, as quietly as she could, twisting and turning through the maze of confined metal. When she came to the end, another grate covered the exit and she pressed her foot against it, pushing until the bolts popped loose and she could slip out.

From the looks of it, if the advanced chemistry equipment were any help, she’d ended up in Scarecrow’s lab. He wasn’t in sight, but that gave her time to look around and see if he’d changed any formulas recently. She raised her wrist and tapped at the blue screen, taking a moment to run a program. When it beeped, (Y/N) sighed in relief and reached up, pulling the gas mask off—the air was clean.

She set the mask down on the counter and put a finger to her ear. “Batman, do you read me?” His voice came through a moment later.

“I read you Batgirl. Loud and clear.”

“I’m in Doctor Crane’s lab,” she said, poking around at the notes he’d scrawled out. “I don’t see anything new. The formulas all look the same.”

“Compounds?”

She frowned and read. “Honestly, it’s a bit hard to decipher. His handwriting is a lot like Red’s when he’s had one too many energy drinks.” A quiet huff came from over the line, telling her that he was amused. “I’ll send you pictures of it and see if you can.” (Y/N) snapped a few photos. “Get ‘em?”

“Just now,” he replied, and she walked over to one of the lit Bunsen burners.

“Looks like he’s got something brewing right now though,” (Y/N) leaned over and peered into it, careful to avoid any steam that was rising.

“Recognize it?”

She paused. “It’s not the usual stuff he’s got. It looks almost golden and—”

All at once the dish exploded and she had just enough time to cover her face from the shattering glass, letting out a gasp as she recoiled.

“Batgirl, what happened?”

(Y/N) coughed and waved a hand, and when her hand appeared double, she breathed out in shock. “Oh no,” she whispered.

“Batgirl, report.” She hurried to the exit of the lab as Scarecrow’s cackle sounded overhead.

“I’ve been hit with a blast of toxin.” Pulling open the door, she fumbled with her utility belt then let out a sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

(Y/N) shook her head and weaved down the corridors, the faster she got to her bike, the faster she could get back to the cave.

“I don’t have any anti-toxin on me.” She pushed against the doors and stumbled out into the cold and rainy night. Her mind was already beginning to fog over as she climbed onto her bike, and she barely had enough focus to keep it steady while she programmed it to auto-drive.

“I’m sending one of the boys to you.”

She grunted and lifted her foot as the bike revved and shot forward. “Don’t. I’ve already programmed the bike to the cave’s coordinates. I’ll be back in less than fifteen minutes.”

“You won’t make it that long.”

(Y/N) groaned as the lights began to flash around her and she saw faces and images passing her. “I just have to…focus.”

Horns blared around her as the bike weaved in and out of cars and she held onto the frame with all the strength she had. His voice started echoing in her ears and she shut her eyes, trying to block it out.

You could’ve saved me.

Another groan escaped her, and she heard, “(Y/N), talk to me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t—I have to—focus now.” But with every passing second, his voice got louder and more insistent.

You let me die. You watched me die.

(Y/N)’s eyes filled with tears and they dripped down her cheeks. I tried to save you. she thought, hoping it would suffice, but she knew it wouldn’t. I tried so hard to. The last thing she remembered was turning onto the street that led to the cave.

***

Bruce was already pushing away from the Batcomputer when the boys arrived back at the cave, Dick and Damian from the Batmobile, and Tim and Jason from their own rides. Knowing that their father wasn’t one to sit around, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to be moving, but with how quick and worried his movements seemed, they knew something was wrong.

Dick pulled the cowl away from his face and asked, “B? What’s wrong?”

Bruce didn’t respond at first, hurrying towards the medical station they had. “Your sister was dosed with fear toxin and she doesn’t have anti-toxin to counteract it.”

Jason, who’d already taken his hood off, was already in the process of putting it back on. “Let one of us take it to her.”

Their father shook his head, rummaging for an antidote. “She’s coming back here.”

“Here?” Tim repeated, striding over. “Fear toxin works within seconds on normal people, minutes for us.” He looked at his brothers. “She won’t have enough time to get back here and not be under the effects.”

Bruce nodded, focusing as he poured a vial of glowing green liquid into the needle gun. “I know.” He looked at Tim. “That’s why I’m getting it ready for her.”

“Father, can we do anything?” Damian questioned, pulling away the domino mask from his eyes.

“Get ready to be on the defensive if she’s offensive,” he replied. “I don’t think she’ll hit anybody, but you never know.”

“She can’t hit that hard. (Y/N) only weighs—” Jason cut off as the rev of an engine cut though the air and they turned to see their eldest sister coming in on a sleek black motorcycle, that was shaking badly.

“(Y/N)!” Dick yelled and the bike suddenly shifted and toppled sideways, throwing her from it. It slid across the cave floor in a hail of sparks, metal, and plastic flying in every direction as (Y/N) rolled too.

They started running towards her, hoping to stop her when her back collided with one of the glass cases that held their suits, and she went limp.

Bruce reached her first, and knelt down, setting the antidote aside to check her first. The way she hit the case and with how hard, it was possible that she could be seriously injured—or worse.

“(Y/N)!” he called, hands coming to pull her away from the case. She whimpered and he let out a sigh—she was still alive. “(Y/N), can you hear me?” he inquired, reaching up to pull the cowl from her face.

Her brothers crowded behind him and they all stared in horror as tears streamed down her cheeks, and blood out of her nose.

“I’m sorry,” she bawled. “I tried to save you.” Bruce looked at her then grabbed the needle gun, bringing it up to her neck.

“Hang on, (Y/N). You’re gonna be okay.”

She grabbed his hand and cried, “I held on as long as I could, but my grip was slipping. I’m sorry I couldn’t hold onto you. I’m sorry I let you go. I let you die. I’m sor—” her sobs cut her off as she curled in on herself, and as if finally snapping out of a trance, Bruce pulled his hand from her grip and pulled the trigger of the gun.

(Y/N) jerked as the needle entered her skin and they watched the neon green liquid in the vial emptied. She fell into whimpers and mumbles of “I’m sorry” before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in Bruce’s arms.

He stared at her for a second, feeling numb at his daughter’s admissions. Whatever her fear had been, it’d been there a long time, and he had no idea what it was about. Sighing heavily, he drew his eyes to his sons, to Jason.

“Will you take (Y/N) to her bedroom while I get an IV ready?”

Jason nodded and bent down, picking up his unconscious sister. He tucked her head in the crook of his neck and looked at Dick. “Get the doors, yeah?” Dick nodded and hurried ahead of him, while Tim and Damian followed in suit.

Bruce was left alone in a matter of moments, and all he could do was rise to his feet and ready the medical supplies, all the while, thinking back on every night that (Y/N) had gone on patrol in the last nineteen years—and the last time someone died in front of her.

***

Her head felt like an overripe melon ready to burst, and that first moment of cracking her eyes open was the biggest mistake since she told her dad what ‘Thot’ meant. The second she opened them, she shut them once more, inhaling deeply through her nose as the fog started to clear from her mind.

“Queenie, hey, you’re awake,” Jason murmured, and she nodded, blinking a few times before his face came into focus, Dick appearing Tim appearing behind him.

“Go get dad,” Dick said to someone, and she figured it was Damian since neither Jason nor Tim moved.

(Y/N) started shifting, trying to sit up when Dick put his hand on her shoulder, gentle, but firm as he said, “Don’t try to move, Barbie.”

“Where’s dad?” she asked, craning her neck to see.

“Damian’s going to get him sis,” Tim answered, smoothing out the blanket covering her. “Just relax. You took a beating when you came into the cave.”

“I did?” she questioned, eyes widening in shock when they nodded, faces pinched with worry.

The ceiling light turned on just bright enough to give sight and they looked at Bruce who was coming in, Damian following.

“(Y/N),” Dick moved, letting Bruce take his spot, and he took her hand in his, running his thumb over the back of her hand. “You had us all worried.”

She frowned and exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” She gazed between them, and something in their eyes made an emotion she couldn’t describe rise in her chest.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” (Y/N) met Bruce’s eyes. “What happened?” Before he could answer, she gasped and looked at her brothers. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”

A chorus of hurried, “No’s!” rang out and she sighed in relief, reclining back on the pillows.

“Oh, thank goodness.” She went silent, then started, “But…something did happen, didn’t it?”

Her brothers glanced between themselves then they looked at Bruce who sighed and squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to him.

“What?” she asked and when he said nothing, she repeated, “Dad, what?”

His steel blue eyes met hers and he murmured, “You were apologizing for…letting someone die.”

Whatever had flashed in her eyes that told them she knew exactly what they were talking about was shocking enough because Jason said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna, Queenie.”

(Y/N) fell silent for a full minute and when she spoke again, her voice was quiet and the look in her eyes was far away. “Before Dick came to the manor it was just you and I patrolling Gotham. At eight, I wasn’t really let out of your sight, but one night I had wandered off while you were dealing with Two-Face.” She looked at Bruce. “I found an injured GCPD officer on a bridge. He had been tailing Killer Croc.”

She glanced at Tim. “His name was Grady Richards.”

Tim’s eyes fell to the tablet in his hands, and he tapped at the screen for a few moments, then read, “Hero cop Grady Richards honored after dying in line of duty. He fell off a broken bridge on Miagani Island.”

Bruce’s eyes found hers again. “He didn’t fall, did he?”

(Y/N) felt tears grow in her vision and she shook her head. “No…no he didn’t.” Inhaling deeply, she recounted, “Croc came back and there was no way either of us could’ve taken him, so we ran. And Croc chased us.” She shut her eyes, remembering the night.

***

Fear pulsed through her veins as she sprinted as far away from the overgrown crocodile as she could. The GCPD officer was ahead of her, but he stopped and spun around to see her.

“Hurry!” he yelled, pointing back to the car. “Get to the cruiser!”

She spared a glance over her shoulder, eyes going wide when she saw Killer Croc picking up one of the concrete guards.

“Duck!” was all she heard, and she hit the ground, watching as if in slow motion as it flew overhead, then smashed into the top of the cop’s car, glass and metal shattering under the pressure.

Someone grabbed her by the back of her suit and hauled her up, slinging her behind them, and the back of the GCPD officer’s uniform came into view.

“Start running, Batgirl! And don’t stop!” he yelled, and when he has his sidearm drawn, he looked down at her. “You’ve got as much time as I have bullets.” He turned, opening fire, and she took a moment to stare before scrambling to her feet to start running.

A cry of pain sounded behind her, and against her better judgement, she turned and looked, gaping as Croc’s arm sent the officer flying. He hit the guardrail and collapsed against it and her feet were moving before she could stop them.

The first punch went to the back of Croc’s knee and she knew it had to have hurt her more than it did him because he didn’t even flinch. But when those glowing yellow eyes peered down at her, she knew she was in trouble.

“Looks like I’ve got an appetizer for the night!” he laughed and reached for her, but she ducked and rolled out of his way, standing in front of the wounded GCPD officer, who weakly looked up at her.

“What are you—doing? I told you…to run.”

She couldn’t beat Killer Croc, and she knew it, but she shook her head and stared down the villain before her.

Croc’s attacks were wide and though she was small, she was pushed to her limit rolling and dodging every one. After a few moments, she was practically dead on her feet, huffing as her lungs begged for air. She kept wiping away the rain that splattered against her mask and on a particularly unlucky step, she found herself slipping.

And it was all the opening that Croc needed because he swiped at her and she flew backwards into the officer who’d managed to stand, just barely. Colliding with him tipped his balance and they went over the guardrail, barreling towards the ground.

She reached out as fast as she could and grabbed hold of the metal beam that ran the length of the under bridge, crying out in pain as it pulled the joints and bones. Her other hand gripped the officer’s and she held on tight. Croc leaned over the bridge, apparently not seeing them because his footsteps went off in the opposite direction, leaving them in silence.

Time passed and she wasn’t sure how long, but both her arms were getting tired, and she looked down at the officer.

“Sir?” she called, and he looked up at her. “You have to climb. I’m starting to lose grip.”

He tried to reach up but let out a cry and grabbed his side with his free hand. Pulling his hand away, she saw the crimson dilute with rainwater.

The hand that held the ledge began to cramp and she started hyperventilating. “Please, you need to hurry! I can’t hold on much longer!” Again, he tried, and she looked down at him as her fingers began to shake.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered and let go of his hand, and the last thing she saw until he hit the ground was the sight of his eyes, wide with fear and pleading.

***

“I watched his head explode when he hit the ground,” she said, tears pouring down her cheeks as she stared out the window, watching the rain hit against the glass. “I had to make a choice. Either both of us died or one of us lived.” (Y/N) looked at Bruce. “And I chose my life over his.”

No one could believe their ears at the story she’d told, but suddenly, the self-sacrificing attitude their sister had, the way she’d bend over backwards for anyone, made perfect sense—she did it out of atonement, for a wrong she carried since she was eight years old.

“I pulled myself back up onto the bridge and I ran as far as I could and didn’t look back,” she said. “I kept my mouth shut when the paper ran his story and never told anyone about it.”

(Y/N)’s breath shuddered. “I just pushed it down as far inside me as I could and tried to forget about it.” Her eyes met Bruce and she tearfully stated, “But every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face.”

He leaned forward and took her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly, dark brows furrowed in hurt.

She swallowed thickly and shook her head as she replied, “I killed someone that night. I was terrified about what you would’ve said. About what you would’ve done.” He gazed at her and (Y/N) whispered, “I’m sorry, dad.”

Bruce dropped her gaze and took a deep breath before murmuring, “It was just an accident, (Y/N).”

“I let go of—”

“I would’ve been more upset having to bury my daughter,” he interrupted, and she fell silent, gaping at him. He searched her face and reached up, placing a hand on her cheek. “I understand why you kept this secret, but you should’ve come to me, (Y/N).” Shaking his head, he added, “You didn’t deserve to be buried under this for nineteen years.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her head and Bruce shook his head in response.

“No, I’m sorry.” When she met his eye, he continued, “I’m sorry I didn’t know you were carrying this. Then and now.”

(Y/N) swallowed and rested back against the bed. “I send his widow money on the anniversary of his death. I slip it into the pension she’s given.” She let out a sigh. “It’s the only way I’ve found that I could sleep at night.”

Her eyes drifted to the window and Bruce placed a kiss to her forehead. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” She nodded and before he left, he said, “And when you feel up for it, we’ll see about setting up a fund in his name.”

She wished it didn’t make her as emotional as it did, but silent tears dripped down her cheeks as the door closed, leaving her and her brothers alone. They gathered on her bed, leaning close to offer their support, and she was thankful for them doing so. And for the first time in nineteen years, when (Y/N) closed her eyes, she didn’t see Grady Richards’ face.

[angelguk]

→ bad behaviour 03 — a namjoon scenario

member: kim namjoon

word count: 7.5k

rating: 18+

genre: established relationship + smut + college!au 

warnings: we’re ovulating!!! / introduction to the breeding kink that will plague this couple forever / was meant 2 be a drabble?? im incapable we know that / eh big joon!!!! / manhandling kink / pet names used a lot / joon thinks he’s gf is dumb and wants to breed her idk man / size kink / crying when cumming / oc shy for once / discussion of twitter porn / creampie / oc is on birth control (obvs dont do this if u dont want a kid but this is a fanfic u know) / mentions of fisting porn / cock warming!! / if u see a typo no u dont

soundtracks: more than enough + morroco, alina baraz

prompt: “don’t you think there is always something unspoken between two people?” (Something Unspoken, Tennessee Williams).

It’s a rather serene Thursday afternoon, the late autumn breeze sweeping through the campus air. The stillness was ideal for studying, alluding to assignment deadlines creeping round the corner. Which was why your butt is firmly parked in the mess of Kim Namjoon's sheets.

The man in question is hunched in the corner of his dorm room, one large hand idly tugging at the chestnut mane on his head and his neck curved with attentiveness. You wish you possessed the determinate focus that he had, but your thoughts have a mind of their own, spiralling further into the darkest depths of your mind as they gingerly coax forth memories that spark a searing heat deep inside of you. You feel tight, drawn like the bow of an arrow, a stark contrast to the tranquillity spilling around you. The fact that Namjoon is practically naked isn’t helping your consciousness. Your gaze lingers on the rows of muscles lining his broad back, the tension running through them emphasising the dips and curves in his golden skin. His eyes, however, are glued to the myriad of words before him, the pen grasped in his grip swift as he scribbles down notes you know you’ll never be able to decipher. Not that you needed too, it was intriguing that such a put-together man like Namjoon had handwriting that essentially resembled chicken scratch. It was atrocious — but still elegant, very much embodying the person to whom the writing belonged to. You can’t recall what assignment he intended to complete today — something about the presentation of nihilism in Russian literature or whatever — but he’s devoted all his attention to it, meticulous in the numerous sticky notes and page markers that line the novel perched on his desk. It’s bent with the remembrance of his fingers, sepia-toned dogged-ear pages staring at the ceiling of his dorm room. Something blooms within you the longer you look at him, faint but strong like a tide shifting towards the shores. You don’t even register the slip of your laptop from your lap, legs sprawling open unconsciously. It spurs so quick you can’t even clamp down on it, the desire you have for the burly man bent over his world of words just a few steps away. But you know how much Namjoon values his academics. It’s with a muffled groan that you roll over, burrowing your face into his pillows in hopes that the wave will subside. It doesn't — crawling beneath your skin begging you to give in.

It’s the click of Namjoon’s pen that gets you, a sharp note that cuts through the burning of your body. Your thighs seal together, the slick that collects between your legs sticking to your core. With a sigh that you shift again, reaching out for your laptop. It’s best to look for a distraction, give him the space he needs to concentrate. At yet, your gaze can’t help but drift. He’s not covering an inch of skin, burly arms and thick thighs on display like he wants to tempt you. There are no words to describe how much you hate him —  nor how much you long to have him inside of you too.

You recall it with a jolt — the lave of his wide tongue against your folds, licking you apart with deft swift swipes that leave you weeping into his sheets more nights than you’d like to admit. You shuffle again, helpless to the yearnings of your mind. The heat on your inner thighs is a phantom. Namjoon likes to hold you down, press your hips into his sheets against the whims of your squirming. It’s the way he looks at you when you’re on the verge of tears, a wanton hunger in his eyes that unravels you fast. You can almost see it, thighs subconsciously nudging against each other. Then there’s the stretch of his fingers, larger than you own. He’s pushed you to the edge with just two of them before, persistent against that spot inside of you until he’s satisfied with the blissed slackness that descends upon your features. Then he’d add another, and another. There’s an undeclared thought between the two of you. You’ve noted the fisting porn in his Twitter bookmarks. Maybe one day you’ll have the guts to let him try.

For now, you swallow it down. Suffocate that longing until the embers burning within you smother to ashes. Your laptop returns to resting at an angle at your hip, gaze idling running through your readings. The words don’t sink in though, sitting on your skull before hastily floating away. There’s not much space for anything else but Namjoon at the moment, no matter how hard you try to reread the paragraphs or stare at your screen. You don’t even have to open the app on your phone to know what’s going on with your body. This is your first full ovulation with him. Usually, he’s preoccupied with assignments or TA responsibilities that cut your time together short, interrupting this part of your cycle and leaving you to your own devices. You hadn’t fully wormed your way into Namjoon’s life to demand all his attention just yet. This was still new, untested. Namjoon was independent and so sure of himself that telling your boyfriend that you needed him to stop focusing on his future to raw the crap out of you (multiple times) felt incredibly selfish.

You stare at the words in front of you until they swim, wishing you didn’t feel like this. Like you needed Namjoon to breathe. You can wait it out, maybe get what you’re dying for after post-studying cuddles and take-out. Even if it takes every ounce of your willpower to clasp your legs together and not jump the wonderfully large man that is your boyfriend.

Unbeknown to you, the same yearning that plagues you chips away at his resolve. A persistent want that wavers in the back of his mind, clamouring for attention, because even with his eyes stuck on the pages beneath him, he can sense your fidgeting.

Your attention span is incredibly short — Namjoon knows this. It ricochets off the walls even when you’re sitting still. It’s taken time, but Namjoon has gradually adjusted to it, muting the powerful waves of energy that radiate off of you when necessary. Today, however, is different. That energy he’s learnt to ignore eats him alive, sinking below his skin and leaving him buzzed as he scours his brain for any meaningful essay points. He keeps flipping through the pages of the novel, mind attempting and miserably failing to piece together a cohesive argument that correlates with the evidence he’s got highlighted in a loud neon yellow.

All because he can’t stop thinking about you.

He wants to blame it on the fact that he hasn’t seen you in a while (which is a blatant lie). Namjoon saw you two days ago. You were wearing that floral skirt that he loves, the fabric hiking up your thighs whenever you lined yourself against his side, snuggling deep into him like you never wanted to leave. He hates that skirt — hates it —  because now he can’t think of anything but it, thoughts blurring at the memory of your bare skin. Skin that he loves to mark, latch onto until violets and blues blossom. His mind is running before he can catch it, falling into a dangerous reminiscence of images that sit heavy in his gut. That stupid skirt flipped up your waist and his head between your thighs. Nothing feels as good as you do on his tongue. He loves the way you taste, the sounds that drift from your lips, the way your thighs twitch and tremor as you unravel underneath him. You get so loud when your high hits you. He knows his roommates have heard you before, but he truly doesn’t care. He loves hearing you scream his name, drives him to the brink of insanity if he’s being honest. Yet, it’s the way you look at him afterwards, a deliriousness swimming in your eyes that makes Namjoon want to keep you in his bed forever. Fuck you until you can’t walk without feeling him deep inside of you. Paint your skin so that everyone knows who you belong to.

His head hits the table with a muted thud, a low sighing escaping into the air. The tent in his loose shorts hurts. There’s a part of him that’s mortified — how could he get hard just from the thought of you when you're sitting right there on his bed? Perhaps it’s proof that you’ve invaded everything he is. His space, his heart, his mind.

“Namjoon?” You question, tone tentative in the silence that consumes him whole. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts. And then his brain settles, a tightness in his stomach that he can’t deny. “Actually, no I’m not.”

You don’t even have time to register it before he's moving towards you. It's as if he's flown from his desk, gliding through the space between you to firmly plant himself on top of you. Your laptop is knocked to the side, lost in the muss of his bed sheets as Namjoon moulds himself into you. You can't help the breathless giggle that hits the air. It's cut by the weight of Namjoon on you. He's heavy, all hard muscles and broad shoulders. Your fingertips slip against the fabric of his shirt — 100% pure cotton because he's fastidious like that — a lightness forming in your chest just from the feel of him in your hands. He sighs and you melt, losing yourself in him as he burrows his head into the hollow of your neck. The kiss he places there is soft, but it hits like a torrent of rain, drowning you harshly. Your body ignites like the flame you wanted to smother was never extinguished. You cling to him, the only thing keeping you afloat in the wave of adoration that crashes into you.

"What are you doing? What's wrong?" You murmur, vibrating when he kisses you again. Namjoon hums in response, his wide hands shifting to settle on the back of your thighs, gently spreading your legs apart to nestle himself there. Your back jolts when you feel it — feel him. Hard and needy against your core, a heat radiating where you meet. The flutter in your eyes is automatic, brain shutting down when he rolls his hips. He nips your neck then, a light press of his teeth into the delicate skin. You stop breathing when he smothers the pain with a kiss, thoughts dissolving into the air as you stare at the ceiling of his dorm, thinking you're never going to let this man go.

"Namjoo—" His mouth is on you before you can even finish your sentence, swallowing the words with a gentle press of his lips until yours fall apart. Kissing him might be one of your favourite activities ever. He feels good against your lips, ginger but sure in how he works you open, drawing sighs from your throat like he was born to do so. It’s easy to give in, your hips moving against his and your fingers dragging through his hair. It’s with a soft gasp that you part, the air around you electric. His brown eyes are dark but they gaze at you with an adoration that makes your heart swell. There are moments where you feel it on the tip of your tongue, a proclamation that yearns to spill out. But it’s too early to say anything like that yet. So you draw him closer instead, the content laugh that floats from his throat caught in your mouth. This kiss is different, more desperate, a hope that he understands what you mean heavy in your chest. You think he does because he kisses you back with an intent that leaves you breathless, a heady thing that has you arching into him before it peters out into tender little pecks. Your heart is so full it could explode.

And it does a second later when he drops a light kiss on your forehead, his wide hands settling on the backs of your thighs as he presses himself further into you. You know he feels the slick drenching your underwear by the hitch in his breath.

“Study break?” He offers, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that ensnares you. A danger that glows like stars adorning a velvet sky.

“Namjoon,” you groan in response, legs wrapping around his waist. You can feel the length of him, hard and twitching against you. “You can’t just do that! It’s not fair.”

“Why? You don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a nudge that coaxes another slip from your core. The whine that leaves your lips is instinctual.

“I do! It’s just that — um — just that I’m ovulating right now.”

The second the word leaves your mouth he freezes, broad body suspended over you and a distant look sweeping over his honey eyes. And then something clicks, his cock settling further into you, a twitch along his length that echoes in your nerves.

“Right now?” The words that leave his mouth are measured, his gaze locking on your own as if he’s weighing the consequences of his desires.

“Yes, right now. I don’t know if we—”

“Can I be honest with you? I haven’t been able to focus since you came over and the idea of you ovulating is doing nothing but making me extremely hard right now.”

“I — what? Really? Are you serious?”

He nods, unabashed as the blush rising beneath his golden skin. Your fingers dig further into his back, the want that sweeps through your system feral. It's so swift that you can’t control the rise of your hips nor the warmth that pools in your gut. Namjoon dissolves right back into you, the groan that slips from his mouth meeting the heat of your skin as he burrows himself back into the crook of your neck. You’re no longer thinking, your brain stuck on the feeling of his cock against you, direct with every drag of his hips.  He wants this as much as you do, a realisation that you’re still trying to comprehend. You have to ask again, terrified of the teetering edge you’re on.

“You sure? Like really?”

He scoffs, shifting back to give you a look. “You’ve seen my NSFW twitter, baby. You know what’s there.”

“Yeah, a lot more fisting porn than I ever expected.” There’s a beat of silence, Namjoon’s gaze shifting into something you can’t decipher. “Not that I’m against fisting,” you quickly amend, “It was just surprising.”

“Fair enough, but that wasn’t the only thing there.”

You know what he's referring to but seeing other people commit the act and then doing it yourself were too completely different things. There are still some things you’re too ashamed to say out loud and that particular kink of one of them. While your ovulation had a rather stronghold over you, so did your inner mortification.

Namjoon, on the other hand, cannot be bothered to beat around the bush. “You’ve seen what’s there right?" He repeats. "Creampies? Cum play? Breeding—”

“Don’t say that!”

He pauses, a playful grin tugging at his lips.”Is that what you want? Because you’re ovulating? What me to stuff—”

“Namjoon, stop it!”

He laughs then, a low sound dangerous that fills the room and swallows the embarrassment that eats away at you alive. “How can I? My pretty girl wants me to breed her, stuff her full of cum until it’s leaking from her cunt. You want that right? Want my cock so deep you feel it tomorrow? Am I right, baby? Hmm?”

You’re not looking at him, cheeks burning with every word parting his lips, but your cunt agrees wholeheartedly, leaking against your panties at the thought of Namjoon fucking you full. He doesn’t take your silence well though, a firm hand clasping around your jaw and tugging your focus right back into him. There's a glint in his eyes, a sharp dark wild thing.

“Baby.” He says it slowly, the word tumbling from his lips and right into the heat forming in your core. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe,” you retort, feeling the twitch that tremors through his jaw deep inside of you. Namjoon scoffs, hand dropping from your chin. The absence of his touch has you scrambling after it, the movement occurring before you can bite back your desperation.

“Maybe? Then you don’t want it enough do you? I should leave you to study, don’t you think?”

“Namjoon.” Your fingers grip into his shirt before he can shift away, a pounding in your chest that terrifies you. “Maybe I do want it  — a lot — I just can't say it.”

“You can’t say it?” He cocks an eyebrow. “But you know how to use your words when you’re arguing with me.”

He’s infuriating and he’s doing it on purpose from the telltale gleam in his eyes. You don’t know what to despise more; Namjoon and his provocations or your inability to vocalise your desires. But that anger withers into wanting the second he settles back between your thighs, cock hard and heavy where you need him most. Yet, still, saying it out loud isn’t possible for you just yet. But you do want it, a great deal more than you’d ever admit.

“That’s different,” you say instead. “That’s when you’re being stupid.”

The eye-roll you're granted is brimming with exasperation. “Of course, you would say that.”

“And I’m correct.”

“Sure, you are,” Namjoon returns, nuzzling into your chest. He’s saying it to complacent you and it ticks you off

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, a warning in your voice.

Namjoon sighs, perfect face burrowed between your boobs. “I’m not arguing with you right now. You look cute when you get mad and I’m hard enough as it. Besides, that’s not the point.”

That should not have you buzzing, the word cute sticking out from the rest of his horrid statement like a neon light in the dark. But you let it rest, preoccupied with the fact that:

a. Namjoon is horny

b. So are you

“So,” you say. “What was the point?”

“The point is that you’re too shy to say you want me to stuff you—”

Point B no longer exists. You are no longer horny even when he’s looking at you like that with that stupid lopsided grin of his.

“I get it,” you retort, “I get the point. And I’m not saying that. Not today, not ever.”

“Oh? Are you sure about that?” There’s a challenge there, and like an idiot you fall for it, raising an indignant eyebrow in response.

“Yes, I will not—”

He’s got the band of your sweatpants down in a second, wiggling the fabric down your hips and past your butt faster than you can blink. You don’t object, a muffled giggle drifting from your throat when he finally gets them off, tossing the pants somewhere in the corner of his room, something to be searched for later, not now. That giggle shifts to a moan the second his face dives between your thighs, the deep breath he takes in kindling a flame in your gut. There’s the faint press of his tongue through the cotton of your underwear, the low groan he lets out when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties setting something off within you.

“Oh — oh — N-Namjoon!”

“Yes, baby?” Another lick, tongue quick and firm against your drenched core.

“Don’t play with me. I can’t handle that right now.”

“I’m not playing,” he remarks. “Just giving you a reason to say you want me to stuff you full of my cum. I know you want to say it anyway.”

You huff. “You think I’ll give in that easi — hgnh.” He’s tearing your underwear off, tongue landing back onto your wet folds before you can register the fact that the fabric is gone. A few firm wet laves of that muscle against your cunt and you can see your resolve crumbling. He knows exactly where to lick and drag his tongue, nose buried into the apex of your cunt as if he wants to breathe you in. You can’t help the buck of your hips, a tremor running down your thighs when his tongue slips into your hole, pressing in with purpose and leaving you breathless in his sheets. But then he’s drawing away and you glance down to find him staring at your cunt in wonder, his rouge mouth glistening with your slick.

“How can I not,” Namjoon says, offering a kitten lick that spikes a shock in your spine, “Play with you when you’re so fun to play with, angel.” The smile on his lips is dangerous.

Your hand settles on his head and Namjoon curls into it. But instead of dragging your fingernails against his skull and pulling him closer like you know he loves, you shove him away, swiftly squeezing your thighs shut. If you’re going to play this game, you’re doing it on your terms.

“You’re not being fair,” you say. Namjoon blinks at you like you’re insane, obviously thinking with the dick in his pants rather than his head. “Go back to your Isaac Turganife or whatever.”

“It’s Ivan Turgenev, baby,” he replies, sighing slow. “And I don’t want to go? Do you really want me to?” He plants a tender kiss on your bare thigh and you burst with want, slick leaking out even though you didn’t intend it to.

“Not fair,” you say again. But you don’t want him to leave you like this, at the mercy of your hormones and the sudden remembrance of Namjoon’s thick cock stretching you open. “But no, I don’t want you to go. Just don’t play with me please.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But if we’re being honest here all I can think about is seeing my cum leak out of you. I just want you to want that as much as I do.” He says it in a rush like he’s afraid he won’t have the nerve to admit it if he doesn’t do it right now.

But I do, you think, walls fluttering just from the flash of that image in your mind. I do, Namjoon. And yet, you can’t say it.

“I’m ovulating, Namjoon,” you retort instead.

“And you’re also on birth control,” he rebuttals. “PEMDAS or whatever. It cancels out the baby option, right?”

“You are so dumb it hurts, Kim Namjoon,” you murmur, fighting the urge to kiss your stupid boyfriend. It’s a very odd conversation to be having when your cunt is on display and his dick is hard in his pants but you’re having it anyway.

“We’ve fucked raw before though?” He continues, still not piecing it together. “And so far, no baby. So no problem right?”

“When I’m not ovulating. Less risk, at least that’s what I like to believe.”

“Well I suggest you start believing that right now because I would very much like to see you stu—”

“Stop saying that you’re making me want to turn celibate!”

“Oh?” Namjoon remarks. “And yet you’re leaking all over my sheets every time I mention it.”

“I will cut you off from sex for a week if you say something like that again,” you retort.

Namjoon grins like he knows this is affecting you on a deeper level than your cunt being wet. “Fair enough, but I have to ask. Do you want that?”

“Want what?” Feigning ignorance is the safest bet until that shift in his eyes appears.

“Want my cum?” he says it so easily, unaffected while your face rushes with heat.“Inside of you, leaking out of you… All of it?”

And maybe you stop breathing at the thought of feeling full of everything Namjoon had to offer you, your walls clenching tight.

“Maybe. Maybe I do, I don’t know.” You do know and Namjoon knows that you do too. It’s with a defeated murmur that you admit it, voice soft in his room. “Okay, fine. I do. I want that.”

“You do?” There’s an edge in his voice. “You want me to bre—”

“Stop it before I change my mind.”

He laughs, a light warm thing that digs into your chest. “Okay, okay! Sorry, babe. Do you want me to prep you? My mouth? My fingers? You can decide.”

It’s settled so quick in your brain you realise it was never up for debate. “Neither. Just you. I just want you.”

He halts, honey eyes locked on yours for a moment, before springing to his feet and tugging his shirt over his head with speed. “We can do that,” he mumbles, his knees bumping against the foot of his bed. His pants come off next, plummeting to the ground where he kicks them off a moment later. It’s only then that you see the consequence of actions, straining painfully against his boxer briefs. He shifts to tug those off too but you cut the movement before it happens, shuffling forward until your hand is cupped around his length. Namjoon doesn’t protest, rolling into the tiny palm of your hand. You love the way he feels underneath your palm, thick and hard and heavy, a weight you long to feel inside of you. He sighs low when you grip him, watching your fingers wrap around the outline of his dick through the fabric. It’s only then that you realise, your gaze slipping down his body, subtly noting the sharp intake of breath when your lips mimic what he did to your underwear before he ripped it off, that Namjoon has been holding himself back.

He wants this, badly. It’s evident from the tightness in his voice when he speaks a moment later.

“Angel,” It’s said low, a warning. “I thought we said we wouldn’t play with each other.”

He’s right. With a small pout, you lean away and Namjoon wastes no time moving into your space, strong arms swapping your arm just to land you back at the head of his bed. You suddenly remember your laptop, lost in the mess of his sheets. Namjoon is kind enough to relocate it before climbing right back into your space, cock digging into your stomach when he kisses you again. It doesn’t take long before your top is gone, joining Namjoon’s pants on the floor, and then you’re digging the band of his underwear down, your lips still slotted together and a wetness rapidly forming between your thighs at the feel of his bare cock against you.

But he’s impatient, shuffling you around the second his length is freed. Your back is hard against his mattress, fingers grasping at the sheets when Namjoon knocks your knees apart. There’s a moment of bated breath, his large hands lingering against the bare skin of your exposed thigh, brown eyes locked on your wet folds. His gaze is so intense you instinctively want to clamp your legs shut, shy away from how seen you feel under his eyes. Yes, technically you were naked in his bed but there’s something else that he draws out just from looking at you. Something that makes you nervous because you like it so much.

“Don’t hide from me.” It’s whispered in the heat of the air, Namjoon picking up on how your legs drift together. He’s got them pressed apart a second later, grip firm but gentle, and your stomach does a swoop so dangerous you’re left violently reeling, the ceiling above you spinning. “Don’t do that, angel. Too pretty to hide from me. I want to see all of you.”

You can only hum in response, throat clogged with words that won’t form into coherent sounds. But Namjoon understands you regardless, kissing you senseless as his massive body descends on yours. His hands are on your ass a second later, gripping tight as his length nudges against your core. You just might cry, desperation bubbling in your chest. He draws away gently but you don’t want to let him leave, fingers taut on his broad back, gripping onto the very muscles that had you heady just earlier today. There’s a whine on your tongue that he swallows before you part once more. The laugh that slips from his lips at the sight of your pouted mouth is fond. He grants you another peck, soft and tender, before Namjoon rips himself away, determined this time.

His hips are lined against yours a moment later, cock stiff and dripping with precum. And yet your gaze doesn’t tear from the arms trapping you in his sheets. His biceps look huge, massive actually, all hard muscle and pure strength. It’s doing something to the base part of your brain because you can’t stop thinking about how large Namjoon is. Caving you in, your personal shelter from the world. Is it weird that you feel protected? Safe in the bed of this boy. You wouldn’t mind hiding here forever. A part of you wants to kiss him again, but Namjoon’s focused on other things, oblivious to the cave-woman looking for a mate thoughts running amok in your brain.

They dissipate the moment the head of his cock nudges at your entrance. Just a light tease, but he splits you open quick enough.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, angel. Didn’t need me to prep you at all.”

You mumble a noise that you’re not sure leaves your throat. He’s taking it slow on purpose, pushing in inch by inch so that you feel every part of him filling you up. It’s intoxicating, how the feeling of the slow drag of his cock overtakes everything in your brain. You’ll never get over how big Namjoon is, no matter how many times he fucks you. Each shift of his hips forward coaxing slick from your cunt. It pools at your entrance, dripping over his length until he’s glistening with your wetness.

“F-fuck,” He head drops down to the hollow of your neck the moment he’s sheathed inside, the velvet walls of your pussy gripping him hard. It’s too much for the both of you, bodies strung high on the want that threatened to consume you both. But he feels good like this, lodged in your cunt, stretching you wide and making a place for himself right between your legs. He gives you a moment to adjust and then the coiled spring in him snaps.

“So fucking tight around me, angel. Taking my cock so well.” There’s an edge in his voice, a warning for what’s to come.

You groan when he draws up, a tiny squeal erupting from your throat when he slams back down, hips angled to piston you into his sheets. The pounding is hard and unforgiving, a contradiction to the gentle look in his gaze. He holds you tight, giving you no room to shuffle under the bruise of his thrusts.

You can’t do anything but mumble his name, tongue numb in your mouth as he fucks you senseless.

“You’re dripping so much, baby. Making a mess on the sheets. You wanted my dick that bad, huh? Wanted me to fuck you full? Stuff this dirty cunt of yours?”

“J-Joon!” There’s an arch in your back, a dangerous tingle fluxing through your nerves when his mouth latches on your neck, your chests pressed against each other. Each drive into you pushes out a haggard breath, the heat into the room wrapping around your joint bodies, your arms slung over his shoulders, gripping him tight as he unravels you with his cock. Time stops, nothing punctuating the moment apart from the lewd sound of your meeting, your slick slipping from your cunt each time he hits deep. And he keeps at it, fucking you with a vigour that feels new and vicious.

You can feel him tensing beneath your fingertips, a soreness spreading through your muscles with every hard thrust of his hips into you. But you don’t care, delirious with the feeling of his cock deep within you, slamming right into that spot that has you dangling off the edge. The tight grip on your thighs adds to it, Namjoon pressing you down as he fucks you open like you’re nothing but a toy for his pleasure. He slams into you with abandon, his lips on your neck. Every drag is loud in the room, the slick pooling around your entrance orchestrating the sound of your meeting. You love how he feels over you, broad and big and pinning you down with an ease that shouldn't have you stomach twisting but it does. And he knows that, reading the whimpers that leave your throat well. You can feel it, the knot that tightens with every hard drive of him into you. So close, a blink of your eyes and you could be there. But then he slows, cock squelching against your entrance with a half-hearted thrust.

“Namjoon—" You’re burning, fingers scrambling to push his hips down, shove your hips up. Anything. Anything because if he gives you nothing you’ll implode.

“My baby is so quiet today. Hmm? Why are you so quiet? You don’t want my cum? Don’t want me to breed this tight little cunt of yours?” There’s a  in his tension colouring his deep voice, like he’s holding back from saying something. You want to ask but your needs are forefront in your mind clamouring for attention.

“Joon!” He nips your neck at that whine and you dissolve into his sheets, nothing but pleasure running through your limbs. “Namjoon please, please, please. I want it, Joon, need it.”

He cocks his head, a languid roll into your core that has you squirming underneath his hold. “Need what? Words baby, words.”

“Need your cum.” It’s shameful to say and the heat in your cheeks makes it obvious, Namjoon doesn’t care, shifting his hips so that his cock slowly slips out. Your legs clamp around him so quick that his chest smacks into yours, a muffled sigh escaping into the air.

“Need it where?” He says, hips rigid with how he holds himself back. It takes tenacity to make you work for it. You feel perfect around him, tight pussy stretched around his length and your slick dripping all over. So needy, so wet, velvet walls clinging to his cock leaving him weak even though he tries to hide it. You’re intoxicating, your heat, the feeling of your body moulded into his, the way you moan his name. He wants to hear you scream it though, hear your throat go hoarse with each cry until you're a blubbering mess in his bed. There are other things he wants too, but he needs to hear you say this first.

“Inside,” you reply, a perfect whimper drifting from your bruised lips. “Inside me, Namjoon, please.”

He gives in then and there, resolve shattering when his gaze drifts to the minuscule grind of your hips against his own, his cock sinking deep with every shift of your waist upward. It’s not long until he’s sheathed back inside of you, length twitching against the heat of your walls. He wants to take it slow, make you beg for him a little more, but there’s a weight in his gut that threatens to drop. And then his focus shifts to the span of your stomach and it slams into him so quick he nearly chokes. He may joke about it as a kink, the idea of fucking you until you were bearing his child, but the actual vision of your stomach swelling hadn’t occurred in his thoughts until right then. You would look ethereal, round with evidence of his love for you. He can’t help the palm that settles there as his hips slowly rut forward, forcing himself deeper, needing to see you stretch out for him.

“Joon,” you sigh, shuddering at the press of his balls against your ass.

He hums, thoughtful, dark eyes lingering on the sway of your chest. “Yes, baby?”

“Harder, please, harder.”

“Anything my baby wants, she gets. Isn’t that right, princess.” And then he’s falling out of you, quick when he slams back down. Your voice sounds foreign to your eyes, brain roughly registering the harsh feeling of his hands as he swiftly rearranges you, cock still buried deep, until your knees are folded over his broad shoulders. The quake in your thighs is violent. But you don’t protest, mind unable to shift from the hard pistons he delivers into your cunt, thrusts demanding your release. There’s the sway of the bed beneath you, soft sheets bundling underneath the weight of your joint bodies, a heaviness in the air you breathe. He fucks you with a purpose that wasn’t there before, as if he needs to see you stuffed with his cum, unravelling around his length, a mess beneath him.

And you give it to him, shuddering when his fingertips sneak to your clit, the flickers he lands there unfaltering. That combined with the steady drag of his cock has your vision blanking, contentment spilling through your nerves as your high hits. It’s quick; a hard fast thing and spreads right from your core and through your system. Namjoon fucks you through it, swallowing your incoherent mumbling with a deft press of his lips against yours. You don’t realise you’re crying until he swipes a thumb along your cheeks, dropping a kiss on the damp skin of your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. You don’t miss how his hips speed up, muscles tense underneath your trembling fingertips. “So pretty. My pretty girl.”

“Cum in me,” you reply, breaking away to catch his gaze. Namjoon chokes, hips faltering. You don’t let him process it, still riding high on the look colouring his features. This is what he wanted from you, and you’re drunk enough on the feeling of him deep inside of you to say it. There’s still a tremor in your walls that grips him tight and you aid it by raising your hips upwards, the bend uncomfortable but worth the darkness that consumes the brown of his eyes. A part of you wants to say it again and you do, voice low in the room. “Joon, I need you. Need to feel full.”

“Fuck me.” It’s said under his breath but you don’t miss it, stomach twisting when his cock slams into you. It’s hard and mean. Namjoon takes everything you’re giving him, folding you into his mattress and driving his hips hard enough for the bed-frame to shift, a low thud against his bedroom wall. You let him have his way, groaning into his ear, the sheen of sweat that builds on both your bare bodies glimmering under the dwindling glow of the sunlight. There’s a faint tepid heat flickering in your core and it sparks up when Namjoon lands a hard kiss on the span of your neck, moaning low as he splits you open on his cock.

“So fucking tight.” There’s a hitch in your rugged breathing, your grip on his ruined sheets fierce. “So wet. All for me. All mine. Right, baby? This is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yours,” you whisper in return, lost in the feeling of him enclosing you in. “All yours.”

His lips are soft against your own, a delicate press of his mouth that doesn’t match how hard he’s fucking you. But you revel in it, rupturing into something bright and wild and full of love underneath the piston of his hips. It’s good now, the sensitivity you felt a moment ago ebbing into nothing but heat and want. You don’t miss how he twitches against your walls, thrusts growing erratic with every lewd slam of his length inside of you. And you want it, reminding Namjoon of that fact with wicked whispers in his ear. He caves fast, a few last hard rolls before he paints your walls in his release, the moan he lets out bleeding into your skin. You’re on edge now, the feeling of Namjoon’s cum coating your cunt when you’re at peak fertility doing something stupid to your brain. It shouldn’t turn you on — in fact you should be terrified. You weren’t ready to be a parent, yet the weight of him on you, the spurt of cum that slips from your cunt when he draws again, sends your spiralling. It’s swift, the swing of your legs back around his waist.

“No — don’t, don’t move. Not yet.”

Namjoon pauses, checks still warm and his skin a pretty golden rouge. You don’t enjoy the way he reads you.

“We can’t cuddle like this. Remember what we did last time? The cockwarming?” He suggests it easily. He gets what this is doing to you even when you don’t understand it at all. You nod because the idea of Namjoon not lodged inside you sounds abhorrent. He shifts the both of you quick enough, his softening dick back to half-mast the moment your protest emerged. It’s easier like this, with you sprawled on his broad chest. You don’t want to acknowledge it but you’re still somewhat wound up and the feeling of him holding you close, your cunt stuffed full of his cum, is doing unimaginable things to your brain. You pretend it isn’t, snuggling into the valley of his massive chest, feeling safe and secure. And then Namjoon opens his mouth.

“We’re going to have to talk about this. You know that right?”

“No, we don’t have to talk about it. Ever. Pretend this never happened.”

His laughs echoes in your heart. “Baby, I just came in you and you’re ovulating. That’s fairly risky, don’t you think?”

“I told you!” You whack his arm for good measure. “I told you it was dumb.”

“But I liked it,” Namjoon continues, staring intently at the ceiling. “A lot.” You flutter, cheeks hot at his admission, a bubbling in your chest that shouldn’t be there. “And judging from how you’re using my dick to keep my cum inside of you, I’m guessing you liked it too.”

“...Maybe.” You hate it but he’s right. You liked having him use you like that, the prospect of his cum doing more than leaving you euphoric with satisfaction lingering in the depths of your mind.

“Maybe?” He scoffs, wide hand gently pushing you off his chest despite the whine you release. “Get off then, I need to check if my dick is intact. I think I saw the fifth dimension when I came.”

“Shut up, please!” You cling to your boyfriend, viciously wiggling around until you feel him twitch inside of you. It’s too nice of a feeling to lose just yet. “Why are you ruining it?”

“Why can’t you admit what you’re into? Speaking of that subject, I don’t know what your kinks really are. So far there’s been a bit more exhibitionism than I expected from you but the breeding one… is different. Not bad. Just different,” he suddenly rambles.

“Because it’s embarrassing.” Your voice is small, landing on his naked chest in the silence of his room. His hand shifts from shoving you off to gingerly resting on you back, rough fingertips languidly tracing patterns on your skin. The motion is reassuring, yet you can still hear the eye roll in his voice when he speaks.

“You’ve seen the fisting porn on my NSFW twitter, what the hell do you mean embarrassing?”

“It just is!” You protest. “I’m not sure what I’m into.”

“I think you are, you’re just not comfortable admitting it to yourself. Don’t you watch porn? Or have any particular fantasies?” Namjoon’s persistent despite your deflection and while some part of you hates it, you know he’s right. He always is — well most of the time.

“I do,” you retort instead, refusing to give him an ounce of triumph. “You know that don’t be dumb.”

“Well then,” Namjoon returns, curiosity colouring his voice, “What’s your NSFW twitter? I’ve shown you mine, let me see yours.”

“I don’t have one…”

There’s a pause, the hand on your back drawing to a halt. You can hear the cogs in his head turning.

“You don’t? What do you use then?”

“...Yours,” you whisper. The breath that falls from his lips is horrified. “I like most of the stuff you like,” you quickly tack on. Somehow this is more shameful than admitting that you like being stuffed with Namjoon’s cum. The silence carries on and you're left stewing in your thoughts, looking for a way out of this awkward mess when Namjoon starts up again, a tentativeness in his tone that concerns you.

“Most of what I like,” he says. Another pause. “... Including the fisting porn?”

“Namjoon,” you snap, “Shut up.” You can’t believe you’re allowing this man to plug his dick in you after sex, can’t believe it at all. It’s a horrible realisation to come too especially when he breaks out into a loud laugh, his chest shuffling you around with every quick intake of air and the sound of his glee resounding in your heart.

“Sorry, angel,” he offers between muffled laughs. You hate him. You do even if you love him ten times more than you hate him. “We should make you one after this,” Namjoon says. “And then get food. Sounds good with you?”

“Food first,” you retort, mellow in the arms of your lover. “And then the Twitter porn.”

[fangirlovestuff]

You Give Me Butterflies - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!! this was inspired by this lovely reblog, tysm @avem-el!! this is a part two to Butterfly Effect, and you should probably read that first. divider is by @firefly-graphics​, Enjoy!!<3

Summary: You find out about Steve’s cute habit, fluff ensues💞

Word Cound: ~730

Warnings: none! fluffy fluff :)

You sat down with Steve one evening, curled up on the couch while you were watching some movie you both weren't paying that much attention to. You've been dating for a few months now, and you just moved in with Steve. Soulmates and all, things have been understandably smooth-sailing, and you were the happiest you've been in a long time.

Right now, you were both a little sleepy, the long day you've both had getting to you after a delicious dinner.

"Alright, I'm gonna go unpack some more stuff before I fall asleep," Steve chuckled and detached his warm body from yours, making you whine.

"It can wait until later," you pouted, making grabby hands at him. "We're in the middle of a movie."

"What's going on right now?" Steve asked, gesturing at the TV.

"Um… the guy is yelling at that girl," you said hesitantly.

Steve laughed softly. "If you want to you can keep watching. But these boxes aren't gonna unpack themselves, butterfly," he smiled at you.

"Okay, fine, I'm coming to help you," you giggled and got up. Even now, that nickname still makes butterflies flutter to life in your stomach. You turned off the TV and got up to help Steve.

You sorted through the boxes, each one of you occasionally getting up to place something in its rightful place. You worked in comfortable silence until you heard Steve groan. "Ugh, I told Bucky not to put these here." He got up but you stopped him before he got too far.

"What is it?" you asked, puzzled at the pile of notebooks he was carrying in his arms.

"Just some old sketchbooks I didn't throw away," Steve shrugged off-handedly.

"Oooo, you never let me see any of your old drawings," you said and snatched one of the notebooks before Steve could stop you.

You flicked the notebook open and giggled. Nearly every page in the sketchbook contained a drawing of an owl, some of them small, some large, with different details. You stopped when you reached a sketch of two owls together, sitting on the same branch, looking at each other, a heart gently sketched above them.

"I-" Steve started, blushing.

"It's beautiful, Stevie," you beamed at him. "How many of those do you have?"

"Pretty much all of these," he admitted bashfully, averting his gaze to the notebooks in his arms.

You squealed, "We have to go through them now!" you announced.

"I thought you were tired, and this could wait for tomorrow," Steve chuckled.

"Well, I'm not tired anymore so it can't!" you giggled and took the notebooks from Steve, and then sat back down on the floor. You flipped through the pages slowly, tracing some lines with your fingers. You went on for a while, looking at notebook after notebook, Steve sitting down behind you and wrapping his arms around you, his legs framing yours.

At one of the drawings, you heard Steve chuckle in your ear. "What?" you asked, smiling.

"Nothing. It's just, I drew that one during a briefing Tony was giving us. He noticed me and I scribbled down something so he'd think I'm taking notes," he turned the page to reveal his purposely messy handwriting, and you deciphered some of the words – entry point, armed guards, things like that.

You laughed. "Steve Rogers not paying attention in a briefing? I didn't know you were such a bad boy," you smiled at him as he buried his head in the crook of your neck.

"C'mon," he mumbled against your skin, "I think that's enough owls for tonight," he got up and helped you up with him. He picked you up bridal style easily, carrying you to the bedroom.

"How did you never stop drawing owls?" you asked once he set you down on the bed.

"I guess I never stopped hoping to meet you," he smiled.

"I know, but… all this time?"

"All this time. and I wouldn't have it any other way," he said and started peppering kisses along your collarbone and neck, "because you, butterfly," he reached your jaw and cheeks, "are absolutely worth the wait," he cupped your cheek in his hand and planted a sweet kiss on your lips.

You giggled softly and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I love you, Steve," you whispered against his lips.

"I love you too," he smiled.

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000​

if you wanna join / be removed from this taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Obey Me! Brothers W/ Mentally Slow MC HC

~Longer than necessary A/N ahead so, if you don’t care, you don’t need to read it, just sharing stuff about myself to random strangers on the internet lol.~

So... I’m slow. Like, my brain just does not computer things quick enough a majority of the time? I’m not a great conversationalist because of it, I have a pretty bad stammer, I mix up names even though they don’t sound at all the same, and I get too excited when I do know something that when I try to say it its just a jumble of words that don’t make sense and I tell my friends to just forget about it because I know I won’t be able to say the right words lol. Luckily I have great friends and they give me the time to rethink my sentence so I can say what I want to say. Oh, and I daydream to the point I never dream in my sleep haha. So, this is basically an HC for me lol. That being said, I’m pulling from mostly my own experiences here, so I’m sorry if they sound a lil depressy haha. 

And I would like to say, if anyone can relate, there’s literally nothing wrong with you!!! (Cannot stress this enough). We just have our fun lil quirks.

~Also, I’m so sorry for missing out on Belphie. I love him somuch but I could not think of a scenario for him. If I do in the future I’ll edit or reupload idk.~

~Oh, and @theshove , I finally posted again ;), although I’m sure it’s not gonna be as spicy as you’d like.~

Warnings: Descriptive explanation of a panic attack in Mammon’s HC, reference to bullying in Satan’s

~~~~~~

Lucifer:

At first, he was secretly pretty frustrated.

He thought it was a confidence issue, he heard that was a common thing in human youth, to not believe in yourself and have anxiety about the way you looked, spoke, sounded. 

You would often be having conversations with his brothers, debating a subject that Lucifer took no interest in, and you would be about to put in your input when a stream of nonsense passed your lips.

“Y’know what, nevermind.” Was a frequent phrase that left your lips when you did slip up, sighing to yourself as you thought about how ridiculous you just sounded. 

Lucifer would ensure none of the brothers, or Solomon, ever teased you about your mistakes.

Although, it was mortifying everytime you accidentally called him Levi, and vice versa. 

It was hard enough when you were still getting to know the brothers, but even on a date with the eldest, Levi just seemed like an easier word to say in the moment. It led to a few upsetting misunderstandings and some pretty severe punches to Lucifer’s pride.

Once you two got closer, you explained you mixed up your words because you used to be practically mute.

You weren’t a particularly extroverted child, nor were you interested in much, so you hardly spoke at all. You never got the practice you needed to familiarise yourself with words. It was Devildom that really brought them out of you.

After you did share that with him, he thrived off hearing your voice, even when it took a solid ten seconds to contemplate what you needed to say, even stretching your mouth muscles before you started just in case you stumbled again.

Of course, you made your mistakes now and again, got stuck on a word, laughing at how ridiculous you sounded saying ‘in’ several times in a row when you were trying to argue over tonight’s dinner, but Lucifer never cracked a joke like you did about yourself. 

He smiled, happy that you didn’t let this impact your personality and recovered quickly and, gradually, at snail's pace it felt like at the time, you could hold a conversation, a bright smile on your face when you were able to pull it off.

“Lucifer, I didn’t stutter this time!”

“Well done, MC, shall I give you a reward?”

Mammon:

“Useless human, can’t even talk, huh?” 

Trying to act like the big tough guy he played himself out to be didn’t fare well when you first arrived in Devildom, his brothers practically beat him up every other day for it.

The first time you laid your eyes upon a demon and they explained you would be a transfer student, it took you a few minutes of silence to understand what was actually going on.

It wasn’t because this wasn’t an extraordinary situation, you were an avid reader of fantasy novels and had waited for the day to be transported away from your boring, mundane life, but you just couldn’t compute verbal speech.

In potion class, you had to ask the teacher to write down the ingredients and the quantities because you couldn’t picture the words themselves, so you couldn’t understand what the potion was actually meant to do.

“What’re you writing it all down for?”

“It’s easier for me to listen when I can read what they’re saying. I guess it’s because my hearing’s crap?” 

But your hearing wasn’t all that bad, it was just easier to explain it that way than explaining how transcriptions help you listen.

Sometimes, in the hallways of RAD, the bustling students and whispering gossiping of you, a human, making a pact with Mammon? Apparently it was hilarious to everyone else.

But it wasn’t what the demons were saying, it was how loud they were saying it. 

It was just too many noises at once, you couldn’t decipher the surround-sound mumbling and it stressed you out, made you uncomfortable, and gave you that all too familiar feeling of a panic attack due to the sensory overload. 

Mammon realised your discomfort as tears grew in your eyes and your breathing quickened and, for a moment, he was moving to beat up every single devil that ever even mentioned the word ‘human’.

“Ma-Mammon!” Your frail voice and a tug on his sleeve pulled him back to Devildom and he turned back around to you, watching as you clenched your eyes shut, trying to ignore the buzzing that continued to rattle your brain. 

“Can you take me some place quiet?”

From then on, you would often spend your lunch breaks in a quiet classroom away from the majority of students. It was a good place for you to wind down, especially, when you two were close enough, Mammon would hug you closely, helping the panic in your heart when you did have a panic attack due to all the noises.

You didn’t have them as much now, the noise cancelling headphones he had bought you brought solace as you walked from classroom to classroom.

In class, he would try his best to act as scribe when you were running behind, but he did a terrible job. His handwriting was abysmal, only now did he appreciate how quickly you had to write to keep up with the lessons. 

You appreciate the sentiment all the same, placing a quick kiss on his cheek- you were dating at this point- and explained that he didn’t have to do that for you, you could just get a copy of the teacher’s notes after class.

Now he could never feel more guilty about picking on you when you first got to Devildom.

“Hey, Mamo?”

“Yeah, MC?”

“Thanks for not getting angry at me.”

Leviathan:

You were pretty silent, never really talking unless you were spoken to directly.

Yet, you still had that dumb, normie trap of cute smile on your face when you listened to everyone ranting and raving. 

When you did speak, it was quiet, almost a whisper.

Thank Diavolo for the demon’s enhanced hearing because, if they didn’t, they would be constantly asking you to speak up.

It wasn’t because you didn’t like your voice or you thought you were too loud otherwise, it was just because you couldn’t really be bothered to be louder.

You were content with just listening, watching everyone have a vivid conversation about the latest trouble Mammon had gotten into or Satan raving about the last Detective show you needed to watch. 

You never had any questions to ask in class, and the ones you did have would usually be asked by another student before you got the chance to even raise your hand. You weren’t a genius, just a good listener.

Levi understood, somewhat. Why would you want to talk to his normie brothers? They had nothing interesting to say.

Most of the time he suspected you just weren’t listening to them. 

But, it’s when you were alone together in his room as he told you about the latest anime he was enjoying, he got annoyed.

“Are you even listening to me? I don’t even know why I try. You don’t deserve Henry!”

“I was listening. You were explaining how you think the next season of TSL is going to go. I’ll admit, the Lord of Shadow saving that servant from the Lord of Corruption seems a little far fetched, but it’d be interesting to watch.” 

That had possibly been the longest group of sentences he had ever heard you string together at once. And they were so soft, no hint of trepidation from his accusation.

Eyes wide in embarrassment for misreading the situation, and getting so aggressive about it, Leviathan looked away.

“I’m sorry, I know I seem really dismissive all the time. I just enjoy listening to you talk about your passions.”

The bright smile on your face calmed him down, as it usually did, and, every so often, you would make your comments about the shows you know only because of him. He was very good at explaining plot lines. Even when you had never seen the show, you felt like you had.

You would mainly just talk to Levi from then on, getting to the point where you could express your own hobbies without him judging you as a normie and more as a friend.

Well, not a friend, more than that, much more, but a friend would have to do for now.

The first time you strike up a conversation with him, calling his name from down the hallway of the house you’re staying in as he walks with Asmodeus, Mammon and Beelzebub is possibly the greatest day of Levi’s life.

“Lefty.” You accidentally pronounce his name wrong, like you sometimes do with “Bell” and “Ashmo”.

You didn’t have any problems with saying their names normally, but when you were tired, all hopes of communicating like a normal human being went out the window.

Your words were a low mumble, but they were something Levi had learnt to understand fluently from your late night gaming sessions that would usually end in ruin when your tired brain drastically slowed your reflexes.

“I heard it was your 200,000th bicentennial birthday coming up, so I asked one of my friends to commission this for you.”

Only Diavolo knows how you managed to pronounce centennial at this time of night, but you did it, handing him a paper-wrapped, flat square, a light blush dusting both your cheeks. 

Asmo made a flirty, teasing comment about how close you two seemed and how, now, Levi was the lucky one.

Mammon got jealous, demanding that he wanted a birthday present, even though his milestone couple centuries had literally been a couple centuries ago.

Beel’s stomach grumbled, but he was a little curious about what you could have possibly gifted Levi, and how many words you just said as loud as they would usually be, which was wildly out of character for you.

“It’s the Lord of Shadow and the servant.” Levi gasped upon seeing the magnificent drawing your friend had made for you, which you insisted on paying for, and never had Levi been so jealous to have a friend like that. A friend with such talent. 

“You were right, he did save her.” You smiled, eyes twinkling at the positive reaction Levithan had made. 

You had seen the similarities in the characters with you and the demon. The servant was said to have had their voice stolen as a child, long before they and the Lord of Shadow had met. And it was obvious to you the similarities the anime brothers had with the demon brothers, but you wouldn’t dare tell Levi that. You were worried he’d get shy and call you a normie again.

So that statement you made was a form of confession to Levi. Something you hoped he would understand.

“You watched the season without me?! How did you even get the DVD? It’s not even out yet!”

Yeah, no such luck there.

“Levi, you know what isn’t fair?”

“What could possibly be unfair for you in this situation?”

“That you aren’t as good a listener as I am.”

Satan:

You were an avid texter, just like Satan. 

Your fingers moved so quickly against the screen of your D.D.D or the keyboard of a computer, it was amazing someone could see them. 

And you were smart. On electronics, you could keep up conversations on the latest book you were reading and discuss the detective shows you and he liked to watch together.

It was only when you spoke in person did your conversations so down.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” You cried out after a particularly long and troublesome stutter, mainly annoyed because it was an easy word but all the b’s tied your tongue like a tongue twister. Ironically, you felt like you were blubbering like an idiot.

Your stammer used to be worse, far worse. So bad you couldn’t even tell your parents anything without getting angry at yourself, but you got the speech therapy and learnt to just take it slow when you got eager. 

Everytime you see Satan, you want to be able to match his intellect and speed. You felt almost competitive. 

But it would hardly ever work out in your favour, your ‘S’s coming out like you were trying to start an old engine and ‘B’s and ‘D’s being switched in for each other like you were a toddler.

You spoke before you thought of what you were going to say, hoping the words would just float out of my mouth like everyone else’s did.

But no. Not for you. 

You had to carefully plan each sentence, thinking about every conversation you had so you could make a pre-made answer just so you wouldn’t look like a fool taking so long to speak.

You were ashamed most of the time, bullied for your impediment as a child and even in your teen years by people you told yourself were your friends but really weren’t when they called you teasing nicknames instead of your given one after you had asked them several times to use it. 

They were the main reason you still didn’t have the confidence to speak well now.

“Hey, take it easy. We’re not in a rush.” 

Satan would always be nice, politely giving you the time you needed to take a breather, calm down, and start over again, still blushing from your last stuttering episode.

“Why don’t you call me an idiot?”

A lot of questions similar to these, the only difference- the name you would be called, passed your lips sometimes, when there was a lull in your time together. 

You were used to people making fun, telling you to just shut up already so they didn’t have to hear your stupidity anymore.

“You’re not stupid. I care about what you have to say.”

Satan was always so serious everytime he answered a variation of your question, showing you he really cared. 

You blushed, your mind blank and it would take a couple minutes after that initial compliment for you to reboot.

It was true, though. 

Satan enjoyed watching your lips move and the sound of your voice as you two discussed who the killer in his detective show could be.

You both always came to the same conclusion before the episode ended.

Because most of your conversations happened through text, he found he missed your tone and expressive face when you got really into a subject.

He didn’t care if you stuttered, it was far better than just watching words flash across a screen, as most of your conversations went, on his D.D.D

Although, he did care that you got so angry with yourself. 

Being the Avatar of Wrath, he understood how easy it was to give into frustration and just want to hit something every time you made a mistake, he had done that many times in his younger years, and it wasn’t healthy.

It wasn’t healthy to be ashamed of a mere stumble or get mad at yourself for it, you never learnt that way.

One night, laying in his bed, platonically, you shared your reasoning behind getting so mad everytime you stuttered. 

You had seen Satan’s demon-form once before, but never had you seen it arise so quickly and so fiercely. 

You had been down all day and he had brought you to his room so you could feel comfortable enough to talk to him, but this fearful man, no, creature before you only put you more on edge.

But he continued to hold you.

He continued to wrap his arms around you from behind, spooning your body, trying his best not to fly out of hell right now and hunt down those who had picked on and teased you for all those years for something you couldn’t even help.

To think the reason you hated something he found so endearing was because some mere humans had made you think your excitement to communicate with people was something wrong?

“I don’t think this exchange program is going to work out.”

“Wh...Why?” You tried your hardest now to sound strong, sighing to yourself when you repeated the letters.

“Because I won’t be able to hold back if I have free access to the human world. What kind of assholes do that?”

“Teenage assholes.”

Asmodeus:

What a cute little airhead.

From the moment he first met you, Asmo loved the clueless looks on your face as you sifted through the information you were being given, seconds behind the punch everyone else could get to. 

You were slow, but you were meticulous, combing through every piece of information you could to give the correct response.

You were actually pretty smart because of that fact, studying so hard on everything you did so you weren’t embarrassed by being wrong.

And you weren’t too big with the whole ‘social cues’ thing either, mistaking Satan’s sarcasm for truth and Leviathan’s anger for genuine, relationship-ruining upset, desperately trying to fix the situation so that no one would get hurt.

You were selfless in the strangest of ways, too, opting to go without something you actually, really needed before asking someone for help. 

Once, you had tried ordering shower gel off of Akuzon, but, instead, ordered Shaitan Gell, a special ingredient often used by witches to summon demons. 

You had wondered why it was so expensive, but thought that maybe the Devildom economy wasn’t doing so well right now.

(It wasn’t your money you were using, so what the hell?)

It was even more confusing when it smelled a little off, but demons had strange tastes. Beelzebub literally ate brains and bat wings on the daily.

When Diavolo showed up in your shower the first time you used the oddly thick, black liquid, you just cocked your head, too weird to be embarrassed. Thinking this was a regular occurance in Devildom, you gave the prince a hearty hello and asked him, if he needed anything, could he please wait outside so you could get dressed first.

The news spread like wildfire, especially when Diavolo randomly vanished from a meeting with Lucifer. 

When everyone did find out, as Lucifer was reprimanding you for using such a relic in that way, they teased you endlessly, some offering you their own makes of the potion so you might accidentally summon them in the same way.

Every flirty or sexual remark Asmo made went right over your head, thinking that with every personal question he asked was just asked to make conversation and not genuine interest on his part.

“Do you have a partner?”

“Well, no, I don’t really compete in dance competitions or anything.”

“What positions do you usually go for?”

“I don’t play many sports, but if I had to pick, I’d say a pitcher in baseball. I have a pretty mean throw!”

It actually became a little bewildering how oblivious you were to all of his advances, thinking every time he draped himself over you he was cold and you offered him your jumper.

He took them everytime, so you were starting to run low. He tended to hoard them in his room, savouring the sweet scent of the body wash he had bought for you after the Shaitan incident.

“Asmo, can I get my hoodie back?”

You called through his closed door at some point after returning from school in the dead of winter, shivering in the sweat pants and long sleeved top you already had on.

You were generous, you didn’t think you personally were, but all the brothers knew you would give anyone anything if they asked for it. 

That’s why it wasn’t that ridiculous when Asmo had all of your jackets. Hoodies from years ago, sweaters you bought just to treat yourself because they were so soft, and even this jumper you got from your ex-boyfriend in high school, something you meant to give back but never managed to. You forgot every time you went to meet him with that exact intent the reason for seeing him.

It didn’t remind you of him, he barely wore it before you practically stole it, but it did make Asmo’s heart skip a beat at the ‘sweater-paws’ you got from the much-too-long sleeves. 

Following a clattering from what sounded like trash cans, followed by a comical shriek of a cat, the door flew open to a slightly disheveled Asmodeus, fabric clutched in his hand as he stood topless before you.

“Oh, sorry, Asmo. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just so cold.”

You laughed to show you weren’t upset with him as you rubbed your arms, bouncing on the balls of your feets to get your blood moving enough to create some heat. 

How could all these devils, avatars of the seven deadly sins, not have heating?

“Let me warm you up, MC!”

Without even stopping to hear your answer, but he knew you’d say yes, no matter what, Asmo pulled you in by the wrist, immediately wrapping his bare arms around you the moment the door was closed.

He was warm and you were comfortable with him, he showed you curiosity and care, so you eased into that embrace, thinking it a friendly gesture as a thank you for using your clothes all the time.

When you felt a slight nibble on your ear, you started to freak out a little.

You stuttered out an inquiry as to what he was doing, shyly pushing away as he drew back with his flirtatious smirk.

“I’ve made it so obvious for so long, MC. I really like you.”

Asmo cooed back, prodding your puffed out cheek with the tip of his tongue as you tilted your head to the side the same way you did every time someone told you something new. 

Knowing you would be taking a moment to compute the information, Asmo used this chance to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“I really like you too, Asmo.” 

The realisation came pretty suddenly. 

You had never put much thought into it.

Sure, he was the Avatar of Lust, he could just be saying this so he could express his temporary desires, but that was how you felt. You weren’t one for holding back, you were always scared of forgetting the topics of your thoughts if you didn’t say them aloud, so you just went for it.

Beelzebub:

Does this person even have bones?!

Like, seriously, your tripping over your feet like they’re not even attached to your body.

Rolling your ankle, walking off in directions that definitely don’t lead to where you intend on going, skipping right passed the class you’re meant to be attending.

The amount of times you’ve gotten lost in both the House of Lamentation and RAD is honestly worrying. 

Your sense of direction? What even is a map because it seems like you’ve never even heard of the concept of signs or specific routes you need to take to get to your bedroom.

To help with your impossibly slow way of getting a lay of the land in your new dorm, you would often take midnight strolls.

Often getting lost, which is how you found Belphegor up in the attic, even when you had stayed on the same floor.

That’s how you and Beel got so close. 

Because of the delectable scents coming from the kitchen, you would often find him having his late night snacks. 

He would invite you to stay, at first only because Lucifer had instructed him to walk you back to your room every time he found you aimlessly wandering the house late at night. 

“Is your ankle okay?” He would ask through a mouthful of food, but somehow you were still able to understand him.

Blushing, you looked down as your injury that was caused earlier in the day. You had stepped weird on the side of your foot- something that would usually happen and something you would usually be able to walk away from- but this time it was on the tall spiral stairs of the school you were still getting to know, sending you tumbling down flights and flights of steps. 

It was a wonder you were human, because even Solomon was shocked you survived that. 

“Y-Yeah, just a little red,” was an understatement.

You’re ankle killed. It was only a little swollen thanks to the spell your sorcerer friend used on you, but that didn’t help the sprain of your tendons. It was slightly bruised, covered by your loosest, most comfortable socks.

“Are you embarrassed?” Beel pointed out your bashful blush and you looked back up. He had seen your obvious hobble as you made your way to his side, but didn’t want to mention it in case you were feeling fragile about the subject.

“It just gives me flashbacks, is all.”

Oh? 

Memories from MC’s past?

Yes, Beel would very much like to hear about that. 

Not to tease or bribe you with, he was genuinely curious about your little human life. Not that you could tell, but he had never been so curious about another being like that. 

“Oh, god, well, I guess I trust you.” You joked, blushing harder as you laughed about the memory that plagues your thoughts. 

One time, in high school, you were walking out of the cantine when you tripped over literally nothing, throwing your bottle of water across the school yard like you needed to save it from your fall. It landed in the middle of a group of older students. 

The amount of laughs you got from that. The teacher that came up to you to ask if you were okay. The cut that occured on your knee. 

(Yes, this is a personal story. Yes, I have ptsd every time I pick up a plastic bottle of water)

Oh, it was like you were reliving the horror right there and then.

“It was mortifying! My friends still bring it up. To. this. day.” You sulk, resting your forehead on the table to hide the deep red on your face. 

“Did it hurt?” The blunt question came as a shock, that’s for sure, and you no longer felt unbearably hot when you looked up to see him. There was little look of amusement except for a kind-hearted smile. 

“W-Well, not as much as this other time...” 

You found yourself telling him all of your most embarrassing tales, seeking for that one story that would make him laugh the way everyone else would laugh at you. 

He didn’t. At all. It was actually a little worrying that he found none of your stories funny. 

Truthfully, he did find the want to chuckle at a few of them, but he didn’t want to betray your trust by laughing at such ‘precious’ memories for you. 

[thedeevirus]

Nygmobblepot Ficlet; ‘The Direct Approach’

And now for a break in your holiday cheer; an angsty Nygmobblepot fic featuring Batman. Hope you all enjoy! ***

The candles flickered and Oswald felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. On the wall in front of him loomed a foreboding silhouette.

‘Let me guess’, Oswald said, not turning around, ‘He’s not coming. You couldn’t have shown up to tell me that any sooner?’

‘Where’s Riddler?’ the dark figure asked quietly.

Oswald took a sip of whiskey to moisten his throat. Even though he and the so-called Batman had an arrangement, a truce of sorts, the vigilante remained an intimidating figure. He was grateful he had given the staff the night off. The last thing he needed was more traumatised bouncers and waiters.

‘Merry Christmas to you too’, he replied, ‘Help yourself, there’s plenty’.

Batman didn’t even seem to notice the lavish (albeit increasingly cold) feast laid out in front of Oswald as he walked into the Penguin’s line of view. Oswald avoided Batman’s hard stare and distracted himself by mentally listing the items displayed on the table; a turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce-

‘Where. Is. Riddler?’

‘I. Heard. You. The. First. Time’, Oswald said, irritated at Batman’s theatrics, ‘He’s exactly where he promised me that he wouldn’t be, at the exact time he promised he would be here enjoying this little dinner I spent all afternoon preparing’.

He scowled at the table. Okay his personal chef had prepared it but Oswald had paid him handsomely for the privilege and he had set the table himself. Fat lot of good it had done. They had only started celebrating Christmas at Ed’s suggestion in the first place. Oswald hadn’t done it since his mother had passed years ago. She had insisted on putting up a tree every year. Despite being raised Jewish, she had loved the lights, proclaiming, ‘So twinkly! So beautiful! Like a storybook!’ Another person he loved missing from the table. Oswald’s frustration finally gave him the courage to glare at Batman directly.

‘Couldn’t you have taken one night off?!’

‘He’s taken hostages’.

‘Nobody I know’, Oswald shrugged, ‘Try again’.

 Batman’s eyes lingered on the tall ice sculpture Oswald had selected as a centrepiece for the table. The carved leaping penguin’s eyes seemed to widen under the ‘Dark Knight’s’ threatening glare and the long neck (already melting) suddenly seemed very fragile and the head very heavy. Batman’s leathery fists tightened.

 ‘Look, can we at least discuss this civilly?’ Oswald said, half rising as he understood the threat, ‘I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. ‘Tis the season of goodwill after all’.

‘What do you want?’ Batman asked, folding his arms.

‘I’ll tell you where Ed is, you get the hostages then you let him go’, Oswald said, ‘He comes here to me and you leave us alone. A Christmas amnesty’.

 ‘Not both of you’.

 ‘Then no deal’, Oswald sniffed haughtily, even as his mind raced to come up with an alternative solution, ‘I’m sure he’s sent you one of his envelopes so you’d better get deciphering. Before it’s too late’.

Batman threw something onto the table. A blackened piece of card. Oswald picked it up and could just about make out the GCPD address on it written in Ed’s handwriting. Oswald’s heart sank.

 ‘It was disguised as a Christmas bonus paycheque. Two officers are in the hospital. I can’t ignore this’.

 Oswald gritted his teeth. It was part of their deal. Oswald would not target the GCPD and Batman would turn a blind eye to some of his ‘less savoury’ activities. Oswald had made Ed promise to avoid the GCPD as well, omitting the part about Batman and instead emphasising the logic of such a position. Why attract that level of attention? Why pain a target on your back? It had taken a long conversation but Ed had finally promised Oswald that he wouldn’t target the GCPD. He had promised. Oswald dropped his gaze and inadvertently caught sight of Ed’s empty chair at the table. Just like he had promised he would never miss another dinner.

 Batman extended a hand for the card and Oswald exploded, flinging it at him.

 ‘And whose fault is that?! Up until you started lurking on rooftops, he was stable! Oh fine maybe not ‘stable’ but at least he listened to me! Kept things low key! But now beating you is all he cares about!’

 ‘I don’t have time for his games’, Batman growled dismissively.

 Oswald threw his whiskey glass at the wall. It shattered, casting crystalline fragments around like Christmas confetti. Batman did not react which only made Oswald angrier.

 ‘You think I haven’t told him that?! You and I both know there are far worse things for you to occupy yourself with now instead of Ed. Gotham was always crazy but ever since you flew back into town, it’s gotten worse than ever!’

 Oswald’s words rang throughout the Iceberg Lounge. He stiffened, realising what he had just admitted. He bit his tongue, furious that he had left his ace in the hole slip out but conscious that the only move was to keep going.

 ‘Oh, do I detect surprise beneath the mask?’ he teased with a confidence he did not feel, ‘Yes. I know who you really are. Only one person would have enough money to waste on nonsense like this. And be crazy enough to waste it on Gotham’.

 Oswald knew he was bluffing. Batman’s face (what he could see of it) had remained completely impassive. He might as well have been made of stone. Oswald knew from experience that his punches certainly felt like it.

 ‘You seem sure of your theory’, Batman said.

 The corner of his mouth had kinked. Oswald didn’t know if it was a smile or not. He also didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing.

 Oswald laughed bitterly.

 ‘Don’t worry, I know nobody will ever believe me. I’m not like Ed. I have nothing to prove and I know when I’m outgunned. Besides, if you are who I think you are, I always had a soft spot for you. We’re both orphans after all. Though we seem to have coped with that in drastically different ways’.

Batman’s ‘smile’ vanished.

 ‘You said you could keep Nygma under control’, he said, the barest hint of accusation in his tone.

 Oswald was surprised to feel shame filling the pit of his stomach at Batman’s disappointed air. He filled another glass with whiskey and knocked it back in one swig. The damned holidays always made him sentimental.

 ‘I used to be able to’, he said quietly, ‘He was taking his medication and we set time aside for date…’ He sniffed hard and chuckled. ‘Why am I even telling you this? It’s not like you care’.

‘I care about innocent people getting hurt. Maybe assuming you would too is giving you too much credit but you obviously care about Nygma. Get him to stop these games and he gets the same deal you do’.

 Oswald shook his head, looking defeated.

‘I haven’t told him about our little arrangement. He’ll never agree to help you. And he won’t stop. It’s who he is. He’s a genius. He’s the Riddler’.

‘Who hasn’t figured out you’re working with me’.

Oswald slammed the glass down, stung by the taunt. And by his own dishonesty. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ed! It was just…easier to be flexible. You had to be practical in this town! There were rules! At least there used to be. Oswald still had rules.

‘Only because he trusts me! I can’t betray him! I won’t!’

 Oswald bit his lip. His voice had cracked treacherously. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. He needed to regain control. Needed to maintain his dignity.

 ‘If you love him, you need to put his needs before your own. He needs help’.

 Oswald turned away. His eyes were moist. He cursed his decision to only use the table candles for illumination. He knew now how Ed could hate Batman so much. Hate him being right.

 ‘You save people’, Oswald said though gritted teeth, ‘Can you save him?’

 ‘He belongs in Arkham’.

The tone was gentler than Oswald knew he deserved but he couldn’t prevent a shuddering sigh from escaping his mouth. Hearing the same thought that had been building and building for weeks spoken aloud was jarring. Was Batman telepathic? There were stranger things in Gotham.

Oswald’s artificial eye ached. It always did when he was stressed and it and it had been getting worse. Just like Ed’s delusions had been getting worse. The obsessions, hallucinations, irritability, lack of self-care, insomnia… Oswald had found his meds in the trash that morning. Unopened for the last two weeks. Ed had sworn he had been taking them. It turned out they were both liars. Oswald looked at Batman and realised with horror that Batman was waiting for Oswald’s response. For his permission. And Oswald’s skin crawled at the relief he felt.

 ‘Is it true that y-that the Wayne Foundation has changed things there?’ Oswald asked.

 He locked eyes with Batman. Searching them. He wasn’t sure if he was looking for honesty or the opposite. He had the awful feeling he was just looking for some way out. Something to help him do what he had to. He loved Ed. He did. But he wasn’t what Ed needed right now.

 ‘Yes’.

 Oswald could endure Ed’s resentment. Even his hate. He had been on the receiving end before. He could do it again. He would do it a thousand times as long as Ed was safe. His artificial eye impossibly pulsed in its socket. He struggled to stop his eye twitching.

 ‘Do you trust the people there?’

‘Yes’.

‘And-and you promise he won’t get hurt? I know he’ll try to hurt you but he’s not a fighter and you know that so please don’t-‘

 Batman held up a gloved hand. Oswald blinked hard as the metallic knuckles on the material caught the light.

‘I promise I won’t hurt him’, Batman said.

 Oswald was startled to find he believed it. And heartbroken that he could believe that more than anything Ed had said recently.

He sat back down in his chair, both hands clasped around his now empty glass.

‘He’s hiding in the old Gotham Gazette office in The Narrows’, Oswald said robotically, ‘There are tripwires at the entrance and the vents are mined but the passcode to his bunker is 1690. Apparently, it’s when the first issue of Publick Occurrences was published‘.

 Batman lifted his arm and began to input what Oswald assumed were coordinates into a hidden compartment in the suit. There was an affirmative beep. To Oswald it sounded like a death knell. He leant down hard on his knees. They were shaking.

‘He’ll know you told me’, Batman said.

 Oswald sneered at the subtle concern in Batman’s voice. Oh now he cared?! How touching. Nobody else did.

‘How? You going to tell him?’

‘No’.

‘Then he’ll just assume you figured it out’, Oswald shrugged savagely, ‘He always says you’re the world’s greatest detective. High praise. Though I’m sure some of those fancy toys give you an edge’.

‘He doesn’t share your theory about who I really am?’

 ‘The answer’s too obvious for him to accept. The one time I told him about it, he thought I was making a joke at his expense. Now get out of here. He gets antsy when he thinks he’s being ignored and I have a mess to clean up’.

 Oswald turned away, signalling that the exchange was over. He leant his elbows on the table, feeling tired and drained.

‘I’ll arrange visitation rights for you’.

 ‘I’m sure you’ll come up with some way for me to return the favour’, Oswald snarled, ‘Now for the last time, get out’.

 Why couldn’t Batman just leave him alone?! What else did he expect Oswald to do?! Wasn’t Ed enough for him?! The only person Oswald cared about?! Did he want him gift wrapped?!

 ‘No need. I know how it feels to miss someone on Christmas’.

 Oswald did not reply and he did not try to catch Batman leaving as he usually did. There was no point.

 The sympathy in Batman’s words should have infuriated him. Batman’s audacity should have had him reaching for the umbrella gun concealed beneath the table. He should have been wondering if his theory about the vigilante’s true identity was indeed correct. 

But he was just too damn tired.

He wanted another drink. He wanted to go to bed and just pass out. He wanted to have never made the stupid dinner in the first place. He wanted Ed. The Ed he loved back.  He needed him here. With him.

 But he had never gotten what he wanted for Christmas.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Six - Dura Lex, Sed Lex

Before we start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize for any mistakes you may find. Have fun reading!

They made us pack a suitcase, just in case. So that the child wouldn’t have to go through the pain of being separated at the place he learned to love and call his own. Like leaving the love of his parents in a cold and impersonal courtroom would be any better.

I resentfully grabbed a duffel bag and filled it with some of Owen’s belongings without him knowing. I put inside a toothbrush and a comb, some underwear and some clothes, pajamas. I put in there all the things he would need for a night out, keeping his favorite things in his room. Because he wouldn’t need to go. Because even if he did go, he wouldn’t go for long. But mostly because the things he loved the most belonged with the place he loved the most and with the people that loved him the most.

The morning of the trial, I found myself staring at his room, holding that duffel bag tightly, my nails digging deep in the fabric, almost ripping it. I hated that duffel bag and all it represented. If I could, I would set it on fire.

“Are you ready? It’s time to go.”

Victor was standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed in his charcoal suit with a burgundy shirt. He looked calm and focused, undefeatable. Ready for the battle.

“I don’t want Owen to see this.” I showed him the bag I was holding. “Go ahead and put Owen in the car, I’ll go shortly.”

“Andrea.” My husband held my hand, giving me a determined look.

“I know.” I squeezed his hand. “We got this.”

____________________________________________________________

Something came up. I’ll be home for dinner.

The note was taunting, sitting perfectly on the polished marble surface, sporting her usual perky handwriting.

Andrea was nowhere to be found.

“Are you sure she didn’t tell you where she was going?”

Owen, who was busy cutting his french toast, shrugged yet again.

“No. Only that she had a plane to catch. And that I should behave while she’s gone.”

“It’s not like her to just leave without saying anything.” Victor took his phone from his pocket, wondering if he should try to call an eleventh time.

“Well, she did say something.” The boy replied matter-of-factly, eyes still on his plate. “She left a note.”

Victor wanted to explain to his son that the information on that note amounted to nothing, that even though his mother had been clear enough that she’d be gone, she had also been cryptic enough to worry him. Victor hated to be kept out of the loop like that, it was a habit that came with his job, to always hold every single piece of information about everything. Andrea, however, was well versed in the art of pulling the rug from under his feet, and sometimes could act so randomly it was hard for him to predict her next move. He had to admit he found it alluring, but also annoying.

It wasn’t like he was controlling or domineering, he just felt safer knowing at all times where she was, what she was doing, and who she was doing it wi-

“Eat your toast.” Victor quickly ended the subject, not in the mood to explain anything anymore.

___________________________________________________________

“All rise.” The bailiff announced. “Department One of the Family Court is now in session. Judge Erica Bridges presiding. Please be seated.”

We all got up from our seats, Victor taking Owen’s hand as to motion him to do the same. The judge was a petite woman with bright blue eyes that were framed with dark eyebrows and hair. She looked far too young to be a judge, yet she had this intimidating aura that made everyone around her feel insignificant. It,reminded me of my husband, keeping everyone on their toes with his mere presence.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” The judge opened a file in front of her. “Calling the case of Cole VS Lee regarding the custody of Owen Cole. Are both sides ready?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” The layers replied.

I couldn’t help but look to my side, to the familiar face that had been giving me grief for so long: Pamela Cole. She sat beside her lawyer with a humble look on her face, wearing a modest black dress like she was in mourning, probably to earn sympathy points from the judge. A heatwave coursed through my body, as anger started to churn inside of me. Anger for her audacity to come into my office and tell me all those lies, wanting to take advantage of my sympathy. Anger towards myself, for being an idiot and believing her.

I hated her for having the same DNA as my child, as I hated DNA for being used for such vile purposes. My mind was running wild with thoughts of revulsion and grievance when I felt a warm hand taking mine. It was my husband, looking intently at me like he could read my thoughts, probably because he was having them too. And with just a little magical squeeze of his fingers, all the fire was gone, being replaced by a sense of confidence. We were ready. She would not win.

“And are you Owen?” I heard the judge addressing my son. “You are a very handsome young man.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” He answered politely. “My mom tells me the same thing.”

Laughter echoed in the courtroom.

“You know what we are doing here today, Owen?”

“My grandmother wants to be my forever family.”

“Good.” The judge smiled at him. “Now, I have something to ask you. We are going to start talking about very boring grownup things, so it would be better if you go with this gentleman to a special room we have, where you can read, or play a little. Is that ok?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me who I want to be with?” Owen frowned.

“Oh, I definitely want to know what you feel about all this. It won’t take long, I’ll call you after a little while, ok?”

I squeezed Victor’s hand tighter as I watched our son being taken away. This was it, it was about to start. How did he look so cool, so centered, when all I wanted was to just grab the boy and make a run for it? But then he looked at me, and I could see it in his eyes. The glint of worry only a wife’s trained eye would recognize on him.

“Very well, now that the child is away, you can make your first statements.”

__________________________________________________________

“Where on Earth are you?” He answered the phone, ready to scold her.

“Well, you are correct. I am indeed on Planet Earth.” She joked, unfazed by his severe tone. “I have ten missed calls from you, didn’t you see my note?”

“You mean the elaborate itinerary of my wife’s whereabouts and the extensive list of reasons why she suddenly disappeared the day before our son’s custody trial?” He gave her a mocking tone. “No, I must have missed it.”

“Victor…” She sighed.

“If instead, you are referring to the ridiculous piece of crumpled paper you left on our kitchen counter stating you were alive by the time you left the house, then yes, I am holding it as we speak.”

“Something came up.”

“Your note already told me as much, if I can decipher your messy handwriting correctly. What else do you have to say for yourself?”

Another sigh came from the other end of the line. Victor was perfectly aware of how difficult he was being, but he couldn’t be more indifferent to it. A week ago, they were fighting because he had kept her at bay. Now, she was doing the exact same thing. If Victor was a gambler, he would bet his fortune on how he wouldn’t like the reason.

“Look, I’ll be completely honest with you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I had an idea. Something that can help us. And I wanted to give it a try.”

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to contain his frustration. What was she up to this time? And why wouldn't she give him a straight answer already?

“You can tell me when I get there. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come to pick you up.”

“Do you trust me?” Her disarming question.

“With my life.” He promptly answered. “However, do I need to remind you that we agreed never to keep things from each other? What happened to “we’re in this together”?”

“You told me I wouldn’t fight hard enough for you and Owen.”

Victor paused. He did say that. He wished he didn’t.

“I don’t think that’s true, and you know that.” His tone softened.

“Maybe it is. Well, it was. The truth is…” She hesitated for a second. “I felt weak. I felt like I was losing. And I was so afraid to lose again that I thought it would be better to just stop fighting. I felt like if I lost, I would never recover from it. Do I make sense?”

Victor remembered her howling in his arms at that clinic in Switzerland, when she was told they couldn’t have a biological baby. And his own desperate moments on that kitchen floor, not long ago.

“What I didn’t realize was that, by giving up, I was letting both of you down. I was letting my family down. So this is my way to show you that I believe in us, I believe in us as a family, I’m fighting for us. That’s why I need to do this alone. I need to prove to you that I’m all in. Will you let me?”

___________________________________________________________

“Your Honor, the adoption was made under extremely odd circumstances, and with no respect for the law.” Pamela’s lawyer argued. “My client was not informed of her daughter’s passing, or that the child was left alone.”

“The late mother left a suicide note stating that she did not intend the grandmother to have any contact with the child.” One of Victor’s lawyers argued back.

“I take it you have such a letter in your possession.” The Judge asked.

I jumped on my seat, surprised that they were even mentioning it. Didn’t we agree we weren’t going to use it? I watched incredulously as the lawyer glanced at Victor, waiting for instructions. Victor squeezed my hand again, nodding to the lawyer. What the hell was happening? The lawyer paused and sighed heavily before addressing the judge again.

“No, Your Honor, we do not. That letter was unfortunately lost with some other papers.”

“Your Honor, with all due respect, this trial is a waste of our time.” The other lawyer spoke again. “Should Victor and Andrea Lee be ordinary people instead of public figures, the orphanage would have contacted the grandmother, as it lawfully should, and we wouldn’t be wasting public time and resources! My client has proved that she is fit to be the child’s guardian, and by law, she should have custody. And despite whatever story Mr. Lee’s lawyers wish you to believe, there is obviously no letter from the daughter. Even if there was, there would still be the matter of the daughter’s mental condition when she wrote it.”

“Do you have anything else to present to us to make your case?” The judge turned to our legal team.

__________________________________________________________

Owen spent most of his day in his bedroom, coming out only when summoned. Things had changed dramatically between Victor and Owen since the panic attack, and Owen was treating him with the same distance he did back when he first started living with them: he started to address him as Sir again and seemed to avoid all kinds of interactions. When they were forced to be together, like when sharing a meal, Owen kept his eyes on his plate, barely saying anything other than some short bitter words.

Victor couldn’t blame him. He had acted cold and distant during the funeral, disregarding his family. Everything one won’t expect from a parent. It was only natural that Owen was suspicious of him now, he had lost his trust in him. Victor’s penance was now to get it back.

“Are you hungry?” Victor entered the boy’s room after a brief knock. “I have some frozen mango, we could make sorbet together.”

“No, thank you.” Owen answered, not caring to lift his eyes from the book he was reading.

“What do you have there?” Victor tried again. “Is that the book Mom bought you?”

“Yes.”

“The Beesy Life.” He read from the cover. “Anything interesting about bees?” Knowing his son, he would surely jump at the opportunity of stating an extensive list of facts.

“They make honey.” He quickly dismissed him. “Can you leave so I can read?”

“Why don’t we go outside and play some football together? It’s sunny today.”

The boy seemed to bury himself even more in his book.

“No, thank you. I’m reading.”

Victor surely had his work cut out for him. With a heavy sigh, he sat on his son’s bed. Diversions wouldn’t work, he would have to stop being a coward and just cut to the chase.

“Owen, we need to talk. Do you think you can put that book down?”

Victor grimaced as his son obediently placed the book on his lap, giving him his undivided attention. It was so hard to find the right words. Andrea usually helped him with these things, making notice little things he couldn’t see, encouraging him to open up a little more. Ironically, when things were hard, Andrea was always nowhere to be found. Or maybe things were hard because she wasn’t around, Victor wasn’t sure anymore. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to imagine how Andrea would do it.

“I need to apologize.” Victor began. “I was callous and cold towards you and your mother, and-”

“Was it because of that letter you got? The day we went to the market?”

Victor turned to his son, astonished.

“Mom cried the day you got that letter. And every day after that.” The boy explained, like he understood Victor’s surprise. “And you began to fight. You never fight.”

“Owen...” Victor looked at his son, not knowing what to say.

“What did it say?”

_______________________________________________________

“Alright Owen, now that the grownups have talked, I want to get to know you better. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

My son looked at me with hesitant eyes, and I gave him a small nod of reassurance, mouthing It’s ok.

“Ok.” He nodded, following the bailiff nervously to the witness stand.

“Well done. Are you comfortable there?”

My husband’s hand squeezed mine hard. I ran my thumb over his. Owen would be ok. He was a smart child.

“Do you see this document I’m holding?” The judge showed him a folder. “This is your file, it tells me things about you. So, I know you are five, and you have been living with the Lees for almost a year, and you are doing very well at school… But it doesn’t tell me other important things, like, what are your favorite hobbies, if you have any close friends…”

“My best friend’s name is Mathew, he’s from my class. We play soccer together.” Owen promptly answered. “I like to play soccer, with my friends or with my Dad. I also like insects, I want to be an entomologist. That’s why my Mom calls me Bug. Oh, and we have a pet lobster! His name is Mr. Lobster, my Dad lets me feed him sometimes.”

“A pet lobster? That’s unusual.” She chuckled. “I can see in your file that you are doing well at school, no disciplinary reports… It seems you adjusted very well to that new reality.”

“Miss Dillon says God works in mysterious ways.” The boy looked at the judge in all seriousness. The judge frowned, taken aback by his statement.

“I could say that He does, Owen. But why do you say that?”

“A while ago, we went to have dinner at Gavin and Mia’s, and Mom got sick and threw up all over the floor. And later that night, I woke up and Mom and Dad were talking, and I did something I shouldn’t have.”

I looked at Victor, confused. What on Earth was Owen talking about?

“What did you do, Owen?” The judge asked.

“I eavesdropped.” His head hung in shame. “But I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I was worried about Mom. And then I heard Dad talking about the bad man that hurt Mom, and because of him she can’t get a baby. So…” Owen looked at me, hesitating.

“Yes?” The judge pressed.

“I don’t like that Mom got hurt so badly, but if God works in mysterious ways, maybe He made that bad man hurt Mom so she would adopt me, because He knew my other mom would die.” He shifted nervously in his chair, giving the judge a pleading look. “I know the other lady is my real family, and maybe she is a really nice lady, but I already have a family. I love my Mom and Dad, and I know they love me. Can I please keep them? Can they be my forever family? Please?”

My son’s words pierced my heart, and all the tears of fear and anguish I had been hiding came full force. Despite knowing my background, Owen would never really know how he was an angel in my and Victor’s life, filling our life with color and love. Losing my son was like getting my heart ripped out of my chest, and nothing would ever fill that gap. Victor’s grip on my hand tightened, the brief twitch of his finger making me look up. His eyes were also filled with tears, as he held onto my hand for strength, just like I held his. And as I looked around, wiping my tears with the back of my fingers, I noticed there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Except for Pamela, who looked at us with utter disdain.

“Well, Owen…” The judge cleared her throat. “Thank you so much for talking to me. I will consider your words.”

_________________________________________________________

Victor looked his son in the eyes, trying to formulate the right words to say. There weren’t any. If his wife was there, and not on some kind of wild goose chase, she would tell him to speak from the heart. And it was more and more evident that raw honesty would have to do.

“You have a grandmother. Your biological mother’s mother. She wants to adopt you.”

“I have a grandmother?”

Victor’s eyes fell to the ground.

“Yes.”

Owen jumped from his seat, eyes wide in anger.

“You told me nothing would make you send me back! You told me you were my forever family!” The boy broke down crying. “You were lying!”

“I never lied to you, Owen, you-”

“You told me I was a Lee! That I was your son!” Victor tried to hug his son, but he wouldn’t let him, hitting him with his clenched fists. “You don’t love me, you want to send me back!”

“You are my son!” Victor held his son tight, his voice echoing through the apartment. “You are a Lee, you’ll always be a Lee, and no one will take you away!” Victor felt his eyes sting with emotion, his voice faltering as he spoke. “I will not allow it.”

Victor pulled his son to his arms, tears running freely from his eyes too. He was so brutally inept when it came to expressing his feelings, yet he needed to show his son he loved him above everything.

“I am your father, Owen, and there is no law in this world that can change that. And we do want to be your family. Otherwise, why would your mother be crying all this time? Why would I become so insufferable?”

“Please don’t leave me.” Owen begged, his face buried in his father’s chest.

Victor knew that sentiment all too well. To hold a loved one so desperately and still feel her slip away from his fingers, leaving nothing but loneliness, no one to gather and mend the shards of his broken heart. But those days were over for Victor. And they were also over for Owen.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Victor smiled, wiping the tears from his boy’s cheek. “You belong with us.”

Before he was a father, Victor would scorn those romantic fools that told him about how deeply a parent can love his child. He simply found it impossible to be. He has never been loved that deeply, he couldn’t even fathom how that must feel like. But at that moment, with Owen's little arms wrapped around his neck, Victor’s heart felt like a deep wide ocean, filled with love and joyful selflessness, a complete devotion to that little red-haired boy. And a promise, no, a purpose to devote every single day of his life to his happiness.

“So I don’t need to go?” Owen asked, breaking his embrace.

“No, you don’t. You’re a Lee and that’s settled.”

Owen’s bedroom door flung open.

“Mom!” Owen left his father’s arms to run to his mother.

“Bug!” Andrea lifted him in her arms, giving him a tight hug. “I missed you so much, little one!”

“Where have you been?” Victor went to his wife.

“I did it.” She bit her bottom lip in excitement, putting their son down and reaching for her purse.

“And may I know what exactly did you do?”

“We won.” She smiled widely, handing Victor an envelope.

Victor read the document inside, not believing his own eyes. They had never contemplated it, it seemed so impossible…

“What is it, Dad?” Owen looked at both of them, excited. Victor lifted him up in the air with joy, twirling him in his arms.

“What we needed to officially make you a Lee.”

__________________________________________________________

Victor stood quietly at a hidden corner of the main hallway, talking on his phone. An oblivious passerby would think he was having a calm conversation, but I knew better: by the look in his eyes, Victor Lee was making some serious threats at that precise moment. Our legal team was reunited not far behind, deeply engaged in a quiet conversation, the panic very clear in the faces of some of them. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong. And my job was to sit quietly with Owen, trying to distract them the best I could from the gravity of the situation.

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!” Owen chanted excitedly, as I tried my best to discreetly grasp what was happening. “Mom, are you paying attention?”

“Yes, Bug. Go ahead.” I answered distractedly as I noticed my husband look at his phone in silence, poker face in place.

“You may all come in.” The bailiff called us. “The judge has come to a deliberation.”

A bad feeling glued me to my seat, and for the life of me, my legs wouldn’t work. I looked at my son, the sweet five year old that meant the world to me, and I feared this would be the last time I would see them. I slapped myself mentally for being distracted looking at Victor and the lawyers, when I could just have enjoyed this last moment with him and played thumb wars.

“Owen, you come with me to the other room, alright?” The bailiff took his hand and I held his other one, unwilling to let go.

“Lady…” The bailiff pleaded.

Just one second, damn it! I may lose him forever, I just need this extra second!

“Owen…”

“Yes, Mom?” Sweet brown eyes stared at me expectantly.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, and that he would be an honorable man, and that someday I would love to know the kind of person he would grow up to be. I wanted to tell him that I would cry for him every single night, that he wasn’t born out of my mangled body but he was mine, that I would never forget about him, for as long as I should live. I wanted to tell him I would never adopt another child, that no child would ever take his place, and that my heart would belong to him forever. But I couldn’t. If he was going to be with his grandmother, I had to make things as easy as I possibly could for him. Even if they were impossibly hard for me. So, instead, I ruffled his hair.

“You did very well, with the judge.” I smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks!” He smiled confidently. “I love you, Mom!”

As Owen walked away, holding the bailiff’s hand with a smile, a dark shadow ran across my line of vision. It was Victor, taking his son in his arms. And that was when I knew my suspicions weren’t unfounded: we were losing him.

I witnessed the sadness in Victor’s eyes as he smiled at his son, hugging him and tousling his red curls. And then the glint of despair, as his eyes landed on me, his expression telling me he was close to falling apart. I wouldn’t have to be strong just for Owen. I would have to be strong for Victor too. So I summoned the last of my strength and stood up. For better and for worse, we are in this together. I won’t let you fall, handsome.

We never said a word, as Victor took my hand and led me inside the courtroom. I didn’t know what had failed, and it wasn’t important. I took a shot and I missed. We wouldn’t win this one. I thought about the duffel bag in my car and regretted not putting one of Owen’s favorite books in there. He would need something to distract him tonight.

The judge entered the room, and while I could see the hesitant look on everyone’s faces, I couldn’t care less about it. I had no interest in hearing someone say I couldn’t be a mother, I already was. Even if a piece of paper said otherwise. Owen was my son.

“I have to say, this was one of the hardest decisions I had to make in my whole career.” The judge started her deliberation. “Dura lex sed lex. This means, the law is hard, but it is the law. The law speaks of rights and duties, it tells us in which direction to go, but the law does not contemplate feelings. The law does not abide by what makes us feel better. The law is impartial to love and to emotions. It is so by design, so we don’t let our hearts cloud our judgments. The law is correct, but that doesn’t exclude the fact that it can be very painful.”

The sound of heavy wooden doors opening abruptly echoed through the room, making us all jump in surprise. From them, one of our lawyers ran, stopping only in front of the judge.

“Your Honor, I apologize for my audacity towards this court.” The lawyer bowed. “But new evidence has arrived that cannot be ignored.” He handed her an envelope.

I looked at Victor, puzzled. Was it…

“Can you please explain to me and Mrs. Cole’s lawyer, what exactly am I looking at?” The judge opened the envelope.

“Mrs. Lee was able to track down the child’s biological father.” The lawyer explained. “She flew yesterday to Acomb and met him at the hospital where he is working as an intern doctor, and he granted her and Mr. Lee parental rights. We were just waiting for the lab to give us the DNA results.”

“And why am I getting this just now?”

“We couldn’t present the documents without being sure that Mr. Richardson was indeed Owen’s biological father.”

“Your Honor, this is highly inadequate! I contest this man’s right to give parental rights, he was never in the child’s life to begin with!” Pamela’s lawyer argued.

“Neither was your client, Counsellor.” The judge gave the lawyer a frown. “Well, it works for me.” The judge banged her hammer. “The Family Court decides that Mr. and Mrs. Lee will be granted full custody of the child Owen Cole, concluding the adoption process, effective immediately. Congratulations, you can get your son for the next room.”

Victor and I practically crashed against each other in a tight embrace, smiles mixed with tears, emotions running wild. We had won, we had our son. We were officially a family.

We entered the other room with joy in our hearts, laughing as Owen ran into our arms.

“I'm going home with you guys?”

“You are officially a Lee!” Victor laughed as he threw the boy in his arms.

“You adopted me? You are my forever family?” Owen teared up, reaching out to me so he could hug me as well.

“We are a family.” My throat tightened as I hugged the two men I loved the most in this world. “And we are forever.”

Victor pulled me close to them, wrapping both me and our son in a tight hug. And I couldn’t help but think back to our year, so full of adversity. Despite it all, we came through. We fought and found solace in one another. We became stronger and more united, we grew together, as a family, and we would continue to do so.

Love does conquer all.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[regulusfate]

Serenade

(requested : wolfstar)

- lyrics , queen

“Okay okay,” James grinned, his body stretched out within the armchair, legs propped up on the small wooden table threatening to knock ink across their homework.

“What about teaching?”

“No, absolutely fucking not.”

Remus snorted around a mouthful of butter beer, his breath misting up the edge of the glass and a laugh bubbled in the back of James’s throat. Peter gave a sharp cry as his foot caught on the abandoned ink pot and trembled in place for a moment.

“James !” He groaned, blonde hair tied back in a small messy bun, not quite long enough and the spotlight for many eyes, all itching to go for the scissors.

“Peter !” Came the teasing response, voice mimicking his tone with rose an octave higher and bared his teeth cheekily, dancing his feet in the air to set the blonde on edge.

Peter scowled with no heat and slapped his feet away, serving only to crumple pages of parchment he was scrawling on and his misery echoed in a moan. James looked sheepish for a moment, as he dropped his feet from the table and reached over, tugging a few sheets from the floor.

“Sorry Pete,“ he smiled again, this time it was softer, something a touch more sympathetic and a dash contrite as his friend slumped backwards in the opposing chair. “Give it here, I’ll take a look.”

The one known as wormtail sighed and gave some sort of motion with his hand, permission for James to start through the mess of work that had overcome the table by the fire.

“So come on lupin,” he continued after a moment, leaning back with a pile of sheets in his hands and ink threatening to drip down his wrist, offering a sparkling glance as his head lolled in the werewolf’s direction. “You don’t think you’d make a great professor?”

Remus took another drink, letting the warm spread from his lips to his toes and shifted against the cushions that pillowed against his aching back and turned his eyes to the ceiling as if this were most bothersome. But when he spoke his lips twitched with amusement.

“Merlin no, it’s hard enough keeping the little buggers in check as Prefect. I’d boil my head if I thought I had to teach them too.”

Peter gave some sort of noise between a cough and a snicker, and his face smoothed a little from the lines of stress. Remus winked his way, and some of the tension drifted from his shoulders.

“I don’t think I’d mind,” James commented with a shrug, his eyes narrowed on the lines of parchment, and Remus often wondered how he deciphered Peter’s handwriting so quickly. “You’d be surprised, it’s actually quite enjoyable.”

“Yeah this coming from the head boy , who does study groups for a living.” He drawled back, lifting a hand to rake it through his hair and tipped the glass to his lips to drain the rest.

“How much do they pay you exactly?”

He smirked, as predicted James sat forwards so fast he really did knock over the ink bottle and it spilled across the carpet towards the fire. A yelp from Peter as it splashed on his shoes and he leapt up to fix the damage with a deep indignant scowl.

“I would never!” He exclaimed, slightly outraged, as he banished the ink from the floor with an angry wave of his arm. Peter winced as his papers got dangerously close to the fire, and shot Remus a dark look.

The werewolf just grinned again.

“Shut up Moony,” he grumbled, slumping back down into the chair, casting a suspicious eye towards the table as if it were the ink bottles fault.

“Touchy touchy.”

Peter muttered something about his shoes, to which they both ignored.

“You’ve spent too much alone time with Sirius.”

If he’d have been drinking he would’ve choked, as it was his breath caught on his tongue. Blue eyes watched them suspiciously, still scowling in Remus general direction [ ‘..those shoes were tailored ..’ ]

“We share the same dorm,” he quipped dryly and rose an eyebrow “if anything he learnt it from me.”

James laughed, it reverberated in his chest like the fire itself crackling in the hearth, a new warmth filled Remus.

“Yeah yeah but who taught him-“

“That was an accident!”

“-in third year?”

They locked eyes, James grinning once more, Remus scowling, arms crossed over his chest. Peter sighed, finally dropping his accusing stare under the mounting realisation he was unlikely to get anything done and leaned over to tug the parchment from James’s hand.

It ripped and he let out a wounded cry, making several people jump somewhere out of their vision, and James snapped his eyes from their unofficial staring competition with sudden horror.

“Shit!”

As James half lunged himself across the small space, tripping over his own untied shoelaces toward Peter, babbling an incessant stream of apologies and a gleam arose in his eyes, determined to make it right , almost full mother hen™, he sat back in search for their topic of argument.

Remus often found it amusing how people assumed they were always together, the four marauders never leaving the others side, but he could count father than both his hands and toes the amount of times they were down to three or two at a time. And Remus quite enjoyed time he could spend alone, it gave him a chance to breathe before they came battling in with some new prank or source of outrage.

Amber eyes scanned the room contently, three trips through the deep sea of red before he found his boyfriend leaning up by the vinyl towards the shadows of the corner.

For a moment, he could just watch him. The way his hands moved, animated with the charm of his smile and the soft bounce of his curls, it was something passionate then, he was trying to explain to the fifth year.

A soft exhale and Remus still wondered how he managed to get to lucky, or maybe lucky as the wrong word .. how he managed to feel so alive with one person, his blood thumping with his heart , how even to the day his lips were still the softest he had tasted, and never ceased a spark in his gut.

And then, as it often did in these moments, there followed a wave of suspicion, and then mounting dread as the fifth year turned towards the vinyl and Sirius glanced his way , something more mischievous growing on his face.

His breath caught once more, as music began to drift across the room and he heard “can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things ..” unable to stop a long suffering groan past his lips and in the corner of his eyes James’s head snapped up.

“Moony ?? what’s wrong ?”

Sirius was walking towards him, that’s what was wrong. He could almost see his fingers flex, as if to hold a microphone and his lips mouthing the words with a slight jaunt in his step.

“Remus are you-?” He cut James off with a dismissive wave, and the potter heir sat back with a pout, and a glare forming in his eye until they landed on Sirius, and his lips twitched comically. Still he seemed half ready to intercept, and a small part of Remus really hoped he would, not for the first time after all.

For a moment he considered playing up to the aching of his back, but the twinge of his muscles had not bothered him in a long time, and he’d rather not have three overbearing beasts wrestling him into bed.

Sirius takes the bottle from his hand. Remus doesn’t need to look to see all eyes are pointed their way and his heart skips a beat, but Sirius’s hands are soft, a little rough and neither skin in smooth to scars as the low tone of his voice begins to override the song.

“Ooh, love, ooh, loverboy,”

He grinned, and Remus felt his legs move upwards following the guiding hands despite his reservations, forehead pressed to his, he simply followed the music that was his lover.

“What're you doin' tonight, hey, boy?”

A shaking of his head, torn between amusement and exasperation, and Sirius span him with a laugh.

“Set my alarm, turn on my charm,” then he was twirling back into waiting arms, and a smile stretching on to his own face, an estranged noise in his throat that ripples out in his own gentle laugh, and Sirius smirks but it’s warm, caressing his heart. And his voice lowers a little, their lips grazing, Remus can feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“That's because I'm a good old-fashioned loverboy.”

He couldn’t help but snicker in disagreement, almost colliding heads before he dropped his face into his shoulder, the cotton soft on his skin, their bodies drifting slowly in time with the music.

[ “Ah Crap Pete I swear I didn’t mean to rip that further-!” ]

[leechobsessed]

Gold Light

In which Ella regrets her decision to drink (relatable) and discovers this plague may be more serious than she originally thought.

Previous chapter can be found here. Masterlist here.

words: 2200

characters: Ella the Apprentice, Nazali Satrinava

content warning: brief mention of blood

The sun hadn’t yet made its way above the horizon when Ella’s eyes fluttered open. She groaned as she rolled over in the bed, wincing at the slight throb in her temples she knew had to be courtesy of the Salty Bitters from the night before.

Salty Bitters? She bolted upright in bed, remembering that she did not return to the shop alone, but it did seem she had slept alone. Thank the Gods.

She remembered leaving the Raven, and she remembered the alcohol really seeming to hit her by the time she and Julian had reached the door to her shop. Annoyingly, she couldn’t seem to recall anything else from the night before.

Julian. Where is Julian? Ella untangled herself from her sheets and left the bedroom quietly, vaguely aware that Julian insisted he would be fine sleeping on the chair in the living area, that she should be the one to sleep in the bed.

But when she emerged in the living area, she found she was still alone.

Julian had neatly folded the blanket she must have given him the night before, and set it on the chair, a single sheet of white paper resting on top of it. Ella picked up the note, squinting as she tried to decipher the familiar mess of handwriting on the page before her.

Ella,

Thank you for the hospitality last night. I really did have a good time, although in hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have opened that wine.

But I’m glad we did. I got to know you better because of it.

After what you showed me last night, I think we should meet at my clinic this morning. Take your time getting in.

- Julian

Ella reread the note again, squinting harder as if the memories of last night were hidden somewhere within the lines on the page. What did I show him last night? What did I tell him about myself? Where on earth did we get the wine?

Sighing, Ella tucked the note into her pocket and made her way back to the bedroom. As she straightened up, she wondered idly where Asra was. She had secretly been hoping he would be here when she stumbled home last night. But she knew it wasn’t unusual for him to go on trips, and she suspected he had been gone for quite some time. The living area no longer held the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla, which suggested he had been gone for at least a week.

As she surveyed the rest of the room, she saw there was an empty bottle of wine and two glasses on the floor by the window, all of them knocked over on their side, a large puddle of dark red liquid on the worn wood of the floor near the mouth of the bottle.

Her joints groaned in protest as she lowered herself to the floor to wipe up the spilled wine. She picked up the bottle, turned it over and smiled as she noticed her aunt Vivian’s signature label. After handing the keys to the shop over to Ella, Vivian had proclaimed she was returning to her family’s vineyard in Elyria to make “the best damn wine you’ll ever taste.”

Ella shook her head, thinking back to the terrible first batches she was sent. Thank the gods she stopped trying to make red wine, she thought as she reached for the glasses. Suddenly, she froze, her eyes finding the puddle on the floor before slowly looking back at the bottle of wine. The bottle was indeed empty, but the label advertised a nice, oaky chardonnay. Not red wine.  

Is that…? She pulled her hair back and leaned forward, getting close enough to the liquid to smell the metallic tang of blood.

Ella sat straight up, her hands still holding her hair back from her face, her eyes still trained on the puddle. Releasing her brown waves, she surveyed her arms and legs, looking for any wounds she may have acquired in her inebriated state, and found nothing.

Confused, she set about cleaning up the mess, mentally reminding herself to ask Julian what the hell happened the night before.

Even though Julian had instructed her to take her time, Ella had never been one for waiting around. After the living area was cleaned, she freshened up quickly and checked to make sure the stove salamander had enough food. He stuck his tongue out playfully at her as she scratched gently under his chin and between his eyes.

Before leaving, she scribbled a quick note to Asra, letting him know she stopped by, she was safe, she missed him, and she would like to visit him the next time he’s home. After a final check around the shop, she sealed the shop’s door with a protection spell and headed out toward the clinic.

She had taken the trip to the clinic almost every day for a few weeks, but never from this direction. She got herself turned around only once before finding the familiar building, something she was quite proud of. Even though she had been in Vesuvia for almost a decade, she was still quite skilled at getting herself lost.

She didn’t see anyone when she entered the clinic, so she headed to the office to grab a coat and a mask. I’ll just check on the patients while I wait for Julian to get here.

She made her way down the stairs into the basement where the majority of the patients were. At the foot of the stairs, a nurse dressed head to toe in white handed her a stack of reports which she picked through while she walked down the hall.

Ella pulled her mask down over her face before heading into the first of the patient’s rooms. When she entered, she was surprised to see another figure, wearing a doctor's coat and mask, already in there. They weren’t tall enough to be Julian, and she wasn’t sure who else would be in his clinic. She stopped in the doorway, unsure if she should enter. The figure turned toward her as they heard the floorboards creak under her weight.

“Ella, is that you?”

The voice wasn’t familiar to her, and she wondered how the stranger recognized her with the mask on, but she nodded all the same. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“Doctor Satrinava. You can call me Nazali.”

Ella hadn’t met Doctor Nazali Satrinava before, but she had heard all about them from their apprentice. Isabel had more than a few good things to say about them, and had mentioned many times that Nazali was interested in discussing magical treatments with Ella.

“Oh, Doctor-- er, Nazali. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” They removed their gloves and made their way toward her. “Here, let’s go chat outside, let the patients rest.”

Once outside of the patient’s room, Nazali removed their mask, tucking it under their arm as they adjusted the scarf around their hair. Ella followed suit, struggling a bit more than her companion with untangling her hair from the straps. Nazali chuckled as they reached around Ella to help.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Of course. I grew up with many sisters, all of which had incredibly long hair. I’ve had to untangle worse situations than this.” They smiled kindly at Ella. “Were you looking for Julian?”

“Yes, I was. He asked me to meet him here this morning. It looks like I beat him here.”

Nazali nodded, clearing their throat. “Actually, he just left. He asked that I speak to you about incorporating magic into new treatment.”

Ella blinked owlishly at them. “Dr. Devorak asked… I’m sorry, Julian said he wants to use magic in treatment?”

“It would seem so. He said something about a demonstration you gave him last night that changed his mind on the matter.” Nazali’s lips twitched up in the corners as a blush spread across the bridge of Ella’s nose. “You must have been very convincing.”

She nodded slowly, unsure of how to tell the good doctor she had no clue what she did to convince Dr. Devorak that magic wasn’t all hocus pocus. She swallowed hard, trying to forget about the blood she found on her floor, hoping that had nothing to do with the demonstration.

“Must have been,” she finally managed.

Nazali chuckled before glancing down at the notebook in their hands. “Julian didn’t tell me much, but Isabel has told me that your talents lie in healing magic. I’d like to know what exactly it is you can do.”

They listened intently while Ella explained what she had been able to do in the past. She hadn’t had many opportunities to practice healing magic in quite a while, instead spending most of her time making potions that had similar, if not longer lasting, effects.

Nazali interrupted only a few times to ask a question or to request further clarification. Ella did her best to explain things as simply as she could, but made it absolutely clear that although she had been able to cure minor illnesses in the past, she could not guarantee she could do anything for anyone with the Red Plague.

“Each illness manifests in a different way. I’ve never seen a disease like this before, so I’m not sure I’ll be even close to successful on the first attempt.”

“What could happen if you try and you’re unsuccessful? Would it make anything worse for the patient? Or you?” Nazali asked.

“I don’t know,” Ella answered honestly. “But I’d like to try.”

They agreed they would start small; see if she could relieve the sick of the symptoms of fever, body aches, confusion. Approaching the first bed, Ella smoothed the woman’s hair back off her damp forehead, murmuring reassuring words to her as they stared at her, bloodshot eyes looking, but not seeing. Ella took a deep breath, focused on pooling her energy into her hands, and rested them on the woman’s chest.

She held her breath as she extended her magic into the woman’s body, moving her hands to rest them over the areas where the pull from the foul energy was the strongest. She extended her magic further, wrapping it around the dark, viscous energy of the plague, causing the woman on the bed to groan weakly.

It took some effort for even a small piece of the energy to break free, but when it did, the woman’s eyes found Ella’s, no longer glassy and disconnected. Ella smiled weakly, forgetting that the woman couldn’t see her face beneath the mask.

“Did it work?” Nazali asked, taking a step closer to the patient, who turned her head slowly to look at them. They placed a hand on the woman’s forehead for a moment before turning their gaze to Ella.

“I… I think so. I don’t know how long it will last.” Ella watched the woman look between them, her face already looking less flushed.

“Do you want to try again?”

One by one, Ella repeated the process with the remaining patients in the room. Each patient proved to be a struggle. The illness was so deep within them, that by the time she had finished with the last patient, she was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. Nazali steadied her as they led her outside into the fresh air to collect herself.

“Are you doing alright?” Nazali helped Ella sit shakily down on the steps of the clinic, lowering themselves down to sit next to her, their kind eyes rimmed with concern.

Ella inhaled deeply, shaking her head once. The mid morning air was cool and refreshing, and after a few more breaths she was able to respond. “I just need a moment.”

“Is this usually what happens after a healing?”

She hesitated before shaking her head again, her eyes fixed on her hands in front of her.

“Ella, maybe we should hold off for now. See how the patients do overnight, see how they feel in the morning, and we can try again tomorrow.” Ella opened her mouth to protest, but Nazali held their hand up. “I know you want to do more. But you’ve done enough for today.”

Nazali had a carriage bring Ella back to the palace, telling her that they would round on the rest of Julian’s patients for the day, and instructed her to go straight to bed. “Doctors orders,” they had said with a wink. They asked her to return to the clinic tomorrow with Isabel and Dr. Devorak, and they would all check on the patients together.

When she got back to the palace, her nausea had subsided, but the dizziness remained. She thought briefly about going to see Julian, but she didn’t have the energy, and she was afraid that the state she was in would discourage him from wanting to use magic in the future. Instead, she stumbled to her room, using the walls as support, and collapsed on the bed, her chest heaving from the effort.

The fact that she felt so… off, was more than a little concerning to Ella. She had never felt such a strong negative energy associated with an illness. It felt… evil. She knew it sounded ridiculous, but she didn’t know how else to put it.

Sighing, she curled up in her bed, pulling her pillow closer to her. And for the second time that day, Ella wished Asra was there.

[lady-divine-writes]

Feelings Stick

Summary: Crowley deals with his feelings for Aziraphale by writing them down in a journal, intending on keeping them a secret for as long as he can.

The journal, however, has other plans. (1110 words)

Read on AO3.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Crowley mutters, tearing through his flat, rifling through drawers and underneath sofa cushions, searching … searching …

When he comes up emptyhanded after a third full sweep, the swearing starts.

“Shit, shit, shit! Why me!? Why now!?”

He flings himself down on the sofa, hopping up onto his feet again in pain when his back hits the metal springs hiding within the cushion-less frame.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he growls, pulling hair out of his head as he attempts to remember where he last saw it. He has his suspicions. And if he’s correct, everything could go from Heaven to Hell in a handbasket in a less than …

Bzzz-bzzz. Bzzz-bzzz.

Crowley stares at the end table, at his phone vibrating its way across the glass top, the name Aziraphale displayed across the screen, white letters laid over an image of orange flame.

… no time flat.

“Shit!”

Crowley debates letting the call go to voicemail. It would be the first call from Aziraphale that he purposefully let go to voicemail ever.

He doesn’t want to do that.

Besides, he’d be a coward if he did.

Crowley hasn’t done anything wrong. Everything he wrote in his journal? 100% true. It’s the culmination of every confession Crowley ever held back, the words he didn’t say when he had the chance. When they would have mattered, could have changed things.

They would have come to light sooner or later.

He was hoping for later, of course. Not necessarily this particular Wednesday afternoon.

On the other hand, it is a nice sunny spring day outside - one of the first rare warm days they see in London this early in the year.

A perfect time to face the music.

He scoops the phone off the table before the last ring and answers the call. “Yel-lo.”

“Crowley?” Does Aziraphale sound anxious? Or is it just him?

“Hey, angel,” Crowley says, cool to counter Aziraphale’s nerves. “What can I do you for?”

“Oh, nothing really. I just … I have a question I’d like to ask you. If you don’t mind.”

“Yeah?” Crowley sighs. He knows. He just … he knows. “What is it?”

“I think …” Aziraphale swallows so hard, Crowley hears it over the line “… did you … the last time you were by the shop … did you leave … a journal? With a … with a black leather cover?”

Crowley slaps a hand to his forehead and scrubs it down his face. Shit! Mother … fucking …

Book girl!

This is all her fault!

Crowley didn’t want to start a journal. Writing his deepest thoughts and desires in a diary like a love-sick teenager?

That wasn’t him.

She’d mentioned it as a lark, as in, “What an amazing life you must have led! All the things you’ve seen! You should write them down! Maybe get them published! Even if no one believes a word of it, it could be seen as an incredible work of fiction!”

Crowley doesn’t know how it happened, when in the conversation he mentioned it. Was it after his sixth vodka shooter or his third bottle of whiskey? But before he knew it, he was a melancholy mess, droning on and on about how not a single thing he’s done in 6000 years would compare to his greatest adventure – falling in love with an angel.

For her part, book girl listened to every pathetic word, and in the end, she still felt the journal a good idea. She thought it might help him work through his feelings for Aziraphale.

How they don’t seem to be reciprocated, even after all the time they’ve spent together and everything they’ve been through.

If Crowley had a journal, he could put those thoughts in a place where he could catalog them, re-read them, sort through them rationally. Then, in the end, when he was ready, he might simply turn it over to Aziraphale, let him read it, and they could go on from there.

Or he could set it on fire and move on with his life. Whichever suited him best.

She did warn him though that things like journals tend to take on lives of their own, and if he’s not careful, it might choose to reveal itself in its own time, not his.

It seems as though that’s what it may have done, seeing as his last trip to visit Aziraphale marked the first time ever he’d taken his journal out of his flat, and when he left Aziraphale’s bookshop, he was completely sober.

So leaving it wasn’t a drunken mistake.

“Why do you think it’s mine?” Crowley asks, giving himself time to think.

“I … I don’t,” Aziraphale stutters, lying. “I … I saw the handwriting. I thought it looked familiar.”

“I take it you’ve read it then?”

“N-no.” Another lie. Usually they’re not so easy to spot. Aziraphale is a decent liar … about things he doesn’t care too much about.

“Angel …”

“I’m … I’m sorry! I didn’t recognize it! I’ve never seen it before! I didn’t read it read it if that’s any consolation. Thumbed through it to see where it belonged in my shop. I didn’t realize till …”

“It’s all right,” Crowley interrupts in the interest of putting poor Aziraphale out of his misery. “Not your fault.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

Then, silence.

Crowley figures he should go over there and pick the damned thing up but he doesn’t want to. Cat’s out of the bag. Let Aziraphale read it, cover to cover, and come to his own conclusions about where Crowley fits in his life, if there’s a place for him outside the one he occupies now. That elusive something more Crowley has been hoping for.

But maybe that’s not them. Maybe it isn’t meant to be after all.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Did you … did you mean what you wrote?”

“About?”

“A-about being in love with me?” Aziraphale asks softly. “About loving me since the day we met? Dreaming about … about kissing me?”

And even though Aziraphale’s tone is difficult to decipher over the phone, even though he could very well be preparing to let Crowley down or worse, Crowley can’t help smiling hearing those words come out of Aziraphale’s mouth, imagining every break a pause he’s using to catch his breath. “Every word.”

“Oh …” Aziraphale hiccups “… my dear boy!”

“Yes?”

“Come back here! Come back here right away!”

“What? Why?” Crowley asks, the agitation in Aziraphale’s voice concerning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale says, the word brightened by a giddy laugh. “Come back here … and kiss me then!”

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Well Wishings

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 6 | Chapter 7 - Well Wishings | Chap 8 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - angst, kidnapping, strife, minor reference to blood and death

Author’s note: I had such a writer’s block on this chapter. The first two scenes took like..two days?😅And then, to make it even worse, I still felt like it was terribly bad, making myself completely rewrite the whole thing a few days later. Not super interesting to you readers, but to all fellow writers; you probably know the struggle. So here we are, finally, after endless cups of tea and me staring at my Drive docs; the next chapter! 

Word count: 5.450

Reading music: Ólafur Arnalds - Woven Song

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

The wind wailed and howled - like his heart. Cold, bitter and alone, the man sank through his knees, his callous fingers brushing with sorrowful tenderness over a headstone. The inscription had nearly vanished beneath a thick layer of moss, but the memory remained. 

It had been long years since he put this stone in place, but the pain would never relinquish. Would never pass. Like a deep scar that ran across his soul, the old man was living through his old days - unlike her -, his heavy heart even more sorrowful today as the realisation hit that he was truly alone now. Just like she had predicted.

‘I’m sorry.’ He shivered, bottom lip trembling as a tear rolled down his wrinkly cheek. ‘I’m so sorry darling.’ And with that the burdened tears started to cascade, shoulders shaking as the truth settled in; another stone needed to be made. Another young soul had danced with death too soon.

Gone was his wife. Gone was his daughter. Gone was his will to get up, old man Arthur just sitting there in defeat as the evening cold started to lick through his raggedy clothes.

Winter was coming, and with it, it brought death. 

And in his despair, it was all he could wish for now. 

--

*Tic - toc - tic - toc*

The grandmaster clock snoozed quietly in the half-dark, a pale moon light seeping through the windows as slow minutes passed by.

*Tic - toc - tic - toc*

It had been hours since the Master left, the library feeling eerily cold despite the fire that was warming the safe haven of written paper and its enchanted inhabitants. Cups, quills, chairs and that large imposing clock, they all had fallen into a slumber some time ago, the company asleep except for one. One woman, Belle, her eyes staring blankly at the flames as they licked and danced on charred logs, her fingers grasping around the handle of a small knife she had snuck in the pockets of her skirts after dinner had finished.

With unblinking browns she watched the fire ever so slowly die out, time passing by lick by lick, the dying fire soon to also drift into a slumber. Wildly, her thoughts scratched at her skull, her limbs heavy with worry.

Was the Master to be trusted? Would he indeed contact her father? Belle didn’t feel so sure and was preparing herself for the worst; whatever that may be. Death? 

The Master wouldn’t be the first to disappoint her. Life was like that. Decent men were deceiving men. And it couldn’t be denied that he was indeed rather peculiar; he hadn’t eaten dinner like she had, his eyes instead just watching the roaring flames, his ears peeking in quiet interest as he listened to his enchanted staff playing tunes. For many hours he and Belle had just sat there, silently, the fire cracking and the music playing.

Comfortably numb.

Belle couldn’t help but wonder: did it perhaps have something to do with those fangs of his? Could he not eat like humans do? Or was he perhaps just waiting until he was hungry enough to eat her in one go?

Either way. She wasn’t planning on finding out: she had to leave.

Sitting here, she tried to work out what escape strategies she could sum. Alone, she would most definitely not make it. That much was clear. Her ankle was still tender and the Master’s strength and wit was obviously far greater than hers. With a pensive look on her face, Belle sat in the Master’s large reading chair, the old leather warm and smooth beneath her fingertips as she pushed herself up, knife hidden back in one pocket and the book he had gifted her in the other.

The book.

Reaching down to feel the soft lambskin cover of the pristine copy of Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche, Belle wondered; could she outsmart him? Could she? And..even worse of a thought to have; did she..want to?

Turning towards the large windows that rose up high behind her, she saw the clouded night sky outside, trees weeping in the late autumn wind, bringing with it a sneering cold and a few drops of rain. Winter was coming, and with it would come even more hunger, more despair; it was very unlikely that the village’s stocks had been properly refilled after the long summer drought.

It would be a harsh winter.

Did she want that hunger? The scornful looks of the villagers as she returned from a strange disappearance? Did she want that thin bed of hay to sleep in? Another ragged dress, the fabric too thin to keep out the biting cold? She shivered at the thought that she was, in fact, caught in a cage of gold. Like Psyche had been in her marriage to her monsterly husband.

Would Cupid come to save her like he had Psyche?

--

Hood drawn and eyes watchful, the Master moved silently through the thicket of the pine forest, the hut of Arthur and Belle not far from here as the tree line thinned.

The weather was restless, winds howling and rain drops falling like tiny needles onto his pure skin - not that he could feel the cold, not for centuries now. Although today, for the first time in those long centuries, he could almost argue he had felt something. With Belle, in his library. 

Perhaps it had just been a trick of his mind. He had not seen any person in years. And perhaps it had been real. The slight flutter in his cold heart. The slight rise of heat on his porcelain skin. 

He could swear he had felt something.

Licking his lips he reached the final line of trees, in his vision a light that was warming the small cottage from within. Arthur was still awake.

Alright. He had to do this.

But, being seen might not be a good idea. Not yet. He preferred to reveal himself on his own terrain, safely hidden away from the scorching eyes of the villagers. He had to remain safely hidden away from those who would act foolish - like trying to kill him or such thing. It would all only become a greater mess.

And so the Master slipped the letter underneath the cottage door, his knuckles rapping quickly on the rough wood. *1-2-eh-3*, before his feet swiftly carried him back to the safety of his prickly lair. The trees his hide-away and their branches his evergreen friends.

Meanwhile, behind the door, one tired-to-the-bone Arthur rubbed his eyes, thinking he had imagined the sound of knocking on his door at this late hour. With a side-eye he watched the heavy wood, before noticing a white blur just beneath it. A letter?

Quickly pushing himself up with cracking knees and groaning lips, he moved to pick up the piece of paper, his curiosity peaked as he pushed open the door to find nobody there in the dusk of night.

Strange.  

Folding open the pristine parchment he saw a neatly written note, his eyes trying to decipher the careful handwriting, but failing as his meagre education left him stranded; he was close to illiterate. And near blind at that. With a shivered sigh he carefully folded the letter away in his pocket, his mind now set to fetch help, find someone who could read the letter for him. 

Was this to do with Belle? Was she still alive? Sweet Belle?! Oh please! Oh..he had to make haste!

--

‘Hmm..’ Ismael licked his lips, the juice of succulent meat dripping down his chin as he reached for a napkin, dabbing it off. With an unreadable expression his eyes flew over the delicate handwriting, Arthur standing a few feet away, eyes desperate to pick up any sign of good news.

Where the villagers were living on meagre portions, the Les Comtes ate like kings, the table well dressed with meats, fresh vegetables and fatty gravy. Cups of velvety red wine were served for the whole family, their well-dressed smiles conversing softly as they all sat, ears half-listening to the curious situation at the far end of the table.

Arthur couldn’t care for it. Not for the injustice that he quietly felt in his empty stomach. Not for the whispered gossip. All he cared for was Belle.

‘I’m afraid she’s in grave danger, Arthur.’ Ismael finally looked up, Arthur’s face melting in utter despair. ‘B-but she’s alive then?! Do tell me she’s alive!’

‘For now.’ Ismael placed his serviette down and gestured to a servant to refill his cup, his eyes studying the trembling old man that stood before him. ‘Tis the monster.’

Quiet gasps filled the long table, other family members shooting up confused looks, conversation dying down as Ismael’s father scoffed a silent; ‘I knew it.’

Arthur was close to tears by this point, his eyes flitting back towards the paper that Ismael held in his hand, the young master shrugging as he continued; ‘Let us walk, Arthur.’ And with that he pushed himself off his chair, his large hand pushing Arthur into the direction of a long hallway as his other hand angled the freshly filled cup of wine from the table. With slow strides he preceded Arthur, his voice buzzing on the echoing stone as he explained the contents of the letter.

‘You see, it appears he has captured her and is willing to set her free..in return for..’ He looked down Arthur’s shaggy clothes. ‘..a great sum of money.’

‘What?!’ Arthur gasped.

‘Tis unfortunate, Arthur.’ He pushed open a door, leading to a spacious study with a fire already cracking. ‘But your luck may just be on your side as you have brought this news here, first.’ Ismael gestured the old man to step inside, a careful hand closing the door behind him.

Arthur swallowed as he watched Ismael walk past him, the young master’s hand laying the monster’s letter on a near-empty desk, his brows furrowed. ‘Now Arthur. I can think this long and hard, but in fairness..none of us would want Belle harmed, now, do we?’ 

Arthur quietly agreed as Ismael took a sip of his wine. 

Ismael licked his lips. 

‘Therefor I have a proposal. One that would solve your predicament, Belle’s..and mine.’ His lip quirked in a smile as he tapped on the letter. ‘We shall meet the beast at first light, in the forest. I shall take my best men and we shall rid of him with an ambush. ‘Tis time we get rid of him once and for all.’

‘Oh that’s wonderf-’  - ‘BUT. I do expect payment in return, Arthur..And..well..since you have little means of fortune on that aspect.’ His eyes lowered to Arthur’s shaggy clothes. ‘..I’ll accept your daughter’s hand in marriage instead.’

Arthur blinked, his face rippling with shock, bafflement and confusion. Marry his Belle? But then again, what other option did he have? The villagers wouldn’t dare go into the forest. It was indeed a heroic deed of the Le Comte to offer such a thing. Besides, they’d be rid of that darned beast at long last. And Ismael was well to do, meaning Belle would be taken care of, even though it was clear her heart didn’t sing for the man.

‘V-very well.’ Arthur nodded.

One moment he lost Belle to a monster. The next he lost her to the young lord. It seemed to be the lesser evil to chose the young lord. 

‘Good. That’s settled. We’ll pick you up at dawn, Arthur. Now go and rest, ‘twill be quite a day tomorrow indeed!’

--

‘What is it?’ Belle asked, still shook from the way the Master had given her a lightning speed fast piggy back ride to the abandoned well. It was as she thought; he was a monster indeed! He did not just have fangs. No. He was also  beyond strong..and frighteningly fast.

Would she be able to escape him at all?

‘Sshh.’ He hushed, blue eyes squinting as he looked through the misty morning ferns, eyes pricking at sounds that Belle couldn’t hear. Then his brow furrowed, his face washing over with displeasure as he turned back towards Belle, the pretty brunette staring at him with a mild panic in her eyes.

Was the deal off?

And then his eyes drifted down her body, resting for a moment on the top of her skirts, her feet shifting uneasily as her stomach fluttered from his unapologetic, steely gaze, eyes seemingly boring straight into her core.

But it wasn’t erotic. Not for him. Not this instant.

The Master had picked up on her every movement in the library yesterday. He knew she held a knife there, hidden in her pockets. And he hoped she wouldn’t use it. Wouldn’t HAVE to use it. And for that reason he was contemplating whether it was wise to do what he was to do next; lay a spell on her. He didn’t truly want to. He wished he could explain the situation, make her follow on her own free will. But there was no time.

Not now.

His eyes shot back at her unsure gaze, deep brown doe eyes looking at him with question. ‘I’m so sorry, Belle.’ He whispered, stepping closer and gripping both hands around her head, the immediate panic rising in Belle’s heart, his beastly fingers digging harshly in her skin as she tried to squirm away from him, to escape.

‘No..no. Please.’ She whimpered softly. ‘Please. Let me go.’

‘Belle....I will never hurt you, Belle.’ - ‘NO please. Ahh..!’ Belle’s eyes started to glisten as her hands gripped around his unmoving wrists, his strength so great that she didn’t stand a chance against him. Strong and built like a mountain, no scratch or claw could move this man. ‘Please..’ She muled.

‘I would never..hurt..you.’ The monstrous man whispered tersely, seemingly upset as well, his eyes flickering with equal despair but his hands unmoving.

Was this how she’d die?

Looking in bewilderment, feet trying to kick his legs away - and failing - she noticed his lips move, a nearly inaudible speech falling from his lips, his fangs shining between them, sending Belle in a horrid overdrive to escape.

Tempus texunt; tu dormies. Loquor, vos expectare. Curro, non abscondam. Ego ambulo, non stabit.

(Time weaves; you sleep. I speak, you wait. I run, you hide. I walk, you stand.)

And just like that...Belle’s body calmed, her long lashes blinking as she let go of his wrists, her tearing eyes drying as he unweft his fingers from her hair, her brown locks disheveled by the struggle they just had. Like in trance she watched him, his eyes still sorrowful, but calmer as he turned on his heel.

With purposeful strides he walked off through the bushes; out into the opening where the old well was situated, the crack of a dead branch alarming that someone else was present here, too.

It was time.

--

Arthur’s heart was beating like a war drum, his ears buzzing to the point he was fearing he’d pass out before they’d even reach the old well. Before him walked the great Ismael, a torch in his hand as the warm flames licked at the morning dew, their synchronous feet stepping over old fallen branches as the dark forest slowly swallowed them deeper and deeper into its ominous embrace.

It was a mild relief to know that there were more men, circling from the dark of shrubbery, their watchful eyes awaiting the arrival of the monster, ready to take him by surprise on his own terrain.

The forest was quiet, too quiet, no birds singing their song and no squirrels squabbling about their nuts. The lack of sound added onto the haunted feeling of this gloomy forest, Arthur’s neckhair rising at the thought of being watched by more than just Ismael’s men.

He was here, somewhere.

The monster.

And with him he held Belle, his sweet daughter, her life dangling by a silken thread as those beastly claws were probably digging more bloody trails in her delicate skin. How else had her dress become so evilly torn? So bloody? Oh, poor Belle!

With large, terrified eyes the old man followed Ismael into the beast’s domain, his old knees about to buckle as the old well now came into view, the grubby stone overgrown with moss and a tiny trickle of sunlight managing to wash through the thick branches above.

Ismael halted amidst the ferns and gestured Arthur to proceed, handing him the torch. ‘I’ll hide here. Remember the plan Arthur. Don’t let him know we are here.’

And then Arthur was truly alone.

Again.

Perhaps, if things ran their course, God would be merciful, and take him and Belle without pain. Had they not suffered enough? Wasn’t it a good time to join his wife..her mother? Had he even been good enough a man to be welcomed through the heavenly gates?

In Arthur’s mind death seemed to be the only, truly viable solution in this situation. But first, perhaps, just maybe, this plan of Ismael would come to fruition. Perhaps things would look up for once.

The ferns before him shifted, the earth and leaves cracking beneath heavy feet, drawing with it Arthur’s trembling attention. 

At first all Arthur could see was the movement of the large green fern leaves, his torch held up before him, as if it were his weapon - his real weapon, a hunting knife, hidden beneath his shirt.

‘S-show yourself!’ Arthur said, his voice cracking awkwardly with panic.

And then a large shadow appeared from the foliage. Broad and impressive stood before him the silhouette of a man the size of a mountain, his dark voice booming through the quiet forest air; ‘Arthur.’

Arthur slinked to an even smaller size, blinking eyes watching as all his flickering torch could catch was the glisten of two eyes, burning eyes..evil eyes. Quite instantaneously he forgot all the words he should be saying, all the things he should be doing. Frozen in place, worn boots nailed to the ground, he watched as the large shadow slowly entered the small forest lair, joining him on the bed of moss and leaves, the light of Arthur’s torch now revealing that it was no beast indeed..but a man.

A man?

‘WHO MAY THEE BE?!’ Ismael jumped in, lips turned in a dismayed snarl as he scowled at the stranger before him.

‘Your conscience, good lord.’ The Master retorted, glimmering blue eyes staring daringly at Ismael, the young lord infuriated by the lack of propriety on the strange man’s end. Would he not introduce himself like the gentleman he appeared to be? Strange clothes he wore indeed, the fashion and cut belonging to a generation that was no younger than his late great-grandfather. 

Had he found those clothes somewhere? 

Who was this man?

‘Tell me thy name!’ Ismael barked, pulling out his sword and pushing it dangerously close to the stranger’s neck. The stranger, however, didn’t flinch, his ocean blue eyes watching in unblinking curiosity, head tilting like that of a dog as he looked Ismael straight in the eye. 

‘SPEAK!’ Ismael continued, sword probing so close now that the tip touched the top of the stranger’s high-necked blouse. 

‘You must be Ismael.’ The stranger finally spoke, his voice deep and smooth like honey on dewy lips. 

‘SPEAAKKK!!’ Ismael raised his sword, the silvery point nipping the man’s neck just above his collar, slow blood pooling where the metal was being pressed further and further into delicate flesh. 

But no response. 

All the stranger did, was smile, his eyes growing colder now as he watched Ismael lose control of the situation, sword pushing harsher and harsher into the pale skin of his neck. 

Did he not feel pain?! 

Ismael swallowed, his eyes flitting down to the blooming blood, bright red slipping down his well-oiled sword, his own cold blood starting to boil with agitation.

‘RED..!’ Ismael howled, the whole forest seemingly shifting as a great many feet cracked on twigs and bark, heavy soles making way towards the small lair. 

And again the stranger didn’t seem impressed, his eyes not once leaving Ismael as his smile grew and grew. 

‘Do THEY know what price is to be paid..?’ The stranger spoke, eyebrow quirking up as he finally looked at a flabbergasted Arthur, his attention still not caring for the six other heavily armed men that were appearing from the greenery. 

Arthur’s eyes shot in terror between Ismael and the man, his tongue not managing to bring forth words as all he could do was gulp and shiver. 

‘It were to be simple, Arthur.’ The monstrous man sighed, Ismael’s sword still pressed evilly into his skin. ‘And promises I am to keep. I came unarmed. You, however, have not quite managed to hold up your end of the bargain; for silver blinks in my eyes and blood spills upon it.’ 

With a cold stare he looked back at Ismael before continuing; ‘I asked for naught. Just the cover of dusk and no evil eyes. Was that too much..Arthur?’ 

‘W-what?’ Arthur finally croaked. ‘No..no sum of ex-ex-exchange?’ 

The Master narrowed his eyes at Arthur, confused. A response that made it clear that one person here had spoken falsely. The old man looked back at Ismael, whose complexion started to become even more terse, cheeks draining white. It didn’t take a genius to decipher what had happened. He had lied. The old man started to shake his head, fear making place for disbelief as Ismael huffed. 

‘He lies, Arthur! Do you not see! Look at him!’ 

‘Lies? I..I..I trusted you milord. My..B-Belle..’ Arthur stammered, Ismael’s henchman now joining in as some three swords were now suddenly aimed at Arthur, the old man shivering with more than just fear; he was furious! How could he have been fooled like that?! They were to assist in saving Belle, not threaten him. And Ismael had promised he had spoken truthfully about the letter’s content. The doubts in Arthur’s belly had been proven right yet again; Ismael was not to be trusted. He had lied. And how! 

Was it just to get Belle? 

Rage boiled in his fatherly blood, fingers daring to push away the wicked blades that pointed close to his chest and chin. 

But before Arthur could do a thing of stupidity, the air shifted around him, a wind dancing as the strange monster man seemed to vanish in thin air, the cries of falling men around him indicating that a miracle had befallen. Looking around in shock and awe, he saw the three man near him disarmed, their eyes wide with shock as they looked for their swords that had disappeared without a trace, feet scrambling back up from the forest floor.  

After another crying second, the monstrous man walked out from the other side of the lair, the other three men now disarmed as well, his steely gaze luring back at Ismael, who was now backing up towards Arthur, his sword held high to either fend off that stranger or the old man. 

It was then, with yet another blink of the eye, that Ismael stood behind Arthur. 

What was this sorcery? Arthur thought, blinking with confusion. Was he losing his sanity or had Ismael just about teleported behind him? A thought that wasn’t worth investing in as he now too felt the cold of steel of Ismael’s sword against his stubbly neck. 

‘A great price to pay indeed.’ Ismael growled lowly.  

The strange man lowered his chin, eyes casting a flaming gaze, foreboding no good as his lips curled up. For a moment Arthur forgot about the steel that was licking his neck, a new terror running up his spine. 

Shiny and fearsome, two large fangs appeared from behind those snarling lips. 

A VAMPIRE. 

What followed next was but a blur. 

Suddenly Arthur found himself on the ground, the sword and Ismael gone as the ground trembled and the air shrieked. Arthur tried to scramble up, but his old bones and rapid beating heart were making it near impossible to move, his hand having to clutch for his chest as all he could feel was its heavy thumping, little stains of black starting to dance before his eyes. 

He was too old for this. 

--

‘Belle?! OH BELLE!!’ Arthur jumped off his trusty steed’s back, feet hitting the ground running as he picked up the blur of blue that came from the forest edge, her eyes blinking in confusion as she was caught in his crushing embrace.

‘Papa..’ She gulped, confused arms returning the warm hug of her father - was he not mad at her for running off?

‘Are you alright? OH! I was so worried..and..’ He leaned back to take her in, not a hair out of place as her mouth fell open in silent confusion, watching as his eyes started to glitter with tears.

‘Oh papa...Gods..I am so sorry..I..’

‘No no..oh..you are safe.’ He squeezed her into his embrace again, scruffy hair tickling her glowing skin. ‘I feared you had been...that you..’ He watched the forest behind her, evil branches sticking out prickly and dark.

‘No papa. Nothing happened. I’m safe. In fact it was nice..I read to the animals and..’ Arthur refused to hear;

‘NO! Speak no lies Belle. You must promise me; never shall you return there!’

‘But papa...I lie not! Here, you must see, you must-’ She tried to drag him back into the tree line, but his heels dug heavily into the dirt, head shaking no.

‘Don’t be daft, Belle!’ He pulled back, hand linking around her tender wrist and gesturing towards their cottage. ‘Now, no more silliness and let us go home.’ He spoke, leaving a hesitant Belle in his wake as she casted one more look over her shoulder, the forest critters watching in curiosity as she was dragged away by her father.

Back to her normal life.

Back to safety.

--

Safety. Ha. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? 

Gulping, hand still clutching his heart, Arthur listened as great howls and cries scattered through the forest. The howls were beastly and raw, confirming what Arthur feared; this forest was no safe place indeed. 

As the slow morning light grew in strength, so did the terrifying sounds die down, all the way until all Arthur could hear was the silent flutter of leaves as the strange man returned, his clothes dirtied but his face calm.  

Was he going to kill Arthur now, too? 

Arthur swallowed and tried to make himself as small as possible, eyes looking away from the cold gaze of the monster. There was little use in running now, Arthur’s old bones making no match to the obvious strength that lingered beneath the strange man’s expensive clothes.

‘You do not run.’ His dark voice stated with surprise.

Arthur blinked, half-expecting to be already dead by this point, his head shaking firmly as he kept his eyes lowered to the wet soil beneath him. 

If he didn’t kill Arthur straightaway..was there a chance Belle was alive, too?

‘Please sir, my daughter, Belle, kno-know you of her whereabouts?’

The Master’s lips curled in a gentle smile, but the old man didn’t see, his trembling form still staring in bewilderment at the ground. It was time, the Master decided, his fingers snapping together, making two brown eyes blink behind the wall of ferns. Awakening.

Arthur looked up with confusion when yet another sound came from the ferns, a person brushing through the large green leaves. And not just any person.

BELLE.

‘Papa?’ She spoke dreamily.

‘Belle!’ He cried, his grounding shock suddenly forgotten as he lunged at his daughter, arms crushing her in a tearful embrace. ‘Belle..oh..’ 

She was alive..

‘Papa.’ She hummed, returning the embrace, before looking over her father’s shoulder, meeting the slightly hurt gaze that lingered in the Master’s eyes. 

Was he sad? 

Clearing his throat, the strange Master spoke. ‘She cannot return, Arthur. A great misfortune will befall her..and you.’ 

Arthur’s brow furrowed as he slowly turned, arms spreading out to create a human shield between the strange beast and Belle. ‘Of what you speak? Belle is perfectly safe with..’ - ‘No.’ 

‘No?’ Arthur gulped, befuddled. 

‘Ismael will not stop until he has all his heart desires. And he will take all you have in the process.’ The Master inhaled sharply. ‘History will repeat itself.’ 

Arthur frowned, eyes brushing down the small cuts and bruises that marred the strange man’s skin. Sword cuts. Bruises. And bite marks. 

Bite marks?

So many questions popped up in Arthur’s head, before pieces started to click into place.

Ismael’s strange obsession with Belle? 

Ismael’s father and his obsession with her mother and aunt? 

‘History repeats..’ Arthur breathed. 

--

‘But it’s your sister’s betrothal party! This will be fun!’ Arthur watched with befuddlement as his wife sat there, refusing to ready herself.

With a sour face she turned on her seat by the table, watching her husband as he settled his hands in his sides.

‘Fun? Only the devil would call it that.’ She spat, turning back to spoon through her gone-cold soup.

‘Then are you not happy for her, wife?’ Arthur’s question wasn’t condescending, but honest and caring, his voice tender as he squatted down beside her. His wife bit her plump rose lip, eyes darting back at him as she slowly shook her head, fire burning within them.  

‘If she were to wed any other man; yes. But him? HIM?! Do you not see Arthur? They forced her! Nearly me as well! Were it not for…’ She swallowed her words, nostrils flaring as she rubbed a hand over her swollen belly, her rage dwindling as she sighed in defeat.

‘Oh darling sweet! Please. Do not fear, my dear.’ Arthur cooed, pressing a kiss on her cheek before he moved to sit down beside her at the table, his hand cupping over the hand she kept safely over her belly.

His wife remained quiet, eyebrows furrowed in distress. 

Arthur continued with a brush over her swelling belly; ‘I understand your worries sweet wife. I do, I do. And trust me. I’ll keep you safe. The both of you.’ 

--

It had been one year since her sister’s wedding, and it was the first time his wife dared to join Arthur to another feast at the Les Comtes. Their sweet baby daughter Belle was kept under lock and key by the old hag Hella, who lived a few cots away, the old woman trusted like nobody else. 

And his wife? She was nervous beyond words, her head shaking in refusal whenever a cup of wine was offered. Arthur felt sorry for putting her in the situation, but as conversations flowed, he soon lost track of her exact whereabouts, some fellow employees of the estate discussing the chance of extending the stables he worked in. 

It was when a loud ruckus disturbed the music, instruments coming to a halt, that Arthur’s eyes flew up. What followed were the most horrid minutes, hours, months..years..of his life. 

Lain in a pool of blood, his wife was found. She had, from hear say of the Grandmaster Le Comte, tumbled down the great many stairs - what had she done up there anyways? Blankly she stared back at him, her neck evilly twisted, mouth agape, as if screaming. 

What should have been a great feast to remember, became a great horror to remember instead. And despite Arthur’s doubts, he silently accepted it to be an unfortunate accident. The only thing that was clear, was his failure as he watched his wife’s unblinking brown eyes. 

He had failed her. 

--

Reality slipped back into Arthur’s aching heart; he had not kept her mother safe. So, could he keep Belle safe..at all? 

With pleading eyes he looked at the monster, those gentle blue eyes calm and studious behind a slathering of blood. So human. But so evil as well. 

‘W-what are you intending to do with her?’ 

The Master hummed. ‘Tis why I invited you here, Arthur. I wished to discuss our options...your options.’ The Master licked his lips as he folded his arms behind his back, feet striding towards the edge of the forest lair. Arthur waited. 

‘It was one thing to find Belle here, in my domains. But you, with these armed men? It further complicates the situation.’ He turned on his heel. ‘I let them get away, Arthur. Frightened they are, but alive. I wish no harm, truly.’ 

‘Ha..’ Arthur breathed, his heart beating wildly in his chest; merde - shit! Not only did this monstrous man just admit to taking captive Belle, also had he admitted to hunting down 7 adult men. He may not look quite the monster, may promise he wouldn’t harm, but he sure was capable of great violence. 

‘There can only be one hero in this tale, Arthur.’ The Master continued. ‘And I’m afraid the superstition runs religiously in the villagers’ veins. Walking out of here unscathed will be frowned upon.. or worse.’ 

Arthur gulped. ‘Then..then..harm me.’ He pulled open his blouse and presented his bare neck to the vampiric beast, those monstrous blue eyes staring in fascination - as if he overthought the offer. 

‘No.’ 

‘Please..milord. I just want Belle to be safe. I..’ Arthur quieted his pleading as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

‘Tis okay papa. He has been good to me.’ 

‘No no..do not lie to me Belle. It’s okay. I’ll keep you safe.’ 

‘No papa. I lie not. Not now. I speak the truth.’ Her fingers squeezed into his tight shoulder. ‘Please papa. I-I don’t want you to get hurt.’ Belle’s voice became more timid, emotional. 

For a moment the monster man looked down at the ground, thinking. 

‘Go back to the village and the Les Comtes will turn their wrath upon you. They will rile up the villagers. They have done so in the past to hide their tracks, hide their crimes. They would do it again.’ He took another sharp breath. ‘I could offer you solace and shelter though. My halls are great, but empty. From there on you could see to travel north or west, where other lordships may take you in.’ 

Arthur blinked and turned slightly, this turn of events quite unexpected, eyes searching Belle’s, her head already nodding “yes”. 

‘You would have me stay in your ...’ Arthur hesitated. 

‘Lair.’ The monster grinned charmingly. ‘Yes.’ 

‘Tis all I wish for papa.’ Belle chimed in, tugging at his sleeve. It would resolve some of her sorrows; no cold, no hunger, no jealous villagers..and a chance to start anew. With of course one but: she couldn’t be sure of the monster’s true intentions. 

Slowly Arthur started to nod. ‘Very well. But I must return home first. I cannot leave the horses untended. I must alarm my stable boy. I..’ 

Belle sighed. ‘Papa..’ 

‘No! No buts! I shall never let my horses become victims of my own poor life choices. Tis my choice and there’s that.’ He turned on his heel, hand reaching for Belle. ‘You must come with me, Belle.’ 

Belle blinked, eyes glancing over her father’s shoulder to meet those mysterious blues of the Master. 

Did she - Did she want to? What if the villagers would find out and harm them? What if..what if...What if her heart wished for..for something else? What if..she wanted to..stay?

--

Chap 8 >

--

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @mary-ann84​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly​ @elinesama​

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @wednesdaybraids @othersideofforty @starstruckkittyangel​ @strangerliaa​

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

[theluckyyyoneee]

Guise

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (ft. Namjoon)

Genre: Angst/Fluff(in later parts)

Word Count: 2.4+k

part 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 |

SoulmateAU! Where he hides his soulmate tattoo from everyone, especially you.

Twirling your mechanical pencil around between your middle and pointer finger of your right hand, you zoned off into the great distance, eyeing the chipping paint on the walls as you felt utterly drained and exhausted, in all physical, mental and emotional senses. 

The life of a rushed college student trying to find the right balance between studying and self care and also incorporating enough of a social life to remain sane was seemingly impossible, and you were terrible at time management as you proved to yourself time and time again. Especially when finals were approaching at a fearful rate and you felt like you hadn’t prepared nearly as much as needed to ace the exams.

Huffing as you collapsed onto the desk in front of you, you heard the throaty chuckle besides you as you peered at Namjoon through your lashes and a few strands of wild hair that crept on your cheeks. “Take a nap, I’ll wake you up in thirty minutes. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” He sweetly offered, his dimples popping through as he eye smiled at you through his own fatigue.

Propping your head on your hand with your elbow resting on the table, you couldn’t help but observe the deadly handsome and gentle man next to you. 

He was such a good guy, you mused as you watched his profile, his own tattoo placed behind his right ear that would eventually bond him with his ‘soulmate’, a being who the universe had decided all on their own that would complete and make the other person happy. You wondered what kind of person his soulmate was. 

Namjoon and you were so close, you two had bonded over each other’s respective clumsiness and forgetfulness in your freshman year of college, yet you found it a bit odd how you didn’t really know his stance on the whole soulmate thing. He never talked about the physically minuscule mark on his body that would have an enormous role in his life. Always presented a stoic, almost indifferent expression when he laid eyes upon the numerous couples along campus, never had expressed any longing towards a significant other either. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He childishly snickered a little and gazed down at you with that attractive little smirk (authors note: omg imagine if he rlly looked at u like that id be dead) he did when he was about to tell a predictable joke. “You just did.” You mouthed the words along with him and rolled your eyes at him, a smile finding your lips anyway. He nodded at you and waited expectantly and suddenly you found yourself the tiniest bit shy.

Briefly pondering what would have happened if the two of you somehow shared the same tattoo, if somehow the two of you were each other soulmates. Would he had hid it if he noticed it before you did like Yoongi? No, you reasoned, he wasn’t that kind of person. He preferred to confront situations head on. Maybe you wouldn’t have hated the idea so much if you had a soulmate like Namjoon.

Instead the universe deemed your ‘perfect other half that will definitely complete you’ as an egotistic, douchebag named Min Yoongi.

“What do you feel about the whole soulmate thing?” Your voice was as small as a mouse and you saw his face drop a bit from his peaceful expression, making you tilt your head in confusion. His jaw tightened and his overall presence and posture suddenly became very rigid.

Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to his studies as he answered with stiff casualness, “I don’t really have an opinion on it. I’ll worry about it when it happens.”

You could tell that he seemed very uncomfortable with the topic and you wanted to apologize for ruining the light atmosphere. It all of a sudden felt thick with tension between the two of you and you had no idea why.

So you hummed as nonchalantly as you could and turned away, “Ah, I see...” reminding and praying that you remembered to try and get Namjoon to open up a bit when he was ready.

But for now you turned away to your own notes and thought of your own predicament you were dealing with.

Keeping your lips sealed after what happened in that cursed classroom a few weeks ago, you had told no one and determined that it was just a bad nightmare, an irrational and delusional nightmare you wanted to forget ever having. 

Namjoon was Yoongi’s friend... kind of. Well, you knew that they at least tolerated each other. 

Should you just tell Namjoon what had occurred and ask for advice about what to do next?

No, let’s not make him even more uncomfortable, you sighed and laid your head back on the desk and allowed your dreary eyelids to shut as you recalled what happened that dreaded afternoon. 

You really did not want to believe it.

Even if it turned out to be true, you wanted to run away even if it was cowardly but before you even knew what the hell you were doing, you were taking large strides to Yoongi’s frozen figure in the seat, both gasping at the shock and warm sensation you felt from finally making physical contact for the first time. 

You had heard people talking about it, how the two persons involved felt electrified and so connected to each other and their bond. And although you couldn’t really argue with that statement, you didn’t feel particularly too connected to him at that moment. You guessed the emotions were consequences of the particular revelation.

Yes, his skin was smooth and warm to the touch, and an insane part of you had the idea to run your fingers down his wrist to meet his own in an intertwined embrace. Until the more rational side, your preferred and more dominant side, clued in the jagged and broken pieces as best as it could and suddenly everything made sense, heart thundering in your chest as you broke down your late epiphany as best as you could.

Throwing his arm down harshly, you couldn’t get the image of your tattoo out of your head-the one slightly bigger than an inch-the one you somehow shared with the man in front of you. Only now were you able to decipher the strange intricate lines-it had been both of your initials in some abstract handwriting.

Looking back at it now, you felt like such an idiot to not see the MYG that was so blatantly and obviously there, mocking you, forever etched on your skin, not at all welcomed there.

Releasing a shaky exhale as you tried your hardest to remain calm, you stared at Min Yoongi, that damned loon that somehow thought it a good idea to keep such an important detail to himself, had still not moved from his frozen stature and had dark, wide unblinking eyes stare frightened back at you. 

“You’re my soulmate?” As soon as the words escaped your lips, it felt all wrong. “How long have you known?” 

How long had you known him for?

Why was it him?

Imitating a fish, his mouth opened and shut numerous times before uttering, “Since the day we met.”

The memory burned fresh in your brain. You had been completely and immediately enamored with him at the first glance of him, and had the vaguest feeling that your feelings were mutual. When he had suddenly grew even paler than he already was and his lovely eyes widened to their maximum extent, you wanted to ask what the matter was, your soulmate tattoo subconsciously in full view.

Until he gazed at you like you had just cursed him out with your finest curse, most disgusting insults. It had oddly felt like he took part of your soul with him when he disappeared that day. 

It had seemed he was avoiding you every time he caught a glimpse of you, there was no chance in hell you were going to get to know him better if you couldn’t even get closer than twenty feet of him. One second you were making eye contact with him, then the next he was pressed against some girl all the while keeping gazes with you, not understanding why your stomach would knot in jealousy and loneliness, when normally you were not like this at all.

“You...” He had known all this time. Of course, why would he suddenly start to wear all those hoodies and sweaters in this scorching heat, with beads of sweat clinging to his temple? How he always seemed to claw at his sleeves whenever you were near? How the gorgeous girls he had flirted with in front of you filled with such insecurities just from looking from afar?

Min Yoongi was your soulmate?

What a joke.

“You knew this whole time?” You stupidly had finally spit the whole phrase out into the open air, the silence deafening as the two of you faced each other, each heart thundering in your chests. 

Yoongi had finally risen from his fixed posture at the desk and stood up, taking a tentative step forward before stumbling back a few shaky steps.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You hated that you sounded so pathetic, so desperate even to yourself. 

It wasn’t as if you had even wanted to meet your soulmate, the fact that he hid it from you probably meant that he didn’t want you, right? So you should be happy you weren’t tied to someone who was going to tie you to him, but why did the thought of him possibly not wanting you break your heart into pieces?

Maybe there was such a thing as a soulmate bond after all, if your whole being was being torn like this, this much.

His demeanor seemed to change in an instant, and he had lost all past vulnerability and uncertainty. Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed on you he spat out, “You think this makes sense?” He gestured between the two of you quickly, trying to keep his voice low in case any other students were lingering out in the halls, although unlikely, and you could sense his shame from where you were standing. “Us? That you’re my soulmate?”

It was like the roles had reversed and now you were the frozen one, an ache formed deep in your stomach as you registered his words. But they were the ones you had wanted to say to him a few minutes ago, so why were you feeling this way?

“I’ll tell it to you straight,” he continued, not giving you a moment to collect yourself. “I don’t want people finding out you’re my soulmate. It’s embarrassing, and since you never bothered to hide it, I have to.” He bent down and grasped his discarded hoodie from the ground and shook it in your direction. “Do you know how fucking bothersome is it to always have to wear this twenty four seven? In this weather? Huh?”

You didn’t bother answering, feeling yourself get worked up over his words had you breaking out of your moment of dejection and nodded, exhaling harshly. Right, you could overcome this. But first you had to show him that you weren’t just going to stay silent and weak when he was insulting you.

Embarrassing? He was embarrassed of you? He should have just told you when he had first found out, that way things wouldn’t have been this twisted. The two of you could have coolly and casually gone your separate ways, but for some reason you felt betrayed. 

“Look, we have nothing in common, and to be honest, this whole soulmate shit is really fucking unfair.” It seemed he was becoming a bit drained, like his newfound energy had dissipated as fast as it had come. 

“I wouldn’t say we have nothing in common,” you trailed off, meeting his glare with one of your own, though his faltered a bit at your unexpected words, looking at you the tiniest bit puzzled. A bitter smile gracing your lips, you raised your eyebrows a bit as you continued, gaining a bit of satisfaction at the look of surprise on Yoongi’s face. “It’s not like I want you, either.”

“Y/N wake up.” You were being shook gently back and forth by Namjoon, his dimpled smile being the first sight you see when you open your eyes. He chuckled under his breathe as you sluggishly lift your weary body up, and groaning in pain as you feel one your ribs were pressing on the edge of the table, an ache forming and stabbing every time you moved. Sitting up, you noticed a very familiar light cardigan draped around your shoulders, and you gaze starstruck and touched up at Namjoon, silently thanking him for covering you, knowing you always got cold when you slept. 

He ruffled your hair affectionately in answer as you attempted to rub the remaining sleepiness from your eyes and fix your appearance so it was more presentable, handing the cardigan back to him. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you,” he smiled apologetically. “but the library is closing soon, and I’d feel better if you slept in your own bed instead of this stiff chair.”

It was only then you noticed the lack of people around and you felt heat crawl up your neck and cheeks, wondering why if you had slept so long why you felt even more exhausted than before. “Thanks, and sorry for making you study by yourself...” you trailed off, standing up and slinging your bag on your shoulder as the two of you slowly made your way out of the library, nodding politely to the librarian behind the wide oak desk.

“No worries, but I do expect some coffee from you tomorrow, just saying.” It had gotten a bit dark and there was a bit of a breeze and you froze as Namjoon suddenly draped the cardigan over your shoulders once again. Your fingers met when you both fixed the collar and it made you grip the fabric tighter around yourself when he quickly pulled away, clearing his throat and avoiding your gaze. 

You agreed to his proposition as casually as you could and stumbled a little when you made eye contact with the one and only Min Yoongi, who was also just seemed to leaving for the day, his strong gaze alternating between you and Namjoon, and the cardigan around your shoulders.

wow i have not written this much in a really long time so i’m actually pretty proud of myself lol. lmk what u guys thought down in the comments or messages! as always thanks to everyone who is reading and to everyone who left those supportive comments they really made my day and i appreciate all of you!!<3

T O    B E    C O N T I N U E D .  .  .

tag list: @hoodiebangtan​ @xanny91​ @babeejeon​ @chocolatemilk1221 @fuckthatfeeling​ @cremextart​ @secretlypg95​ @littlegryffindorsavage​ @paracii​ @tragicrosemoons​ @sunshinein17​ @xxluckydreamsxx​ @skzleaf​ @lidda​ @thesugatoyourtae​ @marycarabell​ @pawschimchim​ 

[alex-ruins-everything]

Turning Pages - Chapter 2

Intrulogical bookshop au! Read the whole thing on ao3 here. 

Remus had walked by the bookshop at least three times before finding it. All because Roman’s dumb car broke down he was stuck carting his brother around. Eventually he did spot the shop Roman had gone off to (to annoy poor old Virgil of course, because bothering your boyfriend at work was peak romance, right?). It was a wooden storefront and a bell tingled as he opened the door, looking around as he was hit with that immediate paper smell. God no way that was just coming from the books, they had to have a candle or some shit lit somewhere. He glanced around, looking for his brother, but his eyes landed on someone much better. That man behind the counter was hot in a way Remus didn’t usually notice but goddamn, he was noticing now. His eyes lingered for a second before he raised his voice.

“Roman! If you don’t quit making out with Virgil against a bookshelf I’m gonna leave your ass here!” he said, shooting an annoying smile at his brother when he finally showed himself.

He looked around while Roman paid, not finding too much interesting until he joined him by the counter, taking another look at the man there. He was almost sure the guy’s name tag had been printed but nope...it was just painstakingly neat handwriting. Logan. Well, the face had a name.

“Nice to meet you, Specs,” he winked after Roman introduced him. “Now c’mon. If I don’t get to chase geese I’m throwing you in the pond.”

Roman bid the bookshop guy bye bye and finally they were back into the sweltering heat. Remus had commented earlier that if he had the chance he would 100% kick the Sun’s ass for making it so hot. And he stood by that. The two of them finished their day and Remus got to chase his geese like he wanted - until the geese started chasing him and then they went home. He couldn’t get that bookshop guy out of his head though for the rest of the day. Or the next day. Eventually he had to ask Roman what he knew.

“So, that bookshop dork. Specs,” he said, leaning against the doorframe of Roman’s bedroom. His brother was sitting on his bed with a sketchbook in his lap shooting him a questioning look.

“What about him?”

Remus took that as indication enough and he entered, sitting in Roman’s desk chair with a spin. “What do you know about him?”

“Logan? He’s a total stiff,” Roman laughed lightly. “Why do you care?”

“Hey, am I not allowed to be intrigued by people?”

“Not the way you get ‘intrigued’, no. Re, Logan won’t go for you. Hell, I’m pretty sure he only has eyes for that bookshop and the occasional biography,” Roman stated, adding a few more lines to his drawing.

“Once again, I am not lusting over a nerd who wants to fuck his books. I was just asking!” Remus said, putting his hands up in faux surrender before getting up. “At least I don’t spend my days there following the emo around like a lost puppy!”

And with that he slipped out of Roman’s room, laughing as shouts of protest followed him. Days passed and Remus went about his life until Saturday when he found himself at the thrift store that was right down the street from that bookshop. Well, surely it wouldn’t go hurt to visit. Right? He could have played it off as visiting Virgil, but Virgil didn’t work weekends so he was most likely back at Remus’ house with Roman. He got his excuse though when he reached the shop, a sign out front advertising that Patton’s Reading Circle was happening in about ten minutes. Ah, fate had given him impeccable timing today.

Remus pushed the door to the bookshop open, that same bell tingling. It wasn’t hard to spot where the book reading was going on. It was where the crowd of little kids and their tired looking parents were gathered. However he was keeping an eye out for a different spectacled bookshop employee. Logan wasn’t anywhere in eyesight though as Remus took a seat by the circle, figuring he had some time to kill anyway. Might as well learn why you shouldn’t give a mouse a cookie or whatever. He took a seat on the carpet with all the kids, blatantly ignoring the odd looks the parents gave him. He did accept the fruit snack offered by the kid next to him, leaning back on his hands as some guy in glasses came out holding a book and said hi to everyone. Remus figured that must be Patton. He looked like a total dork, but in a different way than the nerd Remus had come to see. His book reading wasn’t too shabby either, though it was far too vanilla for Remus’ taste. It ended and he clapped along with the kids, not moving from the carpet for a bit as kids joined their parents and either left or went to roam around the bookshop. It was a lot busier than the weekday Remus had been here before.

Eventually he stood up, going to a display and flipping through the book Patton had just read. It was very convincing that you should under no circumstances give a mouse a cookie. Remus’ attention fell away from that as he spotted a book on marine biology, leaving the cookie book on the display in a haphazard way. He picked up the marine book, flipping through. It had scientific illustrations...his favorite kind. It was like a grown up picture book!

“Can I help you find anything?” a familiar voice asked and when he looked up from his book there Logan was. Still as handsome as the day he saw him. “Oh, ah...Remus. Hello.”

“Howdy, Specs,” Remus grinned, happy this trip hadn’t been for naught. “How’s it going?”

“I’m quite adequate, thank you for asking,” Logan replied, his eyes glancing to the book in Remus’ hand. “That’s an excellent resource, it goes quite in depth on the flora and fauna of the bottom of the sea. Though personally I find all of that unsettling. If marine life is your thing we have lots of books on it.”

Remus almost could have laughed at that. Ah, such a salesman. He noticed Logan had a different tie on today, though it was still in shades of blue, this time a neat dot pattern instead of stripes.

“Maybe next time you’ll have to show me. I think for now I’ll just take this one since it's apparently an excellent resource,” he said, shutting the book. “I was also wondering if I could take you out for some coffee maybe. What time’s your break? I can hang around.”

Logan opened his mouth and closed it again before adjusting his glasses. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Kingsley, however I have already had my break so I will have to pass. If you’re all set I can ring you up?”

“Yeah, I guess just the book then,” Remus shrugged, slightly shocked by being turned down, but not too discouraged.

As Logan was ringing him up, he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, a text arriving from ‘Two Face’.

‘You coming today or no?’

Remus typed out a quick reply, watching Logan stick his book in a paper bag after sticking a bookmark between the pages for him.

‘Fnnshng smthng up, b thr soon. You want cffe? Usal?’

His texting was headache inducingly hard to decipher sometimes, but those close enough to get lots of texts from him had figured it out already. He got the buzz and the ‘yes’ as a reply, sliding a twenty over to Logan as payment. He stuck the change in the near empty jar on the counter that read Employee Book Fund with a smiley face under it.

“Thanks for the book, Specs. I’ll be sure to let you know how I like it,” Remus promised, gripping the paper bag in a fist. “Have a good one.”

“Goodbye, Remus,” Logan bid him farewell, motioning for the next guest in line to come forward.

Remus was off to the coffee shop first, getting the two drink orders before heading over to Janus’ house. Oh he had tea...and not just the kind he had just gotten from the coffee shop (because of course Janny drank tea). No, he had to gush all about this bookstore boy that he definitely had a crush on at this point.

TAGLIST:

@theiwatobiicepic

[androcola]

Shopping trip

m&m headcanon fic, with help from @starrechords .

Mike and Micky go to the grocery store.

Trigger warnings: food mention

.

.

.

.

The sky hung blue over the busy city. The sun had just risen not too long ago but the city was still as loud and as busy as ever. It was all the same. A blue bird atop a telephone pole watched as a green car pulled into the parking lot before flying away into the blue. The green VW bug pulled in and parked along side the other parked vehicles in front of the grocery store. Micky had been sitting on a paycheck for a while, a few, actually. Whatever wasn't unnecessarily spent on thrift store items was put towards much more important things, and today it was groceries.

"Here we are, pal!" Micky chirped as he clicked free from his seatbelt. "You've got the list, right, Mike?" He asked, peeping his buddy in the rearview mirror. "Eh- I think so.." Mike replied as he stuck his hands into each of his pockets. He felt a little flash of panic when he felt nothing in there. "I've.. got it here somewhere.." he muttered as he then felt in the pockets of his jean jacket. Still, he felt nothing. "It's here.. it's here somewhere.. I promise.." he said as he even checked the pockets on his shirt. Micky couldn't help but laugh just a bit. "Maybe we accidentally left it back at the apartment?" He asked. "No, no!.. I swear I've got it!.." Mike said as he panicked, removing his wool hat. Sure enough, the grocery list fell right from his head and he couldn't help but feel a little silly as Micky erupted into laughter.

"You're somethin' else, man!" He laughed as he pushed the car door open. "C'mon! Let's go." He said, stepping out and closing the door firmly. Mike sighed with embarrassment and put his hat back on his head and slipped out of the car, closing the door behind him. He fast walked to Micky's side and grabbed onto his arm, clinging to him. Micky didn't mind, it was pretty normal by this time. "Why'd you put it under your hat?" Asked Micky. "So I wouldn't forget." Mike replied. Again, Micky laughed a bit. "I guess it didn't work that well, though.." Mike said. "Oh, it's alright, man. I thought it was kinda funny myself, to be honest." Micky chuckled. "But maybe next time I should stick a note to your chest." He continued. "What will it say?.." Mike asked. "Check under your hat." Micky replied. "Oh." Said Mike. They walked to the buggie rack and Micky grabbed the handle of the cart and pulled it out. Mike jumped as the other carts clanged and clattered as they rolled into place.

The two stepped into the store and Mike looked around nervously. There were way more people than he cared to be around. What did he expect? They set off towards the aisles to collect their groceries. "Would you like to read the list as we go?" Micky asked. "Sure.. I guess." Mike replied. "Groovy! Thanks, pal." Micky said with a smile. "So what's first, oh reader of lists?" He asked. Mike looked down and unfolded the list, squinting at Micky's tiny and slightly sloppy handwriting. "Eggs, my lord." Mike replied. "Ah-! Then let us make haste, my friend! To eggs!" Micky shouted, as if he were a mighty warrior on a perilous journey from which he may not return.

"Great." Mike said, following close to Micky, wrapped firmly around his arm for security. Such mundane tasks were always made ridiculous or fun in the company of Micky Dolenz. To make the acquaintance of this hyper little teeny bopper was to make the acquaintance of chaos itself. Mike still questioned every now and then how he managed to befriend such a strange kid.

"Hey Mike?" Asked Micky. "Hm?" Said Mike. "You ever have this strange fear that one day you'll open an egg carton and see a baby chicken breaking out?" He asked. Mike's mind froze for a moment, he was dumbfounded. What kind of question was that? He pondered on that question for a moment before formulating a response. "No. Not really." He replied. "Really? But what if it happened?" Micky continued. "Well.. the eggs they sell at the market aren't fertile. So there ain't any babies inside." He replied. "But I thought-... well. How are infertile eggs made like that?" Micky questioned. "Well.. hens lay eggs whether there's a rooster or not... Some people get just hens so they can have the eggs. My aunt did it." Mike replied. Micky nodded. "I see.." he said.

"Aha!" Micky shouted suddenly upon spying a case of eggs on a shelf, startling Mike, making him jump slightly. "Eggs!" Micky said triumphantly. He made for the shelf and grabbed the case of eggs, setting it gently into the basket. "Alright! That's one down!" He said with much excitement. "What's next, pal?" He asked. Mike pulled the list up again and looked at it for a moment. "Bread." He replied. "Then let us proceed onward! To the bread aisle!" Micky said, pointing his finger forward as they turned toward the other aisle. Mike looked around nervously as they carried on. The grocery store here was much nicer than the ones he had been to when he was younger. The produce appeared fresh and there were no hungry flies hovering above it, the lights were bright and all of them seemed to be working, the floor tiles weren't cracked nor stained. It was almost kinda nice. He shot his gaze downward, however, after accidentally making eye contact with a stranger. How embarrassing.

They arrived in the bread aisle and stopped to have a look around. Certain aisles always had a distinct smell. The bread aisle smelled faintly of bread but also plastic-y almost. It was never an unpleasant smell, though. "Hey Mike!" Micky called. Mike turned his head to see Micky holding two different bags of bread. "Which one should I get? This one?" He asked, lifting a yellow bag of bread upwards in one hand. "Or this one?" He continued, lifting a blue bag up in the other hand. Mike cocked a brow. Why would it matter? They're both bread. Mike merely stared at Micky with an almost confused look on his face. "Hm. You're right." Micky said suddenly as if Mike had replied. "I'll go with this one! I trust him." Micky said as he set the blue bag of bread back on the shelf and set the yellow bag into the basket.

Mike pulled in close to Micky suddenly as someone pushed past him with a grocery cart and down the aisle. They didn't even say excuse me. Is everyone in LA this rude? "What's next on the list?" Micky asked as they walked down and out of the aisle. Mike opened the list once more and looked down at it. "Uh.. milk." He said. "Groovy! To the fridge section!" He shouted. The two turned and set off toward the fridge section for a jug of milk. The two kept their look out for the fridge section, before suddenly, "Hark!" Called Micky. "Look, my friend! Over yonder aisle! The fridge section!" He said as he sped up just slightly. Mike looked ahead and sure enough they were nearing the fridge section.

They approached the large fridges and Mike could feel the coolness coming off of them. There were jugs of regular milk, chocolate milk, skim milk and even butter milk! Yuck. Micky grabbed the handle and pulled the fridge open. He picked up a carton and read the writing on it, his eyebrows drawing together. “Hey buddy? Do you know how they get milk from almonds?” Mike blinked. “Uh. Well, I think they just... crush up almonds really well.” As he spoke he moved his hands as if he was crushing imaginary almonds with his fists. Micky pouted a bit. “I don’t know if I’d call that milk. Maybe… almond liquid.” He said. Mike grimaced at that phrase as Micky set the carton back where he got it and picked up one with cow’s milk, putting it in the cart.

“What’s next, my good buddy?” Micky asked as he took back his place at the head of the shopping cart. Mike pulled up the list — which he had not let out of his grasp since it had fallen out of his hat, so the paper was now wrinkled and the ink had began to run — and tried to decipher what Micky wrote on it. “Uh… cereal,” he said, sounding out each letter as he read it to make sure it fit right.

“Oh, MAN! I would’ve forgotten that if it wasn’t for the list! Good thing you’ve got that hat, I’ve really been craving some corn flakes recently.” Micky, in all his excitement, pushed off towards the direction of the cereal aisle. He put his right leg up on the bottom of the cart, and pushed himself even faster using his left. Mike, struggling to keep up with him and almost tripping over his own feet, reached out and wrapped his fingers around the handle, grasping it so hard his knuckles turned white. This made the cart pull to the left and almost threw the two of them right into the set-up of juice. Luckily, Micky hopped off the cart and planted his feet down, stopping them right in time.

Mike took a sharp inhale. “I-! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-“ he was cut off when Micky wrapped his arm around his shoulder and placed his free hand on his other shoulder, trying to ground his friend to help calm his nerves. “Hey, hey, man! It was my bad, don’t be sorry! If anything, I should apologize to you. If I ever do anything like that again you can do what my mom used to do and just grab me by my shirt collar, that usually slows me down a bit!" He assured Mike with a laugh. "And we needed orange juice anyway." He laughed once more. He walked over and grabbed a carton and put it in the cart.

Mike was still visibly shaken up. He took a slow, deep breath and gave a quick nod. “Here,” Micky said, picking up Mike’s hands and placing them on the cart. “Commander Dolenz is stepping down from his position as cart pusher and is passing it off to his second in command, Captain Nesmith!” He stood up as straight as a line and threw up his hand into a salute. Whenever he comes up with a new character he has to go all out with it, so as a finishing touch he threw on a goofy voice and added, “I’m counting on you, captain. Carry us to victory. I know you can do it.” Mike smiled a little but then looked down at his hands. He twisted them around the handle nervously and his expression tensed up.

"C’mon, Mike, what are you even worried about? You can push a shopping cart, can’t you? Can’t you do anything right? Just-" Micky saw the mental cogs turning in his friend’s head and decided he needed to step in. He wrapped his arm around Mike’s and dramatically threw his hand to his forehead. “Oh captain, my captain!” he exclaimed, once more in his mighty commander voice in an attempt to get him going. “You must lead us to the cereal aisle! The growling of my stomach depends on you!” Micky nudged Mike a little with his shoulder, just enough to get him to take the first step. Micky marched right alongside him, loudly humming “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” Mike put his head down slightly, feeling a little embarrassed.

"We're almost there, good buddy! Keep on truckin'!" He encouraged with great confidence. Mike already felt like he wanted to go home, he was already tired and he hadn't even been there long. He took a deep breath and lifted his head back up as he had realized that he wasn't really looking where he was going. He glanced over slightly to see Micky still confidently marching by his side. The kid could be a bit much sometimes, but he had to admit that he was glad that he wasn't alone. "How are we doing, captain? Everything shipshape on the S.S. Nesmith?" He asked. "Yea.. shipshape, sir.." Mike replied. "Groovy, baby!- ah- I mean.. aye-aye, captain!" He replied in a raspy pirates voice.

"Uhh-.. hark-.. sir. Uh.. land ho n' all that mess." Mike sputtered as they arrived to the cereal aisle. "Aha!" Shouted Micky, "Fine job, captain! You have singlehandedly lead us to cereal!" He said as he wrapped his arm around Mike. "You're a brave brave man. I shall see to it that you receive a metal for this!" He said as he pulled away. "Now let us find wheaties and corn flakes!" He finished. ".. Okay." Mike replied as he followed Micky in search of wheaties and corn flakes. "Keep your eyes peeled, captain." Micky said as he squinted. He continued. "They could be hiding anywh-" — "Found them." Mike interrupted. Micky looked over to see Mike holding a box of corn flakes. "Oh!" Said Micky. "Good eye, buddy!" He chirped. Mike set the box of corn flakes down into the basket and grabbed the wheaties, setting them down right beside the other.

"Which aisle do we plunder next, captain?" Micky asked. Mike pulled up the crinkled note once more. "Uh... snacks." Mike replied with a slight questioning inflection. It just said snacks. Nothing in specific. "Ah! The best leg of our journey!" Micky said. "Then let us go get snacks!" He declared as they continued through the aisle. As they went along, something came to Micky's mind. "Hey." Micky said, nudging Mike's arm slightly. "Hm?" Said Mike. "Did we remember to put puppy pads down for You? In case she needs to go while we're gone?" Micky asked. Mike was quiet for a moment, trying to recall if they had done that before they left. He could've sworn they did, but at the same time, he remembered nothing of the sort. "I don't know... I'm sorry" Mike finally replied.

"It's alright! We'll find out when we get back, right?" Micky chuckled. "I guess.." Mike replied. They trucked on and eventually into the snack aisle. They looked around at the shelves full of many different snacks. Chips, candies, cakes, trail mix, pretzels and more. Micky grabbed a bag of potato chips and dropped it into the cart. Mike waited quietly with his head down while Micky picked out various snacks. "Hey Mike?" Micky asked suddenly. Mike looked up at Micky and cocked a brow. "Yea?.." he replied. "Would you like a snack?" Micky asked him with a smile. Mike put his head back down.

"That's okay..." Mike replied bashfully. He didn't want Micky spending his money on him. "Aw, come on, buddy! I wanna get you somethin' for being such a great pal!" He insisted with a smile. Mike's face heated up slightly. He kept his head down. "You like pretzels, right? I remember you said you like pretzels once. Want some pretzels?" Micky questioned. "It's fine, man, really." Mike insisted back. Suddenly, two jumbo bags of pretzel sticks were dropped into the cart. "There ya go, buddy!" Micky said before loading in a few more snack items. Mike sighed. "Thanks a lot." He muttered. "What's next, pal?" Micky asked. Mike once again opened the crinkled note and was pleased to find that the list had been finished. "Nothing. The list is done." He replied.

"Really? That was quick!" Micky said. "Then let's go! Onward! To the check out aisle!" Micky shouted, grabbing the edge of the shopping cart and pulling it around. Mike let go and let Micky take it from there. He once again wrapped around Micky's arm and they carried on to the check out. Mike felt a bit of excitement rising within him just thinking of going home. He wanted a nap so bad. He followed Micky, wrapped tightly around his arm. The two approached the checkout and added themselves onto the shortest line. Mike stared at the cart looking over the items in it as Micky drummed along to a song on the handle.

“What’s the song?” Mike asked. Micky’s hands went still and he looked over to Mike, confused. “Huh?” Said Micky. “The uh- the song. You were drummin' it and puttin' on a whole show n' what not.” Micky threw back his head and laughed. “Oh! I didn’t even really realize I was doing that!" He said. "Man, I’ve had ‘Help!’ stuck in my head all day.” He continued. “‘Help!’? That song by The Beatles?”

“Yeah, man! Aw, it’s such a great song, and I’ve heard the movie’s fantastic! Much different from their last! We should go see it sometime soon!” Micky beamed. Mike merely nodded, “yeah” He said quietly, so much so it was barely audible. They got up to the conveyor belt and lifted their items and placed them down upon it. The counter lady looked up at the two boys. “Find everything alright today?” The counter lady asked as she scanned their items. Micky nodded profusely and grinned. “Oh yeah, it was all good and groovy here!" Micky said with a small laugh.

She smiled at him and punched in some numbers on the register. “Your total is $2.57.” She said. “Not a problem, my dear lady!” Micky said as he pulled out his wallet for the money. Mike stood by watched. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. He wanted to help pay for things, but if he could he probably wouldn’t have met Micky in the first place. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like dead weight. Even after the grocer finished putting the bags in their cart and they were making their way through the parking lot to the car, the thought of him just being a freeloader wrapped around his mind like a thick fog.

“Slug bug, green!” Micky shouted once spotting the car in the parking lot, as he does every time. He generously decided to cool it with the arm punches, however after the first time when he nearly knocked Mike out on the floor. Micky unlocked the trunk door and the two began placing the bags in the car. After they were done, Micky looked to Mike. “Wanna drive?” He asked, sticking his tongue out and twirling the keys around his finger.

Mike’s eyes went wide as he wracked his brain for the right response. “Uh. I— w-well—“ Mike stammered. Micky laughed a bit and closed the trunk of the car. “Aww, man, I’m just pullin' your leg." Micky laughed, "I’d say we could go for a practice drive to get you used to being behind a wheel but it’s a bit too crowded here. Maybe we could try in the church parking lot?” Micky asked. Mike did want to get his license. He had always had a thing for cars, especially fast ones. And if he had his license he could help out with chores, and maybe even get a job to help with rent money. But he could never in a million years picture himself driving Micky’s car.

Mike nodded quietly once more and Micky smiled. "Alright, what'dya say we put this cart away and get home?" Micky asked in a gentle tone. "Okay.." Mike said as they walked back to the entrance of the store, Micky pulling the unladen cart behind them. When they approached the buggie rack by the door, Micky swung the cart around and shoved it back into the rack. Again, the carts clattered, startling Mike a little. "Alright! That's done! Let's split!" Micky said. "Alright.. okay." Mike replied as they walked back to the bug. The two opened the doors and slipped in and Mike couldn't have felt more relieved. Micky put the keys into the car and turned it on and carefully backed out of the parking lot.

As they drove home, everything was quiet. Micky looked in the rearview mirror to see that Mike had his head turned, looking through the passenger side window. "Hey Mike?" Micky asked. "Hm?" Mike said. "Thanks for helpin' out today, man. I had lots of fun! ...You're real fun to shop with." Micky said with a smile. Mike turned his head down and fiddled his fingers for a moment, trying to think of a response. "Ah.. sure.." was all he could manage. "Would you like to help me put up the groceries?" Micky asked. Again, another short period of silence.

"Sure." Mike replied.

[helbramstrauma-main]

Lost and Found

Masterlist

Jack Kelly X Reader

Modern Era Highschool AU

Word Count: 1130

No matter the logic behind it, no one can tell me that time does not slow down just for Chemistry. It seems like the teacher can ramble forever when in reality only a couple of minutes have passed. People say that when you stare at the clock time goes by slower but it goes by just as slow no matter where I look. I peel my eyes away from the clock to copy down the new notes the teacher has written on the board. However, my attention quickly shifts away to turn myself around. People say you can feel when someone is staring at you but when I turn around I only see a boy scribbling something in his notebook.

Jack Kelly is in a lot of my classes and I can always rely on him for subpar notes when I am absent. I usually settle for them because that way I get most of my notes from one person. Other than our occasional trading of notes we never interact, he is just another face in the school of faceless people. To me at least.  You can usually find me at school funded events working the concession stand or running the school store- classic College application activities. Jack, on the other hand, is often at school funded events but in the stands or is only at the school store to buy supplies. Two completely different worlds.

Eventually, I bring myself to look back at the analog clock to see that only three minutes have passed. People say time cannot slow down, tell that to the time paradox that is Chemistry class. After the alleged forty minutes have passed the bell rings throughout the school allowing the class to have an audible sigh of relief.

The rest of the school day goes by not affected by the time paradox and eventually the final bell rings letting a slew of my fellow classmates out for the weekend. However, most of them will be back for the home game tonight. Let's make one thing clear, our football team is not good, nor does our school have an excess of school spirit, it is just something to do in our small town. Unfortunately for me, that means working the concession stand, more importantly, that means I do not leave the school. Technically I have two hours of downtime before I have to start setting up the concession stand I would rather spend the two hours locked in a classroom finishing my school work and snaking than going home. At least here I get the full two hours alone, and uninterrupted, but if I were to go home I would only have about an hour and a half and that time would probably be full of distractions. From rowdy siblings to need to fix the sink, or making dinner, it is just easier to do my work here.

I am sitting in the side room off the principles office, which is often used as a waiting room for students who have been sent down to see Doctor Cavanough. Most people are terrified of him, but once you get to know him, he is not that bad, we are even on dropping the title terms! I can just call him Cavanough, a right reserved for me and a handful of other people. Another benefit of our relationship is that he lets me do my work in his side room. Most of the time he will not bother me, but that is not today. Cavanough comes in with his suit jacket not fully on and visible beads of sweat as if he has just finished a marathon. He always stresses sweats on home game days, not only is he responsible for Jeffersons Public High School, but he is also responsible for whomever the visiting team is. I always try to take off whatever stress I can as he should retire but he will probably die in his position. My task today is to go through the lost and found bin. I do not even know what that means, other than to look through some hoodies to make sure there are not any drugs.

I take my time going across the school so I can go through the bins, we keep the lost and found in the back room at the library. It is a small room that makes the most desperate people decide that their stuff is not worth spending more than a few minutes in there. However, I will be spending an undisclosed amount of time in this room, and needless to say, I am not looking forward to it. That being said I did not waste any time getting started either, my hands were practically already in a hoodie since the moment I walked in. After I sifted through the first bin I decided to look into the miscellaneous bin. The bin most known for holding the biggest mystery of the school, for instance, how someone only lost one shoe, or when was it acceptable for someone to bring in knock-off fine china, and somethings that I am almost certain are trash. An open bag of Uncle Ben's rice has lined the bottom of the bin.

At some point, I move a skateboard that someone had lost to see a notebook. A familiar notebook, but it is not mine. However, it is something I have definitely seen before, letting my curiosity take over me I open the book to the first page to see the initials JK. The realization hits me eventually as I notice the handwriting I have to decipher every time I miss a day of school. This notebook belongs to nobody else but Jack Kelly. Not wanting to get back to sifting through hoodies right away I begin to page through his notes. Often seeing little doodles on the side of his page that keep me entertained. I know I should not be going through his notebook but I cannot seem to stop myself once I have started. Eventually, I get to a page that contains no notes but instead is a portrait, the face does not look like him at all. He could not of come up with this person on his own, it is definitely a real-life person and I am determined to find out who.  

I stare at the well-drawn image until I notice a birthmark just under the person's nose. My hand immediately goes up to touch my own identical birthmark. Everything hits at once, the person is me. I turn the page again to see tons of fake dialogue of him asking someone out. It does not take much to put two and two together, he has a crush on me. My brain immediately does that thing where when anyone shows me any sort of attention I think I am in love with them. Although I am not completely sure about who Jack Kelly is as a person I am not opposed to getting to know him.

I grab a pen from the lost and found bin and write my number on the next blank page of his notebook.

You're a really good artist, 555-555-5555 - Y/N Y/L/N

It is not long after I returned his notebook that I get a text message from an unknown number.

Art is easy when you have a good subject - JK